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.
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