The Empty Fruit Tree

Rain Rules

At noon, rain ruled Lightwood Square.

The Smith family had taken refuge wherever a Robin could stand and complain about dampness at the same time. Batman Smith occupied the Fence Post, bedraggled but upright, as though the weather had been personally directed at him. The Fruit Tree dripped beside him.

“Still nothing,” he said.

No one needed to ask whom he meant.

The empty place beneath the Fruit Tree had acquired an importance entirely out of proportion to a pigeon who was usually thinking about lunch. Batman looked at it again. The rain looked back, in the unhelpful way of rain.

Mortimer Sees

By early afternoon, Mortimer came down through the wet branches and settled in the Oak. His feathers were blacker than the rain-darkened bark, and his arrival did not so much interrupt the garden as cause it to reconsider whether it had been behaving suitably.

“Mortimer,” said Mr Jack Daw.

“Jack,” said Mortimer.

“We have a situation.”

Mortimer looked toward the Fruit Tree. “I see.”

Batman waited for more.

“That is all?” he asked.

“For now,” said Mortimer.

This was not helpful, but it was unmistakably Raven.

Batman considered pressing him. Mortimer had the look of a bird who might know something useful, which was exactly why asking felt dangerous. At last Batman only said, “If you see Nigel—”

“I will see what I see,” said Mortimer.

Then he opened his wings and left the Square to its rain.

The rain softened to showers as afternoon went on. Flora, Fauna and Merryweather passed through the hedge in a neat, efficient line, declining to become damp individually. The Jacks returned to the Oak in uneven batches. By evening, they had formed a consultation around the practical question of whether a missing pigeon ought to be sought before or after refreshments.

“Both,” said Batman.

“In what order?” asked a Jack.

Batman looked as if this was the sort of question that had brought civilisation to its knees.

When the light went, the Square stayed cloudy and close. The Jacks went quiet. The Smiths tucked themselves into the hedge. The wet garden gleamed under a sky with no useful stars.

Marjorie Calls

After midnight, a high, odd note crossed the darkness.

Batman sat upright at once.

“Marlboro?” he whispered.

The sound did not answer. It had the restless, unfamiliar edge of somebody arriving with something to say and deciding against it at the last moment.

Then Marjorie called.

Her voice came firm and repeated from the far trees, as if she had taken charge of the night by force of professional standards. Batman listened from the Fence Post. Mr Jack Daw, dozing on a lower bough, opened one eye.

Marjorie called again. Then again, each one a little farther away, until her final voice came from beyond the garden and the darkness closed behind it.

“She has gone after someone,” Batman said.

“Or gone somewhere,” said Mr Jack Daw.

“That is not the same thing.”

“No,” said Mr Jack Daw. “But it is more likely to be true.”

Mildred Is Busy

Morning began with drizzle and the first quiet movement of Stirling’s squad along the hedge. One Jack saw it, told another Jack, and within moments the Oak was full of birds who had somehow learned nothing and were prepared to discuss it at length.

By breakfast, Mildred had quietly taken possession of the ground beneath the bird table. Jacks arrived and departed above her. She did not look up.

“You are unusually calm,” said one Jack.

“I am busy,” Mildred replied.

“With what?”

“Not knowing things.”

The Jack considered this with genuine admiration.

Later, the cloud thinned. The Smith family came out in numbers, and the Jacks reclaimed the Oak. Colin sang from the hedge while Stirling’s squad worked the path and disappeared beneath the Vegetable Garden border.

Gary Has a Theory

Gary did not arrive until after they had gone.

He landed on the Fruit Tree with three magpie-bright opinions and immediately inspected the empty ground below.

“Still no Nigel,” he said.

“You told us that yesterday,” Batman said.

“Yes,” said Gary. “I wanted to see whether it had changed.”

At the edge of the garden, a Blackcap slipped briefly through the hedge, dark-headed and entirely unwilling to pause for introductions.

Gary watched it go. “Even strangers are coming through now.”

“That is what gardens are for,” said Batman.

“Gardens are for established residents,” Gary corrected. “Strangers are evidence.”

Before Batman could reply, the morning finally opened into a pale patch of brightness. The Smiths got louder. The Jacks held a consultation about whether brightness made the Fruit Tree look suspicious. Colin sang over them all.

Gary looked from the hedge to the Vegetable Garden, then to the place Nigel should have been.

“I have a theory,” he said.

Batman sighed. “Of course you do.”

Gary smiled. “And this time, I may even tell you.”

DUFF. DUFF. DUFF-DUFF-DUFF.

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