“You have been “A Beacon of Inspiration” to thousands of bird lovers across Britain and abroad,” Mr. Flogg continued. “Because of your acts of courage and derring-do, not to mention your romantic exploits, inquiries and enrollments to the ornithology departments of all universities have more than tripled this week! At least twelve new applicants! The International Ornithological Society is ecstatic and would like to offer you both an excellent employment package, including tenure, at any institution you desire.”
**Tenure!** rejoiced one part of Beth’s brain. The rest, however, was a tumult of cynicism, overwhelming stimulation, and the desire to run away to some distant moorland where the soft melody of a whispering warbler provided the only sound for miles. Over Mr. Flogg’s shoulder, the IOS committee members regarded her with solemn approval, and she smiled politely in automatic response. Then, noting that Gladstone was not among them, she breathed a little more freely.
“That’s—” she began.
“But wait!” Mr. Flogg interjected dramatically, causing her to jolt and the caladrius to emit a startled peep. “There’s more! The Royal College of Science would like to honor you both with their Medal of Distinction, which comes with a grand cash prize of ten pounds.”
“Good heavens,” Devon said sardonically, grinning at Beth. He bounced his eyebrows. “We’re rich. Ten pounds each!”
“Er, no, that’s ten pounds between the two of you,” Mr. Flogg explained, scrubbing his mustache in embarrassment.
“Wasn’t there supposed to be a five thousand pound reward that went along with Birder of the Year?” Devon asked.
The committee members shuffled uncomfortably, looking like Devon had just threatened to steal all their blackboard chalk. “Ah, yes, well, you see…” Mr. Flogg extemporized. “There are two of you, and as everyone knows—”
“There can only be one Birder of the Year,” Beth, Devon, and the committee members joined him in saying.
“Yes, precisely. Because the award cannot be given to two people, it will instead be presented to the International Ornithological Society executive committee itself.”
“Which is significantly more than two people,” Devon pointed out, but no one heard him over the committee members enthusiastically congratulating each other for this win.
“What about the caladrius?” Beth asked.
“Ah! Wonderful news on that front too,” Mr. Flogg continued. “The committee is excited to offer the caladrius an all-expenses-paid tour of the British Isles! Including a very special audience with Her Majesty the Queen’s aviary keeper!”
Beth went cold right through. “But that’s what Gladstone was going to do,” she said. “It’s why we took the bird.”
“Yes, but we are doing it in the name of science, not profit,” explained the committee secretary, Monsieur Badeau.
“Entirely different,” said the representative of Universiteit van Amsterdam.
“Gladstone has been invited to resign,” announced Oxford University’s chancellor, in a tone that left no doubt “invited” was a professional synonym for “forced to.” He looked Beth up and down comprehensively, then nodded in approval, and she intuited that there were great things in her future: not only tenure and a corner office, but a higher quality of gloves to wear when she washed the dishes in the faculty lounge. She took half a step back, clutching the birdcage so tightly her fingers hurt.
“Excuse us a moment,” Devon said to the committee, then turned away, drawing Beth with him. She felt his mood clench with the same instinct to flee that she had. But there was nowhere to go. With Messrs. Flogg and Fettick and the IOS committee behind them, and what appeared to be half of London before them, they were thoroughly trapped.
“This is dreadful!” Beth whispered. “We can’t release the caladrius inside the aviary now; it’s just like placing it inside a larger cage. But we can’t run either. The poor bird is doomed! Utterly doomed!”
Devon took a deep breath, holding her gaze steadily with his, then exhaled. When next he breathed in, Beth did the same, then they exhaled in unison. It was highly effective, although only if their goal had been to feel rather dizzy. Certainly, calm found nowhere to perch within Beth.
“You have a plan?” she asked Devon hopefully.
“No,” he said. “I’m at a complete bloody loss.”
Peep!
The caladrius’s sudden sharp cry drew their attention to the cage. A gold thread of magic was emerging from beneath it, coiling slowly as it rose through the space between them.
“Ooh.” A soft ripple of wonder went through the crowd.
The magic began to extend in sparkling ribbons, shooting off tiny pink stars. Floating toward Devon, it encircled him, then wove around Beth, binding them in enchantment.
“Ahhh!” The rippling wonder grew louder. Messrs. Flogg and Fettick stared, mouths agape. The IOS committee began taking notepads and pencils from pockets in their university robes to record the phenomenon.
Peeeep!
At the caladrius’s shrill cry, Beth’s pulse leaped. She hastily lifted the cage cover, revealing the little white bird standing tall on its perch, wings outstretched.
“The caladrius!” several people at the front of the crowd shouted.
“Where? Where?” shouted others.
“Move! I can’t see it!”
“Quick, Hilda, get out your sketch pad!”
“It looks nothing like its picture in the newspaper.”
Peep peep! An intense light burst forth from the little white bird. Everyone winced, and when they looked again the cage was melting away, gold drops falling to the earth, leaving only the handle in Beth’s grasp.
“Oh no,” she said—
And the caladrius flew up, singing, singing.
—
As the small wings flapped valiantly, carrying the bird into
Love filled the air.
