Season 1 · Episode 14
The Pigeon-Shaped Silence
Published 9th September 2026
The absence was large enough for everybody to notice at once.
The Pigeon-Shaped Silence
By lunchtime, the Square had reached the part of the day where a committee could be mistaken for weather.
A substantial Jackdaw delegation occupied the Oak in varying degrees of indignation, while members of the Smith family worked the bird table below with the steadfast concentration of men who had been told that crumbs were everybody’s business. Gary sat on the Fence Post, shining and pleased with the size of the audience.
“I have noticed something,” he announced.
“We all have,” said Mr Jack Daw. “That is why we are here.”
“No,” Gary said. “I mean something significant.”
Batman Smith landed on the rim of the bird table, chest forward. “Is it a threat?”
“Potentially.”
“Is it a matter for the family?”
“Almost certainly.”
The three Smiths immediately moved closer, which was not so much a tactical manoeuvre as a family tradition.
Gary lowered his voice. “Has anyone seen Nigel lately?”
The Oak fell quiet.
Not silent. The Jacks could never be silent. But quiet in the way of a council discovering that its chair is missing and that nobody wishes to admit they have only just noticed.
“Nigel,” Batman repeated.
“The Woodpigeon,” Gary said patiently. “Large. Gentle. Often looking at a snack as though it has made him a personal promise.”
“We know Nigel,” said Batman.
“Of course you do,” said Gary. “Everyone knows Nigel. That is rather the point.”
Mr Jack Daw tilted his head. “He may be conducting private business.”
“Lunch,” offered one Jack.
“Courtship,” offered another.
“Lunch during courtship,” said a third, with the air of a bird who had solved the entire matter.
Gary’s expression suggested that this was exactly the sort of reckless certainty that caused important persons to be overlooked. “No one has seen him. Not at the bird table. Not by the Fruit Tree. Not even wandering through a conversation he cannot possibly be following.”
Batman looked around the Square at once. The Smith brothers followed suit, examining the hedge, the summerhouse roof and the greenhouse with grave attention. A fourth Smith, arriving late and entirely unaware of the subject, began inspecting the lawn.
“We should be calm,” Batman said.
“Yes,” said Gary. “You look tremendously calm.”
The wind shook the leaves over them and a bank of cloud began to gather its opinions. The Jacks resumed talking, each one attempting to sound as though he had long been aware of the pigeon-shaped gap in the day.
By early afternoon, rain was falling in quick, needling showers. The committee withdrew in stages, because committees do not scatter; they adjourn into nearby foliage. Two Jacks remained beneath the Oak, then one. Later, even he was gone.
The Square, suddenly and inconveniently empty, had the feeling of a theatre after the audience had rushed out because somebody had shouted that there might be cake elsewhere.
An Entirely Non-Search
At evening, the sky cleared to a pale, chilly blue. The Smiths appeared at the edge of the Vegetable Garden, standing close enough together to be a family photograph and far enough apart to call it a search pattern.
Batman held position on the path.
“We are not searching,” he said.
“No,” said his brother.
“We are observing,” Batman continued.
“Very thoroughly,” said another.
They observed the empty lawn. They observed the hedge. They observed a fallen apple with the seriousness normally reserved for a diplomatic incident.
“Nigel would like that,” said the youngest.
Batman glanced at the apple, then away. “That proves nothing.”
Night arrived without offering an explanation. The garden darkened. The greenhouse became a pale shape behind the rain-washed glass; the Oak turned into a blacker patch of black. No voice came forward to claim the silence. No wings crossed the open path. Even Gary, who usually had a remark ready for a mystery, had apparently taken his remarks somewhere private.
Observations at First Light
Before dawn, one Robin began a small, stubborn song from the hedge. It was not a grand declaration. It was more the sound of somebody opening the office because, despite everything, the office had to open.
By first light, a Jack arrived to inspect the arrangement. Then another. Batman came in from the bird table side, looking as though he had been awake for hours and had personally approved morning.
“Any developments?” asked Mr Jack Daw.
Batman frowned. “We are not calling them developments.”
“What are we calling them?”
“Observations.”
“Ah,” said Mr Jack Daw. “A very different thing.”
High in the branches, Percy appeared briefly, small enough to be mistaken for a restless leaf and too busy to correct anybody. He threaded through the fine twigs, inspected the gathered Jacks with one bright eye, and vanished again.
“Did he see Nigel?” asked Batman.
“Percy sees everything,” said Mr Jack Daw.
“Then why did he not say?”
“Because Percy is a professional.”
The Jacks found this infuriating, partly because it was true and partly because it was impossible to hold a consultation with someone who had already left.
Morning advanced. The Oak filled again, not with answers but with Jacks. Their discussion acquired several subcommittees and a disagreement about whether a missing pigeon should be classed as a bird problem, a food problem, or a romantic matter.
Derek and the Tree
At the far side of the garden, Derek worked up the trunk of the Oak in the particular way Batman had spent days pretending not to watch.
Batman cleared his throat.
“Derek.”
Derek paused and looked down.
Batman’s voice became brisk. “If you happen to encounter Nigel, you will report it.”
“I shall,” said Derek.
“Without making a spectacle of it.”
“Naturally.”
“And without using the tree in any unusual manner.”
Derek looked at the tree. Then at Batman. “That last part may be difficult.”
A Working Title
Before Batman could decide whether this was insolence, a Jay swept through the upper branches in a flash of blue and vanished beyond the summerhouse. Every head turned. Every Jack offered a different account of what had just happened. Gary would have made something excellent of it, but Gary was nowhere to be found.
Shortly after, a great dark Rook landed beyond the bird table. He surveyed the scene, the Jacks, the Smiths and the inexplicably earnest examination of an apple.
“Is this about food?” he asked.
“No,” said Batman.
“Then it is not my concern,” said the Rook.
He gave the committee one final, withering look and left.
By late morning the bird table was busy again. Smiths came and went, the Jacks argued without breathing, and Derek went calmly about his tree business. The absence remained exactly where it had been: between the fallen apple and the empty patch of path, in the pause before somebody said Nigel’s name.
Then Mr Jack Daw raised one wing.
“Colleagues,” he said. “We require a working title.”
Batman sighed.
The Jacks began at once.
DUFF. DUFF. DUFF-DUFF-DUFF.