Enver, freed from his frozen position, hopped over to take a look. “Very nice,” he said. Prue wrote his name in capitals under the picture. Below that, she wrote the words Melospiza melodia in her best script.
“Song sparrow,” explained Prue.
Enver chirped appreciatively.
“It’s not improving on Mr. Sibley, or anything,” Prue demurred. “And he didn’t even have the benefit of being able to talk to his subjects. But it’ll do.”
Enver, antsy to move, leapt into the air and wheeled above the twin turrets of Pittock Mansion. Prue watched him sail against the charcoal-gray sky.
A skyline of dense trees defined the horizon below the sparrow’s dizzying flight path: golden yellow maples and deep green firs. Beyond the shroud of trees, she knew, was Portland. Her home. From this vantage, Prue thought, Portland seemed like the strange, magical country—not the world she currently stood in, with its stately groves of tall trees and busy populace, plying their trades in a peaceful coexistence with the world around them. The lattice of Portland’s freeways, clogged with cars and trucks, all the concrete and metal—these things seemed more alien to her now.
She shook herself from her thoughts: A long day’s ride was ahead of her. She closed her sketchbook and collected the colored pencils, slipping them back into her messenger bag. The air was cool; fall had truly arrived. The smell was everywhere.
A door opened behind her, and she turned to see Owl Rex and Brendan, deep in discussion, approach through the wide French doors from the second-story sitting room. Brendan’s arm was affixed to his chest in a tight sling, but he seemed to be moving about without much trouble. There had been quite a to-do the day before, when the Mansion nurses had insisted on his having a bath; the hallways had echoed with his roared objections. His clothes having been laundered and his skin freshly scrubbed, he was barely recognizable as the rake she’d met in the woods.
“How’s it going in there?” she asked as the two walked to the railing of the balcony.
“There’s little doubt that it will be a long and difficult process,” said the owl. “So many species were given short shrift by the Svik rule of law; much recompense is due. The coyote dignitaries are expected today; their inclusion in the process will no doubt be controversial. Already, the bandits and the North Wood farmers are at odds; a few of my bird underlings staged a walkout over compensation to the families of the imprisoned Avians. Thankfully, lunch arrived early, and they were coerced back to the table with the promise of fresh pine nuts.” He sighed. “One thing is certain: No process of government building is ever easy. There is, however, a striking feeling in the air, regardless of the petty disputes, that we will arrive at a solution in time, a solution that will see to the rights and needs of all citizens of the Wood.”
Brendan massaged the bandage at his shoulder. “Aye, it’s no easy thing,” he said, his feet shifting against the brick of the balcony. “But the sooner we get to some sort of agreement, the better. All the paving stones around here hurt my feet. I’m antsy to get back to the woods, back to the hideout, back to my people.”
“I’m sure it will all work out,” said Prue. “You’re all pretty able folks.”
“There’d be a place for you, you know,” said the owl, arching an eyebrow. “An ambassadorship, perhaps. Envoy to the Mystics? How does that title suit you?”
“Thanks, Owl,” she said. “But I really have to get back. My parents—I bet they’re tearing their hair out, wondering what’s happened. Mac needs to go home. I need to go home.”
The owl nodded in understanding. “Well, as you know, you’d be welcome back, anytime.”
“Where’s that little bairn now?” asked Brendan. “Your brother, I mean.”
As if conjured by the reference, Penny the maid appeared at the open French doors, crouched over to hold the upstretched hands of Mac, helping him totter over the threshold onto the balcony.
“He’ll be a walker in no time!” proclaimed Penny, beaming. “He’s really getting the hang of it!”
Prue walked to meet them. She hoisted Mac up in her arms. “Thanks for watching him, Penny,” she said. “I just needed a little moment to get ready.”
The maid curtsied. “I guess you’ll be leaving then,” she said. “It was an honor to have met you, Miss McKeel.”
“You too, Penny. Thanks for your help.”
The maid turned to go but let out a little shriek when a figure came bowling out of the sitting room through the doorway, nearly knocking her over.
“Curtis!” shouted Prue. “Watch where you’re going.”
Curtis, neatly decked out in freshly pressed uniform, made a clumsy bow to the maid. “Sorry about that.” he said before returning to his mission. “Owl! Brendan! There you both are!” exclaimed Curtis. He came rushing to the railing of the balcony. “You should really go back in there—hi, Prue—it’s kind of a mess. The birds are in the chandelier, and they’re refusing to come down till the South Wood contingent agrees to dismantle all checkpoints; the North Wooders are still arguing with the bandits on amnesty for poppy beer s
hipments, which the bandits have rejected, and Sterling is brandishing his pruning shears, saying he’ll clip the trouser buttons off any bandit who disagrees.”
“Ugly, ugly words,” said Septimus, clucking his tongue. He was perched on Curtis’s shoulder, gnawing on a medal he’d been awarded for bravery. The silvery surface was covered in little teeth marks.
The owl and the Bandit King exchanged a vexed look, and the two of them turned to go. “Good-bye, Prue,” said the owl, shaking his head. “Maybe you’re better off on the Outside.”
Brendan held out his arms and gave Prue and Mac a long embrace. “Till next we meet, Outsider,” he said, stepping back. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, shiny piece of metal, dimpled from having been hammered flat. He pressed it into her palm. “If ever you find yourself back in Wildwood,” he said, “and you’re waylaid by bandits, show ’em this.” Prue turned it over in her fingers. On the back had been etched the words GET OUT OF HIGHWAY ROBBERY FREE, BY DECREE OF THE BANDIT KING.
Brendan winked and turned to leave.
Curtis started to follow the two of them back into the Mansion, but the owl stopped him. “Stay here,” he said. “We’ll handle things in there. Your friend is leaving. You might want a moment with her before she goes.” He gestured to Septimus. “Come, rat,” he said. “You never know when a rodent’s perspective will be needed. Leave these two alone for a moment.”