A search through the various crop circle images at the Red Lion communal hall failed to yield any more relevant pictograms. Noon arrived and Michael used the drones to take extremely high resolution images of the two already discovered.
‘So what happens now?’ asked Russell, as a blast of loud techno suddenly burst through from the bar.
‘I’ll send the UAVs out on a wide search of the local area, in case something’s been missed. Though I doubt that will be the case: these things are specifically designed to draw in the croppies… What the hell is that racket!?’
‘Mr. Waterstone and/or Kev, I imagine,’ replied Russell. ‘At least they’re not fighting!’
‘How do you know they’re not fighting? Can you hear anything over that!?’ asked Ceres.
‘I can’t even hear myself think! I’m going to have words with Pete!’ shouted Celia. She strode purposefully to the bar door. As she opened it the sounds became almost deafening. The door closed behind her. Seconds later – silence. Then Celia strode back into the hall looking pleased with herself.
‘I pulled the plug out!’ she declared.
Russell waited for all hell to break loose, but that disturbing silence persisted. His thoughts returned to the circles: ‘Okay, so we have parts one and two in the bag… and we’re expecting part three to be done tonight, is that correct?’
‘Sounds about right,’ agreed Michael.
‘Gerry’s team again?’
‘Probably, or it could be another crew; we’ll know more by this evening.’
‘So how are we going to kill time between now and then?’
‘We could check out that real one,’ suggested Ceres.
‘Yeah, let’s do that! Where is it?’ asked Russell.
‘It’s within walking distance,’ replied Celia, ‘beyond the rise behind the hotel. Just remember that Gunter is analyzing it at the moment so please avoid trampling on the actual circle.’
‘Sure,’ replied Ceres. Then turning to Michael: ‘We’ll take a look at your new images, first.’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll get them printed out at the Bentley.’
Ceres led the others back to the bar. The atmosphere was strangely subdued. Only the landlord was present, sat behind the bar reading a newspaper.
‘I was half expecting Mr. Waterstone to have trashed the place,’ remarked Russell.
Back out in the car park the group were met with an ominous sight as they approached the Bentley: The boot was up and behind it Kev was attempting to fit Mr. Waterstone’s holster onto the cat. The tube gun lay on the gravel nearby. Due to Mr. Waterstone’s frantic wriggling the donning of the holster was proceeding badly. The cat was getting progressively more tangled up. The expression on its face, one of primordial rage.
‘Holy crap!’ exclaimed Russell.
‘You can say that again!’ shouted Michael, ‘if he fires off that tube gun we’ll lose most of the surrounding countryside, and bang go our crop circles!’
The group watched as Kev continued to fit the harness, making some progress now that the cat had finally paused for breath.
‘Step away from him, Kev!’ commanded Ceres. Kev immediately stood up and took a few steps back. Apart from the oddity of his association with Mr. Waterstone, he seemed to be acting normally.
‘Why’s he so angry?’ asked Russell, eying the cat with growing unease. Mr. Waterstone’s demeanour reminded him of their first encounter on Monday. The cat had chilled significantly since then, but this was a huge swing back in the opposite direction.
Ceres seemed to share his concern: ‘We need something to soak up that cider and give him a distraction. Kev, are you serving food in the hotel right now?’
‘Just bar snacks,’ replied Kev.
‘What about a butcher’s shop in the village?’
‘Yes, there’s–’
‘Good, get a huge T-bone steak. Michael, go with him. Run!! …Mr. Tebb, remove Mr. Waterstone’s harness, and then attach his lead.’
‘You what!?’
‘Do it!!’ Ceres pushed Russell down to his haunches so that he was directly facing the demented cat. He reluctantly reached for the holster but Mr. Waterstone spat at him. He backed off, but then had an idea:
‘Your harness is all snagged up, fella, let me straighten it out for you.’ The cat eyed him with menace, but then suddenly nodded.
Russell reached forward and touched the harness where it crossed over the shoulders. He unclipped and untangled that section.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Ceres.
I’m playing for time! Russell thought, hoping that Ceres would receive this, though that was unlikely: this group had made it clear on numerous occasions that they disdained telepathy and all forms of mind-control; they played it a bit fast-and-loose with that perception filter of theirs but they always insisted that that was different. Ceres looked questioningly at Russell.
‘Let’s have a go at freeing that leg, shall we?’ said Russell, attempting a soothing voice. Mr. Waterstone obligingly raised his paw and Russell set about untangling it. He proceeded as slowly as he could until the cat began to growl.
‘No, I’ve done that wrong,’ Russell announced. Mr. Waterstone looked livid.
‘That’s good,’ said Ceres, ‘maybe we can get him to vent his anger on you!’
The cat appeared to be considering this option.
‘Forget it, cat!’ shouted Russell, ‘you can take out Wiltshire but leave my ass alone!’
Mr. Waterstone let out a loud adenoidal grunt-laugh. Progress, possibly. Russell looked up to survey the surroundings: ‘Christ, where’s that bloody T-bone!?’ There were no signs of Michael or Kev. He returned his attention to the cat.
‘Look, it would be crazy to set that thing off here. It would cause mayhem! So please calm down.’
The cat nodded.
‘Does that mean you agree it would cause mayhem or you agree to calm down?’
The cat nodded.
‘Pack that in!’ said Russell, and the cat began to snigger, but it still looked pissed and dangerous.
Ceres, meanwhile, had moved over to the Bentley; she activated a machine at the back of the boot and a single large sheet of glossy paper began to emerge. Russell could see that the new image amalgamated the two known segments. She took the sheet over to Russell and the cat and placed it down on the gravel. Pictured from the zenith and as sharp as a razor’s razor the developing circle already looked as though it were the product of a thousand man-hours.
‘Awesome!’ said Russell.
‘But still nonsensical to me,’ Ceres replied, ‘what do you think, Ducky?’
Mr. Waterstone belched loudly to express his disinterest. The cat was beginning to get angry again, but then the lumbering form of Kev suddenly hove into view, he was carrying a large carrier bag. There was a look of urgency to his face but God only knew what was really going on inside his head. Michael scuttled forwards behind him.
‘Got it!’ shouted Kev, waving his package in the air.
Mr. Waterstone licked his lips as the T-bone steak was placed in front of him. Michael quietly collected the tube gun and placed it in the boot of the Bentley.
‘It’s cooked!’ observed Russell, ‘and well-done by the looks of it!’
‘I did that, he prefers things a bit burnt,’ replied Michael.
Everyone, including Kev, gazed at Mr. Waterstone as he launched into his meal. After about forty seconds he had stripped out all the flesh and was now setting about the bone itself. Horrible crunching and splintering sounds disturbed the peace of central Wiltshire.
‘When he’s finished, stick the lead on him,’ Ceres instructed Russell.
***