Up ahead the first few sheep vanished through the doorway into the garden room. Yet no sooner had they disappeared from sight than their woolly rumps reappeared, reversing back into the passage again and crashing into the others in a muffle of shrieks and insults.
Hex lifted his head like a scaly periscope. “I don’t like the look of thisss,” he muttered ominously.
Neither did Alex. To be honest he didn’t much like the look of Hex’s face either. Drained of its steely shimmer it now looked as if the snake had been dipped in flour. So it was with a rising sense of dread that he began wading through the sea of fuzzy backs, aware that the bleating was dying away around him as a cold fear rippled over the flock.
In the new silence, a different sound became audible. Thumping, dull and regular, and it was coming from the direction of the garden.
Hex gulped.
Pushing past the last few sheep, Alex stepped into the garden room, quickly edged around the wall and, biting his lip, peeped through the window.
And gulped too.
The garden heaved with mannequins. No longer posed and rigid to show off the sorceress’s clothes, they were marching from side to side in long, horrifying rows. Alex felt the breath almost stop inside his chest, watching as they turned in unison and began stamping in the other direction, as jerky as robots. They were everywhere – lining the high garden walls, blocking the gate, encircling the swimming pool — filling every patch of lawn like a regiment of eerie sentries and completely obstructing their escape route.
A sudden whoop made Alex jump. Turning his head, he saw Fred skipping joyfully from the direction of the horrible temple-styled crypt, waving his chubby arms over his head as he wove through the shifting rows.
“What is it?” said Aries, clopping over to join them.
Alex looked back at Aries. Trying not to make a noise, the ram was tippyhoofing, hunched down and knock-kneed, across the flagstones, and if Alex hadn’t been so leaden with fear he might have laughed.
“What it isss,” said Hex acidly, “isss your fault!” He dangled down from Alex’s neck and pressed his cold grey snout against Aries’ muzzle. “All that racket you made in the cellar! Fred mussst have heard you. He’sss only gone and triggered Mistress’sss enchanted mannequinsss!”
“Enchanted?” stammered Alex, as Fred skipped over to the one dressed in Nelson’s clothes, standing a couple of lines back, towing a small, wheeled cannon. He remembered creeping past him last night. “You didn’t mention that before!”
“I didn’t like to,” muttered Hex, wrapping himself around the boy’s neck again. “We had enough to worry about trying to free muttonbrain. But the fact isss that Mistressss hasss alwaysss usssed them asss her sssecurity sssystem. When she goesss out she givesss her ssstaff the passssword.”
Alex, Aries and Hex watched as the Cyclops leaned up against Nelson and tucked his right arm into his jacket to copy the Admiral. Looking up at him, his rubbery face broke into a clownish grin, revealing two stumpy grey teeth. At which the Admiral raised his lace-cuffed hand above his head and stuck his nose in the air.
“England expects every mannequin to do its duty!” he cried in a snooty English accent.
Aries frowned and looked up at Hex. “Who does he think he is?”
“Britain’sss greatessst naval hero,” snipped Hex.
“But then, they all think they’re sssomeone.”
Alex stared at him dumbfounded. “They do?”
“The mistressss wasss lonely,” explained Hex. “Giving each one the persssonality of the people whossse clothesss they wear made for plenty of guesssts for her Christmasss cocktail partiesss and soireesss on gloomy Tuesssday afternoonsss.”
Which explained Marie Antoinette’s dainty steps, Alex now supposed, and the way Captain Smith was wheeling around with a telescope to his eye. He shivered, aware that every mannequin was a souvenir of someone’s horrible death.
“Ssstatues, too,” muttered Hex, jabbing his head towards the statue of the girl with the rose basket. Who was, at that moment, stepping down from her plinth, her chiselled features twitching into a sneer. “Though they were more for garden partiesss,” he added quietly.
Alex bit his lip, looking away from the stone girl’s sneer to the other side of the lawn, feeling his stomach lurch to see that the dolphin statue had begun moving too, flapping its flippers and snapping its bottlenose like garden shears.
“What are we going to do?” said Aries.
Behind them, the sheep spilled out into the room behind them, bleating and turning in terrified circles, knocking over giant pots of dahlias and paddling in the water.
“I’ll have to think,” said Alex.
“Think?” muttered Aries. “I’m not sure we have time for that!”
Meanwhile, the Cyclops made three big jumps through gaps in the moving rows to stand in front of Marie Antoinette.
“Left left, right!” he cried gleefully, sidestepping as she swished past.
She glanced down and wrinkled her nose at his salute.
Undeterred, he clicked his heels.
“Fred Fred’s Army!” he announced and threw his bottom out in a deep clumsy bow.
Army? Alex felt his mind whirring. He stepped back from the window, blinking, as the queen plucked a pomander of flowers from her drawstring bag and held it to her nose.
“That’s it!” he burst out.
“Balls of flowers?” said Aries. Bemused, he looked up at Alex’s suddenly bright face.
“No!” Alex turned away into the chaos of sheep behind them. “An army, of course! Don’t you see? It’s the only way to beat that lot!”
“You don’t sssay?” said Hex, his eyes as round as ball bearings. “Well, jussst hold on while I sssee if I can find one for hire in the phone book!”
Except that Alex wasn’t listening. He was too busy, pacing through the milling sheep, thinking.
“Listen to me!” he said.
But the sheep stumbled on, stupefied by fear.
Slamming his foot down on the floor he tried again. “I said everyone!” he demanded.
Shocked by his tone, the sheep bolted upright and turned to face him. Half-chewed dahlias fell out of mouths onto the floor.
“Right, we’ve got a job to do here,” said Alex firmly. “And every one of you will play your part. You, with the ringlets,” he said, pointing to three silky Wensleydales, “line up, over here, now!” The sheep shuffled grimly across the room, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, flanks trembling. “Next, you four with the brown fleeces! Well, come on!”
Quickly, Alex arranged the seven sheep into a row before calling for seven more. Muttering nervously amongst themselves, the sheep did what he asked. Edging a rather arthritic Bighorn onto the end of the next row, he looked up, sweating.
“Olaf and Martha!” he said. “I need you two to check the cellar for anyone who’s run back. Aries, chivvy the others out of the passageway.”
And whilst everyone is so busy, I’ll explain.
There aren’t many moments in life where being a zookeeper and the son of an ancient Greek soldier is a useful combination, but this was definitely one of them.
Being a zookeeper meant that Alex knew that sheep simply scattered in panic unless a shepherd took control, and that what one did, they’d all copy31.
Being a soldier’s son he remembered his father telling him of how he’d arranged his men into fighting units, or phalanxes, with the men in tight rows and those around the outside holding up their shields to protect the group. As long as the men stayed together, they could flatten anything in their path. Not that Alex had soldiers, of course, or anything as useful as shields. But he did have sheep’s bottoms. And, on the upside, he had sixty-six of them, each one attached to a powerful kick.
“You are the first phalanx,” he said to the quivery bottoms and upturned faces of the three rows of sheep organised in front of him. “You at the front, kick on my command. You in the middle, guide the group. You at the back, slam any attacks to the rear!”
And I suppose if there was anything lucky about this dreadful situation, it was that wealthy sorceresses have big houses. I mean, could you dragoon sixty-odd sheep in the front room of your house? Well, quite. But five minutes later, Alex had built two more phalanxes. Aries and Olaf stood either side of him, whilst, despite his squeaky protests of being tough enough to fight, Toby had been bundled under an ornate bench and barricaded by cushions.
“Phalanx one, you charge left towards the olive trees,” said Alex, walking around the groups of sheep, inspecting their lines. “Phalanx two, you charge right towards the pool. Phalanx three, in front of me and straight up the middle. Ready?”
Despite their nervousness, the sheep were calmer now, and looked up at him with bright eager eyes, poised and alert, like a flock guided by a sheepdog.
“On my command, we march! Remember that you absolutely must stay together!” he instructed, only just ignoring the sensible voice in his mind that pointed out that sheep rarely did, but scattered instead like flossy confetti. “One sheep on its own can be grabbed. Hold fast, and we’ll crush them.”
He looked over at Aries and Olaf. “The doors!”
Quickly, each ram took hold of a door and folded it back on itself, opening up the wall of the room to the garden and the colonnade of pillars beyond.
Alex took a deep breath, feeling his heart pounding. After all, it’s hard to abandon a lifetime of sensible thinking when you’re in a terrible situation, and suddenly he felt grimly certain that his idea was crazy, the sort of half-baked notion that Aries would come up with. Out of habit he quickly guessed at their chance of success. But, on discovering his answer to be barely more than zero, he stopped. After all, there were no other options. This was their only chance to get out, to find Rose and Hazel.
It had to work.
On hearing the swoosh of doors, Fred, who’d been busy peering down the mouth of Nelson’s cannon, shot upright and stared, his eye goggling in astonishment.
“Attention!” he shrieked.
Around him, the mannequins stopped, spun towards the house and regarded it with eyes as dead as buttons. For a moment the two strange armies stood and faced one another. Silk skirts and feathered headdresses rustled in the breeze.
“March!” cried Alex.
Slowly, the sheep began to move in their appointed directions. Guided by the sheep in the middle rows, they wobbled like woolly tanks over the lawn, presenting their bottoms to the enemy.
“Mon Dieu!” squealed Marie Antoinette, fluttering her fingers to her face, appalled at the view.
Around her the mannequins sniggered, a sound like plastic boxes being scrunched.
“Attack, attack!” yelled Fred, leaping up onto the funnel of the cannon.
Now the mannequins lurched forwards. Boots creaked and spurs jangled. Bangles clattered down moulded arms. Old silk rustled like brown paper. In their midst, Fred rose, frowning like a furious troll, riding on the cannon.
“Take aim!” he cried.
The mannequins raised their arms, brandishing spears and swords, rifles, nets and ice axes. Not to mention some rather vicious-looking handbags.
Behind the third phalanx, Alex reached down, touching Olaf and Aries’ horns, who walked either side.
“Everyone keep marching!” he commanded.
The sheep pushed on as the mannequins closed in, looming over the blocks of sheep. Shivering, Alex met the blank eyes of a mannequin dressed in a cream kaftan, a golden headdress twinkling on her black bobbed wig. We’d have recognised her as Cleopatra. Alex didn’t. He only recognised her as dangerous and rather dusty. But her row was close now. And closer. Close enough to smell the must on antique clothes. Close enough to touch. Close enough to…
“Kick!” roared Alex.
Like a reflex, the front row of every phalanx bucked and kicked out hard. Shrieks and squeals tore through the garden as hooves made contact with plastic, sending heads and arms and legs spinning into the air to scatter in the flower beds.
Mindless as plastic zombies, the next row of mannequins stepped forwards.
“Kick!” commanded Alex.
Again, the outside sheep tipped forwards, slamming the figures in front of them. The garden exploded in another cacophony of screams and crumpling plastic. Over by the swimming pool, Marilyn Monroe doubled over. Gasping through pouted lips, she pitched into the water in a flutter of white skirt. Over by the olive trees, a queen’s head rolled away through the trees, striking out four Arctic explorers and a man in puff ball trousers.
Alex turned back and came eye to, well, eye, with Fred.
“Kick!” he commanded.
This time, the hooves of the third phalanx slammed Nelson over backwards, snapping him in two over his cannon. From the grass, the Admiral waved his good arm helplessly in the air, bewildered by falling plastic body parts.
“Nelly Nelly!” roared Fred. He leaped down off the cannon and poked the Admiral’s crumpled head. Looking up, he glared at Alex. Slowly he unfastened Nelson’s starburst medal and pinned it to his own chest.
“Fred Fred kill Alex and scummy scummy woollies!”
Smiling nastily32, he looked at the boy and reached into his pocket, drawing out a long match. He dragged it down the side of the cannon and lit the fuse.
“Oh no you don’t!” shouted Alex.
Leaping around the side of the phalanx, he threw his weight behind the the breech33 of the cannon and spun it round to face the lines of approaching mannequins. There was a resounding boom as the cannon ball tore through them and when the black cloud of smoke cleared, Alex saw twenty or more of them, smashed to pieces, jerking on the grass.
His heart soared.
The plan was working!
“What what?” squealed Fred.
Stumbling towards Alex, soot-faced and dazed from the cannon blast, he flung out his arms to grab him. At which Aries exchanged a rapid glance with Olaf and together they charged, each hooking a horn each through Fred’s belt to carry him over to the snapping dolphin. With a single coordinated toss of their heads, they launched the Cyclops into the dolphin’s mouth. Squeaking with delight, the dolphin began swinging him from side to side, boxing the Cyclops’s ears with his stone flippers and making a sound like a cauliflower being repeatedly thumped.
“Well done!” shouted Alex.
He scanned the garden to see that more than half of the mannequins now lay groaning on the lawn.
Commanding the sheep to kick again, Alex glanced over at the gate to see three mannequins guarding it wearing padded orange suits, what appeared to be fishbowls on their heads and silver boots, who we’d recognise to be astronauts.
As the squeals of plastic rang through the garden again, Alex gently unwound the snake from his shoulders.
“Hex,” he said. “I need you to open those gates.”
The snake nodded and slithered through the stomping feet to the safety of the tulip borders that lined the drive to the gate. In a flash of silver, he was gone and Alex turned back to the fray, hoping the snake would be all right. After all, venom has no effect on a mannequin and for once in his snakey life, Hex was vulnerable.
Again and again, the sheep phalanxes bucked and moved forwards. Olaf and Aries joined the front of the third phalanx, adding their formidable kicks to the others, bleating furiously.
Alex laughed as a blizzard of snow-booted legs fell around him. It was going to be all right.
Which was when he heard a yelp, and, panicked, he turned to see one of the spacemen pointing to something, or rather someone, in the bushes.
“Aries,” he shouted. “Hex needs help!”
Peeling away from the group, Aries saw all three spacemen peering into the border. One of them twitched his silver-gloved fingers, reaching for the small hammer on his belt as he bent down for a closer look. Seconds later Aries’ head made contact with the shiny target and launched the rocket man into a new orbit. Then, swinging round, he gave the other two their own personal ‘lift-offs’ over the wall.
Whereupon Hex shot up the gatepost, nodded his thanks to Aries and began tapping buttons with his nose.
Aries turned back, ready to attack again and stopped.
Because there wasn’t a single mannequin standing.
Instead, the lawn looked like a massacre in a doll factory. Every patch of grass was strewn with crumpled body parts. Fingers fluttered uselessly. Legs kicked their feet in the air. Wigs floated in the swimming pool like furry water lilies.
“We did it!” yelled Alex.
He leaped up and punched the air.
All at once, the sheep surged round him, cheering. They stamped their hooves and licked him with rough tongues, bustling against him in delight. Aries galloped back to Olaf and the rams knocked horns in a victory clash. And Hex, swaying and curling in a mamba-samba, rode the top of the ironwork gate as it slowly opened to freedom.
As Alex looked over the scene of triumph, he was oddly reminded of his father at the Battle of Marathon and of how he’d beaten thousands of Persians with only a few hundred Greeks. And although it was true that the Athenians hadn’t celebrated by eating roses, rolling around on clumps of dahlias and jumping up and down on plastic body parts, Alex finally knew how his father must have felt to fight even when logic told him the odds were against him – to fight and win.
A moment later he’d scooped Toby up from the garden room and walked back out into the sunshine.
Aries trotted up to him, wreathed in smiles.
“Well done, Alex!” he said. He looked up into the boy’s face and nudged him gently in the ribs. “Alexander the Great!” he added.
Alex smiled, and for once he didn’t even feel silly at blushing because inside he was glowing with pride.
But there was no time to lose.
Stepping deftly over the muddle of body parts he led the flock to the gate and lifted up his arm for Hex to slither down.
The open road lay ahead of them.
Alex turned and looked into Hex’s sparkling eyes. “Which way?”
31. He also knew they were likely to eat your washing if you left it out on rocks to dry, but that isn’t relevant here.
32. His unpleasant smile wasn’t down to his mood, although that was also rather vile. No, it was simply that even the bonniest smile looks horrible on a Cyclops’s lumpy face.
33. Since Nelson’s mannequin has seen better days, it’s lucky I am a technical expert and can tell you that a cannon’s breech is its round bottom, not its rumbly-rumbly-here-comes-the-cannon-ball-wheee end.