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Young woman in Wellingtons invited me to save the badgers. Pointed out to her that badgers were a deuced menace, no fitter to live on God’s clean earth than a weasel or a Frenchman, and that if I’d brought my shotgun would be happy to demonstrate traditional country solution to badgers in general.
Asil placated outraged young woman with explanation of how I was old fashioned country sort of chappie with fixed ideas. Said I thought political correctness was raising my hat to Baroness Thatcher. Probably offered her CND badge or something.
Admit I was in a bit of a grumpy mood that day. Papers full of economic crisis, blaming bankers but making no firm proposals for stringing the feckless oiks up by their braces in Trafalgar Square. Also phone-hacking scandal, newspapers trying to be outraged by News International’s doin’s while hoping their own doin’s didn’t come out. Politicians happy on top of dungheap crowing now that their expenses weren’t biggest scandal in country. Country going to the dogs. Said as much.
Also day bulldozers apparently due at Feywell Woods. Exciting new 10,000 home development in idyllic pastoral setting in sympathy with the essential character of the village, evidently. Needs of yuppie second home owners greater than need to preserve ancient tract of woodland undisturbed since Roman times. Back-hand payments to right planning authorities, Asil reports.
Hence my appearance at protest meeting. Earnest young student chappies laying in front of tractors hoping to impress grubby girls with placards. More experienced protestors sitting quietly under umbrellas sharing flasks of Horlicks.
Paused to correct spelling on placard of particularly malodorous specimen of protestor. Pointed out that there is a C if fascist and no H. Doubtless he is a sociology undergraduate.
Looked round past unamused labourers in hard hats shielding their faces from BBC cameras to oily blighter in expensive business suit talking to press about the economic prosperity that would inevitable follow their bland pointless development project. Given two years and a significant research budget, chap might have found his chin. Not enough money in world to mount expedition to find his genitalia.
Led Miss Ashling past damp protestors and irritated workforce to where fleet of lawyers were remonstrating with hairiest activists. Writs were waving in the air like battle flags. Apparently badgers, lesser spotted newts etc. abounded in local habitat. Evidently expensive eco-survey had determined that their lives would also be improved by 10,000 home development. Argument continued at £220 an hour per solicitor.
Miss Ashling cut the barbed wire keeping folks out of the wood. Fellow with suit rushed over to argue that we were trespassing and vandalising his company’s property. Told him that as freeborn Englishman had God-given right to remove health and safety hazards from countryside and had spotted unsightly and dangerous barbed wire with no warning notice; time spent courting Miss Waltz not entirely wasted, do y’see?
Asil further explained that she intended to invoice company for timely and safe neutralisation of litigation hazard.
Oik called police officer over to arrest us for civil disorder offence. I told young bobby he should come back when old enough to shave and wear long breeches. Good copper knows when to leap into action and when to go take a tea break. Pointed him at girl with flask of Bovril who might scrub up quite nicely given series of baths and clothing that hadn’t been salvaged off a rag and bone wagon. Thought for a moment young chap might actually try and detain me but nerve failed at last moment – it’s the side-whiskers that do it every time - and he went off to interview Miss Oxfam.
Entered woods with Miss Ashling, with suited oik trailing us, bleating. Took old straight track down into Morgan’s Deep. Time-shifted brambles away from Asil as we pushed forward, of course. Let them come back for suited chappie and his hired thugs. Expensive suits and designer shoes not so good for muddy arboreal trekking.
Arrived at old dolmen. Asked trailing oik if he was interested in endangered species. Away from cameras he was less interested in them than in making enormous profits. Suggested he knew what to do with troublemakers. Pointed out four accompanying hench-thugs and noted that he’d got both legal and actual muscle to do whatever the hell he wanted now.
Asil suggested she could take his four thugs down in something under a minute. If they were lucky.
I wasn’t so sure about the oik’s commitment to endangered species, however. “Reckon you’ll be a lot more concerned when you’re the endangered species,†I told him.
“Are you threatening me?†he simpered, confident in his thug/legal shields.
Pointed out that I wasn’t. Had led him to Morgan’s Deep, at the heart of Feywell Woods. Didn’t need to do anything else.
Business oik now noticed the hundreds of ravens gathered in the trees, watching him. A murder of crows.
Ancient fear of woods once attributed to god Pan. Our word for it is panic.
Lots of other words have old meanings, too, y’know. Amazing comes from amaze, to be stunned from your wits. Stupendous comes from stupor, where you’re too shocked to talk. Fabulous comes from fables, where the mythic breaks into everyday life. Terrific comes from terrified.
Morgan’s Deep comes from Morrigan, the ancient goddess of horror and destiny at the fey well.
Round her humans are the endangered species.
Oik started running first, then his men, all sprinting away through woods, blindly slamming into trees as they fled. Screaming.
Most satisfying.
Felt malevolent attention gathering on Asil and I. “Don’t glare at us, madam,†I said – best to be polite but firm, like talking to a waiter or a foreigner. “We’re just drawing your attention to the situation.â€Â
“The construction firm’s a shell but we can trace it back to ZOXXON Enterprises,†Asil added. She held out the dossier to the gathering storm. “Their homes addresses are in the back.â€Â
Decided it was best we headed home now. Tempest was rising, scattering placards and writs and lawyers and TV crews. Young PC saved Oxfam lassie when tree dropped on business oik’s BMW; trust she was suitably impressed. Badgers sensible enough to stay underground.
Was back home reading the cricket scores at the time the freak lighting bolt hit the bulldozers and fried them. Mood much improved.
Tomorrow may saunter down to London town and indulge in some smiting of the ungodly. Or buy a new waistcoat.
Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2011 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2011 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.
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