“They're out there!” said Carter.
“And we ain't got any weapons,” said Tinker.
A set of heavy brass bells hit him in the chest.
“Shut up,” said Jason, “and put your bells on. Carter?”
“They're waiting for us!”
“I'll say this just once,” said Jason. “After tonight no one's ever to talk about the Stick and Bucket dance ever again. All right?”
The Lancre Morris Men faced one another, rain plastering their clothes to their bodies.
Carter, tears of terror mingling with make-up and the rain, squeezed the accordion. There was the long-drawn-out chord that by law must precede all folk music to give bystanders time to get away
Jason held up his hand and counted his fingers.
“One, two . . .” His forehead wrinkled. “One, two, three . . .”
“. . . four . . .” hissed Tinker.
“. . . four,” said Jason. “Dance, lads!”
Six heavy ash sticks clashed in mid-air.
“. . . one, two, forward, one, back, spin . . .”
Slowly, as the leaky strains of Mrs. Widgery's Lodger wound around the mist, the dancers leapt and squelched their way slowly through the night. . .
“. . . two, back, jump . . .”
The sticks clashed again.
“They're watching us!” panted Tailor, as he bounced past Jason, “I can see 'em!”
“. . . one . . . two . . . they won't do nothing 'til the music stops! . . . back, two, spin . . . they loves music! . . . forward, hop, turn . . . one and six, beetle crushers! . . . hop, back, spin . . .”
“They're coming out of the bracken!” shouted Carpenter, as the sticks met again.
“I see 'em . . . two, three, forward, turn . . . Carter . . . back, spin . . . you do a double . . . two, back . . . wandering angus down the middle . . .”
“I'm losing it, Jason!”
“Play! . . . two, three, spin . . .”
“They're all round us!”
“Dance!”
“They're watching us! They're closing in!”
“. . . spin, back . . . jump . . . we're nearly at the road . . .”
“Jason!”
“Remember when . . . three, turn . . . we won the cup against Ohulan Casuals? . . . spin . . .”
The sticks met, with a thump of wood against wood. Clods of earth were kicked into the night.