Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  James took the turnpike to the left and made his way along a narrow B-road. He looked in the rear view mirror to make sure Rosie was still following behind. Satisfied that she was, he turned his concentration back to the road. After five miles, a sign told them the village of Maiden’s Dribble was two miles away. James and Alan sniggered again. Harry shook his head and Frankie asked if they had entered the set of a Carry On film.

  As they approached the village boundary, James nodded to the CD player. ‘I reckon we’ve timed this perfectly.’ The opening bars of the theme tune from the Magnificent Seven filled the car. James began humming along.

  In the front passenger seat Alan could see the approaching village entry sign. The council had installed some quite severe traffic calming, slowing vehicles to the village 20mph speed limit. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ asked James and Harry simultaneously.

  Alan pointed to the village entry sign. It read; Welcome to Maiden’s Dribble. Witchcraft free since 1997. However someone had drawn a line through 1997 and replaced it with 1999.

  ‘I wonder what happened in 1997.’ Alan asked.

  ‘It’s probably when Fanny Sixpence moved in.’

  *

  ‘It looks like it’s here or nothing,’ James looked up at the gently swaying sign hanging from metal hooks attached to a stone clad pub. They had tried every bed and breakfast mentioned in Alan’s guide book, The Lonely Bloke guide to Rural England, to no avail. It appeared there was some kind of festival happening soon, and everywhere was full. Everywhere except The Soiled Cassock.

  Rosie wrinkled her nose at the sign. ‘I’m not staying anywhere that calls itself soiled. I don’t know where it’s been.’

  ‘Stuck in the seventeenth century by the looks of it,’ Alan said. ‘Shall we?’ he added and opened the door.

  ‘Can’t wait,’ Frankie said. ‘It sounds like its run by a Catholic priest I knew in the army.’

  The friends entered the tiny pub. It was empty save for a very large elderly man behind the bar, washcloth over his right shoulder, staring in to space.

  ‘Hi,’ Alan said to the still, vacant looking man. ‘I understand from the sign outside that you have vacancies. I’d like to book a couple of rooms, please.’

  The man continued to stare into space.

  ‘Hello..?’ Alan shuffled over to be within the barman’s line of sight. Eventually the man lowered his gaze and looked Alan in the eyes.

  ‘How many?’ the barman said.

  ‘How many what?’

  ‘Rooms. How many rooms?’

  ‘Er, two, thanks, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Two rooms, is it? Twenty pounds per room, per night. No breakfast.’

  ‘Sorry, I thought this was a bed and breakfast?’

  ‘It is. No breakfast.’

  ‘May I ask why?’ Rosie piped up.

  ‘Can’t be arsed,’ the barman replied.

  Frankie laughed. ‘I love it here.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Harry said, ‘do you get much custom?’

  ‘Not since the burnings,’ the barman switched his gaze to Harry.

  ‘Burnings?’ Alan said. ‘What burnings?’

  ‘No concern of yours. Want the rooms or not?’

  Alan looked at Rosie, who shook her head. ‘I guess so…’

  ‘I suppose you want me to get the keys, then,’ the barman said and wandered off without waiting for a reply.

  ‘I’m not staying here,’ Rosie whispered to Alan. ‘He looks like he’ll murder us in our sleep.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Alan said. ‘He’d only get one of us. I’d have plenty of time to escape.’

  James, Harry and Frankie laughed.

  ‘That’s not funny, and you two can shut up as well.’

  Before Alan could reply, the barman came back with two sets of keys. ‘Rooms one and two. They’re numbered so you know which is which. No parties, no drugs and no magic wizards.’

  ‘That’s you fucked,’ Alan told Harry, whilst Rosie thumped his arm for swearing.

  ‘No wizards!’ the barman repeated.

  ‘It’s OK. I’m not a wizard.’ Harry said.

  The barman looked suspiciously at Harry, frowned and handed over the keys. Alan thanked him and asked the way to their rooms. The barman gave a nonchalant flick of his wrist toward the stairs at the corner of the bar.

  ‘OK, thanks for all your help. I’ll be sure to put a good review on your website.’ Alan led the group up the stairs to their rooms. ‘Take your pick,’ Alan told James, motioning to identical doors in either side of a narrow hallway.

  ‘I’ll leave the Honeymoon Suite to you and Rosie. Harry and I’ll take the Guest Wing…’ James took a key.

  ‘Excellent choice,’ Alan placed the remaining key into the door. It opened onto a small room with garish orange and brown wallpaper, a double bed, bedside table and a window, the curtains a shade of brown Rosie had only ever seen in bedpans.

  ‘I’m not staying here,’ she said. ‘It’s filthy.’

  ‘Give it a chance,’ Alan replied and opened the door to a duck-egg blue bathroom suite. A small cubicle housed a shower. The curtain looked as though it had been blue once upon a time, but now was stained a similar shade to the curtains in the bedroom. He conceded that Rosie might have a point.

  Alan poked his head out of the bathroom. Rosie was staring at two pictures on the wall. ‘Come and have a look at these,’ she beckoned Alan over.

  Two black and white drawings hung on the wall, side by side. The one on the left depicted what appeared to be a Guy Fawkes burning on a funeral pyre, surrounded by white robed figures. The other showed a man being placed in an Iron Maiden.

  ‘Bloody hell.’ It was all Alan could think to say.

  ‘That does it, there’s no way I’m staying here.’ Rosie took her phone out of her bag, scrawled through her contact list, found the number she was looking for and dialled.

  ‘Hello. Is this the Sanctuary of the Bee? Excellent. I’m in the area and I wondered if you had a room for three nights? You do? Wonderful. Yes, it’s Rosie Talbot. I can be there in ten minutes. Thank you.’ She switched off her phone and looked at Alan. ‘Well, are you coming, or what?’

  ‘I can’t go there. And neither can you. It’s a trap.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s how they get you in. You think it’s a spa, but you end up giving them your house, and dancing down Oxford Street with a tambourine and dishing out leaflets in return for a vegan falafel.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Rosie grinned. ‘I’m sure there would be a meat option…’

  ‘You can’t do this,’ Alan pleaded.

  ‘It’ll be fine, Alan, honestly. I’ll meet up with Amy and talk her round. Plus I could do with some pampering,’ she told him as she picked up her bag and walked to the door.

  ‘OK, so you’re going under cover? I get it, good thinking,’ Alan said.

  ‘Yeah, whatever. See you later,’ Amy shut the door behind her, leaving Alan alone. Sort of.

  ‘Don’t worry, son, she’ll be fine,’ Frankie appeared at his side. ‘Holy cow, have you seem these photos?’ he pointed at the wall.

  ‘Yeah. I’m not sure what they mean, though.’

  ‘Have you ever seen The Wicker Man?’

  ‘Of course, but I doubt Britt Ekland would move in next door.’

  ‘Fair point. Do you want to round up the troops, have a look about the place?’

  ‘I suppose I should,’ Alan replied, looking out the window as Rosie reversed her car out of the pub car park and on to the single carriageway road.

  *

  Alan knocked on the door. James opened it almost immediately. ‘Mate, it’s like an explosion in an LSD factory in here. The wallpaper is so bad it looks like one of your shirts.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Alan said, entering the room. It was set out identically to his own, even down to the colour of the wallpaper, which now he came to thi
nk about it, wouldn’t look too bad on a shirt.

  ‘Rosie’s gone undercover at the Sanctuary. I agreed it was a good idea,’ he told James and Harry.

  ‘Bloody liar,’ Frankie materialised at his side.

  ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ James asked. ‘I mean, getting Amy back will be hard enough. Now they’re both gone, how will we manage it?’

  ‘You two are lovely blokes and all, but I sometimes wonder if you’re both a little simple,’ Harry told them. ‘They’re both completely safe.’

  ‘Well, Rosie will be,’ Alan said.

  ‘Why’s that?’ James asked.

  ‘Well, I doubt she’d be considered pretty enough to be put in the breeding pens.’

  ‘Alan! You cannot say that about your girlfriend. Rosie is a lovely young lady, and you are very lucky she puts up with you,’ Harry said.

  ‘He’s got a point, mate,’ James added.

  ‘You can bloody talk,’ Alan countered. ‘Anyway, no one is going to end up as a mating wench. We’re going to get Amy, and we’re going to leave before anything bad happens. Now, I suggest we go downstairs for a spot of food and have a good look around the town.’

  *

  ‘No dinner,’ the barman told them.

  ‘Are we too early?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Can’t be arsed,’ came the reply.

  ‘Well, as long as there’s a good reason.’ Alan considered ordering a drink, but thought better of it. Instead, he asked, ‘Have you heard of the Sanctuary of the Bee?’

  The barman leaned slowly across the bar. ‘You don’t want to go there. Full of weirdos, it is. They’re not like us village folk. They’re…different.’

  Alan decided against further enquiry, instead he suggested to James and Harry that they have a walk around the village. Saying their goodbyes, the friends left the pub and set about exploring.

  ‘How weird do you have to be to be considered a weirdo by that bloke?’ Alan said at last.

  Harry laughed. ‘I guess anyone with opposable thumbs would seem weird to that bloke.’

  The friends turned left at a fork in the road to where they had seen shops.

  ‘I wonder if that’s why he wouldn’t make us dinner,’ Alan said. ‘Perhaps he hasn’t learnt how to make fire.’

  ‘If he did, he would be mayor, not running a pub,’ James suggested as they turned the corner. The village main road was a small selection of shops on either side of the cobbled street, with several elderly people tottering about on a variety of walking aids. Slowly but surely all heads turned in their direction.

  ‘It’s like the Village of the Damned,’ Frankie said, making Alan laugh out loud.

  ‘What’s so funny, Alan?’ Harry asked, oblivious.

  ‘These shop names. They’re inspired.’ He pointed at the first shop, a greengrocer, called Art. E. Chokes, and a chemist next door called Scratch and Sniff.

  ‘This is a joke, surely?’ Harry said, looking for further evidence of strange shop names. Sure enough they found a tea shop called Witches Brew, an arts and crafts shop called Pins and Needles, an antiques shop called The Round Table, and, strangely, a newsagent with a sign that simply said Trevor.

  ‘I guess they were bored by the time they got round to naming that one,’ Alan pointed at the newsagent.

  ‘Mate, you’ve got to see these,’ James, a little further up the road, shouted. On one side was a large garden centre called Salem’s Plot, and on the other side of the road stood what appeared to be a magic shop. The sign swinging from the door said The Magic Wand. Everyone laughed. Not so much at the name, but at the sign itself. It featured a silhouette of, Alan presumed, a wizard, as the blackened shape had a pointed hat. However it was the positioning of his magic wand that caused the hilarity, pointing upwards, as it was, from the wizard’s midriff, looking for all the world like an erection.

  ‘I bet Sooty never shopped in here,’ Frankie said, which Alan then repeated to his friends.

  ‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind having a look in there, if you don’t mind?’ Harry crossed the road, followed by Alan and James, still giggling like schoolboys.

  Harry entered The Magic Wand and was instantly hit with the overpowering aroma of patchouli oil. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said, ‘it smells like someone’s set fire to a hippy.’

  ‘I love this bloke,’ Frankie said to Alan. ‘You should nick that joke.’

  ‘You should use that in your act,’ Alan said to Harry, who was busy perusing the aisles.

  ‘Can I help you gents with anything?’

  Alan took his first look at the man behind the counter. An average looking man in all respects, aside from his grey beard which looked like dreadlocks, with small beads attached. Oh, and the purple pointed hat.

  ‘Dress down Thursday is it?’ Alan asked innocently.

  ‘What’s that?’ the man asked. ‘Only, we don’t get many visitors round these parts.’

  ‘You amaze me,’ Alan replied, before receiving an elbow from James.

  ‘Must be here for the fair, is it?’ the man asked.

  ‘What? Oh, oh, fair. Yes. The, erm, fair. We’re here for that.’

  ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ the man asked, fondling his beaded beard.

  ‘Actually yes, there is,’ Alan looked around the shop. ‘Do you have anything that can make me invisible?’

  ‘Is it your round?’ Frankie laughed.

  ‘Invisible?’ the man behind the counter took off his hat and scratched his bald head. ‘Ain’t nothing here gonna make you invisible.’

  ‘I thought this was a magic shop?’ Alan moved up to the counter.

  ‘It is, yes. But there’s magic and then there’s magic.’

  ‘Excellent, glad we’ve cleared that up,’ Alan was beginning to lose patience.

  ‘Wanting to get in somewhere, are we?’ the man scratched his head again. ‘Want a diversion?’

  ‘That sort of thing, yes,’ Alan admitted.

  ‘Not going to rob anywhere are you? Only I can’t be doing with no hooligans.’

  ‘We’re not hooligans, I assure you, Mr..?’

  ‘Merlin. Just Merlin.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidd…’ Alan received another nudge from James. ‘I’m sorry, Merlin, have you anything in the way of diversionary tricks. Something that can create confusion whilst I slip in somewhere.’

  The man thought for a moment, scratched his head again and turned round to a shelf behind the counter. ‘You’ll be wanting these, I reckon.’

  ‘What are they?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Smoke bombs. Throw one on the floor, the cap opens, smoke comes out and you scarper.’

  Alan looked at James for his thoughts and received a shrug in return.

  ‘OK, I’ll take some.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Alan,’ Harry appeared at his shoulder. I have plenty of those in my case. Not that we’re going to need any. Amy really hasn’t been kidnapped.’

  ‘Kidnapped? Kidnapped, is it?’ Merlin said. ‘Gallant knights have come to rescue fair maiden?’

  ‘What the bloody hell is he talking about?’ Frankie said.

  ‘A maiden, innocent and pure of spirit, captured by the forces of darkness. We must gather our troops and make haste.’

  Alan looked at James, James looked at Alan, Harry looked at them both and they all burst in to laughter. Frankie, hands in pockets, giggled to himself.

  ‘Fear not, weary travellers, we shall ride together to save our princess. Let us make plans.’

  Alan tried to control himself. ‘Fair enough, mate. What do you know about the Sanctuary of the Bee?’

  Merlin took an involuntary breath. ‘Fair maiden has been captured by the witch at the Sanctuary? Then you must forget about her. She is lost forever.’

  James stopped laughing. ‘Oh, and why is that, exactly?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re all fucking mental up there,’ Merlin said, which caused the friends to burst in to laughter again.

  ‘Well, thanks, anywa
y,’ Alan said as he led his friends to the door. ‘It’s been very enlightening.’

  ‘No problem. I wish you well. I think you may need it. The four of you may not be enough against the entire might of the Sanctuary.’

  Harry closed the door behind him. ‘That bloke was off his rocker.’

  ‘I know,’ Alan replied. ‘I thought he was going to rally up the Knights of the Round Table or something.’

  ‘And he can’t count,’ Harry began walking along the cobbled street. ‘He said there were four of us.’

  Alan and James stopped on the pavement and stared at each other, then Alan stared at Frankie, who was busy looking in a shop window.

  ‘No, he couldn’t, could he?’ Alan asked James.

  ‘Couldn’t what?’ Harry said.

  ‘Nothing, shall we stop for a coffee before checking out the Sanctuary?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan, my feet are killing me,’ Frankie said.

  Alan shook his head, lost in thought.

  *

  After a leisurely coffee at the Witches Brew Tea Shop, Alan, James and Harry began the slow walk to the Sanctuary. The late October evening affording them the cover of darkness. James had talked non-stop about how to break in and capture Amy. Harry had tried several times to point out that Amy had entered the Sanctuary of her own free will. Harry had tried to enlist Alan’s help in bringing James to his senses, but Alan seemed to be in a world of his own, often gazing at an empty table next to him. Frankie had spent the time with his feet up on the spare table humming old songs from his music hall days.

  James had headed off at a brisk pace, whilst Harry and Alan walked together several paces behind. ‘You’re very quiet, Alan.’

  Alan turned to Harry. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  ‘I said you’re very quiet. Is something up? Do you know something about Amy that James doesn’t? Because if so, now might be a good time to admit it.’

  ‘What? No, no, it’s nothing like that. I just have a few things on my mind,’ he glanced furtively over his shoulder to where Frankie was dragging his feet like an errant child.

  ‘Can’t we get a bus? My feet are killing me,’ Frankie stopped, put his hands on his knees and sighed. Alan was about to reply when Frankie suddenly looked up and said, ‘oh, hang on,’ and disappeared.