The Last Scarecrow

17 | Socks

The dog raised a curious ear at the mention of his name. He murmured something and stretched out a long, white paw.

"He's a Lurcher," Bavorski Beetlestone went on. "Good natured animal. Loyal and friendly. A steady ride."

"Does he talk?" Erin asked, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Talk?" Bavorski Beetlestone spluttered. "He's a dog. Of course he doesn't talk. He barks."

The secretary bird whistled. Two notes, low then high.

Socks replied with a solitary, cheerful bark.

"See?"

"But you talk," Twelve said to Bavorski Beetlestone. "And I talk. And the wickerman talks. Why not him?"

Bavorski Beetlestone looked incredulous. "I cannot speak for the scarecrows and the wickermen, but birds have always been able to speak. We were talking long before the humans worked it out, long before they created fire, long before they built castles and computers and scarecrows and wickermen. We've been here, talking, since the first thing slithered from the water and spread its wings."

Socks was up on his feet, padding happily towards Erin. She ran her fingers over his soft fur. Dropping beside him, she wrapped her arms around his frail body.

"A human that loves dogs," Bavorski Beetlestone rattled on. "How utterly predictable. And—" he accentuated with a raised wingtip. "—exactly what I'm relying on."

Twelve launched forward and grabbed Bavorski Beetlestone around the neck.

The vultures screamed a warning. A swarm of birds descended on Clifftop, their wings spread wide, their voices crying out.

"What do you want with her?" the scarecrow asked, shaking the secretary bird roughly, his long legs dangling helplessly. "The wickermen wanted to give her to The Patchwork Woman. Is that what you have in mind too? How does The Blue King fit into all this? Is he in league with The Patchwork Woman? Or perhaps he is The Patchwork Woman in some dark disguise."

Bavorski Beetlestone coughed and choked manically.

The scarecrow eased her fist open so the bird could reply.

"No, you fool," he squawked. "Your theories— no matter how colourful— are disastrously wide of the mark. The Blue King and I became adversaries during The Many Years Storm."

More than a hundred birds crashed through the pillars and surrounded Twelve. Many of them attached their claws to the scarecrow's arms, legs, torso. Several more adventurous birds latched onto her head and began scraping at the worms and bugs that wriggled in her eye sockets.

"Enough!" cried Bavorski Beetlestone.

The swirling mass of beaks, wings, and claws slowly dissolved, leaving a blanket of feathers at Twelve's feet.

"You can put me down now," the secretary bird said.

Twelve glanced over at Erin, Jack, and Socks who were holding onto one another.

Erin gave her an eager nod.

Bavorski Beetlestone dropped to the ground with a relieved whimper. He shook his feathers wildly, spinning in circles. "That was unkind and uncalled for," he rasped, "Once is a mistake. Twice is your end."

"I'm sorry," Twelve said. "I really thought you were going to do something horrible to Erin. I'll never let that happen. Never. No matter the cost."

"Admirable. Very admirable. But if I intended to hurt your friend there is nothing you could do about it. Believe me, you and the wickerman are no match for the power of Clifftop. We are afraid of— nothing."