The Delegates' Choice aka The Book Stops Here

'Gypsy wagons and that,' said Ted.

'I don't think it'll be Gypsy wagons as such,' said Israel.

'The big old wooden wheels and the wee stove, and the jangling horse brass.'

'What d'you know about travellers exactly, Ted?'

'Gypsies?'

'I don't think they're the same as Gypsies, no. These are more like…travellers, according to the second-hand-car bloke.'

'Well, he was a…Gypsies, I'm looking for.'

'I don't know if you're actually allowed to say Gypsies these days, Ted.'

'Why not?'

'Because, it's not…you know. They're all called travellers now, I think.'

'I call them Gypsies.'

'Well, a Gypsy is…'

'I know what a Gypsy is,' said Ted. 'Sean's a Gypsy.'

'Who?'

'In Tumdrum. Drinks in the First and Last.'

'Oh, him, right, yes. You wouldn't call him a Gypsy, though, would you?'

'No. I'd call him a tinker.'

'I don't think we call them tinkers these days either, Ted.'

'Lot of nonsense,' said Ted.

Willingale came and went, and they searched the horizon, looking out for signs of an encampment.

Then, 'Smoke!' called Ted suddenly, as they passed a little wooded area. 'Pull over! Pull over!'

Israel pulled the car drastically over to the verge.

'Where?' said Israel.

'Two o'clock!' said Ted, jumping out of the car.

'Hold on! Where?' said Israel, following him.

'There!' Ted pointed out a thin wisp of smoke.

'I can't see anything.'

'There! Up yonder, past them big oak trees.'

'Is that smoke?'

'Of course it's smoke.'

'Do you think that's them?' said Israel, who was starting to feel a little nervous.

'Gypsies love a fire.'

'They're not Gypsies, Ted.'

'I reckon that's them all right.'

'Really? D'you think?'

'Only one way to find out,' said Ted, who was already bounding up the lane towards the smoke. 'Bloody thieving Gypsies!'

The encampment was shaded by oak trees. There were about a dozen vehicles-buses, coaches, caravans-parked in a sort of horseshoe arrangement around a large fire. Everywhere on the ground there were tarpaulins, and paint pots, and scraps of wood, and engine parts, and despite the mess it all felt curiously prosperous and festive. There was washing strung up between trees and children running around.

'And lots of dogs,' Israel whispered, mostly to himself.

'Can I help you?'

'Aaaghh!' Israel gave a little yelp and twisted round in shock. There was a man standing directly behind him. He had a long plaited beard, multiple face-piercings and was dressed in a black vest, black combat trousers and wore no shoes.

'Ah! God, you gave me a fright.'

'Are you okay?' said the man.

'Yes, thanks, I'm…fine. Thank you. Just a bit of a…'

'You're lost?' The man had a warm, welcoming voice, curiously at odds with his fierce bepierced appearance.

'Yes, no, thanks. Erm. We're just looking for…are you the travellers?'

'Who are you?'

'Well, sorry, yes, very impolite of me. I'm Israel,' said Israel, putting out his hand to shake.

The man touched his forehead and bowed towards Israel.

'Peace, Israel.'

'Yes. Right. Peace, absolutely. And you're…?'

'You can call me Rabbit.'

'Rabbit?' said Israel. 'Okay. Right, Rabbit; what, as in the John Updike novels?'

'No,' said Rabbit.

'Right. Yes. I read, erm, Watership Down, actually, long time ago now, but…'

Israel always talked nonsense when he was nervous.

And not only when he was nervous.

Other men and women had now appeared from the encampment and come to stand alongside Rabbit.

'This is Israel,' said Rabbit. 'And Israel, this is Bingo, and Bev, and Boris, and Scarlet.'

'Hi,' said Israel.

'Peace,' they said. 'Peace.' 'Peace.' 'Peace.'

'Right. Yes. Same to you.'

'Hello?' Another woman came walking towards them; she was taller than the others, distinguished-looking, with a Pre-Raphaelite, flute-playing sort of look about her. She had long, jet-black hair swept back from her face, with a flash of grey at her temples. She wore tiny gold earrings, and no makeup, and a long bright red skirt and an emerald green shift; she looked as though she might recently have been modelling for John Everett Millais or a Scandinavian shampoo advertisement.

'This is Bree,' said Rabbit.

'Named after the cheese?' said Israel nervously.

'No,' said Bree. 'Named after the fire goddess, Bridgit.'

'Oh. Yes. Of course.'

'Also known as Brizo of Delos, the Manx Breeshey and Britomartis.'

'Gosh. Yes. That's…'

'And that's Spirit,' said Rabbit, referring to the large white dog that accompanied Bree and which was now licking Israel's left hand.

'Ah! Right. Hello, Spirit.' Israel lifted his hand away. Spirit leaped up towards him. Israel put his hand back down. 'Good dog! Good dog! Good dog!'

'Are you here to see us?' asked Bree.

'Actually, to be honest, I'm not-ahem-entirely sure,' said Israel. 'You see, we're two librarians. And our…'

He looked round and realised that Ted had wandered off.

'Ted!'

He looked towards the encampment. There, by the little old camper vans, and the big old converted public service disability vehicles, Ted was standing in front of a brightly painted van.

'Ted?'

Ted did not reply.

'Sorry,' said Israel, addressing his new friends. 'That's my friend Ted.' He walked over towards him, followed by the travellers. 'Ted, are you all right?'

'The van,' said Ted, mesmerised, nodding at the vehicle before him.

'What?'

'The van.'

'What about the van?'

'It's our van.'

Israel glanced at the vehicle. 'It's not our van, Ted. Come on, these people, we need to-'

'It's the van.'

'Ted, it's not the van. It's doesn't look anything like the van.'

'I know my van, and that is my van.' He pointed at it.

Israel went up and peered inside the windscreen.

The shelves inside were still intact. The skylight. The little issues desk.

It was the mobile library.

Fitted out inside with a sofa, and some rugs, and knickknacks on the shelves.

'Oh, my, God!' said Israel. He walked slowly around the whole van, following Ted. 'Oh, my, God.'

Over the cab, where it used it read 'The Mobile Library' there was now a brightly painted eye, which made the vehicle look like it had just woken up. Above the eye were painted the words 'The Odyssey'. Down the side of the van were painted the words 'The Warehouse of Divine Jewels'. Along the side, the lovely red and cream livery had been replaced with images of children playing. On the back, where it used to say 'The Book Stops Here' were painted the words 'Follow Us Towards Enlightenment', with a rainbow painted above it.

They wandered around again, astonished, to the front.

'My van,' said Ted. 'Look what they've done to my van!'

'Well, it's…It's certainly quite colourful, isn't it? I quite like it actually,' said Israel. 'It's rather well done. Is that a Cyclops eye on the front there?'

'It's the Eye of Horus.'

'Is it?'

'Yes. Horus was the Egyptian sky god.'

'Uh-huh.'

Israel turned to face the speaker, who had joined the crowd that had gathered around them. The man wore a bright red sarong and was bare-footed, and bare-chested, and tattooed up across his muscular arms, and he had his hair in dreadlocks, like fat hanks of wool, and silver bangles around his wrists.

'And you are?' said Israel, clearing his throat, just about managing not to say, 'Have you ever seen that Mel Gibson film, Apocalypto?'

'I'm Stones,' said the man.

'Sorry?' said Israel.

'Stones.'

'Right. Named after the Rolling Stones, eh?' ventured Israel.

'Named at Stonehenge. And you are?'

'Israel.'

'Named after the fascist state oppressing the Palestinian people?' said Stones.

'Erm…' said Israel.

'And you're the feckin' arse responsible for this…abomberation?' said Ted, coming over and squaring up to Stones.