The Morris Dancers' Union

Morris dancing wasn't supposed to be like this. Cecil Sharp had finished in the early twentieth century what Robert Peel had tried in the nineteenth. Ever since, the reputation of the Sharpies had grown to become what it was today. Sides across the country revelled in the heritage that had built up but they all favoured different styles. The border teams preferred the stick and were known for their strength whereas the Cotswold teams preferred the handkerchief and were famed for their ability to jump. Some other sides had branched out into more niche areas such as rapper and molly. No-one really understood the people with the coconuts but they didn't like to say. All however defended the peace and protected the people in their own special way. Over the years, they had brought crime under control such that the common man now respected his neighbours. People no longer stole from each other as they respected the fact that everyone should be able to live without fear of loss...

"It was one of us," said Flo. The room quietened down. Some of the dancers had gathered back in Cecil's kitchen, helping themselves to tea as was customary. They had awaited his return before discussing their findings, the Aga keeping the spring chill at bay whilst they sat chatting. Once Cecil entered, a few people started up at the same time, but Flo's announcement cut through the voices. "Explain," said Cecil. "If you have evidence against a morris dancer then you need to be sure of it, once blame has been laid there's no going back." Flo took a deep breathe. "I reviewed the injuries as requested," she started, her voice sounding hesitant. "They were caused by a wooden stick." "Are you sure?" asked Cecil. "Positive. The marks are consistent with having been bludgeoned with hard wood. The mottling suggests that the stick was not perfectly smooth, as in a baseball ball, but slightly imperfect,...

Brian felt ashamed about the way that he'd lost to the Lord of the Dance. He prided himself on being the strongest dancer, the most accomplished with a stick, yet he'd been bested by someone half his size. Dance practice had become to Brian exactly that, dance practice. It was meant to be a way to showcase their skills with a stick, their agility and ability. Instead, the focus had been lost and they were more interested in entertaining than educating. People needed to know how formidable they were. That reputation had been destroyed by the Lord of the Dance but it had been slowly eroded over the years by their own hand. Their signature 'bricklayers' dance using trowels and short sticks used to be breathtaking and awe-inspiring. Now it was almost farcical slap-stick. Brian reviewed the training program and with a smile, tore it in two. It would need to be redesigned, they had become lost and it was up to him to find them again, back to basics. He set to work. * ...

Flo was good at science stuff. She knew all about thermodynamics and isotopes and Bunsen burners. Whenever there was a need to look at something critically, Flo was called upon. She wasn't the eldest dancer on the side but she'd certainly done her time and then some. There was little that she hadn't seen over the years. The medical reports, which Flo had already read, included detailed accounts of the wounds inflicted on the three victims, but there was no substitute for actually examining the corpses first hand. It wasn't something which Flo had had to do for a long time, seeing as there hadn't been a murder for a long time, but do it she must. She wasn't very squeamish but the sight of the first body was enough to make her feel ill. The report matched precisely the wounds which she saw, she agreed that the weapon used was definitely a large blunt implement. The softer edge to the bruising suggested something wooden rather than metal. The bruising to the ba...