Daffydd didn’t come back with them to the house, as he got distracted by the small flock of sheep that had escaped from their field and had made their way into the barn, where they were happily munching on the hay bales that had been put out for seating at the dance last night.
“Morwen,” he said as he rounded them up and chivvied them away, “keep an eye out for Amun-Ram. I’ve no doubt he was the mastermind behind this escape, which means he’s still around somewhere. Getting up to mischief no doubt.”
“Who, or what,” said Felindre in the tones of someone who’s not really sure they want to know, “is Amun-Ram?”
“He’s the ram of the flock. Keeps trying to escape. Got a strange obsession with the pyramids.” Morwen spoke absently, still looking at her phone. “Charlie maintains that he’s the reincarnation of an Egyptian pharaoh.”
“Well, that explains everything,” said Felindre.
“Sissy,” said Morwen. “How long have you been sentient? Since the lightning strike?”
“I’m sorry,” replied Sissy. “I don’t understand.”
“Suit yourself,” said Morwen.
There was a curious lack of rabbits87 and pigeons around.
As the three (four?) friends were passing the orchard on the way back to the house, they heard a polite shout and the sound of footsteps running up to them.
Felindre acted on instinct, wheeling around with her hands in a guard position. She eased off the position when she saw it was Nics, from last night, but didn’t look particularly happy.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Nics to Morwen. “But could I have a word?”
“Sure,” Morwen replied.
It went quiet for a moment, and then Rosa got the hint.
“Come on, Fel,” she said, pulling Felindre away. “We’ve got packing to do.”
When they were out of earshot, Nics said:
“I spoke to Richard last night and he said you’re not Agency, but you’re important to him.”
“Ok,” said Morwen. “And you know Richard how?”
“Oh, he’s my brother,” said Nics, offhandedly. “I wanted to check your ladybird – if it wasn’t him who made it, then it’s too close to the work of someone else I knew for me to be entirely comfortable.”
“Do you mean Barbra Allen?” asked Morwen.
Nics blinked in surprise.
“No, I don’t, but how’d you know Barbra Allen?”
“She kidnapped and threatened my friend,” Morwen replied grimly.
“Ah,” said Nics. “Well then, me telling you to steer clear of her is a bit redundant then.”
“Just a bit,” said Morwen.
“Anyway,” said Nics, trying to get to the point. “Richard’s an Agency man through and through, and to be fair, they did get me out of a very sticky situation once. But like most organisations, they’re only as good as the people in them.”
Morwen looked at her.
“Um, yeah,” said Nics. “I wanted to say sorry for acting so weird last night. Except I think I’m acting weird again, so, um, nice to meet you. Richard sounds very happy, which is nice.”
Thankfully for the dying conversation, it was put out of its misery by a commotion in the orchard.
The orchard was already a bit chaotic as various engines were loaded onto various trucks, and the marquees were packed away. People dressed in twenty first century dress were bustling this way and that way packing and tidying. A shout came from one corner of the field, and Morwen and Nics both took the chance to end the conversation by heading towards it.
They traced it to the back of a white van, where the doors were opened and piles of heavy cardboard shoeboxes had spilled out onto the grass. Chas and the stall owner, who Morwen had bought the dress off the previous night, were standing guard over the shoe-boxes, trying to stop a very large sheep with very large horns from stealing them. A few feet away a pile of boxes was arranged in a roughly pyramidal shape.
“Amun-Ram!” Morwen scolded and walked straight up to it, grabbing it by one horn.
If a sheep could look embarrassed, this one did.
“Sorry about that,” she said to the stall owner. “He’s obsessed by the pyramids for some reason. Reincarnation of a pharaoh, you know how it is.”
She left them standing agape, and dragged Amun-Ram off by the horn, back to his field and his flock, telling him off every step of the way.
“There’s a zebra in the stable with the chickens,” Felindre told Morwen after she’d got back from reuniting Amun-Ram with his flock.
“That’s just Spot,” said Morwen. “She won’t hurt them.”
“I know that,” replied Felindre, “some of them are roosting on her back. She probably thinks they’re those African birds that pick the lice off zebras.”
“Probably,” said Morwen, her mind elsewhere.
“Nice ladybird,” said Felindre casually.
“Oh?” said Morwen. “Oh yeah, Richard gave it to me. Supposedly if I pull it off its chain it’ll go find him and bring him to me.”
“Wow, so it’s getting serious then,” said Rosa. “That’s so cool!”
“Can we not talk about this now?” asked Morwen, plaintively.
“We’re going home now, right?” asked Rosa.
“What? Oh, yeah,” said Morwen. “Best defence is a good offence and all that. Besides, I want my own bed tonight.”
“And we’ve got business to attend to,” said Felindre gleefully.
The drive back home was resoundingly uninteresting. Yes, we did pass an inflatable church on the back of a flatbed lorry and drove past a large field over which could be seen a giant squid, flying in the sky.
“You know,” said Morwen idly to the chickens, “it’s almost a shame that’s a kite. The calamari rings would be the size of hula hoops.”
___
87 Multi-coloured or otherwise.
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