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Chapter 11: Poof…
The last day of the fair dawns clear and warm, with a gentle nor’wester drifting through. Within minutes of arriving at their site, Pippin and Gypsy see the four gang members coming from the direction of town. Arannita, leading, is smoking a long slender cigarillo.
“Good morning,” she says civilly enough. “We were very excited by what you told us yesterday, and regrettably left without paying. Please accept our apologies for how we behaved, and take this gift to make up for it,” says Arannita, as she places a parcel on the ground in front of Gypsy.
“Also, we would like to make payment now… Sharky, give the money to our friend’s minder. Thank you for the interesting conversation and ideas you put to us yesterday.” Payment changes hands and Pippin offers a receipt, which is declined.
In reply Gypsy says, “Thank you for coming back and for the gift. I was concerned that what I saw in my reading for you had made you angry and upset. It is good this is not the case.” Raising a paw in salute, she turns, as the four people amble off and are quickly lost to sight in the crowd.
“Well, that’s stage one, according to plan – now we await developments,” says Pippin.
At ten past four that afternoon, after a busy schedule, and with the last reading finished, the two conspirators pack the rock with its stand into a stout wooden box, from which they had previously taken the substitute rock and its tripod support. Unfastening the groundsheet, Pippin and Gypsy roll the rock to the side with cushions and a low table pushed into a corner. Then on the bitumen they set up the new stand and rock.
Pippin trucks the container to the camper, where he lowers a small lift forward of the left-side rear wheels. He slides the box in, followed by the folded trolley. As these disappear he breathes a sigh of relief, as stage two of the plan is successfully completed.
Matthew arrives on time as arranged by Pippin, and the exploratory reading begins. All appearances are apparently normal. Stage three is launched.
Sitting at the tent flap, Pippin washes his face… it gives him the opportunity to glance casually about through narrowed eyes. In the next row of booths a ringing clatter says the blacksmith has dropped a steel bar… Pippin somersaults forward half a metre. “Mee-wow, wow,wow” he cries, “That woke me up. I was miles away… I must have been concentrating on timing my signal absolutely right” He knows only too well, that his timely warning is important to set up a successful outcome, for the forth part of “Operation Poof”.
Sauntering around the tent from time to time enables him to scan in every direction, although he’s figured it is most unlikely they’ll make a direct approach from the front. The day darkens as the sky clouds over and the wind backs to the south, with a cold air stream freshening and building.
While the crowd thins as the afternoon advances, there are many people moving smartly about, taking delivery of goods purchased earlier or searching out last minute bargains. Stallholders begin packing up, with vehicles moving in behind tables and booths.
Official closing time is 5 pm, and at about ten to five Pippin spots one of the men approaching up the road bringing him to the rear of the tent. Without waiting to see if he can spot the others, Pippin continues his casual stroll back to the tent entrance. With a paw on his collar commander he waits, imminent action flooding his thoughts.
Gypsy, continuing the act inside, chats casually with Matthew, who is more than pleased to be part of the conspiracy to outwit “the bully gang,” as he calls them. He sits, eyes aglow, face slightly flushed with thoughts of the danger and action to come… He waits expectantly on the edge of his seat, poised and explosive.
“Pip-pip-pip,” Gypsy’s collar sounds, just an instant before Pippin flies through the tent flap. Scooping up the golden discs, stool and cushion in one bound, Gypsy hits the centre of the rear of the tent and disappears. Simultaneously, a high-powered, small-bore rifle crack resounds through the fair.
In the collapsing tent, taking a firm hold on the short rope hanging from the peak, Pippin hits the centre of the left side and vanishes with tent, ground sheet, cushions, table and all…
From four small charges that folded the tent poles, dust and cordite smoke swirl in the vortex, created by the disappearance of the cats and their gear. Matthew leaps to his feet, arms lifted high and waving, eyes wide, mouth open – the personification of amazement. Rushing in Mystery trips on the rock’s tripod support, and crashes down taking Colin with him. Sharky, stops in mid run and shouts, “Get the bloody animals, they mustn’t get away… what the hell…? This can’t be happening. What sort of bull is this? There’s nothing left!”
Nearby stallholders, mostly providing services similar to Gypsy’s, and knowing her reputation, are unfazed. Besides, they thoroughly appreciate the entertainment provided by the strange happenings, manifesting occasionally wherever Gypsy and her band appear.
As they pick themselves up, Colin shakes his head, and a grimacing Mystery scratches his, while Sharky raves on. “Bloody hell! That’s the queerest thing I ever saw or hope to see. They’ve gone, just bloody gone and disappeared.”
Sharky turns to Matthew and taking him roughly by the arm he demands, “Okay, so what’s your part in this? You must know something about it. Never mind dancing about there gaping like a stunned fish – answer, you idiot.”
“I don’t know who you are, or what right you have to burst in like this, but we were just getting to the fascinating part of my reading, and now I’ll never know how things were going to turn out. Blast and damn you!” shouts Matthew, shaking and trembling, his eyes welling full of tears.
“Okay mate, no need to get upset or angry with us. It’s that cat you should be annoyed with. She owes us and we’ve come to collect, because that’s what we’re paid to do. So you get out of our sight right now, and don’t come back if you know what’s good for you.”
“Okay Colin, Mystery – this is it, mates. They may have done a disappearing act on us, but this here rock thing hasn’t gone, and it must be ours now since we found it abandoned. Pick it up and let’s get out of here before that shot brings the Constabulary sniffing round.”
Back at the camper, Pippin and Winky dust the tent and check the poles, preparatory to stowing it all away.
“Well, that was something to behold, wasn’t it? Thank goodness everything worked as we thought it would. What about the anchors for the tent poles? Would you like me to go back and get them?” Winky asks. “It’s pretty certain the gang will be gone as quickly as possible, and if we recover them now we’ll not have to scout around for replacements.”
“Excellent plan, Winky,” says Pippin. Here’s the bag for them. If you pick them up, we’ll finish packing things away here, and see you up on South Parade soon.