The Quest of the Warrior Sheep

by Christopher Russell

  ‘Excellent! Come on.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Back to the car.’ Neil was already running towards the bridge.

  The car was where they’d left it near Boyd’s Bank but the street was almost empty now. The anxious crowds had dispersed and the television crews had gone. Inside the firmly closed glass doors of Boyd’s Bank was a large notice:

  NO FURTHER STATEMENT UNTIL TOMORROW.

  Neil spotted the old woman and her grandson trundling slowly away on their ancient tricycles and remembered his earlier suspicions. He ducked down behind a parked van, watching them go.

  ‘They surely can’t know where the woolbags are now . . .’ he muttered. ‘But what if they do? Maybe we should follow them . . .’

  As he spoke his thoughts aloud, the van moved away and he fell in the gutter. Luke tried not to laugh but failed.

  ‘Plan A, geek!’ Neil shouted angrily. ‘Forget the old fossil. We stick to Plan A like I told you.’

  Then he ran to the yellow sports car. Luke followed, still giggling.

  Minutes later, after twisting and turning down ever narrower backstreets, the car pulled up. Neil got out, ripped off his hoodie and put his designer jacket back on.

  ‘Right,’ he said, throwing the hoodie on to the back seat. ‘I’ll be back in five.’

  And he disappeared through the rubbish-strewn back entrance of a shabby small office block. He was gone a lot longer than five minutes, but when he returned, he was grinning.

  ‘Sorted,’ he said. ‘It’s cost us, but from this very moment, my mate’s tracking your phone.’

  Luke glanced up at the closed blinds of the building. ‘Is this legal?’

  ‘Is bank fraud legal? Anyway, it’s your phone. D’you object?’

  Luke shook his head glumly and Neil started the car. He was in high spirits now and dabbed at his phone whilst driving one-handed.

  ‘I’ve told you before about that,’ said Luke. ‘It’s really dangerous.’

  Neil ignored him and left a message on voicemail.

  ‘Hullo, Boss,’ he said breezily. ‘Forget all that stuff about old ladies on trikes. We’re back in business. Should be done and dusted by teatime.’

  He chucked the phone on Luke’s lap and continued driving.

  ‘So where are we going now?’ asked Luke.

  Neil grinned at him. ‘Following the boat, of course. Down river.’

  Up the creek, more likely, thought Luke.

  After a while the phone rang, making Luke jump.

  ‘Answer it then,’ instructed Neil. ‘And if it’s my tracker mate, write down everything he says.’

  Luke did as he was told. When the call had finished, he read out what he had written.

  ‘Greenwich.’

  ‘There you go,’ said Neil. ‘They’re probably still on the boat. Easy.’

  He whistled a bit of Chickenslayer as he drove.

  Half an hour later, the phone rang again and Luke dutifully answered it. This time, he didn’t write anything down and, when the call had finished, he didn’t say anything either.

  Neil glanced at him. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Your mate’s not sure. The signal’s not good. Heading north, he thinks.’

  Neil swerved and screeched to a halt.

  ‘What? He’s saying they’re off the boat already?’

  Luke managed a nod. ‘Apparently so. And moving fast. Very fast.’ He paused. ‘He thinks they might be on a plane.’

  9

  Flight Zero One

  They were.

  When the river boat had stopped at City Airport Pier, Wills had seen the advertisement for FlyMe Airlines.

  GOING NORTH? it asked. WHY NOT TAKE THE PLANE?

  It was a fair question.

  ‘Quick!’ Wills had suddenly announced. ‘This is our stop.’

  The others, surprised and rather disappointed at having their pleasant trip come to an end, hurried down the gangplank after him. Wills explained what a plane was, as far as he understood it.

  ‘It’s like a bird with an engine.’

  ‘What’s an engine?’ asked Oxo.

  ‘It’s the thing that makes a tractor go.’

  Oxo frowned. ‘I thought that was Tony Catchpole.’

  ‘Look,’ said Wills, ‘that’s all I know. Shall we try it or not?’

  Links was nodding. ‘Five for one and one for five . . . Let’s fly, man, fly and stay alive . . .’

  They set off for the airport. As they got closer, the noise of aircraft low overhead pressed down on them like thunder.

  ‘Ohmygrass, ohmygrass . . .’ whimpered Jaycey, worried that she would go deaf and no longer be able to hear the nice things people said about her.

  Wills was worried too until he saw some planes on the ground in a long field. The closest one was much smaller than the rest and had its door open. Unfortunately, the strongest fence the sheep had ever seen was in the way.

  Oxo was already pawing the road.

  ‘Charge!’ he cried, and hurled himself at the nearest section of ram-proof steel. He was the only one surprised when he bounced off it.

  ‘Knew it all along,’ he blustered. ‘It’s the digging-under variety.’

  Sheep actually are quite good at digging, though they rarely work as a team. They usually writhe under fences on their own so that they can get lost on mountains or fall over cliffs and then complain about it. But the Rare Breed Warriors were now very much a team and took turns to scrabble away energetically until they’d created a burrow a badger would have been proud of.

  ‘Way to go, Warriors,’ panted Sal through the dirt in her nostrils.

  Once through and up the other side, they shook themselves relatively clean and trotted towards the little plane. The word EATWELL was printed on its side. There was a large trolley beside it and boxes were being carried on-board by a young woman in a smart uniform. She turned and stared at the sheep and then called to the pilot sitting in the cockpit.

  ‘I thought we were taking frozen lamb,’ she said. ‘What d’you think about this lot, Nikki?’

  Nikki, the pilot, peered down at the sheep.

  ‘I suppose fresh is better,’ she said. ‘Get them loaded, Sarah.’

  Sarah ushered the Warriors up the little flight of steps into the plane. Then she climbed in after them, pulled the steps in behind her and closed the door.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Welcome aboard Flight Zero One to the Eatwell Hotel, Yorkshire. Your pilot today is Nikki and my name’s Sarah. I’ll be looking after you during your journey. Shall I help you with your seatbelts now?’

  Once she’d done so, the plane taxied swiftly on to the runway, then took off.

  ‘Whoa . . .!’ exclaimed Links. ‘Did I leave one of my stomachs back there . . . ?’

  But he was soon nodding and singing.

  ‘We’s the Eppingham Posse

  On a mission for the Nation,

  We’s high in the sky

  An’ for your information,

  The Baaton’s goin’ home

  To the Golden Horn Dude,

  Got a message for the Lambad

  But you’ll think it’s kinda rude –’

  ‘Drink, sir?’ Sarah was holding a plastic bucket full of iced water in front of Links. He lapped it gratefully. Then she gave each of the sheep a lettuce from one of the cargo boxes. And an apple.

  ‘Yum. We should have done this flying thing before,’ said Oxo enthusiastically.

  In the yellow sports car, Luke was enjoying himself rather less. Neil’s phone tracker mate had rung again to confirm that things would most certainly not be done and dusted by tea time. The missing mobile was now cruising somewhere above the Midlands.

  Neil glanced at Luke. ‘Did you pack your toothbrush?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tough.’

  ‘Neil,’ said Luke, ‘a car cannot chase an aeroplane.’

  ‘Wanna bet?’

  The g-force kicked
in again and they streaked away, not so much like a rocket this time, but like a sheep-seeking missile.

  On the other side of London, things had just got worse for Tod and Ida.

  The pedals on Ida’s trike had suddenly spun madly and she’d coasted to a full stop. Her chain had snapped.

  ‘Never mind, Gran,’ said Tod. ‘I can give you a tow.’

  Gran was tired but she smiled back. ‘A whole foot would be better.’

  Tod grinned at her brave joke and started tying some cord on to Gran’s handlebars.

  As he tied the first knot, a car passed by, then reversed and came silently to a halt beside them. It was a very large, swish car. A smartly dressed lady got out and smiled kindly.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked.

  ‘I doubt it, thanks,’ said Tod. ‘The chain’s gone.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the lady. She frowned at them both then said, ‘Didn’t I see you on television at Boyd’s Bank earlier? Weren’t you being interviewed?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tod. ‘Gran told Organic TV about our sheep.’

  ‘Yes, of course! The sheep. How terribly upsetting.’ The lady looked with concern at Ida, who had sat down wearily at the roadside. ‘Have you got far to go?’

  ‘Eppingham,’ said Tod.

  ‘But that’s miles away.’

  ‘We’ll be all right,’ said Tod, tying the cord to the back of his trike. ‘Gran’s no weight. I’ll pull her along.’

  The lady hesitated a moment.

  ‘Look, why don’t you come home with me for a rest? You can even stay the night, if you like. I’ve got plenty of room. Don’t worry about your trikes,’ she added. ‘I’ll call someone to collect them right now.’

  Tod didn’t know what to say but Gran drew a deep breath and stood up again.

  ‘That’s very kind of you indeed,’ she said, taking charge. ‘And we don’t have to be back to feed the sheep. Not now they’ve been abducted by aliens. We might as well rest for a bit and work out what to do next.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said the lady. She nodded firmly. ‘My name’s Caroline, by the way. Lady Caroline Babcott.’ She made a swift phone call and within minutes a van arrived and two men carefully loaded the trikes on to it. Then Lady Babcott held the car door open and Tod and Gran stepped inside.

  ‘It’s as comfy as your bed,’ Tod whispered to Gran.

  ‘And almost as big,’ Gran whispered back, as Lady Babcott started the quiet engine and the car moved smoothly away.

  The sheep were still enjoying the high life, taking turns to peer out of the aircraft’s small windows at the carpet of countryside unrolling beneath them. Then they heard Nikki’s voice over the loudspeaker. She was talking to someone at the Eatwell Hotel, Flight Zero One’s destination.

  ‘ETA three minutes,’ she said. ‘No customers today, just catering supplies.’

  Wills stiffened slightly. What were catering supplies? Was that just another name for lettuce? He hoped so.

  The plane lurched slightly as the wheels hit the ground. It bounced along for a few moments, then swung round and taxied back towards the large grey-and-white building the sheep had glimpsed as the plane had circled down.

  ‘Welcome to the Eatwell Hotel.’ Sarah was beaming at them. ‘Thank you for flying with us this morning. Please remain in your seats until the butcher arrives – I mean until the aircraft has stopped moving.’

  Sarah put down the steps and Nikki came through from the cockpit and climbed out first.

  ‘See you at dinner time,’ she called as she hurried away.

  Sarah smiled and nodded politely at each of the sheep in turn as they too left the aircraft. ‘Follow me,’ she said and headed towards the hotel.

  ‘Well, how pleasant,’ said Sal, as they trotted along behind. ‘And now we’re in Yorkshire. Remind me where that is exactly, Wills.’

  ‘Quite a long way in the right direction,’ said Wills, not paying full attention.

  A door at the back of the hotel was open and inside it he could see men and women in white jackets and hats. The word catering came back into his head. Catering happened in kitchens. He heard the unmistakable sound of knives being sharpened. Catering plus knives, plus butchers, plus sheep could mean only one thing.

  ‘Chops!’ he cried.

  The other Rare Breeds stopped dead. Chops was the only word they feared more than Dog.

  A man in a white jacket and tall hat came out of the kitchen, knife in hand.

  ‘Run!’ yelled Oxo.

  He charged across the hotel flowerbeds towards the nearest neatly trimmed hedge and ploughed straight through it, leaving a ram-shaped hole for the others.

  ‘Hey, where d’you think you’re going?’ yelled the chef.

  He ran a few steps after them then stopped. He was far too important to go chasing animals.

  ‘Roast lamb’s off,’ he called to one of his assistants. ‘We’re doing nut cutlets instead.’

  The Warriors kept running until they were well away from the hotel and then slowed to a walk.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Wills, ‘I should have remembered what catering was a bit sooner.’

  ‘Relax, man,’ said Links. ‘We’s not chops, innit. We’s still fresh on the hoof . . .’

  ‘Ohmygrass, stop talking about it,’ bleated Jaycey as she hurried on.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Oxo with a grin. ‘Chop chop.’

  The path they found themselves on led down into a valley, and along the bottom of the valley ran two metal lines. Wills stopped for a moment.

  ‘That’s a railway,’ he pointed out. ‘Maybe we could get a train from here.’

  But before he could explain about railways and trains, he heard a rattling noise behind him and a shout which became a frightened wail. They all turned and saw a boy on a mountain bike careering down the path towards them. For a moment, they thought it was Tod, but it wasn’t.

  ‘No brakes!’ cried the boy, half in warning, half in terror.

  The sheep scattered as the bike sped on down and hit the railway fence, catapulting its rider on to the track beyond. He landed heavily and lay still.

  The Warriors raced down after him.

  ‘Ohmygrass . . .’ Jaycey stared through the wire at the crumpled human. ‘Ohmygrass . . .’

  Oxo finished the job that the bike had started on the fence, muscling his way between the broken, rusty strands. The other sheep joined him. They each gave the motionless boy a comforting lick but he didn’t stir.

  Then Wills’ sensitive hooves began to tingle ever so slightly. The metal rail on which he was standing had started to vibrate. He tried to stay calm.

  ‘Uh, guys, I think we should try to move him. There’s a train coming.’

  ‘Ohmygrass, ohmygrass.’ squealed Jaycey. ‘Train train train!’

  She didn’t really know what a train was but there was no doubting the urgency in Wills’ voice. They all tried hard to roll the boy to safety. But no matter how they struggled, pushing their noses underneath him and lifting on the count of three, they couldn’t get him over the raised metal line.

  The Warriors could all feel the vibration now. Wills looked desperately around. On the other side of the track was a small, sloping meadow. And halfway up the steep slope was a wagon piled with hay bales.

  ‘Jaycey, keep licking him,’ said Wills. ‘Everyone else, come with me!’

  There was only a straggly hedge on the other side of the track. They pushed through easily and galloped up to the wagon. Wills stood behind it and lowered his head. ‘Butt!’ he cried. ‘Butt like the Ram of Rams himself!’

  The four Warriors lowered their heads and charged the wagon, crashing into it head on. They tried again and again. Finally, as a distant noise became a clearly approaching train, the wheels of the wagon began to turn.

  ‘Keep pushing!’ gasped Wills.

  The wagon creaked and moved a little. It moved a little more, then gathered pace until the sheep could no longer keep up with it. Then it trundled down the slope like a runawa
y juggernaut. They watched, breathless, as it smashed into the straggly hedge and its load of hay bales tumbled across the railway line, bursting as they bounced.

  The train driver would never have seen the small boy. But he couldn’t fail to see the mountain of hay. He applied the brakes full on. The train screeched and crackled, then came to a halt inside the soft, yellow mountain.

  On the hillside above, the four Warriors let out a bleating cheer. Jaycey came bounding up to join them.

  ‘The boy’s awake,’ she called. ‘He smiled at me.’

  It was a moment for high hooves all round.

  In the security control room of the Eatwell Hotel, the man on duty was staring goggle-eyed at his CCTV screen. One of the hotel’s cameras faced the railway. The man stumbled from the room and grabbed the first person he met.

  ‘Those sheep we’re not having for dinner. They just stopped a train. On purpose!’

  10

  Luke’s Big Decision

  There was rather good grazing on the sloping meadow and the sheep took the opportunity to have a quick snack.

  While they munched, they watched dozens of humans get out of the stationary train and dozens more run down the path from the hotel. The emergency services arrived soon afterwards, even though, thanks to the Rare Breed Warriors, the emergency was over. The boy was on his feet now, surrounded by the excited humans, some of whom looked up at the meadow, saw the sheep and started climbing through the fence towards them.

  Wills wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not. The word catering came back into his head. Then Chops.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he suggested.

  ‘Right on, dear,’ agreed Sal. ‘Let’s get questing. Uh, which way is the North again?’

  ‘Away from the humans,’ said Wills. But it was a guess.

  The sheep disappeared rapidly over the hilltop, completely unaware that they were suddenly big news.

  Almost the entire nation saw them on television that very night. There was the CCTV footage from the hotel. There were interviews with the rescued boy and the train driver. There was a panel of animal experts who earnestly agreed that a Quantum Leap in Ovine Evolution had taken place.

  Organic TV’s Nisha Patel, who’d been flown north especially to cover the story, frowned at the long words.