(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