by Jo Simmons
“They love landscapes,” said the man. “But modern art – not so much.”
In the restaurant zone, pigeons could choose treats to eat. Big tanks held cornflakes, raisins, Bombay mix and cherries. The pigeons’ favourite was the chocolate chips. A queue had formed, with pigeons lining up to peck the button and receive a choccy cupful.
“Is this how they get to be so big?” Sam asked. “Eating all this food?”
The man did not reply. Instead, he reached over the birds’ heads, hit the button and let some chocolate chips tumble into his palm. But instead of raising his hand to his mouth and popping them in, he lowered his head, jabbing at the chips with his mouth, pecking them up and scattering some to the floor.
Sam and Nina gawped, speechless.
“I thought you’d say that!” said the man.
“We haven’t said anything,” Sam managed to reply.
“Precisely!” said the man. “The truth about how intelligent pigeons are can peck the words right out of your mouth! You thought they were thick, Sam, didn’t you? I heard you say that in the park a few days ago.”
“When they attacked our picnic? You were there?” spluttered Sam, a shiver running down his spine.
“I like to keep an eye on my birds while they are out and about,” said the man. “You coo-coo-coo-can’t be sure what kind of people they may come across!”
“So pigeons are actually clever?” asked Sam.
“Oh, yes,” said the man, admiring the birds. “Eager to learn, too. That’s what this place is all about. It’s a school: a training academy for exploring and enhancing the pigeons’ natural abilities. People don’t appreciate pigeons, but they should.”
“The way they have been upsetting people, stealing food and scaring old folks isn’t exactly helping everyone to like them,” said Sam.
“Oh, people don’t need to like them, exactly,” said the backpack man, “but they should respect them.”
He broke off as a large pigeon landed on his shoulder and did a big white poo on it.
“Err, I think you’ve been dolloped on,” said Sam, pointing at the splat, but the man just raised a hand to silence him.
Seconds later, a group of pigeons carrying a cloth flew down and began wiping up the mess. Then they sponged the area clean and finished by spraying scent on it, before flying off silently.
“You see?” said the man. “Coo-coo-coo-couldn’t get a dog to do that!”
“Yeah, but a dog wouldn’t climb on to your shoulder and poo on it,” said Sam, and then wished he hadn’t. The man cocked his head and stared at him with his beady eyes.
“What happens in there?” asked Nina, to distract him. She pointed to a locked door at the end of the room.
The man frowned. “It’s private,” he said sharply. “Strictly no admittance. You have seen enough now. Off you go. Run along and tell your friends to admire and respect pigeons. The days of these birds being ignored and badly treated are almost over. Remember, someone very clever once said, ‘the pigeon is mightier than the sword!’”
“Pen,” said Nina. “The pen is mightier than the sword.”
“Whatever!” said the man. “Get out!”
Chapter 7
The Purpose of Pigeons
The sun was still shining when Sam and Nina left the warehouse, but the shadows had grown long.
“That was … er … interesting,” said Nina.
“Don’t you mean that was totally whizzbang, off-the-scale, ‘like, hello?’ weird?” replied Sam.
Nina looked serious. “I suppose there’s nothing wrong with being friends with pigeons and helping them to fulfil their potential,” she said. She had, after all, always known that these birds were intelligent.
“Yes, but it goes further than that,” said Sam. “It’s this guy’s birds that are hitting the headlines every night on Talking Topside, and getting up to all kinds of naughty stuff. He’s always there in the background. Seems like he’s doing more than just teaching them about art. He said that place is a training academy, but the only thing the pigeons seem to be learning is how to be a nuisance.”
“And how to clean poo off people’s shoulders,” Nina added. “So it’s not all bad!”
As Sam and Nina remembered the birds carefully wiping up poop from the man’s shoulder, they burst out laughing.
“Maybe they will stop causing trouble in the town and start tidying it up instead,” said Nina.
Sam frowned. “It’s a nice idea,” he said, “but I’ve got a feeling that this man and his pigeons have plans that go beyond simply spring-cleaning Topside.”
Chapter 8
Through the Bedroom Window
THUD!
Sam woke with a start. Early morning. Something had hit his bedroom window. With his heart pounding, he pulled back the curtain to look. A pigeon sat on the sill outside, staring boldly at him. Had it just flown into the glass? It didn’t look stunned. It looked fine. At close range, Sam could really appreciate how big it was: much bigger and more dramatic than a typical pigeon. It had wider wings, longer toes and a thicker beak.
“Did you hit my window?” Sam asked.
After yesterday’s visit to the backpack man’s warehouse academy, where pigeons were acting in extra-intelligent ways, Sam half expected the pigeon to reply. But no. Instead, it gave Sam a look of milk-curdling indifference, ruffled its feathers and flew off.
What an odd way to start the day, thought Sam, curling up under his duvet again. His dozy slumbers were interrupted soon again, though. A cat was yowling in the garden below. It sounded like Pig, the cat belonging to his neighbour, Mrs Frazzle. Sam had no idea why she’d called her cat “Pig” when he was a cat, not a pig. He didn’t even look like a pig. He looked like a cat.
In fact, right now he looked like a frightened cat. He was being attacked by a band of tough-nut pigeons. The enormous birds swooped down on Pig, trying to peck his tail or wing-bash him, one after another after another. Poor Pig looked utterly outnumbered, crouching on the lawn, hissing and trying to swipe the birds with his paw.
Sam was shocked. He opened the window and shouted at the birds. His shouts were loud and mighty, unlike anything normal humans could produce, but these birds didn’t care. They carried on hassling poor Pig. Right, thought Sam, time for the shock wave: a super sound tsunami that blasted all before it.
MMMWWWAARRGHHH!
The sound wave broke from Sam’s mouth and boomed across the garden.
To Sam’s surprise, though, these pumped-up pigeons seemed to float on the sound wave, like surfers riding a huge breaker. Pig, on the other hand, got blasted into the bushes.
After that, the bird bullies lost interest and flew off.
Sam sat on his bed and thought about what he’d seen this morning: two separate pigeon incidents that showed the birds to be strong and mean. Worse of all, they seemed almost immune to his mega super-loud sonic wave. Sam didn’t feel very “Super” about that.
A tap at the window distracted him. “What now?” he said, quite loudly (obviously).
A pigeon – again! It sat on his window sill, tapping lightly at the glass.
Sam was about to shoo it away, shout at it, send it packing, when he paused. It was smaller than the big bruiser pigeons, the ones causing all the bother. It had dark feathers above its eyes like handsome brows, and something in those orangey-brown peepers seemed to speak of a special intelligence. Then Sam noticed the pigeon had something in its beak.
Sam opened the window and stood back. The bird hopped in and dropped the piece of paper. Sam picked it up, unfolded it, and found that it was the newspaper report that the backpack man had talked about yesterday: about how Sam had defeated his no-good teacher with the power of his voice.
“So you know who I am?” asked Sam.
The bird nodded.
Wait, what? Did it? Could it? Really?
Sure looked like a nod.
“What do you want?” Sam asked.
The bird didn’t r
espond and Sam was about to ask again when Nina burst into his room.
“Let’s go, Sam,” she said. “The race starts in an hour!”
Nina and Sam were taking part in the Topside Festival of Fun “Fun Run of Fun”, an annual event held before the ever-popular Topside Festival of Fun. Nina has knitted them some running socks specially for it.
Sam didn’t move.
“What’s that?” Nina gasped, suddenly spotting the pigeon.
“A pigeon,” said Sam. “Obviously.”
The bird sort of nodded.
“It seems friendly,” said Sam. “Maybe it needs help.”
“Reckon you need help, more like,” said Nina. “Pigeons cannot be trusted, Sam – get away from it!”
“But this one seems different – and smart,” said Sam, “especially compared to those other big, nasty pigeons I saw this morning, smashing into my window and duffing up Pig.”
Nina shook her head impatiently. She pulled a knitting needle from her hair and aimed it, javelin-style, at the pigeon. The bird flew out of the window to avoid the speeding dart and Nina slammed the window shut after it.
“Now, we have to run – literally,” she said. “We can talk about this later. Forget about the pigeons. Let’s go.”
Chapter 9
When Fun Runs Go Un-Fun
It turned out to be quite hard to forget about pigeons, though, even at such a big and exciting event as the Topside Festival of Fun “Fun Run of Fun”.
Over two hundred people, young and not so young and a bit older, had assembled in Topside Park to take part in the three-mile race. Sam and Nina’s sporty friend Jock Wilson was there, of course, and their classmates Agatha Ackerbilk and Aaron Abacus were also running. The mayor of Topside, Mr Crackling, in his bright red robes and golden chains, made a boring speech which nobody could hear very well and then shouted, “On your marks, get set, GO!”
The runners surged off. Jock tore away at top speed while Sam and Nina settled into a comfortable jog. It was only after the first mile that Sam noticed the sun had gone in and a cold breeze was whipping through the park. He glanced up, and almost stopped in his tracks.
A cloud had passed over the sun, but not a cloud made of cloud, a cloud made of birds. Pigeons! A huge grey storm of pigeons, flying closely together and blocking out the light.
The other runners had noticed the birds, too. People were pointing and shrieking.
“Do something, Sam!” said Nina. “Remember who you are!”
I’m Sam Lowe, thought Sam. But then he remembered. I’m SUPER LOUD SAM! The pigeon cloud was heading for the crowd. It was time to act! Sam shouted in his hugest voice, “STAY BACK!!”
But the pigeons kept coming. They were flying low now. Sam could almost reach up and touch them as they passed over. The birds were big and powerful, and heading at top speed straight towards the runners.
“TAKE COVER!” bellowed Sam.
The runners crouched, covering their heads with their hands. Some of them hid under trees. But it was no use.
The pigeons swooped, low and straight and fast, and they pooped at exactly the same moment. A shower of ploppings rained down on the runners. There was simply nowhere to hide from this blizzard of pigeon poo.
SPLAT, SPLAT, SPLAT, it went as it struck the crowd, covering them in streaks of white and green.
The runners shouted out, groaned, rolled on the grass.
“Sam, you’re hit!” yelled Nina.
Sam staggered around, trying to flick the icky gunk out of his hair, all the while looking up at the birds. They were circling above the park again. Were they going to launch another poop attack? Not if Sam could help it! This time he would try a shock wave. The biggest, most powerful wave of sound he had ever produced. He built up a huge rumble in his chest and then sent the wave of sound flying towards the birds. It blasted upward and Sam watched, eyes wide, as it hit them.
But then…
Nothing.
Instead of blasting the flying carpet of pigeons safely up and away, it simply made it ripple gently, like a sheet on a washing line. The ripple passed through the birds, nudging them slightly out of formation, but not slowing them down or scattering them. Sam was horrified! What had happened to his shock wave? Why didn’t it work?
He stood and stared as the birds flapped ever closer, heading for the crowd again, until Nina rugby tackled him into a bush, shouting, “Get down!”
Then the two of them watched as the birds swept over the crowd for a final time, making everyone duck in terror. But there was no more poo and the birds simply cruised off out of sight.
Chapter 10
After The Attack
After the shock of the fly-by pooping, the runners in the Topside Festival of Fun “Fun Run of Fun” abandoned the race. They were no longer having fun. They no longer wanted to run. Not with pigeon poo clogging up their hair and decorating their shoulders. Plus, the paths were all skiddy now. Dangerous.
Everyone had been so stunned that they hadn’t noticed Sam’s booming shock wave as he tried to bring down the pigeons. They had been too busy hiding under trees and wiping plop off their faces.
Jock Wilson raced up to Sam and Nina. He had a big streak of pigeon poop down his front but was still beaming, in his typically positive way.
“Wow!” said Jock. “Messy! But I suppose when that many birds fly past, someone’s going to get pooped on!”
“But everyone got pooped on,” said Nina. She had taken off her knitted running hat, which now needed a wash, and was quickly knitting a clean replacement.
“It was no accident,” said Sam. “Those birds meant to do that. It was a planned attack.”
Jock and Nina looked at Sam. Was he right? And if he was right, what did him being right mean? For now? For the future? For the people of Topside?
“There were just so many of them!” said Sam. “I couldn’t stop them. I tried, with my voice, but I couldn’t beat them back.” He hung his head. A little drop of pigeon plop splashed down on to his top. Nina patted him on the shoulder kindly, and then stopped when she realized her hand was getting all pooey too.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go and buy some shampoo.”
Chapter 11
Panic on the Streets of Topside
The three friends hurried to the nearby supermarket and found it already full of runners grabbing soap and shampoo and washing powder. Sam and his friends joined the crowd in the bath-and-shower aisle and then heard shouts from the front of the store.
“Hey! What? Get out! Put that back!” someone was yelling.
Uh-oh! More pigeon pandemonium! A handful of birds were pecking the guy on the checkout like his hair was full of seed – which it wasn’t, it was just regular seed-free hair. Another two landed on the till, punched the keyboard with their beaks and made the cash drawer open. They then helped themselves to some ten-pound notes and flew off. Their bullying friends grabbed a packet of gum and some mints and also flapped away.
That was the final straw! A feeling of panic surged through the shop. The customers forgot about their purchases and ran out, staring at the skies as they scurried away.
“The pigeons have gone mad – mad, I say,” one person yelled, and who could argue with that?
Not Sam, Nina or Jock.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Sam, booming above the noise of people shrieking and running. “But meet round at my house later so we can watch Talking Topside together! Something tells me pigeons are going to be headline news today.”
Chapter 12
A Persistent Pigeon
Back at home, safe from the swooping poopers, Sam caught his breath. He showered, put on clean clothes and was just relaxing on his bed when there was a tap at the window.
“Not you again!” yelled Sam, loudly and angrily. “Get lost!”
It was the pigeon: the one that had shown Sam the newspaper article about his Super Loud antics. The one who understood English. This bird seemed to be a cut above the pig
eons that had wrecked the fun run, but even so, Sam was in no mood for being generous.
“There is no way on this planet that I am letting a pigeon into my room after what has just happened,” yelled Sam, staring at the bird through his window. “No way!”
The bird stared back, looking sad and worried. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Pigeons couldn’t look sad and worried. Their eyes were beady, not needy.
Sam ignored the pigeon, but the pigeon stayed put. Sam read his favourite comic, The Astonishing Col-Slaw Battles the Toxic Tortoise of Terror. The pigeon didn’t move. Sam strummed his guitar and sang along, really loudly (and out of tune – painful). The pigeon didn’t budge. And so the day slipped away like custard down a plughole, with the pigeon sitting tight outside Sam’s room and Sam sitting tight inside, until Jock and Nina showed up to watch Talking Topside.
Chapter 13
Running Reports
Together with Sam’s mum, they all sat in front of the TV. With a flinch of irritation, Sam noticed the pigeon again, now perched outside the sitting-room window.
“Bog off!” he blasted.
Sam’s mum spat out a mouthful of tea in shock at the noise. No amount of being Sam’s mum could make Sam’s mum used to the noise that Sam produced.
“Sorry! I meant the pigeon,” said Sam.
Talking Topside started. Newsreader Martin Streaky was sitting at the news desk with a picture of raggedy, splatted-on runners in Topside Park behind him.
“Their naughty antics have been hitting the news for a few days now, but today, pigeons showed us an even more sinister side,” said Martin Streaky. “A fun run in Topside Park this morning was dive-bombed by birds which proceeded to poop all over the runners. Tess Trotter has the dump-down. Sorry! I mean ‘lowdown’. Please be advised that Tess’s report contains scenes that some of you may find disturbing.”