Britland Calling: 4. Conclusion – Opening Chapters

1

THE HOW TO FOOL A FOOL

LOGAN AND TOMMY’S party took on the low hedge dividing the adjacent fields like a mob of athletes competing in an Olympic steeplechase final. Even Toby hurdled the low hedge, despite carrying Justin in his backpack.

Meanwhile, the drover ahead of them was at the head of his heard of a dozen Hereford cows, driving them along a stony path to their imminent execution.

Tommy reached the drover first, and the rest of the party piled up behind him. The drover showed no surprise at all—even when Freddy bounced up into Logan’s arms. He didn’t wear goggles, and it was obvious from his eyes that he was one straw short of a bale. The Slaughter Invoice was rolled up and sticking prominently out of the chest pocket of the long woollen coat he had on.

“Afternoon,” said Tommy to the drover.

This brought the drover and his Hereford cows to a halt. He tried hard to focus his wondering eyes on Tommy, but he only managed a brief glimpse of Tommy’s shoes.

“Hello,” said Tommy, trying again.

“Ooh arr,” managed the drover, looking downwards at his rubberised Wellington boots.

“Those are Hereford cows, aren’t they?” asked Tommy, making polite conversation.

“Aye,” said the drover timidly.

“Do you know Mr Finniston?” asked Tommy.

“Never ’eard of ’im,” said the drover. “Why’s that then?”

“Erm … he’s the owner of the whole of this farm you work on,” said Tommy enthusiastically. “He told us all about you. He said you were an excellent drover.”

This seemed to take the drover by surprise, and his head wobbled up and his eyes managed to look up at Tommy and around at the rest of the party.

“What’s that missy doing ’ere,” he said, jumping back a bit when he spied Spade—who had grown back her afro and had taken to blowing kisses at the drover.

“Oh, that’s our mascot,” said Tommy. “She’s only in our workforce to bring us luck. Apparently, the crops grow better when she’s around because of her lucky hair. It’s a liquorice candy floss type of hair, and she can squash it quite easily under her hood …” Tommy turned to Spade, “… can’t you, missy?”

Spade poked her tongue out at Tommy, but sucked her hair in as she pulled her hood back over her head.

“Where will you go after you’ve delivered these cows?” asked Tommy.

“I be going back to clock off in the Fields Tower. Then I come backs ’ere to go home.”

“That building there is the Fields Tower, isn’t it?” asked Tommy, pointing back to the building with stacks of fields on it they had passed earlier.

“Aye.”

“And you come back to the meat factory to take a lift to your home on Level 2?” said Tommy.

“Aye.”

“Well, you don’t need to bring the cows all the way in to the meat factory today, sir. You can take a nice leisurely walk back to the Fields Tower and clock off, and then go home.”

“What?” The drover looked confused and his hand went to protect his rolled-up Slaughter Invoice.

“It’s all above board,” ensured Tommy. “Mr Finniston told us to take your herd of Hereford cows in for you. He said you would give us the Slaughter Invoice.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Well, he wants you to because you’re an excellent drover. He wants you to have a rest before you go home. He wants to give you your certificate.”

“Why’s that then?”

“He’s going to award you a certificate for Excellence in the Field of Duty.”

“Ooh arr,” said the drover, allowing his hand to drop away from the invoice he seemed to be protecting.

“Ooh arr,” said Spade.

“Ooh arr, ooh arr!” chorused Club, Diamond and Heart, joining in the fun.

“Well, off you go to the Fields Tower for your well-deserved certificate, kind sir,” said Toby. “Hand me the Slaughter Invoice and we’ll drive in your herd for you as Mr Finniston ordered us to do, as Tommy here has said.” Toby shoved out a hand towards the drover’s rolled-up Slaughter Invoice, poking, as it was, so teasingly, out of the chest pocket of his long woollen coat …

However, the drover moved his hand back to protect his Slaughter Invoice.

“What’s wrong, sir?” asked Tommy.

“I be too scared to give ye me Slaughter Invoice, me lovely.”

“But why not? Mr Finniston is waiting for you in the Fields Tower.” Tommy looked concerned.

“I don’t be wanting to end up in any foul tasting pies, me lovely.”

“Look here,” said Toby to the drover, “all those stories of farm workers being processed into pies when they have become no longer able to work effectively are complete unadulterated nonsense.”

“Ye don’t see Phil around anymore, do ye?” said the drover, folding his arms.

“Come now, sir,” said Toby. “This Phil you speak of must have fallen ill or retired.”

“Then ’ow comes ’is finger with ’is ring on it turned up in the canteen—in a horse pie? Ooh arr, me lovely. Why’s that then?”

Tommy interjected. “I would think he lost his finger in an accident and it ended up in the Urgland food chain.”

“But Phil, he only worked with droving cattle. How can ye ’ave an accident like that?”

“What was this Phil’s surname?” asked Tommy.

“Pike. Same as mine, see. We drovers is all closely related, me lovely.”

“Oh, that Phillip Pike,” said Tommy jovially. “We heard all about him in Mr Finniston’s main offices, where we all work. We’re an extended family and we usually do cleaning and repairs around the main offices. Yes, Phillip Pike … You want to know how his finger ended up in a horse pie?”

“Aye.”

“He fed a horse suffering from mad horse disease an apple because he felt sorry for it,” said Tommy. “Not a clever idea, I’m sure you’ll agree, sir.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Because when a horse contracts mad horse disease, it can’t always control its biting actions. And Phillip gave the horse not just an apple, but one of his fingers. Of course, as the horse had mad horse disease and had bitten off Phillip’s finger, it was slaughtered in the meat factory the very same day. So Phillip Pike’s finger didn’t have time to be digested and so ended up in the horse pie.”

Logan had never heard of a horse pie, but he knew you could get horse meat turning up in all kinds of meat products by mistake or by fraud.

“Oh,” said the drover, “no one told me about that, me lovely.”

“It’s illegal to slaughter a human with an official Urgland birth certificate,” put in Toby with great conviction.

“My sisters and I, the hairy mascot, will sing you a song, dear drover, to help you to hand over the Slaughter Invoice and set you on your way to the Fields Tower,” announced Spade showing off her humungous afro once again. It seemed she was finding it awfully hard to do without her full head of hair and would look for any excuse to spring it out of her scalp.

The Four Playing Card Suits huddled together to plan their song. Then they stood in their usual alphabetical order and started an original song and dance routine:

 

(when singing solo:

Club = ♣, Diamond = ♦, Heart = ♥, Spade = ♠)

 

(the Four Playing Card Suits began their routine by dancing around the drover with their most extravagant dance moves. Possibly to make up for the fact that their distinctive faces and clothes were hidden beneath their farm worker clothes and safety apparatus—not to mention that the hooded Club, Diamond and Heart were also bereft of their magnificent hairstyles. The inimitable Spade, who of course had her magnificent humongous afro in full bloom, began her performance still grasping her treasure sack, and it seemed unlikely she would ever be letting anyone else get their hands on it! And they soon burst into song …‍‍‍‍)

 

♣ Why’s that then?

♦ Why’s what then?

♥ Why do we farm and why do we eat?

♠ Why do we sing, and why do we cheat?

 

♣ Ooh arr, ooh arr

♦ Me lovely, ooh arr!

♥ Ooh arr, ooh arr

♠ Bah humbug, ooh arr!

♣ “All together now:”

Ooh arr, ooh arr

Me lovely, ooh arr!

Ooh arr, ooh arr

Bah humbug, ooh arr!

 

(the Four Playing Card Suits then each leapt up onto an unsuspecting cow and demonstrated what can only be described as divine bovine equestrian-like dressage. They managed to get their Hereford cows to dance in intricate interweaving patterns—god only knows what they would have achieved with horses! And all the while they sang …‍)

 

♣ We know our farm animals,

♦ We ride on their breath.

♥ We kill them and eat them,

♠ We love them to, and after, death!

 

♣ Ooh arr, ooh arr,

♦ Me lovely, ooh arr!

♥ Ooh arr, ooh arr,

♠ Bah humbug, ooh arr!

♣ “All together now:”

Ooh arr, ooh arr,

Me lovely, ooh arr!

Ooh arr, ooh arr!

Bah humbug, ooh arr!

 

(the Four Playing Card Suits then triple somersaulted off their cows like a team of elite Olympic gymnasts dismounting their beams, and then they engrossed themselves in a dance that involved an impression of almost every farm animal—their impressions of chickens being by far the most humorous. Then they sang the end of their song showering their every attention on the bewildered drover …‍)

 

♣ Drover give over,

♦ You know it makes sense,

♥ To give us your invoice,

♠ And end this suspense.

 

♣ Ooh arr, ooh arr,

♦ Me lovely, ooh arr!

♥ Ooh arr, ooh arr,

♠ Bah humbug, ooh arr!

♣ “All together now:”

Ooh arr, ooh arr,

Me lovely, ooh arr!

Ooh arr, ooh arr,

Bah humbug, ooh arr!

 

The song and dance ended with the Four Playing Card Suits lining up on the edge of the stony path back in their usual alphabetical order. Bowing low to the drover, they said as one, “You’ve been a wonderful audience. We thank you!”

Tommy quietly slipped the Slaughter Invoice out of the coat chest pocket of the bewildered, perhaps traumatised, drover. He then turned the drover around on the stony path and sent him with a pat on the back off towards the direction he had come from.

“Give our regards to Mr Finniston!” shouted Toby to the drover’s disappearing back.

“Here,” said Tommy, handing over the Slaughter Invoice to Toby, “you’ll know what to do with this. I’m sure you know a lot more than me about Urgland affairs.”

“Thank you,” said Toby.

“And, Spade,” said Tommy, “time to lose your hair for a while.”

Spade gave a predictable lion cub scowl and reluctantly sucked in her hair while she pulled her hood over her head.

“No little speech this time?” said Ennoia.

Spade said nothing, but she faced Ennoia and pushed her fisted arm out straight towards her and drew out a wide circle before withdrawing her arm and nodding her head.

This reduced her fellow Four Playing Card Suits into doubled up fits of laughter. It was obviously a rude gesture from her Gorillian times. Thankfully, nobody else had a clue what it meant. Spade could handle herself, but it seemed nobody else could handle her.

“All right,” said Tommy, “let’s go. Logan, make sure you’re carrying Freddy if we’re anywhere near an Urglander. And, Freddy, make sure you’re being carried by Logan unless you have a good reason not to be. And, Alice, make sure you keep your hood on your spiky hair. And last, and certainly not least, you Four Playing Card Suits keep your goggles and breathing filters on—and rub some dirt on to your faces, please. This way, we’ll draw as little attention as possible. Leave the talking to Toby and me unless you are sure you can say something useful. We don’t want to fall at the last hurdle. And if the worst comes to the worst, we have weapons, and I doubt if any of the farm workers down here will have. But we must try not to put ourselves in a position where we have to use our weapons.”

The Four Playing Card Suits rubbed as much dirt as they could on their faces.

“We’ll put some dirt in our drover coat pockets,” said Club.

“Yes,” agreed Diamond.

“Because you never know when we might need a quick touch-up,” said Heart.

“We’re nothing if not professionals in the art of role playing,” finished Spade. “We intend to look and act more like drovers than drovers do.”

“I’m not sure that makes sense …” pondered Tommy.

“Tell me anything that does …” retorted Spade, wiggling her eyebrows cheekily as if she wanted to make up for the fact that her cheeky grin was hidden beneath her breathing filter.

“Touché!” commented Ennoia.

With that, the party headed towards the nearby meat factory along the stony path where the well-lighted Slaughter In Department was beckoning them to come into its deadly parlour; and all this beneath the gaudy purple light of Level 3’s brilliantly engineered sky ceiling …

 
2

THE SLAUGHTER IN DEPARTMENT

THE STONY PATH quickly led the party and their “Death Row” Hereford cows to an iron gate that gave relief to a thick hedgerow that bordered the field. The mist in this area of Level 3 was nowhere to be seen.

Toby pushed open the gate, which squealed its opposition to the disturbance of its closed sleeping position.

Out through the gate trampled the party with their Hereford cows, cows that under the purple light were mainly dark purple-brown but with light purple heads, tummies and feet. The party found themselves trampling into a vast concrete yard that fronted the ominous steel-walled meat factory. But perhaps more ominous were the two uniformed factory guards loitering close by …

“Remember to act as stupidly as you are able,” said Toby to Tommy, in an urgent undertone. “Pass the word on as discreetly as possible.”

Once the word had reached the Four Playing Card Suits, they passed it on in a ludicrous fashion—but, fortunately, this would have simply looked like stupid drover antics if the factory guards had noticed them. Spade’s attempts to pass on the message to Alice through a series of coughs and sneezes was probably the most ludicrous.

The guards approached slowly, eyeing the party with a professional mixture of curiosity and suspicion. One guard was older than the other. In fact, they looked like a father and son.

“Afternoon, sirs,” said Toby to the guards, casually, in a strong drover accent. Then he quickly turned to look back at the end of the queue of his party. “Which daft idiot amongst us left that there gate open?” he shouted, pointing at the open iron gate. “If there’s one thing us drovers ought to know, it’s never leave a gate or door open on farmland.’

“It wasn’t me, ooh arr, me lovely, ooh arr,” shouted Spade, who had thankfully kept her afro hair sucked well beneath her wooden skin. She looked like a nailed-on country bumpkin in her farming gear, particularly because of the way she kept nodding her head in time with a series of ooh arrs. She then waded out away from her nearby cow as if she was a scarecrow come to life before charging back to the cow and attempting to mount it with a flying somersault. Of course, normally she would have easily managed such a gymnastic feat. But as she was trying her best to look like the stupidest drover who ever walked the farms of Urgland’s Level 3, she managed to land on her head and bounce herself off the cow’s back and back down onto the concrete yard’s floor. “Ooh, my toe bone!” she shouted, jumping up from the ground and blowing vigorously on her forearm. And all the while, she had a good grip of her personal treasures sack.

“What an idiot drover, if ever I saw one,” said the older guard to the younger guard.

“Gee, I’m not surprised, Dad,” replied the younger guard to the older guard, who was now confirmed as his father. “I’ve heard some whacky stories about the legendary stupidity of the inbred drovers, but that little nutcase beats anything I’ve heard of. What’s she doing, keeping that dirty old sack wrapped around her wrist?”

“She’s probably been told not to leave it unattended. So she makes sure she doesn’t let it go, no matter what she gets up to.”

“What’s in it, d’you think?”

“Who knows what a drover like that might keep in a dirty old sack? Probably some vegetables to bring home with her, or something like that.”

Toby ignored the guards’ conversation and shouted out, “Someone close that gate now!”

“I’ll close it,” volunteered who else but Spade, racing towards the gate. However, when she got to the gate, she stood staring at it looking perplexed and took to banging her head with a clenched fist.

“What’s the problem, girl?” shouted Toby at Spade.

“Ooh arr, bother me if I can’t remember how to close this here gate. Me brain’s turned to scrumpy and lime, me lovely.”

“Just get behind the gate and push it closed towards the field!” shouted Toby.

“Ooh arr, that’ll be right, Gramps,” shouted Spade. Then she pulled the gate (rather than pushing it) and closed the gate, leaving herself locked in the field. “Ooh, me dear. How did I get myself back in the field …?” Spade started to bang her head with a clenched fist again. “Ooh, hee-hee, I know what to do. I’m right clever see, me lovelies.”

Spade then started to sprint away from the gate then arced herself back towards it. She kept sprinting, but just before crashing into the gate, she made a ridiculous attempt to leap over it. She didn’t try one of her front somersaults but simply raised her non-carrying sack arm high to the sky, jumped upwards, and somehow expected to fly over it. When she realised she was not quite going to make it, she gave a quick lop-sided flap of her arms …

To no avail.

Her shins smashed into the top of the iron gate, but at least her momentum took her crashing over it.

She landed in a crumpled heap on the concrete yard floor (still keeping her personal treasures sack securely wrapped around her wrist) but immediately leapt up dusting off her hands, but not so much as to remove the dirt she had previously covered herself in for disguise purposes. “That’s better, now isn’t it,” she said, and it was obvious she was pleased with herself.

The young guard was doubled up in laughter.

“Don’t laugh, son. These drovers can’t help it.”

“But, Dad …”

“You’ve got your Slaughter Invoice, I take it?” said the older guard to Toby.’

“Of course I ’ave,” said Toby, taking the Slaughter Invoice out of his coat pocket and waving it dismissively in front of the older guard’s face.

The older guard ignored the waving invoice and said, “What’s that boy doing sleeping in your backpack?”

“Oh, Jim-Bob? Ee’s a retrograde,” claimed Toby. “I’m ’is charge, I am. Sleeps almost all day, ’e does. And when ’e wakes ’e screams till we feed ’im.”

“I’ve never seen you lot of drovers before,” said the older guard.

“Aye,” said Toby, “well we don’t usually do a Slaughter drive. We work as a family doin’ odd jobs for Mr Finniston ’imself on ’is farm house. The usual drover, old what’s ’is name, you know, one of the Pikes, ’e came down ill, see, me lovely.”

“Well, you best get a move before that little missy of yours kills herself,” said the younger guard, pointing out Spade, who had taken to engaging in a head-butting contest with one of the Hereford cows. “She seems intent on doing herself some serious brain damage—though coming to think of it, I can’t see her being able to damage her brain any more than it seems to be damaged already.”

The older guard gave his son a reprimanding shove in the kidneys to remind him not to be so discourteous to the drovers.

Toby and the party trampled off, heading towards a short concrete road that led directly to the yawning opening that was the Slaughter In Department. As they made their way, Spade kept looking back at the younger guard, nodding her head and saying, “Ooh arr, ooh arr.”

Onto the Slaughter In Department entrance road they spilled and began to meander slowly beneath the harsh white light swamping down from the lampposts lining the road towards some huge concertinaed open hangar doors. The lighting was so powerful that the purple light of Level 3’s sky-ceiling lost its effect and normal colours were resumed. Above the open doors was a signpost that read: “WELCOME TO FINNISTON FARM’S MEAT FACTORY – SLAUGHTER IN DEPARTMENT”.

Just inside the opening was a bearded security guard lurking behind the front table of the Slaughter In Reception Point.

Toby wobbled over to the reception point and slid his Slaughter Invoice across its wooden table to the bearded security guard.

The security guard briefly inspected the invoice. He looked up at Toby’s smiling, if not slightly gormless-looking face, and said, “Have you brought your whole family?”

“Oh aye, ooh arr, I ’ave, me lovely,” replied Toby. “I gotta bring ’em ’ome you see, just after delivering me cows. Me family’s too stupid to be left alone for any length of time. Wasn’t expecting to be delivering today, you see. The regular drover, old Pikey, ’e’s been taken ill, ’e ’as.”

The security guard looked at the rest of the party. The Four Playing Card Suits, Logan, Tommy and Alice looked particularly gormless and were staring aimlessly, each in a different direction.

“I see what you mean,” said the security guard, giving his beard a quick stroke. Those little missies could do with a bath. I can’t even see a single piece of their skin.’

“They’ve been a rollin’ in some mud, entertaining the cows, see,” lied Toby, looking pleased that the Four Playing Card Suits had disguised their wooden skin so well.

“Is that a retrograde you got there?” asked the security guard, nodding towards the unconscious Justin, slumped in the boy-carrying specially adapted backpack.

“Ooh aye,” said Toby. “Ee’s just like a baby, see. Sleeps twenty hour a day. I’m ’is charge. Sorry to say ’is pa died in a tractor accident.”

“Well, at least he’s got a charge,” said the security guard. Then he changed the subject and spoke to Toby in a discreet undertone. “Are you sure your kids will be all right in a place like this? I mean, the slaughtering pens are not the nicest of places, even for the most hard-nosed of adults.”

“Ooh arr, they’ll be all right. They know what’s what. They killed their pet pig a couple of months ago and didn’t seem none the worse for eating its meat. We is farmers, after all.”

“Here,” said the security guard, passing the Slaughter Invoice back to Toby. “Follow the three yellow lines painted on the floor and present your Slaughter Invoice and goods to the Slaughter Inspector. Cows go to the yellow Slaughter Pens, got it?”

“I know that, me lovely,” lied Toby.

“Good for you,” said the security guard. “Off you go then. Death be with you.” The security guard then ignored Toby and started playing a game on some sort of mobile games console that he pulled out of his pocket.

“Follow the yellow lines!” bellowed Toby to his party, giving them a secret friendly wink.

And so, off into the Slaughter In Department of the meat factory trampled the party following a triplet of yellow lines painted on the factory concrete floor …

 

3

THE BEEF SLAUGHTERING PENS

ONCE THEY HAD turned a few corners of the triple yellow lined trail, which seemed to be weaving its way through corridors lined on both sides with stacked deep-freeze units that were tagged with beef contents, the party quickly gathered together.

“I think we should deliver the Hereford cows first so as not to arouse any security suspicions over our entrance as drovers,” suggested Toby. “Then, after that, we’ll start to search for the lift home. If anyone apprehends us, we’ll just act as stupidly as possible and claim we got lost trying to find our way back out of the Slaughter In Department. So we best keep all our farmer gear on. You Four Playing Card Suits will have to keep your hair sucked in, but it’s safe for us all to remove our breathing filters and safety goggles, provided you Four Playing Card Suits keep your faces as dirt-smeared as possible.”

“Sounds a reasonable plan,” agreed Tommy, starting to remove his breathing filter and safety goggles.

Logan was relieved to remove his breathing filter and safety goggles as they didn’t fit him properly and he was forever adjusting them to stop them from slipping off.

The Four Playing Card Suits were also relieved to remove their goggles and breathing filters as they definitely stunted their style. Facial expressions were very important to them, as they were experts at using them. No one could quite pull a face like a Four Playing Card Suit. Nevertheless, they dipped their hands into their drover coat pockets and applied a good layer of dirt on their faces.

“It still smells pretty foul in here,” said Alice, after she had whipped off her breathing filter and safety goggles and stuffed them in her deep farmer coat pockets, “but not as un-breathable as the air outside.”

“I think the factory is being ventilated with air freshening gases,” said Tommy. “There’s a definite hint of lavender in the air.”

Suddenly, a loud distant harrowing scream sounded, causing the cows to get agitated and the party to shrink with fear.

“Oh my god,” said Alice. “What was that?”

“That is the sound of Urgland’s Death System,” warned Ennoia. “There’s no electric stun or pain-relieving injection given to the animals about to be slaughtered. They are just locked in a holding machine and speared through their brain. I’m afraid you young ones will have to be extremely brave while you’re in this particular den of iniquity.

“But that sounded like a man’s scream!” insisted Alice. The Four Playing Card Suits nodded to show they thought so too. And Logan, who was speechless and temporarily paralysed, was convinced it was a man’s scream.

“Oh, I don’t think humans are slaughtered,” said Toby, doing his best to sound cheerful. “Some retrograde newborns are killed in the Level 2 birthing houses; but that’s about it. I should think that scream was from a pig. They can sometimes sound like humans.”

Logan, Alice and the Four Playing Card Suits said nothing, but their faces showed they were feeling uncomfortable about this stage of their attempted escape from Urgland. Even Tommy looked worried.

“Look, I know this place of death will be a trying time,” continued Toby, “but we’ll get through it. Just remember: if we escape, this sort of inhumane killing will be stopped immediately.”

“We can’t lead these cows to their death,” said Heart angrily. “Look at them—they’re not even old!”

“Lambs are much younger when they are slaughtered,” said Ennoia. “They don’t even get to live a year. Can it ever be humane to kill a child for the pleasure of eating it, no matter how much protection from pain and suffering you give it? It might be humanoid, but never humane!”

No one said anything, but as Logan, Tommy, Alice and the Four Playing Card Suits had eaten lamb before, they bowed their heads with more than a trace of uncomfortable guilt.

“I never eat lamb,” said Toby quietly. “Only mutton. The sheep are well over a year old then.”

“And where do you draw the line on animal murder, Toby?” asked Ennoia. “I would say, I am to you, what you are to a sheep. Would you find it acceptable if I reared your kind and slaughtered them as children or teenagers, simply for pleasurable sustenance? No matter how painlessly I killed your kind—even if none of them ever knew I was doing it—would it be right? You humanoids have a long way to go to reach what I would say was civilised, what I would say was humane.”

Toby said nothing. He fell into a well of sadness.

“Fear not,” said Ennoia. “I am not judging you. It is a natural consequence of early evolution. Why, just think of the amount of food the meat animals themselves require before you kill and eat them …! Oh abattoirs of gloom and doom. This madness has to stop. Yes, by Origimus, even the most humane efforts must stop. That’s all I’ll say on the matter. “

“Don’t worry about our cows,” said Tommy to Heart. “They’ll be all right. We’re going to need a diversion or two to roam about trying to find the lift we need. We’ve got laser weapons and we should be able to disable the killing machinery used for our cows. I’m pretty sure this holding pen and spearing business will need electricity to run. We should be able to sabotage any electricity power source.” Tommy then turned to Toby and said, “What d’you think?”

“Oh yes,” agreed Toby, shrugging off his well of sadness. “The Urgland engineers love their metals and they love their use of electricity. And I think sabotaging any machine power sources will be a great idea, as they’ll put all their manpower into sorting out the breakdown. As long as we don’t bring down the lights or the lift systems!”

“We’ll strike a blow for civilisation!” said Logan vehemently, feeling immediately surprised at his outburst.

Tommy winked at him with a huge smile.

The party meandered on, following the three yellow-painted lines with the Four Playing Card Suits and Alice soothing the Hereford cows and encouraging them ever onwards.

Eventually, the party came to a titanium-walled corridor which led to an ominous-looking and imposing titanium door. The word “BEEF” was printed in huge yellow letters across a black-painted metallic signpost attached to the door.

There was a large glass button embedded in the door just begging to be pressed—and Toby pressed it …

There was no sound, but the light flashed on and off with a soft green light.

Seconds later, the door swung inward, revealing a place that the party instantly knew should never exist. The sense of pain, suffering and death somehow permeated the air. They saw a huge concrete-floored open space and in the near distance the tail end of a queue of Shetland bulls, no doubt heading for the slaughtering pens.

Out of a small office, bounded purposely a very short middle-aged Slaughter Inspector wearing navy-blue overalls styled with thin white vertical stripes. He was only five feet tall. He made a beeline for Toby. He tugged at his white trilby hat; styled as it was, in a close acrylic mesh with a navy-blue ribbon band. The black-lettered words “Slaughter Inspector” were prominently displayed on a white-painted metallic badge pinned to the top pocket of his overalls.

“What have we got here then?” said the Slaughter Inspector, giving Toby a smile.

“I dunno how’s many cows we’s got ’ere as me counting’s not up to scratch, but ’ere’s the paperwork.” Toby pushed out the Slaughter Invoice to the Slaughter Inspector.

“I wasn’t referring to your goods, old drover,” said the Slaughter Inspector, plucking the Slaughter Invoice from Toby’s hand. “I was referring to you and your motley crew. I don’t usually get the whole blimmin’ family turning up.”

“These cows ’ave been a bit tetchy, so I thought it’d ’elp to control ’em, see. I gotta bring me family ’ome soon too. So it weren’t worth leavin’ ’em outside to wait for me.”

The Slaughter Inspector shook his head disparagingly. “You drovers will be the death of me before you’ll be the death of yourselves. Anyway, this invoice tallies, at least in the number of the cows, a nice round dozen. We just need to check the weights of the cows before I can sign this Slaughter Invoice off. So don’t forget to stop each cow on the weighing platform when you march the herd off towards the slaughtering pens.”

Toby gave the simple instructions to the rest of the party to march off towards the queue for the slaughtering pens and to make sure they stopped each cow on the large metal floor panel on the concrete floor until they were given the signal to move them forwards.

There was only one hiccup in the weighing procedure—Spade had decided to ride her cow onto the weighing platform and she pretended that she couldn’t understand why she had to get off her cow …

“Get off that cow, you idiot!” shouted the Slaughter Inspector.

“Why’s that then, me lovely?” said Spade, remembering the way the drover Pike had spoken earlier.

“Because you’re adding to the weight!” said the exasperated Slaughter Inspector.

“But I’m not standing on the platform—and neither is my bag!” Spade lifted her dirty old mud encrusted black cloth personal treasures sack high into the air.

“Look, I haven’t got time to argue with a little nitwit missy like you!” shouted the Slaughter Inspector angrily from behind the weight readout machine. “Get off that cow, and get off it now!”

“Ooh arr, suit yerself, you stuck-up bully-boy!” shouted back Spade. And she leapt up into a standing position and managed to leap off her cow with the spring of a giant flea in a forward quadruple somersault. On landing, she began forward rolling towards the Slaughter Inspector like a rag-tag human wheel, before rising up so she was standing with a look of disgust just inches from the Slaughter Inspector’s face …

To say he was taken aback would be a vast understatement.

“Satisfied?” said Spade with her hands on her waist.

“Next!” shouted the Slaughter Inspector, his blood vessels close to bursting out of his skin.

Tommy quickly grabbed Spade and told her to get back to her cow and encourage it to move off the weighing platform. He whispered in her ear, “Don’t forget, you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. There’s a time and a place for everything.”

Spade just batted her white-painted long eyelashes at Tommy, cheekily exposing her gold-painted eyelids. She obviously knew that Tommy was blocking the view of the Slaughter Inspector.

“Don’t push your luck, Pallas Julie Holly Grenville,” warned Tommy, using Spade’s full proper name.

Hearing her full proper name seemed to impress Spade, as her eyebrows arched high in surprise and she hurried back to her cow and encouraged it with soothing drover-like words off the metal weighing platform. “Ooo aaarr, me lovely dubbly moo. Come on girly. Off that ’orrible auld metal slab. I promises ye, girly, as sure as a Spade’s a Spade, ye’ll not come to any ’arm. Come on, me lovely dubbly moo. Ooh arr …”

After the cows had all been weighed, the Slaughter Inspector signed off the Slaughter Invoice, ripped off the duplicate paper and handed it to Toby.

“Can we all stay with them till they’re slaughtered please?” asked Toby earnestly.

“Of course. But keep that nut-job missy under control or she’ll end up in the holding pen herself and get herself speared in the brain.”

“Oh, she’ll be all right. She ain’t got no brain to be speared,” said Toby, backing his drover joke up with a typical drover’s slow deep-pitched laugh.

“Yes, that’s quite funny … even to me,” said the Slaughter Inspector, smiling.

“Ooh arr, me lovely! Larfed—I nearly wet meself,” said Toby, laughing even more droverly.

“Yes, all right. Off you go now,” said the Slaughter Inspector irritably, flicking his hand at Toby like a cow flicking her tail at a troublesome fly.

Toby joined the head of his party. “I think that Spade is beginning to have an effect on me,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

Off the party trampled forwards to join the queue for the slaughter pens. They kept a good twenty feet distance between themselves and the Shetland bulls in front of them …

 

4

WELCOME SABOTAGE

THEY FOUND THEY were in the mouth of a wide corridor. The walls were made of wooden horizontal beams. The floor was concrete. The ceiling was a mixture of wood, concrete and steel beams. The impression was that there were various buildings on a floor just above them.

“This queuing corridor is slowly starting to bend to the left,” said Tommy to Toby. “I suggest once we’re out of sight of the Slaughter Inspector, we start to look for an escape route and start searching for the lift.”

“Agreed,” said Toby. “Pass the word.”

Club said on behalf of the Four Playing Card Suits that they would only cooperate if the slaughtering pens were disabled and their cows were safe—and they also claimed they had all decided to become vegetarians.

When they were out of sight of the Slaughter Inspector, they gathered for a quick discussion to the side of the lead cow.

“All right,” said Tommy to the Four Playing Card Suits, “we’ll definitely make sure we sabotage the slaughtering pens before we escape to look for the lifts. So keep your eyes peeled for electricity power sources. There’s bound to be some in a factory of this kind near the machinery, as it makes for easier maintenance. Toby says they’ll have a lightning bolt symbol showing their location.”

“Let me roll about and search for them,” suggested Freddy. “There’s no sensible Urglanders around this queue. Only the odd drover driving their herds to their oblivion. I’ll never get caught in a place like this.”

“Well, all right, Freddy. But it’s vital no one even sees you as a non-animal living creature. Or you’ll give us all away, as the word must be out now that you have escaped with Justin and Toby. Perhaps Mr Dexter has realised by now the scale of the escape. If he’s realised the Four Playing Card Suits, Alice and Ennoia have all escaped too, then he’ll realise someone probably trespassed down from Britland to set up this great escape.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” said Freddy. “I have heightened hearing and seeing senses compared to normal non-animal beings. There’s not a chance I’ll get seen, as I’ll be very careful.”

“Off you go then, and in the meantime, we’ll slowly trudge our way to the slaughtering pens.”

“Wish me luck!” said Freddy, before he sped off rolling at great speed and disappeared, slaloming between the legs of the Shetland bulls up ahead.

“This corridor is slowly but surely narrowing in width,” said Toby to Tommy. “Have you noticed?”

“Yes,” said Tommy. “It gives the impression that this is a one-way journey. I get the impression it’s so the cattle won’t realise they’re slowly getting themselves into a position where they won’t be able to about-turn and attempt an escape.”

“We might get trapped ourselves,” said Logan, who, like the rest of the party, had stayed gathered at the head of the herd.

“No,” said Tommy. “There’s bound to be side doors for humans to enter and leave the corridor to avoid such problems and for other safety and maintenance reasons.”

“You’re right,” said Alice. “Look!” She pointed down the corridor. “There’s a door on the right-hand wall, just up ahead. See it?”

The Shetland bulls had moved a little farther ahead and revealed the door.

Freddy wasn’t gone a matter of minutes, when just then he came whizzing back. He bounced himself into Logan’s arms, where he obviously felt he belonged when socialising in the party. Logan felt proud of his role with Freddy. Logan automatically walked up close to Tommy. Everyone gathered around to hear what Freddy would say.

“I’ve found a grey-painted metal cupboard with a red lightning bolt painted on it,” said Freddy enthusiastically.

“Yes, that’s an Urgland power junction box,” confirmed Toby.

“A junction box!” said Tommy cheerfully. “Great! You’ve hit the jackpot, Freddy. Where is it?”

“It’s up at about your chest height on the right-hand wall of this bending corridor. Just past that door up ahead.”

“Great,” said Tommy. “Not only might we be able to sabotage the slaughtering pens machinery, but we might also have found our initial escape route through the nearby door. If we do a good sabotage job, no one will suspect a thing until we’re well gone.”

Just then, sweeping down from the bending corridor up ahead, came a loud metallic punching noise sounding like a giant stable-gun. It rolled ominously over the party. This mechanical sound of death was followed instantly by an animal sound of death, a high-pitched harrowing squeal.

The Hereford cows immediately mooed their disapproval.

“Hurry!” said Heart, pawing urgently and impatiently at Tommy’s farmer coat.

The party hurried ahead, leaving their cows behind.

When they came to the door, which was made of white-painted wood, Tommy tried its indented iron handle. It opened, revealing a long narrow winding wooden walled corridor. The signpost above the door said: “To the Experimental Slaughter Pens Laboratory.”

“We’ll take this route when we’ve sabotaged the power junction box,” said Tommy, leaving the door ajar.

“I’ll stay by the door to make sure it’s safe to use,” volunteered Ennoia.

“Good thinking,” said Tommy.

The party, minus Ennoia, ploughed ahead, sidled past the tail end of the Shetland Bulls and at last came to the power junction box.

Luckily, one of the doors on the pair of cupboard doors of the junction box had an indented handle, and when this handle was pulled down, the pair of doors opened easily enough.

Inside were a series of fuses and a myriad of wires.

Tommy studied the contents of the power junction box.

After about thirty seconds, he announced his intentions …

“Right, first I’ll melt some of these wires here. According to their labelling, that should cause a power cut to all the slaughtering equipment—I’m sure of that. The main lights will go out too, but it says just down here”—Tommy pointed at a small horizontal sign—“‘In the case of a main power short, Emergency Lighting flips into use if Primary Lighting is disabled’. So don’t panic if it goes dark for a few seconds. Then, finally, I’ll short the relevant fuses as well. That way, any Urgland engineers will think it was the fuses shorting from a rare, though natural, power surge that caused the problem. And it will take them ages to fix the power junction box. So stand back as I’ll need to use my multi-gun.”

The party stood back, helped by the fact that the Shetland bulls had moved past the power junction box now.

Tommy gave Ennoia, who was still attending the slightly ajar door back down the corridor, a thumbs-up signal.

She returned a thumbs-up signal.

Tommy set to work. He heated up his target wires with short bursts of low laser energy from his multi-gun. On the last wire, the lights flickered off …

The corridor was plunged into total blackness …

Fortunately, just ten seconds later, the emergency lighting kicked in. The corridor wasn’t as brightly lit as before, but it was adequate.

“No drama,” said Tommy, winking at the others. “Now keep back, I need to short some fuses!”

Tommy quickly shorted the fuses using the laser energy of his multi-gun.

“Right, let’s go!” said Tommy, closing the pair of cupboard doors of the power junction box.

“Shouldn’t there be an alarm going off?” asked Toby to Tommy.

“I should think there’s some sort of alarm system, but not a noisy one. It would create pandemonium with all the cattle down here. That’s why the glass button that we pressed to get in this department didn’t make a noise. Do you remember? It just flashed green.”

“Ah, I see,” said Toby.

Off the party scrambled to the waiting door.

The Four Playing Card Suits sprinted in front but they didn’t stop at the door …

“Hey, where are you Four Playing Card Suits going!” said Tommy after them.

“We’ve got to say goodbye to the Furry Dozen!” called back Club.

The Hereford cows had hardly moved forwards since they had been temporarily left. However, they were only about ten yards short of the door.

The Four Playing Card Suits kissed all twelve cows and promised them they’d be all right and wouldn’t end up in any pies.

“I’ll see to it that you’re all brought up to the surface of Britland where you’ll live out the rest of your lives beneath the golden rays of Mr Sun’s glorious sunshine, and where you’ll all graze happily on the blue, blue grass of home,” said Heart.

Spade temporarily allowed her afro to spring up to its ultimate magnificence and gave the cow she had made the best friends with, a friendly head-butt. And a new micro-braided toy had formed in her afro to join her Gorillian toys—a Hereford cow!

Then, after the Four Playing Card Suits had finished their goodbyes, they charged back and swept into the narrow corridor through the door held open by Tommy.

“Right, slow down everyone,” said Tommy, forcing his way to the head of the party. “No one knows we’re here so far, and we want to keep it that way. We’ve all done really well so far. But we need to keep to a speed that allows us to think. Freddy, you roll just ahead of us, as you have the best hearing and seeing senses—though how you manage to see when you’re rolling at a rate of knots, I’ll never know.”

Freddy bounced out of Logan’s hands to the head of the party. Then Tommy took a position behind him. Logan wanted to be near Freddy, so he followed behind Tommy. Then came Alice, Ennoia, the Four Playing Card Suits, in that order. And finally, Toby, with Justin Dexter still unconscious in the adapted rucksack on his back, took up the rear. The party was now pretty well-bunched up and walked at a brisk pace and could hear what each other was saying.

“So according to the door sign, we’re off to the Experimental Slaughter Pens Laboratory,” said Toby from the back of the party.

“I wonder what an Experimental Slaughter Pens Laboratory is when it’s at home?” said Logan.

“We can easily imagine,” said Club knowingly.

“The word ‘experimental’ translates to ‘torture’ as far as Urglanders are concerned,” added Diamond.

“But just what sort of animals will the Urglanders be experimenting on?” added Heart.

“Whatever animals they are, we’ll help them if we can,” finished Spade, completing a classic alphabetically ordered Four Playing Card Suits’ commentary.

“We’ll only interfere if it’s necessary,” said Tommy. “We’re not here to right the wrongs of Urgland. Our priority is simply to find our lift and escape back to Britland. If we can succeed, we will be able to expose Mr Dexter’s evil exploits and intentions, and then both the Britland and Urgland governments will together right Urgland’s wrongs.”

After a few minutes, the long narrow winding wooden corridor was nearing its end, as there was a wooden door fast approaching the party.

Freddy reverse-bounced himself from the corridor’s cork-tiled floor just before the door, just over Tommy’s head and straight into Logan’s arms.

“I can hear voices on the other side of the door!” said Freddy warningly.

And then something alarming happened—

The door handle turned, and the door started to open towards the party!