South by South East

BIRDS

“Waverly was hiding something,” I said.

Tim and I were sitting back in the Camden Town office, which was where we’d woken up. Whatever it was in the drink we had been given, it was powerful stuff. My head was still hurting. My tongue felt like someone had used it to dry the dishes.

“What was he hiding?” Tim asked. He wasn’t looking much better than me. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. We’d been unconscious for about six hours.

“I don’t know. It was something to do with Boris Kusenov. How did Mr Waverly find out that Charon was planning to kill him? And why is it so important that it doesn’t happen in Britain?”

“Maybe it would be bad for the tourist trade.”

Tim poured himself a cup of tea. “He offered me a job!” he exclaimed. “A spy! Working for MI6!”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to disillusion him but he had to know. “You’re not a spy, Tim,” I told him. “You’re a sitting target.”

Tim stood up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — when Charon hears you’re working for MI6, he’ll come gunning for you. Or knifing. Or harpooning. That’s what Mr Waverly wants.”

“Why? Didn’t he like me?”

“If Charon comes after you, he’ll be too busy to go after Kusenov. And of course, it gives Waverly another chance to catch him.”

“You mean — he’s using me?”

“Yes.”

“Over my dead body!”

“Exactly…”

Tim sat down again behind his desk. Then he stood up. Then he sat down again. I was beginning to get a crick in my neck watching him, but at last he swung round and I realized that he was actually furious. “How dare he!” he squeaked. “Well, I’m going to show him!”

“What are you going to do?”

“He kidnapped me. He drugged me. And now he’s trying to get me killed. What do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to the police!”

“Snape?” I grimaced. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

But Tim wouldn’t let me talk him out of it. And that was how — the very same day that we’d been released from jail for wasting police time — we found ourselves knocking on the door, asking to be let back in again. The desk sergeant wasn’t pleased to see us. We left him chewing the desk while a constable went to fetch Chief Inspector Snape.

Then Snape himself arrived, with Boyle, as ever, just a few steps behind. “I do not believe it!” he exclaimed in a cracked voice.

“But Chief… I haven’t told you yet,” Tim replied.

So Tim told him: the hotel room, the two MI6 agents, the taxi ride, Kelly Street, Mr Waverly… everything. Snape listened without interrupting, but I got the idea that he wasn’t taking Tim seriously. Maybe it was the way he rapped his fingernails on the table and stared out of the window. Maybe it was his occasional sniff of silent laughter. Meanwhile Boyle stood with his back against the wall, smirking quietly to himself.

“So that’s it?” Snape enquired when Tim had finished. “You really expect me to swallow that?”

“But it’s the truth!” Tim insisted. He turned to me. “Tell him!” he exclaimed.

“It’s the truth,” I agreed. What else could I say?

Snape considered. “Very well,” he muttered at length. “Let’s take a look at Number Seventeen. But I’m warning you, Diamond…”

He drove us back to Kelly Street and stopped at the bottom. We walked the last fifty metres — with Snape’s driving that had to be the fastest part of the journey. Eleven, thirteen, fifteen… I counted off the numbers of the buildings as we went past. It was all just like I remembered it. Then we reached Number Seventeen.

It wasn’t there any more.

At least, there was something there only it wasn’t what had been there the last time we were there. It was as confusing as that. The empty window, the dust and the bare floorboards had been replaced by a pretty shop that looked as if it had been there for years. There was a wooden sign above the door that read: Bodega Birds. But these weren’t the oven-ready variety. You could hear them squawking even out in the street: budgies and canaries and just about every other species of feathered friend. “Hello!” someone shouted. I think it was a parrot.

Tim had seen all this too. “Wait a minute!” he cried in a high-pitched voice. For a moment he sounded remarkably like a parrot himself. “The birds. They weren’t there!”

“So how did they get here then?” Snape asked. “I suppose they just flew in?”

“I don’t know!”

We went in. I looked for the door that led to the staircase. At least that was still in place, only now you had to step past a row of canaries to reach it. But then there were birds everywhere, twittering in their cages or rocking backwards and forwards on their perches. The back of the shop was lined with shelves stacked high with bird-food, bird-toys, bird-baths and everything else you might need if you happened to be a bird. And none of it was new. As far as we could tell, it had all been there for years.

“This is the wrong place!” Tim said.

“It’s Number Seventeen,” Snape growled.

“Can I help you?” The speaker was an elderly woman in a bright pink cardigan, white blouse and beads. She had small, black eyes and a pointed nose like a beak. Give her a few feathers and you’d have had difficulty finding her among the birds. She had shuffled round from behind the counter and, with fingers that were thin and bent, began to stroke a big blue parrot.

“Are you the manager here?” Snape asked.

“Yes. I’m Mrs Bodega.” Her voice was thin and high-pitched.

“How long has this shop been here?”

Mrs Bodega worked it out on her fingers. “Let me see,” she trilled. “I opened the shop two years before my husband died — and that was nine years ago. My husband was pecked to death, you know. The birds did love him! But they didn’t know when to stop. So… eight years plus two years. That’s ten years in all.”

She tickled one of the parrots. The parrot swayed on its perch and preened itself against her. “This is Hercule,” she went on. “He was my husband’s favourite. We called him Hercule after that nice detective, Hercule Parrot.”

At least that amused Boyle. “Hercule Parrot,” he muttered and stuck out a finger. The parrot squawked and bit it.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Mrs Bodega asked.

Snape turned to Tim. “Well?”

“She’s lying!” Tim exclaimed. “This shop wasn’t here.” He nudged me. “Tell him!”

I had a feeling I was wasting my time but I tried anyway. “It’s true,” I said. “This is all a fake. And this woman…” I pointed at Mrs Bodega. “She must be some sort of actress.”

“I’m no such thing. Who are you? What do you want?”

Boyle pulled his swollen finger out of his mouth and went over to Snape. “Give me five minutes, sir,” he pleaded. “Just five minutes. Alone with them.”

“No, Boyle,” Snape sighed.

“Five minutes with the parrot?”

“No.” Snape closed his eyes.

Tim was utterly confused. Mrs Bodega was watching us with a mixture of innocence and indignation. “All right,” Snape said. “Just tell me where these agents of yours took you.”

“They took us upstairs,” Tim said. He pointed. “There’s a staircase behind that door.”

“There’s no such thing!” Mrs Bodega muttered.

“I’ll show you!”

Tim marched forward and threw open the door. He’d taken two more steps before he realized what I’d seen at once. The staircase was no longer there. He’d walked into a broom cupboard. There was a crash as he collided with an assortment of buckets and brooms. A shelf gave way and clattered down bringing with it about five years’ supply of bird-seed. Tim simply disappeared in a gold-and-white shower of the stuff. It poured down on him, forcing him to his knees, burying him.

And then it was all over. There was a small mountain of bird seed on the floor with two legs jutting out of it. The mountain shifted and broke open. Tim stuck his head out and coughed. Bird seed trickled out of his ear.

Snape had seen enough. “So they took you into a broom cupboard, did they?” he snarled. He caught one of the brooms. “I suppose this was your brush with MI6?”

“Chief Inspector! Listen…”

It was too late for that. Snape dropped the broom and grabbed hold of Tim, and, at the same time, I winced as Boyle’s hand clamped itself onto my shoulder. A moment later my feet had left the floor. All around me, the birds were screeching and whistling and fluttering. It was as if they were laughing at us. But then maybe they knew. They weren’t the only ones who were going to be spending the night behind bars.