Foragers

Peter Wilks

Description

When his winter stores fall down the drain, Noah the inventive blackbird flies out in search of food. Noah and his companion Trudy have nothing else to help them but their wits. Battling against all kinds of dangers, eventually they find a plentiful source of food... only to discover that it is guarded by Oswald the owl. Will the foragers escape?

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2006
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781780886534
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Foragers
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Grimoire

Copyright © 2006 Peter Wilks
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
Matador
9 De Montfort Mews
Leicester LE1 7FW, UK
Tel: [phone] / 9312
Email: [e-mail]
Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
ISBN 10: 1-905886-07-1
ISBN 13: 978-1-780886-53-4

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
To my Grandmother, Dolly
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
About the Author
Chapter One
Sharon the blackbird was over half way through knitting her new shawl, the plastic needles clinking away when she caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her left eye. Glancing in that direction, she adjusted her glasses with her free wing, further back on her beak and saw the candle flame waver again. A second later, fairy lights decorating the attic walls began to quiver and a drop of water splashed onto the table from on high where in between the sloping ceiling, dangled wet clothes swaying on the corded washing line.
With a heavy gulp, Sharon dropped her knitting onto the table top before pushing the upholstered camp stool away from it and stood up, her varnished clawed toes scraping across the floorboards as she took a few steps back to the sound of another splash. “Noah! There’s something strange happening down here,” she uttered with a nervous lisp, her eyes widening as the vibrations gradually increased. “No wonder you managed to get this apartment so cheap. Why didn’t you tell me we’ve moved into an earthquake zone?”
Before her, Noah the blackbird winced and holding onto the banister with his feathers, he slowly descended the trembling staircase, a loped tape measure was clasped in his other wing. Dominos shifted, creating narrow cracks to appear under his claws. Framed pictures of stamps slanted and one fell off the wall and the clock tumbled over before jouncing its way across the mantelpiece towards fluttering shadows. A ball of bright yellow wool rolled off the table top.
“This has nothing to do with seismic waves, petal,” he said honestly, addressing her with his affectionate nick name, hesitating when he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Er.....”
It was then, beyond their home there came a distant roaring noise as something huge sliced through the night air, blazing with lights and its streamlined shape was backlit with swirling snow flakes. Its nose dropped suddenly, losing altitude rapidly to glide over the suburban gables and chimney tops, the magnifying rumble of the engines and its slipstream rattled window boxes and ripped slates from the roofs.
“What you’re hearing is an airplane,” Noah resumed with a sigh of resignation, raising his voice just above the approaching noise. “We’re living in the flight path. Nice huh?” He forced a smile.
“I expect more when we’re paying the equivalent to three worms a month for this hovel.” Sharon glared at her husband, throwing her wings up to cover her ears and closed her beak to prevent it from chattering.
Noah wobbled passed the threadbare settee and plucked a tottering thimble cup to safety, which had vibrated to the edge of the second table, but was not able afterwards to stop his wife’s collection of ceramic plates dislodging themselves from the display cabinet and smashing into dozens of shards onto the rug. The Jumbo Jet rumbled overhead, turning at a 45-degree angle before it flew off, heading towards the runway at the nearby airport.
Back inside the attic, a high-backed chair overturned, pieces of plaster dropped off the ceiling in the lessening tremors and behind the stairs, more cupboards in the kitchen were shaken loose from their wall mountings and crashed to the floor, only the planks in there and the structural timbers below were already weakened and pierced with holes from a real bad infestation of furniture beetle. The section of floor creaked and suddenly gave way under the extra weight of all their winter supplies. Food and the demolished remains of the cupboards plunged out of sight to be quickly lost in the darkness and the snow.
The tremors faded with distance.
“Oh blimey,” Sharon said sadly, surveying the damage of her prized possessions, the whistle from her lisp sounded like she’d left the kettle boiling on the stove. “All my bric-a-brac is broken,” she sniffed, uprighting the chair. “My grandmother gave me this stuff.”
“It’s a good job none of it was new, then?” Noah replied tactlessly, entering the kitchen and peering down at the opening, shivering in the lower temperature. “Brrrrr! You think that’s bad, wait until you get in here; there’s a big hole in the floor. I wanted a backdoor but this is ridiculous.”
“Wha-aat!” Sharon remarked, shaking her head as she weaved through the wreckage towards him. “I bet we lose our security deposit because of this.”
“Not necessary,” Noah said, eyeing the vacant spaces on the walls where the cupboards used to hang. “I heard munching and belching last night and I just assumed you were eating in bed again but it must have been the woodworm instead.”
Sharon scowled and rubbed her wings together for warmth as she came to a halt beside him. “Woodworm! Flight path,” she groaned angrily, following his gaze and seeing what was missing. “No wonder I’m stressed out with what you put me through, and now our home is in ruins; we’ve lost all our grub and my favourite rolling pin. Ooh if only I was clutching that; I’d shove it sideways in a place which wouldn’t allow you to sit down for a week.”
Noah harrumphed to clear the throat and sweat trickled down his feathers. He was a young bird, about 25 centimetres in length with shiny ebony plumage that was nearly as soft as velvet. He was bowlegged and had an orange beak with an eye-ring that matched the hue of one of the many colours on his vividly-patterned, short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt he wore above his baggy, knickerbocker. “Don’t worry! The groceries are simply misplaced. I’ll go and get them.”
Sharon nodded in relief. She was also a fully grown flier, roughly the same age as Noah but only slighter smaller in size, with dark brown feathers, a milky white throat and a dark, narrowly-chipped beak. Her plump upper plumage was concealed by a sleeveless, lace-trimmed camisole above a pair of thick, warm bloomers that gathered about half way up her legs. “Good!” she answered, glancing over her shoulder at the chamber. “I’m gonna search for the First Aid kit. I’ve a hunch we’ll need it more than once tonight.”
Noah blinked and with his knees knocking, he jumped down the hole.

Grunting noisily, Noah clambered up through the hole and noticed the stove was undamaged. Set against the wall, made of brick with porcelain tiles on the outside, he saw flames cracking through the small firebox at the bottom and smoke moved up through a twisting flue to join the terrace’s chimney pot. “Cooker’s working then? That’s something.”
“Yeah! Any luck in finding our food, Noah?” Sharon asked with a frown, concern evident in the tone of her voice. Glancing fleetingly at him as he strided over to the nearest candle, his wings empty, before returning her gaze to the broken table leg she was mending by busily tying both pieces together with a bandage. Heat seeped upwards from the hot water bottle she sat on.
“Only bad,” he replied, shaking from the cold as he extended his dripping, inky wings towards the candle flame in an effort to warm them up. “Everything’s gone and probably adrift, heading towards the seaside.”
“Flipping heck! How did you mess up this time?” Sharon inquired in disbelief, securing the gauze with a strip of adhesive tape then looking up. “It was a simple enough errand even my niece and nephew could do it.”
Noah brushed and shook the remaining snow flakes from his plumage. “Its not my fault there’s an old catch basin in the road and our food fell between the bars and landed in the sewer underneath. It could have happened to anyone.” He stamped his feet to keep the numbness out of them and turned to heat up his comparatively long tail sticking out of his shorts, careful though to not get the feathers to close to the fire or they might become singed like the last time.
Sharon inhaled a calming breath and slowly let it out. “True!” she agreed, standing up. “But mainly to us more than others. Oh what are we to do Noah?” Her wingtips tapped her chin thoughtfully and she began pacing around the room. “Christmas is round the corner and our relations are coming tomorrow to spend it with us. The apartment is in a shambles and all our supplies have gone for a swim. I think it’ll be best to cancel the celebrations. I just hope the mental scars of this evening will fade in the months to come.”
“Don’t do anything drastic yet,” Noah cheeped in warning, holding up his wings. “I’ve a idea that will work.”
“Now that is frightening,” she stopped pacing.
He ignored the dig. “I’ll go shopping.”
“What, in this weather? Its not fit enough for a dog out there much less you.”
“Got no choice.”
“Plus pickings are going to be awful slim. None of the seed feeders’ have been refilled in the last day or two.”
“Not in our usual hunting grounds, I agree Sharon. But I intend to travel further afield so I may be back late. Don’t bother waiting up.”
“I wouldn’t generally,” she declared wi