The Rebellious Rooster (Or, Macalley Gets Cocky) Read online

“Mind the flowerbeds.” I snapped my reins. “You do not want to face me should any harm befall those gladiolas.” Harrisburg and Ogden swallowed and nodded as I shook Beatrice’s reins, and started after Bludergard and Monviso.

  After a minute, I risked a look back. I immediately regretted it.

  Beatrice was going at a slow pace, though the other moa weren’t running much faster. George was following us, flapping his wings. Coming up behind him were Harrisburg and Ogden, cursing the rooster. And chasing the lot of them was Murgatroyd, the bloodhound, at full bark; his leash dangled behind him, and I assumed that Matterhorn had dropped it while waving the starting flag.

  George was going at a surprisingly swift pace, and I found myself wondering how, when I felt something jostle my saddle. I turned back and gasped.

  Reg was crouching on the pommel, perfectly balanced and very relaxed. “Hello, Alice!” he said.

  Had I not needed my hands to hold the moa’s reins, I would have covered my face. “Reg!” I snapped. “What the devil are you doing!”

  “Keeping an eye on George!” The pooka grinned. “A little bit of magic helps him stay ahead of those farmers.”

  “And closing in on us…” I paled. “Reg. George isn’t going to assault me, is he?”

  Reg peered past me. “I hope not, but he’s had a rough time of it the last few minutes.”

  “Ye Gods.” I shuddered. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

  “Alice—”

  “I don’t believe it. I’m going to die trying to help a friend because a bloody rooster knocked me off a bloody moa!”

  “Alice—”

  “Do you realize I’m going to be the biggest laughing stock in all of Heaven?” I shouted. “‘Oh, I passed away in my bed, surrounded by loved ones, how about you?’ ‘I was killed when I fell off a giant flightless bird!’”

  “Alice! Look!” Reg pointed to one side.

  I glanced over and saw that George was sprinting past me and Beatrice, still followed by Harrisburg and Ogden. I wondered why for a moment, but then the rooster closed in on Bludergard and Constantine.

  Bludergard was singing happily to himself, oblivious to the doom that was rapidly impending. For a moment, I thought that he might escape it, but George, fueled by pooka magic, would not be denied. He flapped his wings, getting airborne just long enough to land on Constantine’s rump.

  The moa slowed slightly, and Bludergard glanced back. “What ho!” he said cheerfully. “Splendid day for a race, isn’t it?”

  “Hold that rooster!” Harrisburg shouted.

  “We’ve got you at last!” Ogden said triumphantly. He reached up to grab the rooster.

  George had other plans. He flapped his wings and landed in Bludergard’s lap, at which point he began to pummel Bludergard in the stomach. In order, Bludergard lost his grip on the reins, his balance, and his position on the moa’s saddle. With a wordless whine he toppled over the side, landing on top of Ogden. The duo tumbled to the dirt, catching Harrisburg in their wake.

  Constantine twisted his long neck to stare back at George. The rooster met his gaze and crowed, not at his usual volume but loud enough to be noticed. The moa was silent for a moment, then let out a long and deep squawk. That settled, George nestled in the saddle and Constantine continued down the road towards Darbyfield, following Monviso and Gertrude.

  Reg gasped as the moa and the rooster sped away. “Hurry!” he shouted. “I need to be sure George will be all right!”

  Before I could respond, I heard the barking. I swayed as Beatrice came to a sudden stop. Murgatroyd was jumping around in front of the moa, eager to get to know his new friend, and Beatrice seemed as disinterested in playing with the bloodhound as George had been with Reg. I started to worry about being able to stay on the moa, especially when I looked back and saw that Harrisburg and Ogden had untangled themselves from Bludergard and were hurrying down the trail, ready to thrash the pooka.

  I looked past the farmers and saw a cloud of dust. I could have jumped for joy when I saw the familiar motorcar.

  Macalley drove past the farmers and up to Murgatroyd. He leaned out of the motorcar and scooped up the bloodhound. “My sincerest apologies, madame,” he said as he dropped his cargo in the back seat. “I was caught up in the kitchen with a rather tough stain on a saucepan.”

  “Think nothing of it, Macalley.” I smiled.

  “Master Reg?” Macalley said. “You should come with me. Your added weight will slow Madame Alice down.”

  “But what about George?” Reg said. “I need to catch him—”

  “Reg?” I said, putting all the sweetness I could muster into my voice. “Do you remember what you promised me?”

  “What was that?”

  “To be on your best behavior.” I smiled.

  Reg nodded sadly. He jumped off the pommel, flew through the air, and landed in the motorcar’s passenger seat. “Master Reg,” Macalley said, “we shall see George at the finish line, but only if we hurry.”

  “I suppose,” Reg said as he folded his arms and pouted. Murgatroyd stuck his head into the pooka’s lap and started to drool.

  Macalley and his passengers sped away. I cracked the reins and shouted, “Let’s go!”

  As Beatrice started off, Harrisburg shouted, “Ms. Peavley?”

  I looked back over my shoulder at him. “I may not win this race,” I snapped, “but I’ll be thunder-struck if I’m going to let a blasted chicken beat me to the finish line.”

  I had been on the outskirts of Darbyfield when I had finally shaken Reg and the others, and with the distractions gone, Beatrice picked up her speed. In a few minutes, I started to catch up to the other racers; Monviso was still in the lead, but George was gaining on him.

  As we galloped along, I saw the streets were lined with spectators. They applauded politely as I rode past. I tried not be envious, without success, when I realized that George was getting the louder and more enthusiastic applause.

  I nudged Beatrice, and she made the final turn towards the town square. I whispered encouragingly to her, and she picked up her pace even more. For a moment, I found myself relaxing at last. The chaos that had come with the start of the race was over, I was enjoying myself, and Beatrice was hitting her stride. I had a real chance to win.

  The crowd was buzzing as we neared the square, heading for the finish line at the far end. Maia was there, holding a checkered flag. She stood next to Tony Clamour, who was shouting out excited descriptions of the action, heavily laden with adjectives, through a megaphone. We closed in on Monviso and George, and I implored Beatrice for just a little more speed.

  She squawked and started to slow down. I could see the other racers doing the same. Before I had a chance to figure out why, I heard the screaming.

  Justinian came charging down High Street, passing the astonished onlookers. Razzmatazz was still dangling off to one side, his foot barely in a stirrup, hanging on for dear life. His screaming was almost drowning out Tony Clamour, and I suspected he hadn’t paused for breath since the race started.

  We watched, almost in awe, as Justinian streaked past us. He rushed across the finish line as Maia waved the checkered flag. “Razzmatazz is your winner!” Clamour yelled. “What a race! What a conclusion!”

  Justinian came to a sudden stop on the far side of the finish line. Razzmatazz was snapped off the moa’s back and thrown to the ground, landing with a loud thud, which thankfully stopped his screaming. Justinian looked down at him disdainfully and strutted off.

  Maia dropped the flag and ran over to Razzmatazz. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m just dandy, thank you,” Razzmatazz said chipperly. “All I need is a pot of tea. And a bacon butty. And a chiropractor. And six weeks of bed rest.” He closed his eyes and groaned.

  While this was going on, Monviso had crossed the finish line. I nudged Beatrice, and she began to sprint again, but it was too late. George and Constantine were right behind Monviso, and came in thir
d, to more cheers from the crowd. I had finished dead last, and I had been defeated by a rooster. Clear day or not, I expected to be struck by thunder at any moment.

  As the applause died down, George fixed his stare on me. “Cocky, aren’t we?” I muttered.

  “Madame Alice?” I saw Macalley approaching, carrying a stepladder. “I thought this might come in handy.”

  He set it up next to the moa, and though it was a bit tricky, I was able to dismount with his assistance. “Are you faring well?” he asked.

  “At the moment,” I said, “though I suspect I shall be quite sore tomorrow morning.” I turned back to Beatrice and took some apple slices from my pocket, and the moa received her well-earned reward.

  As Beatrice enjoyed her treats, I saw Monviso being helped off Gertrude and cheered by a group of well-dressed dwarves. Gertrude was led away by her handlers, presumably heading to the wagon that would return her to Withers Farm.

  “Alice!” Reg hurried up to me as Macalley carried the stepladder back to the motorcar. “What do we do about George?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He won’t get off the moa!”

  I looked over at Constantine. The moa was standing silently, glancing every now and then at his passenger. George was moving about in the saddle, watching all comers; it was evident that he was not going to leave his perch willingly.

  “Reg?” I said gently. “Perhaps George should stay with the moa?”

  “What?” Reg reared back.

  “He wouldn’t be chased or bothered on their farm. I’m sure they’ll take care of him there.”

  “I…” Reg looked sadly at George as the handlers closed in on Constantine. They took the moa’s reins and talked softly and reassuringly to the two birds.

  Reg walked over to George. “Goodbye,” he said sadly. “Be on your best behavior for these people, George. I’ll miss you.” He reached out to give the rooster a final embrace.

  George took a deep breath and let loose with a loud, long crow. Reg reeled back. “He’ll miss me,” he said dazedly. “I know he will.”

  “Of course.” I smiled as I took Reg’s arm. “Come along. We’ll miss the awards ceremony.”

  It was a rather short ceremony, as the doctors had recommended that the winner of the race be brought to the Darbyfield Hospital as quickly as possible. Razzmatazz accepted the trophy, which was a small bronze moa wearing a laurel wreath, from Sal Withers and from a prone position, just before he was loaded into the ambulance and carried off.

  Reg and I said our goodbyes and set off for the motorcar. “I hope George makes friends at the farm,” Reg said in a sad voice. “I want him to be happy.”

  “I know. I was wondering what happened to Maia. I was expecting her to be at the ceremony.” I sighed as we reached the motorcar.

  Macalley was already waiting in the driver’s seat. “Where to, madame?” he asked.

  “Back to the manor…” I paused as another motorcar pulled up. It was being driven by Stibbins, and Bludergard and Maia were holding a discussion in the back seat. I was relieved that Bludergard seemed to be mostly unhurt after his fall, but then I saw the angry expression on his face.

  Maia stepped out of the car and turned back to Bludergard. “I do hope you’ll reconsider,” she said; I could hear the edge 0f desperation in her voice.

  “Not on your life.” Bludergard folded his arms. “Those moa are a menace, a threat to proper society.”

  “Well spoken, guv’nor!” Stibbins grinned.

  “I’d rather throw my money down the sink than invest it in your farm! Good day!” Bludergard slammed the motorcar’s door shut.

  “Good day,” Maia said meekly as Stibbins drove Bludergard away.

  She lowered her head, staring at the ground, her shoulders slumping. I hurried over to her. “Maia…” I said as I laid a hand on her arm.

  Maia smiled sadly at me. “It’ll be all right, Alice,” she said softly. “We’ll muddle through somehow.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “No need to be. The spectators had fun, and we raised some money for your library. At least some good came out of this.”

  I embraced Maia. “Do let me know if you need anything.”

  “I’ll shall telephone you.” We said our goodbyes. I watched Maia as she walked away, putting up as brave a front as she could. I returned to the motorcar, where Reg and I both sat in sad silence all the way back to the manor.

  As I suspected, I was rather sore in numerous places the Sunday following the moa race. I spent the day resting, recuperating, and catching up on my reading. Reg kept to himself, mostly staying in his room, and while the quiet was welcome, it was tinged with sadness.

  My thoughts kept going back to poor Maia. She had worked so hard, and all she had to show for the farm was a rather cruel rejection from Bludergard. I wondered if increasing my investment would do any good, but I suspected that if the Velessan council voted in favor of abandoning moa, it would still take a miracle to save the farm from bankruptcy.

  I allowed myself to sleep in the next day, and was rewarded by a full breakfast courtesy of Macalley, along with that day’s Emerald Dell Courier. I waited until I had finished eating before I started reading the newspaper, enjoying my tea and the smell coming from the kitchen as Macalley prepared a fresh batch of croissants.

  The front page was full of coverage of the moa race, as I expected. Augustus had chosen to include photographs of Razzmatazz there, taken both before and after the race. This came as a relief, as I preferred not to have attention called to my last place finish. The article said that Razzmatazz would be laid up a week, and was expected to make a full recovery.

  I turned the newspaper to the next page. I saw the photograph there and started to chuckle. “Macalley!” I called out.

  He emerged from the kitchen, wearing an apron that was unsurprisingly spotless. “Yes, madame?”

  “We have found out the final fate of our George.”

  “Baked, fried, or broiled, madame?”

  “Surprisingly, none of the above. Look.” I pointed at the photograph. It showed George, standing comfortably on Constantine as other moa looked on. “He is apparently making himself at home at Withers Farm, and not causing any trouble. He has a home.”

  “Good news, I suppose.” Macalley squinted at the newspaper. “Perhaps you could show this to Master Reg.”

  “Has he been down today?”

  “He had a light breakfast before you arose, then returned to his guest room.”

  “That’s not like him.” I started to stand, with the thought of bringing the newspaper up to Reg. Naturally, that’s when the telephone chose to ring. “I can answer that,” I said, but too late, as Macalley had already left the dining room. “Or not, I suppose,” I added to myself.

  I thought about sitting back down but decided against it, which turned out to be a smart move. Macalley stepped into the doorway and said, “Maia is asking for you, madame.”

  “Thank you, Macalley.” I walked past him and across the foyer to the library, where I sat down and picked up the telephone. “Good morning, Maia,” I said into the receiver.

  “Good morning, Alice!” The excitement in Maia’s voice caught me slightly off-guard. “I have some splendid news! I wanted you to be the first to hear it!”

  “If it’s about George,” I said, “it was in this morning’s newspaper.”

  “It’s even better than that!” I could almost hear her smiling over the telephone wires.

  By the time she was done telling me what had happened, I had a smile that I suspected matched hers. We promised to meet for tea soon and said our goodbyes, and I hung up the telephone and hurried out of the library. “Macalley!” I shouted happily. “I have some splendid news!”

  Macalley leaned out of the kitchen doorway. “George hasn’t tried to peck anyone?” he asked.

  “It’s even more splendid than that!” I smiled. “Do you remember the dwarves who were supporting Monviso at the ra
ce?”

  “I do. I was wondering why they were in attendance.”

  “They were representatives of a mining consortium in Strumbertgeren,” I said. “When they saw how the moa performed in the race, they arranged a visit to Withers Farm, and they were so impressed that they’ve decided to acquire a number of moa to work as draft animals!”

  “That means that the farm is saved?”

  “Yes! And Maia believes this may sway the Velessan council as well.” I smiled broadly and clapped my hands. “All that work Maia put in paid off!”

  “And your investment is safe.”

  I chuckled. “So it is. And Bludergard—”

  “Good morning, Alice!”

  I looked up and saw Reg coming down the staircase. “Good morning, Reg,” I said. I had other things to add, but I stopped when I saw that the pooka was carrying his travelling bag.

  Reg smiled at me as he reached the foyer. “Alice, you’ve been a splendid host, but I fear that old wanderlust has gripped me again. It’s time to move on.”

  “Oh.” I tried to sound disappointed, and found to my surprise it wasn’t difficult. “Where will you be going?”

  “Not too far. I might still stop in for tea now and then.”

  “But where?”

  Reg grinned. “I shall be calling on Eldric Bludergard.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Does he know you’re coming?”

  “He did invite me when we met. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see me!” Reg hurried to the kitchen and seized Macalley’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure!” he said.

  “Likewise.” Macalley’s voice was so flat you could have slid it under a door.

  Reg walked over to me. “Until we meet again,” he said as he took my hand and kissed it.

  “Do give Bludergard my regards,” I said.

  Reg smiled. He walked over to the front door, opened it, turned back to us and tipped his hat. I waved and smiled in return, and the pooka closed the door behind him, setting off on his merry way.

  “You missed your chance to tell him about George, madame,” Macalley said.

  “Maia’s had a bit of a rough go lately,” I said. “She needs a chance to recover. Having Reg come by to see George wouldn't help with that.”