THE TALE OF THE TENBY SAUSAGE - PART 6

Now, I’m not sure how much you know about them, but the Haggis is one of the rarest creatures that you’ll ever read about (let alone see – or God forbid, eat!) It’s so rare that most folk don’t even think it ever existed – and yet it did and in fact, in some areas, still does!! Rather like the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, the Easter bunny or God – there is much confusion and mystery surrounding its existence – but I intend to set you straight on a number of the misconceptions concerning this curious beastie…

So, no… The Haggis is not just a figment of the Scottish culinary imagination – it was, in fact – a very popular and much hunted beast that once used to roam peacefully across the Highlands – but which, because of it’s popularity, hasn’t been able to do so since the early 1700s. (When I say, popular I mean skins and all – the flesh as a meal, served with Tatties and Neeps and the skins when stitched together made fine gloves for winter.) I won’t go into the exact nature of their breeding problems that led to the drop in their numbers. However, it is strongly believed to be due to the fact that they hated the sound of the bagpipe so very much that they simply willed their own deaths and refused to copulate. Anyway, once they became (almost) extinct, chefs decided that as it was still so popular, a good idea would be to mock up a dish with a similar taste and texture. Rather conveniently, this substitute allowed them to use all the guts and whatnot from the kitchens that they couldn’t have otherwise used. By the beginning of the 20th Century, with so much confusion over the origin of the dish, most folk actually believed that the poor, bagpipe-hating Haggis had never really even existed in the first place.

Of course, the truth of the matter was that the Haggis was never exclusive to Scotland – only found the environment in the Highlands (initially) the most conducive to good living. It is a little known fact that both Queen Elizabeth the 1st and Queen Victoria maintained colonies of Haggi who could swim, take part in outdoor sports and even sing!) However as their habitats and living environment changed many such groups found new homes and travelled South (or even boarded boats to places such as Ireland or even the United States.) Some were smuggled illegally, by tourists – keen to start colonies on off shore areas such as The Isle of Man, The Scilly Isles, The Channel Islands and The Isle of Wight (not to mention some of the quieter parts of Scotland such as Skye – where they had learnt their lesson and deliberately avoided any human or bagpipe contact.) It was these areas – the Islands where they often bred most successfully – but then some of them discovered drugs and pills and stuff in the 60s – lost their libidos and well – that didn’t exactly help keep up the birth rates much either. But even then – some of the more moral colonies continued to breed (within wedlock) – such as on the rarely visited Fairy Islands that our adventurers are currently exploring in this story. Sure, they occasionally have to fight off the odd fairy – but it’s pretty much a safe and balanced place to live. Haggis enjoy crunching on the wings of Fairies should they come close and Fairies aren’t averse to a spot of Haggis if cooked to charcoal. That said, both tend to agree on the benefits of living in separate areas of such Islands…

Back on the Island that early summer afternoon, Shy Yeti stared down at the skins before him and read once again, the message spelt out, which threatened his own existence. “So, it’s Haggis you’re after is it?” Shy called. “Well, you’ll not find the Yeti quite so easy to catch!” he declared boldly. “Just so you know, hunting Haggis is for cowards – they’re slow moving and stupid! About your level McFur!”
“Cowardly and yet financially rewarding! I’ve done rather well so far!” echoed a familiar voice from the trees. “But I really don’t think I’m going to have much trouble bagging you, Shy! You’re going to practically walk into my net – I assure you! I had toyed with the idea of you joining my furry harem – but you’ve caused so much trouble – that both the novelty and the attraction has completely worn off!”

“Thanks!” smiled Shy rather sarcastically. “I must say I’m really so glad to hear you’re over me…”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Yeti! You were only ever a plaything – a trinket! Never anything more! But you’ll sell very nicely as a crate or two of burgers – and that’s the main thing now… There’s always some sicko out there who likes to chew on some really good tough old Yeti meat… Sold to the highest bidder! As for your little sidekick – I think I could make a couple of cheap Cub skin coats from him!”

Shy bit his lip and thought hurriedly. “You’ve caught him then, have you – so my diversion worked!” McFur didn’t reply for some moments. Planting that seed of doubt into his mind had knocked some of Cary’s confidence. “There was no diversion – and yes, I do have him, strung up like a furry Turkey!”
As he finished his sentence the branches of two palm trees parted so that Shy could see through. Sure enough, there was Baz, dazed and unhappy – strung up, more than twenty feet off the ground in a net.

Shy’s watch beeped. Fifteen minutes left...

“Oh! He does look nice up there in his hammock…” said Shy casually – reasoning that the longer he distracted McFur, the less time he would have to catch him and drag whatever Haggis he had caught, back to his boat. “Oh yes… The fear in his face really brings out the colour in his eyes… It’s good!”

“Don’t think you’ll have time to save him, because you won’t!! Don’t think your delaying tactics are going to achieve anything either. I’ve hypnotized some wood ants to carry back the creatures that I’ve caught already – I played the Haggis bagpipe and they all went running – straight into my net! So you see – I bagged a fair few dozen and they’ll all be back at the boat and on their way, by now…”

“Well, how very pleasant for them!” Shy knew he had to keep talking, inching slowly closer to where Baz hung haphazardly from the tree. “So, what about us then? How do you plan to get us out of here?”

“I wouldn’t move any closer if I were you, Yeti!” snapped Cary suddenly. “Unless you want to set off a deadly trap and become impaled on something sharp, sharp and stumpy… Although I intend to kill you eventually I would rather that you reached home alive and fresh before the slaying… Maybe we’ll have dinner first too… What do you say? My shout? JUST MIND YOUR PAWS – MIND THEM!!”

Shy was still shuffling his feet about, trying to get closer and only looked down when McFur really bellowed. One more step would have done it… Across his path was a thin strand of what looked like dental floss that was attached, up in the nearest tree to what looked like a rather deadly, poison tipped bow and arrow. “Thanks!” grinned Shy and then added. “I’ll stay where I am! Oh, might I ask what type of restaurant we’ll be going to – coz I’m partial to almost anything but slow worms and snails! Oh – and Sea Whelk! I come out all blotchy and have to lie down and listen to Barbara Steisand in a darkened room. But anywhere would be good – not MacDonalds though – and none of your pies…”

He was surprised that his rambling hadn’t made Cary cross – he even appeared to enjoy playing along. “What about sausages… Oh, by the way – I thought I should clear up a little question you’re bound to have. The sausages you’ve been asking about – that you ate, were my last batch of Unicorn! So, don’t worry – it wasn’t a Yeti relative! But if you like Unicorn then I heartily recommend Haggis! Have you ever tried the real thing? It’s very tasty and quite an aphrodisiac, don’t you know?” he laughed loudly.

“Oh God… Really! How alarming!” Shy could see Baz sitting upright now, he seemed to be pointing to something – perhaps trying to show exactly where McFur was hiding. “So explain again how you’re going to get us off this island – I take it that you’re awaiting some other form of transport close by?”

“Pelicans!” explained McFur, suddenly at Shy’s side – appearing from under a large Palm leaf. “I’m awaiting a fleet of Pelican bearing a large cage and a comfy sofa to whisk us away from here fast…”

“They might be late!” noted Shy. “You might prefer to make a run for it before we all get stuck!”

“We’ll be fine – they’re due in five minutes…”Cary assured him just as Shy’s watched beeped, again.
“Oh good!” Shy was distracted by the sight of Baz waving his arms as if to suggest that he cause some further diversion. Some commotion or kind of noise. Noise to cover the fact that Baz was escaping perhaps or… “Would you mind if I sung a song, whilst we wait?” he asked. “I fancy a bit of a tune – what about “Love Shack” by The B-52s? I always find that’s a good one to get the pulse racing? What about you? More of Madness fan perhaps? Adam Ant maybe? Bananarama? NOT Wham, surely!?”

“Will you shut up? What’s that noise?” Someone was whistling, a loud and piercing call. It was Baz.

“It’s me…” Shy started to whistle. “Oh yes… It’s me whistling… A little bit of Roger Whittaker – my Auntie Gladis used to be a big fan, bless her blue rinsed fur…” He whistled again. Baz was calling the gulls. “Hey – why don’t you join in? Oh, look Cary? Pelicans!” McFur stopped, having been about to shout again, but finding the prancing, singing, hyperactive Yeti hard to cope with. Looking up to see where his birds were, he saw nothing. Instead, Shy shoved him towards the trip wire. “Time to make a move!” he called, ducking to the ground as poison arrows showered around them. “Take all the Haggis you want – but you won’t take us!” In a few shambling bounds he had made it to the tree where Baz was tied. The rope that held him up was secured at the base of a rather tired looking bamboo. By now, the sky was full of birds, at first they appeared to be attacking Baz, however Shy soon took in that they were actually nibbling at the net – so he hurried to stand beneath the net to break Baz’s fall safely.

“OOOOOOOOH!! YETI!” exclaimed the cub as the net gave way and he found himself dropping – dropping down into Shy Yeti’s paws. “Oh! How heroic, kind Shy! Very good catch! So, where now?”

There was no sign of Cary any more – for he was already heading back to the shore. Up above flew the fleet of Pelicans, but the gulls were trying valiantly to hold them off. “Come on!” cried Shy. “Back to the beach! We can’t let McFur get away with the Haggis – dead or alive…” Shy picked Baz up and sat him on his shoulders. “Stay there will you, I’ll carry you – just mind your head on the branches!”

As they hurried back towards the shore, Shy’s watch beeped. There was now just 5 minutes left!

It was like a sort of surreal vision of Saving Private Ryan – the beach that had been so quiet on their arrival was a scene of full scale war. Pelicans were diving all around them, but seemed to be scared by the wood ants and were squawking indignantly. Seagulls were swooping, but seemed to fancy the wood ants as a snack and the wood ants themselves were scurrying about madly – dropping Haggis left, right and centre. Just arrived on the far side of the beach was a small boatload of pensioners being hastily organised by Mother Moe, whilst pinned down upon the sand by M.G. Loosecock, of all people was Cary McFur. “Thought you might like some help, Mr Yeti! Not sure where all the birds came from, but I’ve got the blighter you showed us from that photo – found him trying to sneak back to his boat! We’ve confiscated his animals and brought the speedboat around for you! That alright?”

Shy and Baz were a trifle taken back. “Thank you… Well, we haven’t got much time now! We really need to get everyone off the Island!” he dropped Baz to the sand. “Hurry Cub! Take the speedboat and I’ll keep McFur busy here! Thanks for your help Major General, couldn’t have done it without you!”

“Ouch!” cried Baz as a Pelican pecked at his head. “What about McFur… We need to get him on the boat too so he can be arrested… OUCH!!!” This time it was one of his gulls. “Bugger off, will you!?”

“I’ve changed my mind…” declared Shy. “Cary’s staying here for good and if I have to stay too, then so be it! There’s no place for someone like McFur back in the real world – he’ll only get out of jail and go back to his filthy ways… GET ON THE BOAT, BAZ! THERE’S NOT LONG LEFT NOW!”

“Listen, Yeti old chap! I’ll stay!” insisted the M.G. “No need to be a hero… I’m an old War dog – I’m happy to stay and face whatever comes! I might get off eventually – but, if not - then it’ll be no loss!”

“GET IN THE BOAT!!” roared Shy, as he picked up the M.G. and his two helpers who had been keeping Cary’s feet pinned down – popping them gently into the speedboat so as not to break any old bones. “THANKYOU EVERYBODY - JUST PLEASE RETURN HOME!! GO NOOOOWWWW!” As he waved his paws he felt a wave of power blistering out from them – a power that sent all the boats and the small yacht bought over by the O.A.P.’s spinning around and off back out to sea.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Shy. “Did I do that?” Just then, Shy’s watch beeped. Time had run out.

Over on the mainland there was an explosion that could be heard far across the water where they stood. A fireball shot up from St. Catherine’s Island, but suddenly, all Shy could see was mist! The boats were gone, the birds and ants were gone. There was just him – and McFur. “Oh dear!” gasped Cary, having been slightly winded by the Major General’s over-exertions. “Everyone’s gone and you’re left with me! Do you fancy being my Man Furday?” he teased, trying to get his bearings…

Shy’s paws still throbbed from the power he’d so recently expelled. “I’d rather just eat you than spend any more time with you, Cary!” he scoffed. “But I think I might just choke on the size of your ego!”

Cary’s manner suddenly turned. “YOU’RE TO BLAME FOR ALL OF THIS!” He screeched. “YOU! YOU ARE! WE COULD HAVE ESCAPED ON THOSE BOATS BUT YOU STRANDED US!!”

“Oh really… Don’t be absurd!” Shy snapped indignantly. “After all, it was you who came here to hunt Haggis… We only followed you to make sure it didn’t happen! Those animals are protected – in fact so protected they’ve been declared extinct! I’m sorry – but you’ve only gotten your just deserts!” Shy gave a laugh, mopped his brow and then continued. “Hey, don’t let me keep you! You can always try swimming!” Shy was sweating hard now and not feeling so good, he suddenly realised. “Listen, fella!” he continued, changing the subject. “I’m feeling rather odd! Might be a fever! Are you feeling ok?”

Cary was staring. “You’re on fire!” Sure enough, something in his coat pocket was burning a large hole and giving off large plumes of dark smoke. “What have you got in there? Oh my! Is that turf?” It was too. “The mainland’s trying to claim you back. This place is rejecting you! I’ve left mine in the clearing!” McFur looked as if he was about to pounce on Shy. “GIMME ME YOUR COAT – RIGHT NOW!!” Cary lunged at him, but Shy took a quick step and stuck out a paw to trip him up.

Everything around Shy was looking extremely murky - it was as if he was peering through a mist. “No room at the inn, fella…” he called out. “Only enough space for one in this coat, I’m afraid…”

McFur swiped at him again, but once again, he missed – no – in fact he didn’t actually miss, his hands went right through Shy. “COME BACK!” he screamed. “DON’T LEAVE ME TO THE FAIRIES…”

But by now it was too late. Shy Yeti was lost in a mist and was neither on the island, nor in the sea, not on the mainland. He closed his eyes very tightly and decided not to look around him. At least this was an adventure – it was certainly more interesting than travelling by train, that was for sure.

“Oh hello!” said a voice. “Mr Yeti’s back on dry land – he’s returned to us! Welcome back, old chap!”

“Oh – for all the furry saints!” exclaimed Shy as he sat up and looked around him. He was lying on the tarmac alongside the harbour, with half of Tenby surrounding him. “On second thoughts I’d rather go by train! Anyone got a packet of Murray Mints, I think I’m going to be sick?” Thankfully, he wasn’t.

As he stood up Shy examined the pockets of his coat – which had totally burnt through. Floating in the water below was bright yellow anorak in a similar state – it was McFur’s! The turf placed safely in its pockets had returned without its owner. Cary was presumably still lost out there in the mist – trapped on the Fairy Isle with the Sprites and the wood ants and what remained of the livid, vengeful Haggis…

EPILOGUE

Shy stayed around in Tenby for another couple of days after all this – but was soon getting itchy feet. There was nothing much left of the fort on St Catherine’s Island – the machines having overheated and created a fireball that even melted the windows of THE DENNIS CAFÉ. For 24 hours afterwards, lights danced on the sea in exactly the spot where the Island had been – but by the following morning they were gone. “No sign of Cary then?” asked Baz, once he’d found Shy feasting on Candyfloss near the golf course, at the spot where Shy had first talked with Cary the other day. “Good riddance, I say!”

“Too right… Can’t help but think we’ve not seen the last of him though…”

“People in the town are wondering if they’ve seen the last of you, Shy – you’ve been here all night…”

Shy sighed. He’d not said anything to Baz, but he was concerned about the hovering computers from the fort – how sophisticated they all were. They were gone now, of course – there was nothing left at all – but he couldn’t help but wonder if they weren’t from the same place as the Time Delaying Toothbrush that Danbear had used back in London. They were very powerful for sure – controlling all sorts of Supernatural forces, as they had. But it was too late now to worry about it or prove that there was any connection between the two. “Nice to hear people are missing me!” he smiled as he put away his well-flicked book of local myths. “There were no Corpse Candles, last night! I think that light display will have had something to do with it – but, now those computers are gone maybe that’s it!”

“Weird colours…” commented Baz. “Purrdy though…”

“I was looking at that too…” Shy replied earnestly. “Apparently the colours are relevant – read this…”

“According to ancient tradition, if the light is small and pale blue in colour, the death will be that of a child; however, if it is large and ruddy in colour, an adult in the prime of life will be summoned from this life. In the event that the light is large in size, and either a pale shade of blue or a pure white, then the portent of death is for one who is old and has been ill for some time…”

“Freaky, isn’t it? By the way - they’re right though!” Baz looked confused so Shy explained. “The locals – they’re right that I’m not long for this town! Not in a Corpse Candle sense… God, knows what colour I’d be if I was about to kark it! No – I mean – it’s time I moved on, fella…” Baz frowned but said nothing so Shy added. “Do you want to come with me? Wanna be my sidekick full time?”

Baz looked awkward for a moment. “Hmm. Actually, I thought I might stick around here for the rest of the summer. I’ve come up with a little money spinner that I thought might pay the bills…”

Shy grinned. “Oh yeah? What now? Haven’t they given you a rise for getting rid of McFur, yet?”

“35p!” frowned Baz. “Cheap-skates… But I might be able to recommend myself for a bonus, if I’m lucky – depends how good I think I’ve been… That could get me another Pound!” Shy laughed. Baz grinned before continuing. “Officially, I’m stopping around here just incase the people who paid Cary show up – that Major General fella and Mother Moe are going to make sure nobody gets into Tenby without a passport! Anyway – I need beer money! I’m going to get some masks from the joke store and do guided tours dressed as famous celebrities from the 20th Century!” Baz was keen to see what Shy thought. “What do you think? Sounds good, hey? Guided tours of Tenby by Elvis or Madonna…”

Shy had given no reaction at first, but then he smiled. “You’ve not got the legs for Madonna, Cub…”

“Ok – and if I work the seagull thing in, I’ll get paid by them too. The locals say, if I stay I can choose the best room at whatever hotel I like – free of charge! Cool huh? I’ve really landed on my feet!”

Shy smiled – standing up as he picked up his rucksack. “It’s a fabulous idea, fella – although I’m very sorry to lose you as a sidekick – but I hope we’ll get a chance to work together again at some stage…”

“We will…” grinned Baz. “When I’m Prime Minister – I’ll employ you as my tea lady…”

Shy nodded enthusiastically and laughed out loud. “That…” he sniggered. “Is the best plan I’ve EVER heard in the whole of my furry life! Fancy a Sherbert Dip and a Turbo Shandy, before I go, fella?”

Baz nodded. “Now that’s a pretty purrdy plan, itself!” he agreed. “What a genius you are, Yeti!”
So, with that - off they went – skipping over the cliff tops like two furry Julie Andrews in some cheap production of The Sound Of Music. It was time to move on – but for now – all Shy wanted was a nice pint and something nice and unhealthy to eat with it. Just as long as it wasn’t Haggis!!!

ENJOY A NEW SHY YETI ADVENTURE NEXT WEDNESDAY - 2ND NOVEMBER 2005

SHY YETI AND THE TALE OF THE DIAMOND STUDDED PIE...

THE TALE OF THE TENBY SAUSAGE - PART 5

Up on the Promenade an angry mob of locals, guests and sea gulls were out on the loose…

Finally, tired of endless nights locked away in their hotels, the pensioners were rebelling… They were putting their foots down, finally; sick of having to sing karaoke songs to ward away evil spirits that they guessed had come to steal either their souls or their very lives. There was a definite anger out there. Why had no one ever told them such bizarre things could happen? They felt conned, confused and unprepared. Who knew that such supernatural monstrosities preyed on mature tourists during casual trips to the seaside?! Singing karaoke appeared to keep the forces at bay but it was also driving them all to distraction. Even though some had begun to deliberately forget their glasses, it was still hard to forget what it was kept them trapped inside. Now was the time to break out and be free again!

“You’re ruining this version of California Dreaming!” scolded Major General Martin Loosecock Rtd. “Half of you are out of tune and the rest just aren’t trying with your harmonies. What happened to you’re “All the leaves are brown…” at the back? You left us in the lurch didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?”

“Sorry!” chorused a small group of ladies who couldn’t tell their Lennon’s from their McCartney’s. “We forgot the words!” added their leader, a lady named Sue with big hair and a bottle tan. “Couldn’t we perhaps sing something by Barry Manilow!? You forget we have different tastes to you, Major… We’re a wee bit older and more into classical music – which we realise is harder to sing. But, what about a bit of Everley Brothers or Cliff Richard – Jack Jones – or that man who went to Armadillo?”

“JACK JONES? SURELY YOU MEAN TOM?” fumed the M.G. “…AS FOR BARRY MANILOW? REALLY!!!” the ladies backed off a step. “OH - AND IT’S AMARILLO - BY TONY CHRISTIE!” he took a breath at this point and tried to address them more kindly. “Listen! I think it’s fair to say that you’ve all become slaves to your hormones… All those performers are; is handsome men in nice shirts singing lift music!” None of the girls seemed convinced. “Surely, you partake in a little Terry Wogan of a morning? You must be familiar with Dusty, our Cilla or Lulu? Your Kinks and your Stones are all very well, but it’s not music for army men like me! I’m afraid I need something heavier, maybe a spot of Queen or ABBA, Erasure or the Pet Shop Boys! I don’t expect you to be “au fait” but you do need to make more of an effort. You’re in the Army now – my army – so you need to be singing my tunes. I need you up there with me on the front line – be it Rainy Days and Mondays or Blue Suede Shoes!”

“You say you like heavy music!” called one man. “In my books that means Led Zeppelin or Hendrix!”

Loosecock almost sniggered. “I’m sorry, this isn’t one of your gay pride marches! I think you’ll find Hendrix and Zeppelin filed under “S” for Sissy along with Judas Priest and Motorhead! We shall be singing The Seekers, next. Not The New batch – they’re a bit too experimental for my liking! No – the original Seekers! Morningtown Ride, The Carnival Is Over - all the hits! Do we know those?” A few of the group mumbled vaguely. “This time we’ve got to give it some welly – sing with gusto! We must be strident and show the forces of darkness we’re not scared and shall fight them on the beaches…”
“Did he mention why those islands have suddenly appeared out of nowhere?” muttered one lady, who had left her hearing aid back at the hotel. “I do wish he’d speak up! Young people these days…”

The crowd were mostly too intent listening to have noticed the Island and the same could be said for the M.G. “There is someone out there on the Streets who would seem to be the cause of all this!” he began sternly. “He’s only young, but has thick, fuzzy sideburns and a goatee beard – quite possibly the Devil’s bear cub! A fiend sent to test us! Well, we must root him out and show him who’s boss! OK?”

“Is this man you speak of – a witch?” asked one of the crowd. “Like the folk down at the harbour were chanting? Is he an evil Witch cub? Should we burn him? I mean – it’s good weather for a barbecue!”

The Major looked a trifle miffed that somebody else had already thought of a name for their invader. “Witch cub isn’t exactly the word I’d use…” he began uncertainly. “He’s more of an evil wizard…”

“Wizard cub doesn’t have the same ring to it though – neither does Wizard bear?” added another man.

“He’s too small to be a bear! He’s very hairy though… BURN THE WITCH CUB does sound best!”

“BURN HIM!! BURN HIM!!!” chorused Sue, waving her knitting needles about and kicking off her bunny slippers in disgust – but then she paused. “Actually!” She paused in thought. “Don’t burn him, it’ll spoil the meat - just cook him the right amount – just nice – I’ve got plenty of salad going spare!”

M.G. looked a little worried now. “Not so sure about the burning bit, everyone… It might be illegal!”

“BURN THE EVIL WITCHCUB!!!” cried the mob – by now having lost interest in the M.G. as their leader. “Burn him and then let the worms and the seagulls pick his bones and gobble up his eyeballs!”

“Oh! Now, that’s disgusting!” winced M.G., but already everyone had turned away and was heading off down the road to join the harbour mob. “I really think we’re going too far, here! We just need to capture and question the fellow! Come on team - what about a nice sing-song?” His “army” was rapidly decreasing and across the road another hotel window shattered and a walking frame crashed onto the pavement. Feeling left out the M.G. began to hurry after his former team. “Hey!” he cried. “Wait for me! I’m still your leader! KILL THE WITCHCUB! KILL THE WITCHCUB! Wait on…”

*
Meanwhile, a number of small groups had joined together into a larger mob exactly in the area where Baz was hiding. There he cowered, under the first upturned boat he could find, for the garages had all been tightly locked. They seemed to know he was somewhere close and were sniffing him out and calling for his rapid demise. “I never did anything!” he sobbed. “They’re mad! How are we supposed to be responsible for Supernatural storms - Corpse Candles and blumin’ Magical Fairy Islands…”

As the voices grew closer, back on St Catherine’s Shy spat out the last bolt from the fortress door and stood well back. The door teetered upright, no longer attached to it’s hinges. “FALL OVER THEN!” he commanded impatiently and sure enough, the door did just that! His Yeti powers really did seem to be advancing well after all those years of repression. “Simon would be proud!” he grinned widely.

Returning to the now, Shy took his first tentative steps into the front courtyard of the fortress. The space inside looked rather like a cross between a teenager’s bedroom, with socks and pants and allsorts discarded all over the grass, and a Mad Boffin’s laboratory. Along the closest wall stood a number of boarded crates that either still contained, or had once contained animals that he’d never heard the like of before. Names like: Deirdre - The Frosty Footed Tawny Blomtoad.
Malcolm – The Sharp Shooting Orange Penguin Hen.
Roger – The Semi-blunt-toothed Fishy Baffin…
Colin – The Crab-skinned Lake Lizard…

There was more, but Shy was too upset to examine them further – there was more yet to be explored…

Other than the crates and the presumed-sausage making machine which he’d spied earlier, there was also a lot of other rather bizarre contraptions set up around the fort, which looked quite out of place in their new crumbling stone surroundings. Most notably this included extremely sophisticated computer banks, which appeared to hover and protected themselves from rain, by using some form of invisible forcefield. In the corner of the main courtyard were McFur’s other belongings – his clothes, tents and provisions and Shy wished he had the time to explore the whole building. It didn’t look as if McFur had even bothered, but Shy was more curious. From his local myths book he had learnt that at one point the fort had even housed the zoo of an eccentric millionaire. Fitting, really, he felt. Turning back to the computers Shy was shocked as a sudden burst of electrical static shot forth towards the clouds above, from within the main machine. It seemed to penetrate the heart of the storm, as if stirring it up. Was is possible, Shy wondered, that the device was regulating or even exaggerating it or that maybe the machine was also exaggerating the strength of the Supernatural forces too? Quite possibly…

The central computer bank contained a dial that appeared to be cranked up to maximum, with a digital display counting down from 60 to zero minutes. “I’ll bet this is either the amount of time until the Islands vanish or how long until the whole fortress explodes…” Shy mused aloud. “Either way I’m best out of here!” Attempting to reset the timer did no good and even with his entireYeti might, which wasn’t THAT much, despite his build, Shy could only budge it down a couple of settings. That said this did appear to have at least some calming effect on the storm and the sky already looked clearer.

With McFur now just a fuzzy speck on the horizon, Shy had just picked up his binoculars to check on the Corpse Candles when he first heard the cries baying for Cub blood! “KILL THE CUB! KILL THE CUB!!” The O.A.P.s were chanting and it was then he noticed the funeral pyre they were building.

“Oh! The Furry Saints! The Pensioners are going to barbecue him!! Get down there, fella!” he told himself. Pausing, he nearly caught his foot in a hole where the turf had been recently hacked up. “Of course!” cried Shy and hastily gathered up a sample and dropped it into his raincoat pocket. “BAZ? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I’M COMING TO FIND YOU…” he called urgently, via psychic means.

But Baz’s telepathic skills were weak and all Shy heard was a faint whisper. “PLEASE, HURRY…”

*
Using Caldey Island as a marker, McFur had, by this time, almost reached his destination. The Fairy Isles were pay dirt, open access to rare commodities that his punters would pay good money for. Most of them had more than they would ever need and would gladly finance his experiments or supply him with the sort of technology that he’d set up in the fort. “These machines are ahead of their time, quite literally!” they had explained; yet refused to reveal more. “Just bring us the pies!” they’d instructed.

Cary had less than an hour before the Islands vanished again – chances were this was a once only trip too as he’d been told that the equipment would quite certainly overheat and self destruct after one attempt. He couldn’t afford to return empty handed either. Final payment was on receipt of the goods. “There’s no room for failure!” he told himself. “You’ve got to deliver on those pies, Mr! For sure!”

*
“EXPOSE THE WITCHCUB” The pensioners had all congregated on the harbour-side. Rather than M.G. Loosecock – their leader now seemed to be a tall, middle aged lady with short, spiky grey hair who wore a lime green polyester cardigan and denim hot pants and was calling herself “Mother Moe”. “The forces of darkness have come to visit our town!” she declared with great confidence. “This evil Witchcub must pay for his treachery and for the torment he has brought to our homes and families!”

Suddenly, the boat, under which he’d been hiding, was lifted and Baz was revealed for everyone to see. “Y,y,you-you’ve got it all wrong!” he stammered – but what with all the chanting, the sea and the thunder no one seemed to want to hear his story. “I,I’m nothing to do with all this!” he insisted.

“He has furry ears and a cute bobble tail…” one old lady could be heard to comment. “Can’t we keep him? Can’t we make him dance? Dress him up like Marilyn Monroe and have him serve ice cream? Oh surely! Surely, we don’t have to hurt him! To barbecue him would be such a waste of good fur…”

“NO, BURN HIM!” cried the others anyway. “ROAST HIM WITH A NICE CORN ON THE COB!!”

“NO!!! DROWN HIM - DROWN HIM – THEN BURN HIM – DROWN HIM AGAIN AND THEN EAT HIM – JUST TO BE SURE!!!” insisted a couple of furious grandmothers from the local Church.

“I WOULDN’T IF I WERE YOU!” drowned out a new voice in the crowd. “You’ll be disappointed! He’s as tough as old boots and has no flavour whatsoever! I should know, coz I’ve tried!” It was Shy!
The crowd gasped as he strode between them towards Baz. “IT’S ANOTHER OF THE DEVIL’S FOLLOWERS!” cried out Mother Moe. “ANOTHER FURRY WITCH FIT ONLY FOR BURNING!”

“Also for shooting?” added the M.G. “Or selling in a particularly tough game of Strip Cribbage!”

Shy sighed. “It must surely be clear to you all that I am no Servant of the Devil! I’m far too sweet and cuddly for that! And I’m no Cub, I’m a Yeti, Shy Yeti to be precise – renowned poet! This lad whom you plan to roast is my good friend Baz Timbearcub, a fine gentleman on an important government errand, here to investigate top secret and mysterious goings-on in this part of the world! There will be no eating of either of us – do you hear? We’ve come to help!” The crowd remained silent – even the M.G and Mother Moe seemed in awe. “Listen to yourselves! “Burn him! Kill him! Barbecue him!” What are you? A bunch of bloody savages? You should be ashamed – you’ve led each other astray! You should be pulling together to catch the real villain, whereas you’re currently letting him get away with his crimes right under your nose! Your true enemy is currently rowing towards that island! His name is Cary McFur and he’s a crook who’s been tinkering with your local myths and legends – scaring all of you, intent on pillaging the natural fauna of this area to sell to the highest bidder!”

Still, they no one else spoke. To be sure he got his message through, Shy appeared to be working his Yeti magic. “Let the young man stand up!” demanded the M.G., pushing forward to lend Baz a hand. “This furry gentleman speaks a lot of sense – I rather suspect we’ve let the real criminal slip past us! These two men have come to help us – they may look a little unconventional but I imagine that it’s part of some disguise. Are you dressed that way to provide bait for this McFur?” Shy nodded, it was just easier that way. “These two will save us!” continued the M.G. “They’re not here to distract us - they want to stop these fiendish events! We must all listen!” he concluded, frowning crossly at Moe.

Mo thought about it for a moment and then she spoke. “How can we help?” she enquired grudgingly.

“We need a speedboat!” Shy smiled, as he laid a comforting arm on Baz’s shoulder. “A fast one! We don’t have much time and we really need to catch up with Cary McFur before he makes a killing!”

*
Back on the Isle, McFur was busy preparing his nets and traps. He had 45 minutes left to catch as many specimens as possible. Cary wouldn’t need long – he had transport waiting for a quick getaway! His belongings at the Fort would be destroyed when the equipment overloaded, but that was fine. The creatures he’d come to hunt for were close by – his expert knowledge of animal waste confirmed this. There had been many sighting of his prey over the years – despite them being classified extinct. He’d only ever mounted one other hunt and had only then realised how easy the blighters were to catch – for such a high price too! True delicacies! Yet, if anything went wrong he still had his Plan B!!

Back at the harbour, the Pensioners watched Baz and Shy’s departure. As the speedboat faded into the distance, all eyes turned to the M.G. “You’re still sure they really weren’t witches?” spat Mother Moe.

“I’m certain of it! You heard them speak – did they sound like witches to you? They’re government agents in disguise… Witchcubs, my foot…” he shot them all a disparaging look. “I’m a man of the world, I knew it was all nonsense! I don’t jump on the first Witchy bandwagon like some people! I’m not bewitched by them either – you know I’m talking sense!” Mother Moe said nothing now, as if realising that she had lost her audience, once more. The M.G. shook his head sadly. “I have made plans…” he continued. “Incase they need our backup I propose that some of us take a boat out and join them on the Island! I know I’m Army, not Navy – but I’m still the most experienced in warfare here!” Griff, the ex-scout leader said nothing – he’d seen wars in his times, but none involved Yetis. “Do I have any volunteers?” called M.G. and surprisingly, almost every hand shot up immediately. “That’s what I like to see…” he smiled. “Let’s make our dull days of retirement really count for something!”

*
Meanwhile, Shy had been busy instructing Baz on best practice for successful speed boat driving, using all the tips he’d learnt from watching chases in James Bond films. As they steered themselves over to the Fairy Isle, whilst doing all sorts of crazy stunts, flips and jumps over marker buoys, he also gave the cub a quick refresher course on local myths. On top of this, he detailed everything he’d found in the fort, made sure their watches were synchronized and made sure Baz realised that time was short. “We’ll have 30 minutes, fella – no more – no less! If I’m not back, just get out of there or you might get caught on the Island and I don’t want to predict what might happen to you! You don’t want to be stuck with a bunch of fairies, I can tell you! Once we get to the Island we’ll split up – you stick to the beaches and cliff top paths and I’ll head inland! We’re looking for McFur or anything that he might be hunting, ok?” Shy handed him a stout wooden oar he’d brought along. “If you have to protect yourself, just clobber him! Just try not to make it too permanent – a dead villain’s no good to anyone. I’d rather he was caught and sentenced to three years intense toe tickling or whatever the current sentence is!” Shy removed his paw from Baz’s mouth, where he’d placed it to save interruption and was met with:

“Tell that to all the animals he’s stuck in pies – I expect they’d rather be toe-tickled than deceased!”

“Fair point… But murder’s murder and the Police don’t tend to class animal death in the same league - more’s the pity!” Shy paused and then remembered something. “Oh – and look out for tripwires too!”

Once on the beach, Shy gave a wave and hurried straight after Cary’s footprints and into the woods, as Baz was left to moor the boat out of sight, in the next bay, safe away from McFur’s own boat. At first Baz considered damaging McFur’s craft – by either sinking or overturning it – but then he became nervous at the possible problems that might occur should anything happen to their own vehicle. So, instead, he decided to simply untie it and allow it to gradually drift away out to sea. They could always swim for it!! With that he did a quick check of the beach, before joining a path that led to the cliff top. Once there, he soon spotted what he initially presumed to be a rabbit scurrying amongst the bushes. However, it most certainly wasn’t a rabbit!! On closer examination the creature appeared to be one spherical, squeaking mass of fur – with a pair of scared grey eyes peeking out from it’s middle. “Here kitty, kitty!” he called gently. “What are you doing - or that be – what ARE you?” But the ball of fluff didn’t reply and then suddenly, he became aware of a figure behind him. “HEY!” He turned quickly, yet too late to defend himself or attack. Something hit the back of his neck. Baz’s world turned dark…

*
Meanwhile, Shy was still on the Wilderness path. The Island wasn’t enormous, yet neither was it just a few rocks and a tree. So far, he’d seen none of the Fairy inhabitants; a blessing really, as Fairies could be mean and territorial. Hopefully they were all on holiday or something – but it was too much to hope for to be honest. There was less than 25 minutes to go now and just as Shy began to worry whether he’d find Cary in time he saw something that stopped him abruptly. There before him was a message spelt out in what he guessed to be the skins of the creatures McFur was here to hunt – a warning spelt out in the fur of the legendary Haggis: YOU’LL MAKE VERY GOOD PIE FILLING, SHY YETI!

WILL CARY MCFUR WIN THE DAY? WILL BAZ BE ABLE TO SAVE SHY OR IS LIFE FOR THE YETI PIEWARD BOUND?

FIND OUT NEXT WEDNESDAY IN THE FINAL EPISODE OF SHY YETI AND THE TALE OF THE TENBY SAUSAGE!!!

THE TALE OF THE TENBY SAUSAGE - PART 4

Despite his unsettling chat with Baz, Shy had dozed deep into the following morning. The silly fella had slept hanging from the coat-stand in the front hall of the PIG & PUFFIN, rather than take the short walk back to his own B&B. What with having recognised Cary McFur on the sausage wrapper, those unsettling Karaoke singers and the possibility that he might be hunted for lunch, Shy really hadn’t fancied wandering the streets again, after dark! Who could blame him really? Still, there was much to be done – but at least, he and Baz were a team now. “I've got me a side kick!!” he’d grinned, feeling slightly more at ease and glad that Baz didn’t seem to mind taking the more junior role - despite being the only of them to head his own government department. Leaving a message for the still sleeping Baz – Shy had hurried back to his B&B to wash, dress and breakfast – next stop the Tenby bookshop…

Sure enough, Shy’s books had arrived and he was already four chapters in by the time Baz joined him for brunch at the Dennis tearooms by South Sands. “What are you reading there?” Baz asked and Shy noticed that his new colleague had made the effort to dress in dark or camouflage colours, presumably figuring that they might have to creep up on McFur’s base and that dark blacks and greens were the answer. Shy wasn’t convinced and instead had gone for the tourist look, in a vivid green t-shirt with a yellow logo, navy blue shorts and red socks. “Primary colour overload, mate!” teased Baz uneasily.

“You think so? I’m trying to blend in! How many people out there are dressed like you?” he added, indicating the crowd on the beach. “You might as well have worn a flashing beacon on your head!”

“Oh really!? But you’re a Yeti! A big hulking, hairy Yeti! How many of those do you see here today?”

“I’m sure you’ll find at least a dozen if you look hard enough!” Shy snapped, but knew he was making it up – again reminded how rare Cary McFur might find his Yeti flesh. “Maybe I should wear a mask!”

“What from Giggles?” laughed Baz and Shy remembered seeing the Cub outside the aforementioned Joke Store the other afternoon. “The masks are dead good – but I’m not sure that there’s anything that would fit you! Maybe you could go dressed as President Bush or Tony Blair or someone people like?”

“Oh yes… That’d be marvellous!” exclaimed Shy as Baz attempted to pry the book from Shy’s paw. “Careful!” he exclaimed. “I had to order that especially – I wanted to read more about those local Myths and Legends that McFur was going on about… Sure enough – it’s all in here – the ghost of the feuding mayor – a dozen different accounts of phantom underwear – corpse candles – the magic fairy isles we mentioned before… That said I really don’t think he’d be making sausages out of fairies…”

“I hear they’re rather tart in flavour around this time of year!” Baz joked. “Maybe it’s the Monks on Caldey Island, he’s after… I don’t imagine you get many Monk burgers for sale at Bejam, do you?”

”Who knows. He’s very interested in something – that’s for sure!!” agreed Shy. “But I swear he’s got something in mind involving those Fairy Islands! He’s been up there on the headland, staring through his binoculars since we first got here. From what I’ve read so far, it appears that there was a man from Tenby in the mid-19th Century who claimed to have seen these mysterious islands – but every time he rowed out towards them they vanished before he got there. That was, until the day someone suggested that he take with him a chunk of mainland turf! He tried and well - apparently it worked and he found his fortune there on the island – returned home and lived happily ever after… Which is nice!”

“As well as being a total load of old cobblers, Yeti…” laughed Baz scornfully. “Come on, admit it!!”

“Hmm, we’ll see!” mused Shy as he brushed cake crumbs from his pelt in a very business-like manner. “Anyway – I’m all done here now – so shall we go?” Baz nodded and together they headed back to South Bay to where Shy had previously met McFur setting up his tent. As they walked, Shy told Baz about his poetry, his job as P.A. to Simon Yeti and how Simon had vanished after inventing a time machine. Last heard having tea with ABBA. “That’s where it all went wrong!” he explained. “Simon’s accountants were crooked and drained his bank account dry once they realised he wasn’t coming back! I tried to turn them in, but they threatened to blackmail me – did a good job of telling tales to my fella and well, that was it! Goodbye career, home and lovelife…” Shy explained about his recent concussion and how that had spurred him to try again. “My friends back in London tell me I’m not my old self at all – but then most of them were pretty bizarre characters in their own rights! Anyway, I needed a change – sometimes a Yeti needs to try on new fur and see how it suits him!”

“You’re new fur seems to suit you well!” began Baz, but by then Shy was silent. “What’s up, Yeti?”

“He’s gone!” The campsite, previously so full of Cary McFur’s rubbish was now empty. “How did he know we were onto him, Baz?” Shy asked, as they set about site hurriedly. “He’s not psychic is he?”

“Not that I’m aware!!” Baz had his teeth gritted firmly as if careful not to swear. “This is BAD news!”

Shy paused, then began to fumble for his binoculars. “Just a minute, Baz – I wonder!” he was staring back down the coast. “Maybe he’s set up a more permanent base over on St. Catherine’s Island – that rock in the bay with the fort built on top. I remember, yesterday seeing a tent and other equipment set up there! Could have been anyone, I suppose!” he trailed off, was also gone. “Let’s go check it out, shall we? Looks like there’s been some movement going on up there… This must be Cary’s work…”

But Baz didn’t reply. He was clutching Shy’s Folklore book and was busily flicking through the chapters, as he stared down at something before him on the grass. “…A sparkling circle of dew surrounding some variety of out of season wild flower, such as a daffodil, primrose, blue bell or…”

“A snowdrop…” finished Shy, recognising the flower growing within the ring. “Page 27 if I remember right! It’s known as a Fairy ring – and only ever happens just before the appearance of fairy islands!”

*

Ten minutes later they reached the foot of St Catherine’s Island. “There’s a storm coming!” Baz noted unhappily. Sure enough the sky was getting dark and yet it wasn’t even six O’clock – the clouds were billowing up an evil grey and all the tourists had fled. “So, are we going to try and get into the fort?”

Shy nodded and they gazed up the flight of stone steps which had been carved in the rock. The sea was out enough for them to climb on up to the fort without either of them getting their fur wet. There was a sign marking the island out to be Private property, but the gate wasn’t even fastened, let alone locked.
Looking across at the town they could see lights from the shops, houses and hotels that continued to illuminate the skyline – and in the air, when not drowned out by regular cracks of thunder could be heard the karaoke singers. Not just at one, but every pub – from every hotel!! Shy strained to hear the individual songs but couldn’t pick out separate tunes. However, they were all M.O.R. rock classics. Through the binoculars, Shy could see the faces of the elderly holidaymakers peering out into the darkness at the storm. Standing before one window was an odd little man, who wore a Stetson badly, whilst closing his eyes to play the guitar. Crowded around him were more O.A.P.s – singing what sounded like Bohemian Rhapsody – eyes also closed, but more with fear than passion for their singing.

“It’s just like the other times!” gasped Baz. “Back when I was sleeping on the beach and then when we were in the pub, yesterday. Except this time it’s day – it’s just the sky got dark because of the storm! Look out there, Shy the whole town’s deserted – everyone’s indoors! So, why the singing - now?”
“To ward off evil…” said Shy gravely. “It’s certainly possible – and it’s not the first time we’ve discussed that as a reason, either! Songs such as those are of great comfort to people. Daydream Believer, Sweet Caroline, Hey Jude - they’re like comfy slippers. As people get older and their friends and relatives die – what’s the one comfort they have? For some it’s religion, yet for others it’s old songs that they’ve grown up with – songs they feel safe with! It’s a musical talisman to ward off evil!”

Surprisingly, Baz didn’t scoff but seemed to be in total agreement with the theory. “I see exactly what you mean – it’s a good point! But what about that?” he indicated the flickering lights that appeared to frame the windows where the guests were crowded. “Those lights were in your book, right? They were there that night on the beach, too! At first I thought it the reflection off the street lamps – but no…”

Shy nodded. “Yup! Those are them… They’re known as Corpse Candles… They prey on the old and the sick…” quickly he picked out a passage and began to read; “The origin of corpse-candles dates back to the 5th century. St. David, the patron of Wales, was known to pray that the people he loved, and among whom he worked, should have some kind of warning to prepare them for death. In a vision he was told that because of his intervention the Welsh would never again find themselves unprepared; for always before such an event the people of the land of St David would be forewarned by the dim light of mysterious tapers when and where death might be expected… Spooky, hey Cub? ”

“Just a bit! So, this is something that happens a lot in this particular area?” asked Baz, rather solemnly.

“Not necessarily!” explained Shy. “But you’ll probably find different versions of that story all over the World – and each country will have something similar in their folklore. However, it does figure that they’re sighted here so often because coastal and rural areas are the most likely areas to manifest Corpse Candles! And why? Because so many seas side towns and villages are inhabited by retired pensioners! Back in the olden days a few of the London hospitals used to literally light whole wards using the light from Corpse Candles… Still – you get fewer sighting these days because everything’s changed so much. Somewhere more old fashioned and unchanged like Tenby is perfect though!”

“Did it really say that about those hospitals?” asked Baz incredulously. “You’re making this up…”

“Not at all!” Shy returned immediately. “It says it, right here, Baz! I’ll check with a friend of a friend of mine, Mex Nephur – he’s a Dr – he’ll confirm it! Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, somewhere like Tenby is just perfect for Corpse Candles. It’s all on the net if you don’t believe me… But a lot of these supernatural phenomena stopped occurring because our towns and cities have changed so much in the last 100 years. No atmosphere any more, you see. Places like Bournemouth or Brighton used to get Corpse Candles – they still have their share of the elderly population, but these days the spirits don’t want to go there. It’s so tacky! All those piers full of chavs… Shag Me Quick hats! Lager-louts! Much too garish to attract anything much! I met a really slutty poltergeist called Brenda once – she really loved the Blackpool illuminations – but then again she used to get turned on by the tower too!”

Baz giggled. “I can see her point… I’m more into the dodgems and the big dipper, myself though…”

“That doesn’t surprise me one bit!” grinned Shy. “Anyway, I don’t suppose that any of this stuff with the Corpse Candles has anything to do with McFur’s real plans! Although he may be attempting to harness certain power to gain access to those Fairy Isles!” Shy stopped, playing over possibilities in his head. “Could it be possible that he’s somehow able to control these forces? I suppose it’s possible - I’m open to all possibilities – believe you me! These myths and legends are part of everyday life around here and Cary obviously knows his stuff when it comes to pie-perfect mythological beasts!”

With a wave of his paw, Shy ushered Baz on up the steps and hurried after him as a light drizzle began to fall. They soon reached the top of the rock, where Shy had seen the lone tent on his first visit to South Beach and yet now there was barely any sign that it had been there. Crossing the iron bridge that linked the rocks of St. Catherine’s they reached the larger outcrop on which the fort had stood since the days of the Napoleonic Wars. The door was quite firmly locked and all attempts by Baz to scale the walls were met with dismal failure. It seemed there was no getting in from any obvious entrance...

“What shall we do now?” asked Baz – Shy was thinking, but Baz himself came up with the answer in the end. “Why don’t you stay here and try some Yeti magic on that door and I’ll go back down to the harbour and see if I can find some tools or a crowbar or something. What do you say? I’ll be quick…”
“Sounds perfect!” Shy agreed, unsure about letting Baz go and yet he said nothing more. “Steer clear of karaoke singing old folk, fella!” he cried out as another boom of thunder split the sky and lightning sprung from nowhere. “Did you hear that last bit!” he sighed, closing his eyes and trying to channel his thoughts. He wasn’t convinced it would do any good – he never got good reception during a storm.

Rapidly and with good reason Shy was beginning to fear that he’d allowed his friend to walk into even more danger. Sure enough, they did need to get inside the fortress one way or another, if they wanted to learn more about Cary McFur’s plans – but at what cost? McFur’s whereabouts were possibly the most important question right at the moment, although Baz’s well being was more in Shy’s mind. He daren’t even imagine what some scared group of locals might do should they get into their heads that Baz was responsible for the Corpse Candles and all the other troubles that had recently beset Tenby…

*
As it happened, Baz wasn’t the only one out and about in the town. McFur watched the cub, in hiding as he left the island, crossed the beach and headed on down to the boat sheds. Luckily for Baz, McFur chose not to follow him, but instead let himself out of his hideaway, inside a hastily abandoned kiosk that usually sold tickets for Seal trips and hurried down a second road leading to the main harbour.

“Gotta find these tools!” Baz was muttering to himself – oblivious of the presence of their nemesis. As he searched he was distracted a number of times by the voices of hotel guests. Already, it sounded less and less like singing and more like some sort of chanted mantra. The guests seemed to be crowding at the windows of one of the hotels, right by where he was searching, their scared and distorted faces pushing closer and closer to the misted glass. “Just ignore me!” he called and then heard the sound of breaking glass across the Street. Not waiting a minute longer he ran on along the harbour wall...

*
Back by the fort Shy was trying to peer through a crack to see exactly what madness lay within. Alas, this was very little, other than the rear of what looked like some kind of sausage making machine. (Either that or one of those old fashioned dryers you often see in hairdressers.) Also, there in the background sat some kind of computer, flashing away in the background – but he couldn’t make it out.

Suddenly, through the black clouds there fell a ray of sunshine. Something made Shy turn from the door and back to his binoculars. “Oh! For All The furry saints!” he gasped, as he saw what had appeared out of nowhere. “The Fairy Isles!” he whispered. “I don’t believe it!!” But sure enough – out to sea there now stood a whole new land mass and rowing furiously towards it was Cary McFur…

*
Back at the harbour, Baz was still trying to find his way into the garages to find something strong enough to open the fortress door. Already, he knew that time was rapidly running out – there had been more sounds of breaking glass and the roar of chanting O.A.P.s had now moved out onto the streets. It was as if they were caught up in some trance – looking to blame someone for all the peculiar things that were happening. The words they chanted meant bad news for Baz and his continued chances for safety. “FIND THE WITCHCUB! FIND THE WITCHCUB!!” they bellowed, quite insane sounding.

“YES! HE STARTED THIS USING BLACK MAGIC!” agreed another lady and everyone started cheering, everyone but Baz, of course. “FIND THE WITCHCUB! FIND HIM! FIND HIM!” they bellowed. Baz’s paw found another locked boathouse door, but right now his priority wasn’t tools, but safety. He was trapped there on the harbour with nowhere to run but the sea. They were coming for him – intent on ridding the town of their terrible furry plight and there was nowhere for him to hide.

“KILL THE WITCHCUB! KILL THE WITCHCUB! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!!”

WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO BAZ? CAN SHY YETI SAVE HIM IN TIME OR WILL CARY MCFUR PUT HIM IN A PIE BEFORE HE EVEN HAS A CHANCE TO RESCUE HIM?

FIND OUT NEXT WEDNESDAY IN TALES OF A SHY YETI!!!

THE TALE OF THE TENBY SAUSAGE - PART 3

“HHHHEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!”

To be honest, Shy wasn’t sure quite what his first step should be… A number of the sheep were taking a liking to his leg and were huddling up to him for warmth and he had, at least, three bunnies in his coat pocket fighting over who sat in the end which didn’t have a hole in. As for what had just crawled into his socks, Shy didn’t dare to imagine! Thankfully the storm seemed to be past it’s worst, but that didn’t help his muddy progress along the path. He’d have to pass the bulls to make his rescue attempt!

“Aha! I’m glad we’ve had a chance to meet like this…” called Shy bravely, now face to face with his opponents. “Not the most pleasant of days, I must say – miserable, in fact!? Really spoils my fur!” The animals stood their ground. “Listen, I really need a word. Whichever one of you bulls here is the big boss today! I do please request that you step out of my way and allow me to pass! You see, someone’s in dire need of my assistance! You know, it’s all very well for you to stand there looking mean but…”

“HHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!”

Another cry, close by; “I’m trying to get to you, whoever you are!!” bellowed Shy, with rather more panic betrayed in his voice than he’d intended. “But I’ve met some rather belligerent bulls here who won’t let me pass - I’m trying to make some kind of deal with them! It won’t take a minute, promise!”

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” exclaimed the Chief Bull, which probably meant something like, “How dare you blame us for this – we were here first – go find your own mud!”

“Now, now! I won’t have any of that!” stormed Shy, with a stamp of his paw. “You will let me pass, do you hear me? Do you have no conscience what so ever, you evil moo-ing fiends you!!? A man is in danger? Now – move out of my way, please or I shall order double portions of beef at dinner time…”

All this – and yet the bulls STILL refused to budge!!

Shy could think of no other course of action – talking had done no good at all and he wasn’t going to slip around in the mud any longer, simply to try and avoid the herd, only to be trampled underfoot. So, there was only one course of action left. That said, he had never attempted it on bulls before so he wasn’t convinced that it would work. “You asked for this!” Shy gave them a long, hard Yeti stare.

There was silence.

Well, other than the dripping of rain from the leaves and… then, all of a sudden, a mixture of 16 bulls and cows fell sideways in a dead faint! “Worked then!” Shy sighed. “Wasn’t sure it would – that’s a relief!!” But he still had a person to save! On the other side of the fallen animals he could see a figure clinging to a wooden bridge – waist deep in mud that seemed to drag him deeper and deeper. Between cries for help he was being busily licked on the face by a three mummy cows, unzapped by Shy, who had developed some sort of crush on the man. “Out of the way ladies!!” boomed Shy – and the beasts backed off obediently. “Take my paw!” he called to the muddy fellow and reached out to help. As Shy did so he recognised the lad as McFur’s victim; The cub, Baz. “Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

Baz appeared to be shaking with fear. “P,p,p,p.please don’t hurt me – p,p,p,p,please – I didn’t mean to set the bird on you!! Please don’t hurt me? Don’t eat me? Please – I didn’t mean to be a such a pain!!”

Shy was rather taken aback by Baz’s reaction before, of course, it occurred to him that he probably looked a bit bedraggled and scary himself. “It’s okay, I’m just Shy Yeti! I’m quite friendly – really!” Baz wasn’t convinced. “I was on your train yesterday, Baz - when that guy tried to sell you dodgy concert tickets! Just take my paw and we can get out of here before this mad bunch have another go!”

“Sorry Mr Shy…” Baz apologised as he allowed Shy to prize him out of his muddy prison – perhaps rapidly realising that it was safer to trust a Yeti than stay, waist deep in mud, being licked by cattle. “I was a bit unsure of you… But I see now that you’re really quite purrdy after all!? You’re alright…”

“I most certainly am, cublet! Now listen - let’s make a move! Would you fancy a wine gum?” Wine gums, warm clothing and a free nosh was what Shy had to offer that night. There aren’t many who’d turn down such an offer and Baz wasn’t going to miss out, he nodded eagerly and took the whole back of sweets. “That’s what I like to see!!” grinned Shy and with that they headed back to Tenby!

*
No more than twenty minutes later they were back in town and feeling a lot better. Baz claimed to have slept on the beach during his first night in town. But tonight was far from dry, in fact it was still drizzly and cold and Shy wasn’t going to allow Baz to repeat those sleeping arrangements. There were no more rooms left at the Kingsbridge, but luckily, Shy was able to arrange a room overlooking the sea at the PIG & PUFFIN INN. He used only a very brief spurt of Yeti Magic on the grey and rather crotchety landlord. They parted company to shower and change and met back later at the Inn for food.

It was here Baz finally spoke up. “I want to apologise about the seagull, by the way…”

“The what?” Shy wasn’t sure what he meant exactly. “The seagull? Which seagull?” he paused. “You don’t mean the ice cream eating one or the one who was after my Wine Gums? Do you know them?”

“They were both mine! I’m afraid…” he confided shamefacedly. “That was me, I’m really sorry…”

“What literally? In a coztume? How did you manage that? You fly very well for a cub…”

“Not actually me in person!” Baz grinned. “But it is my fault and I do owe you an ice cream and all! It’s a knack of mine; in fact it’s sort of my summer job! I’m a fancier!” he added, but Shy was none the wiser, just more confused. “I raise seagulls! Like raising pigeons only coastal and messier! I train them to go for ice creams and then the ice cream sellers pay me ‘coz then they sell more, you see!”

Shy was shocked. “Good grief! I almost wish I’d left you to the bulls now! You cheeky young cub!”

“Aww – don’t be cross Mr Yeti– it’s the only way I know to make more money. I can’t live on what my other job pays me and I haven’t the patience for bar work! I AM really grateful for your help! I’d never have set the gulls on someone as purrdy as you, on purpose!! I just did it randomly… Twice…”

“Oh, stop it! Flattery doesn’t work on me…” Shy paused. “Okay… Say it once more and I’ll forgive you… Actually, save it and I’ll get you to knock up a written declaration later!” he decided. “So, what do you do when you’re not training seagulls to steal ice cream? Don’t tell me – nuclear physicist!?”

Baz paused for a moment before replying. “Not quite… The rest of the time I work undercover…”

Shy had heard it all, now! “Undercover? What? Do you sell umbrellas - extraordinarily large hats?”

“No…” Baz was finding Shy’s attempts at humour a tad waning by now – actually, so was Shy. “I work for the Government but they don’t pay much, which is why I supplement my wage by doing the seagull thing! I can also train dogs to steal kebabs, otters to embezzle and ostriches to wave their tiny wings in a funny manner so that mice can commit acts of pick pocketing, whilst folk aren’t looking!”

“Not much good with cows though, are you?” Baz stuck out his tongue, but didn’t disagree. “So! Which Government Department is it that is so desperate that they feel the need to employ you, cub?”
“The Department of… err… Animal Food Crime… You probably won’t have heard of it – it’s a new one! I’ve not totally decided on the name yet… Might change it! It’s kind of Top Secret, you see!”

“YOU might change it?”

“Yeah. Me… I’m Head of Department!” grinned Baz. “…And don’t look at me like you think I’m too young! I’m 24, thanks! 25 in July! Ray Davies of the Kinks had written most of his best songs by my age! The Beatles were building up to Sgt. Pepper and The Stones had rolled out most of their best albums! So, I’ll take none of your ageist crap, Mr Yeti! I’m not joking you know - this is an official Government department and I’m head of it!” Shy tried to maintain a straight face before Baz hastily added. “However, I freely admit that I only got the job ‘coz my Uncle Timbercub fixed it for me…”

“I knew it would be something like that…” replied Shy calmly. “I just KNEW it…”

“Uncle’s pretty important…” continued Baz and tried not to blush. “Auntie Timbercub nagged him into giving me a job… But I don’t think he really wanted me hanging around his office – so he just gave me free rein to prove myself and about £16 a week expenses to run my own Department…”

“Whatever next!” laughed Shy as they both tucked into pie and chips, as presented by the grumpy land lord thanks to a spot of Yeti Magic. It was well passed Closing Time and the pub was now locked as they sat and chatted alongside their food and a large jug of a cocktails. Baz had ordered it and referred to it as a Turbo Shandy, the recipe for which remained secret between landlord and cub! After a few moments silence, Shy decided to ask his more important question. “Tell me, why are you here, fella?”

At first, Baz Timbercub seemed uncertain, but then, having decided more definitely continued. “Well, initially I got a tip off about a family of squirrels who were in peril, down near Lamphey Palace. They were being stalked by gangs of toddlers whose chav parents were attempting to cook them on a BBQ. Anyway – nothing much came of that until a day or so later I hit the Jackpot! I knew he was in the area somewhere – but then suddenly there was a sighting and he was back - and I was on his tail…”

Shy got there before Baz said any more. “I presume you’re talking about Cary McFur, at this stage?”

Baz seemed surprised Shy knew. “God! How did you know that? You’re not in league, are you?”

“Of course not! I can just tell, from my few brief encounters with him, that he has the makings of an extremely dodgy fellow! I met him for the first time yesterday and then bumped into him again this earlier… I realise the Rock Festival thing’s just a scam – but what’s he up to, exactly? Do you know?”

“Oh yes – most certainly!” Baz replied, as if it was the bane of his life, which maybe it was! “That’s two different questions you’re asking there, Yeti! He’s been guilty of all sorts of things in the past!”

“Sounds like your number one villain then! Do you have many others on your books?”

“Not yet! There’s an old lady in Leighton Buzzard who was caught poking sleeping Turkey’s with a stick – but otherwise, no! Cary McFur, or to use his full name Caruthers Elberto McFur is our Mr Big in this department! He hunts down rare or presumed extinct species to supply to billionaires for food. It’s a little known fact, but a few supposedly extinct species, continue to exist in small numbers in areas away from man – or sometimes in totally inappropriate locations. A flock of Dodo turned up in Milton Keynes back in 2004, but thankfully we arranged for them to be re-housed somewhere safer!”

Shy shook his head, “I’m not that surprised to be honest – I did once meet a Woolly Mammoth… He used to manage a band that a couple Yeti’s I knew were in back in my student days. Nice guy…”

“Really?” Baz was lost for words. “See, some people will pay a lot for Dodo on Rye, toasted Panda baps or Pterodactyl pie!” This surprised even world weary Shy. “Ok! So not Pterotactyl pie to my knowledge, but I knew someone who ate Diplodicus quiche – or at least something like it! People just don’t realise how bad it’s got out there, Shy! It’s evil! So, anyway – now I’ve found Mcfur, I’ve got to stop him once and for all – make my big move! I’ll find out what he’s up to and catch him in the act!”

“He’ll be after something local that he can put into one of his Sausages! Of course – it makes sense!!” Shy interrupted and so with that he began to explain his own reasons for being there in the town.
The previously stern, now rather bewitched landlord returned at this point with another jug of Turbo Shandy. He seemed to be wearing his best pyjamas and Shy could swear he’d put on aftershave. Shy thanked him, as the old fellow waved and explained, rather too emphatically that he was retiring to his lonely single bed, before departing with a large smile on his face. “I think he likes you!” Baz grinned.

“Don’t I just know it!? I think I gave him a rather stronger blast of Yeti Magic than I intended…”

“Wedding bells for Yeti!” sniggered the Cub, but Shy raised a finger for him to listen. With the lights low and the Jukebox off, they could now both hear a distant singing coming from somewhere close by. “That’ll be the pensioners doing Karaoke down at the hotel a few streets away! It’s a bit odd actually!”

“Surprise me…” said Shy reluctantly. “For what sinister reasons do they sit up singing all night long?”

“There are lots of pensioners here – they come to relax or to retire and a lot of the hotels do these O.A.P. holiday packages… When I was sleeping outside on the beach last night I could hear them all singing. It wasn’t just that hotel – but pretty much all over town! God knows why! It went on until dawn – thank goodness it gets light early as it’s the summer, but well – it was like they were singing as if their lives depended on it! All sorts of tunes – but singing them to ward something off, almost!”

“You’re right! That IS bizarre!” agreed Shy. For now, the chorus from outside seemed swept away by a change in the breeze and before long their talk returned to sausages. “From what you’ve said so far, Baz – it rather looks as if McFur is for something specific! But what could it be? I’ve already tried every local sausage made here in Tenby, but none were quite like that one I ate back in London…” he handed Baz the wrapper that he’d brought along with him, as he continued, “So, Mcfur arrives here with some ludicrous cover story – all meant to disguise his true motives! But what’s he after exactly?”

Baz frowned. “Well, not me that’s for sure! Cub meat isn’t especially rare – but he might well have his eye on you, Shy… Not just for his bed – but for a pie filling to boot! I’d watch out if I were you…”

Shy was horrified. “Do you really think so?” he tried not to gasp his surprise. “But surely nobody wants to eat Yeti! Anyway – he was heading down here even before he knew I was going to arrive…”

“Could have been a lure, somehow?”suggested Baz, but Shy didn’t dare imagine it. Some kind of grand conspiracy by an old enemy? But he didn’t have many of those, as yet. “Ok, so maybe not! What if he came to track down those bizarre Fairy Islands, you mentioned! Bizarre Fairy Islands are bound to have bizarre fairies on and maybe they’re the sort of thing rich billionaires like to eat in sandwiches! All the same, now he’s found you, he might just figure you’ll do as a nice sideline if the fairies don’t show up… Yeti meat isn’t exactly everyday supermarket fayre! You’ve must be careful!”

Shy felt quite weak. “But Yeti meat isn’t very nice – it’s full of gristle – much too chewy to enjoy!”

“But does HE know that? Or those that employ him – maybe someone out there likes a challenge!”

“Oh, the furry saints!” groaned Shy dismally and they both found themselves staring forlornly at the wrapper – which now clearly confirmed matters. The face on the logo, although a far younger photo, was quite definitely the face of Caruthers Elberto McFur… “I’m a gonna…” Shy whispered. “I’m burgers or sausages or a nice tasty hotpot! Why me, Baz! Why does it always have to happen to me?”

It was a Yeti’s curse he now realised – not only, according to some cubs, to be very “purrdy” – but also, it seemed, to be edible and splendidly appropriate for some rich billionaire’s dinner table!!!

What will happen to Shy Yeti? Might Cary McFur have his sights set on our furry hero for dinner? Can Baz save him from a fate worse than pastry? Find out next Wednesday...