“No one loathes fish-eaters more than I,” said Oopik calmly. “If you remember, Astra’s and my grandsire was one of the original Roundheads.”
“Then you know it disgraces all the owls who came before us to have let Neversink grow more and more independent,” said Rozbell. Oopik nodded. “Then you agree with your sister that it’s time to act.”
Oopik looked at Astra and then at Rozbell. “Parliament normally meets but once a moon. I know you are eager to make your case.”
“That doesn’t sound like an endorsement,” said Rozbell, his voice hardening. Astra looked at Oopik again as if to say, Tread carefully. Day was breaking, and Rozbell was eager to sleep. “I’ve made my decision,” he said. “Oopik, fetch that jelly-legged barn owl and bring him to me. He’s going to testify before Parliament, whether he wants to or not. And both of you, spread the word. The Roundheads are returning.”
The law-speaker’s cave was at the southern end of Auk’s Landing, a fair distance away. Lockley often thought that was one thing he and the Great Auk had in common—the need to get away. After his flight down the coastline, Lockley alighted, clumsily of course, on the rough shore and wound his way through a maze of rocks to the Great Auk’s nest. As usual, the law-speaker was sitting perfectly still with his eyes closed, his body turned toward the sea. The Great Auk wasn’t a puffin or a guillemot or a razorbill or a murre. He was, well, a great auk. The primal form of auk. He was the familiar black-and-white, with a long, vertically striped bill like the razorbill. His slender wings were for warmth and swimming only. Like all great auks, he couldn’t fly, which was why he lived at sea level.
Closing his eyes was hardly necessary—the old bird was almost blind anyway. But shutting them was his way of inviting the visions he was famous for. Without moving, the Great Auk said, in a deep, growling voice that sounded both stern and wise, “I was expecting you.”
“Really?” said Lockley. “You foresaw this?”
“No,” said the Great Auk. “I could smell those smidgens halfway up the shore.”
“Oh, right.” Lockley had almost forgotten them. “Lucy sends her best.”
The Great Auk sniffed deeply and then opened his eyes, smiling. “I should think these would go well with some tea, hmm?”
Lockley sat down while they waited for the tea to steep. Within seconds after they set out the smidgens, the gray sky was a riot of white birds—gulls, terns, and other scavengers—squawking over the fish morsels. They wouldn’t dare dive on the Great Auk, Lockley knew. Not out of fear, but out of respect. The Great Auk, after all, had personally negotiated the Peace of Yore with the Great Gray Owl, which let the auks colonize Neversink. And in the years since, Auk’s Landing had become a favored stopping ground for migrating seabirds such as arctic terns and black-footed albatrosses.
Lockley always waited for the Great Auk to speak first, in part because he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Eventually, as he handed Lockley a cup of tea, the Great Auk asked, “Do you think the party will be a success?”
“I’m not sure,” said Lockley. “Egbert’s quite good at the buildup, but leaves a bit to be desired on the follow-through.”
The Great Auk chuckled. “I understand he’s promised the colony something that will dramatically change their lives for the better?”
“Yes, can you imagine?” said Lockley. “We fish, we breed, we take tea with our families. How could one possibly improve on that?”
“Hmm.” The Great Auk took a loud sip before making a surprising admission: “I’ve been speaking to Egbert.”
“You have?”
“He wants me to tell him the history of Neversink, so he can write it down.”
“Is he bothering you?” said Lockley. “I could have a talk with him. Believe me, I have to do it all the time.”
The Great Auk set his cup and saucer down with a clatter, which startled Lockley. “I wish the birds were as curious about the history of Neversink as Egbert,” he said wistfully. “Or about anything.”
Lockley was unsure how to respond. It was highly unusual for anyone but Egbert to say something nice about Egbert. “It’s not that. It’s just…you know everything. You are the history of Neversink.”
“It may seem like I will live forever, Lockley, but I won’t. I am concerned about losing the Stories. Fewer auks are bothering to learn them. They are not mere entertainment, you know. I have long feared they may not be there the next time we need them.”
It was hard to argue the point. The generation since the Cod Wars had been so peaceful, most auks viewed the Stories as nothing more than occasional entertainment. “I gather this has something to do with your recent vision?” said Lockley.
“I thought you must have forgotten about that,” the Great Auk said tartly. “I have summoned you twice, after all.” For the first time, the Great Auk turned his gaze from the sea and looked at Lockley, his eyes still bright with intelligence despite his age. Lockley felt his neck feathers rise. The raucous cries of circling gulls seemed to be scolding him.
“I’ve been so preoccupied with Lucy,” said Lockley, fumbling with excuses, “and Egbert’s party….”
Turning back toward the sea, the Great Auk said, “It wasn’t just a vision of owls. It was a vision of owls wearing hats.”
“Well, that sounds peculiar,” said Lockley. “Why would an owl wear a hat? Also…what is a hat, exactly?”
The Great Auk sighed as he gazed in the direction of Tytonia. “A perfect example,” he muttered. “When the waters gave forth Neversink, it was a blessing.”
“Ah yes, ‘The Age of Settlement,’” said Lockley solemnly. Of all the Stories, that was the one everyone knew. At least, they knew the title.
“Indeed,” said the Great Auk. “But time has washed away the story’s rough edges. There were owls who thought the Great Gray Owl was too permissive—that the auks, having lost the Cod Wars, shouldn’t get their own private island out of it.”
Lockley couldn’t imagine that an owl had anything to complain about. Owls made the rules. For that matter, why had there even been Cod Wars? Owls didn’t eat cod!
“Those owls,” continued the Great Auk, “so that they could tell who was on their side, began fashioning ornaments for their heads. Hats. First out of old nests; later spinning more elaborate pieces from the threads of silk-worms. They called themselves Roundheads.”
Lockley suddenly thought of his strange dream, with the owls’ nests sitting on them instead of the other way around, and a shiver ran through him. “And you fear this faction has returned?”
“I’m not sure they ever really left,” said the Great Auk.
“Oh, well then,” said Lockley, who thought to himself, What’s all the fuss? (Which could have been another auk motto.) “I was wondering—did you know Egbert invited the owls? Perhaps your vision was nothing more than a premonition of an exceptionally bad party.”
“Possibly,” said the Great Auk. “And I don’t think there’s much to worry about as long as the Great Gray Owl is king. But…”
“Yes…but?”
“Things change, Lockley. No one rules forever.”
Lockley felt another shiver go through him. As he looked back across the sea, the twin peaks of Tytonia seemed somehow closer, larger.
THE PLOT IN THE PARLIAMENT
The Parliament of Owls met in a stand of trees that surrounded a small glade. The trees where the members perched, called the Branches of Parliament, curved around the glade in both directions from the king’s perch, in the shape of an open talon. To the king’s right sat his own party, the Strix. To his left sat the opposition party, nameless since the near civil war among the owls after the Cod Wars.
There are a couple of things you should know about the Parliament. First, because of owls’ nocturnal habits, it meets at night, when other woodland creatures are asleep or being eaten by owls. Second, there is generally a great deal of hooting when Parliament is in session. Both general owl hooting, as well as the kind of
hooting you associate with ridicule and criticism, since the two parties never agree on anything.
On this particular night, however, there was more murmur than hooting. A general sense of unease could be felt along the branches…shuffling feet and tightly clenched talons. The owls knew why this session had been called—word travels quickly through the air, and even the rumor of a Sickness was enough to cause fear in the forest.
The two parties were already perched, and it was the custom for the opposition leader to arrive next, followed by the king. Rozbell’s arrival alone was enough to agitate the level of hooting. But after he had flitted in, what he did next caused utter bedlam. He lowered his head and fitted it with a small black hat. And once he had done so, the members of his party did the same. Stiff, short-brimmed black hats with round crowns that fit neatly on top of the owls’ round heads. Today you might call them bowlers or derby hats.
The hooting reached such deafening levels that woodland creatures for miles around were sent scurrying for cover. This went on for several minutes, and then abruptly stopped when a booming whoo-hoo-hoo echoed through the trees, followed by the whoosh of large wingbeats. The Great Gray Owl, king of Tytonia, took his perch.
Rozbell suddenly seemed diminished in the presence of this formidable owl—three feet tall and thick as a boar, with a broad, round face like an orangutan’s. He was as gray as the dusk, striped lengthwise, with concentric circles radiating from his yellow eyes. Under his beak were two broad white patches like a bushy mustache. He was now older than anyone could remember, and his health was rumored to be poor. But his revered mind was still considered sharp, and there wasn’t a chipmunk, squirrel, or vole in the forest that didn’t fear him at the hunting hour.
“Your Majesty,” said Rozbell, his voice unsteady. “We are honored by your arrival.”
The Great Gray Owl said nothing at first as he looked at Rozbell, and slowly scanned the branches of hat-wearing owls. He then let out a single, deep whoo that nearly blew Rozbell off his perch.
“I never thought I’d have to give this speech again,” said the king, “but the Branches of Parliament symbolize the World Tree—a World Tree properly dominated by owls. And there were no owls wearing hats in the World Tree!”
The king’s party hooted with enthusiasm. But as he waited for the clamor to die down, Rozbell regained his resolve. “No one respects our origins more than I. But we believe the opposition party has gone nameless for too long.” Rozbell turned to face the Strix. “Your Majesty should appreciate that for generations, eared owls were considered superior species. Our first half dozen kings were great horned owls or eagle owls. The Roundheads devised the hat to unite us in our causes. They were a sign of equality. And it is a sign of equality for both parties of Parliament to have proper names.”
It was the opposition party’s turn to cheer. From her perch above and behind Rozbell, Astra scanned the faces of the king’s party, trying to detect any sign of approval for what Rozbell said. It couldn’t hurt to have a few more supporters.
“Those hats have nothing to do with equality,” said the king, his voice calm but his tone severe. “We all know why we’re here. But I want you to hear it from me—there is no hard evidence the Sickness has returned.”
“Here, here!” cried a Strix, and the sentiment spread. But Rozbell was quick to interrupt.
“You’ll notice, he said no hard evidence. He doesn’t have the gizzard to admit we have every reason to fear the worst.” Again the Parliament erupted, both sides this time, and the Great Gray Owl began snapping his beak. But Rozbell wasn’t finished. “And the reason he won’t admit it is, he knows he’s powerless to help us if the Sickness has returned!”
The king’s beak began opening and closing, but if he was saying anything, no one could hear him over the torrent of hoots. Finally, a scops owl named Otus, the Strix Party leader in Parliament, flew down to a large stone table in the center of the glade. He clutched a rock in his talon and began clapping it against the stone until the Parliament came to order. “May I remind the members,” said Otus, “that while we favor spirited discussion, we also favor civility. And we do have rules.”
“My apologies to the rule-keeper,” said Rozbell, but he tipped his hat as he said so, nearly causing another outcry. “I’ve seen it for myself, and so have others. Dead rats, mice, and squirrels, all with mangy fur and eyes clouded with death. Songbirds and jays dead on the ground from no apparent cause. We must act now before the whole food supply is contaminated.”
“You must think I’m as blind as I am old,” said the king, provoking some low laughter. “Nothing in these woods escapes my attention. But death is the natural conclusion of life, even death by disease. You would have us flying into a tizzy at the sight of a bug on the ground.”
Rozbell’s eyes flashed with humiliation as the king’s party snickered. “Your own supporters know you’re in denial!” And Rozbell motioned for Astra to bring forward the barn owl, who perched on the stone next to Otus.
“Virgil?” said the king.
Virgil looked at the Great Gray Owl. “It’s true, Your Majesty. I recently captured a diseased rat.” He glanced at Rozbell. “And I have been in fear ever since.”
The barn owl’s testimony caused a commotion among the Strix. The Great Gray Owl was enraged. “I was here at the time of the last Sickness,” he reminded them. “How dare you suggest I am unable or unwilling to detect such a danger to my subjects.”
“That’s the real problem, isn’t it?” Rozbell snapped. “You were here during the Sickness of Yore, and half the owl population was infected or starved to death! Gewh, gewh, gewh!”
The hooting surged again, drowning out the sound of Otus beating the rock against the stone. The Great Gray Owl arched his imposing wingspan, trying to intimidate his much smaller opponent. “And I suppose you could just conjure an entirely new food supply out of thin air—if the Sickness were to return?”
Astra looked down at Rozbell, who said nothing at first, causing the king to relax his feathers. But Rozbell was merely waiting for the noise to die down before declaring, “In fact, that is exactly what I would do.”
The king spun his head left and right as he picked up on a murmur of approval for Rozbell.
“The colony of Neversink has an ample food supply,” said Rozbell. “The auks have more fish to catch than a pelican could carry.”
The king felt the advantage shift back to him as derisive laughter trickled through the Parliament. “No self-respecting owl eats fish,” said the Great Gray Owl. “Except you,” he added, pointing to a fish owl, who bowed graciously. “Besides, how would you propose we catch our food? None of us are fishers. Again, except you.”
“Not at all,” the fish owl replied, bowing with an even greater flourish.
“Who says we would have to learn how to fish?” spat Rozbell. “The auks are expert fishers!”
Otus, the rule-keeper, almost fell off his table, but the Great Gray Owl remained calm. As if he had been expecting Rozbell to wander this way. “And that’s the real reason you raise the specter of the Sickness,” he boomed. “You’re not concerned about our safety in the least.” Turning to the entire Parliament, he added, “He and his party are simply looking for an excuse to nurse an old grudge against the auks, and impose their will on the colony.”
Hoots of agreement from the king’s party collided with hoots of derision from Rozbell’s, shaking the trees. “Are you willing to take that risk?” said Rozbell to the king’s supporters. “What if you’re wrong?”
This time, Astra was certain she could see doubt clouding the faces of many of the Strix. No one knows how to use fear as a motivator quite like Rozbell, she thought. The king appeared to see the same thing; the feathers on his neck and head were standing on end.
Otus came to the king’s rescue. “Ordering any bird on Neversink to serve us that way would be a violation of the Peace of Yore,” he reminded them. “For that matter, so would trying to fish their waters
without their permission.”
“Gewh, gewh, gewh!” said Rozbell. “The Peace of Yore, the Peace of Yore. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just something the Birds of Yore talk about. I say, the colonies exist for our benefit, not their own.”
The Great Gray Owl fired back. “The benefit of letting the auks colonize Neversink was to get rid of those fish-eaters! Stinking up Murre Mountain with their fish and fish carcasses, making enough noise to wake the dead! Aside from that, you all know well the ancient conflict between owls and auks, going back to the World Tree. The situation became untenable. That means it didn’t work,” he said, sneering at Rozbell. “Getting rid of them is the benefit of their being a colony!”
Rozbell, to his dismay, could see the Great Gray Owl regaining command. It was a talent he had through years of practice. Rozbell turned to Astra, who passed him two scrolls. When the hoots of approval died down among the Strix, Rozbell held up the invitation to Egbert’s party and said, “I found this in my nest. I imagine many of you did, but you ignored it. You ignore solutions like you do problems!”
“What is that?” barked the king. He directed one of his house sparrows to fetch the scroll and bring it to him. He scanned it, sighing occasionally at the excessive wordiness, then looked at Rozbell. “Some tooth-walker is having a party? That’s what you consider a solution?” He let out a great hoot of derision.
“No,” said Rozbell. “I consider that a loophole. I consider this a possible solution.” He passed the second scroll to the king while having Astra distribute several others among the Strix. It was Egbert’s revised invitation, promising anyone who attended the chance to try Lucy Puffin’s famously delicious fish smidgens. Life changing! Mouthwatering! it said. Puts fish in a whole new light! (And in a delicious crunchy shell!)
Rozbell turned to address the king’s supporters directly.
“If the Sickness is upon us, Auk’s Landing could feed us all. And what’s more, there may be an alternative to eating raw fish. I am taking a small band to this party…. Any of you interested in protecting our future rather than wallowing in our past are welcome to join us.”
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