inquiries, no questions. Hushed up, forgot, dead and buried, that’s the way of it. All in league together they are, the police and the drugs boys. Bribed, every man jack of ’em!” Tom’s voice held a trace of disappointment that no one had gone to the trouble of bribing him.
“So?” The thin man sounded annoyed. “So why do we have to break in here if no one’s interested in the stuff anyway?”
No one replied. Harry halfheartedly kicked the door. It was quiet inside. Tom turned away from the others and was about to set off in the direction of the paved road. Then he froze.
“There’s a car!” whispered Tom. The sheep had heard it long before. A big car without any lights on was purring along the road. It came to a halt and stopped purring. The three men scattered like chickens. Harry the Sinner doubled expertly back and forth a couple of times; the thin man bent his long back to run faster. The sheep were amazed. They had never before known how easily scared human beings could be. They themselves kept their nerve, in spite of the car. Then all three men galloped toward the hay barn, racing in past the startled sheep, and climbed the ladder to the hayloft.
The sheep spilled out into the open like milk drops to meet the man coming up from the paved road. But he took no notice of them. Nor did he seem surprised by the chaotic racing back and forth of bleating sheep in the meadow. He strolled toward the caravan at his leisure.
Only six sheep stood motionless under the dolmen. Maude had resisted the general mood of disaster. She was still concentrating on the wolf man above their heads. He had pressed himself flat against the stone. The onions inside him were churning wildly. He was breathing fast. Maude realized that the master hunter himself was frightened.
The man now beside the caravan didn’t kick the door. He knocked. One short knock, two long knocks, another short knock. He waited. Soundlessly, he set to work on the lock. Now the master hunter’s heart was beating like a sheep’s when it has to swallow its calcium tablet. But he did not move. He dared not move. A faint, metallic click chirped in the air like a cricket’s cry; but the door stayed shut. Finally the man turned and walked back to the path across the fields.
An engine hummed.
Silence.
7
Sir Ritchfield Behaves Oddly
Other things happened that night too, of course, but they weren’t as spectacular as the events around the shepherd’s caravan. The man on top of the dolmen disappeared silently, leaving nothing behind but a faint smell of onions. A little later the three other men emerged timidly from the hay barn. In trying to be quiet they made a lot of noise. They set off back to the village in silence.
The sheep watched these comings and goings, and stayed watchful for a while. They stood scattered at random over the meadow like perplexed blue clouds. Othello gave off the aura of a blue-black thundercloud. A gentle breeze softly fanned their fears away, but sleeping was out of the question all the same. They bent their necks and began to graze.
Grazing in the dark was surprisingly pleasant. Nocturnal insects in the grass chirped at them appetizingly, and everything smelled of wet herbs. Why had they let these pleasures escape them until now? It was George’s fault. George had insisted that they must spend night after night in that boring hay barn, while the world outside was such an appetizing spectacle. George hadn’t had the faintest idea of the art of grazing.
If anyone knew about grazing it was the sheep. Of course there were countless arguments on the subject, but that just made it more interesting. Miss Maple preferred sweet clover and flowers, Cloud liked grasses with dry but tasty seed clusters. Maude was wild about an insipid herb that the sheep called mouse weed. She was sure that it was good for your sense of smell. It was really the other way around: only a sheep with an outstanding sense of smell could even pick out
“So?” The thin man sounded annoyed. “So why do we have to break in here if no one’s interested in the stuff anyway?”
No one replied. Harry halfheartedly kicked the door. It was quiet inside. Tom turned away from the others and was about to set off in the direction of the paved road. Then he froze.
“There’s a car!” whispered Tom. The sheep had heard it long before. A big car without any lights on was purring along the road. It came to a halt and stopped purring. The three men scattered like chickens. Harry the Sinner doubled expertly back and forth a couple of times; the thin man bent his long back to run faster. The sheep were amazed. They had never before known how easily scared human beings could be. They themselves kept their nerve, in spite of the car. Then all three men galloped toward the hay barn, racing in past the startled sheep, and climbed the ladder to the hayloft.
The sheep spilled out into the open like milk drops to meet the man coming up from the paved road. But he took no notice of them. Nor did he seem surprised by the chaotic racing back and forth of bleating sheep in the meadow. He strolled toward the caravan at his leisure.
Only six sheep stood motionless under the dolmen. Maude had resisted the general mood of disaster. She was still concentrating on the wolf man above their heads. He had pressed himself flat against the stone. The onions inside him were churning wildly. He was breathing fast. Maude realized that the master hunter himself was frightened.
The man now beside the caravan didn’t kick the door. He knocked. One short knock, two long knocks, another short knock. He waited. Soundlessly, he set to work on the lock. Now the master hunter’s heart was beating like a sheep’s when it has to swallow its calcium tablet. But he did not move. He dared not move. A faint, metallic click chirped in the air like a cricket’s cry; but the door stayed shut. Finally the man turned and walked back to the path across the fields.
An engine hummed.
Silence.
7
Sir Ritchfield Behaves Oddly
Other things happened that night too, of course, but they weren’t as spectacular as the events around the shepherd’s caravan. The man on top of the dolmen disappeared silently, leaving nothing behind but a faint smell of onions. A little later the three other men emerged timidly from the hay barn. In trying to be quiet they made a lot of noise. They set off back to the village in silence.
The sheep watched these comings and goings, and stayed watchful for a while. They stood scattered at random over the meadow like perplexed blue clouds. Othello gave off the aura of a blue-black thundercloud. A gentle breeze softly fanned their fears away, but sleeping was out of the question all the same. They bent their necks and began to graze.
Grazing in the dark was surprisingly pleasant. Nocturnal insects in the grass chirped at them appetizingly, and everything smelled of wet herbs. Why had they let these pleasures escape them until now? It was George’s fault. George had insisted that they must spend night after night in that boring hay barn, while the world outside was such an appetizing spectacle. George hadn’t had the faintest idea of the art of grazing.
If anyone knew about grazing it was the sheep. Of course there were countless arguments on the subject, but that just made it more interesting. Miss Maple preferred sweet clover and flowers, Cloud liked grasses with dry but tasty seed clusters. Maude was wild about an insipid herb that the sheep called mouse weed. She was sure that it was good for your sense of smell. It was really the other way around: only a sheep with an outstanding sense of smell could even pick out
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