Cows In Action 8

by Steve Cole

  “They appear to be in a kind of hypnotic state . . .” McMoo frowned. “I wonder how many others are being affected.”

  Then suddenly, the clatter of cracking branches and heavy footsteps carried through the darkness. “There’s someone who isn’t,” Bo murmured nervously. “And they’re approaching fast. Shall we get running again?”

  “No, Bo.” McMoo straightened up in his heavy armour. “There are too many unsolved mysteries in Arthur’s kingdom. This time, we stay and fight!”

  Chapter Eight

  MERLIN RE-VEAL-ED!

  “Give me the sword,” Bo hissed. “I’ll be better with it than you are!”

  “You’re probably right,” McMoo agreed, passing it to her. He held his breath as whatever was racing towards them got closer and closer . . .

  Until Pat came bursting from the bushes, a sword tucked under one arm. He skidded to a surprised stop.

  “Little bruv!” Bo beamed.

  “Pounding parsnips, am I ever glad to see you two.” Pat staggered over to McMoo and Bo and leaned on them, panting for breath. “I’ve been running for ages. Merlin’s chasing me! There was this ter-moo-nette, see – a lady ter-moo-nator – dressed up as the Heifer of the Lake . . .”

  “What?” Bo gasped.

  “Slow down, Pat,” McMoo urged him. “What’s that sword you’re holding?”

  “The ter-moo-nette had a sack load of them, hidden in a monk’s robes. I managed to get hold of one, it’s called an Excowlibur . . .” He frowned as he saw the sword’s twin clamped in Bo’s hoof. “Hey, you’ve got one too!”

  “Excowlibur, eh?” McMoo took Pat’s sword and studied it. “And if those monk’s robes are anything to go by, it sounds as though that ter-moo-nette is the one who visited Merlin in his private rooms . . .”

  “She wants King Arthur and his knights to take the swords on a quest,” explained Pat. “I tried to say she was tricking them, but then Merlin chased after me and—”

  “MOO!” said Bessivere Barmer, as if annoyed by this interruption to her quiet grazing.

  Pat stared round properly in the gloom. “Why are the barmy Barmers pretending to be cows? Who are all these smelly people eating grass—?”

  “Time for a proper catch-up later,” McMoo broke in, tossing Pat’s sword into the forest. “Right now, we’d better think of a plan to deal with Merlin when he gets here—”

  “I am here!” boomed Merlin, crashing into sight. He seemed short of breath and his wizard’s hat was bent and askew. “Be warned, Sir Angus. This young bull you have brought to Cow-me-lot is the enemy that I alone must face – the merciless Moodrid!”

  “You can drop the act now, ‘Merlin’,” said McMoo gruffly.

  Bo nodded. “We saw the ter-moo-nette visit you in your chambers.”

  “By my five balls of crystal!” Merlin gasped. “This cow speaks too!”

  “Oh, give it a rest!” said Pat. “You tricked Arthur and his knights into coming to the lake so your mechanical missus could impress them – admit it.”

  “Tricked? How dare you!” Merlin stormed. “The heifer came to me in a dream, just as I said!”

  Bo frowned. “Why are you even bothering to act like the real Merlin? We know you’re an F.B.I. fake!”

  “Or do we?” breathed McMoo. “Hang on one itty-bitty, cotton-picking moo here!” He turned to Bo. “We didn’t see Merlin in his chambers, did we? Perhaps he was asleep when the ter-moo-nette visited. Just as he was asleep when he changed into a bull . . .”

  “Oh, my sweet potatoes!” Pat pointed at Merlin’s side. “Just look at that!”

  By the lights of the jewels still aglow in Bo’s borrowed sword, McMoo saw what he meant. “Well, well! Ran through some thorns on your way here, did you?”

  Merlin frowned. “Well, yes, but I don’t see—”

  “The sneaky old codger!” Bo cried. “He was tricking us all along.”

  “I think it’s Merlin who’s been tricked,” McMoo murmured.

  Merlin glanced behind – and gasped in horror. A long, deep tear had opened up in his flank to reveal fabric underneath – dark fabric patterned with little moons and stars. “What is the meaning of this?” he spluttered.

  “It means, you’re not really a bull at all. You’re a man, just as you’ve always been!” McMoo grabbed hold of Merlin’s big bull’s head and tugged with all his might. With a loud tearing noise, it ripped away to reveal the pale, startled face of an old, wrinkled gentleman with a white, flowing beard. “You see?” he went on. “You’ve been wearing a highly sophisticated fancy-dress costume from the future.”

  “But it seemed so real!” Merlin stared down at his full bull bodysuit in shock. “This can’t be!”

  “Yes it can!” With a well-aimed swipe of her sword, Bo slashed the suit down the middle. It fell away to reveal a long, crumpled, smelly cloak underneath.

  “Ugh!” Pat held his nose. “Merlin must have been stuck inside that costume for weeks . . .”

  McMoo nodded grimly. “Just be glad he’s wearing anything at all!”

  The wizard still looked baffled, wiggling his hands and feet as if trying to convince himself he was indeed human. “But why would anyone want to make me think I had changed into a bull?”

  “To make sure you took your visions seriously, I suppose,” said McMoo. “You thought they were dreams – but really the ter-moo-nette’s been sneaking into your room in person!”

  “We followed you tonight, and saw her,” Bo explained.

  “Truly, the heifer’s moo-gic is a powerful thing,” said the woozy wizard. “I have been unfairly tricked!”

  “It had to be a clever trick,” said McMoo. “Because you’re the smartest man alive in this time.”

  “Everyone listens to you, Merlin,” Pat agreed. “King Arthur, his knights . . . They all believe you, whatever you say.”

  “And so they should!” Merlin told him sharply. “But you’re right. Thanks to me, everyone is convinced that by being nice to cows we can stop merciless Moodrid from overthrowing our world.”

  “When in fact,” came a high, robotic voice behind them, “your kindness to cows will allow me to overthrow your world . . .”

  Pat, Bo, Merlin and McMoo turned to find the sinister, robed and hooded figure of the ter-moo-nette standing behind them – with a ray gun in her metal hoof.

  “Puny, ignorant fools,” she growled. “I am Moodrid!”

  Chapter Nine

  THE POWER OF EXCOWLIBUR

  “Yak’s spies must have got their wires crossed,” McMoo said grimly. “They thought the F.B.I. was sending a deadly agent called Moodrid and a brand-new type of ter-moo-nator.”

  “Moodrid is my codename,” the heavy-metal heifer explained. “It means Mechanical Ordeal Organizer – Damsel Revelling In Destruction.”

  “Catchy,” said Pat.

  “I suspected this bullock from the future would show you the truth, wizard,” the ter-moo-nette went on. “But you must not be allowed to warn King Arthur.”

  “Vile trickster!” cried Merlin, lunging for the hooded figure. Calmly, she fired her gun at the ground just in front of him. A small explosion blew wet leaves up his cloak and sent him jumping back into Pat.

  But while the metal cow was distracted, McMoo grabbed Bo’s sword and held it in both hooves. “Put down your gun,” he warned the ter-moo-nette. “Or I’ll break this Excowlibur in half!”

  Bo rolled her eyes. “Why should she care? She’s got a sack of them!”

  “But each one is a lot more than just a simple sword . . .” McMoo wobbled the blade threateningly. “Isn’t it, Moodrid?”

  The ter-moo-nette aimed her gun at Pat. “If you break it, I will break C.I.A. Agent Pat Vine.”

  Pat gulped. “I think I might break wind!”

  “Hurt my brother,” said Bo, “and I’ll break you into tiny pieces!”

  McMoo grinned. “What a pleasant conversation! Anything you’d like to break, Merlin?”

  Merlin didn’t an
swer. He was holding his head as though it ached, and Pat couldn’t really blame him.

  “Tell you what, ter-moo-nette,” McMoo went on. “I won’t hurt yours if you don’t hurt mine. Just answer some questions – such as, what’s so special about these swords, eh?”

  The ter-moo-nette glared at him. “The Excowlibur weapons are hypno-swords,” she grated. “They are programmed to send out a signal that hypnotizes the human mind. With one wave of my sword, I can make humans believe anything I choose.”

  “So that’s how you made Merlin believe he was a bull and not a bloke in a costume!” McMoo looked down at the glowing eyes in the cow’s face carved on the sword’s hilt. “Hang on – it’s working now, isn’t it!”

  The ter-moo-nette nodded. “Your clumsy handling must have set it off by mistake. It is transmitting a special pre-programmed hypnotic signal.”

  “So, when Bessivere Barmer and her butcher buddies came after us, they became hypnotized,” McMoo realized. “Hypnotized into thinking they are cows . . .”

  Bo nodded. “But it didn’t work on us because we’re cows already!”

  “It’s working on me!” Merlin clutched his head more tightly. “I can feel the hypnotic signal in my mind. I . . . can’t . . . resist . . .” Suddenly, Merlin flopped down onto all fours with a loud “MOOOOOO!”

  The professor stared in alarm – and while his attention was taken, the ter-moo-nette struck! She clobbered Pat round the horns so he fell backwards into Bo, and snatched the sword from McMoo’s grip at the same time.

  “Do not move,” Moodrid droned, pointing her ray gun at the C.I.A. agents as Merlin shuffled away on all fours.

  “Poor old Merlin,” said Pat sadly. “From costumed bull to make-believe cow!”

  “He has served his purpose,” said the metal agent. “Thanks to him, King Arthur believed my story. The knights of the Round Stable will take my Excowlibur swords on their hopeless quest, all around the world – transmitting the hypnotic signal wherever they go. Eventually, everyone on the planet will come to think they are a cow!”

  Bo frowned. “But won’t the knights be hypnotized too?”

  “The swords’ special scabbards will protect the knights and those close to them from the hypnotic effect,” the ter-moo-nette explained. “But as the knights journey onwards, those they leave behind will soon fall under the hypnotic spell and become human cows . . .” She cackled suddenly with mechanical glee. “Right around the world, they will do nothing but moo and eat grass all day. And since humans cannot digest grass, they will waste away and perish – no matter how much they eat!”

  McMoo turned up his nose. “That’s the most revolting plan I have ever heard!” “Thank you, Professor!” The ter-moo-nette fluttered her steel eyelids coyly. “You old smoothie! But it’s no good trying to butter me up now.” Her voice began to rise to an electronic shriek. “We shall rebuild the world with cattle in charge. Here in the sixth century, we shall create an evil-cow empire that will rule the planet for all time. Nothing can stop the F.B.I . . .. NOTHING!”

  “Nice speech,” said Pat, glowering. “But what happens to the three of us?”

  The ter-moo-nette smiled. “I shall keep you in my secret base as hostages in case of further C.I.A. interference.”

  “Cool,” Bo whispered to Pat and McMoo. “We can jump her on the way there!”

  “My secret base is actually one-point-seven metres away,” Moodrid went on, pointing to a huge, hollow oak just behind them.

  “Ah.” McMoo glanced at Bo. “In that case . . .”

  Bo turned and sprang into action, squirting a stream of milk at the ter-moo-nette’s hoof which blasted the gun from her grip. But the F.B.I. agent retaliated with her own robotic udder.

  It was like a fire hose going off!

  A high-pressure jet of sour cream and runny butter struck Bo with punishing force and hurled her to the ground. “Ugh!” she spluttered. “Enough already!”

  “Yes, you’ve made your point.” McMoo sighed. “No more tricks, I promise. We will come with you.”

  “Very well.” The ter-moo-nette switched off the spray, picked up her fallen ray gun and gestured to the tree. “Now, move. In my haste to follow Merlin, I left some extra Excowliburs beside the lake. Once I have locked you away, I must retrieve them before appearing to Arthur’s knights at noon . . .”

  With Moodrid’s gun aimed at their backs, McMoo and Pat helped up the spluttering Bo and half carried her into the tree.

  Grazing and mooing peacefully in the breaking dawn, Merlin, Bessivere, Henry and the butchers barely noticed a thing . . .

  Chapter Ten

  FROM NOON TILL KNIGHT

  No sooner did Pat find himself tied up in the ter-moo-nette’s secret base, than he was racking his brains for a possible escape plan. But with Bo and the professor roped together too, and since the “secret base” was really more of a secret hole-in-the-ground-hidden-beneath-a-tree, he wasn’t having much luck.

  A single burning candle gave the only light in the place. Not that there was much to see except muddy walls, bits of tree root, a few boxes and the metal hatch in the roof through which they had entered – now locked tight shut. Hours had crawled by slower than a one-legged tortoise with a stubbed toe, and Pat had lost all track of time. Could it be noon already? Was the ter-moo-nette’s evil plan already underway?

  “Well, this is nice,” said Bo, still soggy and extremely grumpy. “I hope the C.I.A. send someone to help us soon.”

  “Even if they find us, they’ll be too late.” McMoo sighed. “There were loads of knights at the court of Camelot. By the end of today, they’ll be scattered across Britain and heading overseas – turning people into cow-zombies without even knowing it.”

  Bo strained against her ropes. “There must be something we can do!”

  “There is,” came a muffled voice from above the roof. “Tell me how I can unlock this hidden hatchway and get you out!”

  Pat gasped. “That sounds like . . .”

  “Merlin!” McMoo grinned incredulously. “We thought you’d been hypnotized!”

  “Am I not Merlin the Wise? Did you not show me the light of truth?” The wizard cleared his throat. “I’m just a bit embarrassed it took me a few hours to find it again . . .”

  “Don’t be,” McMoo called to him. “Breaking the F.B.I.’s hypnosis was an impressive feat.”

  “I wish his feet were impressive enough to stamp a hole in that hatch,” said Bo. “But it’s solid metal.”

  “Speaking of metal, I have found one of the heifer’s swords,” Merlin went on.

  “That must be the one I took away with me,” Pat realized. “You threw it into the forest, Professor – remember?”

  McMoo nodded. “And I remember that the ter-moo-nette’s transporter device is programmed to respond to F.B.I. technology, so . . .”

  “Perhaps the entrance to her secret base is too!” Pat concluded.

  Bo raised his voice. “Have a good prod about with that sword, Beardie – double-quick!”

  They heard clanging and battering as Merlin brought the sword down on the hatch. Pat held his breath and crossed his hooves and tail, and even managed to cross one of his ears, which wasn’t easy . . .

  And suddenly, the hatch swept open!

  “It worked!” McMoo cried. “Thank you, Merlin.”

  “It is good to fight moo-gic with moo-gic!” said Merlin, scrambling down into the room. For an old man he was very spry, and his green eyes sparkled as he cut through Pat’s ropes, then Bo’s and then McMoo’s. “But the question arises, my friends – what are we to do now?”

  “First off, let’s have a proper look inside this sword.” McMoo glanced around the ter-moo-nette’s hidey-hole. “Somewhere about here there should be some tools . . .”

  Pat opened one of the boxes he’d seen. It was full of complicated bric-a-brac. “This stuff any good?”

  “Well spotted, Pat!” McMoo rummaged inside, grabbed a screwdriver and set about the swor
d in Merlin’s hands. “So, tell me, great wizard – how did you find us?”

  “I’m magic.” Merlin smiled, his eyes twinkling. “And I’m also quite good at following tracks in the ground!”

  Bo smiled back. “You’re even better at telling King Arthur what to do. We must get you back to Cow-me-lot so you can tell him how that robotic ratbag has tricked everyone.”

  “You speak wisely, talking cow,” Merlin declared. “But will the heifer not use her great moo-gic to silence us? I may not have the strength to escape her spells a second time.”

  “That’s a point,” said McMoo, frowning. “She must be able to switch on the Excowliburs by remote control whenever she’s ready.”

  “If only we had one of the special scabbards, we could block the hypnotic signal!” Pat sighed.

  “At least we’ve got a sword,” said McMoo brightly, removing a panel to expose the wires and circuits within. “You know, I think I have a plan – but it’s riskier than shaving with a ter-moo-nator’s toenail . . .”

  “Whatever your plan, I fear it is too late.” Merlin pointed up at the sky through the hatch. “Behold! The sun has risen high above the land. Only minutes remain until noon!”

  Noon found King Arthur waiting for the heiffer to appear in Cow-me-lot’s courtyard. Sir Percival stood at his side, and a crowd of 101 other knights – all those he’d been able to round up overnight – stood about heroically. The rest of the courtyard was clogged with curious nobles, ladies, men at arms and servants – as well as dozens of Cow-me-lot’s cattle.

  Arthur sighed and looked around for the thousandth time. “I do wish Merlin would return. He’s been gone for ages.”

  “He’ll show up, sire,” said Sir Percival. “And when he does, I bet he’ll have sorted out that wicked Moodrid for good.” He smiled down at the Excowlibur in his hand. “You know, my reflection really is extra-pretty in this sword!”