The Heron Has an Alibi

A Grey Afternoon

By lunchtime, the Square had the uneasy stillness of a household that had misplaced something important and was hoping nobody would ask what.

Batman Smith stood upon the Fence Post, immaculate in spite of the grey afternoon, surveying the Hedges with the proprietary air of a man who had not paid for any of it. His brothers, cousins and assorted Smiths occupied every useful branch around him.

“Nobody panic,” Batman announced.

Gary the Magpie emerged from the Fruit Tree at once. “Nobody *is* panicking. I am merely saying that the Jacks have been seen arriving in numbers, and that usually means a committee, a plot, or a sandwich.”

“There will be no gossip.”

“Then it is lucky I brought intelligence.”

The first light rain came and went without settling the argument. It merely polished the greenhouse panes and made everyone look faintly accused. Robins worked the wet borders with theatrical industry while the Jacks began appearing on the Oak in dribs and then in such quantities that the Oak itself seemed to acquire a rowdy black fringe.

Mr Jack Daw dropped down beside Batman with the patient smile of somebody who had already won an argument elsewhere.

“A charming afternoon,” he said.

“What do you want?” said Batman.

“Nothing at all. We are simply enjoying the garden.”

Behind him, a dozen Jacks enjoyed the garden by shouting at one another, inspecting the Bird Table, and establishing ownership of three separate twigs.

Gary leaned toward Batman. “That is exactly what a committee says when it wants the minutes destroyed.”

The Committee

At the Vegetable Garden, Lieutenant Colonel Stirling appeared alone, low to the earth and damp of whisker. He emerged from beneath a clump of leaves, looked directly at Gary, and froze.

Gary froze back.

“Afternoon, Colonel,” he called, far too brightly.

Stirling gave the Magpie one narrow, measuring look, then set off along the path with the purposeful trot of a squirrel who had remembered a secret mission halfway through lunch.

Batman watched him go. “What was that about?”

“Absolutely nothing,” said Gary. “Which is usually the beginning of the trouble.”

The Crows Arrive

By evening the clouds had lifted just enough to make the wet garden gleam. The Jacks had moved their society to the upper Oak. Gary’s family were busy in the Hedges, conducting several conversations at once. Then the crows arrived, large and grave, and took up positions along the Pine as if they had been invited to pronounce upon the entire day.

Nobody had invited them.

“They’re here,” Gary whispered.

“Who?” Batman asked.

Gary considered this. “The sort who make an entrance by not making one.”

The crows said nothing. This somehow made Gary’s point worse.

The Heron Has an Alibi

Night came clean and bright, the clouds opening onto a cool, clear dark. The Square quietened reluctantly. Batman tucked himself into the ivy near the Summerhouse, still convinced he was on watch. The Jacks fell silent one by one. Even Gary stopped talking, though only because he was listening very hard.

Then a tall shape crossed the far end of the garden.

It stepped through the shadows beside the greenhouse with impossible calm: long legs, long neck, and the composure of somebody who had mistaken Lightwood Square for a private estate.

Gary nearly fell off his branch.

“That,” he hissed, “is a very large problem.”

The visitor paused beside the rain-dark path, inspected the garden, and continued without asking anyone’s permission.

From the Pine came a small, sharp voice. A compact little owl had arrived late to the disturbance and was plainly offended to find it already in progress.

The tall visitor did not reply.

“He has an alibi,” Gary whispered after a moment.

Batman blinked. “For what?”

“I don’t know yet. But look at him. Nobody is that tall without something to hide.”

Farther back in the dark, an owl called. A second answer followed, not quite the same, and the garden seemed suddenly to hold its breath.

At the old Oak, Marjorie appeared in the silvered gap between the leaves, pearls catching the moonlight with the quiet authority of a verdict. Somewhere lower in the darkness, Marlboro answered again—impatient, youthful, and entirely unwilling to be overlooked.

“Marlboro,” said Marjorie.

“What?” came the reply.

“Do not shout from under a bush.”

“I am not under a bush.”

There was a rustle, a pause, and then Marlboro reappeared on a lower branch with the unmistakable look of somebody who had recently been under a bush.

Gary drew a breath. “A cover-up.”

“Go to sleep,” said Batman.

“I would love to,” said Gary. “But the Square has become suspiciously enormous.”

Marjorie looked toward the greenhouse, where the long-legged visitor had vanished. Marlboro looked in the same direction, then at Marjorie. Neither offered an explanation. This was not reassuring.

The Cover-Up

Later, when the night had clouded over again and the garden seemed to have forgotten its own shapes, another owl called from somewhere beyond the Hedges. Marjorie and Marlboro answered only after a long pause.

Gary did not sleep at all.

Rain Before Dawn

Rain returned before dawn, first as a fine tapping on the leaves, then as a determined grey curtain. The Smith family woke into it with the outrage of people who had been personally inconvenienced by weather. Batman stood on the Fence Post, dripping furiously, while dozens of robins poured into the garden as though the rain had summoned them to a family emergency.

“The paths are flooded,” cried one.

“The Bird Table is wet,” cried another.

“Everything is wet,” said Batman, which was not helpful but was true.

Steve and Mrs Steve arrived beneath the hedge, where Steve attempted to look dignified and Mrs Steve successfully did. The Jacks returned in a black, argumentative wave, scattering over the Oak just as the rain intensified.

“This is why we needed an agenda,” Mr Jack Daw declared.

“This is weather,” Batman called back.

“Exactly. No preparation.”

The rain turned heavy. Long-tailed tits hurried through the branches in a small, bustling procession, with Great Tit bringing up the rear like a late but convinced participant. A wren flashed out from the soaked border, complained to nobody in particular, and disappeared again. Near the hedge, a dunnock maintained the expression of someone who had always expected the day to be disappointing.

At last, from the dripping Vegetable Garden, Stirling emerged with a single acorn held firmly in both paws.

He stopped beneath the Oak.

Above him, Gary was already there.

For one thunderous moment, the Colonel and the gossip stared at each other across the rain.

Gary opened his beak.

Stirling tucked the acorn under one arm and vanished beneath the greenhouse.

Batman looked from the empty path to Gary. “What did you say to him?”

Gary looked offended. “Nothing. Yet.”

The rain hammered on. The Jacks argued. The Smiths reorganised the morning three times. And somewhere beyond the Hedges, a chiffchaff sang as if none of it had happened.

LIGHTWOOD SQUARE WILL RETURN.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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