William shifted uncomfortably from leg to leg. “Can I whisper it in your ear?”
Mystic Mog threw a look at Cyril who deflected it to Billy with a deft shrug of his shoulders. Billy caught it square on the chin and was not happy.
“Don’t look at me,” he grumbled. “I was asleep at the time, remember?”
Mog grunted. She was still not sleeping well and this pair of petulant animals was getting more than a little tiresome.
“No,” she said firmly in answer to the first question.
William gave her a pleading look.
“No!” she repeated, the last remnant of kindness having ebbed from her voice along with her patience. “Just tell us where he went.”
William looked down at his hooves.
“I don’t think he went down there,” Mog chided. “Now, tell us!”
“I don’t know where he went,” he mumbled.
“What?” said Cyril. “I didn’t hear you?”
“That was the point.” William muttered. He sidled away from Billy slightly and spoke up. “I said I don’t know! I… I lost him.”
“You lost me?!” cried Billy. “Why you…”
Cyril was quick to intervene, and sprung across Mog’s clearing to put himself between the two goats.
“Eh! Calm down, calm down!”
William’s bottom lip had started to quiver. “I’m sorry. I did follow you. But it was very foggy. And you lost your bell.”
“I never…” Billy tailed off as he thought back. With reflection, he had woken up without the bell around his neck. He snorted and sat down sullenly.
Cyril could see the situation getting out of hand and was quick to try and restore some harmony.
“Eh, now, c’mon,” he told them. “Everyone just calm down and let’s see what William does know. Everyone calm down.”
Mog stepped back – without realising it, she had arched her back, puffed up her tail and was standing over the cowering young goat, claws out and ready for action. With a great deal of effort, she calmed her voice. “OK, William. Describe what happened up to the point that you lost Billy.”
William took a deep breath and told them how he had followed Billy as best he could through the fog down the farm track on to the road and then down the hill, towards Swansea.
“I lost him for a while then, by the turn-off to Farmer Jones’s place.”
Cyril gulped nervously. “You didn’t run into him or his tabby did you?”
“No,” William replied. “Thankfully, he didn’t go that way – he continued down to the main road. I did run into a strange character, though.”
The others listened with interest as William described his bizarre encounter with the small brown bird.
“I think he was trying to help but I really could not understand anything he was saying. I mean, it was English and the words themselves were OK, it was just the sentences. Which bough is about to break? And what fruit is ripe for the picking?”
“Sounds like the Zen Wren,” Mog told him. “Irritating little bastard. His wisdom is what you make of it. Personally, I’d ignore all that crap.”
“What?!” she asked as three faces gawked at her in disbelief. “I may be a psychic but it doesn’t mean that I believe in any old crap!”
“What happened when you reached the main road?” she asked, changing the subject.
“That’s where I lost him. I reckon he was heading for Swansea, though.”
“There’s not a lot in the other direction,” agreed Cyril.
“Well,” said Mog. “Doesn’t really help us either way. Towards Swansea and we have too many possible destinations to make a prediction. Away from Swansea and we don’t have enough.” Billy again looked like he was going to cry. He legs really ached from last night and there was no way he wanted that to be for nothing.
“Isn’t there anything we can do?” he asked, exasperated.
Mog closed her eyes and felt the quiet pressure of fatigue push at her eyeballs. There was one thing left to try but she did not want to try it. When she opened her eyes, however, three expectant faces were looking right at her.
“There is something we can try,” she conceded. “But I don’t hold out much hope.”
“What is it?” asked William, eager that some miracle cure might yet get him off the hook. Even Billy perked up for a moment.
“Well, you’re brothers,” Mog explained. “And, as such, will have a weak, latent psychic link. Although I cannot get a reading direct from young Billy as to where he went – he was asleep at the time, after all – I may be able to read from William. It will be tough, though. I will have to try and pick up faint psychic memories – so faint that William himself was not even aware of them at the time. I don’t rate our chances.”
William stepped forward and then hesitated. “Is it dangerous?”
“Well, dangerous is such a subjective word.” Mog answered evasively. “I mean, there is a small chance of your brain being turned into something the consistency of porridge but, hey, it’s more likely to happen to me. Or Billy.”
“What?!” said Billy.
“What?” asked Mog, full of innocence. “I’m joking!”
“Mostly,” she coughed under her breath.
William took another step forward, rallying as much of his courage as he could. “I am prepared to have a go if you are.”
Billy opened his mouth to argue and then thought better of it as Mog watched his brother trot up to the picnic table and place his front paws in front of him in readiness.
“OK,” she agreed. “Let’s do it!”
Mog felt William tense slightly as she grabbed his paws in hers.
“Now, close your eyes,” she commanded. “And try to relax!”
Cyril stared across at Mog expectantly. He knew she was tired but she had always pulled through when it really mattered in the past. Her face was a portrait of total concentration.
For twenty long seconds, nothing happened. Then the wailing started. It began quietly in the back of Mog’s throat and slowly increased in volume. As it reached an uncomfortable level, slight tremors began in Mog’s body, running from her shoulders down to the table. Cyril watched in concern. She did not normally wail during a serious reading – that stuff was just for paying customers. Something must be wrong.
When the first spasm wracked Mog’s body, Cyril was already leaping through the air. The wailing was now at the kind of volume and pitch that could smash glassware from across the room. He arrived as the Mog was having her second spasm.
Although small, Cyril’s speed gave him enough momentum to break the two animals apart. The wailing ceased immediately and William staggered backwards before falling over. Mystic Mog sat still for a moment, wavering slightly. Then she was violently sick.
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