(Vegetables) Chapter Forty Seven: No Damsels in Distress Here

Barbra had gone, snuck out the back door with Snuffles while the others were distracted by the arrival of Mrs K.

Mrs K was all for calling the police, or at the very least throwing Morwen, Felindre and Rosa out, when a sleepy Megan appeared at the top of the stairs, squealed with joy and threw herself at Mrs K for a cuddle.

Long story short, with Megan to vouch for them, Mrs K went from suspicious little old lady to gracious host, plying them all with tea, freshly baked scones and hot chocolate, while they filled her in about Snuffles’ nefarious deeds.

“And what about you?” asked Morwen. “Barbra Allen told us you were safely trapped in an Old Folk’s Home in London.”

“She lied,” said Mrs K, buttering a scone. “It was Glasgow. But I was trapped – she’d fed them some line about me suffering from delusions of entrapment and constantly trying to escape. So I had to bide my time, lull them into a false sense of security. When they allowed me access to the kitchen to bake my favourite courgette, raisin and valerian cake, I knew I’d be able to escape. And here I am.”

She looked at the others.

“You didn’t really expect me to wait around to be rescued did you?”

Megan yawned loudly.

“Have you finished your hot chocolate?” asked Mrs K.

Megan nodded sleepily.

“Good. Off you go, back to bed now, and don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

Megan dutifully slid down from the chair, and, still yawning, made her way upstairs again. Mrs K watched her go with a soft and wistful expression on her face.

“I missed her so much,” she said, almost to herself. Then, louder, to the others: “Thank you for looking after her. Believe me, next time I see him I’ll be giving Horace and the rest of the Order a piece of my mind! How they didn’t figure out that something was wrong with me, I’ll never understand! And that Snuffles! What a piece of work, for a guinea pig.”

“And now she’s absconded with Barbra Allen,” said Rosa, shuddering. “Who knows what they’re planning.”

“Nothing good, I’m sure,” said Felindre grimly. “Still, there’s not much we can do about it at the moment.”

“I’ve got to ask,” said Morwen. “But the whole business with ‘The Art and Science of Fruit’s and Vegetable’s’. Why get it published in the first place?”

“Ah, that was a limited print run, being sold to raise money for the Order’s annual dinner dance. We’ve used recipes from the original copy on last year’s charity calendar, with no problems. Not many people have the natural talent to turn the recipes into spells.”

“But why was Snuffles so hell bent on tracking down all the copies?” asked Morwen.

Mrs K looked thoughtful.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe she didn’t want anyone stumbling across the antidote to Cabbage Surprise Number 4.”

“But there isn’t an antidote, is there?” asked Rosa.

“Of course there is,” said Mrs K. “What did you think the recipe for Carrot au Van was? Yes, carrots turn really nice and sweet when you cook them in foil on the engine block of a white van, but honestly, roasted in honey and oil, then pureed, is so much easier, and costs less in petrol.”

There was a popping sound, and a white rabbit jumped onto the table, nearly spilling the scones on the floor. Everyone jumped.

The white rabbit glared at them all, individually and as a group.

After a few moments, Rosa snapped.

“Ok, what?! What are you trying to tell us now?!”

With a profound air of disgust for the stupidity of the human species, the rabbit nudged the sugar bowl until it spilled on the table, and then scrawled “ArM A VeG ON” in the resulting spill.

“Looks like rabbits can’t spell for toffee either,” muttered Morwen, at the same time as Rosa said:

“Arm…A…Veg…On… Armavegon! Oh, I’d forgotten about that!”

“Yes, yes, alright,” said Mrs K, giving the rabbit her best disapproving look. “We’ll sort it out – in the morning.”

Her tone brooked no argument, and the white rabbit nodded its head in agreement and disappeared again.

They all said their goodnights, and made plans to meet up to sort out the antidote to Armavegon. Morwen, Felindre and Rosa were just getting back into their car when they heard a scream and a thud from upstairs. They rushed back to the front door, in time for Mrs K to open it in front of them.

“Could you girls do me a favour?” she asked, in a slightly shaky voice. “Can you take that thing out of my bedroom and get rid of it? Thanks ever so much.”

(Vegetables) Chapter Forty Six (again - oops) : Dealing with the Enemy

Morwen carefully peered out of the front window, looking at the door.

“Bloody hell!” she said. “It’s Barbra Allen!”

The doorbell rang again.

“Should we let her in?” asked Morwen.

Rosa looked nervous. Felindre had her hairstick in her hand, looking grim.

“Sissy, can you zap her or something? Make her go away?” asked Morwen.

“I’m sorry to have to admit this,” said Sissy, “but, um, out of zapping juice. Maybe in an hour or six, but not now.”

The doorbell rang for a third time, and was followed up by a loud knocking. So loud that the front door was rattling on its hinges.

“We’d better let her in, before she breaks down the door,” said Felindre.

She swapped the hairstick to her other hand, and grabbed the poker, then advanced on the door, poker at the ready. Morwen grabbed a large glass vase from the mantelpiece, and Rosa still held her cushion.

Felindre flung the door open, holding the poker point first at a level that would skewer anyone approaching too quickly rather painfully in the gut. Barbra Allen stood calmly on the step, and slowly put her hands up.

“I come in peace,” she said.

“What do you want?” demanded Felindre.

“At the moment, I’d like to come in,” said Barbra Allen. “The neighbours here are a bit nosy. And we wouldn’t want anyone calling the police about strange women threatening another with pokers, now would we?”

Felindre reluctantly lowered the poker, and she and the others stood aside, letting the Barbra in.

Barbra Allen sat down in one of the comfy chairs in the lounge, and picked up the knitting sitting in a bag beside it. She got through half a row before Rosa finally burst out:

“What are you doing here? And how did you find us? And what do you want? We’re not baking anything for you!”

“I found you, because I’ve been here before,” said Barbra, “And I’m here because I want to make a deal.”

“What sort of deal?” asked Morwen.

“A deal that you can facilitate for me,” said Barbra. “A deal that needs you to sweet talk your boyfriend and the Agency.”

“What sort of deal?” repeated Morwen.

“I want my dragons back,” said Barbra.

“And in return?” asked Felindre, still with the poker in her hand.

“I’ll forget that you kicked one of my dragons,” said Barbra calmly, giving Felindre a look. “And I’ll bring the real Mrs K to you. I hope you’ve put the shell somewhere sensible and out of sight. You really wouldn’t want anyone calling social services about a little old lady being neglected.”

“Where is she?” asked Morwen.

“In an old folks home in London. Perfectly safe, I assure you. But you won’t be able to find her without my help.”

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“Who do you think built the shell? I designed and built it for Snuffles. And took Mrs K to somewhere safe where she couldn’t cause any trouble. Snuffles was all for having her killed.”

Barbra paused to give Snuffles, still in the chicken carrier, a disdainful glare.

“But that would have been wasteful,” she continued.

Her knitting needles clicked at a speed more reminiscent of typewriter keys.

“How can we trust you?” asked Rosa. “The last time I saw you, you tied me up to an office chair and yelled at me.”

“Yes, my apologies,” said Barbra. “I thought you could make something for me, but I was wrong. Poor management technique.”

“And the Agency have been looking for you for years, Richard said,” said Morwen.

A spasm of genuine anger passed across Barbra’s face, and her knuckles tightened on the knitting needles.

“Oh yes, I know all about the Agency,” she spat. “They’ve been hunting me for years. Hunting me, because I had the misfortune to be made by an evil genius, who tried to take over the world, and failed. Hunted, because I left my maker before it all kicked off. Hunted for years, despite only wanting to have a quiet, peaceful life with my creatures! And now they’ve taken my dragons away from me and I want them back!!”

Like a switch, the anger was gone from her face, and she started knitting again. When she spoke again, she sounded tired and defeated.

“I just want to live my life in peace and quiet, with my dragons.”

“We need to talk about this,” said Morwen.

“Take all the time you need,” said Barbra, graciously.

The three friends decamped to the kitchen¹⁴⁰ and had a full and frank exchange of views. Felindre didn’t trust her. Rosa was petrified of her, but also felt a bit sorry for her. Morwen was damn sure that the Agency wouldn’t negotiate, despite what Barbra might think about Morwen’s relationship with Richard.

“But we need to find the real Mrs K,” pointed out Sissy. “Before her son gets home. And I don’t want to be stuck babysitting a ten year old for days either.”

Morwen stifled a yawn.

“Y’know, it’s too late for this,” she said, and stomped back into the lounge.

“What, exactly, do you want me to do,” she asked Barbra.

“I just want you to call Richard, and get him on the phone to me. That’s all.”

“Ok,” said Morwen. “But tomorrow morning. It’s too late, I can’t think straight, and I’m going to bed.”

At that moment, there was another knock on the front door. Rosa peered out the window.

“Mor,” she said. “Are we sure there’s only one Mrs K suit, right?”

Morwen looked at Barbra, who knitted on inscrutably.

There was a knock on the door again.

“Only it’s Mrs K on the doorstep,” continued Rosa.

Morwen picked up the vase again, and went to answer the door. Felindre hefted the poker and followed her, but not before firing this parting shot at Barbra.

“Looks like your bargaining position isn’t as good as you’d hoped.”

Morwen opened the door carefully.

Mrs K looked at her sternly and said:

“Who are you, what are you doing in my house, and what are you intending to do with my good crystal vase?”

___

¹⁴⁰ Morwen nipped back into the lounge to grab Snuffles in the chicken carrier, just in case Barbra decided to stage a jailbreak. Barbra hadn’t moved, though she had completed at least three more centimetres of the knitting.

(Vegetables) Chapter Forty Four: A Really Shoddy Disguise

Outside, in the yard, things looked very calm. Mrs K stood next to several large barrels, supervising as rabbits armed with a variety of examples of the water gun art came forward to reload their armaments¹³³. After reloading, the rabbits then went to stack up their weapons in an orderly fashion along one wall, before assembling in parade order in the open space of the yard.

The pigeons were performing similar manoeuvres, but instead were perching along the guttering of the neighbouring buildings.

Around the edges of the yard were wooden boxes and pallets, obviously stacked as out of the way as was possible.

As our heroes watched, the last few rabbits and pigeons finished their re-arming procedure and fell in.

“Where is our cavalry?” whispered Morwen.

“No idea,” whispered Sissy. “They should have been here by now.”

“Something must be wrong,” said Morwen. “I hope Richard’s alright.”

“I’m sure he can look after himself,” Sissy retorted.

“It looks like it’s up to us to stop Mrs K,” said Rosa.

She looked behind her and gave a quiet whoop of joy.

“My shoes!”

The others shushed her as she went to grab them, putting the bunnies down.

“I can’t see anyone else besides Mrs K,” whispered Felindre. “If we’re going to nobble her, now’s the time.”

“Are you really suggesting physically assaulting an old lady?” queried Morwen.

“Abso-flipping-lutely,” replied Felindre. “Any objections?”

“No,” said Morwen. “Just checking.”

Mrs K was in the middle of a rousing speech to her troops when the kitchen door opened, and the three women and two rabbits came charging out, all yelling their heads off¹³⁴. The humans jumped on Mrs K and knocked her over, piling on top of her and holding onto her until Felindre could grab her arm in that particularly painful restraint Felindre knew.

The rabbits and pigeons looked confused, and got even more so when Pinky and Purple raced up to them and started yelling at them all¹³⁵.

Mrs K looked at Rosa and Morwen, and winced dramatically as Felindre tightened her hold.

“There’s no call for this, dearies,” she said in a particularly old and quavery voice. “I’m an old lady, you know.”

“And an evil genius,” retorted Felindre.

“True, true,” agreed Mrs K with a sigh. “But I’m still old and fragile. It’ll take me a long time to heal if you break anything. And people my age have died from broken bones, you know.”

“Ha!” was Felindre’s response.

Rosa on the other hand was looking worried.

“She is an old lady…” she pointed out.

“Who fed us to a giant carnivorous plant, and has plans for world domination,” replied Morwen. “Don’t be soft, Rosa.”

Mrs K’s face, previously a picture of harmless, fragile, old dear, twisted into an expression of anger.

“So much for the weak and feeble ploy,” she snarled, and wrenched her arm out of Felindre’s grasp, dislocating it.

“Attack them!” she yelled at the rabbits and pigeons.

There was absolute chaos. The pigeons started mobbing the humans, at least half the rabbits ran away, while the remainder started fighting amoung themselves. Rosa, Felindre and Morwen dove for cover behind the barrels of CS4, while Mrs K looked on.

“Pathetic,” she sneered, as she popped her dislocated shoulder back into place with a metallic clunk and picked her cane up from where it had fallen. “If you want a job done well, you have to do it yourself. Say your prayers, dearies!”

She started towards the barrels, swinging her cane in a menacing, yet jaunty fashion. Casually, she picked one full barrel up with one hand, and put it to one side.

“I think we can safely say she’s not entirely human,” commented Sissy.

“Yes, but what can we do about it?” yelled Morwen, frantically batting pigeons away.

Sissy was saved from replying by high pitched whining sound, coupled with a rapid propeller chopping noise. Over the roof of the building flew a strange airplane¹³⁶, piloted by Snowball the chicken, complete with a pair of aviator’s goggles. At the back, in a pair of gunner’s turrets were Bourboun and Coconut Cream, bringing to bear a set of machine guns. They opened fire on the pigeons, who scattered at this new threat.

“Ow!” said Morwen, as one of the chickens’ bullets hit her forehead and bounced onto the ground. It was an un-popped and slightly charred popcorn kernel.

The pigeons quickly discovered that the chickens’ ammunition was in fact edible. All thoughts of fight or flight fled as they scrabbled around picking up popcorn kernels and chicken food pellets.

Mrs K was caught completely by surprise, gawping up at this new intruder. A set of bomb doors opened in the belly of the plane, and two large eggs dropped out, to land with pinpoint accuracy right in her eyes.

Shocked, she stepped backwards, dropping her cane, and knocking over the full barrel of CS4. The lid came off, and the contents spilled onto the ground, spreading out over the tarmac and down the drain.

“Uh-oh,” said Rosa. “That’s not good.”

In the shadows at the corner of the yard, a white rabbit put its head in its paws in despair, before disappearing with a quiet pop.

Mrs K wiped the egg off her face, and looked at the spill, then back at Morwen and Rosa.

“You’ll pay for this!” she snarled.

Felindre, who had taken advantage of Mrs K’s confusion to sneak around behind her, hit her over the head with one of the full CS4 guns. It broke, showering Mrs K with the CS4. Other than that, it did absolutely nothing.

“Definitely not human,” muttered Sissy. “Well, you never know until you try.”

There was a flash and a smell of ozone, and Mrs K froze with one arm raised up to lay the smackdown on Felindre.

Slowly, still frozen, Mrs K toppled over to fall on the ground, face first.

“Is she dead?” asked Rosa.

Felindre bent to feel for a pulse.

“I’m not entirely sure she was ever alive,” she replied.

The chicken plane landed, scattering pigeons, and the chickens disembarked, and started bossing the pigeons around, chasing several away from the spilled food. The rabbits were still arguing amounst themselves.

Rosa and Morwen stepped closer to Mrs K, and looked down at her.

Mrs K’s head twitched several times, causing Rosa to jump out of her skin, and a hatch in the back of it opened, releasing a small cloud of smoke, and a coughing guinea pig, wearing a set of fluffy white rabbit ears on a headband. It looked at Felindre. She looked at it. It wheeped at her, and then made a break for it.

Guinea pigs, even ones pretending to be rabbits, have very short legs. Felindre caught it by the scruff of the neck before it had even got out of the hatch. She held it up and looked at it.

The squabbling rabbits immediately stopped squabbling and turned to stare at Felindre, noses twitching.

“Um, Fel,” said Rosa. “Be very careful here…”

There was a palpable air of menace emanating from the rabbit herd. Even Pinky and Purple were looking angry.

“What?” Felindre asked them. “It’s not a rabbit, it’s a guinea pig.”

And with one quick movement, she removed the fluffy rabbit ears from the guinea pig.

The change in the rabbit herd was instant. As one, they all turned their bottoms to Felindre and the guinea pig, turning to look over their shoulders to make sure the insult was properly understood. A few looked slightly embarrassed, but the rest just looked annoyed.

The guinea pig in Felindre’s hand stopped squeaking and wriggling and just hung there defeated.

Their point made, most of the rabbits slunk¹³⁷ off into the shadows. A smaller group (including Pinky and Purple) started twitching whiskers at each other, in deep conversation for a moment.

Conversation over, Pinky and Purple came to the front and stood in front of Felindre and the guinea pig. Sitting up on their haunches, they rubbed their front paws together, and made chewing faces.

“Ooh, charades!” said Rosa. “I love charades. Two words. First word…wash…rub…paws…”

The two rabbits stopped and glared at her.

“Where is Richard, anyway?” asked Rosa, quailing under their unblinking stare. “Isn’t this the sort of thing the Agency were set up to deal with?”

“Not charades,” said Morwen. “I think they’re wanting to be paid.”

Pinky and Purple nodded their heads emphatically.

“I don’t know if we can do that,” Morwen continued. “Your arrangement was with Mrs K, after all.”

The remaining rabbit herd looked angry again¹³⁸.

“But we can certainly negotiate,” backtracked Morwen hurriedly. “How much are we talking, here? And of what?”

Pinky drew a triangle shape in the gravel with one paw, then added lines at the short end.

“Are we doing Pictionary now?” asked Rosa, peering at the drawing. “Because that looks like a carrot to me.”

Pinky did a bunny hop in agreement.

“Right, carrots are the currency. How many?” Morwen asked.

Purple thumped her paw on the ground once.

“One?”

Purple nodded

“Just one?” Morwen clarified.

Purple rolled her eyes at this level of idiocy¹³⁹. She thumped her paw once, hopped over to Pinky, thumped her paw again, then thumped her paw in front of several of the rabbits in the herd until the stupid humans got the message.

“One carrot each then,” said Morwen. “I think we can manage that. But you’ll have to give us until tomorrow so we can go buy them.”

Pinky rolled her eyes, and hopped over to one of the piles of boxes at the edge of the yard, and scratched at it. Right at the very top of the pile was a box with “carrots” written on it in large font.

“I guess we don’t have to wait after all,” said Morwen.

With Rosa’s help, she distributed carrots to all the rabbits, who happily hopped off to who knows where with their payment in their mouths. By this stage the chickens had encouraged the rest of the pigeons to leave, and had hopped back into their plane/hutch to go to sleep.

The three humans were left with Pinky and Purple, and the guinea pig formerly known as Mrs K, still hanging forlornly in Felindre’s grasp. Felindre looked at it.

“Now, what are we going to do with you?” she asked. “And your human suit?”

___

¹³³ Should that be legaments? Pawaments? Whatever.
¹³⁴ Well, the humans were, the rabbits were doing their best to squeak in an alarming way.
¹³⁵ At least that’s what I think they were doing – the nose wriggling and ear twitching was very emphatic.
¹³⁶ It looked like someone had attached wings and an engine to the nest box of their chicken coop.
¹³⁷ Well, more hopped, but in an embarrassed sort of way.
¹³⁸ I’d never before fully appreciated how menacing several hundred rabbits could be.
¹³⁹ There were times when I really knew how she was feeling.

(Vegetables) Epilogue

Life after that went back to normal, or at least as normal as it could be for a coven of witches. After a series of repeat visits from the white rabbit, they got together with Mrs K and cooked up a batch of Carrot au Van¹⁶⁰ to prevent Arma-Veg-On.

The Agency tried to recruit them, obviously, but they were having none of it. Though Rosa did agree to work with Richard on purely a consultancy, building improbable stuff basis.

Felindre and Rosa celebrated their six month anniversary with a row, a bottle of champagne and a lot of chocolate cake¹⁶¹.

“The Art and Science of Fruit’s and Vegetable’s” is currently sitting amoungst Morwen’s other recipe books in her kitchen.

Snuffles the guinea pig was incarcerated in a maximum security petting zoo.

The chickens went through a phase of taking their hutch out for a spin, requiring Morwen to go collect them from nearby gardens, and in one notable case, a cornfield seven miles away. They soon realised that they actually preferred their garden and stayed put, though Snowball still kept climbing onto the roof.

Tom passed his probation with flying colours. Raven still kept sneaking down to play computer games on Richard’s computer.

Horace van Twaddle lost his role as Grand Master of the Most Ancient and Noble Order of Greengrocers, after a vote of no confidence was called by Mrs K. Shortly thereafter, he announced his retirement as the voice over from “Feast with Friends”, causing the series to end. Rumour had it that this was not his choice, and the series was in fact cancelled before he retired.

Mrs K was officially invested as Grand Master of MANOG, and her reign was a golden age for the grocers, in part explained by her new found fame after her and Megan’s vegetarian recipes video blog became a huge hit. A tv show is in the works.

Megan’s tuba case mainly gathers dust in the corner of her bedroom closet. She occasionally takes it out, when Pinky and Purple want to go to the museum.

The minions, Stuart and Dave, were tracked down and promptly recruited by the Agency. Hey, the good guys need minions too, and these guys had minioning talent and form.

The pigeons went back to doing the usual pigeon things, like terrorising small children for their sandwiches and perching on statues’ heads¹⁶².

The multi-coloured rabbits couldn’t hack it in the real world, but discovered, thanks to Pinky and Purple, that they really liked being pets. Sure enough, soon every film star and spoiled rich kid had a coloured rabbit as a pet. They lived in the lap of luxury, and never set paw on a super soaker again.

And Sissy? Well, that’s a whole other story.

___

¹⁶⁰ There was so much paperwork required to borrow a van from the Agency, they wound up using Richard’s car instead.
¹⁶¹ Just normal cake – don’t worry.
¹⁶² And not just perching, if you get what I mean.

(Vegetables) Chapter Fifty: All Over Bar the Loose Ends

There followed a lot of faffing around and chaos. The Agency staff rounded up the remaining pigeons, who looked quite grateful to be rescued from the ducks. A pair of Agency staff set off to capture Horace and the minions, who had scarpered as soon as they saw the Rab-bot go down¹⁵⁸.

Felindre went with Rosa to the infirmary. Morwen went straight back to Richard’s lab. He was still lying where she’d left him, with his monkey sitting patiently by him¹⁵⁹. As soon as the monkey saw her, it started jumping up and down and clapping its paws together in excitement.

“I’ve got the disk,” she told it, taking said disk from her pocket. “Now what?”

The monkey mimed putting something in its mouth.

“Here we go,” said Morwen, as she opened Richard’s mouth, stuck the disk inside and closed it again.

Nothing happened for four point two seconds. Then Richard swallowed with a convulsive movement, and opened his eyes.

“Wow,” he said. “I had hoped that would never happen again. That was truly horrible.”

Then, as he focussed on Morwen properly, taking in her tear-stained face and bloody nose:

“Oh my word, are you alright?”

Morwen’s response was to throw her arms around him and burst into tears.

Later, when everyone had been patched up, cleaned up, and sufficiently dosed up with their medication of choice (be that painkillers, alcohol, or caffeine), Morwen and Richard found a quiet moment and a quiet space in the corner of his lab, for a difficult conversation.

“I’ve no idea how to ask this, without sounding rude or idiotic,” said Morwen. “So I’m just going to ask it. What the hell are you?”

“I wish I knew,” said Richard. “Closest I can figure out is that I’m an incredibly robust, strong and convincing simulacrum of a human, which happens to have mostly clockwork innards, and a disk of mother-of-pearl that acts as the seat of my consciousness. I break more of the laws of biology and physics that I care to think about, and I was created by a secret genius at some time in the past before the 1940s, but I don’t know when.”

Morwen shook her head in disbelief.

“Are you the only one?”

“Well, you’ve met my sister. And Barbra Allen is another, but she was made by the evil genius ex-partner of my creator, and doesn’t have a mother-of-pearl disk. Which is why she wanted mine, but that didn’t work – I took her body over, which neither of us liked. There’s been a few other clockwork people around, but they’re easy to spot. They’ve a distressing tendency to walk into walls.”

Richard was looking worried.

“If you need some time,” he said, “or to not be together anymore… I’d understand…”

Morwen bit her lip.

“Maybe… that would be wise… for the both of us…” she said.

“Oh, stop being bloody noble and stupid,” yelled Sissy, making both of the others jump.

“Morwen,” said Sissy, in a more reasonable tone. “Are you or are you not a witch and daughter of witches, with a long family line of magic behind you?”

Morwen nodded.

“And do you or do you not carry around a mobile phone which never needs charging and has a clever, charming and winsome personality?” Sissy continued.

“Well…” muttered Richard, as Morwen nodded.

“And do you or do you not live with a friend who can build practically anything out of office supplies, who is also a witch. And her girlfriend (also a witch) who can practically leap small buildings in a single bound.”

“What’s your point?” asked Morwen, suspiciously.

“My point,” said Sissy, “ is that, with all the other weird stuff in your life, you’re worried about your boyfriend being a clockwork automaton?”

Morwen and Richard looked at each other.

“Well, when you put it like that…” said Morwen. And she kissed Richard.

“Don’t think this means I like you, Richard,” warned Sissy.

Richard and Morwen laughed, their arms around each other.

“Time to go home,” said Morwen.




They drove through the countryside in Richard’s car, the windows open.

“Y’know,” said Rosa, as they drove past a field full of cabbages. “I’ve got this terrible feeling we’ve forgotten something important.”

From the hedge, a white rabbit with tomato-stained paws watched them drive away, in despair at the stupidity of the human race.

___

¹⁵⁸ They’d left the filming equipment. The footage turned up on Youtube three days later. It went viral on the fifth day, was widely parodied for a week, and then vanished into obscurity after several influential blogs published articles on how it was obviously viral marketing for a brand of rabbit food.
¹⁵⁹ It’s hard to tell a monkey’s facial expressions, doubly so when the monkey is clockwork, but it looked a bit forlorn and miserable to me.

(Vegetables) Chapter Forty Nine: I’m sure I saw this in a movie one time

It was easy enough to follow the Mrs K-bot; Morwen just followed the trail of destruction, of doors broken off their hinges and stunned Agency staff.

The trail led out into the gardens, where the rabbits were running amok, and even more vegetation was on fire. The giant rabbit robot had battered its way through the walls. The rabbits were flame thrower-ing everything in sight, while Agency staff were frantically fighting back with fire extinguishers and fire hoses.

Overhead a squadron of ducks were doing a mad aerial battle with mobs of pigeons, pigeons who were also dropping filled balloons full of nasty goo¹⁴⁸onto the combatants below.

The Rab-bot strode above all of this, making its way towards the Agency building, a cross-looking Rosa held in one giant fist, and an even crosser looking Felindre chasing it. As the Rab-bot got to the front door, it kicked one giant foot out, and broke the door down. An alarm went off in the Agency building, adding one more note of chaos to the existing cacophony. The Rab-bot pulled its foot back and kicked in another window, and another.

Morwen had no time or attention to spare for the Rab-bot, intent as she was in chasing down the Mrs K-bot. The trail led out the side of the Agency building, through a cartoon-like Mrs K-bot shaped hole in the wall, straight to the front lawn where Barbra Allen stood with a remote control in her hand, surrounded by a cadre of attack rabbits¹⁴⁹ and her golden dragons. By Barbra’s side stood the Mrs K-bot, hand outstretched and palm up, with the white disk on top of it.

Barbra Allen should have been gloating over the destruction in typical evil genius fashion. But instead she viewed it with a faint air of distaste.

“What have you done!” screamed Morwen, held well back by a blast of flame from one of the rabbits¹⁵⁰.

Barbra Allen looked at her, and frowned.

“I did what I needed to do to get my dragons back,” she said.

She took the white disk out of the Mrs K-bot’s hand, and looked at it, preoccupied.

“Of course,” she continued, “having the chance to get this also was an incentive.”

And she swallowed the disk.

Nothing happened for 5 seconds. Barbra Allen stood there, like a statue, and then she blinked, and focussed on Morwen.

“Morwen, what happened?” she asked in a tone of urgency. “Where’s Rosa and Felindre? How did I get out here?”

She looked down at her body and realisation dawned.

“Oh dear,” she said, looking at the creatures around her. Several of her dragons looked back at her, one whistling an enquiry.

When they didn’t get an immediate satisfactory answer, they swarmed over her in seconds, one prying open her mouth, while several launched themselves at her shoulder blades. As they hit her, she jerked forward and the white disk flew out of her mouth to land on the grass in front of her.

She straightened up.

“Well, that was horrible,” she said, almost to herself. “Good to know.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her dragons following.

Left behind, the multi-coloured rabbits looked confused, and, lacking any other orders, wandered off and tried to set fire to the nearest wall.

As soon as her path was clear, Morwen rushed forward and grabbed the disk. She was staring at it in confusion, when a scream caught her attention. It was Rosa.

“I. Am. Fed. Up. Of. Being. The. Damsel. In. Distress!” she yelled, stabbing at the wrist of the Rab-bot hand that held her. Then, having obviously broken into something with her stabbing, she stuck something between her teeth, reached in with both hands, pulled, twisted, took the thing out of her teeth and jammed it in.

“Rosa, no!” yelled Felindre, who was halfway up the Rab-bot’s back, and clinging on for dear life.

There was a sizzling sound and the Rab-bot’s arm dropped, hand falling open. Rosa screamed as she fell to the ground, and screamed again when she landed, on top of a group of fire throwing rabbits. The rabbits scattered, abandoning their weapons.

Felindre nearly got thrown off in that moment of distraction.

“I’m ok!” yelled Rosa. “The flamethrowers cushioned my fall! Stop that thing!”

Morwen rushed over to Rosa¹⁵¹, who wasn’t moving away from where she’d fallen. Close up, she looked pale, and was gritting her teeth.

“I think I’ve broken my leg,” she said quietly to Morwen. “But for the love of cake, don’t let Felindre know before she’s stopped that thing.”

They both turned to look at the Rab-bot, with Felindre now clinging to its shoulders.

“Duck!” yelled a human voice¹⁵², and they both did, as a rabbit came flying backwards above their head¹⁵³, propelled by a jet of flame. It was put out by a well-aimed blast from a fire hose, and landed in the hedge.

“Let’s get you out of here,” said Morwen, and she helped Rosa up.

Together they made their slow way out of the field of battle, back the wall, and only a few metres away from the area of calm in the centre of the lawn, coincidentally where the camera crew had set themselves up.

“Those camera operators look really familiar,” said Rosa.

“Oh, don’t they just,” said Morwen.

Sure enough, it was their old friends, Horace van Twaddle, and the minions, Stuart and Dave, back in their old roles of camera operator and sound person.

“Help Fel,” ordered Rosa. “I’ll be fine here.”

Felindre, by this stage had reached the Rab-bot’s neck, and was reaching around it, trying to find a point of vulnerability. It shook its head rapidly, trying to shake her off.

“Felindre!” yelled Morwen, as she ran towards the Rab-bot, dodging rabbits and the occasional gust of flame and spurt of fire extinguisher. “The ears! Go for the ears!”

Felindre wrapped her legs around the Rab-bot’s neck, and hit it, hard. When she pulled her arm back, her steel hair stick was jammed into its skull, sticking out like a thorn.

The Rab-bot lifted its one useful arm to swat at her, but couldn’t reach. The hair stick wasn’t doing much.

“Go for the ears!” Morwen yelled again.

“Why?” yelled Felindre, dodging another swipe.

“Trust me!”

Felindre let go of the Rab-bot’s neck and balanced for a moment on one of its shoulders. She crouched and jumped, climbing up the back of its head, until she stood on the top of its head, clinging to its giant, white, fluffy ears.

“Now what…eeep!” she yelled, barely dodging as a giant fist swept over the head.

“Pull the ears off!” yelled Morwen.

Felindre pulled at the ears, testing their attachment, grabbed large handfuls of one of them, then took a deep breath.

“Geronimo!” she yelled as she jumped off the Rab-bot’s head.

Unfortunately, the ear she was holding on to was firmly attached to the Rab-bot’s skull, leaving Felindre hanging from it several metres above the ground, saying things that were lost in the noise, but can’t have been suitable for polite company.

“Now what?!” Felindre yelled to Morwen.

“Hang in there for a moment!” yelled Rosa from the wall, where she was tinkering with something.

“I don’t have much choice!” Felindre yelled back, wildly swinging from side to side as the Rab-bot thrashed its head around.

“Just one more minute! Keep distracting it!” yelled Rosa. “Morwen, help me!”

To be fair, Felindre did an excellent job of distracting the Rab-bot as it swung her, and its ear, this way and that, trying desperately to shake her off. Felindre abandoned the ear, jumping for the body as soon as she could, searching for a weak spot.

By the words coming from her, she wasn’t finding any. Frustrated, she climbed around to the Rab-bot’s face, and stabbed it in the giant glass eye with her other hair stick.

The glass broke, and in that moment of surprise the Rab-bot caught her with its one good arm. It plucked her from its face, and held her for a moment.

“Oh no you don’t!” said Felindre, twisting out of its grasp and jumping to the ground, landing hard and rolling.

“Got it!” crowed Rosa in triumph.

A fire extinguisher arced across the lawn, and flew straight into the back of the Rab-bot’s supporting knee as it raised the other foot to stomp on a stunned Felindre. Pushed off balance, the Rab-bot fell backwards, and landed head first in the pond.

This was not an ideal situation, given that the pond was still on fire, and one of the Rab-bot’s eyes was cracked, allowing water to get into its metal skull. It flailed around frantically for a moment¹⁵⁴, before it managed to get turned around, and its head above the water. It crawled out of the pond, using its one good arm and one good leg, but its ears, the only flammable part of it, were still on fire. It swatted at them, attempting to put the fire out, but only succeeded in pulling the ears off completely.

As soon as the ears were gone, that was it. All the rabbits dropped their weapons and fled, leaving what was left of the pigeons to the un-tender, yet militarily precise, mercies of the ducks¹⁵⁵. All the Agency staff converged on the Rab-bot, spraying it with water and carbon dioxide fire extinguisher as it tried to crawl away, until it slumped into a charred flower bed in defeat.

There was a pop, and the top of the Rab-bot’s head opened up, and a small furry body¹⁵⁶ with a back pack was catapulted out into the sky. It flew up into the air, and just as it was about to hit the down slope of its parabola, a parasail came out of the back pack and caught a gust of wind, heading for freedom, outside the walls¹⁵⁷.

“Oh no you don’t,” muttered Felindre, as she picked up a rock from an ornamental border, and threw it.

The rock arced through the air, and hit the parasail. It folded like a cheap umbrella, and with a terrified squeak, Snuffles fell to the ground.

Rosa caught her.

___

¹⁵¹ Shoving the disk into her non-torn jean pocket as she ran.
¹⁵² Belonging to Tom, wielding a fire hose with all the in-born skill of a hardcore chess player.
¹⁵³ One of the supporting pyramids had obviously failed.
¹⁵⁴ Looking for all the world like an upturned tortoise, or one or one of those little toy robot things with all the legs that walk by vibrating.
¹⁵⁵ Note for future reference. Ducks aren’t particularly merciful. Vicious sods, in fact.
¹⁵⁶ Belonging to Snuffles the guinea pig, in case you hadn’t already guessed.
¹⁵⁷ Coincidentally, heading for that section of wall that currently had Rosa propped against it, fiddling with yet another fire extinguisher.

(Vegetables) Chapter Forty Eight: Of Film Crews and Industrial Orange

The chickens were the only ones who were happy to see Richard when he showed up the next morning. Granted, it was at a respectable hour¹⁴¹, but after the late night the others had the night before, it was a very bleary Morwen who got up to open the front door for him.

Rosa and Felindre were refusing to come out of their room until supplied with coffee.

All three women were mollified by Richard, who produced a full cooked breakfast for them, complete with lots of coffee. And orange juice.

Richard drove fast down the country lanes to the Agency building. Morwen was in the front passenger seat, Rosa and Felindre on either side of the Mrs K shell in the back seat.

They overtook two tractors, five other cars, two white vans, a flatbed truck with something large and industrial and orange tied to it, and a large groups of bikers on old fashioned motor trikes.

“Oh, look” said Rosa, about the bikers. “Didn’t we see some of those at the vintage rally?”

“Not the pentacycle,” said Felindre. “That thing is seriously weird.”

They dropped¹⁴² the Mrs K shell down in Richard’s lab, next to the wire cage containing the golden dragons.

Felindre eyed the cage suspiciously.

“How secure is that place?” she asked.

“Well, they haven’t escaped yet,” said Richard. “Granted, that’s because they haven’t moved yet, or at all, since we brought them in. I’m wondering if they’re deactivated or something.”

“Why is there a stuffed alligator wearing a party hat hanging from the ceiling?” asked Rosa.

“Because if it was wearing a top hat it’d be overdressed,” replied Richard.

It took twenty seven minutes before Felindre got bored of Rosa poking around the lab and dragged her off outside to “walk around the grounds”.

As soon as they’d gone, Richard breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re not comfortable with other people in your lab, are you?” observed Morwen.

“What gave it away?”

“The only slightly obsessive way that you were following Rosa around, straightening everything she touched.”

Richard grinned, self deprecatingly.

“It’s ok,” continued Morwen. “I know how you feel. I’m the same about my gardening stuff. And my plants.”

They wittered on for another forty two minutes. Richard even showed Morwen his monkey¹⁴³. She was charmed.

Their glittering and witty conversation was abruptly interrupted by an alarm going off on Richard’s computer.

“Proximity alarm,” said Richard. “Let’s see what’s going on.”

A few swift keystrokes, and he brought up some CCTV images on his widescreen computer monitor.

Morwen hung over his shoulder, watching. The screen showed the grounds outside the Agency building, various bits of lawn, the occasional tree, the surrounding walls, the drive and the garden pond¹⁴⁴.

“I can’t see anything,” she said. “No – wait, there! Did you see?”

“Yes,” said Richard grimly. “Rabbits.”

Sure enough, as they watched a flood of rabbits swarmed over the walls and down onto the lawn.

The sirens took on a more urgent note. From upstairs came the sound of clanging and heavy thuds.

“We’re in lockdown,” said Richard, in response to Morwen’s look. “That noise is the blast shutters coming down over the windows.”

“But Rosa and Felindre are out in the grounds!” said Morwen. “They could be in danger!”

“Let’s have a look,” said Richard, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

The CCTV pictures changed as the cameras moved to pan over the grounds. The ducks in the pond, taken by surprise, jumped into the air as a cadre of rabbits shot at them with supersoakers. A nasty, oily film spread over the water.

“Who on Earth is that?” asked Morwen. “Are they film cameras?”

Sure enough, a white van was parked outside the Agency gates, and a group of people with a camera on a tripod stood next to it. Richard brought up the pictures from another camera to show that next to the white van was the flatbed truck with the industrial orange thing on it. Some other people were busying themselves around it, untying the heavy straps that tied it to the truck.

“The resolution’s not as good as I’d like,” said Richard, tapping away. “I keep putting a request in for higher spec cameras, but it keeps getting killed in the budget allocations committee.”

“Where’s Rosa and Felindre?”

“Ah, there they are,” said Richard, finding them in another CCTV window. “Um…”

“Er, yes,” said Morwen. “I hope they spot the rabbits before things get anymore, um… yeah.”

“Bloody hell!” yelled Richard, looking at another CCTV feed. “The pond’s caught fire!”

“Do the rabbits have flamethrowers?” asked Morwen.

Almost as if they were answering her question, a group of rabbits aimed their supersoakers at a nearby tree and set it on fire.

The people next to the industrial orange machine finished unstrapping it, and stood back. It jerked, and twitched, and fell off the flatbed truck, making a thud that could be heard even in the lab, despite the CCTV cameras not having any audio.

Morwen and Richard watched in horror as the machine twitched again, and then pushed itself up from the ground, revealing itself as a large, bipedal, robot-like form. With large, white, furry bunny ears on top of its head.

It stomped slowly over to the main gate, and reached out one hand¹⁴⁵, and casually ripped the gate off its hinges.

Morwen and Richard exchanged a look.

“This is so not good, right?” said Morwen.

“You could say that,” said the Mrs K shell, in Barbra Allen’s voice, from right behind them.

Morwen and Richard spun to look behind them, but not quickly enough. The Mrs K-bot back-handed Richard across the room, sending him crashing into a bookcase on the far wall, where he slid to the ground, stunned, and surrounded by falling books.

Morwen grabbed a heavy looking spanner from the workbench and swung it at the Mrs K-bot. Quick as a flash, the Mrs K-bot raised her arm and blocked the spanner with a metallic clank. The impact juddered up Morwen’s arm, and she nearly dropped the spanner.

There was a hum from Morwen’s pocket, and the Mrs K-bot ripped the pocket, and the mobile phone in it, from Morwen’s jeans.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said to the phone. “I can crush you like a bug before you build up enough charge to do anything.”

“Oh yeah?” said SISE.

There was a flash, and a smell of ozone, and some smoke.

The Mrs K-bot froze for a moment.

Morwen swung the spanner again, right at the Mrs K-bot’s head. It clanged off the top of her head without causing any damage at all.

Morwen hefted the spanner again, this time aiming for the Mrs K-bot’s elbow. She didn’t have the time to connect – the Mrs K-bot flung the mobile phone into Morwen’s face. It hit her hard across the bridge of the nose, and she fell over, tears streaming out of her eyes, and her nose bleeding.

With all her foes vanquished, the Mrs K-bot calmly walked over to Richard, picked him up by his shirt and hit him hard on the back. He convulsed, and a small, white disk flew out of his mouth. She dropped him again, picked up the disk, and strode over to the cage containing her dragons. It only took her a moment to rip the cage door off its hinges.

She whistled¹⁴⁶, and the dragons all woke up. They swarmed around her, climbing on her. Without a backward glance at Morwen or Richard, they all left the lab.

As soon as Morwen’s eyes had cleared enough so that she could see, she staggered over to Richard. He wasn’t moving, or breathing. She frantically shook him, screaming his name, to no avail.

The monkey came out from where it had been hiding behind a stack of papers, and picked up Morwen’s mobile and chattered into it.

“Morwen!” Sissy yelled.

Morwen ignored her, despite repeated yelling, up until the point where the monkey carried the phone over to her, and the phone zapped her in the leg.

“Ow! What did you do that for?” asked Morwen.

“It got your attention,” retorted Sissy. “You can’t hang around here wailing.”

“But… Richard…” wailed Morwen.

“He’s not dead!” yelled Sissy, before Morwen could start falling apart again. “But we need to get that disk!”

Morwen looked confused. And messy¹⁴⁷.

“Just trust me! And pick me up!” snapped Sissy.

Bewildered, Morwen picked up the phone, and staggered out of the lab.

___

¹⁴¹ i.e. past 9am
¹⁴² Literally – there was a moment when it fell off the sack truck. Left a nasty dent in one of the walls.
¹⁴³ No, not a euphemism. The clockwork monkey, with the fez. Oh, nevermind.
¹⁴⁴ Currently occupied by half a dozen ducks.
¹⁴⁵ Or possibly a claw, or a paw?
¹⁴⁶ A trilling downward five note motif in A minor.
¹⁴⁷ I’m sure tears mixed with snot and nose bleed are an interesting mixture from a biologist’s viewpoint. From mine though – eurgh.

(Vegetables) Chapter Forty Six: Penguin Pile-Up

Megan was in bed asleep, snuggled up with her two bunnies.

It took the three grown-ups seventeen minutes to woman-handle the Mrs K shell out of the car and into the house.

“I don’t care,” said Rosa. “I’m not putting her in the lounge. It gives me the creeps!”

“Well, we can’t exactly put her in the cupboard under the stairs can we?” snapped Felindre.

They finally put her in Mrs K’s bedroom, on the bed. Rosa even tucked her in under the duvet.

“What?” she said, seeing the looks the other two gave her. “It’ll look like she’s having a sleep if anyone looks in.”

They all trooped downstairs. Felindre found the biscuit tin. Rosa found the tv remote control and was sharing the sofa and the biscuits with Felindre, while Morwen made tea in the kitchen.

The kettle had just come to the boil when Morwen’s phone rang, leaving her with the dilemma of which to do first - pour the water on the teabags and risk missing the call, or take the call and have the water go off the boil.

She compromised by wedging the phone under her chin to talk as she poured the hot water.

It was Richard.

“Where are you?” he asked, worriedly and quietly.

“We’re at the address the white rabbit gave us, Mrs K’s place,” said Morwen, fishing the teabags out and putting them on a saucer.

“Oh, thank God,” he said. “I’ve just been to your house, and Felindre’s flat. Both of them are being watched.”

“Are the chickens ok?” asked Morwen.

“As far as I can tell,” he said. “I didn’t get close enough to be able to see into the back garden. But the girls are tough, they can look after themselves.”

“Who’s watching us then? Mrs K and the grocers have had their evil plan foiled. I don’t think we’ve annoyed anyone else recently…”

“Rabbits, multi-coloured and otherwise. Some of them still with the water machine guns. They’re not doing anything, just waiting.”

“That’s not good,” said Morwen. “I thought we’d paid them off. I wonder what it is they want?”

“Who knows,” said Richard. “It’s probably sensible not to go home for the moment though, until we find out what they want. I’ll come to you.”

“That’d be nice,” said Morwen, taking a mouthful of tea. “You can explain why the Agency didn’t swoop in to the rescue when we were trapped by the grocers in a badly watered giant carnivorous plant.”

“Sorry,” said Richard. “We were on our way, but some idiot decided to steal a flock of penguins from the zoo, and then crashed on the motorway. Traffic was at a standstill. We had to spend hours chasing penguins along the hard shoulder before the traffic could get going again.”

“I can see the headlines now: ‘Top Secret Agency Fails to Foil Evil Genius because of Escaped Penguins!’ Though there should be more alliteration in there.”

“It’s a good thing that you were able to sort it out while you were there, isn’t it?”

“That’s us, happy to help. No damsels in distress here,” replied Morwen. “Though it was handy when the chickens swooped in – literally.”

“So it worked then?” asked Richard. “I wasn’t sure. Chicken hutches aren’t naturally aerodynamic.”

“Neither are chickens,” said Morwen. “But whatever you did to it, it flew. And good thing too. Things were looking pretty bleak before the girls showed up.”

The two of them wittered on about stuff for seventeen minutes longer, before making plans to meet up the following morning, and saying goodnight.

Morwen was just loading the teacups onto a tray when a squeak came from Rosa in the living room, followed by a thud. Morwen abandoned the tea and the tray on the counter and ran into the other room, to see one of Felindre’s hairsticks quivering, point down in the carpet.

“Missed it,” said Felindre, grimly. “It was that overly shiny spider that Barbra Allen had.”

Rosa was clutching a cushion in front of her, with her feet drawn up onto the sofa.

“What was it doing here?” she asked.

The doorbell rang at that exact moment, saving everyone the need to answer.

(Vegetables) Chapter Forty Five: Pets Reunited

Fortunately, the chicken carrier was still in the back of Morwen’s car, allowing the guinea pig to be safely incarcerated and guarded by Felindre, Pinky and Purple, while Morwen and Rosa woman-handled the chicken hutch and occupants onto the roof rack, and the Mrs K human suit into the back seat.

Morwen phoned Richard again. It went to voicemail.

“Um, hi Richard. It’s Morwen. Just to let you know, we’re all ok. We got out of the giant pitcher plants and foiled Mrs K’s evil plans. She turned out to be an evil guinea pig, named Snuffles, in a human suit, but she’s trapped in the chicken carrier. The chickens are here too – was it you who hacked their hutch so it can fly? Um, anyway, the pigeons have been seen off, and the rabbits paid off, so Operation Control All the Veg is off too, I think. Though we had a spill, so Arma-Veg-On may still be happening. I don’t know. Um. Look, it’s all a bit complicated. Call me?”

First stop was Morwen and Rosa’s house, where with much swearing and at least two stubbed toes, the chicken hutch/plane was safely installed in the back garden again.

“I don’t know why they couldn’t just fly it back home again,” grumbled Rosa, as she rubbed her sore foot.

Her mobile phone bipped. She looked at the message and scowled.

“How’s that for timing?” she said, scowling, and showed Morwen the message. It was a horoscope, and it simply said:

“Don’t go hunting greengrocer’s. Carnivorous plants often offend.”

“Bloody useless things,” muttered Rosa, as she stabbed the delete button, hard.

Morwen rang Richard again, with the same results as before. She was looking worried. She didn’t leave a message this time.

The second stop was Megan’s house. By this stage it was thirty one minutes past ten, but the lights were still on downstairs, and two black bananas were lying on the roof of the porch. Three women, two pink and purple rabbits and a guinea pig in a carrier went up to the front door. The Mrs K suit was left in the back seat of the car, seatbelt securely fastened.

“She’s kinda creepy, just sitting there like that,” said Rosa, looking back at the car. “Maybe I should close her eyes. Maybe we should leave the window cracked. Or lay her down with a blanket over her. Or…”

“Who’s going to notice a little old lady sitting in a car outside a house? Or if they do, it’s fairly obvious that she’s a mannequin, once you get close enough,” pointed out Felindre. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be breaking any windows to give her some air either.”

“We could put her in the boot,” suggested Rosa. Then she thought for a moment, when no one else said anything. “Actually, forget I said that. Stuffing what looks like a body into the boot of a car would be far more suspicious.”

Morwen rang the bell, and smiled at Megan’s face peering out the window. Megan opened the door and squealed with delight when she saw the guinea pig.

“You’ve found her! You’ve found Snuffles! Thank you thank you thank you!”

“Can we come in?” asked Morwen. “There’s something about Snuffles that you really need to know.”

Twenty six minutes later, Megan said:

“So Granny wasn’t really Granny, she was Snuffles in a Granny-shaped mechanical suit? And it was Snuffles who came up with the plan to control all the veg and make me make all that nasty CS4? And it was Snuffles who kept yelling at me and being really horrible? And who tried to kill you?”

The three women nodded, and Megan glared at the guinea pig, who was still behind bars, looking glum.

“I don’t like you anymore,” she told Snuffles. “I think you should go to prison.”

Pinky and Purple hopped up onto the sofa next to Megan and she cuddled them.

“I don’t know if there are prisons for evil genius pets,” said Morwen. “But we know someone who might be able to help. If he ever answers his blasted phone.”

“Just one question?” asked Megan. “If Granny hasn’t really been Granny, but instead has been Snuffles in a Granny-suit for the past few weeks, then where’s the real Granny?”

“That is a very good question,” replied Morwen. “And one we’re going to answer. Once we’ve contacted your parents and got someone to look after you until they get home.”

“But I can help you find Granny!” protested Megan.

“How are you going to do that then?” asked Felindre.

“Um,” said Megan, thinking hard. “I can do a spell!”

The three grown-ups exchanged looks.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, really,” said Rosa gently.

“It’s late,” said Morwen. “There’s not much we can do about finding your real Granny tonight. But we will need to phone your parents and get them to come home as soon as possible.”

“Can’t,” said Megan. “Well, you can phone Mum, but she’s on the oil rig and the helicopter only goes out there once a week. Even if you said it was an emergency, it’d still take a couple of days for her to get here.”

“How about your dad then?” asked Rosa.

“Dad’s closer,” admitted Megan. “But what are you going to tell him?”

Everyone was quiet for a good forty six seconds.

“Um, yeah,” said Rosa. “It’s not like we can tell him that his ten year old daughter had been bossed about by a guinea pig in a human suit for the past few weeks.”

“And if he finds out the real Granny is missing, he’ll go mental and call the police,” said Megan.

“And that’ll cause no end of problems with explaining the situation,” sighed Morwen. “Assuming they even believe us in the first place.”

“We could tell him that she had to go to hospital?” suggested Rosa. “I’m sure Fel can suggest a suitably serious, yet not too life threatening illness.”

“He’ll want to know which hospital,” said Megan. “And he’ll want to visit.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” said Felindre. “And it’s not like social services are an option either – that’d be another whole world of crazy explanation. The Agency?”

“I think they have their own problems at the moment,” said Morwen. “Otherwise Richard would have phoned me back by now.”

“I’ll be ok on my own,” offered Megan, with a bit of a quaver in her voice. “I have my bunnies. I got left alone by Gran-Snuffles quite a lot over the past few weeks.”

The three grown-ups exchanged looks.

“I’ll stay with you and the bunnies, if that’s ok with you Megan,” said Rosa.

Megan nodded.

“And I’ll stay too, to keep an eye on Snuffles,” said Felindre. “We don’t want her escaping.”

“It sounds like we have a plan,” said Morwen.

“Yay! Sleepover!” said Rosa. “Anyone got any popcorn?”

(Vegetables) Chapter Thirty One: A Council Of War

Ruth had thirty four minutes worth of flapping around Daffyd and Morwen in the kitchen before Felindre and Rosa came in, giggling.

“Dance is finished,” announced Rosa grandly. “And it was a-mazing!”

Felindre noticed the mood in the room first, and sobered up instantly.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“Rabbits,” said Morwen grimly. “Little sods jumped my Dad, tied him up and stole the Art and Science of Fruit and Veg book.”

“Have you got torches?” Felindre asked Daffyd. “They can’t have got far, the book’s bigger than any one rabbit.”

“They’ve had a couple of hours head start,” said Morwen, “and the farm’s full of fields and rabbit warrens. If they’ve gone to ground there’s no chance of finding them.”

“So what are we going to do?” asked Rosa, swaying slightly.

Daffyd answered. “Tonight, we’re going to go to bed. Tomorrow we’ll start looking, and we can ask around a bit. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. We’ll find the book, and the person who wanted it stolen.”

“And then,” said Ruth, fiercely, despite her tear stained face, “we’ll make them apologise.”



“Um,” said Rosa later that night when they’d all gone to bed and turned out the light. “Um, just to be devil’s thingummy, but the book only cost 99p right. Surely it doesn’t matter if it gets nicked?”

She didn’t sound too convincing.

Morwen, from her inflatable air mattress, took a while to answer.

“How much I bought it for isn’t the point,” she said. “The point is, someone stole it from me, and they hurt my Dad!”

She quietly started to cry, and Rosa shuffled out of the double bed to sit on the mattress next to her.

“Shush, shush,” she said, giving Morwen a hug. “I didn’t mean it, just had to say it, you know…”

Morwen hiccupped.

“Yeah, I know. But they made it personal now.”

Felindre spoke up then: “And besides, this book gives instructions on how to make magic food that controls people’s minds – it’s too dangerous for it to be in general circulation.”

“I’ll bet it’s that strange little old lady who’s nicked it,” said Rosa. “The one who was bothering you, Mor. I bet it was her that sent around the not-policeman too.”

“Who knows,” said Morwen, drying her eyes. “Thanks, both of you. Let’s get some sleep.”



At twenty three minutes past six the next morning, Morwen snuck down to the kitchen to find her father already there, sitting at the table, drinking tea.

“Morning love,” he said, “Can’t sleep?”

Morwen shook her head.

“Here, have some tea. I’m ok you know, no harm done,” he said.

“I know Dad, but it was just horrible, finding you there like that.”

“Well,” he said. “Let’s see what we can find out later on today.”



Fifty seven minutes later, Daffyd, Morwen, Felindre and Rosa were all crammed into Daffyd’s shed, and the scene of the rabbit-induced crime. They were doing something that involved chanting, and suspicious smoke and smells, and all electronic equipment had been evicted outside.

The shed door swung open to release a cloud of smoke and a coughing Rosa, followed by everyone else. They all stood glumly looking into the shed while the smoke dissipated.

“I don’t know why it’s not working,” said Daffyd plaintively. “With the three of you there, who have all cast with the book, in the place where it was stolen, we should be able to cast a location spell. It’s not like the rabbits can cast a blocking spell or anything!”

Morwen’s phone rang, loudly, with a clip of “Could this be magic?” She reached into her bag, which was propped against the side of the shed, to quiet the phone.

“Sorry!” she said.

“Infernal device⁸³,” said Daffyd. “It might be because it’s too close – it’s twisting the cast. Could you not leave it at the house?”

“Sorry Dad,” said Morwen again. “But I’m expecting a call. Sissy, show list of unanswered calls.”

It was an unknown number again.

“I hate unknown numbers, and there’s a special circle of hell reserved for those who have unlisted numbers and refuse to leave messages,” Morwen said. “Now, why won’t this blasted spell work? It’s got all three of us who made the cakes. They worked fine!”

“Too bloody well, if you asked me,” said Felindre.

“Hang on,” said Rosa. “It wasn’t just the three of us though, was it? Richard was there too. Maybe we need him?”

All three young women turned to look at Daffyd, who looked puzzled.

“Maybe,” he said slowly. “If you’re actually a quartet rather than a trio, and you’re missing a member – that might explain why things aren’t working here now.”

“But Richard?” queried Rosa. “He’s not exactly a mystic, doesn’t he build stuff and work with computers?”

“If believing in mumbo jumbo is what’s required to be a witch,” replied Felindre, “then I’ve no business being one either. Not that I’m convinced I am!”

“But Richard?” said Rosa again.

“I’d better give him a call,” said Morwen. She looked at her phone. “Hang on, I’ve lost the signal. Sissy, what’s going on?”

“You don’t need Richard as your fourth,” Sissy replied. “You need me.”

Everyone stared at Morwen’s phone for a few moments⁸⁴.

Morwen was the first to respond, with a very articulate “What?!”

“You heard me,” Sissy replied. “Richard’s not your fourth, I am. And I’ll prove it. Take me into the shed and do the spell again. With me there, it’ll work.”

And it did, this time without the clouds of smoke.

“Well,” said Daffyd, “I’ve never heard of this before. A quartet of witches, where one member is a mobile phone.”

“A mobile phone that was hit by lightning,” pointed Rosa out helpfully.

“Yes, but still a pile of integrated circuits,” said Felindre.

“Oi, less of that,” said Sissy. “I don’t go around calling you squishy bags of mostly water, do I? Anyway, I’m not just a mobile phone. I’m a Slightly Impudent Supernatural Entity.”

“You know, it does explain a lot,” mused Morwen.

All five of them stared at the image that had been revealed in the water held in a plastic bucket in the middle of the shed.

“Still, this spell’s not exactly showing anything particularly helpful,” said Morwen. “Is that an empty rabbit hutch?”

“Not with the wheel in the back. Probably a guinea pig hutch,” said Rosa.

“It doesn’t exactly help with finding the book though, does it?” Felindre said.

“Someone’s coming!” said Daffyd.

Sure enough, a shadow had fallen on the hutch, and slowly the caster of said shadow came into the frame of the bucket. It was a little old lady with a cane⁸⁵, who abruptly turned and stared out of the bucket-frame, eyes darting this way and that.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” she carolled croakily. “I know you’re watching!”

Rosa jumped and knocked the bucket. The water spilled out over the floor and the image disappeared.

“No surprise there then,” said Felindre, artfully dodging the puddle of water as it spread towards her feet.

“Mrs K,” said Morwen grimly. “Next question, how do we find her?”

“Leave it to me,” said Sissy.

“And just how are you going to do that?” asked Daffyd dubiously as he dropped some old newspapers on the spreading puddle to soak up the water.

“There’s this amazing new invention,” replied Sissy. “It’s called the Internet. And lucky me, I’m connected to it all the time!”

___


⁸³ Close, but not quite.
⁸⁴ Really? Was it that surprising? Some people have no imaginations.
⁸⁵ A cane with a silver handle looking suspiciously like a cucumber.

(Vegetables) Chapter Twenty Nine: The Spanish Inquisition Have Nothing On A Determined Mum

Up in their room, Rosa was digging through her suitcases, throwing clothes all over the room. Felindre stood against the wall, watching her and scowling.

“What’s up,” asked Morwen, staring in astonishment from the open door.

“Nothing,” carolled Rosa. “Aha!”

She held up a navy skirt with red polka dots. It was unbelievably crumpled.

“You seriously think that that’s going to work?” said Felindre in disbelief.

“Of course! It’s a full skirt – with a white t-shirt and a petticoat, with a scarf and a ponytail in your hair, you’ll look perfectly nineteen fifties!”

“But I don’t have a petticoat!” said Felindre.

“Give me half an hour and a net curtain and you will,” said Rosa. “Now, put that on. Where did I put my sewing kit?”

Rosa threw the skirt to Felindre and dove into another one of her suitcases, sending clothes, belts and shoes flying everywhere.

Felindre looked at the crumpled fabric.

“Oh hell, a skirt. How did I let myself get talked into this?” she said, at least half to herself. Then, to Rosa: “You do know that there is no way on this green Earth that I will wear heels, right?”⁷⁸

“Yes, yes,” acknowledged Rosa.

Morwen carefully edged her way into the room, and fetched the cookbook. She dodged, as a flowery hairclip flew past her nose and landed on the double bed.

“Have fun, you two,” she said as she reached the door.

“We will!” said Rosa happily. From the look on Felindre’s face, she wasn’t so sure.




Morwen left her father happily reading through “The Art and Science of Fruit and Vegetable’s” in his shed, and wandered off to check on the chickens. They clucked happily at her and looked expectantly, but when she didn’t give them any treats, they went back to scratching around in the stable straw.

“So, girls,” she said. “Turns out me, Rosa and Felindre are actually witches. Does that make you our familiars, I wonder?”

Gingernut looked up at her and clucked, before pecking her inquisitively on the ankle.

“Ow!” she said, and shooed the chicken away. “A bit too familiar, if you ask me. Bye for now, chickens. One of us will be along to tuck you in when it gets dark.”




Morwen had just finished phoning Richard when she got roped in by her mother to take a turn around the engines and stalls set out for the event in the orchard. Ruth didn’t waste any time getting to the point.

“Tell me about this young man of yours, Richard. What does he do?”

“He’s a system administrator,” replied Morwen, carefully neglecting to mention his secret agent status.

“Ah, that’s computers, right? Too technical for me. Still, good money, right?” Ruth looked hopeful. “Will we be able to meet him soon? You should bring him home for Christmas, let the rest of the family get to know him better. Charlie said she might even be able to make it back, though it’s her busiest time of year.”

“Yes, Mum. Dunno, Mum. He might have plans for Christmas, I haven’t asked him. He might be going to see his sister though.”

“So, how did you two meet? And how long ago?”

“God, Mum, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

“Just showing an interest,” said Ruth calmly, with the tones of someone who is determined to find out gossip, regardless.

Morwen sighed.

“I met him in the park,” she said, and stopped.

“Go on,” prompted her mother.

“He fell in the duck pond.”

“Never!”

“I’d seen him before, of course, he likes to go watch the ducks . And they always swarm around him, even more than other people. Though he never feeds them, unlike some other people.”

“But why not?” asked Ruth. “You loved feeding the ducks when you were a child.”

“Our local ducks were getting fed so much bread they were getting so fat they couldn’t fly anymore. So we put a load of signs around the place telling people not to feed them, because it’s bad for them. Not that anyone pays any attention – I have to tell people off for doing it.

“So, there he was, one afternoon, surrounded by ducks, right by the edge of the pond. I was over planting some bedding plants in a nearby flowerbed, and then I hear this splash. And I look over and see Richard standing up in the duck pond, with water pouring off him and the ducks quacking like they’re killing themselves laughing. He looked so wet and bedraggled that I took pity on him and took him back to the office to dry out. And we got talking, and he asked me out, and I said yes. That’s it, end of story.”

“Is it serious?” asked Ruth.

“Mum!”

“I’m just asking,” Ruth said defensively. “When I was your age I’d been married to your father for a year.”

“Yes,” retorted Morwen, “and you’d been a couple for seven years, I know. Are you really that desperate for grandchildren?”

Ruth gave her a look⁷⁹. Morwen sighed, and put her hands up in surrender.

“Honestly? I dunno Mum. I really like him, and I think he really likes me, but it’s still too early. And he hasn’t exactly said anything about settling down with a mortgage, dog and two point four children. Can we stop talking about this now please?”

“Alright, but on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You bring him home to meet us before Christmas, ok?”

“God Mum, you never give up, do you?”

“When the happiness of one of my children is at stake – never!” Ruth smiled. “Oooh, look at that dress! It’s such a lovely colour - it’d look amazing on you!⁸⁰ Go see if you can try it on!”
___


⁷⁸ The only use Felindre had for a pair of high heels was to stab people with them. But that’s another story.
⁷⁹ Morwen learned from the best.
⁸⁰ It did.

(Vegetables) Chapter Forty Three: A Short Botany Lesson

The inside of the pitcher plant was smelly, sticky and unpleasant. There was enough room to stand up, but no chance of climbing out. The bottom of the pitcher was filled with water, up to about ankle height.

The sounds from outside the pitcher died away as the grocers all left. Finally everything went dark as the final person out turned off the lights, leaving only a faint glow from the streetlights outside coming in through the high windows.

“Mor, Fel, are you still there?” called Rosa. “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” replied Felindre. “Morwen?”

“I’m ok too,” Morwen replied.

“My feet are itching,” said Rosa. She sounded worried. “Does that mean I’m being digested? How long will it take? How much will it hurt?!”

“It’s ok, flower,” called Morwen. “These look like normal pitcher plants to me, just somewhat larger than usual. Standard size pitcher plants take a couple of weeks to fully digest their prey. Given the relative sizes of us, it could take months.

“In fact,” she continued, “the grocers missed a trick when they put us in here. Most pitcher plants kill their prey by drowning them in the fluid at the bottom of the pitcher before they digest them. If they really wanted to kill us, they should have put us in head first.”

“Well, hurrah for incompetence,” said Felindre, short of breath. There was muffled thumps coming from her pitcher.

Morwen shifted from one foot to another, making splashy sounds, and causing the pitcher to rock alarmingly.

“They’re really neglecting this plant,” she said. “Definitely under-watering it. And I’ll bet it doesn’t have enough soil around its roots. It’s amazing it has the energy to grow pitchers this big at all. Poor thing.”

“That’s all well and good,” called Rosa, sounding a bit panicked. “But do you have any ideas on how to get out? I’ve tried climbing, and I can’t. And my feet are getting really itchy now!”

“Sissy, have you called the cavalry?” asked Morwen.

“Way ahead of you,” said Sissy. “They were listening in on your enlightening conversation with Mrs K just now. I even texted Richard the address. They should be here any minute¹²⁹.”

“I hope they get here soon!” wailed Rosa. “I’m convinced my tights are starting to melt. Or maybe it’s my feet!”

“Well,” grunted Felindre, as she thumped on the wall of the pitcher plant again. “I’m” thump “not” thump “going” thump “to” thump “wait” thump “for them” thump “gotcha.”

There was a wet, squidgy tearing sound, a wet splashing sound and a louder thud.

“I’m out,” said Felindre.

There was another series of thuds ad grunts, followed by the same squishy tearing and spilling sound.

“Eeew,” said Rosa. “I’m covered in plant dribble.”

Morwen’s pitcher rocked as it was hit repeatedly from the outside. After a few hits, Morwen could see the glint of the point of a metal stick poking from the outside. After few more hits, perforating the pitcher, Felindre’s hands reached in and tore a large rip in the side of the plant, spilling the pitcher’s digestive juices, and Morwen, out onto the floor.

“Sorry about damaging the plant,” Felindre said as she helped Morwen up.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Morwen. “Pitchers fall off the plants all the time. They’re used to it. And all things considered, I’m happy to be out. How did you get out?”

Felindre opened her hand to show a particularly slimy metal spike.

“My hair stick,” she explained. “They didn’t even think to search us for weapons. Bloody amateurs.”

The door to the hall creaked open, and Pinky and Purple hopped in, dragging a chainsaw between them. When they saw the humans staring at them, they hopped a few steps away and tried to look innocent.

“Thanks for the effort,” said Rosa kindly. “But we’re sorted now.”

“See,” she whispered to her friends. “They didn’t abandon us after all.”

Felindre looked dubious.

“The chainsaw’s bigger than you are, and you haven’t got opposable thumbs. How exactly were you going to use it?”

Pinky and Purple exchanged glances and twitched their ears at each other. Then Pinky wrapped both paws around the chainsaw handle, while Purple grabbed the pull cord that started the engine, and gave it a good yank.

The chainsaw started up with a cough, and started vibrating across the floor, taking Pinky with it, clinging on for dear life.

“Let go!” Morwen yelled at Pinky, who was now a prize candidate for Shaken Bunny Syndrome.

In the minute or so before a shocked Pinky recovered enough to let go, the chainsaw traced a meandering route across the floor, taking large chunks out of the floorboards, before quickly coming to rest having wedged itself under the dais.

Rosa ran over and started fussing over the dizzy rabbit.

“There, there,” she said, stroking the pink and purple fur. “No harm done.”

Purple lolloped over quickly, and insisted on her share of the cuddles.

“No harm done indeed,” muttered Felindre, scanning the room. “I just hope no one heard the racket!”

Sure enough, at near enough that exact moment¹³⁰, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming towards the main hall. Felindre was off like a shot, flattening herself against the wall close to the door, making her ideally placed to flatten whoever it was who walked through it.

It happened to be Stewart. He had a moment to take in the scene – ripped apart pitchers and Rosa cuddling a pair of rabbits, and to say:

“Wha…?”

But that was all before Felindre felled him with a vicious chop to the back of the neck and he fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Don’t worry,” she said, looking down at him. “He’ll come to in a little while.”

“Who’s worrying?” asked Rosa. “Do we look worried?” she asked the rabbits.

“Best tie him up,” continued Felindre. “Rosa, I’ll need your tights.”

“But Fel!” whined Rosa. “My legs will get cold! And these tights are expensive!”

“Come on, it’s not like they aren’t already ruined. I’ll make it up to you later,” Felindre promised.

They flirted like this all the while they tied Stewart up with Rosa’s tights¹³¹, leaving him gagged with his own sock, while Morwen and the bunnies acted as look outs. Leaving him safely trussed up, all five creatures crept out of the hall, and down the corridor to the kitchen.

This time, there was no one there making coffee, and all the lights were out. The kitchen had a window that looked out on the back yard. Carefully, one by one, the humans and the rabbits crept across the floor, and peered over the countertop, out of the window¹³².

___

¹²⁹ Spoiler alert: they weren’t.
¹³⁰ Well, seven point three seconds later, if you’re being precise

¹³¹ Honestly, I couldn’t bear to listen.
¹³² Rosa held both rabbits up so they could look, after Purple nibbled at her toes in a pointed way.

(Vegetables) Chapter Twenty Eight: Proving Once Again It’s All About Who You Know

The young man, who recently had been dangling from the barn rafter, was called Darryl, and he played double bass for Duke Wellington’s Big Band Noise. His worry in the barn was indeed well founded – Felindre took one look at his hands and fished out her portable first aid kit, which was only slightly smaller than her home one. Morwen led her and Darryl to the breakfast room, where they could do first aid in peace and with plenty of light.

As Felindre carefully pulled all the splinters out and slathered on a combination antiseptic and analgesic cream, a knock came on the door and a worried looking face appeared around the corner. It belonged to a middle aged man with a quiff and a shiny 1950s suit, who came into the room, followed by Rosa.

“Darryl, are you ok? Can you play?”

“Yeah, Duke, I’m ok. I’ve just lost all feeling in my hands, and believe me, that’s a good thing,” replied Darryl.

“How long is that going to last?” the Duke asked.

Darryl looked at Felindre, who was carefully putting her first aid bits and pieces away.

“Dunno,” she said absently. “Could take a while.”

“Right,” said Duke. “Bugger. That’s our bass line gone for the evening. Nevermind, we’ll manage.”

“Fel plays double bass,” said Rosa, helpfully.

Felindre gave her a look that said “why did you have to say that?”

Duke gave Felindre a look that said “really? You?”

“Really?” he said, out loud this time, in a tone of utter disbelief.

Felindre shut the lid of the first aid kit box with a snap, and Morwen and Rosa both flinched. Darryl was too busy watching the dust motes in the sunlight⁷⁵ to notice that the metaphorical temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees.

“Oh, you think women can’t play bass, do you?”

“Er, no,” said the man. “But, er, the bass is a big instrument…”

He trailed off, quailing under Felindre’s steely gaze.

“And I’m so small, is that it?”

He very sensibly kept quiet.

“Darryl, can I borrow your bass? And your music?” Felindre asked.

“Wha’?” Darryl replied. “Oh, yeah, sure, whatever…”

“Right,” said Felindre. “Come along Duke. Let’s take a look at the music, and I’ll show you that someone as little and delicate as me can play something as big and heavy as a double bass.”⁷⁶

Meekly (and very sensibly, if you ask me) Duke followed her out of the room.

Rosa and Morwen looked at each other. Darryl looked out the window, possibly watching pink elephants playing croquet on the lawn.

“She’s really pissed off, isn’t she?” said Rosa. “I’d better go after her, in case she really loses her temper. We don’t want any more injuries.”

Morwen’s phone made the noise of a donkey braying as Rosa left. It was notification of a text from Richard, saying “You ok? Still travelling? Ring me when you get there. X PS Sissy, plz deliver this txt – thanks”

“So, you’ve decided to stop blocking Richard now?” said Morwen.

Sissy said nothing. Darryl looked confused.

“Why are you talking to your phone? And why are the elephants performing Hamlet?”




“Mum,” said Morwen, “have you ever had weird results with your cooking?”

“Well, dear,” Ruth said, as she was cutting up apples for apple pie. “There was that one time I used purple cabbage in a soup and the whole thing went blue, but other than that, no. Why do you ask?”

“I got this cookbook – the art and science of fruits and vegetable’s, it’s called, and all the recipes I made from it had unexpected effects.”

“Some people, especially if they’re not used to too much fruit and veg, can have some, er, unexpected effects.”

“I’m not talking about digestive issues, Mum, I’m talking about making them susceptible to suggestion, and making them fall in love, or at least lust.”

Ruth stopped chopping apples and looked seriously at her daughter.

“Morwen, are you trying to tell ask me if I’ve ever made any magic potions?”

Morwen squirmed in her seat, suddenly feeling all of seven years old.

“Of course I haven’t,” Ruth went back to her apples. “Oh, maybe an occasional glamour to tidy up a cake before a show – I’m still not as good as I’d like to be with icing – or a bit of a pinch to make up for a missing taste in the ingredients. But I’d never do any full-blown potions. It’s not polite.”

“Oh,” said Morwen, looking crestfallen. “I was wondering if it was something in the family or something.”

“Of course it is, darling, and to be honest, myself and your father have been wondering when you’d finally get around to asking us about it. If it’s veg though, best thing to do is to talk to your dad. He’s got contacts. And I’ve got half a dozen pies to bake for this evening. Unless you’d like to help?”

“Dunno, Mum, the last thing I tried baking caused a riot.”

“Best go talk to your father then. He knows all the history and theory and stuff. And he’s better at explaining these sorts of things. He’s wandered off again, but I’m sure you can find him.”

Morwen got up and headed for the door.

“Morwen, love,” Ruth said.

Morwen turned back to see her Mum bearing down on her to give her a big, slightly floury and apple-scented hug. Ruth pulled back and smiled at Morwen, wiping her eyes.

“I’m proud of you baby. Welcome to the family tradition.”




Daffyd was in the veg garden, adjusting his scarecrow⁷⁷.

“Those pigeons are getting braver,” he said to Morwen.

Morwen scowled, seeing several pigeons perched on the high garden wall. One took off and flew away.

“Felindre’s had great success taking potshots at them with a slingshot. Just watch out for the rabbits, they’ve been causing havoc in the park,” she said. “Can we talk, Dad? Somewhere private?”

“Is everything alright?” Daffyd asked, looking concerned.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Morwen.

“Let’s get some tea in then, and you can tell me all about it.”

Over thick-stewed tea, brewed in a battered teapot on the woodburning stove in Daffyd’s workshop, Morwen spilled the beans about all the weirdness that had happened to her ever since picking up “The Art and Science of Fruit and Vegetable’s” in the remainders bookstore. Daffyd listened carefully, without saying anything other than the occasional “oh” and “mm-hmm”.

“And then Mum tells me we’re actually a family of witches, and I need to talk to you about the history. And now I’m just confused,” Morwen finished plaintively.

“Hmm,” said Daffyd, thoughtfully.

There was a long silence.

“Dad?” queried Morwen.

“Can I see the book?” he asked.

“It’s up in the house,” she said.

“Well, I can’t say about the book ‘til I have a look at it,” he said. “But sounds to me like it’s not just you. No one in our family’s been able to cast a suggestion spell powerful enough to cause a riot in, oh, at least three hundred years. And even they say there was them hallucinogenic mushrooms involved.

“No,” he continued. “I reckon it was a group effort. Who was it baking again?”

“Well, there was me, Rosa and Felindre,” Morwen said.

“Just three of you?”

“Well, Richard showed up later on, and helped fix the mixer. Did a good job too – it now doubles as a woodchipper.”

“Well then,” said Daffyd. “Sounds like you’ve found a coven. Three witches is traditional, though you sometimes get four. You’re all the same age though, so I think it’s more likely to be an elemental quartet than a maiden-mother-crone thing. Unless there’s something you’re not telling us?”

“No, Dad,” said Morwen. “And before you ask, it’s still early days with Richard.”

“Ah,” said Daffyd, looking faintly embarrassed. “Tidy. Can I have a read of the spell book now?”

“Sure, I’ll go fetch it for you.”
___


⁷⁵ Or the dancing fairies, who knows?
⁷⁶ For the sarcasm-impaired, she was very definitely being sarcastic.
⁷⁷ This was not your common or garden scarecrow. This scarecrow was the epitome of the scarecrow art, and looked like it would wander off around the garden at any moment. The local wildlife were terrified of it.

(Vegetables) Chapter Twenty Seven: Scones, And The Best Weather For Baking Shortbread

The three friends drove in convoy down narrow country lanes. Morwen led the way, accompanied by the chickens, while Rosa and Felindre followed, closely.

Felindre was driving, and wasn’t entirely following the rules of the road when it came to minimum stopping distances. But they’d already gotten split up once before, requiring a lot of mobile phone negotiations and map-reading⁷².

After an hour and a bit of motorway, A road, B road and single track lane, having met lorries, motorcycles, tractors, hedge cutters, horses, and on one occasion a flock of sheep, they finally turned off the road and down a tree and hedge-lined lane and pulled up in front of a large, ramshackle farm house.

(They’d been trailed by a couple of pigeons for the first half hour of town driving, but as soon as they cars hit the motorway there was no chance the pigeons could keep up.)

Morwen parked the car and got out.

“Welcome to my ancestral abode,” she said to Rosa and Felindre, who were both getting out of Felindre’s car, and stretching.

Rosa looked around at the old trees ringing a mature lawn, dotted with wildflowers, and at the stone walled house.

“Oooh,” she said, “it’s so pretty!”

Felindre looked a bit dubious, in the way that only a city-dweller can when faced with a rural idyll.

“Come on,” said Morwen. “We’ll let the chickens out in the orchard, and then I can show you around.”

Hoisting the chicken carrier and chickens out of the car, she led the way through an arch in the wall separating the front lawn and drive from the rest of the house grounds.

“That way’s the walled garden,” she said, nodding her head in the general direction. “Dad has his veg growing there, it’s very sheltered. The orchard’s this way.”

“Is it just your parents living here?” asked Felindre. “And are you sure they won’t mind us descending on them for the weekend?”

“Well, it depends if any of my brothers or sisters are at home at the moment,” replied Morwen. “And no, my parents won’t mind. The more the merrier, as far as they’re concerned.”

“How many brothers and sisters have you got?” asked Rosa.

“Six,” said Morwen. “Family Christmases can get a bit manic.”

“Do you hear engines?” asked Felindre.

They rounded a corner, and went through another arch in another wall, and they were in the orchard. But instead of the peaceful scene they were anticipating, where chickens contentedly scratched and pecked amoungst the trees, they were greeted by the sight of a large white marquee, a handful of food vans and a large selection of classic cars and the occasional steam engine. People in 1950s outfits were casually walking around, eating, drinking, talking and admiring the various machines.

“Oh,” said Morwen. “Um, maybe I should have called first.”




The kitchen was cosy and warm, with a large Aga on one wall, an Egyptian sarcophagus⁷³ standing upright in a corner and low rafters. Morwen had found her mother, Ruth, and temporarily released the chickens into an empty stable, where they happily flew up and perched on a rafter.

Now, the three friends all sat around the large and well-scrubbed kitchen table, drinking tea, while Ruth made scones.

“It’s lovely to see you,” said Ruth, as she rubbed the butter into the flour. “Rosa, you’re looking as lovely as always. How’s your Mum and Dad? Do give them my very best. And to meet your new friend, Felindre, right? Lovely name. And it’s really great that you want to stay for the weekend. But you’ll have to take us as you find us, I’m afraid. What with the event on this weekend and all.”

“It’s ok Mum,” said Morwen. “We don’t have to stay.”

Her mother looked shocked.

“Morwen! You take that back. You, and your friends, are always welcome to stay as long as you like! This is your home! Always!”

She gave the scone dough a particularly emphatic squeeze, and thumped it out onto the floured chopping board.

“Sorry,” mumbled Morwen.

Rosa caught Felindre’s eye and tried not to giggle.

“Will all three of you be ok in the one room though?” asked Ruth. “I’ve had one B&B cancellation, but the rest of the rooms are full. There’s a double bed, and we can pull in a single inflatable mattress. You don’t mind sharing a bed, do you?”

She looked at Rosa and Felindre with a worried expression on her face.

Felindre replied, with a perfectly straight face: “We’ll be fine, thank you.”

Rosa took a gulp of tea to stop herself from giggling again and nearly choked. Felindre patted her on the back.

Ruth looked relieved once Rosa had stopped coughing.

“I’ll sort you out with your room soon then. But first, let’s get these scones in the oven. Scones are great, but they always taste so much better when they’re fresh out of the oven, don’t you think? And you must try some of my strawberry jam. It came first in the preserves class in the village fete last week – I’m very proud of it!”

In no time at all, chattering all the while, she’d rolled and cut out a dozen or more scones, and put them on a baking tray. Rosa listened and watched, fascinated, while Felindre drank tea and complimented Morwen’s mother on the quality of her biscuits. Morwen herself looked relaxed and occasionally embarrassed.

“Morwen, darling,” said Ruth, as she straightened up from putting the scones in the Aga’s oven. “Be a dear and go find your father. Tell him there’s tea and scones on the way. I think he’s hiding from the event in the veg patch, or possibly his shed, or his workshop. Or maybe he’s out checking the cows. Or there’s the tree down in the corner or the long field that he’s been talking about chopping up for ages now, maybe he’s off doing that. And keep an eye open for Amun-Ram, he’s been escaping again. Anyway, you’ll find him, I’m sure.”

“Yes Mum,” said Morwen obediently.

As she left the kitchen, she could hear Ruth saying to Rosa and Felindre: “so, what do you girls do? Morwen's told me bits and pieces about you – all good of course! But it’s always nice to get to know people first hand, don’t you think? More tea? Do have another biscuit – I’ve got another whole tin of homemade shortbread to get through. Though I have to confess that I’m a bit disappointed with it, to be honest. It only came third in the village fete last week. I don’t know why, maybe it was the humidity when I made it. I distinctly remember it was raining at the time. Rain plays havoc with delicate biscuits, I always find. And a good shortbread is delicate!”




Morwen’s father, Daffyd, was not to be found in his vegetable garden, or the shed. Nor was he in the workshop, or out checking the cows. Morwen even hiked down to the long field, current home to a small flock of Jacob’s sheep and the family zebra, Spot. She had to pick her way carefully between the mud puddles.

“Dammit,” she said to herself as she slipped on a particularly muddy bit of path. “Should have got my wellies out of the car.”

In the long field she saw the fallen tree, the sheep, Spot and a couple of rabbits⁷⁴, but didn’t see her father. She ignored the tree, the sheep and the rabbits, but gave Spot a friendly scratch behind the ears. Spot looked disappointed that Morwen hadn’t brought any carrots.

She finally tracked her father down in the barn, where he was supervising while a young man in blue jeans was up a rickety ladder, stringing fairy lights from the rafters. When he saw her, his face lit up in a huge grin.

“Morwen, how are you? So good to see you,” he said, giving her a big hug.

Morwen looked around the barn. The rough concrete floor had been covered over, at least in part, by a wooden dance floor. It was still being pieced together by a pair of young men, who looked like they were struggling with a particularly tricky giant jigsaw. The usual hay bales were still there, but there was a lot less of them, and they had been moved back against the walls, with a few single bales lying flat on the ground like benches. A band was setting up music stands and speakers in one corner. A large banner with “Duke Wellington’s Big Band Noise” hung on the wall.

He father caught her look.

“It’s for the event,” he explained. “They’re having a dance tonight. It was supposed to be out-doors in the orchard, but there’s a worry it’ll rain.”

“Ah,” said Morwen. “Do you think it will?”

“No,” Daffyd replied in his lilting Welsh accent. “But why believe me when you can believe the Met Office?”

Morwen smiled. “I believe you Dad. Anyway, Mum sent me to find you. There’s scones.”

“Wow, she’s really putting out the welcome mat. Fresh ones?”

Morwen nodded.

Suddenly there was a crash, a flash, and a shout, and all the electric lights in the barn went out. Morwen wheeled around to see the ladder lying on the ground, and the young man who’d been putting up the fairy lights hanging from one of the rafters. As the people who had been putting the dance floor together rushed towards their dangling colleague, his hands slipped on the rafters, and he fell. Thankfully for him (if not for the others) he landed on his friends come to rescue him, and they all went down in an ungainly heap.

“That’ll be the fusebox again,” said Daffyd. “I really do need to get someone in to sort that out.”

Morwen rushed over to help the fallen. Thankfully no one was seriously hurt, just a few bumps and bruises, and a lot of groans. The tangle of people slowly pulled itself apart.

“Jesus, mate,” said one of the unfortunate landees. “Next time, wait until someone’s able to hold the bloody ladder, right?”

The young man who’d held on to the rafter was looking mournfully at his hands, which were scraped raw. He swore.

“Shit. My hands. I’m supposed to be playing tonight.”

“Come back to the house with me,” said Morwen. “I know someone who might be able to help.”
___


⁷² And a few frayed tempers.
⁷³ Occupied by an Egyptian mummy
⁷⁴ Normal coloured ones