“Yes, he’s watching the road to be sure no one comes upon us.”
“Such as whom?” Beth asked, looking around now herself as if she expected half a dozen rival ornithologists (and their servants) to appear from behind the greenery. “I extrapolate the chances of—”
“Please. Listen.” Such was the man’s anxiety, he scrunched the brim of his hat in his fists. “There isn’t much time! Be prepared, what you are about to hear will shake you to the core. The Birder of the Year competition is rigged!”
He paused dramatically, but neither Devon nor Beth evidenced any shaking. “You seem awfully calm about that,” he remarked, miffed.
“We already guessed it,” Beth said.
“I see. Well, Professor Gladstone, as the chairman of the International Ornithological Society, has possession of the caladrius. And—and he has made a deal with a wicked doc—no, an evil pharmaceutical organization that plans to experiment on the bird. The competition is a sham; they intend to simply make their secret agent their winner.”
“Why did they even bother holding a competition?” Beth asked. “Why not just hand over the bird?”
The man blinked at her. “Because…to cover their tracks.”
“How exactly?” Devon asked.
The man’s blinking accelerated. “Who can say? It’s a secret, evil plot.”
“Where did IOS find the caladrius to begin with?” Beth asked.
“Er…Transylvania, I think?”
“Who discovered it?” Devon asked.
“And why have other magical birds been attacking people?” Beth asked.
“And how do you know about this secret plan?” Devon asked.
The blinking reached force 6 on the Beaufort scale, threatening to do the man an ocular injury. “Look, the point is, someone needs to rescue the caladrius and take it to London.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Why London?”
“And how did a conservative thinker like Gladstone get involved in something like this?” Devon asked.
“And why are we your only hope?” Beth asked.
The man began fanning himself desperately with his hat. “I-I-I will answer all your questions when there’s time. But we need to hurry now! The caladrius must be rescued from Gladstone’s house before anyone else discovers it there and tries to steal it for themselves.”
Beth and Devon exchanged a sober glance. “Oberhufter,” Devon said.
“Hippolyta,” Beth said at the same time.
They turned back to the man. “We’ll do it.”
He exhaled with relief, his shoulders sagging as if half the air in him had been released. “Gladstone has the caladrius secured inside a cage in his library. You need to—”
“If you were just at the house and saw the bird, why didn’t you rescue it yourself?” Devon asked.
The man smacked his hat over his face. When he lowered it again, he was smiling brightly. “Do I look like a hero to you? Really, we have no more time for questions. You need to sneak into Gladstone’s house, obtain the caladrius, then flee before any of the servants catch you. Make sure you don’t separate! This is vital! You must stay together. Er, safety in numbers and all that. Take the bird to London and meet us at…let’s see, a random place just off the top of my head…Kensington Gardens, behind the Albert Memorial on Albert Memorial Road, opposite the Royal Albert Hall. There’s a new public aviary just finished being built there: the Albert Aviary. Queen Victoria had it erected in memory of the prince. He loved birds, you know.”
“Loved to shoot them,” Devon said caustically.
“Why can’t we just bring the caladrius to you here, today?” Beth asked. “Since we’re in—”
“I said no time for questions!” The man flapped his hat at them urgently. But Beth and Devon paused. Morning light fell through the oak foliage over them in soft, bright pieces, like the broken dream of tenure.
“If we bring you the caladrius, will you keep it safe?” Beth asked.
“Yes. It will be protected from all harm, or my name isn’t Feh—er…”
“Isn’t what?” Devon prompted, suspicion darkening his eyes.
“Feth-erlong-ham-skew!” The syllables tumbled from the man’s throat with increasing desperation. “Mr. Fetherlonghamsque, PRESS agent. Now hurry, in case Herr Oberhufter and Mrs. Quirm turn up at Gladstone’s house before you!”
That propelled them into action. Beth nodded a polite goodbye, and Devon held back branches so she could move easily through the gap in the hedge. As she reentered the road, she noticed Devon casting one more mistrustful look at the PRESS agent. Then he followed her, and they took off running toward the Eyrie.
—
“Uuughhh.” Mr. Fettick groaned, collapsing back against the trunk of the oak tree. Taking the handkerchief from his jacket’s breast pocket, he applied it to his face and throat. It came away sodden.
“That was brilliant!” Mr. Flogg whispered excitedly, appearing from around the other side of the tree. His eyes shone with admiration. “You are brilliant! I’ve never seen anyone think so fast on their feet. Your brain must have been in a flat spin!”
“I feel like I need a doctor,” Mr. Fettick said, wringing out his handkerchief. “They were so blastedly clever! I didn’t expect them to question me quite so much.”
“Professors,” Mr. Flogg murmured in a tone recognizable to anyone who has had an essay returned to them covered in red ink.
“At least we have control of the story again. And frankly, I think it’s going to be even more of a triumph than the original competition idea. Heroic professors rescuing a bird from the clutches of a tyrant! Sacrificing their own dreams to keep it safe! Dangerous henchmen! Romance! A desperate race across the country! Children everywhere will want to be ornithologists after this.”
