Cyril made haste through the forest, leaping with great energy from branch to branch. At times like this, he was glad he was a squirrel. Once he got out into the open fields, however, he would trade his bushy tail for a set of longer legs. Or, better still, a Landrover Discovery. (As long as he got his tail back later, of course - squirrels were just as attached to their tails as their tails were to them.)
His destination, the humble abode of one Toby Ron Ken O’Bee, was only a few miles from Mog’s woodland den but this was a long way for a squirrel. Mog had hinted at the possibility of one of her guardian owls giving him a lift but Cyril had politely declined. (As the owl had said to Mog so succinctly: “I might accidentally crush all his bones in my claw, nahmsayin?” Cyril had mentally added: “Yes, and then accidentally swallow me whole.”) He was still haunted by nightmares of a particularly traumatic experience with a mentally unhinged Red Kite named Lloyd. That had been Mog’s idea too. Thankfully, this time she had been less forceful about the matter. Cyril guessed that it was a reflection of the obvious strain she was suffering but, whatever the cause, he wasn’t complaining.
Scampering down the trunk of the last tree, Cyril sprang through the fence that marked the edge of the wood and out into open terrain. This was the most dangerous part of his journey. Not only did he have to run the risk of aerial predators but also he had to cross the territory of Garth Jones, a local farmer with whom Cyril had had a run-in in the past. In fact, last time Cyril was trying to save the world, Farmer Jones had tried to kill him, his girlfriend Sam and her sister Maxine. (It is true that Farmer Jones had not known that the future of civilisation as he knew it was at stake but he probably would not have cared even if he had.) They had all got away with their lives, though Jones’ shotgun had meant that Cyril did not get away with all of his tail. Sam’s family history with Jones went back even further still; several years earlier, her father, Hazel, had liberated her mother and aunts from Garth’s clutches. (Or, more accurately, Garth’s hutches.)
For now, though, Cyril had to put all thoughts of Sam and her family out of his mind and focus all his wits on making it through to Toby O’Bee’s with all his vital organs (and preferably any superfluous ones) intact. He had never actually got his psychic reading about Kathy but this problem had paled into insignificance next to what Mog had told him. She had foreseen another exploding tortoise, sometime after dawn. Worse still, she could not give Cyril a precise location, only that it was somewhere near Bon-y-maen. Toby Ron’s was certainly in the right direction and if anyone would know of strange goings on in the locale that might result in the detonation of an armoured reptile, it was the old conjurer. Normally, Cyril would have taken the scenic route to Toby’s but Mog had stressed the need for speed. Lives were at stake.
As he edged further out into the field, however, it was Cyril’s own life that he was most concerned about. The edge of Toby’s territory was only about a mile away but a mile was a great distance for an animal so short in the leg department, especially considering he had been up most of the night. This was a country mile too, and that really is a long way. Fortunately, Cyril had very good stamina. (He was going out with a rabbit, after all.)
Furtively glancing at the sky, Cyril scampered onwards. He knew from bitter experience that he was vulnerable to being attacked from above. The grass was reasonably short and it was close to convenient perching sites in the woods. Farmer Jones had also failed to place any of his ‘scarecrow’ devices in this field.
Halfway across the field, Cyril spotted a shape overhead. A bird-shaped shape. And it was getting bigger. This meant it was either growing very rapidly or it was getting closer. Cyril had never been too hot on ornithology so he trusted his instincts and fled like a thing possessed – a thing possessed by the desire to move very quickly indeed.
As he looked up to check the bird’s position, his back foot caught on something half-buried in the earth, sending him sprawling. Still looking skywards as he fell, the squirrel cracked the back of his head hard on a rock as he landed. Blinking rapidly to clear the stars, he stared straight up to see the bird bearing straight down on him. Frantically, Cyril tried to roll aside but his foot was still caught in whatever it was that had tripped him. He was out of time. Tired from his exertions, there was nothing else to do but close his eyes and brace himself for the inevitable.
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