Search for the Sunlight
Chapter 31

“Still bleedin’ rainin’ is it?” said an ill spoken voice from somewhere inside the dark void. Basil and Herbert jumped back in fright.

“You don’t normally speak like that!” Herbert exclaimed.” I never speak like that.” Basil replied adamantly. He was about to launch into one of his rants on the decline in standards of speech and grammar in modern day Treewood society, but recognising that this was neither the time nor the place to voice his social and political opinions, he quickly dropped the subject.

“Well, who did?” Herbert asked, lowering his voice to a whisper. “There must be someone in here with us, and it’s definitely not me!” he added.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a loud THWACK sounded out and Herbert fell to the ground holding his left ear.

“Ouch! What did you do that for?” He hollered, staggering to his feet and lashing out in the pitch blackness of the cave. By sheer chance, his clenched fist found its mark first time and hit Basil square on the nose. Basil cried out in pain and, groping about blindly for his assailant, he caught Herbert by the scruff and pulled him to the ground.

Totally out of character, the pair writhed and wrestled like drunken ferrets at closing time on a Saturday night in the Wood Cutters and Tree Planters country club. In their mindless state, they rolled out of the cave punching and clawing at one another until eventually good sense prevailed and they both came to a muddy halt on the wet ground outside.

“Hang on a minute,” Basil wheezed. “Let’s get this straight. You hit me because you thought that I hit you, right? But I didn’t!”

“Then who did?” Herbert enquired, rubbing his swollen ear, “and more to the point, who spoke?”

Basil turned his head and looked back towards the cave entrance.

“Do you think it could be something to do with these?” he said sarcastically.

Herbert gasped. “Bats. Thousands of them!” he exclaimed.

“Thirty three million to be precise,” said the same voice that had spoken when they first entered the cave.

The bats were laughing so hard at their own mischief that they lost their grip and began to fall from the ceiling, where they hung precariously by their toes. Some landed with a light thud, like windfalls from a fruit tree in late summer, while others landed with a sharp ‘Ouch,’ having had the misfortune of catching themselves on the sharp edges of randomly strewn rocks and stones that lay scattered on the cave floor.

There were all sorts of bats. Cricket bats, Baseball bats, Table Tennis bats and any other type of sporting bat that you care to imagine. In addition to their bizarre appearance, their high pitched giggling was so infectious that even Basil began to chuckle.

“You have to hand it to them,” he said, wiping his bloody nose on his shirt sleeve. “They had us well and truly fooled, eh?”

Herbert picked himself up from the mud and rubbed his throbbing ear.

“They certainly did,” he replied, before apologising to Basil for his uncharacteristic and thuggish behaviour.

Almost replicating one of Sherlock’s illusions, a mature willow Cricket bat with a fine twine-bound handle, a long sausage-like nose and a pirate patch over one eye, appeared from the shadows and stood, hands on hips, silhouetted in the cave entrance.

“Dear, oh dear,” he jollied. “I hope you weren’t too put out by our, somewhat rowdy introduction, and do please excuse me for laughing, but that was quite the best fun we’ve had since Charles S. Treewood passed by here a hundred years ago.”

Basil’s nearly choked. “D - Did you just say Charles S. Treewood?” he spluttered.

“I did indeed,” the Cricket bat replied, winding down the laughter and wiping a small tear from the corner of his eye with his scarf. “Why? Did you know him then?”

“H - He’s my grandfather,” Basil stammered, “and he’s gone missing. Are you sure it was him? What did he look like? What did he say? Did you talk to him?”

The bat held a gloved hand in the air for calm. “Hold up!” he said. “One question at a time please, if you please!” He paused, allowing Basil time to compose himself.

“A sturdy Scots Pine with a long grey beard, a crooked walking stick and most memorably, a kilt. Would that be him?” the cricket bat enquired.

“Was he wearing anything under the kilt?” Herbert interrupted, smirking at the content of his question.

“No!” the bat exclaimed. “That much, I will never forget.”

“Sounds like my grandfather alright,” Basil announced proudly. “Did he happen to say where he was going?”

The bat thought for a moment. “Said he was on a quest to replace the sunlight, or something and that the trail was leading him in the direction of the Gogo River. To be honest, I wasn’t particularly interested so, just for the fun of it I boxed his ears as well.”

The cricket bat began to laugh again and as he did, he took a firm hold of Herbert’s head and examined his swollen ear. It was glowing like the red tail light on an express train in a tunnel, but on close inspection, the damage was minimal.

“Aw, what great fun,” the cricket bat rasped, roughing up Herbert’s twiggy hair with both hands before discarding his head playfully. “But, getting back to your grandfather for a moment,” the bat continued. “He was a good sport, and excellent company. So, in return for his entertainment, we offered to air lift him from this very spot, onto the plateau on the far side of the mountains.”

Basil looked puzzled. “What do you mean you air lifted him?” he asked, still reeling from the revelation that these bizarre creatures were actually acquainted with his grandfather.

“Simple really,” the bat replied, shrugging his shoulders. “We hooked him up to one of our specially designed bat harnesses and flew him over the top of the mountain. Must have saved him at least four days travelling time I reckon.”

The bat paused for a moment to consider the accuracy of his claim. “Yes,” he continued confidently, “and you two have been good sports as well, so, if there’s anything we can do to help you, then all you need do, is ask.” Basil’s twiggy ears pricked up immediately. Indeed there was something!

He reached forwards and whispered into the cricket bat’s ear. The bat listened attentively, then, nodding his head in acknowledgement of Basil’s confidential request, he turned towards the cave entrance and made a peculiar signal involving the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Suddenly things got busy.

With a loud fluttering and flapping of wings and, somehow managing to avoid collision with one another, tens of thousands of bats flew from the cave entrance and disappeared high into the mist outside. Herbert was beside himself with curiosity.

“What’s going on?” he called out loud, shouting in an effort to make himself heard above the noise and the chaos. “A miracle is what’s going on,” Basil replied…