Season 1 · Episode 12
The Fruit Tree Has Nothing to Declare
Published 7th September 2026
This was not a meeting.
A Practical Arrangement
The Square had almost recovered from its nocturnal feelings when Batman Smith declared the afternoon normal.
This was a mistake.
The day had opened bright enough for the Smith family to reclaim the Bird Table, the Fence Post, the garden paths and three entirely separate patches of lawn. A brief shower had done nothing but make everyone look more certain they had been inconvenienced personally. By the time the sun returned, the Square was warm, bright and dangerously full of optimism.
“No meetings,” Batman said, from the Fence Post.
His family immediately formed a semicircle around him.
“This is not a meeting,” Batman added.
“What is it?” asked a Robin.
“A practical arrangement of robins.”
“With you in the middle?”
Batman considered the question. “It is a very practical arrangement.”
Across the garden, a chiffchaff sang from the Hedge with the carefree optimism of somebody who had never been asked to account for anything. Long-tailed Tits swept through in a lively little procession. Coal Tits appeared and disappeared among the leaves. The Jacks arrived in fewer numbers at first, which only made Mr Jack Daw more determined to seem official.
Gary came in from the Fruit Tree at precisely the moment Batman was trying not to chair anything.
“I have good news,” Gary announced.
“No,” said Batman.
“You do not know what it is.”
“It is bad news wearing a cheerful expression.”
Gary looked mildly impressed. “You are learning.”
He leaned toward the Vegetable Garden. “The Colonel has been quiet.”
“That is how squirrels are when they are not eating,” Batman replied.
“Not this quiet.”
The Fruit Tree Has Nothing to Declare
The afternoon warmed. The Jacks spread through the Oak. Robins worked the grass. Gary returned to the Fruit Tree, where he began inspecting its branches with the exaggerated innocence of somebody who had been told he was not welcome near them.
At first, Stirling did not appear.
Then a grey shape moved beneath the lower leaves.
Lieutenant Colonel Stirling crossed from the Vegetable Garden with no squad at his heels. He did not look at Batman. He did not look at the Jacks. He looked directly at the Fruit Tree.
Gary looked back.
For a moment, the warm garden became very still.
“Afternoon, Colonel,” said Gary, far too pleasantly.
Stirling paused beneath the branch. His eyes travelled from Gary to the base of the Fruit Tree, then along the Fence Post, then back to Gary. He gave the smallest possible nod and turned away toward the Hedge.
Gary waited until he had gone.
“That was an accusation,” he told Batman.
“It was a nod.”
“It was a heavily edited accusation.”
At dusk, the Square became crowded again. Jacks filled the Oak in a black, quarrelsome assembly. The Smith family settled through the Hedges but continued to talk. Gary’s family occupied the Fruit Tree, where Gary kept one eye on the Vegetable Garden and another on anyone who looked like they might know why he was doing so.
The sun slipped behind cloud. The warmth loosened from the path. By nightfall, the garden had become a dark arrangement of wet leaves and half-heard thoughts.
The Voice in the Rain
After midnight, a female owl called.
The first call came through a light shower, clear and alone. A little later, another followed. The Square listened from its sleeping places. No second owl answered. No sudden male voice came from the Hedge. The dark belonged, for the moment, to one persistent presence.
In the Oak, something moved, and a pale glint caught briefly between the leaves.
“Marjorie,” Batman murmured from the Hedge.
Nobody confirmed it.
The owl called again after the shower had passed. Then later still, with the clouds hanging low above the Pine, her voice returned once more.
The Jacks did not hold a consultation. This was how seriously they took it.
At last, the calls faded into the clouded dark. The Square remained awake for a little while longer, each resident privately deciding what the silence meant.
The Raven Passes
By dawn, rain had arrived and stayed.
A wren was first to object, erupting from the wet border with several tiny declarations that no one could translate but everybody understood. The Smith family followed, pouring into the grey garden as though the morning had summoned them by name.
“The Bird Table is soaked,” cried one Robin.
“The paths are soaked,” cried another.
“The whole Square is soaked,” Batman said.
“That does not help,” they replied.
Jacks gathered on the Oak in damp, argumentative ranks. A Raven passed above the garden, large and dark against the broken cloud, and gave the entire Square the unnerving sense that somebody more important had heard about it.
No one said anything until it had gone.
“I do not believe that was for us,” said Mr Jack Daw.
“Everything is for us,” said Batman.
This was not a comforting answer.
As the rain softened, Nuthatch worked down the Oak headfirst while Coal Tits and Long-tailed Tits rushed through the Hedge. The Jacks resumed their argument. Gary returned to the Fruit Tree with his family, all wet feathers and suspiciously bright eyes.
“Did anyone else see the Colonel yesterday?” he asked.
“No,” said Batman.
“I did,” said Mr Jack Daw.
Gary waited.
Mr Jack Daw looked at him. “I have no further statement.”
“That is a statement,” Gary said.
“Exactly.”
Nothing Emerged
By late morning, the rain had eased into a fine mist. The Smiths occupied every available perch. The Jacks filled the Oak. Gary’s family worked the Fruit Tree from top to bottom, searching very carefully for nothing at all.
From somewhere under the Hedge, a dry leaf shifted.
Gary stopped.
Batman stopped.
Mr Jack Daw stopped speaking halfway through a sentence, which was alarming enough.
Nothing emerged.
Gary smiled at the empty Hedge.
“There,” he said quietly. “You see?”
Batman looked at him. “I see nothing.”
“Precisely.”