Lemmy was idling away his time shuffling paper and binning dried-out old pens at the front desk when Alfonso Fastbeak walked into the lobby. He stretched his legs and stretched his wings, and though he looked the part he seemed but a mere shadow of himself.
‘Oh, no, no, no!’ he muttered.
‘Sir?’ asked Lemmy.
‘Gee whizz, I think I’ve lost it,’ said Alfonso.
‘Lost what?’
‘My wings don’t lift me up any more,’ he replied. ‘Watch.’
Alfonso flapped as hard as he could, but he barely left the carpet.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ said Lemmy.
‘How good are you at flying?’ asked Alfonso.
Lemmy rushed from the desk and consoled the pigeon. He showed him to a chair. ‘Take a seat,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you a cocoa. That’ll cure anything.’
Alfonso took out his poster and gazed wistfully at the photo of him in flight.
‘Say, what good’s a pigeon without wings?’ he said. ‘I may as well go hang out at the fountains and bother tourists for scraps.’
‘No!’ said Lemmy, returning with a steaming cup of cocoa. ‘Don’t talk like that. I think you’re brilliant.’
‘I was,’ said Alfonso. ‘I was the best stunt pigeon this side of the ocean, and I was supposed to be breaking records in just a few days’ time, but look at me now!’
The revolving doors spun and Anna arrived back at Hotel Flamingo. She could barely contain her excitement, but upon seeing Alfonso looking so sad she knew something was wrong.
‘Lemmy?’ she asked.
‘Alfonso is in a bad way,’ Lemmy replied.
‘I’m shot through,’ said Alfonso, his head in his wing. ‘This stunt pigeon’s wings have been clipped.’
‘He’s forgotten how to fly, miss,’ said Lemmy. He cupped his mouth to speak secretly. ‘I think he’s just lost his confidence after the fall.’
‘That’s awful,’ said Anna. ‘There must be something we can do?’
Lemmy shrugged. ‘What, though, miss?’
‘I have an idea,’ she said.
‘You do?’ said Alfonso.
Anna patted the pigeon on the shoulder. ‘I know just the person to call,’ she said. ‘But first I must speak to our chef.’
•
‘We’ve got a competition!’ said Anna excitedly.
Madame Le Pig took hold of a huge chopping knife and readied a huge pumpkin.
‘Who is taking part?’ she asked.
‘Peston Crumbletart,’ said Anna.
Madame Le Pig looked unimpressed and gave a dry snort. Unusually, thought Anna, maybe she even looked a bit worried.
‘AND Laurence Toot-Toot!’ said Anna. ‘The three greatest chefs head-to-head at Hotel Flamingo. It is going to be the most amazing event.’
Madame Le Pig cut the pumpkin in half with one almighty chop.
‘Good. I am pleased for you,’ she said.
‘Shall I build a stage?’ asked Anna. ‘We can have you all working in a line. Lights? Music? Make it a big show?’
Madame Le Pig took another violent chop at the pumpkin.
‘These are all unnecessary garnish,’ said Madame Le Pig. ‘I need nothing more than ingredients and heat.’
‘OK,’ said Anna. ‘But this is a once-in-a-lifetime event. It has to be exciting.’
‘That is your problem, not mine,’ said the chef, scooping out pumpkin seeds and flicking them angrily to the worktop.
Anna knew when to leave.
‘You know best,’ she said.
‘Yes I do,’ said Madame Le Pig. ‘I must create a whole new menu. Now go.’
