by Tracey Hecht
“It’s the fortress we saw from the mountain,” said Tobin. “Why did you bring us here?”
Dawn motioned for the group to stay quiet. “Earlier, when I followed Polyphema, she climbed inside,” she whispered. “Do you see her?” The fox’s tawny fur stood on end, and her eyes scanned the tower for signs of movement. Was the tuatara here? Was she hiding nearby?
Bismark looked left and right. “Nope! Nada. Sorry, my love. No three-eyed Tutu.”
Dawn nodded slowly. “Good,” she said. The fur on her back relaxed. “That means we can search.”
Tobin furrowed his brow. “Search for what?”
“For whomever Polyphema was talking to.” The fox tilted her snout toward the fortress. “I heard mumbling. She was speaking to someone inside.”
Tobin’s eyes widened. “Oh goodness! Do you think…” he gulped, “do you think it was the beast?”
“What? Nonsensimo!” exclaimed Bismark. “The big bad beast? Cooped up in there? No, no, no.” He nervously laughed and backed up.
But the fox moved forward. “We need to get closer,” she whispered.
“Whoa there, muchacha! Have you lost your mind?” The sugar glider threw up his flaps. “Enough of this detective work. Listen to your trusty Bismark and come back with me. I have animals to command at the crater!”
Ignoring her friend, Dawn pressed her ear to the stone. Hesitantly, Tobin followed, making sure to keep his scales quiet against the rock. Finally, Bismark joined with a sigh.
Moments passed. The trio closed their eyes, straining to hear any sound. Anything to indicate a creature lurking on the other side of the wall. But there was nothing—just the low, cold hum of the wind.
Dawn took a seat on the ground and let out a grunt of frustration.
Bismark, though, chuckled, relieved. “Don’t be disappointed, ma chérie. Be grateful, be thrilled! Don’t you know what this means? Polyphema is innocent. She was talking to no one. Now vamanos! Let’s go.” The sugar glider shuffled away. “The beast is off doing beast things. No need for us to stay here and wait for his deadly return.”
But still, Dawn hesitated and lingered next to the fortress.
“Really, Dawn, there seems to be nothing here,” said the pangolin. “Let’s go back to the crater and help build the net.”
“Si. It’s been a long night, and you have breathed in mucho ash. Perhaps it has gone to your head and you imagined that strange mumbling sound!”
“No, I didn’t,” Dawn argued. “There’s someone in there.” Her eyes shone with determination. “I’ll prove it to you.”
The fox placed her paw on a stone, attempting to climb the wall once again. But, just as it did before, the tower started to shake as soon as she gave it her weight.
“What are you doing, princessa?” cried Bismark. “Are you out of your beautiful mind?”
Dawn took another step up.
“Come down!” Tobin cried. “You’ll get hurt!” The worried pangolin covered his eyes with his claws, recalling his close call with the rockslide just hours ago.
“I need to see what’s inside,” said the fox.
“We need you,” stressed the pangolin.
Dawn looked up at the top of the fortress, then below at her two Brigade-mates. Finally, with a sigh, she climbed back down.
“Mon dieu!” Bismark cried. “This jealousy you have for Tutu is really making you loco! Now listen,” he said, cuddling up to the fox, “we’ve been over this. Polyphema is no threat at all! Yes…she has a third eye, and her spikes are strangely attractive, but you know you’re my numero uno!” He embraced the fox’s front leg. “These ‘mumblings’ you heard must have been your own thoughts of true love for me!”
Dawn gazed at the fort, the pangolin, then the sugar glider. “This is not a joke,” she stressed. “I heard real voices. They were not thoughts of you.” Frustrated, she flung Bismark off of her paw. “Someone’s here…and whoever it is could be dangerous!”
Bismark raised his flaps to his face in shock. He knew that sometimes his silly remarks annoyed the more serious fox, but she had never responded like this. “W-well then,” he stammered, “perhaps I should go where I’m wanted.”
“Bismark, that’s not what I meant—” Dawn said hurriedly. The Brigade always worked together. It was important they remained united and that Bismark stayed by her side.
But the sugar glider cut off the fox. “If anyone needs me, I will be back at the crater,” he announced, “where animals adore and respect me! Adios!”
And with that, Bismark spun on his heels and marched away through the ash.
Chapter Fifteen
OTTO
“Oh goodness,” sighed Tobin, “I hope Bismark’s all right.” The pangolin squinted into the distance, hoping to catch sight of his friend.
“We’ll find him later, and I will apologize. But I want to give this place one last look,” said the fox.
Tobin nodded halfheartedly.
Dawn paused for a moment and placed a friendly paw on her friend’s scaly back. “Trust me,” she said. “We—”
Whoosh!
Whee!
Zoom!
Tobin’s heart leaped in his chest. Something above them—he could not be sure what—was whipping and whirling through the pale morning sky. “Oh goodness!” he cried. He squinted in the unfamilar daylight. “What is that?”
Dawn’s amber eyes darted as she tracked the airborne, zigzagging object. It was flying too fast and too wildly to tell what it was. As soon as she had it in her sight, it had banked off in a completely unpredictable direction. And now it was headed straight toward her! “Look out!” she cried, ducking low to the ground.
Tobin followed, dropping the smooth skin of his belly to the ash-covered earth. He felt a swoosh of air over his scales, then watched with horror as the flying thing catapulted past him and crashed straight into the stump of an elm tree.
“Oof!”
The fox and the pangolin shared a look of bewilderment. Then they headed to the tree stump. Poking up from the trunk’s oval hollow, was a brown, feathered rear end.
“Are you okay?” Tobin asked, cautiously stepping forward.
“Oh! Oh golly gee!” The bird twitched back and forth in a frenzy as he attempted to unplug his head from the tree stump. After a few, unfruitful attempts, he gave up, allowing his tail feathers to slump and fall slack. “Well,” he sighed, “I’m afraid I’m stuck. Stuck in a stump. Typical Otto. Typical, typical Otto.” The bird kicked at the bark in frustration and let out a disgruntled huff that echoed through the log.
“Don’t worry,” said the pangolin. “We’ll help you out of there.”
Dawn nodded then carefully grabbed the bird’s midsection. Tobin took hold on the opposite side, and the animals counted:
“One… two…”
On “three,” they pulled, and the bird sprang from the log with a pop, sending the three animals tumbling back in a heap.
Quickly, the bird flapped to his feet, dusting himself free of ash and plucking small bits of bark from his feathers. “How embarrassing,” he muttered. “How absolutely mortifying.”
Tobin boosted himself to his feet and prepared to comfort the bird. He was usually quite skilled at putting others at ease. But when he rubbed the soot from his eyes and took in the newcomer, he could not help but recoil in shock.
For the most part, Otto was a traditionally handsome owl. His deep, brown feathers were dotted with pure white spots, as though sprinkled with large flakes of snow, and his eyes were striking and round. Even in the bleached morning light, they shone a bright, piercing gold. The problem was his neck.
Tobin gathered his paws at his chest. He knew, of course, that owls could rotate their heads. But Otto’s head was tilted unnaturally, permanently cocked toward his shoulder. The pangolin gulped. It looked so strange and unstable that Tobin feared it might topple off.
“Oh…oh goodness,” fumbled the pangolin. He turned to Dawn, hoping she would know how t
o react. But even the usually unruffled fox was perturbed.
“Oh golly, what is it?” asked Otto. “Is my beak scratched up? Are my feathers all out of sorts?”
Tobin shook his snout back and forth. “Nothing like that,” he began. “It’s just, well, when you crashed into that tree, or perhaps when we tugged you out…” The pangolin tilted his neck to the side to illustrate the rest of his thought.
At this, the owl exhaled, and a wave of relief swept his face. “Ohhhhh, my neck! Yes, of course.”
Dawn and Tobin stared back at him blankly.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s been like this for ages. Minor incident with a mouse way back when. Got a bit too eager, I suppose.” He snorted loudly, then, embarrassed, covered his beak with a wing. “Anyhoo, it’s not that big a deal. It’s just that ever since, my navigation has been a bit off You know what they say—steer with the ear! And my ears are, well, you know.” Otto flopped his wings every which way to illustrate his twisted sense of direction.
Dawn surveyed the rocky terrain, littered with tree stumps and stones. “But why were you flying so low?” she inquired. She shifted her gaze toward the vast open sky above. “It’s much safer up there.”
Tobin nodded vigorously. “Yes,” he agreed. “Flying down here is an accident waiting to happen! Especially with your…condition.” Tobin raised a paw to his mouth. “Oh goodness,” he uttered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense.”
“None taken,” said Otto. “You’re correct—absolutely correct. I never fly at this altitude. Only a worm-brain would do something like that. But under these circumstances?” The bird kicked some ash off his foot, exposing his long, orange toes. “Well, I certainly couldn’t fly high. I shouldn’t be flying at all!”
Tobin tilted his head. “Why not? Your sense of direction can’t be that terrible.”
Otto’s expression turned suddenly somber. “Because of the beast!” he whispered. “If he sees us, he’ll get very upset. This is his territory.”
Dawn furrowed her brow. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Well, it should! You were the one who instituted the no-fly zone!”
At this, Dawn’s ears pricked up. “Me?” she asked, surprised.
Otto bobbed his head in what must have been his version of a nod. “Oh yes,” he replied. “The tuatara said you absolutely forbade it. Flying was far too risky, you told her. Isn’t that right?”
Dawn gazed at the horizon. As a gust of wind swept through her fur, her mind raced. Why did Polyphema say the birds were not permitted to fly? That was not what they had agreed to. And why did she say this order came from her? The fox narrowed her almond-shaped eyes. This was not sitting right.
“Oomph!” With an awkward hop, Otto adjusted his position so he could see the sun’s place in the sky. “Golly gee!” he gasped. “I’d better get back. If Polyphema sees that I’m gone, well, it won’t be pretty!” The owl’s feathers trembled in the breeze. “She has us on a very strict schedule.”
“A strict schedule?” Dawn repeated. The fox hardened her gaze and dug her claws in the ash. “We must get back as well,” she announced. Her tone was urgent and tense. “It appears we’ve been gone far too long.”
Chapter Sixteen
THE MISSING BIRDS
“I’m just gonna…stop here…for a moment,” huffed Otto. His refusal to fly had made his journey back toward the crater quite a challenge, especially as he tried to keep pace with the swift fox. The owl was breathing so heavily that his breath ruffled his feathers.
“You’ll be able to navigate the rest on your own?” asked Dawn.
Otto awkwardly bobbed his head. “Yes,” he confirmed. “I’ll find my way. Plus, I could use a bit of rest.” The owl, normally asleep during the day, let out a long yawn. “The work has been so exhausting.”
Dawn gave Otto a nod, motioned to Tobin, then continued her race toward the crater. Without the owl in tow, she could pick up speed and make up for lost time. Soon her trot turned into a run, and before long she had reached the giant hole in the earth. Tobin couldn’t keep up with the fox, but he moved as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. He didn’t slow down until the crater was in sight.
“Sorry it took me so long,” Tobin called breathlessly. He saw Dawn standing at the side of the crater, where the jerboas were furiously weaving the vines into a huge web. They were organized in neat rows and columns so they could work as quickly as possible. As one tiny creature held a strand in his paws, another wrapped it through the next piece so nimbly that it looked like a complicated dance.
Over, under.
Over, under.
Hop, duck.
Hop, duck.
The scene was a sea of floppy ears and reed-like tails. No one stood still, even to catch their breath.
Tobin took a step closer and examined the woven construction. His beady eyes widened. The jerboas had stayed awake much past their bedtime of dawn and had worked straight through the morning. But despit their exhaustion, they had made impressive progress. The net was almost done. It nearly covered the huge hole in the ground.
“Oh goodness, those poor jerboas!” cried Tobin. “They’re working so hard.”
Dawn nodded in sympathy, but she was thinking about other things. “Where’s Polyphema?” she asked. “And where are the birds?” She stared out at the crowd. The jerboas’ constant movement made searching for anyone almost impossible. Finally, she spotted the kiwis at the far side of the net. But the falcons, owls, and hawks were nowhere in sight.
“Hey, you, over there! Back to work! Do you want the beast to turn us all into barbecue?” A sharp voice interrupted Dawn’s train of thought, and she spun around in alarm.
It was Bismark. He was perched on top of a rock, shouting out orders, and flourishing his cape to and fro.
“Oh goodness,” sighed Tobin. He and Dawn made their way toward their friend.
Upon spotting the fox, a smirk spread across Bismark’s face. “Well, well, well,” he sang. “If it isn’t she-who-thinks-of-me-not.”
Dawn took a step closer. “Bismark, we have to regain control here. Polyphema’s trying to take over.”
“Regain control?” Bismark scoffed. “Mi amore, can’t you see? I’m already in control!” He put his hands on his hips. “I’m in charge of it all. Poly-poo has appointed me maestro!”
Dawn arched her spine.
“Maestro?” echoed the pangolin.
“Maestro indeed, mi amigo. Tutu has recognized my incredible talent and installed me in my rightful place: head honcho, chief glider, Bismark the boss!”
Dawn shook her head. “But Bismark—”
“No time for chitchat,” he replied, dismissively waving his flap. “Too much work to do, and these jerboas are slacking off on the job! You there!” he shouted to a team of weavers. “You call that sturdy? Ridiculo!”
Bismark hopped off his rock and stormed over to the section of the net in question. He shook his head as he examined the handiwork of the jerboas.
“No, no, no. This won’t do. Tutu said it had to be perfect! You’ve got to pull it tight, comme moi.” He demonstrated by yanking the vine so hard that it snapped in his hand. “Mon dieu! How shoddy! You know what this means?” he asked, waving the torn strands in front of the jerboas’ faces. “We’re starting over! That’s right, the whole pomelo! The entire papaya! Now vamanos, get a move on!”
A groan went up from the crowd of jerboas, who had stopped their work for a moment to listen.
“Bismark,” said Dawn. She edged close to her friend and tried her best to stay calm. “Where are the birds?”
But Bismark ignored her question. “I’m busy,” he said. He pointed at a weaver, who was so tired, he had stumbled away from the net. “To the left, little guy! To the left!”
The jerboa’s eyes darted to the glider. Then he meekly lowered his head and trudged back to the net. He could barely lift his feet off the ground.
Bismark looked back at Dawn with tr
iumph. “Everyone here sees my true worth—I am a natural-born leader! These animals are drawn to me like moths to a flame. Moths to a flame, I tell you!”
“Listen, Bismark,” said Dawn. “This is urgent. Polyphema grounded the birds in my name, and they could be in grave danger.”
“Why are you so worried about the birds? Hmm?” Bismark stomped his small foot. “Maybe you should stop worrying about those feather-brained flappers and spend more time focused on yours truly—moi—me, me, me!”
“I’m sorry about before.” Dawn sighed, trying to push aside her frustration. “Now Bismark, please—”
But the sugar glider was already distracted by another fault in the net.
“Hey, you! You call that weaving? Mon dieu!”
“Come on,” urged the fox. “Enough of this. We have to go find Polyphema.”
Bismark shook his head. “No, no, muchacha. My post is here. I have important duties to perform! There’s someone new in charge of both the camp and my heart. Someone who wants me as maestro!”
“Oh goodness,” said Tobin. “I think I should stay, too.” He glanced at Bismark then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Someone’s got to take care of these jerboas!”
Dawn’s gaze traveled over the animals at work. “The birds are definitely missing,” she said. “I have a terrible feeling about this.” Then she lifted her head and fixed her eyes on a large boulder ahead. A small glimmer, almost like the glow of a moonstone, shone at its top. Polyphema. “There’s no time to lose. I must speak to the tuatara at once.” Dawn’s body stiffened. “Before it’s too late.”
Chapter Seventeen
HALT!
With her heart pounding hard in her chest, Dawn raced toward the boulder and bounded up its steep side. At the top, perched on a narrow ledge, was Polyphema—front eyes closed, third eye pulsing and twitching.
“What have you done with the birds?” Dawn demanded. She reared up to her full height.
The tuatara winked open a single dark eye. She looked at Dawn, glanced down below at the net, and then closed her eyelid once again. She was in no rush.