Pigs in Planes: the Big Baad Sheep

by Paul Cooper

  ‘We don’t care about that!’ snapped Peregrine crossly. ‘Just listen to your instructions!’

  Little Petey sounded tearful again. ‘I don’t like that pig, he’s poo-ey!’

  Lola shooed Peregrine away from the mike and said, ‘That’s OK, the pooey pig’s gone now. Listen, Little Petey, can you look on the panel in front of you for a button that says AUTOPILOT?’

  There was silence, then a small voice said, ‘I can read only two words – CAT and BUM.’

  Suddenly a new voice came over the radio: ‘What on earth is going on? We are having an awfully bumpy ride back there.’ It was Queen Baabara! She must have unbuckled herself and come to the cockpit to complain.

  ‘Your Majesty, you have to help!’ gasped Lola with relief. ‘Can you see a button that says AUTOPILOT?’

  ‘Hmm,’ came the Queen’s voice. ‘And what letter does this word begin with exactly?’

  Lola flicked a nervous glance at Peregrine. ‘A,’ she said.

  ‘Hmm, of course … and just remind us what shape this letter “A” is …?’

  ‘It’s like … a tent with a crossbar!’ Peregrine said quickly.

  ‘Ah, here!’ replied the Queen’s voice. ‘One has it!’ There was a CLICK!

  The next moment they heard a recorded voice: ‘If you are hearing this message, you may be experiencing technical problems with your Ace Super-Safe Autopilot. We apologize for any inconvenience. Have a super day, and thank you for choosing an Ace product!’

  Lola and Peregrine looked glumly at each other. With no autopilot, the only chance was to land the plane manually.

  ‘But there’s a pig with the mind of a four-year-old at the controls,’ said Peregrine.

  ‘Don’t forget the Queen,’ Lola reminded him.

  ‘OK, there’s a pig AND a sheep with the mind of a four-year-old at the controls.’ Peregrine drew a heavy breath. ‘They’re doomed!’

  There was a pause, then the Queen’s voice piped up again. ‘We can hear everything you’re saying.’

  Peregrine blushed and sank down into a chair.

  Lola spoke again into the radio: ‘OK, just have a look ahead and tell me what you see.’

  There was a long pause, then the Queen said, ‘It’s rather pretty, actually. We can see blue skies and fluffy clouds.’

  ‘Oo, that cloud looks like a chicken!’ chortled Little Petey. ‘An’ that one looks like a choo choo! An’ that one looks like a cat’s bu–’

  ‘Why yes!’ replied the Queen delightedly. ‘And that big grey one looks like a giant pyramid! Look, we’re heading right for it.’

  ‘What?’ Peregrine jumped up and shouted over the radio in alarm. ‘That isn’t a cloud! That’s a MOUNTAIN!’

  * * *

  Meanwhile at Wolfie T. Wolfman’s secret lair underneath the SHEAR DELIGHT shearing salon, Curly knitted as if his life depended upon it … which it did. The rope that held him over the bubbling vat was making some alarming noises, as if it would snap any moment now.

  Curly looked at the knitting he had managed so far – the scarf was nothing to speak of as a fashion item; it was long and stringy and he had dropped lots of stitches. But right now Curly had other things on his mind than looking trendy.

  On the TV, the sheep reporter was saying, ‘And at last the royal limousine sets off from Flockingham Palace on its way to the Houses of Baaliament. Thank goodness.’ The screen showed a long black car making its way along the route lined with sheep on either side, all bleating their support. It was impossible to see inside the tinted windows, but a single gloved hand waved to the crowd.

  Curly knotted the end of the scarf into a loop. His only hope of escape lay in hooking this over the light fixture on the ceiling.

  He counted to three, and hurled the loop.

  It missed, and he only just managed to save it from going into the sheep-dip below. The rope holding him began to creak. Ignoring this, Curly tried once more.

  He came closer this time, but again the looped end of the scarf didn’t catch.

  The rope holding Curly jerked as another strand snapped. He glanced up to see that he was hanging by a thread. It was now or never!

  What would his dear old nan tell him? She’d probably say, ‘Stay calm and just DO IT, young Curly … and then put the kettle on. I’m parched.’

  With these words of wisdom ringing in his ears, Curly let fly the home-made rescue-scarf one last time. It hooked on to the light fixture, but Curly had no time to breathe a sigh of relief because at the same instant the rope holding him finally broke.

  Curly plummeted towards the deadly sheep-dip. But as soon as the scarf reached its full extension, he began to swing forward. The wool stretched under the strain, but Curly was a fine knitter – he had been taught by a master – and the scarf held firm. As soon as he was clear of the vat’s edge, he let go and dropped safely to the floor.

  He was free! He untied the rest of the rope from round his waist. Now he just had to find his way out.

  It was only then that he realized someone was watching him. It was a sheep, but it didn’t look like one of Wolfman’s hypnotized rams.

  ‘Hello?’ said Curly.

  The sheep pulled a face. ‘That’s “Hello, Your Highness”, actually,’ said Prince Larry.

  CHAPTER 9:

  The Sheep Who Would Be King

  Prince Larry pulled out his mobile phone. His hoof hovered over the buttons.

  ‘Who are you calling?’ asked Curly.

  ‘Wolfman, of course! We can’t let an interfering pig like you ruin our plan!’ said Prince Larry crossly. ‘Why didn’t you just stay put until it was all over?’

  ‘I didn’t fancy dying,’ said Curly flatly.

  Prince Larry’s eyes flickered to the snapped rope and the bubbling vat. It was clear he hadn’t expected things to get this serious.

  ‘Anyway,’ pressed Curly, ‘why are you going along with Wolfman’s plan?’

  The prince looked sheepish. ‘I hired Wolfman to steal the Golden Fleece.’

  ‘You! But why?’

  Anger and shame shone in the prince’s eyes. ‘My mummy has been Queen of this island for years,’ he spat, ‘and she’ll be Queen for years to come. So what about me? What do I get to do? Nothing! Nothing but wait! I was in the army for a while, but I hated it. So I spend all my time on games and hobbies. I can play four musical instruments and I’m a world expert at tiddly winks. But I don’t want any of that. I want to be King! I want it now!’

  ‘And how will stealing the Fleece help?’ asked Curly.

  Larry sighed. ‘There will be public outrage when the Fleece is taken. Sheep will call for the Queen to stand down. And then I, Prince Larry, will step forward with the Fleece! I shall be the hero of the day! Everyone will want me on the throne. Me! Mummy will have to go along with it, and then it will be King Larry sitting on the throne!’

  Curly didn’t want to set the prince off on another tantrum, so he spoke gently. ‘What makes you think Wolfman was telling you the truth?’ He pointed at the royal limo on the TV screen.

  The two TV commentators were clearly struggling. ‘It’s a little more difficult than usual to glimpse the Queen this year,’ said the old ram.

  ‘But we have got a good shot of her waving hand,’ said the ewe. ‘And she appears to be holding a doughnut. That’s a royal first!’

  ‘As the royal limousine rounds the final corner, the band strikes up the music,’ said the ram commentator.

  ‘This is odd,’ said the ewe. ‘The car has stopped and the Queen appears to be … attacking her driver!’

  ‘Now the driver is throwing open his door and running. If I’m not mistaken, he’s a pig!’ said the ram.

  ‘Most unusual!’ said the ewe. ‘And look, Her Royal Majesty the Queen is also out of the car and running after him. She is, of course, wearing the traditional Golden Fleece. And, in a bold fashion move, she seems to have set aside her usual sensible shoes in favour of gigantic brown boots.’

  To
Curly it was obvious that this wasn’t Queen Baabara at all – it was Tammy, and she was clearly trying to clobber Brian.

  ‘Wonderful to see our monarch is such a good runner, even at her age,’ the ram commentator was saying. ‘I expect she’ll catch that pig soon!’

  ‘Must be all the grass she eats,’ said the ewe commentator. ‘Um … I think maybe we ought to go to some adverts now.’

  But suddenly a gigantic sheep pushed his way to the reporters’ side. ‘I don’t think so,’ he growled, and then he looked straight into the camera. Curly would recognize those yellow eyes anywhere. It was Wolfman! The wolf’s hypnotic eyes seemed to fill the screen.

  ‘Sheep of Sheep Island, you are feeling oh-so-sleepy!’

  ‘Don’t listen!’ shouted Curly. ‘He’s trying to hypnotize everyone on the island!’ He covered the prince’s eyes and shouted ‘LA LA LA LA LA!’

  Curly himself heard Wolfman’s words, but luckily the wolf had addressed them only to the sheep on the island: ‘Find the Pigs in Planes and find the royals, and bring them to me … dead or alive!’

  All over the island, thousands of sheep in front of their TVs got to their feet. It was the same story along the packed streets between Flockingham Palace and the Houses of Baaliament, where huge screens had been put up for the TV broadcast.

  ‘What is he doing?’ asked Prince Larry, realizing the plot was going terribly wrong.

  ‘Wolfman has a plan of his own,’ said Curly. ‘He wants to become the King of Sheep Island himself! We have to try to stop him.’

  Larry made an effort to stop panicking. ‘There is one way,’ he said, ‘but we have to get to Baaliament Square. And how are we going to do that?’

  Curly hadn’t given up hope yet. ‘Come with me,’ he told the prince. ‘I’ve got an idea. We’re going upstairs to get you some haircare products!’

  Miles from Woollyhampton, the real Queen Baabara was in the co-pilot’s seat of the royal jet, zooming right towards a mountain.

  ‘Pull back!’ screamed Peregrine over the radio. ‘Pull back on the yoke!’

  Queen Baabara looked crossly at the many controls. ‘Yolk? As in egg yolk? We have simply no idea what you are saying.’

  ‘It’s the stick thing in front of the pilot’s seat!’

  ‘Mr Sticky!’ shouted Little Petey. He grabbed the yoke and yanked back hard. The nose of the plane lifted and it cleared the summit of the mountain – just. The plane continued to climb almost vertically, hurtling up through the clouds like a rocket.

  ‘WHEEEEEEEEEEEE!’ cried Little Petey.

  ‘EEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!’ cried Queen Baabara.

  ‘Too steep!’ shouted Lola in alarm at the sound of the engine noise. ‘You’re going to stall! Push the yoke … push Mr Sticky forward, just a bit!’

  Little Petey shoved the yoke forward. The engines screamed as the plane began to plummet towards the ground in an almost vertical dive.

  ‘Too much!’ yelled Lola. ‘Pull back! Pull back!’

  ‘We are about to lose our grass!’ wailed the Queen, gripping the sides of her chair.

  But Little Petey wasn’t wailing – he was starting to laugh.

  Both Lola and Peregrine huddled round the radio and listened to the chilling sound of that childlike laugh over the airwaves.

  And then everything went quiet.

  ‘Little Petey? Your Majesty? Are you still there?’

  The only sound was the steady hiss of air.

  ‘Pete, can you hear us?’ cried Peregrine.

  Still no answer.

  ‘Maybe they bumped the panel radio by accident and turned it off?’ Lola said hopefully.

  But even if that was true, what were they going to do now? Neither Queen Baabara nor Peter Porker in his current condition seemed able to fly a plane. There was no chance of telling them what to do over the radio.

  They were on their own.

  CHAPTER 10:

  Bushed

  Brian threw a glance over his shoulder. He was out of breath and he was getting a stitch, but he didn’t dare slow down – not with Tammy, still wearing the fake spray-painted Golden Fleece, striding after him on her mission to clobber him with a spanner.

  But then he heard the thunder of many hoofsteps from ahead. He looked in the direction of the Houses of Baaliament to see hundreds of sheep, all heading towards him. The look in their blank eyes was as scary as Tammy’s and, like hers, those blank eyes all seemed to be pointed at him. The flock of sheep surged forward like an unstoppable woollen tidal wave.

  Not wanting that wave to crash down upon him, Brian looked around quickly for somewhere to hide. The only place he could see was a small green bush off to the side of the road. With the crowd of mindless sheep almost upon him, Brian leapt to the side and tucked himself behind the bush. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  The wall of sheep crashed right into Tammy, pushing her back. They didn’t pay any attention to her because she was still wearing the fake fleece. They just thought she was a sheep. What they were after was a pig, but they had no idea where he had gone.

  ‘Brian!’ said a familiar voice. ‘Fancy meeting you here!’

  The medical officer opened his eyes. Curly was crouching behind the little green bush too!

  ‘And this is Prince Larry,’ added the trainee PiP.

  ‘We’ve already met,’ said the little green bush. ‘At the Palace. Only I wasn’t a bush then.’

  ‘Prince Larry?’ said Brian, looking closely at the woolly green shape in front of him.

  Curly quickly explained – he had used the green wool-dye from the shearing salon to disguise the prince. Instead of just adding highlights as the bottle suggested, he had sprayed the entire contents on the young royal’s fluffed-up fleece.

  ‘There were sheep looking for us the whole way here,’ Curly said, ‘but every time one got close, Prince Larry just crouched down and they thought he was a bush!’ He pointed to where the sheep were milling about. ‘What about Tammy?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Brian. ‘She didn’t hear the trigger words, so I don’t know why she attacked again.’

  ‘It’s because the trigger wasn’t words,’ said Prince Larry.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ll show you …’ said the little green bush. ‘But we have to get closer to Baaliament Square.’

  They began to move in the right direction, making sure at all times that Larry was between the two pigs and the crowd of mindlessly bleating sheep. It was slow going, but finally they were close to the square.

  Wolfman was standing on the Baaliament steps issuing orders to a group of rams. Sheep were still milling about everywhere.

  ‘I need to get to the other side of the square,’ Larry said.

  ‘Impossible!’ said Brian. ‘There are sheep everywhere. We’ll never make it without being seen.’

  Curly didn’t say anything; this was a time for action. He charged out into the open, shouting at the top of his voice, ‘OINK! OINK! I’m a pig! Come and get me! OINK! I roll around in the mud and eat too much!’

  Brian saw what the trainee PiP was doing – causing a diversion! The medic ran out too, shouting, ‘I do not believe in simple animal stereotypes … but I too am a pig!’

  From every part of Baaliament Square, sheep turned and began to murmur, ‘Baa! Baa! Get the pigs!’ Others joined in as they heard this chant, until there was a huge army of hypnotized sheep shuffling towards the two pigs.

  ‘What now?’ cried Brian.

  ‘Er … leg it!’ said Curly, who hadn’t really thought this far ahead.

  Meanwhile Prince Larry was charging across the square towards the bandstand area. He was no longer acting much like a bush, unless it was a rare form of sprinting bush. He hopped over one crowd barrier, then another …

  Then he ran straight into something and rebounded on to his bushy behind.

  He looked up and realized that what he had run into was Wolfman. The wolf wasn’t fooled by the prince’s bush disguise.
/>   ‘Just look at you,’ he sneered, ‘pretending to be a bush! You don’t deserve to be a prince, let alone a king! And your mother doesn’t deserve to be Queen either! It’s time for a change around here … What this island needs is King Wolfie on the throne! And with the entire country under my hypnotic spell, who’s going to stop me?’

  Prince Larry’s bottom lip began to wobble.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ grinned Wolfman. ‘You’ve made quite a mess. Look – my sheep army has caught up with your two piggy friends. I shouldn’t be surprised if they trample them. I’m afraid this time your mummy can’t just drop in and make this mess all better. I’m afraid –’

  Wolfman paused because he could hear something – a plane! He looked up in disbelief. It was the royal jet! But how? He had personally turned the pilot back to the age of four. How could a four-year-old fly a plane?

  But he didn’t have long to wonder. Here the plane was, flying in over Woollyhampton and coming his way!

  Inside the plane, Little Petey Porker stuck out his tongue in concentration.

  ‘You are doing jolly well.’ Queen Baabara patted him on the head. ‘Good boy! But kindly refrain from picking your nose in front of royalty.’

  ‘I’m not pickin’ me nose!’ cried Little Petey. ‘I’ve got an itch in me brain!’

  They had lost the radio link with PiPs base, but he didn’t care. Pete had gone back to an age when he wasn’t able to read, or tie his shoelaces, or ride a bike without training wheels.

  But he could fly.

  It just came naturally; it was in his blood. He instinctively knew just when to ease back on the yoke, when to nudge the throttle forward or backwards.

  Pete was a natural-born flyer.

  Ahead of them they could see the landmark building of the Houses of Baaliament.

  ‘That is where we wish you to land,’ the Queen informed him.