by Steve Cole
“I’m glad William believed our story,” said Pat.
“I’m not so sure he does,” Bo replied. “But with his coronation tomorrow, he’s not taking any chances.”
A Saxon maid shrieked as William and his soldiers marched round the corner towards Westminster Abbey. Washerwomen hurled their buckets into the air as they fled with their children. Merchants swiftly packed away their goods, and even beggars shuffled out of sight.
“Stand still, you silly people!” William commanded. “My men are not here to chop you into bits or fire arrows at you – I’m bored with all that nonsense . . .”
“It’s no good,” said Renouf, dismayed. “They’re too scared to listen to anything the duke says!”
“I’m nice! I’m a good guy!” William insisted. “Why else would I give you such lovely Christmas decorations?”
But even as he spoke, a holly wreath hanging on a nearby door started to twitch. So did a piece of tinsel, nailed to the house next door.
“That’s weird,” said Bo. The fairy lights dangling from the thatched rooftops began to shake and swing of their own accord and the bulbs burned brighter and brighter . . .
Then suddenly, the decorations attacked!
Candy canes burst from the walls and tree baubles streamed out of the sky. The wreaths erupted into bat-like bits of holly, flapping madly through the narrow streets.
“Hit the deck!” Pat shouted, diving to the snowy ground.
“I can’t!” Bo yelped as a candy cane cracked her on the head and a bunch of baubles bashed into her belly. “The decs are hitting me! Ow!”
William’s horse reared up in alarm and his soldiers started to panic when ropes of tinsel came slithering down the street like glittering snakes. “What witchcraft is this?” cried the conqueror. “What has become of my delectable decorations?”
“That’s what I’d like to know!” Pat gasped, as the vicious holly-bats hurtled about him. “Have you noticed, Bo? They’re only after you and me!”
“They attack the Saxons in the street as well,” Tostain observed. He drew his bow and arrow and shot a candy cane in two – but the next moment, an identical one whizzed up to attack Bo instead. “There’s no stopping the things!”
“Let’s get indoors out of sight,” Pat yelled over the clamour of screaming Saxons. He staggered to the nearest door and battered it with his hooves. It swung open – and a blizzard of baubles swept out from the house, bashing him all over! “Help!”
Renouf hopped off his horse and helped Tostain kick the baubles away from Pat. Then Bo dragged him under Renouf’s trusty horse for shelter.
“That holly’s like the thing that stuffed up the Time Shed,” she realized. “The F.B.I. must be behind this attack too!”
“Right.” Pat nodded, panting for breath. “They’ve outsmarted us, Bo. It’s not just the turkeys they’ve tampered with. Everything William has touched is now turning on the people – so the people will turn on him!”
Back in Ethelbad’s camp, the sounds of Saxon panic carried eerily from the London streets.
“Hear that?” Moodolph the ter-moo-nator sniggered. “The cow’s decorations are attacking the population.”
“Oh, Angus!” Daisy sobbed, flinging her arms around his neck.
“Steady,” gasped McMoo, clawing at the ever-tightening cord of Christmas tree lights crushing his chest. “You’re strangling me faster than these things!”
“Looks like our goose is cooked,” said Daisy, “even if those terrible turkeys aren’t!”
“How glorious it is to change history,” rasped Moodolph.
McMoo glared at him defiantly. “You’re . . . crazy!”
“And you are doomed,” said Moodolph with satisfaction. “Now, I must make sure that Ethelbad does not bungle his big moment.” Moodolph unfolded a monk’s cowl from a compartment in his metal leg, put it on as a disguise, then turned and strode away. “Farewell, fools!”
“I thought he’d never leave,” groaned McMoo. Then he whistled, as if summoning a dog. “Here, Rover! Come to Daddy!”
The deactivated cyber-turkey switched itself on at his command and rose shakily to its evil clawed-feet.
“Looks like our changes to its control centre paid off,” squeaked Daisy.
“Don’t count your chickens – or your turkeys – before they’ve hatched!” McMoo winced as the possessed plastic cord grew tighter still. “We don’t know for sure Rover is on our side.” He managed another whistle. “Here, boy! Set us free!”
The robo-turkey hesitated. Then it wobbled over and set about the fairy lights. It pecked at the plastic with its nail-sharp beak and tore off the bulbs with its terrible talons. Soon the C.I.A. agents were free.
“Well done, my little poppet!” said Daisy, blowing Rover a kiss.
“Daisy, please!” McMoo protested. “Talking to turkeys is considered one of the first signs of madness.” He paused. “Isn’t it, Rover?”
The cyber-turkey gave a wobbly gobble.
“Thought so,” the professor sighed. “We must be mad to think we can stop Moodolph, Ethelbad, a city full of deadly decorations and a few dozen killer-turkeys all at once . . .”
Daisy nodded. “No power on Earth could stop that lot.”
“Power?” McMoo stared at her. “That’s it – power! Moodolph’s barmy army of festive things is running on energy from your electro-beam and my Time Shed.”
“And if we can stop them getting that power,” Daisy realized, “then the F.B.I. plan will grind to a halt!”
“So what are we waiting for – Christmas?” McMoo gave her a wild grin, grabbed Rover and sprinted from Ethelbad’s camp. “Let’s go!”
Still beating back bloodthirsty baubles and killer candy canes, Pat, Bo and their Norman friends had struggled through the panic-stricken Saxon streets and were close to Westminster Abbey. High above, the holly-bats were hurling down bright-red berry bombs that splattered stinging juice everywhere.
“Come!” William commanded his friends, galloping down the street towards the ornate stone building. “I shall open the abbey doors, so that the people may hide inside. Its sturdy walls will offer shelter to those who need it.”
“Wanna bet?” boomed an unpleasant but familiar voice.
“Oh, no,” groaned Pat, as the Normans skidded to a halt.
Bo scowled. “He’s all we need.”
Ethelbad and his burly band were blocking the way. A gloating, gap-toothed grin sat upon the Saxon chief’s face. “No Norman ninnies may set foot in my abbey!”
“Your abbey?” Bo frowned.
He nodded. “My men and I have just done it up with the finest stuffed rats and cabbage flowers – ready for my crowning moment tomorrow!”
As Ethelbad spoke, Pat saw that the square outside Westminster Abbey was filling up with frightened Saxons chased by baubles, candy canes and hissing fairy lights. Suddenly, the big man swung round to address them.
“Hear me, people of London,” he bellowed. “You are being punished by the spirit of Christmas itself! Punished because you were ready to accept the gifts of William the Conqueror. Punished because you were ready to accept him as your king! Punished because you would not follow me!”
“Rubbish!” Bo shouted. She tried to blow a raspberry, but a cheeky length of tinsel gagged her before she could.
“The Norman decorations are bewitched!” Ethelbad went on. “They turn against you for trusting the invaders.” More strings of fairy lights were wriggling in sinister snake-like fashion towards the square – and yet they ignored Ethelbad and his men completely. “See? William’s naughty gifts dare not harm me, nor those who follow me. It is the fates’ way of saying that I, Ethelbad the ’Orrible, must become King of England – and only those who follow me shall be saved!”
“He’s right!” gasped a washerwoman, held tight by fairy lights.
“We must follow Ethelbad!” cried a little old man, hopping about with a bauble up his trouser leg. “We must!”
�
��No, you mustn’t!” shouted William. “Guards – shut the smelly Saxon up!”
William’s men drew their swords. Ethelbad’s men drew theirs. For a few moments, the two groups stood there yelling noisily and making rude signals at each other.
Then William yelled at the top of his voice: “Let battle commence!”
Chapter Eleven
COW-ER FROM THE POWER
Renouf charged bravely towards the band of burly Saxons, Tostain and the other Norman knights at his heels. A pitched battle broke out! William joined in the fighting, swapping sword-blows with Ethelbad.
“Your grace, no! Don’t fight the Saxons!” Pat yelled, batting away a hovering candy cane. “You must help protect the people from those evil decorations!”
“There is nothing anyone can do for them now,” said a cold, grating voice close by.
With a thrill of alarm, Pat noticed the cloaked figure of a monk standing close by the abbey doors – and glimpsed glowing green eyes inside the cowl. “Oh, no, Bo, look!” he cried. “It’s a ter-moo-nator!”
“Where?” Bo gasped, trying to see past a length of angry tinsel. “I’ll get him in a minute!”
“Don’t think so,” said the ter-moo-nator, as a barrage of baubles banged into Bo’s bottom, knocking her over. “I, Moodolph, have defeated you utterly!”
The tinsel whipped itself around Bo’s waist and pulled tight. Pat fought to free her, but hundreds more plastic candy canes rained down on him like truncheons. He covered his aching head.
Close by, metal clanged on metal as Ethelbad, William and their forces fought ever more fiercely . . .
“Face it, C.I.A. fools,” Moodolph gloated. “This is a battle you will never win.”
“Want to bet?” came a familiar cry.
The fighting stopped for a second. “Look!” bellowed William in delight, pointing across the square. “Lord Angus of Burger!”
Tostain frowned. “And he’s brought a performing cow with him!”
Pat stared in amazement as Professor McMoo and Daisy charged across the crowded square pursued by holly-bats, candy canes and a whole bauble battalion. Daisy held the electro-beam high above her head, her hooves fiddling with the controls.
“Remember how she used that thing to save us in that alley, Pat?” said Bo excitedly. “I think she’s going to do it again—”
Ga-bammmm! Bo whooped as the tinsel that held her burst into sparks and then withered to nothing. The candy canes attacking Pat flew up in the air and exploded. The baubles fell to the ground and bounced wildly about like glowing tennis balls.
“That was the last of the electro-beam’s power!” Daisy yelled.
“The energy burn-out has destroyed all decorations in the local area,” Moodolph observed coldly.
McMoo beamed. “That was the idea, tin-head!” He and Daisy waded through the stunned Saxons and Normans around them to reach Pat and Bo. “Hello, you two. Having a happy Christmas so far?”
“It’s different,” Pat admitted.
“Listen closely.” McMoo lowered his voice. “That pile of tinned steak over there is now running his deadly decs purely on energy stolen from the Time Shed. He will soon be bringing out reinforcements – we have to cut his power supply. Daisy knows what to do, but she will need backup.”
“I’ll go with her, Prof,” Bo volunteered. “Renouf, can I borrow your horse?”
Renouf jumped down from his horse and bowed. “As you wish, my lady.”
“And I’ll have yours, chuck,” Daisy told William – although to his ears it sounded like “MOOOOOO!”
William stared in shock as the cow leaped onto his proud stallion and almost squashed it. But then the horse recovered and carried Daisy away after Bo through the snowy, slippery streets.
“You should have run with your milk-cow friends, Professor,” hissed Moodolph. “Your interference has achieved nothing. In fact, I shall turn it to my advantage.” So saying, he turned to address the Saxon crowds. “Behold, the demon decorations are destroyed! It is as mighty Ethelbad said – those who have sworn to follow him are protected from the vile Normans’ wizardry, just as he is!”
“That weirdo monk is right!” shouted the old man, broken baubles now tumbling from out of his trouser legs.
“No!” yelled McMoo desperately. “Don’t believe him!”
“How can we not?” The washerwoman raised a broom like a pikestaff. “We promised to follow him, and the witchcraft ended. Let us fight for Ethelbad, our true king!”
“AT LAST!” bellowed Ethelbad, bearing down on William as his Saxon band resumed battle with glee. “The people follow me. They are mine to command – and I command them to DESTROY YOU ALL!”
“WAIT!” hollered McMoo at the top of his lungs.
Pat held his ears. Compelled by the command in the professor’s voice, everyone stood still for a moment – even Ethelbad and Moodolph.
McMoo addressed the mob of Saxons in the square. “The wizardry you have witnessed was not caused by William, and Bettie Barmas had nothing to do with it either. Ethelbad is responsible – and he is not protected. The proof’s right here.” He pulled Rover the cyber-turkey from under his cloak and chucked him at Ethelbad. “Rover – sort the bad man out!”
With an electronic squawk, the bird-bot flapped dizzily through the air and crashed into the Saxon chief. “Ooof!” gasped Ethelbad, toppling under the impact. “Gerroff!”
“Bad turkey!” hissed Moodolph, trying to grab hold of the silver bird while slipping in the snow. “Stop!” But Rover pecked at the ter-moo-nator’s robes and tore them away – revealing Moodolph in all his half-bull, half-robot glory. The ter-moo-nator tripped over his clothes and fell down. With a victorious squawk, the cyber-turkey sat on his head and leaked oil all over him.
“Flying metal birds!” screamed a woman in the crowd.
“Talking monk-bulls in shiny armour!” moaned another, fainting.
Soon, hundreds more were shrieking and running away from this latest assault on their sanity.
“No!” Ethelbad staggered up, horrified. “My people! Don’t leave your leader – come back!” Desperately he ran after the fleeing crowds. His baffled band of men shrugged and followed.
“Chickens!” William yelled after them.
Tostain smiled. “You mean ‘turkeys’, your grace.”
“You shall pay for your meddling, Professor!” grated Moodolph, finally trapping the rogue turkey beneath one of his solid steel hooves. “I had planned to attack only the would-be leaders of London with the cyber-turkeys. But now, using the power of your Time Shed, I shall activate them and destroy you, your friends and hundreds of those innocent Saxons you seem to care so much about. Then I shall make it seem as though Ethelbad has defeated them. The survivors of this attack will hail him as a hero.”
Pat bit his lip. “And with William out of the way, Ethelbad will be the only choice for the new King of England.”
“You see? The future still belongs to the F.B.I.!” Moodolph’s voice rose to a metallic shriek as he activated his remote control. “Nothing can stop us now!”
In fine homes all over London, the freshly delivered cyber-turkeys picked up Moodolph’s signal and burst into sudden, uncanny life. Sage and onion stuffing sprayed the wooden walls as the apparently innocent birds turned inside out, revealing their true deadly forms.
People fled through the snowy streets in fear – but there was no escape. The remaining candy canes, holly-bats and baubles began to herd the Saxons towards the ter-moo-turkeys. Tinsel snakes joined in, tripping and tangling up their victims, holding them helpless as the robotic poultry advanced . . .
“Have no fear, my people!” hollered Ethelbad. “I will save you all!” He smiled. “Er, when my friend the metal bull tells me how to, that is . . .”
“Stop this, Moodolph!” cried McMoo, as a squadron of ter-moo-turkeys landed with a squawk in the square and surrounded them. “Call off the attack.”
“Why should I?” the ter-moo-nator e
nquired.
“Er . . . Because it’s Christmas!” Pat shouted. “The season of goodwill!”
“Yes – and it will be good to squish you,” Moodolph retorted.
William the Conqueror was still looking bewildered. “The talking bull sends silver birds to do battle with men?”
“Fear not! Renouf shouted, drawing his sword, “I shall deal with our trifling foes . . .” But the nearest cyber-turkey pecked his weapon in two with a single swipe of its beak. “Or not,” Renouf concluded weakly, falling back beside Tostain.
“I just hope Bo and Daisy cut the power in time,” muttered Pat.
“What?” Moodolph overheard and frowned sharply. “Where did you send the milk-cows, Professor? To cut the power in time?”
“No, no! To cut some parsley and thyme!” said McMoo desperately. “They fancied a grass sandwich, and—”
“They’ve gone to the Time Shed to cut the power link, haven’t they,” Moodolph realized, his nose glowing crimson with fury. “Well, we’ll see about that!” He leaped into the air – and jets in his hooves propelled him up and away into the sky. He streaked off into the distance.
William went cross-eyed, then fell over in the snow. And the menacing turkeys stalked ever closer.
“We must try to hold out against these birds for as long as we can,” McMoo told Renouf, Tostain and the others. “Bo and, er, the circus-cow may still be in time to save us!”
“Cows on horseback outrunning a supersonic ter-moo-nator?” Pat sighed helplessly. “We haven’t a hope!”
Chapter Twelve
THE SQUIRTS THAT SAVED CHRISTMOOS
Bo drove her struggling horse on, faster and faster through the forest, with Daisy just keeping up beside her. “When we reach the shed, what are we looking for?” she called. “A dirty big cable plugged into the wall stretching all the way back to the ter-moo-nator’s house?”
“No, it will be a wireless connection,” Daisy shouted back over the rush of the wind in their ears. “Looks like a bright orange ball of energy.”