The Quest of the Warrior Sheep (6 page)

Huddled in a trembling mass, the Warriors stared out, faces pressed to the curved glass, watching the ground moving slowly further away and the clouds getting slowly closer. Below, they could see the people in black sweatshirts. They'd picked themselves off the floor now and were standing in a group, staring up.

Wills' heart stopped pounding quite so hard and he stepped back a little from the glass. Above his head he saw a notice:

WELCOME TO THE LONDON EYE.

So this is it, he thought. Nothing to be scared of, after all.

Then he realised that he could hear too many sets of panting, heaving lungs. He counted one, two, three, four, five . . . six . . . seven! He turned slowly. Trapped in the glass bubble, the Warriors were not alone.

‘Right,' said one of the men. ‘
Now
get the phone.'

T
he startled Warriors reared round. The two humans who had chased them were standing there, inside the rising glass bubble. The one in the hoodie was grinning unpleasantly.

‘No escape this time, woolbags,' he said.

The scruffy one with the ripped parka didn't look so happy.

‘The phone, Luke, get the phone,' repeated the unpleasant one, jabbing him impatiently.

‘It is
so
not a phone,' bleated Jaycey, tossing her head so that the plastic bag swung from side to side. ‘It's the Baaton. The Baaa-ton . . .'

‘The Baaa-ton,' intoned Sal. ‘The Baaa-ton. The Baaa-ton . . .'

And the whole flock took up the chant, even Wills.

‘Baaa-ton . . . Baaa-ton . . . Baaa-ton.'

The noise bounced around the glass bubble as the sheep backed away, forming a solid wall of fleece around Jaycey and their precious sign from the Ram of Rams.

‘Baaaaa-ton! Baaaaa-ton!'

Luke glanced nervously at the clear curved sides of the pod. The weird rhythmic din from the sheep was getting louder and louder. Luke knew about sound waves – they could shatter glass. He really didn't fancy a long drop into the River Thames. Especially with the tide out.

‘Shush . . .' he heard himself saying. ‘Shush . . .'

‘Shush?' Neil bawled at him incredulously. ‘They can't shush, Luke. They're sheep!'

Frustration finally got the better of Neil's cowardice. He threw himself at the flock like a rugby player joining a scrum.

Jaycey bleated in terror and the other Warriors closed up even tighter, turning their heads inwards, forming a protective circle around her. Neil suddenly found himself face to face with four woolly rear ends. It was then that their stomachs went into overdrive. Fear and last night's cauliflower combined to lethal,
methane-gassy effect. Oxo was the first to pass wind. He couldn't help it.

Nor could any of the others. Neil suddenly staggered backwards, hit in the face by a noisy blast of wind from the woolly bottoms. Then came the smell, filling the pod, driving Neil inside his hoodie and Luke deep beneath his parka.

‘Don't strike a match,' gasped Luke.

Falling into the Thames would be bad enough; being blown halfway to Brighton was something else.

By the time they dared poke their noses out again, the pod was descending. Neil saw the crowd on the ground below, staring upwards. He saw the cluster of Eye staff in their black sweatshirts, talking on their radios. He saw two policemen arriving.

‘We're gonna get nicked,' he wailed. ‘For hijacking The Eye.'

He made a last angry lunge at the sheep. They were facing him again now, but they shuffled quickly together, still protecting the phone, teeth bared, unblinking, defiant. Almost human. No, thought, Neil, that's the methane turning your brain as soft as Luke's. He shook his head and drew back again.

‘Just don't lose them,' he said to Luke. ‘It'll be easy back in the open.'

‘You said it would be easy in here,' pointed out Luke.

‘Stick with the woolbags,' snapped Neil. ‘I'll do the talking.'

The landing platform was right outside now. The pod doors slid aside.

‘Out!' barked one of the Eye staff. ‘And bring your animals with you.'

‘They're nothing to do with us,' protested Neil.

But as he stalked out of the pod and down on to firm ground, the sheep, led by the little brown lamb, trotted at his heels like obedient pets.

‘They're not mine!' he insisted.

The staff crowded round Neil and as they argued, the sheep, still led by Wills, slipped quietly away.

They took a sharp left turn on to the pier next to The Eye, then increased their speed to a trot. The river boat at the end of the pier had cast its moorings and was about to move off. The sheep galloped the last few metres, then leapt one by one on to the stern of the departing vessel.

Their arrival on-board caused a bit of a stir, though most of the passengers seemed quite happy to budge up and make room for them. And there was no way the skipper was going to turn back now. He had a strict timetable.

The boat glided away from The Eye and the Warriors relaxed. Without a word, they raised and clacked high hooves. They had foiled the baggy coat and the hoodie. The Baaton was safe. For the time being.

‘Is this thing going to take us all the way to the North?' asked Sal hopefully.

Wills didn't think so. He had seen the boat from The Eye and realised it was their best chance of escape. He hadn't thought beyond that.

‘Sshh . . .' he whispered. ‘Listen.'

The skipper was talking into a microphone.

‘Welcome on board Thames River Boat
London Pride
,' he was saying, ‘heading downstream towards the Thames Barrier. Now if you look back to your left, you'll see the famous Houses of Parliament where . . .'

The Warriors settled down. They might as well enjoy the trip and get a bit of education too.

*

Meanwhile, Neil and Luke had finally persuaded the Eye staff and the police that the sheep really didn't belong to them. Neil made Luke pay for both their tickets, and half an hour later they were free to go. But the river boat had long since disappeared around the bend, taking the sheep and the phone with it.

The two men walked along beside the river in silence. Luke put his parka on and ripped the lining even further.

‘I've had a thought,' said Neil abruptly.

Luke hoped it would involve fleeing the country but it didn't.

‘Correct me if I'm wrong, supergeek, but a mobile gives out a signal all the time it's switched on, right?'

Luke nodded.

‘And it's possible to locate that signal?'

‘If you've got the right equipment.'

‘Well of course you'd need the right equipment. But
if
you had the right equipment, how close could you get? To knowing where the phone is?

Luke shrugged. ‘Depends on the distance between aerials. Out in the sticks, it could be miles . . .'

‘In a city, Luke! We're in a city!'

‘Oh, right. Yeah. Um, a few metres?'

‘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.'

T
hey 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,