by Helen Fox
“You’re very thoughtful and kind, Gloria,” Plato said. “All of you are and we are very grateful. I hope you’ll stay in Blossom Valley for a while. I’m sure you’ll want to know how George is doing.” He nodded his head in farewell and rose in the air.
Twelve
The butterflies apologised to Thelma and wept for George who had put his life in danger to save theirs. But for Thelma, no matter how hard she tried the chilling thought that she nearly lost them stayed at the back of her mind and kept creeping out to trouble her. The glory of the lost kingdom would be reborn, and the butterflies had to be there to carry on the legend. She knew this, for she was there when the evil force had fallen upon them. Winters had piled upon winters and springs upon springs since then. She’d been counting the cuckoo’s spring messages. Not long to go before the butterflies, and her, were rid of the horrific evil.
The bumblebees had brought cheer to the valley and everybody loved them and the bumblebees in turn loved them back. Together with the other creatures they spent hours on the hospital forecourt waiting for news about George. Many wanted to visit him, but each time, Tawny Owl would step out on the forecourt to say that George was stable but not fit enough to see visitors. Besides her, only Plato and Thelma knew that George had fallen into a coma and the chances of him pulling out of it were slim.
A whole few days passed and again Tawny Owl came out onto the broad hospital step. The forecourt swarmed with creatures and all eyes rested on her face.
“I appreciate your eagerness to learn about George’s recovery,” she said, “and so will he when he’s better. But right now you are not helping by camping out here. On the contrary, the noise might disturb him and the other patients as well. George’s recovery is slow but steady. He’s weak and needs rest. So I urge you to go home now and when George is fit enough, he’ll come out and say hello to you all.”
The creatures, sad and disheartened, trooped silently downhill, and Conti, his head drooping with weariness, his brow furrowing with thought, fell in line beside them. But before the path wound round some tall bushes, Conti dropped back, turned sharply to his left and took a shortcut back to the hospital. He wasn’t prepared to wait another day to hear Tawny Owl going over the same excuses. He needed to see George now. He had to tell him his dream before his brain deleted it.
A rabbit, bolting in long hops, suddenly shot his way.
“Shush! What are you doing on this path?” Conti whispered.
“I was going to ask you the same question. This is a rabbit run. So what are you doing on a rabbit run, Frog?” The rabbit gazed at him suspiciously.
“Mm...err! Oh, dear me, I must have got lost. Thanks for telling me, Rabbit,” Conti said with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.
He hid behind a tree, waited for a couple of minutes then hopped on. The moon hadn’t shown up yet and the sky was empty of stars. He searched round the hospital for a way in. All doors were locked. Only a small window higher up was ajar. He gathered rocks from a rockery nearby and made a solid heap of them. He hopped on it and took a huge leap but fell flat on the ground. But after numerous attempts he managed to get himself onto the window ledge and jumped inside.
The moon had now come out and was sitting on top of the elm tree. Strips and speckles of its pale yellow light came through the windows and lit the corridor.
The first door on his right was ajar and he peered in. He saw two rabbits. Each had one leg on a sling suspended from the ceiling and both were snoring away. There was a third rabbit in a corner bed. His right leg was in plaster and he was groaning in his sleep.
In the room next door was a squirrel, his head swathed in white bandage. He was awake, staring at the ceiling, muttering a verse from the Good Night Song.
Further down, a young hedgehog, both legs in plaster, was sobbing loudly. Conti hopped in.
“Hush, hush young fellow,” he whispered. “Are you in pain?”
“No, I’m not. I want my mummy,” the hedgehog cried.
“I’ll fetch your mummy if you stop crying.” Conti gently stroked his forehead. “Close your eyes and sleep... sleep.”
“I want a story first,” the young fellow whined.
“I’m not a good storyteller but what would you say if I sang you a lullaby instead?”
“Okay, then. It better be a good one,” said the hedgehog with a sigh and burrowed deep under his blanket.
Rocking his bed gently, Conti used his softest, sweetest voice and sang Rock-a- bye baby on the tree top, until he’d lulled him to sleep. Then he tiptoed out and pulled the door behind him.
There was one room left to open but the door was tightly shut. He fumbled at the handle, then pressed it down and walked in. Some speckles of yellow light fell on a small bed and a black head stuck out from under a white blanket. Conti’s heart thudded in his chest as he came closer. It was George, lying on his side, his head turned towards the wall. There was a stool at the other side of the bed and Conti leapt on it.
“If Tawny Owl finds me here I’ll be in big trouble, George,” he whispered, “but I don’t care cause I couldn’t wait another day. I’ve been bursting to tell you the dream I had the other night. You were in it, George. You sound as if you’re fast asleep cause your breathing is light but I can’t trust my brain will keep it much longer, so I’m going to tell you now.
I was in the Opera House with my tenor, you know the one. He was the main character and I was the support one and I can tell you, George, I was good, I was.” Conti puffed himself out and his face lit up with pride. “When the curtain fell, George, they cheered me, they did. But before I left the stage a voice, a single voice, rose from amongst the crowd. Bravo! Bravo! I looked, and there, on a blue velvet seat, third row up, I saw you, buddy, clapping and shouting, Bravo Conti!”
George stirred and let out a muffled groan.
“Did I wake you, George? Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“You’ve been talking to the back of my neck all this time. Come round so I can see you,” George said, moaning with pain.
Conti pulled the stool to the other side and jumped on it.
“What’s buddy? That’s a new word I’ve never heard.”
“It’s friend. Buddy means friend. My tenor used to call me that, and you’re my best friend, George, didn’t you know? Well, I’m telling you, you’re the best buddy in the whole wide world.”
“Thank you, buddy.” George tried to laugh. “Aah! Aah!” He flinched. “The stitches are pulling me something rotten.”
Suddenly, the young hedgehog started to cry. “Mummy...mummy...”
Tawny Owl rushed in. The other patients woke up, remembered their pain and started moaning and groaning loudly.
“What’s the matter, young patient? Tell Tawny Owl where it hurts and she’ll make it better.”
“I want my mummy,” the little fellow whimpered. “The frog promised to fetch her. Where is he?”
“Your mummy will be here in the morning and the frog is in his pond.”
“No he isn’t. He was here. He sang me a lullaby. I know what I’m talking about, and no, I wasn’t dreaming. He lied to me. Wait until I get out of here. I’ll...”
Tawny Owl gave him a few drops of syrup and sat at his bedside, tenderly stroking his brow until he was fast asleep.
As she came out on the corridor, she heard whispering voices coming from George’s room.
“The frog...” she muttered. “That little fellow was telling the truth.” She opened the door and stood in the doorway. “Why are you here, Conti? Didn’t I say...” Her voice was stern and her eyes scowling.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake him...err...I...Did I do something terrible, Tawny Owl?”
“Did you wake him up?” She gasped trying to hide her joy. Then she took a good look at George and her whole face lit up.
“Good to have you back, George,” she said gently. “Hope your stitches aren’t hurting you badly. I’ll see to them straight away. Only give me two ticks.”
She flew up onto the hospital roof and let out a short hoot and a second later Plato glided down beside her.
“I was already down. I’ve spent part of each night in the hospital grounds. So tell me the news,” he said, not daring to look at her face.
“Brilliant news, Plato, thanks to the frog who managed to pull him out of the coma!”
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am, Tawny Owl.” Plato breathed in and let the air slowly out. “I dreaded that George might not pull through. Did you give him...?”
“I will give him a drop of your master’s remedy straight away and you can visit him in a couple of days. But remember my warning about his mental state. Do not stress him with unnecessary questions.”
Conti was outside the hospital entrance waiting for Tawny Owl. “I expect you want me out of your way, don’t you, Tawny Owl?” he asked. “But there’s something baffling me and my brain can’t figure it out. You said, It’s good to have you back, George. Where had George gone then? Had he gone away?”
Tawny Owl’s eyes filled with amusement.
“He’d gone into a coma, which is a medical word for a very, very deep sleep and for a very, very long time. It can happen to wild creatures like us and to the humans. Nothing to trouble your brain with, Conti, I’m very glad you woke him.”
Thirteen
George was limping across the room, when Plato visited him two days later.
“George!” Plato called.
“Hello, Plato, I’m testing my strength. I don’t know what potion Tawny Owl has been giving me but it’s working wonders with me already. The pain has eased and I feel brighter. I reckon I’ll be good as new soon and, Plato, you saved my life. Tawny Owl told me. Thank you. How are the butterflies?”
“They’re fine and so are the bumblebees. They like it here and they’ve decided to stay on.” Then Plato turned serious. “The ladybirds’ trial will take place tomorrow. Thelma wants it over and done with before the spring celebration. You’re still very frail, George, but I ought to ask you: do you want to attend the trial?”
He stared at George, waiting for his answer, and in his eyes Plato saw that the terror was still with him and he wished he hadn’t asked. George’s body suddenly shook and as the horrific scenes on the gorge flashed across his mind, his eyes turned wild and husky screams came out of his mouth. “No! No!” Then he went still, staring at the blank wall.
A worried-looking Tawny Owl rushed in. Shaking her head, she gave Plato a long scowling glare that said. You ignored my warning.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, George. It was thoughtless of me. I’m sorry,” Plato said regretfully.
“You don’t have to apologise, Plato,” George said and came to stand in front of him. “I can’t bring myself to even look at that evil creature, let alone be in the Hall with her.”
There was a light tap on the door and Thelma peered inside.
“Thelma!” George exclaimed. “It’s good of you to come.” His wild eyes had softened and a calmer expression spread across his face.
“It’s good to see you’re on the mend, George,” she said. “Everyone is wishing you well and hopes to see you out and about soon.”
Plato fixed her with a glance and immediately Thelma grasped its meaning. “Tawny Owl will be starting her hospital round any minute now, so it’s time we went, George. We’ll see you again soon,” she said and followed Plato out of the room.
***
The trial would be held at the Music Hall. As it was too small to hold every single creature of Blossom Valley, the head of each family would pick twelve adult members of mixed gender. They were told what tier they would be sitting in and that disciplined behaviour should be observed at all times.
When the double doors of the Music Hall were thrown open, the creatures entered in orderly fashion and took their places. On the top tier sat the members of all the bird families. In the next tier down sat the squirrels, rabbits and hedgehogs, then the ants, Speedo the snail and next to him, Conti the frog. On the first tier sat Thelma and Orpheo, the butterfly prince, then Gloria the bumblebee and her girls. On the far right of the row, tight-lipped, and stormy-faced sat Rosa, the ladybird. The butterflies were kept at the ant village where a number of magpies where scattered on the ground, and in the trees and bushes to guard their safety.
On the small stage of the Music Hall stood a desk with a high chair behind it where the judge, Plato the owl, was seated.
Stony-faced, wings folded across his chest, Plato stared towards the entrance as the guards, two stout magpies, brought the ladybirds in. Everyone up in the seats craned their necks and tilted their heads left and right to get a good view of them as they stood to face the judge. Heather stood at the front, one guard on either side of her, and her young sisters stood behind. Plato rested his stern eyes on Heather and spoke.
“Ladybird Heather, you are here to be tried for the wicked deed you committed. You cunningly lured the innocent, gullible butterflies out onto Devil’s Gorge with the intention of killing them, but not before you put them through a terrifying ordeal. George the crow, with the bumblebees’ help, saved the butterflies from a cruel death. Sadly, George can’t be here to tell us what happened as he’s been very ill in hospital because of you. The bumblebees saw enough, but it is you and your sisters who know exactly what took place on the gorge, and we are ready to listen.”
“The bumblebees treated us horribly,” Heather shrieked, casting a hate-filled glare at Glo. “We did nothing wrong, we were playing a game and having fun.”
“Describe to us, Ladybird Heather, the game you were playing that was such great fun,” Plato demanded.
“Hold on,” Rosa blurted out. “My daughter told you, you play a game to have fun. A game is a game and we all know what fun is. What more do you want?”
“The question is not for you, to answer Rosa, so sit down please,” Plato said in a calm but commanding voice.
“No, I won’t,” Rosa snarled. “And you, learned judge that you are, have a duty to listen and take note to what the defence tells you. Firstly, my Heather is a kind being. She can be loud and rough at times, but she means no harm. Secondly, I never allowed my daughters to fly outside the valley. I don’t know where Devil’s Gorge is, so how would any of my daughters know? You, you know-all owl, should know that ladybirds, especially us five spot species, don’t fly to such heights as only birds can reach. It was the crow who led the butterflies out on the gorge. My daughters simply followed. Once there, he coaxed them into playing games while he hid in the bushes. What he had in mind was to come out and kill them. Why? Cause he’s evil. All crows are. Witches’ best mates,” she hissed through closed lips.
It did not straightaway dawn on the creatures that the crow Rosa was talking about was George and they looked at one another with a confused expression in their eyes.
Plato choked up with horror and it took him a while before he could get the words out of his mouth. “What did you say?”
“What? ... What?” the crows yelled their eyes widening in total disbelief. “Does she mean it was George?” Then an outburst of raging carks shook the entire Hall. “Get her out of here,” the crows kept carking.
“Chuck her out!” the blackbirds and sparrows protested in deafening whooping cries.
The din roared inside Plato’s head and sent it spinning. He rubbed his temples and took long calming breaths.
“Order, Order! Everyone!” he shouted.
After the din had died down, the creatures lapsed into dismal silence. The rabbits, sensitive to this kind of behaviour, were gripped by continuous snuffles and tears, but stopped as everyone gave them funny looks. Afterwards, they scratched their ears until they ble
d, then groaned with pain. The red squirrels snorted, darting their heads up and down left and right non- stop. The hedgehogs gawked at the squirrels then rolled up on their seats and did not move. The ants let out a series of tiny grunts and Speedo the snail stared at Conti next to him then gave a quivering shrill cry and scooted into his shell. Conti the frog, eyes bulging out of his head, sat chewing on his tongue jabbering. All of a sudden he jumped up like a jack-in-the- box and, still jabbering, took some huge leaps over the seats and landed in front of Plato. He rolled his cloudy eyes and spluttered. “You, of all creatures Plato, shouldn’t allow her to tell such sickening lies about George. Kick her out at once!”
“Kick her out, Kick her out!” All the creatures stood up and joined in.
“Please be quiet! You too, Conti,” Plato ordered.
“No, I won’t,” Conti croaked stubbornly, “cause George is my buddy and I know he wouldn’t hurt a dead fly. He’s the kindest creature in the whole wide world.” His head drooping and tears rolling down his cheeks, Conti hopped back to his seat.
There fell a spell of gloomy silence until Rosa’s screechy voice filled the hall. “Ask the crow. Go on, ask him. But you can’t, can you, Owl? cause he can’t speak. He’s in a coma which means he’s as good as dead.” She curled her lips into a sly grin. “I know, cause nothing escapes me. I heard the old owl nurse tell you. The crow is going to die and whatever he saw out there will go with him to his grave.”
“Heinous ladybird! “ Plato’s voice echoed across the hall. “Guard your tongue or leave at once.”
“I’m not done yet,” she grunted and carried on. “The bumblebees flew there cause they heard the crow yelling at the butterflies and heard my poor Heather screaming with fright. When they realised the crow was about to kill them, they stung him on the neck to numb him then pushed him over the edge and onto the brambles. Now you’ve got the whole picture of what happened on the gorge and I’m done.”
There wasn’t a single cough, whisper or shuffle in the hall. They all sat rigid on their seats, gobsmacked and horror stricken.
