Back To The Divide (28 page)

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"What?"
squawked Granitelegs. Ironclaw looked uncomfortable.

"Are you mad?" said Granitelegs. "It's only forty years since she laid the last one. You are the father, I take it?"

Ironclaw studied his toes. "Yes."

Betony grinned. "When's it due to hatch?"

Ironclaw looked irritated. "How should I know? It's hens who remember all that stuff."

Snakeweed was standing there, his hands on his hips, looking annoyed. "Where's my fire-breather?" he demanded, as though he still had a right to everyone's unquestioning obedience. "And where's Harshak?"

"Gone off to terrorize things," said Granitelegs.

Ironclaw stiffened. "Which way did he go?"

"Who?"

"Harshak."

"That way," said Granitelegs, pointing a wing.

Ironclaw gave a piercing shriek of dismay and yelled, "Stash my gold for me, Granitelegs!" Then he lifted into the air and flew off at top speed.

"How peculiar," said Granitelegs.

"But terribly convenient," said Pepperwort, emerging from behind a rock with his wand in his left hand. His right arm was in a sling, and his clothes were torn. He cast Granitelegs a venomous look. Being tipped off Ironclaw's back into the tree canopy had provoked a hatred of
all
brazzles.

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"At last," said Snakeweed. "An employee who acts with a bit of initiative. All we need now is a fire-breather. Then we transfer the gold to it and go back to Andria. I've had enough of Tromm Fell to last me a lifetime. It's uncivilized."

Pepperwort waited for Snakeweed to inquire about his arm. After a moment or two it was clear that this wasn't going to happen, so Pepperwort said, "Your fire-breather's in the brittlehorn valley. Your original one, not the replacement. I saw it after I escaped from Ironclaw, fell into the tree canopy, and sprained my wrist."

"Wicked," said Snakeweed.

Pepperwort looked understandably confused by this remark, and despite the gravity of the situation, Felix felt himself smile.

"Well then," said Snakeweed, "it just remains for me to immobilize the brats and the brazzle, and we can be on our way. Your wand, Pepperwort." He held out his hand, and Pepperwort passed his wand to Snakeweed.

Felix looked at Betony. Betony had gone very pale.

"Hang on," said Granitelegs.

Snakeweed laughed and aimed the wand in Granitelegs's direction. A shaft of purple light hit the brazzle on the head, and a cloud of feathers fell like autumn leaves after a sharp frost.

Pepperwort applauded.

Granitelegs was too shocked to even squawk.

Felix didn't know whether to laugh or cry -- the brazzle

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looked like something out of a cartoon. His head was completely bald: pink and pimply. His neck was bald, too -- thin and scrawny and wrinkled, just like a Christmas turkey.

Pepperwort sniggered -- but Snakeweed was in hysterics until the tears ran down his cheeks. He raised his wand a second time.

"Stop it!" shouted Betony.

Snakeweed shook his head, too convulsed with laughter to speak. Another beam of light shot out of the wand, and this time Granitelegs lost all the feathers on his wings. He sat there, panting, his beak slightly open, his eyes dark with despair.

"Stop it!" yelled Betony again, and she launched herself at Snakeweed, ridiculously and pointlessly brave -- fists flying, face contorted with fury.

Snakeweed murmured something and flicked the wand like a flyswatter. Felix watched Betony freeze -- and as Snakeweed turned to face him, he knew that he was next.

When the spell hit him, he could actually feel it taking effect -- the coldness seeping through his veins, settling around his bones, and cooling his flesh from the inside. His eyes fixed in one position, so that he could only see straight ahead, and everything grew misty and vague. He couldn't swallow anymore. The feeling of powerlessness was very scary, and the moment he stopped breathing was the worst of all....

And then, darkness.

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***

15

***

"You're sure you're all right?" Ironclaw asked Thornbeak, for the fifth time. He was half in and half out of the doorway to the nest; it wasn't big enough for both of them.

"Perfectly all right," said Thornbeak. "Harshak's long gone. Have you just abandoned those two youngsters up on the peak with Snakeweed?"

"Granitelegs is in charge," said Ironclaw. "He'll hide my gold, and then he'll take Betony and Felix to get their carpet. Neither Snakeweed nor Stonecrop have wands anymore; they won't be a problem."

"What's going to happen to Snakeweed? We don't want him going back to Andria and picking up where he left off, gold or no gold."

"Grimspite wants to deal with him," said Ironclaw. "He's got a few old scores to settle."

"Good," said Thornbeak. "And have you tried the king and queen again?"

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"Yes. Still no response."

"Obviously time for their afternoon nap," said Thornbeak sourly. "Now then. All this sitting's making me a bit peckish."

"Right," said Ironclaw. "One prime haunch coming up," and he backed out of the nest and flew off to hunt.

Before he'd gone very far, however, he'd started to compile a mathematical puzzle in his head for Leona. It was a tricky little thing involving prime numbers, and he wanted to scribble a few of them down. He needed his dirt-board -- it wouldn't take long, and he could hunt on the way back. He changed direction, but when he arrived at the shallow depression in the sand there was a stranger there. For a moment he didn't even realize it was a brazzle -- the pimply pink skin looked all wrong, and the creature was just sitting there, shivering. He hopped over, about to give whoever it was a piece of his mind about trespassing on other people's dirt-boards, when he realized it was Granitelegs. He just stared, open-beaked.

"Snakeweed," whispered Granitelegs. His voice was very weak. "Up on the peak. I was trying to get ..."

"Don't talk if it's too tiring," said Ironclaw. "I'll go and fetch someone."

"But you need to know ..."

Ironclaw waited as Granitelegs tried to summon up sufficient energy to finish his sentence. He didn't manage it. He took a deep breath -- then he simply keeled over on to his side. Ironclaw just sat there for a moment, paralyzed -- then

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he realized that Granitelegs was still breathing, so he covered him up with some leaves. After that he headed off for the brittlehorn valley. Perhaps the brittlehorns knew of a potion that would help. It wasn't as if Granitelegs had been
completely
plucked, either -- it was just possible he'd survive. Puzzles by mail with Leona were all very well, but they were no substitute for beak-to-beak brain-buster battles with Granitelegs. Should have pecked out Snakeweed's eyes while I had the chance, thought Ironclaw. Mind you, Grimspite would like to disembowel him. And Pewtermane will want to skewer him through the heart when he finds out he was behind his daughter's death. Not standard brittlehorn behavior at all, in my humble opinion, but I suppose he has his reasons. There are people with a much greater claim on Snakeweed's life than
me.

When Ironclaw arrived at the brittlehorn valley, Milklegs was very helpful and went off to mix a potion right away. Turpsik was just putting the finishing touches on Nimby -- the job hadn't taken as long as she'd expected, and she was feeling very pleased with herself. She was singing a song that celebrated mending nets encrusted with all sorts of disgusting things. Nimby was joining in every so often, although he kept getting the words wrong and annoying Turpsik to no end. Ironclaw suspected he might be doing it deliberately.

"Ought to take him for a test flight before long," Turpsik said. "He's getting far too full of himself."

"I expect Thornbeak would like a visitor," said Ironclaw. "She's sitting."

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"I know," said Turpsik.

Ironclaw's eyes widened. "Have you been looking in the prediction pool or something?"

"It doesn't always take a mathematician to put two and two together, Ironclaw. Collecting branches and eating oatcakes, it was pretty obvious. Brazzles don't have to sit for long though, do they? The chick hatches very quickly." She tied a knot in Nimby's fringe. "Right. That'll do, I think. I'll tell her you'll be back shortly, shall I?"

"Er ... yes," said Ironclaw, suddenly remembering he was supposed to be taking her a haunch.

Nimby dipped rather violently when Turpsik placed her considerable weight on him, but he recovered quite quickly and the two of them departed for Thornbeak's nest.

When Turpsik arrived at the dome-shaped construction, she ducked her head and stepped inside. Thornbeak was sitting at the edge of the shallow depression in the middle and watching the egg intently. It wobbled slightly, and a brief staccato of tapping issued from within.

"It's hatching," she said softly.

Turpsik had the feeling that a baby brazzle wouldn't be the most endearing of infants. It would be practically bald, squawk a lot, and peck at anything within range.

There was another burst of tapping, and the shell cracked a little. The tip of a golden beak poked through the hole.

"It's a female," whispered Thornbeak.

"What are you going to call her?"

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The shell split a bit further, and the beak went back inside the shell and started pecking again. Another crack opened up, and Turpsik could see pimply pink skin.

"I'd thought about Thornclaw," said Thornbeak. "But Ironclaw wanted Ironbeak. We had the same argument last time, which was why we ended up with Stonetalon."

The shell cracked all the way across, and Turpsik saw the head for the first time. It was covered with dark gray streaks, which were presumably sodden feathers. The baby blinked a few times and rubbed her beak against the edge of the shell.

"Got to have some sort of name," said Turpsik.

"Hello," said Thornbeak to the baby, the tone of her voice completely different from the usual clipped delivery that was her trademark. The baby kicked the eggshell clear and tried to stand on four very wobbly legs. The front half of her body was lightly dusted with a gray-brown fuzz of down and the back half had a thin covering of tawny hair.

Thornbeak gently lifted up the pieces of shell with her beak and threw them outside with a toss of her head.

"Cheep,"
said the baby.

"Isn't she cute?" cooed -Thornbeak.

[Image: The baby.]

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"Name?" persisted Turpsik.

"I'll just call her Fuzzy until I can discuss it with Ironclaw," said Thornbeak. "He should have been here for the hatching. That's the second time running he's missed it."

"He said he wouldn't be long," said Turpsik.

"Hello, little Fuzzy," crooned Thornbeak. "Who's gorgeous, then?"

Fuzzy,
mused Turpsik. If it sticks she won't be too pleased about it when she grows up. Brazzles always take powerful names.

"Cheep cheep,"
said the baby.

"She's really pretty, isn't she?" said Thornbeak.

The chick opened her beak wide and squawked, revealing a glistening red interior and a purple tongue. The squawks were very loud and insistent.

"What does she want?" asked Thornbeak, looking slightly panicked.

"Food, of course," said Turpsik.

"Oh," said Thornbeak. "Right. I'd better go and hunt something. This ought to be Ironclaw's job, you know." She scrambled out of the nest and flew away. The chick shut her beak for a moment as she watched her mother go.

"Hello, Fuzzy," said Turpsik as soon as Thornbeak was out of sight. "Who's a pretty girl, then?"

Fuzzy looked at her first with one eye then the other. Then she started squawking again. It was a highly unpleasant sound, raucous and demanding, and she showed no signs of stopping.

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Sonnets and similes,
thought Turpsik. I'm no good at this sort of thing. She started to stroke the chick's scrawny head and sing it a soothing song. By the time Thornbeak returned, the chick had learned her first word.

Fish.

"Fish?"
hooted Thornbeak. "Where am I going to find fish around here?" She dropped the nut-nibbler she'd caught at the chick's feet. Fuzzy eyed it suspiciously, but eventually she ate it.

"Ought to make a move," said Turpsik. "Felix will be wanting his carpet. Worried about that marble curse spreading. There's a poem in that."

" 'Bye," said Thornbeak vaguely.

Fuzzy burped.

Emily Parsons scraped a plum skin off the sole of her boot, looked at the high stone wall over which the plum tree hung, and said, "Are you saying we've got to climb that?" Rutherford nodded.

"Why can't we just ring the doorbell and say we're investigating a claim that this garden ought to be made a triple SI?"

"A what?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Rutherford, a Site of Special Scientific Interest."

"Because there won't be anyone in, Emily. I tried. Then I looked them up on the electoral roll and got their phone