“Fight! Fight!” yelled Beech, flushed with aggression. It was at least 12 hours since he’d seen any action, and he was greedy for more.
From his vantage point on the hill, Bevis surveyed the forest below, his keen eyes missing nothing, his ears noting the sweetness of a distant lark.
“Looks like rain,” came a gruff voice from behind him. It was Mordant, whose puffy, red face betrayed his lack of sleep from the night before. To his great annoyance, Bevis remained motionless and kept focusing on the view. He didn’t need to turn around. It was only too easy to recognise Mordant from his nauseating smell and rasping cough, both the result of cheap cigarettes that continually hung from his fingers.
“Think they’re hiding down there?” he persisted, and this time was rewarded with a reply.
“I don’t think,” remarked Bevis flatly. “I observe.”
“And just what have you observed?” asked Mordant, sarcastically. Seeing Bevis arrive at the stakeout was not the best moment of Mordant’s life. Not only did he resent the younger man’s reputation, but was rather afraid of him, though he’d never admit it. “We ARE meant to be working together!” he added.
But if Bevis was listening to his colleague, he didn’t react. Instead, he sniffed the air appreciatively. “Ahhhhh! Sausages!” he exclaimed and marched past Mordant towards the van where, amongst all the hi-tech monitoring equipment, Craven and Griswold were busy cooking breakfast on a gas ring. Skinner was standing guard outside, unable to be trusted near a saucepan full of food.
Mordant followed Bevis, more determined than ever to get an answer. “Right! What’s the plan?” he demanded. “Come on, you’re the Number One…. O-O-Uno! Tell us then, what’s your plan?”
“Well” said Bevis “the first thing I plan to do is eat my breakfast. And after that….”
“Yes!” demanded Mordant.
“I’m open to suggestions,” Bevis replied calmly. Mordant snorted with contempt.
“Ha! Just as I thought, Mr. Cool Super-agent with your leather jacket and designer shades! What you’re saying is, you haven’t got a clue, have you?” Mordant grinned at his subordinates and twitched his head towards Bevis. “Thinks he’s a professional, this guy!”
Bevis bit into a sausage. “Well, I’m always willing to learn from people with experience,” he remarked. “After all, it takes real courage to round up children – especially when they’re running away.”
“Why don’t we burn them out again?” Griswold piped up. “Nah!” said Craven “it’d take too long. We’d be best hiring a plane and dropping smoke bombs on them.”
“As long as we don’t have to run,” said Skinner distractedly. So far, he’d not paid much attention to the ‘plan’, as he was far too busy watching Bevis, hoping he wouldn’t eat too many sausages. The fact that Bevis had any sausages at all bore witness to the grudging respect the others had for him. Very few people managed to reach food before Skinner did. Even Mordant had to pull rank, though he rarely condescended to eat with the lackeys.
“Any other great ideas?” rasped Mordant between puffs of his cigarette. “Perhaps we should launch a few guided missiles while we’re at it!”
“Really, have you no respect for the environment?” Bevis asked, raising an eyebrow. “Come on”, snapped Mordant “We’re talking about four spotty adolescents and a handful of hippies. Just how hard can it be!”
“Ohhh, those two older ones are slippery customers,” said Craven, “I still haven’t worked out how they didn’t get toasted.”
“Besides,” Griswold added, “if they managed to escape from Babel, they must be pretty smart.”
“Too smart for you, perhaps” said Bevis with a smile. “As for me…..I have my own methods.”
Much to Skinner’s dismay, he picked up another two sausages, one for each hand. “What I suggest is this: You approach from this side of the forest and work towards the centre. I’ll come in from the other side to where I calculate they’ll be and, when you hear this…..” He let out such a piercing whistle, the other men winced. “…..come and find me. By that time, I’ll have it all wrapped up.”
“You sound very sure of that!” growled Mordant.
“I am,” replied Bevis. “After all, I’m Number One – O-O-Uno.” Pausing only to wipe his glasses, he set off on his mission, strolling as casually as a weekend rambler. Mordant glared after him, quietly seething. “You can’t just go like that!” he yelled. “Besides, I’M in charge of this operation, and don’t you forget it!”
“That’s telling him, Boss!” Griswold piped up. “Oh, shut up!” snapped Mordant, and continued glaring at the rapidly disappearing Bevis. Then he had an idea. A brilliant idea! “Ha!” he thought to himself, “we’ll see who’s the brains around here!” He clicked his fingers. “Right. Griswold get on to the Sheriff’s office! Craven, call in the hardware! Skinner……Skinner!” Poor Skinner had just finished frying another pan of sausages and was caught with one juicy, sizzling specimen poised tantalisingly near his mouth. “Put that down and get onto the Home Office. Tell them we need a warrant – and fast!”
Blissfully unaware of Mordant’s schemes, everyone at the treetop village was sleeping soundly, exhausted from the previous day’s activities. Buoyed up with the excitement of it all, they’d toiled late into the night, preparing a lively welcome for any intruders who ventured too close. Happily, they didn’t know just HOW close a certain man was drawing already.
Like a hawk whose gaze never wavers, Bevis had searched the skies for any sign of life and at last been rewarded by a faint wisp of smoke. After leaving his colleagues, he’d already found the tree people’s overnight camp where the ground still glowed from their fire. Now all he had to do was follow the traces of their journey. Everyone leaves traces, no matter how careful they are. The smallest twig could point the way; every footstep left an imprint as clear as a road-sign for an expert tracker like Bevis.
It didn’t take him long.
No one in the village heard the stealthy footsteps in the glade below. What they DID hear awakened them to a thudding sense of dread! Crash! Bang! Whirr! Wrumm! Grind! Screech! Wallop! The most awful gut-wrenching noise flung everyone back into consciousness with a howl!
“The bailiffs!” cried Gordon. “They’re chopping down our trees!”
“Fight! Fight!” yelled Beech, flushed with aggression. It was at least 12 hours since he’d seen any action, and he was greedy for more. So were many other villagers who came skimming down their trees with pikestaffs, cudgels and ropes at the ready. “We’re going to see some action!”
Horse, however, kept his cool. “Tactics!” he announced. “Strategy B!” In response, half the tree people ran towards the bailiffs, while the rest remained in hiding, crouching on branches high above the glade. Amongst those in the advance party was Gordon, whooping with a mixture of rage and glee. Like Beech, he loved nothing better than a good scrap and he’d missed out on the last one.
Despite his injuries, Roots would have gone too, but Laurel had other ideas. “Wait!” she said “we need to get the kids out of here!”
“They’ll be alright,” Roots assured her. “The bailiffs won’t get this far.”
“We can’t take that chance!” she cried, “and you’re the only one who knows the burrows. Please, Roots!” Roots sighed. He was torn between his beloved trees and the welfare of their guests. In the end, he knew he had no choice. “Okay,” he agreed. “Tell them to get ready.”
Minutes later, the Hadwins and Odi were up and dressed, if somewhat untidily, in record-breaking time, which was quite a feat considering none of them could open their eyes properly. “Is it morning?” croaked Miles, pathetically. Alice had gone into full teenage mode, jutting her chin moodily.
“Come on, folks!” cried Roots, “follow me!” With that, he dived down a large rabbit hole with Miles, Odi, Joe and Alice behind him. Laurel waited until last, encouraging the children as they crawled into the burrow – a makeshift tunnel carved through tree roots. “Don’t be afraid,” she kept saying. “Rabbits won’t hurt you.” Satisfied the youngsters were safely on their way, she called to her wode-painted colleagues who were staying to defend the village. “Send word when it’s safe again. We’re heading for the canal.” Then she too disappeared into the hole – in the nick of time!
Against all the odds, and more by accident than design, the Sheriff and a band of his bailiffs stumbled into the glade. The rest of his men with all their JCBs, mechanical ladders and cranes, had been ambushed by tree people who put up such a fight, the police were called, only to retreat behind their riot shields under a hail of organic missiles. Logs, stones, rotten apples, whatever came to hand were now being used to repel the invaders with some success. Alas, there were just too many of them, allowing the Sheriff of Fernilee to sneak past the battle lines unnoticed. So furious was the melee, in fact, no one noticed Mordant and his cohorts either. Wisely avoiding any confrontation themselves, these men in their long black macs simply waited for the Sheriff to blaze the trail ahead of them from the comfort of their sleek, black 4 x 4s.
Before long, however, the forest became impassable for vehicles, leaving Mordant with a difficult choice. “Oh dear!” he exclaimed. “What do we do now, Boss?” asked Craven. “You’ll just have to follow on foot, won’t you!” came the reply. “And what will YOU do, Boss?” said Griswold resentfully.
“Someone’s got to co-ordinate things!” snapped Mordant. “I could do that, Boss.” Skinner volunteered. He’d have liked nothing better than to sit in comfort eating the rest of the sausages.
“You must be joking!” Mordant spat the words out. “You couldn’t co-ordinate your grandmother’s twin-set!” This was the first time any of his men had ever challenged his authority, and he didn’t like it one bit. “Do you imagine I LIKE sitting here on my own while you lot go off enjoying yourselves? Bah!”
“Sorry Boss,” said Griswold.
“Oh, don’t mind me, you just get off and have a good time. Go on, leave me with all the responsibility, as per usual!” Mordant was actually getting quite huffy. And when Mordant got huffy it was time to get going. But someone always has to push their luck! Skinner made another attempt to grab a sausage.
“For crying out loud! Can’t you think of anything but your stomach!” cried Mordant. “Here’s your radio. I expect you to maintain contact at all times! Now go!”
On entering the village, neither the Sheriff’s party nor Mordant’s goons had any idea what lay in store. From the remains of the fire and the few crumbs strewn around they realised they’d chanced upon the enemies’ hideout, just in time for Skinner to notice Laurel’s foot vanishing into the earth. Showing what was for him unusual initiative, he leapt after her, his enormous bulk hovering horizontally in mid-air before descending head first after the foot. He pushed his way into the hole as far as his chest but, sadly for him, could go no further. He couldn’t go back either! “Help! Help!” he yelled with muffled cries. “Oh, for goodness sake!” sighed Griswold who went to pull him out. Griswold got hold of Skinner’s ankles and yanked with all his might. “Ouch!” hollered Skinner, “watch out!”
“You’re such an idiot, Skinner!” growled Griswold. “Well, no need to snap my head off!” came the reply. “Just pull a bit more gently next time.” By now, Craven had joined in and the two men began to heave, holding a leg apiece. To no avail; Skinner was well and truly wedged. “I’ll fetch one of the diggers,” Griswold suggested. “Over here!” he yelled and, in response, a yellow JCB came trundling towards them until, just yards away from the rabbit hole, its huge mechanical shovel plunged downwards into a deep trench, which had been cleverly disguised with branches. The rest of the machine tilted up at a perfect right angle from the ground, leaving the driver stranded.
There was a loud cheer from the trees above, quickly followed by a battery of squashy tomatoes and other unmentionables. The Sheriff’s men dived for cover, while Griswold and Craven left Skinner to struggle frantically as his bottom came under bombardment. It looked like another victory for the forces of nature.
Skinner, Griswold and Craven, however, were not the only agents. From out of the trees came reinforcements, at least 20 more burly men, all dressed identically in black, all armed and dangerous. The leader carried a huge electric saw as effortlessly as he would a feather-duster and he stood menacingly by a tree, chortling with a malicious sneer on his face.
“So, you want to play with the big boys, do ya!”” he goaded. “Hah! I’m going to cut you down to size!” and he positioned the blade against a tree-trunk.
Whoosh! Without warning, his feet were swept from under him and he found himself dangling upside down in mid-air, held fast with a noose around his ankle. Another cheer came from the treetops, and this time it was accompanied by a torrent of green slime. Barrel-loads of compost, generously laced with sewage, came teeming down upon the shoulders of the agents.
“Free rank – FIRE!” commanded Larch and, from every tree, balls of flour wrapped in cling-film were catapulted everywhere. Each ball also contained a hefty heap of pepper so as they burst on impact, the unfortunate targets would set off sneezing violently, eyes watering and unable to see. In this state, the enemy staggered about in circles and whenever they bumped into someone else, instinct took over and they’d lash out with their fists. Within minutes, most of them lay unconscious, having been bashed up by their own colleagues. The rest of the agents kept ranging wildly, until they were pitched into a trench, or hauled skywards by a trip wire round their feet.
Larch and his fellows were by now helpless with laughter. Even Wisteria, who had proved to be a lethal shot, was jubilant.
“Skinner! Skinner! Come in, Skinner! Where are you?” Mordant’s urgent tone could be heard crackling through the radio, which Skinner still kept in his trouser pocket. Larch swung down and grabbed the radio from the still wriggling torso.
“I’m so sorry,” said Larch in his poshest secretary’s voice, “but Mr. Skinner is indisposed just now. Can I take a message?”
At that moment, Gordon and his warriors rushed into the camp. “Quick!” he roared, “everybody scatter! There’s hundreds of them!”
Indeed, there were. From the edge of the forest, Gordon’s troops had held off the invasion for quite a while, putting up a remarkably brave show. But, to their dismay, no sooner had one wave of bailiffs and assorted agents been repelled, another would appear, then another, and another, until Gordon knew they would be overwhelmed for sure. Their only hope now was to escape by traveling separately through the treetops.
“Did the kids escape?” asked Gordon as he clambered up the nearest oak.
“Yes, thank mercy!” said Larch, climbing after him. “But I don’t reckon their chances much!”
“Looks like the entire Secret Service is out there, with the army and police combined!” exclaimed the normally laid-back Horse. He’d had plenty of skirmishes with authority in the past and always enjoyed them. But this was different. Like everyone else, he was totally unprepared for the brutal force of the adversary. “What on earth could they want with a handful of kids!”
“All I know is, if Elymas is behind it, he’ll stop at nothing.” said Gordon darkly. “As for us, looks like we’re well and truly beaten. All we can do now is cut our losses and run.” With that, he grabbed the nearest rope, took one sad look around the glade, and swung away from the only home he knew.