`So,’ said Old Thrashbarg to Arthur. `Is it written that Bob shall once more take back unto himself the benediction of his once-given sandwich maker?’
Ford almost went back into his crouch.
`It’s all right,’ muttered Arthur, `he always talks like that.’ Aloud, he said, `Ah, venerable Thrashbarg. Um, yes. I’m afraid I think I’m going to have to be popping off now. But young Drimple, my apprentice, will be a fine sandwich maker in my stead. He has the aptitude, a deep love of sandwiches, and the skills he has acquired so far, though rudimentary as yet, will, in time mature and, er, well, I think he’ll work out OK is what I’m trying to say.’
Old Thrashbarg regarded him gravely. His old grey eyes moved sadly. He held his arms aloft, one still carrying a bobbing pikka bird, the other his staff.
`O Sandwich Maker from Bob!’ he pronounced. He paused, furrowed his brow, and sighed as he closed his eyes in pious contemplation. `Life,’ he said, `will be a very great deal less weird without you!’
Arthur was stunned.
`Do you know,’ he said, `I think that’s the nicest thing any- body’s ever said to me?’
`Can we get on, please?’ said Ford.
Something was already happening. The presence of the pikka bird at the end of Thrashbarg’s outstretched arm was sending tremors of interest through the thundering herd. The odd head flicked momentarily in their direction. Arthur began to remem- ber some of the Perfectly Normal Beast hunts he had witnessed. He recalled that as well as the hunter-matadors brandishing their capes there were always others standing behind them holding pikka birds. He had always assumed that, like him, they had just come along to watch.
Old Thrashbarg moved forward, a little closer to the rolling herd. Some of the Beasts were now tossing their heads back with interest at the sight of the pikka bird.
Old Thrashbarg’s outstretched arms were trembling.
Only the pikka bird itself seemed to show no interest in what was going on. A few anonymous molecules of air nowhere in particular engaged all of its perky attention.
`Now!’ exclaimed Old Thrashbarg at last. `Now you may work them with the towel!’
Arthur advanced with Ford’s towel, moving the way the hunter-matadors did, with a kind of elegant strut that did not come at all naturally to him. But now he knew what to do and that it was right. He brandished and flicked the towel a few times, to be ready for the moment, and then he watched.
Some distance away he spotted the Beast he wanted. Head down, it was galloping towards him, right on the very edge of the herd. Old Thrashbarg switched the bird, the Beast looked up, tossed its head, and then, just as its head was coming down again, Arthur flourished the towel in the Beast’s line of sight. It tossed its head again in bemusement, and its eyes followed the movement of the towel.
He had got the Beast’s attention.
From that moment on, it seemed the most natural thing to coax and draw the animal towards him. Its head was up, cocked slightly to one side. It was slowing to a canter and then a trot. A few seconds later the huge thing was standing there amongst them, snorting, panting, sweating, and sniffing excitedly at the pikka bird, which appeared not to have noticed its arrival at all. With strange sort of sweeping movements of his arms Old Thrashbarg kept the pikka bird in front of the Beast, but always out of its reach and always downwards. With strange sort of sweeping movements of the towel, Arthur kept drawing the Beast’s attention this way and that – always downwards.
`I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so stupid in my life,’ muttered Ford to himself.
At last, the Beast dropped, bemused but docile, to its knees.
`Go!’ whispered Old Thrashbarg urgently, to Ford. `Go! Go now!’
Ford leapt up on to the great creature’s back, scrabbling amongst its thick knotty fur for purchase, grasping great handfuls of the stuff to hold him steady once he was in position.
`Now, Sandwich Maker! Go!’ He performed some elaborate sign and ritual handshake which Arthur couldn’t quite get the hang of because Old Thrashbarg had obviously made it up on the spur of the moment, then he pushed Arthur forward. Taking a deep breath, he clambered up behind Ford on to the great, hot, heaving back of the beast and held on tight. Huge muscles the size of sea lions rippled and flexed beneath him.