Well, whilst they’re retracing their steps and slithers, I can tell you that Aries had turned and doubled-back to the sheep prison. Now, lowering his head, he aimed his horns at the middle of the locked door and leaped, hurling his huge bulk against it. There was a crunch as the wood cobwebbed into splits beneath his bony brow. Snorting furiously, he stepped back and threw himself at the door a second time. Now it gave way, exploding in shards of flying wood that disappeared into the gloom beyond as he skidded through the hole to a halt at the top of the stairs.
Startled, the sheep stared up at him, like a display of woolly statues30. Only Olaf moved, bustling past the others to the edge of the stall. Then, stepping up onto its lowest bar he raised his head and regarded Aries with eyes as round as cattle cakes.
“Golden ram, you have made of da escape?” he said in disbelief as Aries clattered down the stairs, scattering scraps of wood behind him. “Why den come you here?”
“Because no sheep should be kept away from the fields!” said Aries. “I’ve come to set everyone free!”
The word galvanised the sheep like a lightning storm. Suddenly alert, they bobbed and jostled, pushing against each other, eager for a better view of Aries as he turned towards Martha’s and Toby’s stall.
The hefty bolt on its gate reminded him of the one on the door of the harpies’ enclosure, and he’d certainly seen Alex open that often enough to know what to do. Taking it in his mouth, he slammed it back. For a moment everyone held his or her breath as Toby stepped forwards and nudged open the gate before wobbling out on long gangly legs, beaming.
At which the cellar erupted into a cacophony of bleats and shrieks of delight. Horns crashed against bars. Hooves clattered against the stone floor. Everywhere, the sheep bounced up and down like woolly seesaws, their tails spinning with delight.
For a moment, Aries stood. Glowing inside, he felt the sort of happiness that he hadn’t known for years, not since he’d worn his fleece.
Turning to Olaf’s stall he was surprised to see a look of admiration on the Icelandic’s face. He paused, watching as from the opposite side of the bars, Olaf lowered his horns slowly, which in sheep-speak means an apology.
“Misjudge you I did, golden ram,” he said over the din. “And sorry I am.”
Aries lowered his head in response, which is sheep for ‘thank you’ and ‘you did have a point’ and ‘let’s put it all behind us’ and lots of other things like that. However, as I’ve told you before, this story doesn’t have time for sloppy bits and standing around going, “Ooh, bless!” and neither do we.
A moment later Aries had released Olaf and the two of them, together with Martha, started freeing everyone else. Sheep surged out of stalls and milled together in a flossy tide, nuzzling relatives and friends, brushing horns and flanks amiably.
Of course, needless to say, in all this sheepy excitement, no one noticed Alex and Hex step through the broken door into the cellar.
Alex stopped and stared down, surprised.
And small wonder.
After all, he knew that the Aries of only a few days ago wouldn’t even have stopped long enough to smile at an ordinary sheep, never mind risk his own safe escape for them. He smiled in surprise.
Hex didn’t.
Not that snakes tend to smile very much anyway, but as he quickly unwrapped himself from Alex’s neck and lunged out onto the banister, his brow was furrowed with worry as he scanned the merriment below. And much as I hate to be a spoilsport, he did have a point. After all, they were still in a sorceress’s house, weren’t they?
“Will you lot be quiet!” he hissed, whizzing towards them like a long, thin and rather rubbery bobsleigh.
Except that since no one could hear him, no one did what he asked.
Instead, spotting the upturned tin bath of the night before, Aries stamped on it with all four hooves, flattening it into a tray. He booted it over the floor so that it rattled wildly. Delighted, the others copied, snapping paddles in two and butting the dark machines hanging on the walls before sweeping the counters clear with their horns, sending electrodes and pots of oily grey liquids spinning to the floor.
“I sssaid ssstop!” yelled Hex, looping his tail around the banister and swinging his body out over their heads.
Finally a few of the sheep saw him and froze, shocked to see the sorceress’s familiar back amongst them. Backing away, they bumped into the others, and a nervous hush fell over the herd.
Seeing the sheep’s faces, not to mention hearing the splash of nervous wee on the floor, Alex hurried down and raised his hands to calm the sheep.
“Hex is with us now,” he explained quickly, lifting the snake from the banister and wrapping him around his neck again. “And he’s right. This place gives me the creeps. Come on!”
Now, it’s never easy to hurry harried sheep up a staircase, but with a mixture of coaxing, flank-patting and hoicking the most reluctant by their horns, Alex ushered the flock out of the cellar and drove them clattering back down the underground passage towards the main house.
Aries ran with Alex at the back. “Where shall we take them?”
Before Alex could answer, Hex swung down, and bouncing against Alex’s chest, frowned at Aries. “You didn’t consssider that before you let them all out?” hissed Hex, his eyes glittering.
“I knew Alex would come up with something,” said Aries loyally.
Alex frowned. “Hex, is there safe grazing near here?” he said.
“In central London?” Hex’s mouth bunched up in disbelief. “There’sss a park at the end of the road. We’ll herd them there.”
“Will they be safe?”
Hex nodded. “Don’t worry. The park keeper will call the police the minute a hoof touches his grassss.”
And he was absolutely right because this particular park keeper prided himself on his prize-winning Californian roses, blooms that had already suffered one attack of vandalism that week leaving three holes, littered with razor-edged feathers and goat fur, where his Belles of Los Angeles used to grow.
Excited bleating bounced off the walls as the sheep surged ahead, their hooves rattling over the flagstones to freedom. Which was rather unfortunate since such a sheepy rumpus of delight made it quite impossible to hear anything else like, for example, the unpleasant clacketty-slapping sound now echoing from the other direction.
30. Actually, sheep are very good at doing this. Just try going “Yoo hoo!” over the fence to a field of them next time you’re in the country and you’ll see just what I mean.