The Warrior Sheep Down Under (7 page)

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.

“Our fairy godtingy seems to be very fond of getting wet,” she observed before being hurled against Oxo's bottom.

Then the raft shot out of the lower end of the Turnpike, into the relative calm of a wide pool, before twirling twice and floating onward downriver.

“Good effort!” yelled Shelly. She was on the bank with Deidre, waiting for Alice's kayak. Only after she'd shouted did she realize that the raft was manned by sheep.

“Holy-moly…Is that
them
again…?”

Deidre wasn't looking at the raft. She grabbed Shelly's arm. “Miss Barton made it! Sort of…”

She started snapping away with her camera as the kayak, with Alice still on-board, bounced and slithered out through the foam and ended floating upside down toward the bank. Alice thrashed about and righted herself, gasping and coughing.

“Smile, Miss Barton,” called Deidre.

But Alice didn't smile. “Those…” she gargled through a throat full of river water. “Those
sheep!
”

• • •

By now the raft was speeding up again, as the river raced onward. Wills did a quick head count. Nobody had been lost overboard.

Links was the first to speak. “Man, we is awesome,” he gasped, shaking his curls out of his eyes. “We flied like woolly birds.”

“Er, yes,” said Wills, who was now peering back the way they had come. “But we flew a bit too fast…”

They all looked. Their fairy godtingy was in the water far behind them. And there was nothing the warriors could do to get back to her.

Shelly waded into the river, caught hold of Alice's kayak, and hauled her onto the bank before the current could sweep her away again. Deidre rushed forward with a dry towel as Alice climbed out.

“Oh, well done, Miss Barton!”

Alice pushed the towel aside. “Don't well done me…” She was gasping but furious. “What's your game, Deidre?”

“Game, Miss Barton…?” Deidre's eyes widened.

Alice dropped her crash helmet. “Sheep do
not
stow away on boats,” she panted, moving closer so that her nose was almost touching Deidre's. “Sheep do
not
bungee jump. Sheep do
not
raft. They're your doing.
You
have brought them here. You're trying to sabotage my claim to Barton's Billabong!”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Deidre stepped back away from the angry, wet face of her employer. “I'm just…a secretary.”

Alice stood for a moment glaring at Deidre and breathing deeply to calm herself. Then she stalked off to get changed, kicking the crash helmet as she passed. It rolled down the slope and plopped into the river.

“That'll cost her a few dollars extra,” said Shelly, watching it float away. She patted Deidre's shoulder. “She's all keyed up with the kayaking. She'll soon get over it.”

They sat and waited in the truck. After a short silence, Shelly asked, “Looked at the photo yet, Miss Secretary?”

There was something of a challenge about the way she said “Miss Secretary,” but Deidre pretended not to notice. She shook her head and handed over the camera. Shelly looked at the screen. Her face twitched, then creased, then she burst out laughing.

“Remember I said this couldn't possibly be worse than the bungee shot?” She held out the screen for Deidre to see. “I was wrong.”

• • •

At Barton's Billabong, Ida and Tod were getting in a bit of cricket practice.

“Well bowled, Gran,” called Tod, as one of her spinners knocked his stumps flying.

“She always was handy with a ball,” called Frank. He was cleaning out one of the bird cages. The sanctuary looked after orphaned parrots as well as joeys. “Pity she's no good with a bat.”

“I could whack you for six any day,” said Ida. She flopped down in the shade. “Phew, it's getting hot already.”

“It'll be a bit cooler in Brisbane,” said Frank.

“For the test match? I hope so.” Ida was fanning her face vigorously with her hanky. “But I'm going to enjoy it whatever.”

“Glass of water, Gran?” asked Tod, and he trotted off toward Frank's little house to fetch one.

Nat came out of his own cabin as Tod was passing. He was carrying a bag with bread and fruit in it. “Lunch on the go,” he grunted as he strode away. “Tell Frank the solicitor guy phoned. He's arriving this morning. I'll make sure the landing strip's clear.”

A short while later, a drone in the sky became a roar, and a speck in the distance became a helicopter. It hovered overhead briefly then slowly descended. The rotor blades sliced the air and the draught swirled up fallen leaves and dust. The helicopter landed with a gentle bump just beyond the perimeter fence, and a short, thin man with a bald head and very pale skin climbed out, clutching a large briefcase. He ducked low and crept from under the whirring blades. Once the helicopter had lifted off and flown away again, the new arrival marched solemnly toward the sanctuary gate, where Frank was waiting.

“G'day, Mr. Creeply. Good to see you again.”

Mr. Creeply stalked in without a handshake. “I'm getting to grips with the will,” he said grimly. “But there is still much to be done.” He made it sound like Frank's fault.

Frank beckoned Ida and Tod to join him.

“This is my sister Ida and her grandson, Tod.”

“Oh.” Mr. Creeply looked at Tod. “I hope I won't be disturbed. Especially by childish noise.”

Tod flushed but was too surprised to answer.

Mr. Creeply took a very large, old-fashioned key from his briefcase. “I shall be in the office if you need me.” And he stalked away toward the tower.

Frank hurried after him. Tod and Ida exchanged a look and followed.

“So how long d'you reckon you'll be?” Frank asked, puffing slightly and wishing he were younger and his bones didn't creak so much.

“As long as it takes,” replied Mr. Creeply. “Possibly two weeks.”

“Two
weeks
?” Frank had been expecting him to say two hours.

“I shall stay here until the job is done,” said Mr. Creeply with a severe stare.

“Right,” said Frank, his head reeling. “Right…”

Mr. Creeply teetered across the rope bridge and unfastened the great brass padlock that guarded Maiden Tower. The door creaked open. Frank followed Mr. Creeply inside.

The thick stone walls kept the sunlight out and it was gloomy and cold. In the middle of the floor space, a spiral staircase, enclosed in stone, wound up into the darkness above. A narrow wooden door guarded the entrance to the staircase. It was ajar.

Mr. Creeply tutted and pulled it closed. “I hope nobody's been in here?” he said accusingly to Frank. “My clear instructions were that nothing was to be tampered with until all the legal work is completed. By me alone.”

“You must have left it open yourself,” said Frank. “Nobody but nobody's been in here since you left after your last visit.”

He sounded a bit flustered. And Tod, who'd crept across the rope bridge, was very curious. He remembered the evening he'd seen a light in the topmost window and felt an odd little shiver run down his spine. Was Uncle Frank telling the truth about the staircase door? Why would he lie?

Outside the tower, Tod moved sharply back out of sight as Mr. Creeply turned. There was another door beyond the stone stairwell and the solicitor unlocked this one too and pushed it open. He walked inside, followed by Frank. Tod edged forward again.

“Much going on?”

Tod jumped at the voice behind him. Nat was standing at the other end of the rope bridge.

Tod blushed. “Er, I can't see.”

“They're not trying to get up the stairs, are they?” asked Nat.

“No. Through one of the other doors.”

“Good. Only the stairs are a nightmare. Too steep and slippery for your poor old uncle.” Nat smiled a rare smile. “Though I wouldn't worry too much if a nit-picky solicitor took a tumble.” He nodded at Tod before moving away. “They've either gone into the office or the dungeon. I'd guess the office. Don't get your nose caught.”

Tod peered into the tower again. Mr. Creeply and Uncle Frank were standing in the office doorway, surveying the room in front of them. It ran right around the tower's ground floor, inside the outer wall. A complete circle, like a hollow tire on a wheel. There was just one window and that let in very little light. The ceiling was made of stout wooden beams and planks, and from it hung a single ancient light bulb. Frank clicked the switch and the bulb lit the nearest part of the office, casting dark shadows beyond.

Mr. Creeply tutted at the enormity of the task ahead. “Did I say two weeks?” he muttered.

The room was littered with untidy piles of paperwork. It was stacked on the floor, on the filing cabinets, on the two chairs, and on the desk.

“There was never enough time to do this sort of stuff,” Frank said with a guilty sigh.

Mr. Creeply carefully removed a pile of papers from a chair, fanned away the dust, and sat down at the desk. “I don't eat much,” he said, clicking open his briefcase. “But would appreciate meals here at the desk. I shall sleep here too.”

Frank nodded. “Right…” he said. “Right…”

“Please close the door on your way out,” added Mr. Creeply.

Frank hesitated, turned, and stomped out, shutting the office door firmly. Tod heard him coming and nipped back across the bridge.

“Well, mate,” said Uncle Frank as he joined him. “Did you get a good look?”

Tod blushed scarlet again. “Er…”

Uncle Frank laughed. “That rope bridge is a dead giveaway. You set it swinging like a pendulum on a clock.” He ruffled Tod's hair. “I can smell the curry your Gran's cooking for lunch. Let's forget solicitors and get the fire hoses out.”

As they strode back to the house, Tod suddenly remembered a question he'd been meaning to ask for some time. “Uncle Frank…supposing Alice Barton doesn't complete the challenges Motte and Bailey set for her? What will happen to the sanctuary and everything then?”

Frank shrugged. “If that happens, mate, it all comes to me.”