The Warrior Sheep Down Under

by Christopher Russell

  Ida and Tod peered excitedly at their screen.

  “Move the camera, please, Auntie Rose,” said Tod. “We can only see grass.”

  “Good,” muttered Rose under her breath. She moved the laptop slightly. “Is that any better?”

  Tod and Ida peered again. In the distance, against the fence, they could just about make out a few whitish-brown blobs.

  “Can you get a bit closer to them, Rose?” asked Ida. “We can’t see them clearly.”

  “No,” shouted Rose. “They won’t stand still if I get too near.” She waited for a few moments, then shouted again, “That’s it. I’m going indoors now. I’m getting cold. It’s not eighty degrees here, you know. I’ll speak to you again soon. Byee.” And the laptop snapped shut.

  “Oh, well,” sighed Ida, as the screen on Frank’s laptop went blank. Then, after a moment, she said, “Tod…Did you think the sheep looked a bit…strange?”

  Tod shook his head. “No, Gran.”

  “No?”

  “No. They didn’t look like sheep at all.”

  • • •

  Back across the other side of the world, in the chilly autumn breeze at Murkton-on-Sea, Rose was hurrying across to the fence. She bent down and began to pull sheep from the wire. Five paper cutouts, that is, decorated with felt tip and bits of knitting wool.

  Rose sighed deeply. She didn’t want to ruin their vacation, but was she doing the right thing by keeping the truth from Tod and Ida?

  “Lucky it didn’t rain,” she said to the cutout sheep. “But I can’t keep this up for much longer. I’m going to have to tell them the truth.”

  13

  The Lock Picker

  While Ida sipped her cocoa and ice cream and wondered what was bothering Rose, Tod and Uncle Frank went out to check that all the rescued animals were safely bedded down for the night.

  When they’d finished, Tod stood in the yard, staring up at the beautiful star-spangled night sky. He lowered his head slowly, then stood quite still. He was sure he could see a dim light shining from the window at the very top of the Maiden Tower. It darted about like the beam of a torch. Then suddenly vanished. Had he imagined it?

  “Get a move on, mate,” said Uncle Frank. “It’s a bit late for stargazing.”

  Tod suddenly felt silly. He must have been seeing things. He followed Uncle Frank back to the kitchen. They were soon talking about the Skype call again.

  “Rose was always a bit scatterbrained,” Frank said. “But even she can’t have lost a whole flock of sheep. Go on, you daft Brits, get to bed, the pair of you.”

  • • •

  The warriors slept soundly all night on the grass beside the Rotapangi River and woke refreshed. As the sun came up, their damp fleeces began to dry properly and they all felt warmer and more comfortable.

  “What I don’t get, Sal,” said Oxo, “is why you hopped off the tower like you were a bird.”

  “I thought I heard Tuftella calling,” said Sal. “But I’m afraid it was only humans.”

  Jaycey wasn’t listening. She was examining one of her hooves. “Just look at this chip,” she said crossly. “Look at it. What I need is some polish. Where’s our fairy godtingy when I need her?”

  No one knew. The last time they’d seen her, she was boinging skyward on the end of a piece of elastic. It was all rather puzzling.

  “Well,” said Oxo, “there’s always one thing you can do when a fairy godtingy’s gone missing.”

  “What?” asked the others.

  “Eat breakfast.”

  • • •

  While the sheep hungrily munched juicy grass behind the boathouse, their fairy godtingy was nibbling a slice of burnt toast as she bounced and bumped along in Trevor, Shelly’s battered truck.

  “Sorry about the charcoal,” called Shelly from behind the wheel. “The toaster at the roadhouse has only got two settings. Burnt or very burnt.”

  Alice didn’t reply. She was not enjoying this so-called breakfast and she had not enjoyed a good night’s sleep. The other people in the dorm hadn’t clipped their toenails on her bunk as the receptionist said they might, but they had certainly talked a lot. And not to her. They had jabbered till the early hours and merely shrugged their shoulders and carried on when she ordered them to shut up. Then, long before dawn, it was zip…zip…rustle, rustle, cough, sneeze, as a couple of girls who were planning to catch an early bus had slipped from their bunks and started packing to leave.

  “I’m dead scared about the next place,” whispered one of them, unzipping her rucksack for the umpteenth time to stuff in her pj’s.

  “Me too,” whispered her friend, accidentally dropping her boots on the floor. “They say Tickler’s Turnpike is the worst one of all.”

  “Will you be quiet!” yelled Alice, sitting up in her bunk and banging her head on the ceiling. “I am trying to sleep!”

  “Sorry…sorry…” whispered both girls and they tiptoed from the dorm, attempting, without success, to avoid bumping their rucksacks against the bunks as they passed.

  Three sleepless hours later, Alice was still thinking about what the girls had said. She stopped nibbling her burnt toast.

  “This Tickler’s Turnpike,” she said to Shelly. “Is it really that bad?”

  “Yeah,” laughed Shelly. “Toughest bit of white water in the country. The river gets squeezed between two cliffs and, er…speeds up. But look on the bright side. The photo can’t possibly be worse than the bungee one.”

  It was a very short ride. Shelly had been driving parallel to the river and soon drew up beside a low brick building.

  “Here we go,” she cried, jumping out. “Rotapangi Rafters.”

  “But I’m not rafting,” objected Alice, still in her seat. “This must be the wrong company.”

  “This is the only company,” said Shelly. “They call themselves Rotapangi Rafters but they cover all the white water sports. They’ve got places up and down the river, both sides…” She stopped and frowned at Alice. “What did you just say? You’re not rafting…?”

  “You heard me correctly,” said Alice.

  “So…if you’re not rafting, what exactly are you planning to do?” Shelly paused. “Tell me you’re not kayaking?”

  Alice gulped but remained steady. “Those are my instructions,” she answered stiffly. “Kayak down Tickler’s Turnpike.”

  Shelly whistled long and low. “Well…I guess we’d better find the guys and get you sorted,” she said. “And then start praying.” She turned to Deidre, who was struggling out of the backseat. “No point in you moving. They don’t do doubles. The kayaks here are a strictly solo mode of smashing yourself to pieces.”

  Alice glared at Shelly, then climbed down from the truck. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Not as much as you’re going to.”

  Shelly pointed at the front door of the building. “You book in over there. They’ll give you a wet suit, helmet, and life jacket. You’ll have to sign a form saying…”

  “Don’t tell me,” said Alice, “That if anything goes wrong, it’s not their fault.”

  “You’re getting the hang of this,” said Shelly. “Then they’re going to ask you if you’ve done any white water stuff before.”

  “Of course I haven’t,” snapped Alice. “Do I look as if I spend my days romping in rivers?”

  Shelly shook her head. “No. So you’d better fib. They don’t allow first-timers to kayak down Tickler’s Turnpike.” She pointed at the rocky hillside in front of them. “Anyway, the river’s going to take you way down there beyond the bluffs. We’ll meet you on the other side.”

  Alice kept her face very straight when she told the man at the desk that she was experienced in all water sports. And it wasn’t entirely untrue. She had once had to do a term’s canoeing at school. On a still, shallow lake. She donned the wet suit, rubber socks, life vest, and helmet she was given and handed Shelly the clothes she’d taken off.

  “Be careful,” s
he tutted. “You’re creasing my cashmere sweater.”

  Shelly thrust the clothes to Deidre through the truck window, then climbed back into the driving seat. “Good luck!” she called. Then under her breath, “You’re gonna need it!”

  Deidre leaned out. “Don’t worry, Miss Barton. I’ll be ready with the camera.”

  Shelly sat and watched Alice walk away.

  “Is it really dangerous?” asked Deidre.

  Shelly nodded. “Yeah. It can be. But I guess she’ll be all right. If she doesn’t fall out.” She drove off. “This chunk of land you say she’s going to inherit. What’s so special about it?”

  Deidre shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s never told me.”

  Shelly drove around the rocky hillside to another stretch of river and switched off Trevor’s engine.

  “I suppose she’ll be a while yet?” Deidre said. “I think I’ll stretch my legs.”

  She climbed from the truck, taking a couple of small locked bags with her. Shelly spent a while wiping dust and splattered flies from Trevor’s windscreen. She glanced at her watch, then wandered off to find Deidre. Alice should be coming through soon and Deidre would be in trouble if she missed taking the photo. Shelly came across Deidre sitting behind a tree. One of the bags was open and papers and maps were spread out on the grass. Deidre was using a bobby pin to swiftly and expertly unlock the second bag.

  14

  Tickler’s Turnpike

  Back up river, a young man in shorts and sweatshirt was holding a kayak ready for Alice. She slid herself into the seat and he helped her to fasten the thick plastic apron over her lap, so that from the waist down she was sealed in. Then he handed her a paddle.

  “You’re sure you’re up for it?” he asked. “The Turnpike’s no picnic.”

  Alice stared straight ahead. “Of course,” she answered coldly.

  The young man shrugged and pushed her off from the bank.

  Alice concentrated hard. She felt the river current quicken.

  “I can do this…!” she suddenly shouted in an attempt to boost her confidence. Her voice bounced around the rocky cliffs in front of her.

  And a lamb heard the echo.

  • • •

  “It’s her!” shouted Wills, excitedly. “The fairy godtingy!”

  He had left the other warriors munching breakfast behind the boathouse and was standing on the concrete slipway in front of it. A man had arrived on a motor scooter to unlock the boathouse and was now busy doing something with the rubber rafts. He saw Wills staring at the river and laughed.

  “Hiya, fella. What’s so interesting?” Then he saw a kayaker in a black wet suit paddling past downstream. “First one today,” he said. “She’s looking good.”

  Wills called again, “Guys, guys, come here…”

  But the sheep had heard him the first time and were already appearing around the side of the boathouse. They hurried across and stood next to Wills.

  The boatman laughed again. “Well, we get all sorts down here,” he said. “But I’ve never had a queue of sheep before.” He was untying one of the rubber rafts from the ring that secured it to the concrete slipway, but now he paused.

  “I guess I’d better find out where you lot came from.” He straightened up, patted Wills on the head, and walked into the boathouse. “Stay right there,” he said.

  The warriors were staring so hard at the river, they hardly noticed him go.

  “Are you sure it’s her, dear?” asked Sal. “It doesn’t look like her.”

  “Listen!” said Wills urgently. He turned his head to one side to hear better. The others did the same.

  “Alice Barton going strong, bound to claim the Billabong…” The voice was loud and clear and undoubtedly belonged to their fairy godtingy. “Bound to claim the Billabong…”

  Alice determinedly dipped her paddle from side to side as she chanted, trying to keep her fear at bay. Staring straight ahead, she didn’t see the sheep.

  “Why does she always turn up at mealtimes?” grumbled Oxo.

  “Never mind your stomachs!” cried Sal. “We must follow!”

  “Ohmygrass…” bleated Jaycey. “We don’t have to get wet again, do we? Look at my split ends. Look at them…”

  But Sal was already intoning.

  “A human, strange in word and deed,

  Will be their star and take the lead.

  Through foaming waters…”

  “Yes, all right,” said Oxo. “But we can’t swim after her.”

  Wills had looked away to the rubber rafts pulled up on the concrete slipway. He trotted quickly down to the one the boatman had started untying. “Maybe we could all get into this,” he called.

  The raft was made of thick, red rubber. It was rounded at both ends and had a wide, curved rim all the way round to stop people inside from falling out. There were no forward facing seats, only rubber benches along both sides.

  Sal hurried down the slipway and tried to climb in, but her legs were too short. Wills took a little run, then sprang in, and Jaycey followed. She crouched down right in the middle of the raft and buried her face under her front hooves. Links jumped in next before Oxo put his head under Sal’s rump and lifted her up and over the rim. She landed with a thud at the back end of the raft, which promptly began to slide down the slope.

  “Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” said Sal.

  “No, no, that’s good,” cried Wills.

  The half-untied rope slipped out of its ring and the raft slithered to the bottom of the slipway and splashed into the little bay. Oxo galloped after it.

  “Wait for the leader, then!” He steadied himself, leapt for the raft, and landed heavily next to Sal. The front end of the raft tipped right up in the air and the back end dipped so far down that water sloshed in over the rim.

  “Spread out,” called Wills, “before we fall out.” He managed to clamber forward with Links following.

  They shuffled around a bit until the raft felt steady under their hooves. Links and Wills stood on one side, Sal and Jaycey, who’d come out from under her hooves, on the other. Oxo insisted on standing at the front.

  Alice’s kayak was by now well past the little bay and moving faster. Her voice was fading.

  “Alice Barton going strong…”

  Behind her, the raft with its crew of sheep bobbed gently up and down, going nowhere. The boatman suddenly appeared in the boathouse doorway and stared in shock.

  “Hey, get out of there!” he yelled, and started running down the slipway.

  “We’ve got to make it move,” shouted Wills, and he began to rock on his hooves like a dancer. “Rock, everyone! Rock!”

  The others copied Wills, rocking their bodies forward and backward.

  Links nodded approval. “Hey, nice moves, guys…Now, with the beat.” And he began to rap.

  “We ain’t so daft as it might appear,

  An’ we’s rocking this raft ’cause we can hear

  The lady out there and her voice, we know,

  Is our fairy godtingy, so we gotta go…

  But it sure won’t be no laughing matter,

  So we’s sayin’ no, no time for chatter.

  So guys just rock,

  Rock this raft…Rock this raft,

  Don’t pitter-patter.

  Rock this raft. Rock this raft…”

  The other warriors joined in and the raft began to tilt up and down rhythmically. It rocked farther out into the little bay. The boatman splashed after it, yelling for the sheep to stop, but before he could reach it, the raft suddenly span round twice, then shot off down the river, caught and carried along by the swift current.

  “Stop rocking!” shouted Wills. “And all sit down!”

  The sheep crouched as low as they could. The raft bounced along faster and faster and once more the sheep felt the spray of the Rotapangi River on their fleeces.

  “What a splendid way to travel,” observed Sal. Then as they got even faster, “Um, Wills dear, do we have any of those
things humans use to, er, slow things down a bit?”

  “Brakes?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  The trees beside the river had become a green blur again. The raft was gaining on the kayak, but Alice was completely unaware of what and who was behind her. The crash helmet blocked out most sound, and her eyes were still fixed on the river ahead.

  “Alice Barton, going strong, bound to claim the…”

  Suddenly, as she rounded a bend, a wall of rock appeared in front of her, like a high dam blocking the river. Halfway across it, splitting the wall of rock from top to bottom, was a narrow gorge. The entire Rotapangi River had no choice but to force its way through this narrow gap. And Alice had no choice either. This was Tickler’s Turnpike. And it was sucking her toward its dark mouth.

  Even inside her helmet, Alice could hear the echoing roar of tumbling water from within the gorge. Mist billowed out like breath from a giant’s jaws. She braced herself and paddled hard into the mist. Soon she was plowing through a curtain of spray. The roar was deafening. The kayak plunged into the gorge and down the furious white slope of churning, racing water. Alice screamed, and her scream seemed to be answered by another noise, even louder.

  “Mmmaaaaa…!”

  It was coming from behind her. She ducked as something large and wide and red skimmed over the top of her helmet and landed with a flat-bottomed whack on the white water ahead of her. As it landed, its occupants bounced high in the air before dropping back down again: splat, splat, splat, splat, splat! The raft careered onward and downward with five sheep onboard. Five sheep!

  Alice lost her paddle, lost her grip, lost everything. The kayak bounced off one wall of the gorge, then the other. It turned sideways and rolled over with Alice trapped in her seat. Cold water surged into her mouth and up her nose. Then she was the right way up again, spluttering and gasping, with water streaming down her face. But only for a second. The kayak rolled over again. And it went on rolling and tumbling, like a twig down a storm drain.

  Ahead of her, the raft with its heavy load of sheep crashed from side to side but stayed upright. Sal managed a backward glance through the drenching spray.