I heard clanking and scrambling behind me as Michael gave chase. From my new position, flat on my back, I realized that I’d been felled by the portable toilet door, which someone hiding inside had suddenly slammed open to make a run for it. And when I fell, I’d knocked over a large plastic bin. I was lying in a heap of spilled toys. Every time I tried to get up, I’d slip on some of the marbles, and every time I fell again, another half dozen toy soldiers would bayonet me with their tiny sharp weapons.
And then, when I paused to catch my breath, I realized that I could still hear the clacking of marbles and the faint grunts that suggested the miniature soldiers might also be attacking someone else, perhaps six feet away.
Barrymore.
I waited a few seconds until I was sure I had a fix on his position, and then launched myself toward him. I wasn’t trying to stand up, just land on top of him, so this time the marbles helped.
“Oof!” he exclaimed, as I knocked the breath out of him.
“Got him!” I shouted, as I pulled his arm behind him and sat down on his back.
“Hang on!” Michael shouted.
“Meg!” my captive gasped. “It’s me! Rob!”
I switched on the flashlight to reveal the swollen face of my brother. I hoped the swelling was only left over from his allergy attack, and not something I’d done.
“What happened to you?” I asked, standing up.
“I’ve been stumbling around trying to find whoever tied up Dad,” Rob said. “I keep falling over stuff.”
“Barrymore Sprocket,” Michael said.
“Is that who it is?” Rob said.
“If we’ve been chasing Rob, then where’s Sprocket?” Michael said.
I played the flashlight beam over the junk around us. Michael and Rob held their breath.
“Not out here,” I said.
“Then where—”
Just then, we heard a yelp of pain from the barn, followed by frantic barking.
“Spike?” Michael muttered, turning his head toward the sounds.
“Dad?” Rob said, sitting up.
“Barrymore!” I exclaimed, and sprinted for the barn, closely followed by Michael. Rob, apparently, had injured his foot in falling, and followed more slowly.
Inside we found Dad, still lying peacefully on his back, looking at Spike’s pen, where Barrymore Sprocket was backed up against the barn wall, ducking left and right in a vain attempt to dodge Spike so he could reach the fence and make a break for freedom.
“Stop where you are and I’ll call him off,” I said.
“The police are on their way!” Michael added.
Barrymore hesitated, and perhaps he might have surrendered, but just then we heard another ghastly shriek, and a feathered missile plummeted from somewhere high up in the barn, heading for Spike.
“Look out!” I said, throwing the flashlight at the owl. Spike yelped and dived for cover, while Barrymore Sprocket seized his chance to leap over the fence.
“Leave him alone, Sophie!” Michael shouted. The owl swooped back up again, and Michael ran after her, waving the bicycle pump. I vaulted the fence and scooped up Spike.
“I’ve got Spike,” I called. “Don’t worry about Sophie—stop Barrymore.”
Michael ran after Barrymore, and I ducked as another shriek announced that Sophie hadn’t given up.
Only it wasn’t Sophie. Instead of a small barn owl, with its winsome, heart-shaped face, a much larger owl was staring down at us from the rafters. Its beak looked sharper as well as larger, and the feathers around its face were arranged in a pattern that resembled a perpetual frown. It looked slightly cross-eyed and more than slightly annoyed, and I deduced from the large tufts of feathers sticking up on either side of its face that I was looking at a great horned owl.
“Look out!” Dad shouted. The owl moved. For some reason, I was expecting it to plummet, beak first, like a hawk. Instead, it launched itself, feet first, for all the world like a kid jumping into a pool and hoping to splash as many bystanders as possible. All that was missing was the cry of “Banzai!” Of course, it made sense. The talons were its weapons. I’d probably have stood transfixed as it flew into my face, but just then Spike bit me and made a run for it, and I tripped and fell out of the owl’s path while trying to catch him. Even so, I felt the owl swoop by me; and something sharp raked my cheek. I hoped it missed my eyes. The owl swooped past, and I scrambled into the corner where Spike had retreated, putting myself between him and the owl, and grabbing his water bowl to serve as a shield. The feathered fury swooped past again, and then disappeared.
“Meg!” Michael called. “Are you all right?”