The Quest of the Warrior Sheep

by Christopher Russell

  ‘You mean they’re sheep like sheep have never been before?’

  The experts nodded.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Super strong.’

  ‘Super intelligent.’

  ‘Bionic, thinking, super sheep.’

  In his sitting room at Hogweed Farm, Tony Catchpole couldn’t help shouting at his television set.

  ‘You’re not asking why!’ he yelled at the experts. ‘You’re not asking how!’

  Because Tony knew very well. He recognised the sheep and to him it was obvious: they’d been modified by the aliens who’d abducted them.

  Nisha Patel’s face reappeared on the screen and Tony tried not to blush. He wondered if she still had his daffodil. He tried to concentrate. He desperately wanted to find those alienified sheep. Almost as much as he wanted to see Nisha again. He glanced at his watch and then rushed to catch the train.

  Tod and Ida were also watching the news. It was like being in a cinema, Lady Babcott’s TV set was so big. Her whole house was huge. She had given them lunch, then supper, and then arranged to have Gran’s trike fixed for the next day. It seemed sensible to accept her kind offer and stay the night.

  Lady Babcott was watching television with them. She noticed Tod grasp his grandmother’s hand when they saw the CCTV pictures of the sheep.

  ‘Are those yours?’ she asked in astonishment.

  Tod and Ida both nodded. Then Tod recovered and grinned.

  ‘See, Gran,’ he said. ‘They haven’t been abducted by aliens after all.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it,’ said Gran, peering through her specs. ‘But what’s that thing hanging round Jaycey’s neck?’

  Tod peered too and shrugged. ‘No idea,’ he said. ‘And how have they got all the way to Yorkshire?’

  It was Gran’s turn to shrug. ‘Maybe the aliens dropped them off there when they’d finished with them?’

  Tod gave her a little nudge. ‘You’re getting as bad as Tony Catchpole, Gran.’ Then his face became more serious. ‘I think we should tell the police,’ he said. ‘They’ll help us get them back.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Lady Babcott. She waved her hand and her butler carried the phone across to her.

  ‘Here you are, my dear,’ she said, offering it to Gran. Then she suddenly stopped and took it back again. ‘Wait! I’ve got a better idea. The police will be so terribly busy with the bank fraud, they might not have time for your sheep. Why don’t we get them back?’

  ‘How?’ asked Tod.

  Lady Babcott smiled. ‘I’ll cancel all my meetings tomorrow and take you up to Yorkshire myself.’

  Just about the only people who didn’t see the news were Neil and Luke. All they knew was that the signal from the missing phone had been tracked to Yorkshire. So they were hammering up the motorway in the yellow sports car.

  Luke was dozing when Neil’s phone rang. Clearly, from Neil’s response, the call was from the Very Nasty Boss. Even nastier than before. When the call had finished, Neil poked Luke in the ribs.

  ‘Those woolbags,’ he said. ‘Apparently, they’re not just sheep. They’re bionic, thinking super sheep.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Luke. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already.

  The moon had risen before the Bionic Thinking Super Sheep finally stopped to rest. They settled down beside a dry stone wall and chewed the cud for a bit. One by one their heads began to droop.

  ‘We should take turns at keeping watch,’ said Wills suddenly. ‘To keep Jaycey and the Baaton safe.’

  ‘Good call, man,’ said Links, raising his head again. ‘I’ll go first.’ And he shifted himself next to Jaycey.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, all of a flutter. ‘Oh, I can’t imagine why you want to sit close to me, Links – I’m such a mess, what with the travelling and rushing about. My fleece is in knots.’

  Links made no comment. Either he was breathless with admiration or had gone to sleep again. A deep snore told Jaycey which.

  Neil finally stopped driving when he and Luke arrived near the Eatwell Hotel. He couldn’t stay awake any longer, and even he didn’t claim to be able to drive when asleep. He parked in a lay-by and was still snoring at dawn. He didn’t notice Luke slip quietly out of the car and plod off through the rain.

  Luke had made a decision. He was going to give himself up. He didn’t care if he went to prison. He didn’t care what Neil said. He didn’t even care about the Very Nasty Boss. He felt guilty and ashamed about the bank fraud, about the people whose money had been stolen; and most of all about the old lady who’d lost her sheep as well as her Life Savings.

  There was a small police station in the local village. Luke braced himself, held his head high and strode right up to it.

  11

  The Sheepdog

  Unfortunately, the police station was closed.

  Luke sat on a bench in the now pouring rain and waited, but nobody came. The forces of law and order seemed to be having a lie in. Gradually, Luke began to change his mind. Perhaps giving himself up was a bad idea. If he could get his hands on the phone, he might be able to trace where Neil had diverted all the money. Probably, it had gone to an account owned by the Very Nasty Boss. Luke might be able to divert it back again. To its rightful owners. To the poor old sheep lady.

  He returned to the car and slid back into his seat. He was soaking wet and the windows soon steamed up. A group of early-morning school children giggled as they passed, then banged on the roof.

  ‘Give us a kiss!’ they yelled, and ran off.

  Neil woke with a start.

  ‘What was that?’ he snapped.

  Luke shrugged. ‘Just kids.’

  Neil frowned at Luke’s sodden parka.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘Well, go back again and find us some breakfast.’

  Tod and Gran had already finished their breakfast, and very nice it was too. No cold peas but Ida could live without those for a day or two.

  ‘Right, off we go,’ said Lady Babcott, striding out of the dining room and heading up the grand staircase.

  ‘Why are we going this way?’ whispered Gran. ‘She left the car in the garage.’

  She found out when they stepped on to the flat roof of the house. In front of them was a helipad with a bright-blue helicopter sitting on it.

  ‘Wicked!’ Tod breathed.

  ‘Ever been in one before?’ asked Lady Babcott.

  Tod and Gran shook their heads. Soon they were side by side in the back seat, with headsets on, and Lady Babcott was in the front, turning switches, ready for take-off.

  ‘All belted up?’ she asked into her radio mike.

  ‘Roger, Roger,’ Gran shouted excitedly into hers.

  Lady Babcott winced. ‘You don’t have to shout into the mikes, dears,’ she said. ‘Just speak normally.’

  ‘It’s brilliant!’ replied Tod, but it was impossible to sound normal.

  Gran grabbed his hand tightly as the helicopter rose into the air. ‘Wheeeee . . .!’ she cried.

  Lady Babcott expertly banked the helicopter and the helipad seemed to twist and shrink beneath them.

  ‘Wheeeee . . .! Tod replied, squeezing Gran’s hand. ‘This is even better than Eppingham Fair!’

  ‘And we’ll be able to see for miles,’ said Gran, gazing eagerly ahead.

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Lady Babcott. ‘We’ll find those sheep in no time.’

  Far away in Yorkshire, the Warriors had woken early and were munching the moorland grass. It was short but tasty and, unlike Luke, they didn’t mind the rain. Wills was anxious though, in case the humans from the train and hotel were still looking for them. He was relieved when the clouds parted and a trace of silvery light told him what he needed to know.

  ‘That’s the sun rising in the East,’ he called as he trotted away. ‘So it’s this way to the North.’

  The others were soon scampering after him, but as the morning passed, the sun disappeared behind thi
ck cloud again. The weather became colder and even wetter and eventually the sheep’s spirits began to droop in the damp.

  ‘Hey, Links. How about a rap?’ asked Wills.

  ‘It’s comin’, man . . .’ murmured Links, already nodding his head. Then he shook his soggy curls and began to sing.

  ‘The Eppingham Posse is up on the moors,

  Cos we ain’t ruled by no human laws.

  We’s goin’ to the North

  An’ he can laugh or what,

  Cos when we meet that Lambad,

  We’s gonna butt him in the butt . . .’

  The others joined in and it was their singing that Saffron first heard. Saffron was a sheepdog. She pricked up her ears and began to bark.

  ‘Stop that,’ snapped Jason Pitt, her owner. ‘And don’t go charging off or we’ll miss the train.’ He stalked bad-temperedly towards the station.

  Jason was not a sentimental man. He had a lot of sheep and needed a good sheepdog. Saffron was not a good sheepdog. She was pretty, that was true. And she had a nice nature. But she was stubborn, and if she didn’t feel like rounding up sheep, she would just lie down and refuse to budge. Jason was on his way to sell her.

  The Warriors all heard the bark, somewhere below them. They stopped in mid-rap and huddled together.

  ‘Ohymgrass . . . Dogdogdog . . .’ bleated Jaycey.

  ‘Sshhh . . .’ said the others.

  Wills led the way quickly uphill where the misty rain and cloud merged into an all-concealing fog. They were on the very top of the moors now and soon the fog became thicker still. The Warriors plodded on uncomfortably through shifting white walls of it. They could no longer hear the dog but Wills began to worry that they were going round in circles. There were no landmarks, not even walls or hedges. Just themselves, wandering in a chill, opaque wilderness.

  Wills slowed to a halt. The others also stopped.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Oxo. Then he saw it too.

  Sitting silently on the ground in front of them, its large ears laid back, its huge eyes unblinking and its even huger teeth bared, was the biggest sheep they had ever seen.

  12

  Lama Glama

  ‘Is it the Lambad dude?’ whispered Links.

  ‘Just bring it on, if it is . . .’ muttered Oxo, pawing the ground.

  Somehow, Wills hadn’t imagined Lambad chewing the cud. Or humming to himself. The biggest sheep they had ever seen continued to do both while it stared at them. Finally, it swallowed and spoke.

  ‘Ovis Aries, I presume.’

  ‘Don’t get funny with me, mate,’ said Oxo.

  ‘We are of that species, yes,’ said Sal quickly. ‘Rare Breeds,’ she added.

  ‘Warriors, innit,’ said Links.

  The creature nodded, then stretched out its neck towards them for a better look. The Warriors gasped and stumbled backwards in shock. What kind of sheep had a neck as long as that?

  ‘Lama Glama,’ it said.

  ‘Pardon?’ said the Warriors.

  ‘My species. Lama Glama. Llama for short. Unlike my neck.’

  ‘You’re a llama?’ said Wills.

  ‘I’ll ask the questions,’ the llama replied. ‘It’s what I do up here when not dreaming of my Andes.’

  ‘Is she your girlfriend?’ asked Jaycey.

  ‘That’s a question,’ the llama said. ‘Your only concern is answers. Tell me: My first is in path but not in way. My second is in eggs but not in hay. My third is in rain and also in right. And my fourth is in up but not in down. What am I?’

  ‘That last line doesn’t rhyme, man,’ said Links. ‘You need something that goes with right, innit?’

  ‘Sshh.’ Wills was thinking hard. ‘Uh . . . P . . . The letter P is in path but not in way. E. The letter E is in eggs but not in hay. R. That’s in rain and also in right. And, er . . .U. The letter U for up. P . . . E . . . R . . . U . . . Peru !’

  Lama Glama nodded.

  ‘It’s a country,’ whispered Wills to the others. ‘Where llamas come from.’

  ‘Here’s another,’ said Lama Glama. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose is the finest fleece of all?’

  ‘Ooh. Easy peasy,’ said Jaycey, tossing her head. ‘A Jacob’s, of course.’

  ‘A Jacob’s is the wrong answer,’ said Lama Glama and he spat, but only at the ground, and only from his first stomach.

  ‘It is so not the wrong answer,’ protested Jaycey.

  Wills gave her a nudge. ‘Shut up,’ he murmured. This was not the moment for hurt pride. ‘A llama’s?’ he ventured.

  Lama Glama nodded. His long neck waved around a little, as if he were scanning the fog-shrouded hilltop.

  ‘If two men are creeping up the slope towards you,’ he asked, ‘how many ways are there for you to escape?’

  The sheep pondered for only a second then wheeled around in alarm. They could see nothing through the fog but now they could hear approaching footsteps, squeaking across the wet grass.

  ‘The answer,’ said Lama Glama, getting to his feet, ‘is only one. Follow me.’

  And he trotted away into the murk. The Warriors looked at each other, then followed.

  Lama Glama led them on to a narrow downward track, steep and slippery and barely two hooves wide. Down and down they went in single file, struggling to keep up with his long, sure-footed stride. They could hear the men clearly now, tripping and slipping and cursing somewhere behind them.

  The ground began to level out and suddenly they could see a building through the mist.

  ‘Railway station,’ announced Lama Glama. Then: ‘The answer is twelve. What is the question?’

  ‘How many legs on four sheep?’ asked Jaycey, glancing around nervously.

  Lama Glama shook his head.

  Wills could hear a train coming. ‘Departure time?’

  Lama Glama nodded. ‘Good question.’

  The train rattled noisily towards the station, but as it arrived a dog began barking excitedly. Saffron had picked up the sheep’s scent again. The Warriors could see her now. The dog and her man were running along a lane towards the station entrance. And looking back up the hill, the Warriors could also see the two men who’d tried to capture Jaycey in London. They were catching up fast.

  ‘Go, go!’ yelled Oxo and he charged on down the hill after Lama Glama. Sheep and Lama hurtled through the gateway on to the station platform and skidded to a halt. The Warriors closed protectively around Jaycey, then turned defiantly to face their pursuers.

  The two men from London reached the gateway at exactly the same time as the dog and his man. All four tried to bundle through together and got stuck in a tangled mess of arms and legs.

  ‘Out of my way, moron!’ panted Neil.

  ‘Out of my way, stupid!’ snapped Jason.

  Saffron barked even louder and squeezed her way through.

  On the platform, the sheep turned desperately back to the train. Its doors hissed open and, as one, they leapt on-board.

  ‘Guard’s van is in the middle carriage,’ Lama Glama informed them. ‘The snacks trolley always starts from the rear.’

  The dog was bounding along the platform now. Lama Glama didn’t move from his position in front of the open train door.

  ‘What do I wish you, Ovis Aries?’ he asked.

  ‘Uh, have a nice day?’ Jaycey was wrong again.

  ‘May the Luck of the Llamas be with you,’ Lama Glama replied. Then he added, ‘And I spit in the eye of your enemies.’

  ‘Cheers, mate, nice one,’ said Oxo, and the train doors hissed shut just as the dog and all three men raced up to it. The dog leapt at the doors, barking frantically and Neil pushed past the llama, trying to reach the ‘Door Open’ button.

  ‘Move!’ he yelled angrily.

  ‘Mwa . . .’ grunted Lama Glama in the dangerous way that llamas have, and he produced a huge gob of llama spit all the way up from his third stomach. It hit Neil full on the chest like a very messy paintball. Neil staggered backwards, blundering into
Luke and Jason and knocking them off their feet.

  The train drew very slowly away from the platform. The panting, shaky Warriors stared out of the window, silently begging the driver to pick up speed.

  Just two carriages down, another face stared out. Tony Catchpole had intended to get out here. This was his stop. Eatwell. Where the sheep had rescued the boy. But he wasn’t getting out now. The sheep were on the train with him. He stood rooted. He hadn’t imagined their leaping on-board any more than he was imagining the llama drama being played out on the platform. While Saffron hurled herself again and again at the departing train and Luke and Jason struggled to their feet, a disgusted Neil was examining his spit-spattered designer jacket.

  ‘The answer,’ said Lama Glama before trotting away, ‘is grass, corn silage and a discarded satsuma.’

  The three humans left on the platform glared at each other.

  ‘You’ve made me miss my train,’ said Jason crossly. He whistled for Saffron. ‘Heel, girl. Heel!’

  The disappointed dog ignored his command and continued to run up and down the platform, barking excitedly. Neil stood for a moment, staring at her, and Luke realised, with a sinking heart, that he was having another of his ‘brilliant ideas’.

  ‘The dog,’ Neil asked sharply. ‘Is it any good?’

  Jason hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Very good. Why?’

  ‘How much d’you want for it?’ Neil was taking his wallet from his back pocket.

  Jason did some quick calculations. The pet shop in Loch Glooming would give him around fifty pounds if he was lucky.

  ‘Four hundred pounds,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Two hundred,’ retorted Neil.

  ‘Three hundred,’ said Jason.

  ‘Done!’ Neil slapped the last of his cash into Jason’s hand.

  Jason felt a twinge of guilt. But only a very small one. He hadn’t exactly told this town guy a lie. Saffron was a good dog. She just wasn’t a good sheepdog. Besides, Jason’s TV was broken. Three hundred pounds would buy him a nice new one.

  Neil turned to Luke. ‘Well don’t just stand there,’ he ordered. ‘Go get our dog.’ He turned back to Jason. ‘Where’s that train going?’ he demanded rudely.