Search for the Sunlight
Chapter 41

As the dust settled, a distant squeak broke the unnatural silence. Sherlock heard it first.

“What’s that detestable noise?” he complained, grimacing as the sharp nature of the sound set his wooden teeth on edge.

“What detestable noise?” Herbert enquired. He was concerned that they were about to be subjected to another attack of some sort and he wasn’t sure if he could deal with it just at the moment. “I can’t hear anything,” he said. He had deliberately adjusted his mindset to that of denial.

“Shhh,” Sherlock commanded, holding a finger to his lips for quiet.

All four held their breath for what seemed like a long time and listened…

The Constable was right. There was a squeaking noise and now that it had been brought to everyone’s attention it was impossible to ignore. Something close by was in serious need of lubrication.

Eager to discover the source, they gathered up their belongings and via a frail rope and timber bridge, which was perilously close to collapse, they made their way, one at a time, across the deep ravine onto a narrow track of flint and chalk on the opposite side of the ridge. Together, they marched on in single file.

In the poor light, Harry, who was in a state of heightened alert, walked into a spider’s web.

Spooked by the sudden and unexpected contact of the invisible thread on his thorny skin, he lashed out in defence and inadvertently slapped his own face. “Get it off me!” He hollered, his arms flaying in the air in an attempt to fend off the ghoulish predator that he had convinced himself was responsible for the assault.

Herbert, who was walking alongside his brother at the time, witnessed the whole affair first hand. The image of Harry, thrashing and punching at his imaginary assailant, made him laugh so hard that he split the back of his trousers, exposing his stubbly bum crack and a significant portion of his right buttock. From behind, the combination of comical events sent waves of laughter rippling out into the damp still air.

A gentle camber led the group round a long slow bend where, through gaps in the laurel hedgerow, scores of twinkling lights came into view.

As they peeked out from behind the bushes, only yards in front of them, toing and froing and going about their business was what at first glance appeared to be ordinary people. But on close inspection, there was a very visible oddity.

Instead of the usual two legs, normally associated with ordinary people, these individuals only had one, and where the other ought to have been - from the knee down - a pair of sturdy chrome bicycle forks, complete with a twenty six inch spoked wheel, was attached. A very rusty and squeaky spoked wheel!

“Blast,” the officer uttered. “I forgot to bring my black book and just look at all those bald tyres. I could have nicked the lot of them!” he exclaimed, grinning menacingly at the prospect of issuing each of the wheeled people with a fixed penalty notice. But Basil wasn’t interested in Sherlock’s black book, or the bald tyres.

Back on the ledge, lucky to be alive, he had promised himself that no matter what new challenges confronted him around the next bend, he would face them head on. So, tired, cold and determined not to waste any more of his precious time, he parted the bushes and walked boldly out into the open.

“Good evening,” he said, strutting confidently towards the wheeled people with his hand outstretched by means of a friendly introduction. His sudden and unexpected appearance gave the strangers such a fright that they took off in all different directions.

In the confusion, some accelerated so fast that they spun out of control, while others turned with such ferocity that their forks locked and they fell over into the mud.

“Hold up!” Basil called out, waving both his arms in the air, signalling his surrender.

“I’m a Treewood and a pacifist. I won’t hurt you,” he said, trying his best to sound reassuringly friendly.

With that, three of the wheeled people turned in their tracks and started back towards him. Their unexpected change in direction caused Sherlock some concern. Basil was dangerously exposed and, should these strangers suddenly turn nasty, he could replace himself in trouble. Needless to say, the Constable’s concerns were unfounded for, as good fortune would have it, the entire opposite turned out to be the case.

“Good evening to you too,” said a gentle feminine voice. “My name is Catherine Wheel, and I am the official spokesperson for the Wheel people.”

The girl paused briefly and brushed her long golden hair from her face. “And these,” she added, “are my two companions, Douglas Dunlop and Richard Gear.”

“Good evening,” the gentlemen replied politely, taking it in turn to shake Basil warmly by the hand. Basil barely cast a glance in the companions’ direction. He was far too preoccupied with the presence of the stunning blond, mono wheeled goddess that stood before him.

Momentarily hypnotised by Catherine Wheel’s striking good looks, he conceded that she was, without exception, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“You look surprised,” she said in a soft sultry voice, “but then I don’t suppose you expected the spokesperson to be a woman,” she added, fluttering her long eyelashes in Basil’s direction.

“And a very beautiful woman too,” Basil replied, recovering slowly from his quivering jelly-like state, whilst laying on the charm big time.

“Cor, he’s real good,” Harry whispered, observing the goings-on from his hide in the hedge row. Basil’s smooth approach made him smile.

“You have to hand it to him, pure style!” he said, nodding at his brother.

“We don’t see many travellers up here on the Plateau,” Catherine said softly. “Can I ask, what brings you to these parts?”

Basil almost melted when her gentle voice caressed his ears for a third time. “We’re, eh, on a quest to replace the sunlight, and my grandfather,” he answered dreamily.

Catherine looked puzzled. “What do you mean, ‘we’?” she asked.

“Oh sorry, how rude,” Basil replied, beckoning the brothers and the Constable out from behind the hedge. “I’d like you to meet my friends,” he said, introducing first Harry, then Herbert and finally Sherlock.

Smiling appropriately, Catherine and her companions shook hands with their new acquaintances and when the formalities were over, they led the Treewoods across the muddy Plateau to a circular wood and thatched dwelling situated in a sheltered corner, a short walk away. Catherine opened the door and led the travellers inside.

“Welcome to the Comfonarium. You can stay here and rest for as long as you need to. I think you’ll replace it, eh, comfortable.” She said.

“Thank you,” Basil replied, briefly surveying the inviting interior of the room. “We’ll unpack our things and perhaps later, you and your companions would like to join us for tea?”

Catherine looked first at Douglas, and then Richard, for their response. Her companions nodded in approval. “Delighted,” she replied. “We’ll let you get settled in and see you in say, half an hour?” With that, the Wheel people left the premises and squeaked off into the fog.