Pigs in Planes: the Big Baad Sheep

by Paul Cooper

  No answer. The bristles on the back of Pete’s neck stood on end. Where could the trainee have gone? Pete knew one thing – he would rip this place apart, if that’s what it took to find the trainee.

  Just then his phone rang. It was Curly!

  ‘Where are you?’ Pete asked.

  Curly’s voice sounded odd, but Pete couldn’t quite put his trotter on how or why. ‘There was nothing at the salon, Captain,’ Curly said, ‘so I … went back to the planes.’

  ‘What?’ said Pete in surprise. ‘Why didn’t you wake me u– Er, why didn’t you come and get me?’

  ‘Can’t explain now!’ blurted Curly. ‘I’m … busy with something!’

  ‘You can’t act this way on a mission,’ said Pete gently. ‘It’s against the rules, and I know you study the PiPs Rules and Regulations as bedtime reading.’

  There was no answer, and Pete realized that the line was dead. Had Curly hung up? Pete tried calling back, but the trainee’s phone was off now.

  That’s odd, thought Pete. He was relieved when his phone rang again seconds later.

  ‘Curly?’ he said.

  But it wasn’t the trainee, it was Brian.

  ‘You’d better come to the palace quickly,’ the medic said. ‘Tammy’s acting a bit … oddly.’

  She’s not the only one, thought Pete. He really wanted to go back to the planes and check on Curly.

  But then Brian added, ‘Can you come NOW, Captain?’ and Pete realized that this was serious.

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  ‘What about Curly?’ asked Brian.

  ‘He’s not coming,’ said Pete with a frown. ‘I guess he’s all tied up with something.’

  CHAPTER 7:

  Sheep-Dip of Death

  Curly was all tied up with something – a piece of rope, to be exact. It was tied round his middle and suspended from the ceiling. Curly was hanging by it, right over a huge vat of green liquid.

  Wolfman had been holding the trainee’s phone up so the pig could speak into it.

  ‘You said your lines well,’ Wolfman grinned.

  ‘That’s because I didn’t want to get dropped into THAT stuff!’ Curly looked down. The sign on the vat said ‘Sheep-Dip’. ‘That isn’t normal sheep-dip, is it?’

  Wolfman’s huge grin grew. ‘Well … it would get rid of any nasty ticks and fleas you might have. It would also get rid of everything else, apart from your skeleton.’ As a demonstration, he dropped Curly’s phone into the liquid, which bubbled and fizzed in a way that made Curly’s stomach do the same.

  ‘I had a lot of credit left on that phone,’ complained Curly.

  Then again, at the moment Curly had bigger problems than losing phone minutes and unlimited texting.

  ‘Why didn’t you just hypnotize me?’ he asked.

  Wolfman paused. ‘You mean, why have I suspended you over the extra-strong, special-recipe Sheep-Dip of Death? Why have I used a weak bit of rope that may only hold your weight for half an hour?’ He shrugged. ‘I’m just bad, I suppose. Maybe my pack bullied me when I was a cub? Maybe I just hate farm animals like you and all these stupid bleating sheep.’

  ‘Are you going to try to steal the Golden Fleece again?’ asked Curly.

  Wolfman smirked and shook his shaggy head. ‘Getting the Golden Fleece is just the start of my plans, little piggy …’

  Pete expected to find Brian and Tammy making preparations at Flockingham Palace. He didn’t expect to find Brian scribbling furiously in a notebook while wearing a riot helmet and body armour. There was a small digital recorder on the table between him and Tammy.

  ‘Er, what’s going on?’ Pete asked.

  ‘Allow me to demonstrate,’ said Brian. ‘Step well back.’

  ‘I don’t think we need to show him, Brian,’ said Tammy. ‘We should –’

  But Brian had already pressed a button on the recorder. It played an audio clip of a Sheep Island state ceremony. Over the noise of the band and the crowd in the background, Pete heard a sheep say, ‘We are delighted to welcome Her Royal Majesty, Queen Baabara.’

  With a sudden jerk, Tammy got to her feet.

  ‘Notice the subject’s blank stare,’ commented Brian. ‘Having seen that there are no weapons to hand, she will proceed to attack with her bare trotters.’

  The mechanic started walking mechanically towards Pete.

  ‘Attack?’ said Pete.

  It was clear that Tammy didn’t recognize him. It was also clear she didn’t intend to hug him.

  ‘What are you doing, Tammy? Pack it in.’

  ‘And now, observe as I play the second clip,’ said Brian calmly. He pushed another button on the recorder … and nothing happened.

  ‘Oh, um, I think the batteries have run out!’ he said.

  Meanwhile Tammy was saying, ‘Kill the pig!’ and reaching for Pete’s neck. The captain ducked out of her grasp and legged it around the room.

  Brian was fumbling in his pockets. ‘Now – does this take AA or AAA batteries?’ he mumbled. ‘I always get them mixed up …’

  ‘Hurry up!’ yelled Pete, who was already on his second circuit of the room, with Tammy close behind.

  Brian reached for a battery, and promptly dropped it. It rolled under the table. By the time he had retrieved it, Tammy had caught up with the captain and was giving him a good throttling.

  Brian slotted the batteries in. ‘Oops, wrong way round!’

  ‘Qui-i-i-i-ick!’

  Finally Brian pushed the right button and the second audio clip played. This one was from a speech given by the Queen of Sheep Island herself. Again Pete could tell it was a large public affair because he could hear music and crowd noise. On the clip, Queen Baabara was saying, ‘We are not amused to learn of the Sheep Island team’s poor results in the Animal Paradise Inter-island Quiz.’

  Instantly Tammy stopped. She pulled her trotters away and said sheepishly, ‘Oh, sorry, Pete.’

  ‘So, what conclusions do you draw from our little experiment, Captain?’ asked Brian.

  Pete thought it over. ‘Well, firstly, if there’s a battery to change, we should never ask you, Brian. And secondly … what just happened?’

  ‘How much do you know about hypnotism?’ said Brian.

  ‘HYPNOTISM?’ repeated Pete.

  ‘It’s a fascinating topic,’ said Brian. ‘You see, the mammalian brain consists of two –’

  Tammy held up a trotter. ‘Skip the brain science, Bri. The important bit is this: someone has gone and hypnotized me.’

  ‘But you’re acting normally,’ said Pete.

  ‘Ah, that’s the interesting bit.’ Brian pushed his glasses up his snout. ‘Tammy’s been brain-trained. She’s under a hypnotic spell. She acts perfectly normally … until she hears the trigger words. Then she turns into a killing machine – specifically, a pig-killing machine.’

  ‘So what are these trigger words?’ asked Pete.

  ‘It took me a while to work them out,’ said Brian proudly. ‘I had to reconstruct the conditions that first set Tammy off. It was a painful process of trial and error.’ He gave his riot helmet a grateful tap. ‘Finally I worked out that the trigger words are –’

  ‘Don’t say them!’ cried Pete.

  Brian smiled. ‘It’s OK. I soon worked out that the trigger only works if a sheep is speaking. That’s why I’ve used audio clips from my Favourite Royal Speeches CD. It seems the trigger words are “Royal Majesty, Queen Baabara” and the Off switch is “We are not amused”.’

  ‘That’s incredible!’ breathed Pete.

  ‘What, that one of us should be hypnotized like this?’ asked Tammy.

  ‘No … that Brian goes around with a Favourite Royal Speeches CD in his backpack.’

  Pete thought about how this new development affected the PiPs operation. ‘Tammy, you shouldn’t take part in the rest of the mission. It’s too risky – what if you hear the trigger words again?’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary. I know a little about hy
pnosis myself,’ said Brian, who had read The Ultimate Guide to Hypnotizing Your Friends and Family for Financial Gain from cover to cover. ‘Now we’ve identified the trigger words, I’m confident I can reverse the effects.’

  Pete had to think fast on his trotters. He was worried about Curly. What if the trainee had been hypnotized too? What if he was in danger? But the mission was the most important thing. As PiPs captain, it was his job to make sure they completed it. They’d just have to check on Curly afterwards.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Is the decoy fleece ready?’

  Tammy pointed at a second fleece that had been hastily spray-painted gold.

  ‘Good,’ said Pete. ‘So you two will ride in the royal limo with the fake. You’ll be the decoy.’ He grabbed the real Golden Fleece. ‘Which means all I need to do is deliver Her Majesty to the Houses of Baaliament.’

  As he hung perilously over the deadly sheep-dip, there wasn’t much for Curly to do except watch Wolfman carrying out his wicked plans.

  Actually he wasn’t being all that wicked at the moment; he was wheeling a TV into the room. The wolf switched it on, then moved it to face Curly.

  ‘I bet you’re wondering what this is for,’ said the wolf. ‘The SUSPENSE is probably killing you! Get it? Because you’re suspended from the ceiling?’ Wolfman scowled. ‘Why does no one ever appreciate my evil, gloating jokes?’

  ‘I think the clue is in the question,’ answered Curly.

  The TV was showing live coverage from outside the Houses of Baaliament, where a crowd of sheep was already waiting patiently behind the barriers. One of the TV commentators was saying, ‘We’re coming to you live from the heart of Woollyhampton, where today Her Royal Majesty, Queen Baabara, will officially open the new session of Baaliament later this afternoon.’ The commentator paused, remembering she had almost an hour of live television to fill before anything actually happened.

  The other commentator, an elderly ram, chipped in: ‘There’s a splendid turn-out today, and some fine … er … hats in the crowd. There’s a blue one, and – look! – there’s a nice green one. Erm …’

  Wolfman was putting his sheep costume on again. He gave Curly a concerned look. ‘Is the TV loud enough? I don’t want you to miss all the fun.’

  Curly sighed – OK, bringing in the TV had been a little bit wicked, after all.

  ‘After all, how often do you get to see a wolf become the King of Sheep Island?’

  ‘What?’ Curly blinked. ‘You’re crazy!’

  ‘Why, thank you,’ replied Wolfman. And then, with a classic evil laugh, the wolf in sheep’s clothing was on his way.

  Curly was finally all by himself. He looked around for anything that might help him escape. Every little movement seemed to put even more strain on the rope. If he tried to pull himself up or swing free of the vat, the rope would almost certainly break.

  The ewe commentator on TV was still filling in time, saying, ‘Oo, look – there’s a nice yellow hat. With a little luck, we may spot a red one.’

  Curly knew he had to escape before the rope snapped. But what could he do? He had nothing with him apart from his woolly hat and the knitting needles his nan had sent him. Without thinking, Curly nervously plucked a tuft of wool from his fleece costume and rolled it on his tummy. Gradually the fibres twisted together until Curly realized he was holding a piece of yarn in his trotter.

  The beginnings of a plan began to form in his brain. He started to pull more and more tufts off his fleece and twist them together. He was making his own yarn! He worked faster and faster – pluck and twist, pluck and twist! When he had enough, he carefully reached for the knitting needles in his back pocket.

  Lining up his yarn and casting on, Curly started to knit. His needles flew, clacking together furiously. He felt as if his dear old nan was with him. In his mind he could hear her familiar voice; he knew what she’d say – she’d say, ‘Put the kettle on, Curly!’ (That’s what she always said.)

  But Curly could imagine what else she would tell him, after she’d had a cuppa; she’d say: ‘KNIT, YOUNG CURLY! KNIT LIKE THE WIND!’

  Pete was waiting round the back of Flockingham Palace, where there was a small airstrip for Queen Baabara’s private jet. The PiPs captain tried to concentrate on the afternoon’s mission, but he couldn’t stop worrying about Curly. As soon as he had delivered the Queen to the Houses of Baaliament, they had to find the trainee PiP.

  A back door of the palace opened – one of dozens – but Queen Baabara didn’t appear. It was her son, Prince Larry.

  The young prince did his best to look down his nose at Pete, even though the pig was a lot taller.

  ‘You’re Mummy’s pilot, then?’ Larry demanded.

  ‘That’s me, kid,’ said Pete.

  ‘I am the future King of Sheep Island!’ snapped Prince Larry. ‘Address me properly!’

  Pete shrugged. ‘OK – that’s me, Lambchops.’

  Anger flashed in the prince’s eyes, but then his video phone rang and the look turned to one of sly triumph. He checked the screen and smirked.

  ‘It’s for you,’ he said.

  ‘I doubt it,’ replied Pete.

  ‘No, really,’ insisted Prince Larry. ‘It’s something to do with your little friend … What’s his name? Curly?’

  Pete whirled round. ‘How do you know about Curly? Give that to me!’ He snatched the phone and stared at the screen. ‘What IS this?’

  Two yellow eyes were staring up at him from the video phone.

  ‘Look into my eyes,’ said a deep voice. ‘You are feeling sleepy.’

  ‘Your little hypnosis trick won’t work on me, pal!’ Pete spat defiantly. Then he added, ‘ZZZZZZZZZZZZ!’ He was snoring softly.

  ‘Now listen carefully,’ continued the voice on the phone.

  CHAPTER 8:

  Let Your Inner Piglet Fly!

  When Queen Baabara came out to board the royal jet, Pete had no memory of those hypnotic yellow eyes on the phone screen.

  Once the Queen had taken her seat in the luxurious main cabin, Pete got ready for take-off. He missed the SkyHog already – the royal jet was bigger, and almost certainly slower and less fun to fly.

  He addressed the Queen over the plane’s two-way intercom system. ‘Do you want some gum, Your Maj? It’ll stop your ears popping during take-off.’

  ‘Certainly not!’ replied the Queen crossly. ‘The last time we tried that, it took hours for the servants to get the gum out again, and our ears were sticky for weeks afterwards.’

  Pete rolled his eyes, then fired up the engines. The plane sped along the runway. Once they were in the air, Pete spoke to the Queen again. ‘Here’s the plan. We’re going to fly out away from the city and do a wide loop round the island. Then we’ll fly back in from an unexpected angle. So just sit back, eat some grass and enjoy the ride.’

  ‘We will,’ replied the Queen.

  The plane had just cleared the city and reached cruising height, when there was a radio signal. Pete assumed it must be Lola and Peregrine checking in with him, but when he clicked the receiver on, all he could hear was a snippet of some boring brass band music.

  Something clicked in his brain. Pete didn’t know it, but Wolfman had just pulled the hypnotic trigger …

  Back at PiPs HQ, Lola knew that Pete and the Queen must be in the air by now. She called the royal plane on the radio: ‘Hi, Pete – just checking that everything is running smoothly. You know you need to land the plane in front of the Houses of Baaliament at three o’clock exactly, yes? … Pete? Do you copy that?’

  The radio hissed. Lola tried again: ‘Pete, can you hear me? Over.’

  Suddenly a voice cried out over the radio, ‘No! Don’t wanna!’

  It sounded a bit like Pete, but Lola had never heard the captain speak like this before. He sounded like a toddler speaking in Peter Porker’s voice.

  ‘Er, are you feeling OK, Captain?’ Lola said.

  ‘I don’t wanna play airplanes!’ came the strange voice. ‘They
’re stinky and borin’! I wanna play cowboys!’

  Lola furrowed her brow. Why was Pete talking like a little piglet?

  ‘Stop messing about, Pete. You’re not with your niece and nephew any more. We need to talk about your landing.’

  ‘Not gonna!’ cried Pete in his odd new voice.

  There weren’t many times when Lola was lost for words, but this was one of them.

  Peregrine came out of his office now and gripped the microphone. ‘Snap out of it, Captain!’ he exclaimed. ‘And that’s an order!’

  The Wing Commander and the radio operator listened in amazement to the sound coming out of the radio.

  ‘Is he … crying?’ asked Lola.

  Pete’s voice spoke again: ‘I don’t like you! You’re a big stinky and my mum says I shouldn’t even play with you coz you’ve got nits, so NYAH-NYAH-NY-NYAH-NYAH!’

  Peregrine’s face went purple with fury. ‘Why, you –’ he began to splutter, but Lola tugged on his arm. She covered the mike with a trotter and hissed, ‘I don’t think he’s joking. Something’s wrong! It’s like he’s reverted to being a four-year-old piglet. This is terrible!’

  Peregrine furrowed his brow. ‘You’re right! Four IS a particularly annoying age.’ Peregrine had found Pete’s nephew and niece bad enough yesterday evening – they had complained endlessly about his game of Clean the Base until it’s Spick and Span.

  But Lola had a grim look. ‘I don’t think you understand. I mean – children of four can’t usually fly planes, can they?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Peregrine, realizing what she meant. ‘Oh dear.’

  Lola spoke slowly and gently into the microphone. ‘Pete, are you there?’

  Pete’s childish voice came over the airwaves. ‘My name’s Little Petey.’

  ‘OK then – Little Petey. We’re going to play a game. Can you be a big boy and do that for me?’

  ‘Will I get a sherbet lolly?’ asked Little Petey. ‘I like sherbet lollies! This one time I eated fifty and then I sicked up on the floor. It were brilliant.’