The Rather Less than Secret Agent's Ball
Part 6 : The Avengers : Episode 1 : The Village Fate
Steed Finds a Fool, Emma Flings a Flan
The control room feels empty but not quiet, a steady hum of computing equipment pervades the room with Emma sat at her terminal and John Steed stood over her.
"Any luck in tracking down Drake?" Steed's rhetorical questioning drawing only a melancholy sigh from Emma.
"I just don't understand, why would Drake go off like that?" Steed's frustration coming through in his voice.
"I'm not sure, but the machines have been screwed around again, they register Drake leaving by four different methods at the same time." Emma did not sound surprised at this, only perplexed, "Which is rather overkill wouldn't you say, John?"
"The question is, did John do this himself, or is there someone else trying to stop us finding him? We still don't have much to go on. Any clues from the surveillance camera footage Emma?"
"There's no footage of John leaving but I'll try my comparison trick again on the cameras covering the exit routes." Emma's fingers move quickly over the keyboard and the monitor screen opens numerous windows, each covering a door or a driveway or a window, each completely devoid of any evidence of people, "John, I've got something in the driveway, it's a piece of paper."
"Can you zoom in, Emma?" at John's request Emma moves her mouse and the image in one of the windows is magnified until the blurred markings form into words.
"Village Fete, This Saturday, Opens Noon"
"A trap, methinks." Emma states in a light-hearted manner.
"Yes, definitely, but I'm afraid Emma my dear it is still our only lead." John's voice is also lighter, a sense of anticipation growing. "Mrs Peel, we're needed."
Steed takes Emma's hand and graciously opens the door for her.
"After you!" Steed gives a slight bow as Emma walks through the door.
"Now I know it's a trap." Emma smirks as she leaves the room.
Steed follows and the control room door closes automatically with a low monotonous hum.
Emma waits in the gravel driveway as Steed reverses his Green Bentley out of the garage and pulls forward to pick her up.
"The flyer has disappeared, Steed." Emma says as she clambers into the car.
"Well considering what information the computer has been dredging up recently, I doubt that the flyer ever really existed." Steed speaks with a wry smile.
"Yes, that could mean that there's not actually a fete today or perhaps the village no longer exists?" Emma brushes her hair from her face as Steed drives through the gates.
"No, I'm pretty certain the village still exists and I'm sure whoever's behind this will have organised some sort of reception for us."
"Well whatever's in front of us, it's sure to be an improvement on the manor house - that place was just getting creepier by the minute." Emma's face is filled with a moment of reflection, "I hate getting trapped in those big empty houses."
It is only a few minutes drive to the Village Green and the fete is already underway as Steed's Bentley pulls up into a convenient space on the opposite side of the duck pond from the general hubbub of cake stalls and dog agility displays.
The wide expanse of the village green is decked out in pastel striped Marquees, a busy melee of those from all the local villages, the tannoy announcements barely audible above the combined noise of pets, livestock and people.
"I think some general investigation is required don't you Emma?", Steed is quick to leave the Bentley and rush round to open the passenger door for Emma.
"I think so, cake stall for me and I'm guessing beer tent for you!"
"Ah yes, I feel the hops calling me, I'm sure we'll be able to garner some information on the way though."
"Yes Steed, what exactly are we looking for, apart from cakes and ale?"
"I'm not entirely sure, but as we were led here I'm sure it won't be too long until something leaps out at us." Steed puts on a jovial smile.
"Well hopefully I'll get to eat my cake before that happens." Emma's grin reflects Steed's smile as they walk onto the green and into the fete proper.
"I'm sure no one would ever try and deprive you my dear." Steed momentarily pauses, leaning on his furled umbrella to survey what the fete has to offer.
"Well no one ever has!", Emma replies as she heads off in the probable direction of the cake stall.
Steed sighs, ponders for a moment and then, with a decisive movement of the umbrella, strides off, in a perpendicular direction to that of Emma, towards a large array of tents and stalls. Steed manages to suavely weave his way through the crowds, his attention rarely distracted by the various amusements on offer, yet each is considered by Steed's innate sixth sense for danger. 'Hoop the Goldfish', plant stalls, dodgems; nothing captured his sly gaze until out of the corner of his eye he notices something familiar yet out of place.
The tannoy that had been silent for sometime suddenly sprang to life, "Would the judges for the tart contest, please convene at the food show tent, tart judges to the food tent please!" Emma wrinkles her nose at the sudden, disturbing announcement and returns her concentration to scanning the crowd for any suspicious characters. After a few moments Emma is suddenly thrown by a familiar voice resolving itself from the background hustle.
"Why Emma, it is you. I don't believe it, fancy meeting you here after all these years." A slim middle aged woman with black rimmed spectacles quickly but lightly grabs Emma's arm. "Your expertise is just what we need at the moment, Mrs Dooms-Patterson hasn't turned up so we're short a judge for the flans." The woman moves off towards one of the marquees still holding onto Emma's arm. Emma quickly pulls her arm from the woman's grip before a wave of recognition sweeps across her face.
"Laura... Laura Burford, is that you?"
"Yes Emma it's me. God, I haven't changed that much, have I?" Laura spoke quickly, whilst beckoning Emma. "Sorry, haven't got time to chat, we must get you to the judging right away, you don't mind do you Emma?"
"Laura, but I thought you were..." Emma pauses for a moment, a puzzled expression on her face, "But I don't know anything about flans."
"No need Emma, the most important thing is that you're an impartial outsider, we'd never hear the end of it if someone from the village was on the panel." Laura moves off into the crowd beckoning, as Emma gives a slight sigh and follows.
"Last call for the tart judges, please can you go to the food tent immediately!", the tannoy announcement filled with an unnecessary sense of urgency.
Steed ponders for a moment, the tannoy announcement somehow feeling familiar before returning his attention to the large banner in front of him "DUNK THE VILLAGE IDIOT."
"Only a pound a go sir, watch the fool fall into the water, only a pound sir." an ugly middle aged man in panama hat and striped blazer pointed at a large plastic tank filled with water, whilst directing his attention towards Steed. Above and towards the rear of the tank was a target and stool mechanism and on the stool was an elderly bearded man wearing the traditional village idiot garb of smock and straw hat.
"Only a pound sir, don't worry he doesn't feel a thing, few bales short of a haystack if you know what I mean sir.", the stall holder was now aggressively positioned directly in front of Steed, their faces mere inches apart, but quickly turned to face the now growing crowd. "Only a pound, anyone can have a go, come on ladies and gents, only a pound."
Steed stood stationary, peering at the sunburnt bearded face half hidden beneath the straw hat and after a few moments a name emerged in a confused whisper from Steed's lips. "John... John Drake?"
There is a sudden splash and a great shout from the crowd as the idiot is displaced from his stool into the tank. Steed immediately leaps forward to help pull the drenched figure out of the tank.
"John, is that you?" Steed's question receives only a puzzled lack of comprehension from the idiot.
"It's no good talking to him mate, never said a word as far as anyone can remember." the stall holder begins to manhandle the idiot towards the rear of the tank.
"No wait, I think this might be a friend of mine." Steed grabs the stall holder by the shoulder to prevent his escape.
"Friend or not mate, he's got to go back onto the stool!" the stall holder wasn't fazed by Steed's steely stare and it didn't take long for Steed to change his tack.
"I'm sure we can come to some arrangement regarding compensation." Steed's hands promptly bring out his wallet and a number of fifty pound notes are waved in front of the stall holders prominent nose.
"That'll do nicely mate, he's a complete waste of space anyhow." the stall holder quickly grabs the money and wanders round to the front of the stall, "Sorry folks, shows over for the day, come on move along now."
"John, can you hear me?" Steed's words provoke no response from the dazed and sodden figure before him, "Come on, lets find you some dry clothes and see if Emma has discovered anything, is that alright John?" the idiot doesn't respond but seems content to be tugged along by Steed.
"Judging for the fete flan final is now starting in the food tent." the tannoy sounding significantly more reassured.
"Now Emma, remember flans are more about the pastry and less about the filling and don't worry there'll be the two of us after all." Laura's words of advice are taken in with an earnest look of attention from Emma which disappears with a shrug as Laura turns to attend to the long table of assorted flans before them.
"Why don't you start at the other end, Emma?" Laura points to the far end of the table which is dominated by a large orange and lemon flan at least three times the size of any other.
Emma dutifully begins to sample some of the tarts from the other end of the table; a light raspberry flan grabs her attention before she approaches the orange and lemon giant. Emma picks up the knife to cut a slice when her nose twitches at a smell that shouldn't be there, and then as the tart is brought closer a slight ticking sound is apparent to Emma. Emma quickly turns and runs off stage past the mill of onlookers and out through the marquee entrance, flan grasped firmly in both hands. There is a moment's pause before Emma spots the currently vacant cricket pitch and runs desperately towards it. A few seconds elapse before Emma finds herself separated from the crowds and with an expert grace she flings the still ticking flan discus style across the pitches outfield, across the boundary rope and into some distant shrubbery. There are a two or three seconds where the crowd is staring at the lone Emma stood alone in the cricket pitch. A loud sharp explosion soon diverts the crowd's attention to a large crater edged with flaming remains of bushes.
Emma calmly walks off the pitch, the gathered crowds parting quite naturally for her and as she walks through the gap, waiting at the edge of the crowd is John Steed standing beside a damp looking, bearded man in a smock.
"Who's your friend, Steed?" Emma's blasé tone belies the fact that quite a number of the eyes were still following her from the crowd.
"Look closer Emma, I think you'll find something interesting." Steed pushes the idiot forward slightly as Emma peers into the bearded face before her.
"My God, it's John Drake!" Emma jerks back quickly and turns to face Steed, "but it can't be, the face is too burnt, the beard... unless there's an impostor. Steed, has he said anything?"
"No, nothing yet, but if he's been brainwashed I know just the man. I think we should take our friend into the hills for some fresh air." Steed's confident manner conveys a sense of fun to Emma as he quickly turns and heads for the car. Emma turns to the crowd of now disinterested fete goers, as if looking for someone, but after a moment sighs and moves to follow Steed.
Copyright 2001-2004 Chris Cowan