Harrisburg started to laugh. “I knew you were bad at keeping chickens—”
He stopped as the rooster turned towards him. The bird jumped at Harrisburg, pecking him in his stomach. Harrisburg dropped to his knees, whining like a toddler suddenly deprived of their candy.
I decided that discretion was the better part of not being attacked by berserk poultry. I ducked down behind my windshield and hoped that the rooster did not have any grudges against my hat. It was my favorite cloche, after all.
After a few minutes, I hadn’t heard any further crowing and the groans of pain from the farmers had subsided. I carefully lifted my head. “Is he gone?” I asked softly.
“I think so.” Ogden pushed himself into a seated position. “I say, Harrisburg, are you all right?”
Harrisburg glanced down at his stomach. “I do believe so,” he said. “Looks like just a bruise. Need a hand up?” he asked as he stood.
“Thank you.” Ogden took Harrisburg’s arm and straightened up.
I gaped at them. “You’re not arguing?” I said slowly.
“That rooster played us both.” Harrisburg brushed himself off. “That means a truce.”
“We may not like each other,” Ogden added, “but we like that bloody rooster even less.”
“If he shows his face around here again, we’re having chicken for dinner.”
“Of course.” I said my goodbyes and drove off. I was pleased with the truce, but I knew it would be temporary. Even assuming Harrisburg and Ogden could agree on how to cook the rooster, they would still end up arguing over ownership of the wishbone.
The deal was closed the next day. I bought a small stake in Withers Farm, and I would receive a small share of the year-end profits. I was surprised how much paperwork wound up being involved, and how quickly said documents were prepared. In the end, though, I wound up with a new investment, a stack of papers, and a small stuffed moa doll that Withers was hoping to market to children.
I had returned to my manor house and retired to my parlour. With a fresh pot of tea on hand, I began to review the paperwork so that I could pass it on to Ernesto. It was a task as tedious as it was necessary. Even with the strong tea, I could feel myself nodding off, which is why I was almost grateful for the loud knocking on the front door.
Macalley was cleaning up in the garage so I headed to the door, rehearsing my usual speeches for dealing with unwanted solicitors, tourists, and would-be suitors. I was caught off-guard when a glance through the peephole showed that my visitors were a trio of elves, wearing the house green of my archrival, Lord Basil Oakton. I carefully opened the door. “Good afternoon?” I said cautiously.
One of the elves held up a decidedly non-elfish figure by the collar of his purple topcoat. “Is this yours?” he snarled.
“Hello, Alice!” the dangling chap said with a cheerful grin. He was covered in brown fur, which was at its longest on his head and the long narrow tail that poked out of his trousers. His pointed ears were twitching as he reached up and tipped his striped purple hat to me.
“This pooka—” the elf started to say.
“I have a name, you know.”
“Has been an unwanted nuisance—”
“Please, call me Reg.”
“And is no longer welcome on Lord Oakton’s estates.”
“Reginald J. Cheshire, for long.”
“Since you seem to know this…” The elf glared down at Reg. “Pooka.”
“And I am not property to be passed along like an unwanted birthday gift!” Reg folded his arms and glared at the elf.
I managed, somehow, not to sigh or snicker. “Please put Reg down.”
The elf dropped Reg, who made landing on his derriere appear almost graceful. “He’s all yours,” the elf said, not trying to hide his relief. He turned and sprinted off, followed by the other two. They jumped into a nearby motorcar with the engine already running and drove away at a rather dangerous speed.
Reg looked up at me. “Rather rude chaps, weren't they?”
I finally smiled. “Hello, Reg.”
The pooka stood up and made a great show of dusting himself off. “Such a ruckus! I was just trying to repay Lord Oakton’s hospitality by baking him some cinnamon rolls! Is it my doing that the oven exploded?”
“I suppose it depends on the recipe,” I said. I was in a bit of a daze, which is normal for anyone in the presence of a talkative pooka.
“Oh. You're most likely right.” Reg frowned. “Elfish ovens do have difficulty handling dwarfish pastries. But how are you, dear Alice?”
“Doing splendidly, thank you.” It might seem odd for me to address a pooka with such familiarity, and vice versa, but this was a special case. Reg had been a friend and a comfort to my Uncle Clarence in his last days, and had been of some help in my dealings with the devious Lady Amaracynthe. We were, in an odd way, chums.
A thought crossed my mind as we started towards the parlour. “I had no idea you were in the Emerald Dell,” I said. “You should have contacted me.”
“But I was having such a jolly time staying with Lord Oakton!” Reg said.
“He invited you?”
“Well, no, but it was still rather jolly. Although his tastes in jam are rather bland. Nothing but grape. I missed Vyannva’s concoctions!”
“And now?” I already half-knew the answer, but I still felt obligated to ask.
Reg wrung his hands. “I suppose I could use a place to stay for a little while—”
“Madame Alice?” I saw Macalley entering the atrium from the kitchen. “I assume you’ve taken care of the visitors?”
“Good afternoon, Macalley!” With a grin, Reg tipped his hat to my valet.
Macalley stared at Reg for a moment. “My assumption was rather mistaken,” he said to me.
“Oh, Macalley,” I said. “One should not be so sarcastic towards one’s guests.”
“Guests?” Macalley raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. I knew that meant he was rather perturbed by the news.
“And Reg will behave himself while he's here. Won't you, Reg?” I smiled pointedly at the pooka.
“Oh,” Reg said. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I shall be on my very best behavior while I'm here.”
“I should inquire as to what definition of ‘best’ is coming into play at this point,” Macalley said.
“Don't be such a spoilsport,” I said. “Reg? Did you have a bag?”
“I believe Oakton’s staffers left it on the porch,” the pooka said.
“Bring it in, would you? Macalley, please prepare the guest room on the left for Reg. But first, put the kettle on. And do see if we have any croissants and apricot jam left.”
Reg and I spent the rest of the day catching up with each other. He had somehow not heard the stories of my recent misadventures, and was the perfect audience for my retellings. I was at a slight disadvantage, for I preferred to recount those tales over a glass of wine, but I felt that avoiding anything stronger than tea was a solid precaution with a pooka in the house.
The next morning was quieter, though there was still a bit of pleasant chatter over breakfast. As I finished my tea, Reg stood and stretched. “I was thinking of setting out for a stroll,” he said. “A morning constitutional. Care to join me?”
“Not today,” I said. “I need to prepare for the next meeting of the library’s board of directors.”
“Of course.” Reg started for the door. “I shall return in a bit!”
I gave Reg a little wave and a smile as he left. I heard the front door slam a minute later as Macalley walked into the dining room. “Is it too late to change the locks, madame?” he said.
“Now, Macalley, he’s been a perfect gentleman so far,” I said. “Unlike some visitors we’ve had.”
“Of course.” Macalley handed me a newspaper. “Today’s Courier, madame.”
“Splendid!” I smiled. “And I get to read it without interruption!”
“I thought you had to prepare for the library boar
d meeting.”
“If one is to assist with library operations, one must keep up with what is going on in one’s hometown, and the lands beyond.” I unfolded the newspaper.
“I suspect you’ll say that a fresh pot of tea will assist with that.”
“Sharp as ever, Macalley.” He nodded and set off for the kitchen as I buried myself in the Emerald Dell Courier. My friend Augustus Thurston did an exemplary job of overseeing our local newspaper. I always enjoyed reading it, except perhaps for those times when a mishap or an event gone wrong landed me on the front page.
I read through the first pages and the news in and around Darbyfield, and moved on to the world news section. Augustus reprinted stories from other newspapers, and I appreciated being able to keep up with the latest from Thorn Harbour and beyond. I turned the page and started to read a story from Velessa.
A minute later, Macalley entered the parlour with the tea. “Madame?” he said as he set the pot down. “Is there something wrong?”
I forced myself to close my mouth and take a deep breath. “You might say that.”
“Some unfortunate news in the Courier?”
“You can definitely say that.” I turned the newspaper article towards Macalley. “The Velessan council is discussing putting motors powered by dwimm on their public streetcars, as they’ve done in Copper Cove with the omnibuses.”
“Ah.” Macalley studied the article. “And this causes concern because…”
“Withers Farm supplies Velessa with the moa that pull their streetcars. They’ve been expecting a large order from the Council.”
“Your investment would not fare well if this were to happen, then.”
“And poor Maia…” I sighed and held my head in my hands.
The telephone in the library rang. “Shall I assume that’s her calling now?” Macalley asked.
“If it is, tell her I went out for a morning constitutional,” I said. Macalley nodded and left the parlour.
It was several minutes before I had regained enough composure to prepare my tea. As I sipped, I tried to push my brain away from the thoughts of doom and gloom that had filled it. I had no concern about losing my investment, but if Withers Farm fell on hard times, Maia’s job might be in danger. I needed to find a way to help her, for that is what one does when one’s friends are facing difficulty.
Before my pondering could get too ponderous, Macalley stuck his head into the parlour. “Madame Alice?” he said.
“Is Maia calling again?” I asked.
“Not yet. There is a…” He paused. “Situation on the front lawn.”
Whenever Macalley paused in that way, it meant trouble. I jumped from my chair and rushed past him, towards the front door. I wasn’t sure what I’d be facing, but it took my mind off Maia’s plight.
I opened the front door cautiously, ready for almost anything. Naturally, what I saw was among the things I had not prepared for.
Reg had returned from his constitutional and was standing near my flowerbeds. “Alice!” he said happily. “Look what I found!” He held up a rooster; I could tell from the crazed look in the bird’s eyes it was the same one who had attacked Harrisburg and Ogden the day before.
“Reg—” I started to say.
“He’s my new pet!”
“Reg—”
“I will name him George! And I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him!” Reg wrapped the rooster in a tight embrace.
Before I could try to explain to Reg why that was such a bad idea, George took a deep breath and let loose with another lengthy, earsplitting crow. I winced and prayed that my fine china would not be damaged.
Reg stared dazedly at the rooster as the crowing ended. “My,” he mumbled, “what a healthy set of lungs.”
George drew his head back and smacked it into Reg’s nose. Reg dropped the rooster and stepped back, clutching his face. George scampered past him and into the nearby shrubbery. “Reg…” I said slowly.
“A slight setback.” Reg straightened up and smiled. “He’ll come around. I’m sure of it.”
“Perhaps. Just one thing.”
“Yes?”
“You are to keep George out of the flowerbeds,” I said sternly. “Those poor gladiolas have been traumatized enough lately as it is.”
Reg grinned. “I shall!” he said as he dove into the shrubbery. “George! Come here!”
I shook my head as I watched the pooka. “I wonder how George got here,” I said half to myself. “It’s quite a stroll for a rooster from where we first met.”
“If I may?” Macalley said as he joined me on the front porch. “I do believe he found his way into the motorcar while you were trying to avoid him the other day.”
“How could you tell?”
“I had to clean the back seat after you returned,” Macalley said. “I assumed you had been visited by a crow or a sparrow on your trip home.”
“Ah.” I watched as Reg emerged from the shrubbery, holding George aloft. “You may wish to cover your ears, Macalley.”
He did as George crowed. “I had wondered what that noise was,” he said as the racket faded.
“The china?”
“I’ve already checked, madame. It’s still intact.”
“Thank heavens.” I sighed. “I wonder if this sort of thing happens to other people. Then again, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”
“Anyone…” Macalley paused. “Madame Alice? If I may, I think I have a solution to your friend Maia’s woes.”
I smiled. “Have at it, Macalley.”
“You need to find someone else to invest in Withers Farm. The additional funds generated by this investment will help the farm survive the possible short-term loss of revenue.”
“Brilliant, Macalley!”
“Thank you, madame.”
“But who could we persuade to invest? Once the news of their misfortune spreads, people will avoid them.” I shook my head.
“There is one individual who might not pay any heed to that,” Macalley said.
“Who would that be?”
“Eldric Bludergard, madame.”
I felt a chill coming over me as I heard those words. Bludergard was truly a cuckoo beyond compare. I still had never been able to completely remove the mustard stains in the blouse I had been wearing the day we met. “Macalley…” I said uncertainly.
“You would not have to speak to Bludergard, of course,” Macalley said. “You merely suggest to your friend Maia that he might be interested, and that she contact him to discuss the opportunity.”
“Ah. Splendid! I shall call her at once. Would you keep an eye on things out here?”
“Of course, madame.” Macalley glanced out at the front lawn. “Master Reg! Do mind the flowerbeds!”
“Alice!” Maia said. “That is such a wonderful idea!”
“Thank you!” I sat back in my chair in the library. “All the credit must go to Macalley, though.”
“He does have a terrific mind, yes. I shall contact Master Bludergard and invite him to tea tomorrow!”
“Splendid!”
“And you, of course.”
“Pardon?” I blinked.
“I’m sure that once Master Bludergard hears how satisfied you are with your investment in the farm, he’ll be all the more eager to join in! You will be there, won’t you?”
There were many places I’d rather have been, including battling Captain Sitronu’s pirates on a leaky airship, but I had made the commitment to help Maia. “I shall,” I said, hiding my great reluctance. “Call me when you know the time.”
“I shall! Thank you so much, Alice!”
“My pleasure.” We said our goodbyes, and I hung up the telephone with a scowl.
“Madame?” Macalley walked in. “Master Reg is now resting in the parlour.”
“Has he recovered from his pursuit of George?”
“Only minor first aid was required, Madame.”
“A bit of good news. Macalley, I now have to meet with Maia and B
ludergard at Wilkins Farm tomorrow.”
Macalley raised an eyebrow. “That is most unfortunate.”
“I am regretting my choices in this matter,” I said with a sigh.
“Perhaps things will go better than you expect.”
“Macalley...have I ever been in the same general vicinity of Eldric Bludergard without something going rather wrong along the way?”
“I stand corrected. Will you be taking the motorcar?”
“If I do, I’ll be leaving you here alone with Reg. And George…” I rolled my eyes. “We’d best take Reg with us. My poor gladiolas are in enough danger as it is.”
By the time Macalley, Reg and I arrived at Withers Farm the next day, Bludergard was already there. He was staring with wide, happy eyes at the moa as they strolled and strutted about the grounds. “What ho, Peavley!” he exclaimed, smiling as he saw me.
“What ho, indeed,” I replied.
“These birds are such marvelous creatures!” Bludergard spread his arms. “I've never seen the like!”
“Very few have,” Maia said as she joined us. “Hello, Alice!”
“Hello, Maia.” I smiled, which came as a small surprise to me. “I brought some guests. I hope you don't mind.”
“Not at all! Who's your…” Maia cast an uncertain glance at Reg, who was engaged in a staring contest with one of the moa. “Friend?”
Reg blinked when he heard Maia speak. “You win!” he said to the moa as he walked back to us. “Reginald J. Cheshire,” he added as he scooped up Maia’s hand prior to kissing it. “Delighted to meet you!”
Maia smiled politely. “Reginald. We had a moa named Reginald once.”
“Really!”
“He's working in a farm near Thorn Harbour now. I named him, you know.”
“Do you name all the moa?” I asked Maia.
“I do.”
“Well! I had no idea you had such a creative streak…” I stopped as a thought crossed my mind. “Did you?”
Maia blushed. “I did. Alice the moa is pulling fruit carts in a town near Velessa.”
The Rebellious Rooster (Or, Macalley Gets Cocky) Page 2
