Ny heveli Davydh dhe vynnes gasa konfort ha didhan an kab-kert. Yth esa owth omlowenhe an gorrans ha’y le ughel a-ugh an dus gemmyn (a-ugh an zombis gemmyn?) - po dell heveli dhymm. Ytho, my a’n draylyas yn-mes. Ev a dhehwelis genev dhe’n gleudhgell – mes heb gras vyth. (Yth esa meur a hwythans ha hanasans. dhiworto) My a dheuth erbynn Powl a-dherag an gleudhgell. “Ni re gevis an kert. Yma ev ow tardha gans boes – boes lowr rag maga lu byghan. Parkyes ywa yn-mes an chyf entrans. Res yw dhis ha dhe Jarles dos genen. Y fydhowgh moy salow gans an re erell y’n Lyverva Baillieu – pan vydh boes dhedha yn skon.” Powl a brederis a-dro dhe’n mater. Yth esa kudynn. “Fatell allav perswadya Charles? Ev a grys an zombis dhe vos soudoryon pennow-rond neb a dheu dhiworth an seythegves kansblydhen. Ny yll ev konvedhes bos peryllus agan triga omma. – heb tus erell genen ni.” “Gas e dhymmo vy, ow sos.” My a resas y’n gleudhgell, a-rag Davydh ha Powl, ow kria dianall: “Agas Meuredh Ryal, y teuth messaj dhiworth Henrietta-Maria...” (henn yw leverel Jude). “An soudoryon varghek re omguntellas warbarth arta. Nyns yw pellder meur alemma. Hi a’gas pys dhe omjunya dhedha unnweyth arta ha kemmeres kommand.” Y talvien myghtern sevel orth penn y lu, a ny dalvien? “A, lowender! Ni a gar an vyrgh ma!” a dheuth worthyp Charles, meur y joy. Kaletter vyth namoy – torn dhe Bowl o lemmyn rag gul vri a’m skians vy. Powl ha Charles a guntellas uskis aga thaklow a res dhedha ha, erbynn marnas defens ispoyntel an zombis nebes govynnus re omguntellsa a-dro, ni a sewenas dehweles dhe’n kert hag entra ynno warbarth-oll. (Alhwedh agan sewena o toeth.) “Ha, lemmyn, dhe’n Baillieu!” a armis vy.
David didn’t seem to want to leave the comfort and fun of the truck cabin. He was enjoying the ride and his elevated position above the hoi-poloi – or so it seemed to me. So, I dragged him out. He came back with me to the crypt – but only with considerable bad grace. (Lots of huffing and groaning.) I met Paul outside the crypt. “We’ve got the truck. It’s bursting with food- enough to feed a small army. It’s parked outside the front entrance. You and Charles must come with us. You’ll be much safer with the others at the Baillieu, now that they will have food.” Paul turned it over in his mind. There was a problem. “How will I sell it to Charles? He thinks the zombies are roundhead soldiers from the mid-17th century. He doesn’t understand the danger we are in by staying here – more or less alone and isolated.” “Leave it to me, my Friend.” I ran into the crypt, ahead of David and Paul, exclaiming breathlessly: “Your Royal Majesty, I have just received word from Henrietta-Maria (i.e. Jude). The cavalier troops have regrouped not far from here. She begs that you join them and take command.” A king should sit at the head of his army, shouldn’t he? “Oh, goody. We do love that girl!” came Charles’ joyous response. No more problem – it was Paul’s turn to admire my own wit and guile. Quickly Paul and Charles gathered their essential belongings and, with only minimal resistance from the zombies who had gathered about in apparent curiosity, we succeeded in getting back to the truck and piling into its cab. (Speed was the key to our safe passage.) “And now, to the Baillieu!” I shouted.langbot langbot