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Feb. 18th, 2007 07:06 pmThey were fools.
Then I awake and look around me
Cold gray walls surround me
And I realize that I was only dreamin'
Snowball waits patiently, listening to the sound of the clock ticking on the wall. Not midnight, never midnight.
There's a guard and there's a sad old padre
Arm and arm we'll walk at daybreak
Again I'll touch the green, green grass of home
They were fools to ever imagine that he, the idealist, would settle for such a life. Imprisonment by night, and labour by day. True, he was in his element. The farm had never been more mechanically efficient. He had a mate, a family, even if he wasn't allowed constant access. As the sons of Napoleon had put it, he had all that he had ever wanted.
But he was not a fool. Because he knew that at any point, they could take it all away again.
They were fools to trust a prisoner with so many pieces of vital equipment. Fools to think that at nearly eight years old, arthritic in at least one knee and eyesight poorer than ever, that he was giving in, defeated.
He'd made a special effort of it recently, pausing that little bit longer at the tops of hills to catch his breath, quite unnecessarily. Physically, he was no less fit than he'd been when he was four, apart from the knee.
Yes, they'll all be there to meet me,
All creatures smiling sweetly
It had taken him a long time to work out what he really wanted. And in the end, it wasn't leadership, or power, or even to invent.
All Snowball wanted was a happy ending. A family to surround him, flowers and trees. Someone to care for, to love.
At nineteen minutes past three, he concentrates, pushing himself into the human form he's trained himself not to allow himself to use. Only one more time now; if it leaves him with brain damage so be it. He puts on a postman outfit, hating the feel of clothes.
At twenty three minutes past three, he slips forward and grasps the bar of the cell carefully in his teeth, his hands as before stiff and useless. Carefully he pushes it up until he hears the click, then slides it smoothly out. The sleeping dog doesn't stir. He allows himself a small glint of satisfaction. Napoleon had never been good at cell design back in the early days, and really, even Snowball had been sensible enough to design a cell that he knew how to get out of.
He picks up the bag he got from the bar a few moments ago, then steals past the dog on hands and knees. Up the stairs he goes silently, keeping an eye out for trouble, then carefully raises himself to standing.
He'd never been good at the walking part of being human, but he manages for now, getting out of the farmhouse and heading out into the open. Once there, he concentrates again and goes back to his pig shape. The change is more difficult than ever, and for a moment he staggers dizzily. The change was necessary - he'd never have managed to get the clothes on in his usual shape, and it meant he could pass the pig on guard at the door without suspicion. Highly educated creature it may have been, but it wasn't going to question the postman heading out at two in the morning. Snowball quietly feared for the next generation.
He keeps the clothes on and trots quietly, dragging the bag behind him, until he gets to the sow house. Then, it's just a matter of lifting a flap in the wood and sliding a bolt open. Another inward smirk at the stupidity of Napoleon's sons for letting him design fire escapes. Thinking he was too old, too stupid. Silently, he bypasses the guards and slips into his mate's room.
Silently, he wakes each of his piglets with a gentle touch, passing each group of three a fleece he got from the bar. He lets them arrange themselves, then straps the fleeces over their bodies so that each has one head peeping out and two piglets behind. Rather strange looking sheep, but it's dark out there. When he gets to the last two, he and Poinsettia take them in the scruffs of their necks. Libby, runt of the litter, stayed with her mum. And Gilbert stayed in Snowball's care, perhaps as a reminder to him why this had to go right.
The flock slips out of the building and wanders casually towards the perimeter. Through a field of real sheep, who are all half or entirely asleep and don't even notice their new twelve-legged companions. And before the first birds start to sing, seventeen piglets and a sow are heading out of the fence to freedom.
"Snowball?"
Every gut clenches in the escape party. Snowball puts Gilbert down and nods to his mate.
"You know where to go. Go, now."
He turns around and looks across the field of cows.
"Napoleon. I wondered if you were still alive. Looks like I was right."
The eyes of the two old pigs meet through the legs of a sleeping cow.
"You've aged well." Napoleon comments.
"You haven't." Snowball replies. "How did you know?"
A shrug from Napoleon. "You should have let your children in on your scheme. First thing we tell them at school is about the enemy Snowball, and how to avoid such things. Did you think for a moment Gilbert wouldn't tell me what he heard?
I am not an engineer Snowball. I do not design, I do not create, not well. I am a politician, a dictator, and you must have truly thought me a fool if you didn't think my sons and I would turn your children. But, it seems, I didn't turn them enough. Young Gilbert simply had to know who his father was, and nobody else could confirm it."
Snowball nods, eyes not leaving Napoleon's.
"Have you come to have me arrested?"
"No. I have come to end this. You and I will settle the score, boar to boar, once and for all. If you win, you leave, and I will never chase you again, assuming you let me live. If I win, I will send my people after your family, and you will watch me turn them from your cell. Gilbert first, of course."
Snowball steps forward so that the pigs are less than a metre away, with only the cow between them. Eyes locked with Napoleon's.
"You're mistaken." he says softly, and then calling on every ounce of strenth, kicks up his back legs and slams his back into the cow, which falls on top of Napoleon with an outranged and undignified moo, and lies there waving its legs in the air on top of the flattened leader.
"Sorry Polly, no honour in battle these days." he says quietly, then slips through the hole and runs after his family.
Yes, they'll all be there to meet me,
All creatures smiling sweetly
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
By the time the search party sets out at dawn, a rain shower has washed away both scent and footprints.
And far away, a flock of ducks and a family of nineteen wake up with the sun on their backs and joy in their hearts. And the early morning birdsong has a different, sweet sound mingled in. An old song, lost in youth, and brought back in memory and dreams.
"Bright will shine the fields of England,
Purer shall its waters be,
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes
On the day that sets us free."
Then I awake and look around me
Cold gray walls surround me
And I realize that I was only dreamin'
Snowball waits patiently, listening to the sound of the clock ticking on the wall. Not midnight, never midnight.
There's a guard and there's a sad old padre
Arm and arm we'll walk at daybreak
Again I'll touch the green, green grass of home
They were fools to ever imagine that he, the idealist, would settle for such a life. Imprisonment by night, and labour by day. True, he was in his element. The farm had never been more mechanically efficient. He had a mate, a family, even if he wasn't allowed constant access. As the sons of Napoleon had put it, he had all that he had ever wanted.
But he was not a fool. Because he knew that at any point, they could take it all away again.
They were fools to trust a prisoner with so many pieces of vital equipment. Fools to think that at nearly eight years old, arthritic in at least one knee and eyesight poorer than ever, that he was giving in, defeated.
He'd made a special effort of it recently, pausing that little bit longer at the tops of hills to catch his breath, quite unnecessarily. Physically, he was no less fit than he'd been when he was four, apart from the knee.
Yes, they'll all be there to meet me,
All creatures smiling sweetly
It had taken him a long time to work out what he really wanted. And in the end, it wasn't leadership, or power, or even to invent.
All Snowball wanted was a happy ending. A family to surround him, flowers and trees. Someone to care for, to love.
At nineteen minutes past three, he concentrates, pushing himself into the human form he's trained himself not to allow himself to use. Only one more time now; if it leaves him with brain damage so be it. He puts on a postman outfit, hating the feel of clothes.
At twenty three minutes past three, he slips forward and grasps the bar of the cell carefully in his teeth, his hands as before stiff and useless. Carefully he pushes it up until he hears the click, then slides it smoothly out. The sleeping dog doesn't stir. He allows himself a small glint of satisfaction. Napoleon had never been good at cell design back in the early days, and really, even Snowball had been sensible enough to design a cell that he knew how to get out of.
He picks up the bag he got from the bar a few moments ago, then steals past the dog on hands and knees. Up the stairs he goes silently, keeping an eye out for trouble, then carefully raises himself to standing.
He'd never been good at the walking part of being human, but he manages for now, getting out of the farmhouse and heading out into the open. Once there, he concentrates again and goes back to his pig shape. The change is more difficult than ever, and for a moment he staggers dizzily. The change was necessary - he'd never have managed to get the clothes on in his usual shape, and it meant he could pass the pig on guard at the door without suspicion. Highly educated creature it may have been, but it wasn't going to question the postman heading out at two in the morning. Snowball quietly feared for the next generation.
He keeps the clothes on and trots quietly, dragging the bag behind him, until he gets to the sow house. Then, it's just a matter of lifting a flap in the wood and sliding a bolt open. Another inward smirk at the stupidity of Napoleon's sons for letting him design fire escapes. Thinking he was too old, too stupid. Silently, he bypasses the guards and slips into his mate's room.
Silently, he wakes each of his piglets with a gentle touch, passing each group of three a fleece he got from the bar. He lets them arrange themselves, then straps the fleeces over their bodies so that each has one head peeping out and two piglets behind. Rather strange looking sheep, but it's dark out there. When he gets to the last two, he and Poinsettia take them in the scruffs of their necks. Libby, runt of the litter, stayed with her mum. And Gilbert stayed in Snowball's care, perhaps as a reminder to him why this had to go right.
The flock slips out of the building and wanders casually towards the perimeter. Through a field of real sheep, who are all half or entirely asleep and don't even notice their new twelve-legged companions. And before the first birds start to sing, seventeen piglets and a sow are heading out of the fence to freedom.
"Snowball?"
Every gut clenches in the escape party. Snowball puts Gilbert down and nods to his mate.
"You know where to go. Go, now."
He turns around and looks across the field of cows.
"Napoleon. I wondered if you were still alive. Looks like I was right."
The eyes of the two old pigs meet through the legs of a sleeping cow.
"You've aged well." Napoleon comments.
"You haven't." Snowball replies. "How did you know?"
A shrug from Napoleon. "You should have let your children in on your scheme. First thing we tell them at school is about the enemy Snowball, and how to avoid such things. Did you think for a moment Gilbert wouldn't tell me what he heard?
I am not an engineer Snowball. I do not design, I do not create, not well. I am a politician, a dictator, and you must have truly thought me a fool if you didn't think my sons and I would turn your children. But, it seems, I didn't turn them enough. Young Gilbert simply had to know who his father was, and nobody else could confirm it."
Snowball nods, eyes not leaving Napoleon's.
"Have you come to have me arrested?"
"No. I have come to end this. You and I will settle the score, boar to boar, once and for all. If you win, you leave, and I will never chase you again, assuming you let me live. If I win, I will send my people after your family, and you will watch me turn them from your cell. Gilbert first, of course."
Snowball steps forward so that the pigs are less than a metre away, with only the cow between them. Eyes locked with Napoleon's.
"You're mistaken." he says softly, and then calling on every ounce of strenth, kicks up his back legs and slams his back into the cow, which falls on top of Napoleon with an outranged and undignified moo, and lies there waving its legs in the air on top of the flattened leader.
"Sorry Polly, no honour in battle these days." he says quietly, then slips through the hole and runs after his family.
Yes, they'll all be there to meet me,
All creatures smiling sweetly
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
By the time the search party sets out at dawn, a rain shower has washed away both scent and footprints.
And far away, a flock of ducks and a family of nineteen wake up with the sun on their backs and joy in their hearts. And the early morning birdsong has a different, sweet sound mingled in. An old song, lost in youth, and brought back in memory and dreams.
"Bright will shine the fields of England,
Purer shall its waters be,
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes
On the day that sets us free."
