The Eye of Zoltar

I instructed the others to pick up half a dozen discarded swords just in case and we climbed back aboard the jeep in a subdued mood. We drove up and out of the shallow ravine, then across the empty grassland. As we drove, the mountain seemed to loom over us even more oppressively. All we could see now was a thin trail of cloud blowing from the summit high above. Now alert to drone clothes-packs, we noted several more on the way, all identical – a package of clothes with shoes and hat, tied up with string with a sword close by.

We parked next to the empty half-track and I rummaged through our baggage. Mercifully for us, Curtis was as lazy as he was unpleasant, and aside from taking all the cash, everything else was left untouched. My Helping Hand^™ was still there, as was the letter of credit with which to negotiate for Boo’s release. More importantly, there was also my last homing snail and the conch. I tried to raise Tiger straight away, but there was nothing but static and sounds of the sea from the conch. I’d not heard from them for over twenty-four hours – not even a homing snail – and I was beginning to get nervous.

‘What are you doing?’ I called to Perkins, who was twenty yards away, treading stealthily in the direction from which we had just come.

‘See that bundle of drone clothes over there?’ he called.

‘Yes?’

‘Watch.’

He took another six steps and the bundle of clothes sprang into life like a jack-in-the-box. Since the clothes were stacked in the vertical order in which they hung on the body, there seemed to be a slick liquidity about the movement. Stack of lifeless clothes one moment, lethal killing machine the next. The drone drew a sword that had been buried up to its hilt in the ground and brandished it menacingly.

Perkins stopped and backed away, and almost as quickly the drone dropped back into a pile of clothes again, the string retying itself neatly, the sword dropping to the ground harmlessly.

We had all been watching, and although expected, the display was still chilling. There were dozens of drone clothes-packs dotted around, blocking our passage back to Llangurig, and safety.

‘Any ideas?’ asked Wilson as soon as Perkins had rejoined us.

‘Not a single one,’ said Perkins, ‘but we’re alive so long as we don’t try to leave the mountain.’

‘I’m not staying here my entire life,’ said the Princess. ‘I’ve a kingdom to inherit.’

‘And I’ve booked a group to go Elephino-watching next month,’ said Addie.

‘Drat,’ said Wilson, ‘and I was so hoping for a significant end to my life.’

‘I’ve an idea,’ I said, and brought out the homing snail. It seemed strange to think that our lives might rely on a snail fetching help, but it was pretty much our best and only hope. Sure, we could wait for Colin to derubberise, but then we’d need a further six months for his wing to heal from the anti-aircraft shell. Six months was a long time to scratch a living stuck at the base of Cadair Idris. The rations in the half-track would last us a week, tops, and quite where we’d find enough food to feed Colin during the winter I had no idea – I didn’t even know whether he could fly again. Rescue seemed the best hope, always assuming Moobin and the rest could reach us and then get us out.

I opened a can of Spam and fed it to the homing snail, who guzzled it down greedily. He’d need every bit of energy if he were to break out of this. I wrote out a note.

Dear Moobin

Surrounded by Hollow Men, little chance of escape. Have Rubber Colin, aim to climb Cadair Idris, Shandar up to no good, need help soonest, listening out on the conch at all times.

URGENT

Jennifer

I double-taped the message to the shell, then put the snail on the ground and removed its hood. It looked around for a moment, tasted the air, and was off like a bullet back across the open ground.

A drone sprang to life and made a wild running dive for the snail. It missed, but there was another drone and it too made a wild grab. But the snail, no slouch itself, jinked and the drone missed it. Within a second two dozen other drones popped up, each of them making a grab for the escapee. The snail dodged another three, but that was it. There was a squeal as it was caught, and then a sickening crunch. Their job done, the drones collapsed into piles of clothing again and all was quiet.

I felt Perkins put his hand on my shoulder.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’ve still got the conch. We’ll monitor it constantly. Moobin and Tiger and the others must be as keen to contact us as we are them.’

I agreed, and after we had loaded as much food as we could from the half-track into our knapsacks, I taped a note explaining what had happened to Colin’s hand. If we didn’t return he should know what happened, and be warned about the drones. With nothing else to delay us, we began the long climb up the mountain.