“How do you know all this?” said Lockley.
“My ancestors,” said the mole. “Moles are fellow tunnel dwellers, of course. We were often used for spying during the wars. My father always thought it instructive for us lowly earth eaters to study how the mighty can fall.”
“So the badger kingdom split up and the different clans had to move elsewhere,” said Lockley. “But what about that poor thing back there?”
“Never seen anything like it,” said the mole. “I don’t use these old tunnels very often. But I guess there were survivors and diehards who remained. In a way, he is a kind of ghost, really. Don’t you think?”
They continued to meander through the tunnels, the history lesson distracting Lockley from his claustrophobia. “What was that about owls being weasels?” he asked.
“Oh, that,” said the mole. “Owls…birds in general, really…a bit of a superior attitude, you know—no offense to you, good sir! But the Parliament of Owls is forever trying to extend its dominion. They are the rulers of all birds on Tytonia, but the larger beasts of the ground have never recognized their authority.”
“How nice for them,” said Lockley, somewhat bitterly.
“Yes, anyway,” the mole continued, “every now and again they try to form alliances, to curry favor with the toothy beasts. So it was during the Weasel Wars, when the Great Gray Owl tried to help the weasels against Theodorus.”
“Why?” said Lockley. “What was in it for the owls?”
“You didn’t hear it from me,” said the mole, nervously tapping his forepaws together, “but weasels and their kin are devious. Clever, in a dangerous sort of way. And they can go anywhere—underground, underwater, into trees. I suppose the owls thought they would be useful allies.”
“Devious and everywhere—owls are weasels with wings!” said Ruby. “What’s that?” She zoomed ahead into the darkness, then called back, “I think I hear water!” Lockley and the mole heard it too, finally, as they came to a place where the tunnel split off in two directions, just as the aged badger had said.
“It sounds like the river is this way,” said Lockley, stepping toward the leftmost tunnel.
“No, no,” said the mole, going right. “This way. Trust me, I know these passageways better than some deranged relic of badger-glory past.”
“But—”
“Come on, then,” said the mole, disappearing into the tunnel.
Lockley wondered if the mole was really any less crazy than the badger. Living underground, surrounded by walls, had to do something to your brain, didn’t it? But he had no choice unless he and Ruby wanted to strike out on their own, so he scurried after the mole, carrying his fox fire, which was beginning to lose its luster.
Ruby noticed that the mole pulled up occasionally to dig in the dirt for worms, grubs, and other small insects. “Must maintain my strength!” he said. The hummingbird felt her own tiny stomach rumble and her energy flag, so she asked if she could share. “Of course, of course!” said the mole. “Plenty for everyone!” He dug furiously in the ground and in the sides of the tunnel, producing more than enough wriggling insects for Ruby to inhale. “Mr. Puffin?” he asked, but Lockley shook his head in disgust.
“Must you dig so hard?” Lockley asked. He had started to feel the earthen walls closing in on him again, and watching loose dirt crumble to the floor didn’t help his sense of security. But watching the mole eat brought something to his mind. “Mr. Mole, pardon my bluntness, but you are typical prey for many other animals. Have predators been avoiding you? Do you believe the Sickness has returned?”
The mole tapped his forepaws together again. “Well, the Great Gray Owl, rest his soul”—and here, the mole choked up a little—“he wasn’t convinced. Lived through it before, you know. The real thing. Doesn’t matter now, no sir. The king is dead, and real or not, fear feeds on fear.”
“Are you okay, Mr. Mole?”
“Oh yes. Forgive a poor old earth eater.” He sniffled twice and collected himself. “I may as well tell you, I did a little spying for the former king. I met him through Otus, actually, which is why he trusts me.”
“So owls formed alliances with moles, too?”
“Alliances? Ha-ha, no,” said the mole. “More like, trading services in exchange for not being eaten.” He laughed nervously again.
Ruby, meanwhile, had ingested so many insects she had to sit down. “If I had on pants, I’d unbutton them,” she said.
“There’s no such thing as pants,” Lockley reminded her.
“Over here,” called the mole, who had scampered ahead. “You might not fall behind if you didn’t want to discuss every little thing. Never met such chatty creatures.”
“Oh, well,” said Ruby, “you haven’t met our friend Egbert. He’s as big as an elephant but twice as annoying. Talks constantly, has an opinion about everything, super critical.”
“Sounds fascinating,” said the mole. “Come on, come on. Badger tunnels are no place for a penguin!”
“Puffin!” said Lockley. “Puffin, puffin!”
“Oh yes—huffin’, puffin’—I can take a hint. You’re eager to get on with it. Not much farther.” And he bounded ahead into the darkness.
THE KING’S FINAL SOLUTION
Astra didn’t understand why she had been summoned to Tytonia. Even for her it was a long flight, and that was if she was unburdened. Astra was carrying the bundle of spoils collected by Edmund—the bundle a pelican was supposed to fetch. So now she was an errand bird?
She arrived at Rozbell’s owlery near dusk-fall, just as the king was awakening. “Astra, good, you’re here,” he said sleepily. Feathertop was there, of course, along with Alf and the flock of house sparrows. And Edmund, perched on the ground with his hat cocked to the side.
Astra placed the bundle on the ground and unwrapped it, showing Rozbell the finest sealskin tapestries and ivory carvings Auk’s Landing had to offer.
“What is that?” he said.
“The spoils,” said Astra. “From Neversink?”
“What? Oh, right. I told Edmund to send a pelican back for that.”
Edmund looked at Astra and smiled. Astra turned back to Rozbell. “May I ask, Your Majesty, why you summoned me?”
Rozbell looked at her as if to remind her he didn’t need a reason for anything he did. But finally he said, “Because as one of my chief associates, I thought you should be here for this.”
The king motioned to Alf, who flew up to Rozbell’s perch and gently lifted the black hat from Rozbell’s head. The servant owl then fetched a small bundle and pulled forth a bright new object that glowed in the fading dusk light. Rozbell bowed his head slightly, allowing Alf to fit the new hat to his head. He then stood up straight for everyone to see.
Rozbell had commissioned a derby of solid gold, a hat to signify his position as the owl among Owls With Hats. He had failed to calculate how much heavier a metal hat would be and promptly collapsed from his perch the first time it was put on his head. Not to be denied, Rozbell had then modified the design with the help of a sharp-clawed ground sloth. He had carved away the brim and the top of the derby, leaving a gold band and two tall spires of gold on either side of the head, encrusted with jewels, like a pair of magnificent ear tufts. He had fashioned a crown.
Rozbell handed Astra a scroll. “Read this.”
She opened it and read it.
“I mean aloud, you imbecile!”
Astra looked again at Rozbell in his gold crown, then read aloud: “I, Rozbell, King of the Territory of Tytonia, which includes the colony of Neversink, by the authority vested in Me, by Me, and for Me, hereby declare that my new official title shall be Lord of All the Beasts on Earth and Fishes of the Sea. Which title grants me all the powers previously vested in the King, plus lots of other powers, to be enumerated by Me as I go along.”
Rozbell seemed pleased with how his new title sounded. Edmund beamed with approval. Feathertop looked bored.
“Should we perform this cere
mony before the Parliament?” said Astra.
“Why bother?” said Rozbell, adjusting his crown. “You’re the rule-keeper. That’s close enough.”
Indeed, thought Astra. Governor of an island she had no authority over. And rule-keeper of a parliament that no longer had any rules.
“There’s more,” said Rozbell. “Everyone, follow me to the prisoners.”
Rozbell, Feathertop, Edmund, and Astra flew to the Green-Golden Wood, and Astra was the first one to see Lockley’s cage hanging empty. Feathertop was next, and the massive eagle pulled up short, both angry and alarmed. Rozbell surveyed the scene and then perched on a branch near the Great Auk.
“What’s going on?” said Edmund.
Rozbell turned to Feathertop. “When did this happen? I summoned you to my owlery not even an hour ago! Did this happen while you were on guard, and you just didn’t tell me? Do you expect me to believe he escaped in the time I allowed you to witness my crowning?”
Feathertop was speechless, shaking his head.
Astra tried to diffuse the situation. “You said it yourself, Your Majesty. The old birds are tricksters. He must have created a diversion.”
“In any case,” Edmund cut in, “we have spies everywhere, and owls from Falcon Crest to the highlands.”
“He will be caught, Your Majesty,” said Astra. “He sticks out like a goldfinch, and he can’t outfly a bird of prey in the open. Besides, we still have the Great Auk, the one who can tell us about Sedna.”
To everyone’s surprise, Rozbell had regained his composure, and appeared calm. He leaned forward on his perch and looked the Great Auk straight in the eyes. “Yes, but torturing his friend—his apprentice?—in front of him was our best way to get him to talk. Being forced to watch suffering with your own eyes is far more effective than some abstract notion of your faraway colony starving, isn’t it, old bird?”
The Great Auk tried to stare back, but his eyes drifted to the king’s gaudy crown. Rozbell threw his head back and hooted. “Not to worry. I think I’ve come up with something even better.” He flitted to a different branch and gestured to Edmund. “My trusty burrowing owl friend here gave me a marvelous idea.”
When Edmund beamed, Rozbell added, “Accidentally.” Edmund’s smirk disappeared, but Rozbell turned to Astra and said, “Of course, even helping accidentally is better than not helping at all.”
Astra said nothing. Rozbell addressed the Great Auk again.
“You see, I gave you and your friend an extra day to live because I was convinced the auks were hoarding fish and hiding it from me. Hoarding and hiding. I wouldn’t need you to appease Sedna if I could come up with more fish on my own, would I?”
The Great Auk remained stoic, but Rozbell’s chirpiness was making him fearful.
“I sent the burrowing owls to root through your nests, and unfortunately, it turns out you auks were telling the truth. Imagine that!” said Rozbell, hooting again. “Poor Edmund was so frustrated…he so wants to please me.” (Edmund wasn’t sure whether to smile at this or not.) “So frustrated, he blurted out, ‘Your Majesty, the auks keep nothing in their nests except eggs!’”
The Great Auk slowly shook his head.
“What? No witty remarks this time?” sneered Rozbell.
“Don’t you understand?” said the Great Auk. “Even if I told you how to appease Sedna, you wouldn’t be able to. She is our goddess, not yours.”
Rozbell laughed. “Oh, I don’t care about appeasing Sedna anymore.”
“So you’ve given up any pretense that this is about protecting your territory from some phantom plague?” The Great Auk’s voice was hard as stone now. “You are sadistic.”
“On the contrary,” said Rozbell. “Well, I may be sadistic, but this is most definitely about food. We all know how nutritious eggs are.” Rozbell started cackling. “Eating your eggs! What a delicious idea! What an eggcellent idea!”
He continued to laugh maniacally. The Great Auk stepped back in his cage, as if stunned that he had underestimated Rozbell’s hatred of auks. Watching from her perch, Astra felt her gizzard go sour. She knew what the Great Auk was thinking—auks produced but one egg per couple each breeding season. This wasn’t about food, it was about destroying an entire generation of auks.
“You did say it might be better to perish than to live as an owl’s slave, didn’t you?” said Rozbell. “Well, think of me as the Magic Owl, granting your wish.” He pretended to pull a hat off his head and draw wishes from it, all the while chirping, “Gewh, gewh, gewh! Gewh, gewh, gewh!”
The king finally returned to his perch and stared at the Great Auk. “I should send you back to Neversink and let you explain why you’ve let this happen to your own colony. But you look too weak to swim that far, and I can’t really spare the resources to haul you all the way back.” Rozbell spoke as if the Great Auk had become nothing more than a terrible inconvenience. He turned to Feathertop and said, “Get this fossil out of my sight. I don’t want to see him again. Oh, and that troublemaker who escaped. Find him and kill him too. As a sadistic tyrant, I do have a reputation to uphold!”
Feathertop swooped down and snatched the Great Auk’s cage off its branch and hauled it into a clearing. Once Rozbell and Edmund were gone, too, Astra hurried out of the grove after Feathertop. The eagle had just pulled the Great Auk from his ripped-apart cage. “That puffin could have gotten pretty far by now,” she said. “You’d better get going. I’ll take care of this one.”
Feathertop hesitated, disappointed to be deprived of a kill. But he agreed and took off, leaving the Great Auk with Astra.
The birds of Auk’s Landing had a saying: “Nothing can hurt you on Neversink, except nature.” This was an island that had burst up from the bottom of the ocean, created by the erupting lava of an undersea volcano. It had never been connected to any other landmass, and so there were no land mammals and no reptiles—in short, no natural predators.
Not all young survived, of course. Harsh weather claimed some. And yes, some seabirds, namely the sky roamers, were known to try and filch other birds’ eggs from time to time. But Rozbell’s fiendish new plan to harvest the auks’ eggs meant disaster on a scale none of them could fathom.
Having seen the Great Auk’s reaction, Rozbell wanted to tell the auks himself so that he could personally see an entire colony stricken with horror. So despite his annoyance at having to travel back and forth between the islands, he mounted an eagle owl to fly him over while Feathertop pursued Lockley, and when they landed, he stood on a high rock, visible to everyone, enjoying the effect of bright sunlight playing off his glittering gold crown.
Even before Rozbell started speaking, burrowing owls were invading auks’ nests, rolling any eggs they found out into the open. Auks cried out in protest, but a fly-by from the formidable eagle owl backed them down.
“You’re probably wondering what’s going on,” said Rozbell. “You see, I have arrived at a solution to the food shortage. For me, anyway.”
An audible sense of horror spread through the crowd as they realized what Rozbell was talking about. The pygmy king started cackling, and Egbert, who had been watching from the back, tried to use the distraction to sneak away to Lucy’s burrow. As you can imagine, walruses generally find it difficult to sneak anywhere. Rozbell called out, “Not so fast, fatty!”
Egbert stopped, and when Rozbell flew over to him, he said as politely as possible, “I am not fat for an adult male walrus.”
“A tooth-walker sensitive about his weight!” said Rozbell. “Well, that’s just precious. Walk me to your place.”
“Right now?” said Egbert, who was determined to get to Lucy’s before the burrowing owls.
Rozbell’s eyebrows nearly arched off the top of his head. “Yes, right now!”
Egbert reluctantly changed direction and led Rozbell to just north of Auk’s Landing, where he had a rather messy nest littered with scrolls, scraps of sealskin and parchment decorated with both words and paintings, and the book pro
totype that he had unveiled at his party. Rozbell, who had mocked the book then, took a closer look now, kicking open the cover and roughly turning the pages with his foot. “I know you can read Owl, but I can’t read Walrus,” he said.
Egbert tried to hide his sense of superiority at this. Although owls were among the only bird species that could read and write, their written language technically wasn’t Owl, but a hybrid bird language based on common song and speech patterns. Egbert had been able to pick up enough to learn to read it. Walrus, though, being the oldest written language, was largely symbolic and difficult to translate.
“The Scholars have never been interested in their work being widely accessible,” said Egbert, sighing deeply as he said it.
“The Scholars?”
“It’s difficult to explain,” said Egbert.
“Oh well, then I’ve lost interest,” said Rozbell, rummaging through some other scrolls. “What are these?”
“I’m working on a new book prototype in the birds’ language. About Neversink!” said Egbert. He felt icky with Rozbell in his home, and yet his enthusiasm for literature made it hard for him to resist sharing with anyone who seemed interested.
“Yes, that’s why I wanted to talk with you,” Rozbell said silkily. “A project for you. An owl with my ambitions…I think someone should tell his story, don’t you?”
“A history of an individual!” said Egbert. “I’ve often thought it was time for something like that,” and he rummaged in his nest until he found a book he was working on: I Am the Walrus: The Epic Adventures of the Universe’s Most Avid Reader, Most Tireless Patron of the Arts, Most Honored Literary Critic, and All-Around Good Mammal. “This is just the first of many planned volumes,” he said, and showed Rozbell volume 1: What an Autobiography Is and Why I Am the First Creature Ever to Write One.
“Yes, fine,” said Rozbell, losing a grip on his charm. “That’s the idea, but more about me. Being king doesn’t give me much spare time for writing.”
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