he whirring of twin-bladed helicopters in the skies above them came as a welcome surprise. It was a small wonder that the authorities of Amsterdam had let such intimidating machines hug the canopy of its rooftops and canals. It was raining hard now and through the downpour, Ned watched the Chinooks come in to land as he peered through the great hole in the wall made by George. Ned had visions of his parents stepping out on to the street, smiles in their eyes with tales of the Fey, Heart Stone in hand and ready to take their son home. Even if home for now meant a concrete bunker somewhere along the British coast.
While they waited for it to land, the Tinker carefully picked up his great-uncle’s separate parts and placed them in a large plastic container.
“Tinks, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, Master Ned,” said the Tinker. “It wasn’t your fault. If you hadn’t done what you did … well, I’m quite sure it would have been the end of us – all of us, that is.”
Despite his kind words, the heaviness of his brow told a very different story.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Master Ned, do you think I might borrow Whiskers?”
Ned’s dog-mouse, wonder that he was, was looking rather sad, head down on Lucy’s shoulder.
“I guess so, Tinks, but what for?”
“Oh, just a hunch. You’ll get him back soon enough.”
As two Chinooks came in to land, it wasn’t his parents that Ned saw but an ashen-faced Mr Fox. Into one of the choppers went Tinks and Whiskers, and the escorted remains of Great-uncle Faisal. Mr Fox ushered Ned, Lucy and George to the second.
To Ned’s dismay, he noticed that Mr Fox was humming.
Ned didn’t like it when Mr Fox hummed. The BBB’s operative smiled at him, far too sweetly for Ned’s liking. Something was very wrong.
“Mr Fox, what’s going on?”
“Why don’t we talk on the chopper, eh?”