A Moral Tale

Once upon a time, in the little village of London, there lived a wealthy and powerful man named George Cowley. As the reason for the wealth and power do not bear close investigation, we shall not investigate them closely; suffice it to say that our George was a handy man with a camera and tape recorder. George was the head of a large and fractious family known to all and sundry as CI5, and his children were thought to be the most spoiled, difficult, conceited and arrogant little bastards ever to set a muddy foot in the corridors of power. But that's another story... George ruled his family wisely and well, and if they didn't exactly love him, they sure walked a little softer outside his office door--all but one, the youngest and closest to George's heart, whose name was William Andrew Phillip, but who everyone called Bodie because of .... well, I don't know quite why they all called him that, exactly. Let's just take it as read, okay?

Bodie was a remarkable beauty, which may have accounted for much of George's fondness (the sly old dog!), and he had a smile that was nothing short of lethal. His CI5 siblings were frequently heard to mutter vile things about the length of his eyelashes. He was said to be a pretty nice kid, though his sense of humour (which ran to setting fire to Bulgarian agents) left something to be desired. In any case, George's fondness for him caused occasional bad feelings, of which he remained blissfully ignorant. (I never said he was bright...)

One day, while George was leafing through volume sixteen of his scrapbook of compromising photos of cabinet ministers 1953-1955, a package was delivered to his office. Inside this package was a note, typed on an Olivetti Praxis 35 (he could tell this by the alarming frequency of the mistakes), which read: "I know who you are and I saw what you did"; and a dozen photographs of the grungiest sort, of George and his current protegee, a talented young woman with enourmous... talent. The note had a handwritten p.s. (the sender obviously tired of grappling with the technological terror from Italy) which read: "Leave everything you own in the cloak room of Paddington Station by tea time this evening, or I'll show these to your mother." And a p.p.s.: "I don't mean property, of course--just liquid assets."

George was, of course, distraught, but seeing no way out of this situation, he informed his children that he was cutting off their salaries. "There's no help for it," he explained to the assembled CI5 family. "I'm for it, and so are you--that's what families are for." Then he went out to liquidate his holdings.

There was much unhappiness in the family that afternoon.

"Whatever shall I do," demanded Macklin, the eldest. "Who'd have me without my salary."

The twins, Lucas and McCabe, suggested, rather unfeelingly, that he try emigrating to Australia, and bemoaned the fact that they could no longer go out and carouse on their free evenings. "I can't even buy my little cigars:" McCabe groaned.

Murphy complained that he wouldn't be able to afford new clothes to impress the birds.

Only Bodie, youngest and handsomest, had no complaint to make. Instead, he spoke gently to his siblings. "You forget," he reminded them, "that we Joined CI5 for better or for worse. George is our father, and we owe him our support in this bad time. Think how much harder it must be for him than it is for us."

At this the others fell silent for a few moments as they considered his words. Murphy was the first to speak.

"Oh, piss off, you little toady," he said, flicking a bit of lint off the cuff of his new tweed Jacket.

Meanwhile, George was on his way to Paddington, carrying a rather hefty valise stuffed with pound notes. As the note instructed, he checked the valise, then he stopped for a drink at the station bar, and ran through the photos once again, smiling as he remembered... He made a note to give Miss Poitrine a call some evening.

He finished his drink and set off for home to await further instructions, walking to save cab fare. As he walked on through dark and foggy streets, he found himself in unfamiliar territory. All around him rose towering trees like gaunt ghosts on the haunted heath. A brook babbled in the Stygian stillness. He found himself in front of a great gate of weathered wood. "This doesn't look like the West End," George grumbled. He was about to walk on, but a sign on the gate made him stop. "Bed and Breakfast," it read, 'Gratis." This appealed to the Scot in George Cowley, so he entered.

Within the confines of the high walls was an enchanted garden. Huge cabbage roses bloomed, their stems drooping under the weight of their blushing heads. The air was redolent of herbs and sweet flowers, and a stream ran along the cobbled path to the castle. 'Nice place," George mumbled, wondering if the National Trust was aware of it.

Within the castle, the darkness was banished by thousands of candles that east a golden glow over the magnificent furnishings. George found his way Into the dining room, where a long table was laid with dishes of gold and silver, heaped with food that looked and smelled delicious. A bottle of Josephshopfer Beerenauslese 1971 stood in a golden wine bucket beside a crystal goblet. George reflected that he would rather have had a good bottle of malt, but that it would have to do.

When he was nearly through with his dinner (having finished all the haggis, and made a sizeable dent in the largest prawn cocktail he'd ever seen), he caught sight of a figure hovering in the shadows, Just out of sight.

"D'ye think I could have a glass of water?' George asked, mistaking the figure for a waiter.

"I trust everything was to your taste," the figure replied in a gutteral voice. A large glass of water appeared at George's elbow, causing him to suspect magic at work. "We only serve water on request."

"Aye, well, the roast beef was a wee bit overdone and my fork was filthy, but apart from that, it was well worth the price."

"Your room is ready for you. It is just up the stairs and to the left. It has a private bath."

"I'd like a wake up call, if you don't mind," George said, finishing the last of the Yorkshire pudding, "For six." He wiped his mouth and sat back. 'What's for afters?" he asked. The figure stirred slightly.

"Trifle," it replied. "Bear in mind that you are free to make use of all our facilities--and we have a very nice sauna and whirlpool--but you may not take anything away with you, not even the copy of the Times that comes with the continental breakfast."

"That sounds fair," Cowley replied, tucking into the silver bowl full of trifle that had appeared before him. "Can I trouble you for a cup of coffee?"

He thought he heard the apparition sigh just before it disappeared into the kitchen.

George slept that night in a huge old bed hung with priceless Flemish tapestries, and made with lace-trimmed white linen sheets. A bottle of Laphroaig rested on the Chippendale night table beside a Waterford glass.

"This is the life," George told himself as he slipped between the sheets. He wondered as he drifted off to sleep, who the owner of the place was, and did he have any... weaknesses that could be exploited.

At six sharp, George was wakened with a few bars of the "Ode to Joy," and about a quarter of an hour later, breakfast arrived--croissants, coffee, juice, and, as promised, a copy of the Times. He worked the crossword over his meal.

All of this began to seem very strange to George, who had always believed that there was no such thing as a free lunch--to say nothing of dinner or breakfast, and, being naturally suspicious (an advantage in his line of work) he began to wonder if this hospitality was not, in fact, part of some insidious plot to discredit, or even (quel horreur!) to extract some classified information from him. Perhaps he had been brainwashed in his sleep! Perhaps he had been drugged ... perhaps there were more pictures! He dressed quickly, resolved to flee the castle before the owners could put such dastardly designs into effect.

As he hurried out and down the path, he wondered if perhaps he had fallen into some other world in which time ran along different paths. He had heard of such things--of men falling among the fair folk and spending the night carousing, only to find when they returned home, that a hundred years had passed and their families were gone. A great fear gripped him at the thought of his little family trying to cope without him for a century ... but, no, he realized, that could hardly be true. The copy of the Times he'd read that morning had had the right date on it. George breathed easier as he walked toward the gate.

Just as he was about to leave the enchanted garden, resolved never to return (unless it was with the squad on a raid), he caught sight of an interesting looking herb--one of Bodie's favourites, he remembered--and without thinking twice, he reached out and plucked a few sprigs for his youngest and favourite child. (It has been suggested that this was to be in the nature of a bribe. George naturally assumed that a grateful Bodie would be a friendlier Bodie.)

Suddenly the sky, which had been pleasant shade of blue, darkened ominously. "What do you think you're doing?" a harsh voice boomed. Cowley hid the plant under his Jumper.

"Nothing... nothing at all. Just leaving."

"One moment ..." From out of the trees, a figure emerged, a creature of such terrible appearance that Cowley was rendered speechless with fear and loathing. "Didn't I tell you not to take anything?" the creature demanded, wresting the poor, withered sprigs from beneath the jumper. "Look what you've done to my cash crop!" He appeared to be manlike, for he walked on two legs, but his appearance was that of a beast; a huge, furry, savage and rather peculiar beast--something like a cross, Cowley decided, between a very large and pampered housecat and a golliwog. He had the strangest urge to laugh...

"I only took a bit. It was for my youngest child."

"Ask me if I care," the creature replied unfeelingly. "For this, you must forfeit your life.'

"Don't you think that's a bit stiff for a bit of petty pilfering? I mean," Cowley insisted, "I only took a few sprigs. You're growing the stuff,-- that could get you a good few years hard time," he added, hoping to do a deal.

"You have no Jurisdiction here, Gramps," the creature replied smugly. "It's hard cheese on thieves, though." He rubbed his paws together and chuckled evily, eyeing Cowley as if he was a juicy mouse.

"Wait... I have one last request."

"So?"

"By the terms of the Geneva Convention, you have to grant my last request."

"I don't remember... oh, all right," he conceded, "just so long as you don't pull any of that 'I request not to die' stuff. I've heard it all, believe me."

"I'd like to go home and put my affairs in order," Cowley told him, a fleeting memory of Miss Poitroine teasing him.

The beast shrugged. "Can do," he admitted. 'Tell you what, I'll even let you use my best horse, Stud, for the trip. Just whisper in his ear, 'Ray sent me,' and he'll take you home and bring you back. But remember, you've only got a week. If you're not back here by next Saturday night, I'll come looking for you, and I'll claim you whole family as an additional forfeit."

"Done," said Cowley, resigned to his fate. He leaped up (well, he hauled himself up with the help of the Beast) to the back of Stud and whispered "Ray sent me," and they were off, galloping like the wind across hill and dale, through central London where they broke a few traffic laws, and up to the door of CI5.

His children rushed out to greet him.

"Where the hell have you been?" Jax demanded.

"What took you so long7" Betty cried.

"Did you bring me anything?" asked Shotgun Tommy, the one they didn't talk about. "Is that howitzer? Is it for me?"

"Children, children, not a word of comfort for your father?" George asked wearily as he slid (well, not to put too fine a point on it, fell) from Stud's back.

Bodie stepped out from among his siblings. 'Did you have a nice trip?" he asked, helping Cowley to his feet.

"No, I didn't, thank you very much." He limped into headquarters and the agents followed. "Well,' he said as he eased himself into his favourite chair," I have a lot to tell you. On my way home, I found myself in the castle of a terrible ravening Beast, who fed me and gave me shelter for the night. His hospitality was free, but he warned me not to try to take anything away with me . . .

"I think I know what's coming," Tony Miller whispered to Susan. Cowley ignored him.

"As I was about to leave, I saw, uh... a beautiful plant... flower, yes, that's it, a rose, and I wanted to bring it to Bodie, my youngest, who never asks me for anything, by the way," he added with a meaningful look at the assembled family.

"Can't eat roses," King observed, ever the pragmatist.

"Suddenly the Beast leaped out from among the trees and attacked me." (Cowley didn't see anything wrong with a little creative embellishment.) I fought him, but he was a magical beast and I couldn't overcome him. For taking the gra... ahh, the rose, he informed me, my life was forfeit."

There was a gratifying murmur of Shock and horror, ruined by Tony's smug, "I knew it!"

"The Beast is, however, a gentleman, and has agreed to allow me to spend one last week among you in order that I may set my affairs in order and provide for your futures."

"Look, Sir, you don't have to go back there," Lucas told him. "I mean, what's he gonna do, come after you? There are lots of us and only one of him--we can take him, right kids?"

"Yeah, yeah," they chorused. "I'll blast him into little pieces," Tommy promised.

"I swore an oath of honour," Cowley protested.

"Honour is a circumstantial thing as best," Murphy reminded him.

"And if I don't go back he'll come and take all of us forfeit."

There was a moment of silence.

"All of us?" McCabe asked. "You mean, we'll die, too?" Cowley nodded.

"Maybe you should go back tomorrow," Jax offered. "I mean, a promise is a promise, right kids?" There was a murmur of agreement.

"No, Sir." Bodie came to his side. "What you did, you did for my sake," he told Cowley, who didn't like to contradict him. "I will go back in your place."

"Yeah, well, that's even better, isn't it?' Macklin observed.

"No, son. You will stay here and live out your life. I am old, you are young. I will not allow you to take my place. And as for the rest of you," he added, glaring at the little group, "you have work to do. On your bikes."

---

Late that night, when the others were sleeping ... or whatever... Bodie crept out to the horse park and untied Stud. Then he leaped athletically to the horse's broad back and whispered, "Ray sent me," and away they flew, back across central London, running down a few pedestrians in the process, and out into the enchanted countryside.

It seemed to Bodie that they had travelled for many, many miles, when they arrived at the great gate of weathered wood in the Stygian... well, you know. The gate swung open to admit them.

Once at the castle, Bodie dismounted and entered, prepared to die and die bravely as befit a CI5 agent. As it had been for George, the great hall was lit by the light of a thousand candles, and the table was laid with all manner of good things, but Bodie did not tuck in.

"Excuse me," he called. "Ahem, is anyone at home?" The beast stepped out of the darkness.

'What d'you want?' he demanded.

"To die... I mean, I've come here in place of my father, George Cowley. His life was forfeit to you. I offer mine in his place."

"Oh... how nice. Do sit down and have something to eat.

"I think I'd rather Just get this over with,' Bodie replied.

"Oh, nonsense, wouldn't you rather eat this delicious food than die?"

"Well . .. yes, I would, but my father taught me never to procrastinate."

"That's sound advice," the Beast admitted, sitting down at the table and helping himself to a raw fish. "But I have a confession to make. I'm not going to kill you."

"Oh, please..."

"No. I don't want to."

"You were going to kill my father," Bodie reminded him.

"Well... not really. I told him his life was forfeit -- that'e another thing entirely.'

"I don't see the distinction," Bodie argued, sitting opposite the Beast. 'Is anything here cooked?"

"Try the chili. Well, as a matter of fact, I just wanted some company."

"Eh?"

"I wanted your father to come back here because I'm so lonely."

"Why ?"

"Would you want to be friendly with someone who looks like me?" the beast demanded.

"You're not so bad--bit hairy for my taste," Bodie admitted, sprinkling chopped onions on his chili. "Still, personality is more important."

"Try telling yourself that when you're the only one who isn't going to the senior prom." The Beast finished off the fish and tossed the bones into the fireplace. Secretly, Bodie thought the Beast's lack of popularity might have something to do with his table manners.

"Well, I'm here now," Bodie said, 'and I'll keep you company."

"Would you..."

"What?"

"No, it's too much to ask."

"What??"

"I was wondering... of course, if you think it's too much for me to expect, please say so, but I was wondering if you'd consider marrying me."

"It's too much to expect," Bodie replied.

"I thought so."

And so, for many months, Bodie lived in the enchanted castle with the Beast, and they kept each other company, and played Yahtzee and Scrabble and Boggle, and watched old movies on the telly, and ordered pizzas and discussed philosophy into the wee small hours of the morning. And each day the Beast would repeat his question: "Will you marry me?" he would ask, and each day Bodie refused.

But as the months wore on, Bodie began to be homesick for London and for his family. He began to mope and lose at Yahtzee through lack of attention. Finally, the Beast confronted him.

"You want to go home for a visit, don't you?"

"How did you know?" Bodie asked, amazed at the Beast's intuition.

"You Just spelled 'house,' 'home', 'family,' and 'CI5' on the Scrabble board. Apart from the fact that the point value was minimal, which tells me that you're distracted and not paying attention to your game, the choice of words is a good guage of your mood."

"You should have been a copper," Bodie exclaimed in awe.

"I'm prepared to let you go on the condition that you return within a week. If you don't, dear Bodie, I shall die."

Bodie agreed to the condition, assuring the Beast that he would be back before the week was out. Then, mounting Stud and whispering, "Ray sent me," he raced back to his home.

His family were overjoyed to see him--sort of.

"Where the hell have you been?" Jax demanded.

"What took you so long?" Betty cried.

"Did'ja bring me anything?" Tommy asked. "Is that an M167 Is it for me?"

Bodie dismounted and went into the headquarters to find Cowley. "I've come home for a visit, Father."

"You're not dead!" Cowley exclaimed.

"Uh, no."

"Where did you get those fabulous threads?" Murphy asked, fingering the rich material.

"And that jewelry!' Susan exclaimed, her eyes shining.

"If you'll sit down and listen," Bodie told them, "I'll tell you about the Beast."

He told them of the fabulous castle where all one's wishes were granted, where they dined off the choicest morsels served on gold and silver, where the jewels' lay around for the taking and where there was an endless supply of smutty stories to read. They listened, spellbound...

"I must go back within a week," he said as he ended his story. "I promised the Beast. If I do not keep that promise, he will die."

"So, don't go back," Mathieson told him.

"But I must!"

"Nah, listen, it's simple," Jax said. "You wait a fortnight to be sure he's dead, and then we'll all go back and live there and eat off of gold and silver..."

"And wear expensive clothes," Murphy added.

"And have diamonds and rubies," Susan breathed.

"I can't do that," Bodie protested. "That's dishonest."

"It's pragmatic, laddie,' Cowley reminded him. "Aye, but you're right. It'd not be honourable." He sighed. "As you're home for a week, though, I have an assignment for you. You're still a member of this family, and I expect you to earn you keep while you're here."

And the week passed quickly with Bodie on assignment. During that week, his siblings met and discussed the situation.

"It's not fair that Bodie gets all the good stuff," Lucas complained.

"Yeah," McCabe agreed.

"If we keep him here for even eight days..." Macklin began.

"Yeah?"

"Well, he'd be a rich widow, wouldn't he?"

"Yeah!"

"And he'd share with his family, wouldn't he?"

"Yeah!!" they all cried, more determined than ever to keep Bodie in the bosom of his family.

"Let's go blast 'im!" Tommy suggested.

They hit upon the clever scheme of setting his calendar watch back a few days.

It was late afternoon of the eighth day when Bodie finished the paperwork on his latest assignment. He checked his watch and saw with satisfaction that he had a few hours left in which to pack his things and be off, but as he left the office, he happened to catch sight of the calendar on the wall of the ops room--a seamy calendar full of naked women and men doing strange things with oil and chocolate syrup and sticking large blunt objects into... um... he saw the calendar. And suddenly he realized that his watch was slow and that he should have been back with the Beast the previous day.

Not pausing even to pack a change of underwear, he leaped aboard Stud, cried, "Ray sent me," and was off, galloping like a crazy man, in hopes of reaching his Beast in time.

When he arrived at the castle, the enchanted landscape looked gloomy and withered. With great anxiety, Bodie entered the castle and called out, "Here, Beastie, Beastie... nice Beastie!" but there was no answer.

He searched all the rooms, calling out to the Beast, and receiving no reply, and he was in tears by the time he stumbled into the recreation room. 'Oh, Beastie!" he sobbed, 'What have I done to you?'

And there, sprawled across the Scrabble board, was the Beast. He looked nearly dead, his fur was dull, his breathing shallow. Bodie rushed to him and gathered him gently into his arms. 'Oh, Beastie, I'm so sorry," he cried. On the Scrabble board, he saw his name spelled out, linked with that of the Beast, on premium letter squares. "Oh, Beastie, that's sixty-four points!"

"I waited for you," the Beast said, with a shudder.

'I came as soon as I could. My watch stopped," Bodie explained.

"I got your postcard, thanks. I can die in peace now."

"Don't die, Beastie, please don't. I'm back for good now. I'll even marry you. I love you, Beastie, please don't die!"

Suddenly, there was a great wind, and a shadow passed across the moon, and there were portents and omens and signs and the value of the pound rose sharply. Instead of an armful of limp fur, Bodie now held a handsome prince.

"Where's Beastie?" he asked.

"Right here," Prince Ray said, smiling widely. Bodie had to admit that his teeth looked rather sharper than he would have expected of a prince. "Your declaration of love set me free."

"Oh, how nice," Bodie said, still a little confused. "How?"

"A wicked fairy put the spell on me because I wouldn't sleep with him. He made me so repellant by his standards that nobody would sleep with me. You can't imagine! Anyway, you saved me. Now, we will marry and rule over England wisely and well. And your rotton family can come and live in the castle, too," he conceded.

Their wedding was a gala affair, and all Bodie's family had new clothes and jewels and lots of good food to eat and wedding cake to put under their pillows. And Ray informed Cowley that new he was Kind of England, Cowley was working for him, and smiled.

The wedding night was a gala affair, too . . . but that's another story.

-- THE END --