Half past egg
We are having breakfast on the nest again.
Today it’s something called weetbix.
‘Where is the banana?’ I ask.
I search Max.
I search Cody.
I search my army.
Why are they giggling? Breakfast is a serious matter.
Window o’clock
My army tells me that glass is also called ‘window’.
She’s going to leave her window open, so I can fly in and out whenever I like.
She is a good army. I decide to keep her, despite the lack of banana.
Excellent-idea o’clock
This morning I do not try to hide from Clara. This morning I fly several circles over her compost heap, then swoop down and land next to a particularly tasty clump of grass.
I begin to eat, watching Clara out of the corner of my eye.
She is snapping up the worms and the earwigs, but not the snails. (Chooks have no idea about fine dining.)
Gradually I edge closer, until I am within range of the snails.
Yum. Crunchy.
Clara turns and looks at me. ‘I was going to come and find you. I have a footprint I want you to see.’
She trots away, and I follow her, taking several snails with me.
We stop at a patch of earth where a human has trodden.
‘This footprint,’ says Clara, ‘does not belong to Constable Dad, Olive or Digby. I have checked their shoes, just as Inspector Garcia checked all the shoes in Episode 13 of Death in the City.’
What is she talking about? Why this sudden obsession with shoes?
‘So,’ she says, ‘have you seen this footprint before?’
I pretend to study it. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t see any humans when you were caught in the net? Or before you fell asleep? Were there any cars nearby?’
Is she trying to embarrass me? I don’t want to talk about the net, or about falling asleep. They were both very small mistakes, and I have moved on from them.
I’m about to say so, when I remember my new plan. So instead of snapping at her, I say, ‘Sorry. I didn’t see anyone.’
(I’m not really sorry. This is subterfuge or trickery. Like spying, it is on the list under revenge, warfare and general thuggery.)
Clara peers at me out of one eye. I gulp a snail, trying to look as innocent as possible. (To Clara, not to the snails. It’s no use trying to look innocent to snails; they have a suspicious nature.)
My subterfuge seems to work. Clara goes back to the earwigs and we eat side-by-side, almost as if we are friends.
Hehehehehehe.
After a while, I say casually, ‘Don’t know if you can help me or not—’
‘I told you, no revenge cases,’ says Clara.
‘This isn’t a revenge case. I’m just looking for advice. There’s a new sheep stealer in town, and I was wondering—’
Clara’s head jerks up. An earwig tumbles from her beak and scurries for cover. ‘What? Who? Where?’
‘Her name’s Delphine.’
‘Whose sheep has she stolen?’ demands Clara.
‘Er – no one’s. Not yet. But she’s definitely going to.’
‘How do you know? Where’s your evidence?’
‘Evidence?’ I say. ‘What is evidence?’
‘Where are the clues?’ says Clara, still staring at me. ‘What has she done?’
‘Done? Why must she have done something?’ Clara ruffles her feathers in annoyance. ‘You’re wasting my time. I have more important things to think about. Come back when you have evidence.’
And she stalks away.
Half past Clara
I don’t understand. I thought she would leap at the chance to catch another sheep stealer.
I thought she would rush into town and arrest Delphine, and that would get her into trouble, because Delphine is not really a sheep stealer.
(This is also subterfuge.)
And then everyone would laugh at Clara for making a fool of herself, instead of laughing at ducks.
It was a brilliant plan. Why does she have to spoil it by needing evidence?