by Jack Spain
Michael looked out the window to see the poor dog squatting in a corner of the lawn with what appeared to be a very strained face. He looked back to Sally, a little scornfully for a second before recomposing himself and kissing Sally on the forehead.
‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘There is an emergency down at the site.’
‘Which sweetcorn shall we have for dinner?’ she asked.
Michael looked at her as if it was a daft question and then at the frozen and tinned sweetcorn. ‘Don’t worry about dinner,’ he said. “I’ll bring something home. I don’t want to run the risk of a frozen green giant attacking the house.’
Twenty minutes after he left the house McManus turned his car into the entrance to the roadworks and drove up the levelled path of the new road, past the work huts and towards a collection of men and machines gathered together at the end. He stopped the car, climbed out, and walked across the muddy field to the men. Everything looked normal, apart from the big argument that was going on. He stopped in front of the men and the bulldozers and looked around.
‘What is going on here?’ he asked.
All of the men started talking at the same time so he yelled at them to be quiet and answer one at a time. This was to no avail as they were worse than before. It was then he noticed that one of the men was not wearing a Michael McManus Construction (MMC) jacket or helmet. He felt particularly proud of these as Emily had designed the MMC logo.
‘You,’ he said, pointing at the man. ‘Why aren’t you wearing a safety jacket and helmet?’
‘Why should I?’ demanded the man.
‘Because I say so!’ Michael said with a scowl.
‘And what if I don’t wear one?’
‘You’ll face instant dismissal!’
‘Well, you know, you can shove your job—’
‘Enough! You’re fired!’ Michael cut him off. ‘Now, everyone get back to work!’
But nobody moved a muscle. Michael looked around, a bit surprised that most of the men were trying not to laugh.
‘What is going on here?’ he shouted.
The young engineer came forward.
‘You cannot fire this man,’ said the engineer. ‘He doesn’t work for you.’
Michael looked surprised. ‘He doesn’t? Well, tell him he’s trespassing and to get off this land. It doesn’t belong to him!’
‘There could be a problem,’ the engineer replied, taking Michael by the arm and leading him back behind the machines.
‘This is his land,’ the engineer replied. ‘There’s been a terrible mistake.’
Michael looked very angry. ‘Rubbish,’ he said loudly. ‘This land belongs to the county council.’
‘No,’ replied the engineer, pointing at the next field. ‘That land belongs to the county council. This land belongs to that farmer you fired.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I never hire farmers. All they do is complain about the weather and listen to country and western songs about sick sheep,’ McManus scoffed at the suggestion. ‘I’ve hired the best engineers in the country. How on earth would we make a mistake like that? Kick him off this land, and if he doesn’t go, call the police to take him away.’
‘The police have already been called,’ the engineer replied. ‘To take us away. You see—’
‘What is going on?’ Michael demanded. He was obviously not having a good day.
‘Someone came around some time in the past few days and moved the markers for the new road,’ the engineer finally explained. ‘We’ve just ploughed through this farmer’s potato field.’
Stunned, Michael looked down at the mud and saw lots of small potatoes that had been churned up by the bulldozers. He then looked at the farmer who had quite a smug look on his face. Another car approached and stopped about fifty yards way. It contained three policemen, or Gardaí, as they are called in Ireland. They climbed out and began to walk towards the group. Michael sighed as he watched them approach and then turned to look at the farmer who had crossed his arms and stared back at him very defiantly.
McManus burst into the engineer’s work hut slammed the door. Three civil engineers were seated around a table looking at some drawings and stopped what they were doing to look at McManus, who was red-faced and looked as if he was about to explode. He stared at them for a few minutes, waving a finger angrily, before spinning around and walking back out and slamming the door behind him.
The three engineers looked at each other for a moment in stunned silence until that silence was broken by a loud shouting and clattering from outside. They turned to the window by the door to see McManus walk past, shouting and swearing to himself as he gesticulated wildly.
McManus continued to do this all the way around the hut, with the three engineers watching him as he walked past each window until he eventually made it back to the door which he opened and calmly walked in. He closed the door gently and stood looking at the engineers. The redness of his face began to disappear. He composed himself and took a step towards the table.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began, ‘could somebody please advise me as to how this terrible mistake has happened?’
The engineers looked at each other for a moment before one of them plucked up the courage to speak.
‘We think that somebody moved the markers,’ he said timidly.
‘Moved the markers?’
‘Yes,’ said another. ‘The markers were moved. They don’t match the drawings.’
‘I know that they don’t match the drawings,’ McManus replied. ‘Why do you think that they were moved?’
‘Well, because we use GPS to set the markers. Either the satellite moved or the markers moved.’
‘GPS?’
‘Global Positioning System,’ said another engineer.
‘I know what it is,’ McManus replied. ‘So who moved the markers?’
‘Well, we don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘Any suspects?’
‘Well,’ said the first engineer, ‘there have been no letters from environmental groups. There have been no protestors. There were no objections from any of the councillors, and given that unemployment in this region is over fifteen per cent, none of the locals are objecting to the road either because it brings a lot of jobs with it. We get the odd crank email from some environmentalists, but nothing more than normal. We passed those on to the Garda and they said that they would look into them. Do you have any enemies we should know about, Mr McManus.’
McManus stared hard at the first engineer for a moment. ‘You are sure that they were moved?’ he said.
‘Positive,’ replied the engineer confidently.
McManus turned around and looked for a chair. He saw one a few feet back and went to sit on it. He looked to the ground and rubbed his head for a moment while he thought about it before he looked back up at the engineers.
‘I have no enemies that I haven’t already dealt with,’ he said. ‘So, I don’t know who did this. Whoever it was, and probably just kids, has just cost us dearly and we cannot afford these delays. We are running on a super tight budget, especially as we have to level a hill four or five miles up the way to make way for the road.’
‘So,’ said another engineer. ‘What would you like us to do about it?’
‘Keep an eye out to see if there is anybody suspicious around the roadworks,’ McManus ordered the engineers. ‘Only place markers out for a day’s work. Check the markers against the drawings first thing in the morning before anybody starts bulldozing and hope that it doesn’t happen again.’
‘Alright, Mr McManus,’ the first engineer agreed.
‘It’s not alright,’ McManus replied, his face once again going red. ‘I could buy a warehouse full of potatoes for what this cost me! It’s only because of how much I paid the farmer that he’s not laying charges. It’s only thanks to the fact that the local Garda’s brother runs the canteen that this is being reported anywhere else I hope.’
McMan
us walked to the door and opened it. He paused for a moment and turned back to the engineers.
‘These things can cost jobs.’ He said. ‘We got off lightly but I can’t afford to carry people on this if it happens again. So, Gentlemen, we all have a vested interest in making sure that this doesn’t happen again.’
The engineers nodded in agreement and went back to their work as McManus walked out and closed the door, announcing he was going for breakfast as he did.
King Bruan, Moriarty and Balor were hiding in a hedgerow near the roadworks and observed the whole episode with the potato field.
‘Brilliant,’ The King remarked to Balor. ‘I am truly amazed. And you did this by just moving some sticks and string?’
‘That was all,’ Balor replied.
‘Truly brilliant.’
‘Well,’ said Balor, ‘this was the first step. We need to keep it up.’
‘How are you going to sabotage the road again?’ he asked. ‘They are obviously going to check the markers against the drawings every morning to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
‘Wait and see,’ Balor replied confidently. ‘I’m already working on it. Tomorrow, the road will be going in a different direction.’
‘You could just tell us how you’re going to do it!’ said the King. Balor was far too fond of surprises for his liking to reply. ‘But I suppose this is better than the plan I had,’ the King continued.
‘You had a plan?’ Balor asked.
‘Aye,’ replied the King. ‘I was thinking of breaking into the boss man’s house in the middle of the night, climbing up onto his bed, waking him up, and then giving him a big dose of Comither. Then all you’d need to do is tell him that he has to divert the road around the hill. I was thinking that you could get Moriarty to do it.’
‘That’s a good ... OW!’ Moriarty said as he was kicked in the shin by Balor.
‘Too dangerous,’ Balor remarked. ‘Michael McManus has a big guard dog called Fang. Moriarty would be lucky to make it out alive. Wouldn’t you, Moriarty?’
Moriarty chose not to reply. The King looked at them both, suspecting that they might have tried something like that already and that it had gone horribly wrong. ‘Alright. Good work, men,’ he said. ‘Keep it up. Anything you need, Balor, let me know, so long as it is on a need to know basis,’ and with that, he indicated that he wanted Moriarty to take him back to the hill. Moriarty and the King stood up and walked back towards Chopper.
‘Are you coming, Balor?’ the King asked. Balor turned around to look at them and then looked back at the building site. He was already planning the next sabotage.
‘Take the King back to the hill and return here. Bring Morphu and some pencils,’ he told Moriarty.
‘Pencils?’ Moriarty asked.
‘Yes, pencils, and don’t forget Morphu! We need him to help move the sticks again. It took me hours to do it the last time,’ Balor replied. Moriarty nodded in agreement and mounted Chopper. The King climbed on behind him and, after a quick nod to Balor, they headed off through the hedgerows in the direction of the hill.
Moriarty found the trip back particularly boring. He did ask the King if moving to Carrickhill might be a better option but the King was resolute in his determination to give Balor every chance to divert the road. Even if he failed, he would succeed in buying them more time for an organised evacuation. Moriarty agreed and, a few hours later they were crossing the road to Old Man Grogan’s driveway where they pressed through the hedgerow to the hill.
Once back inside, Moriarty quickly set about looking for pencils. The little people didn’t use them very much. The only pens and pencils that they had were being used as table and chair legs. This meant that Moriarty’s job required some effort, and he had to call on the King several times so that he could break apart some poor person’s furniture. Eventually he managed to scrape together two pencils, a red pen, a blue pen and a black pen.
He then set about looking for Morphu. He went to the little den made of straw and sticks where Morphu usually slept. It was empty. He then went to Balor’s hut. That was empty too. Eventually he decided to go into Balor’s laboratory to see if Morphu was there.
When he couldn’t find Morphu in the laboratory, Moriarty began to check out the village. Eventually he saw the hooded figure of Morphu seated in front of a smartphone watching a cartoon. Moriarty yelled out to him but he didn’t seem to hear him so he ran over and grabbed him by the shoulder. The poor zombie nearly jumped out of his skin.
‘I’ve been looking for you!’ Moriarty said. ‘We need you to help sabotage the roadworks.’
Morphu stood up and followed Moriarty to the waiting rabbit, occasionally staggering to the left and right and which made his arms swing up to balance himself as he tried to keep up. Moriarty looked back at him for a moment and shook his head.
‘It’s no wonder they think you’re a zombie, Morphu,’ he said. ‘You should get a stick or something to balance while you’re walking.’
Morphu just groaned in agreement and continued to march like an Egyptian mummy after Moriarty.
Soon they were making their way across the fields to the roadworks. The Sun was starting to go down as they approached Balor who was still exactly where Moriarty and King Bruan had left him. Balor greeted them as they arrived:
‘You took your time,’ he said sarcastically. They had in fact been very quick given the distance. Chopper had more than made up any time lost in the search for Morphu, and generally seemed less concerned about Morphu’s comfort anyway.
‘Terrible traffic out there!’ Moriarty commented as he helped Morphu to get down. He handed the bundle of pencils to Balor, without saying anything. Balor looked to the more than usually frustrated Morphu and wondered if something had happened on the way to or from the hill.
‘Is everything all right?’ Balor asked.
‘Everything is sweet,’ Moriarty instantly replied. ‘He’s not made for riding shotgun on a rabbit.’
Balor looked up and down the moonlit roadworks and gave directions for Morphu and Moriarty to move the sticks and strings. Moriarty took Morphu to the other side of the site and gave him further instructions by demonstrating how to pull the sticks, unhook the string, move it, thrust it back down into the ground and keep it straight by lining up between two trees. He watch Morphu perform the task several times before patted him on the back and indicating that he would be working on the far side of the field.
‘Yell out or make a big noise if anything happens.’ Moriarty told him as he made his way across the field in the moonlight, waist deep in grass.
Morphu watched Moriarty cross the field and start work before he began the task himself. Chopper hopped over into the middle of the field and travelled parallel to the two little men, occasionally distracted by a small bat that flew overhead.
After a short while something in the bushes nearby caught Morphu’s attention. He stopped and gazed into the bushes but couldn’t see what it was. A few moments later, when the moon broke through some clouds, Moriarty noticed that Morphu had stopped.
‘What’s going on over there?’ Moriarty yelled to Morphu.
Morphu remained motionless for a few seconds before dismissing whatever it was as if it was just a mouse or a squirrel. He waved back at Moriarty to indicate everything was fine before starting up again.
The moon went behind some clouds just as some more bats started to fly overhead. This made it difficult for Chopper to act as watch as he kept looking up at the sky, and for Moriarty to keep the new line for the sticks straight. He looked over to see how Morphu was getting on but was unable to see him. Not sensing anything sinister he continued for a while and after another 10 minutes the moon came out again so he stopped to look, but Morphu was still nowhere to be seen.
Moriarty yelled out to Morphu a few times. It was loud enough for Balor to stop pulling plans out of the architect’s drawers in the hut and go to the window. When Morphu didn’t respond, Moriarty pressed the stick he was holding
deep into the clay and begin to walk across the field. Instinctively he raised his hand and gripped the handle of his sword and pulled it off his back and to his side. He passed Chopper who stopped looking to the sky and began to follow him. Suddenly he heard a tapping noise to his left and spun around to see Morphu standing and waving back at him ten yards further up the field. He looked in front and could see that Morphu had already lined up the sticks and had got a distance ahead of him, although the sticks were not as well bedded as his. He stepped forward and pressed one in a bit deeper.
‘You need to push them in a little deeper,’ he called over to Morphu, who just gave a wave back. ‘Carry on with what you are doing and we can check them before we go!’ Moriarty added before he indicated to Chopper to return to the middle of the field.
Balor stepped back down from the window and resumed what he was doing. He pulled a drawing from the drawer and examined it for a moment before putting it back and pulling out another. When he was sure it was the one he wanted he rolled it out on the floor and examined it using a keyring light, which was a full sized light to him, he began to mutter some calculations as he looked at the lines for the road. Once he was sure about what he was going to do he stepped back and knelt down on the drawing. He took a small sponge and a small bottle of liquid from inside his habit and opened the bottle. He poured a little of the liquid onto the sponge and then, very delicately and with great concentration, he leaned forward and used the sponge to wipe out the lines for the road.
A Big Black Van
It was nearly dawn by the time Moriarty and Morphu had once again moved all the markers. Balor had been very particular about their placement. He made repeated trips back and forth between the markers and the hut, sometimes making them go back and move the markers a few inches or so. The frustration at constantly having to move the markers was taking its toll on Moriarty who was becoming quite grumpy. Eventually, Balor was pleased and the three little creatures hopped up onto Chopper’s back and made the journey to the hill. Balor insisted that they swing by Old Man Grogan’s house before they got to the hill.