Gold By Gemini

I told Manton and Wilkinson goodnight. They were locked in well. Odd, but I distinctly remember wishing for once that I'd a dog. One of the villagers has two geese. He says they're better than any watchdog.

Algernon was due soon for his test. I'd have to get ready. I went in and shut the cottage door.

Outside the lights of all the world must have seemed to dowse with a slam.

It was late. I'd given Algernon his quiz. Results: dreadful. I'd been teaching him the difference between jet, black jadeite and black pigmented acrylate resins. (Today's hint: go for nineteenth-century Whitby jet brooches if you're wanting the very best. They're worth the premium. And genuine jet's practically impossible to copy.) He'd suggested the easiest way's burning - jet burns, you see. I'd explained that keeping the jewellery intact's preferable to a heap of ash. I'd shown him how I measure specific gravity (jet's not more than 1.40, which is peanuts to jadeite's 3.30 or even more; acrylate resin's never far from 1.18.) It's not foolproof, but you're a lot nearer the truth knowing details like this. I sent Algernon home after he'd made me lose my temper.

I was wondering whether to slip over to the White Hart. Even with only a few quid staving the wolf from the door a body has a right to drown his sorrows, after Algernon.

There was a knock at the door. Funny how you get the feeling. It was Algernon again.

'Forgotten something?' I snapped. I hadn't heard his bike go.

'Er… Lovejoy.' No stammer, no cheery grin, no move to barge in and start dropping the nearest valuable.

'What is it?'

'Something's wrong,' he said quietly. 'Your budgies.'

I was out and round the side of the cottage before I could think, blundering blindly into my precious camellia. Like a fool I'd not pulled back the curtains for light. I couldn't see a damned thing.

'Fetch a light, Algernon, for Christ's sake!'

'Coming!'

'Manton?' I said softly towards the flight pen. 'Wilkie? Are you -?'

The click behind me trapped the garden in light. Algernon's headlamp.

'Mantie?' For a second I could see nothing wrong. I fumbled for the key, thinking perhaps to undo the padlock.

Then I noticed the lock's iron loop was wrenched free. The flight's door was aslant and pulled away.

'What is it, Algernon?' I asked, puzzled, stepping forward.

Near my face a small breath sounded. I looked at the door jamb.

Wilkinson was crucified on the wood. Nails were projecting through his blue wings.

There was some blood. His feet were drawn upwards tight clenched, as if a groping search for a twig on which to rest had been too hopeless anyway.

'A hammer,' I babbled. 'Pincers. For Christ's sake - '

I pushed Algernon aside and crashed through the garden to my shed, scattering tools and cutting myself in a demented crazy grope along shelves. Things went flying. I tore back, smashing plants and blundering into the cottage wall as I went.

I'd got a claw hammer. It was too short, but it's the only one I have.

'There's not the leverage,' I sobbed in a blind rage, trying to get purchase of the claw on the nail. The distance from the nail to the door jamb was too great. I needed some sort of support, some bloody thing to rest the sodding hammer on. Why do I never have the proper fucking tools? I daren't press on his wing. Wilkinson tried to turn his head. I couldn't lodge the hammer against his frail body or it'd crush him.

'Coming, Wilkie,' I blubbered. 'Coming.'

There was nothing for it. I put my thumb under the hammer to protect him and yanked the claw up. My thumb spurted blood. The pain flashed me backwards like a blow but the nail was out. Thank Christ. I got up. Wilkinson was hanging by one wing, trying to flap with his bloodstained wing. I held him in my palm to take his weight. I'd forgotten.

And I call other people Neanderthal.

'Come here, Algernon.' I was suddenly pouring sweat but calm at last. I gave him the hammer in the mad silent glare and nodded at the second nail. My bad hand cupped Wilkinson's body for his own weight. I put my good one over Wilkinson's impaled wing.

'Do it.'

'But your hand will -'

'Do it!'

He shoved upwards. The hammerhead grated smoothly into my knuckles. I heard two bones go. Oddly the pain was less this time though the blood poured in a great stream down my forearm. Wilkinson came free. As he did, he arched his little back. Then he bowed his beak and bit my bloodied thumb as he died. I felt the life go out of him like, well, like a flying bird. It was his last gesture to the world he had known. All that he was or ever had been culminated in one futile bite.

'Hold him, please.'

Algernon cupped his gauntlets to receive Wilkinson.

'He's dead, Lovejoy.'

'Shut your stupid face,' I snarled. 'Did you see Manton?'

'No. Maybe he's escaped.'

Please God, please. I moved quietly about the flight. 'Mantie? Mantie?' Maybe he'd ducked inside his covered house. There was a lot of space where a budgie could hide.

Or even get out. I edged towards it, calling softly.

Algernon spotted Manton first. He was hunched on the ground in the corner of the flight, squatted down in the grotesque shadows.

'There!'

'He's safe!' I said. 'Manton!' I went over. He didn't move, just stayed facing the flight's open space in that crouching attitude. He'd normally have edged over but was probably stunned at the shock. 'Mantie!' I sat on the ground beside him feeling the relief. I was suddenly giddy. I think I'd lost a lot of blood. It seemed everywhere. My hands pulsed pain.

'Lovejoy.'

'Yes?'

'I'm afraid I think your other budgie's…'

'Algernon,' I whispered softly from my position on the grass. 'Come here.'

He stepped over, still cupping Wilkinson, for all the world like a weird lunar being blocking the headlight's shine.

'Yes?'

'What were you going to say, Algernon?' I asked, still ever so soft and gentle.

I saw his eyes wander nervously behind his specs.

'Er… nothing, Lovejoy. Nothing.'

'That's good,' I whispered. 'Now put Wilkinson on his ledge inside.'

He moved carefully past, carrying Wilkinson in his hands like a priestly offering. A moment later he emerged and stood fidgeting. Everything some people do drives you mad sometimes. Algernon's that kind.

'I've done it.'

'Not so loud!' I hissed.

'What will you do now, Lovejoy?' he whispered.

I’ll stay here. He's frightened.'

'But he hasn't moved,' he said.

'Of course he hasn't,' I shot back furiously as loudly as I dared. 'He's in a state of shock.

Wouldn't you be?' Bloody fool.

'Yes. Of course.'

'Then shut your teeth.'

'Certainly.' He dithered in the oblique light. 'What do you want me to do? You're all bleeding.'

I was, too, both hands. My left thumb was a pulp. I couldn't move my right hand which was swelling rapidly. It looked huge, but things always look worse badly lit.

'Shall I get a vet, Lovejoy?'

I peered at him suspiciously. 'What would you get a vet for?'

'Er, to tell you…" He ground to a halt.

'To tell me what, Algernon?' I whispered savagely.

'Nothing.'

'Go home, Algernon.' I was suddenly finished.

'Home?'

'Home,' I nodded. 'Now.' I watched him back away towards his motor-cycle. It was tilted crazily on the grass. I remember feeling surprised. He's mad about his pop-pop, yet he must have just rushed the machine across the garden and flung it down with the headlamp on.

He pushed it on to the gravel and started up. I heard him call something but that's typical of Algernon, start up a motor-bike and assume it's inaudible. Stupid. He slithered down the driveway and out on to the metalled road. Gravel everywhere, of course.