Art Pact 96
High-class ducks like Briston aside, I could see that the rest of social arrangements on this side of the county were different from those I was used to in my home farm as well. I made my fourth circle of the pond, observing Briston making his own rounds between his fellow mallards, schmoozing like a boss. If I was to fit in, I could no longer rely on my simple regal bearing as a swan - I would have to make like a goose and play on my size.
"Hey, new guy," hissed a raspy voice. It appeared to be coming from a bunch of rushes by the north side of the pond. As I looked, trying to work out how the foliage had spoken, a head atop a long black neck emerged from the top of the leaves. The head itself was black, but decorated with a thick band of white that stretched across the throat and up onto the cheeks, which were presented to me in turn as the owner of the voice looked nervously left and right so as to check all around him. "Over here," it said, nodding me forwards, then it descended again and vanished.
I stepped closer - cautiously at first, then deciding that it was simpler to get things over with I used my bill to push aside the fronds at the edge of the clump and shouldered my way inside. The canada goose - I recognised it as one of the species that had frequently flown over my old home - was crouched in the middle of the clump, in a crude nest that he had flattened out. I had never seen one so close before.
"Did anyone see you?" he asked, in hushed but urgent tone. He had a strong lisp: did anyone thee you?, and when he had finished the sentence he repeated it again under his breath, as if checking what he had said.
"I don't think so," I said. "Sorry, I wasn't really paying attention. Do you want me to go and look?"
"No! Listen man, you've got to pay attention if you're going to last long around here. Look at me - I keep my head down, and I've survived two years. The other geese, they're lucky if they see out the end of Christmas. The man can't get me, because I've got smarts."--he unfolded one wing and tapped the side of his head with it. Thmart-th.
"But surely you're-" I cut myself off immediately. If the guy was a nutter, better I didn't try to point it out in his own home. No sense in antagonising him, I thought. If he'd been here for two years, too, there was some chance that he'd have useful information for me. "Surely you're right," I said lamely. "What else can you tell me? Who's in charge around here?"
He hissed, and his neck suddenly lunged out past me - I dodged back in alarm, thinking that he was going for my eyes, but in fact his bill clasped around a fly that had been sitting on a leaf to my right. He pulled a disgusted face, then spat out the remains of the pest.
"Damn little spies," he said. "They work for him - I see them hanging around him all the time."
"Who?"
"A mammal," he said acidly. "Who do you think? It's the same everywhere, friend. They think just because they're more like the man that they're somehow better than the rest of us. It ain't like the old days."
My feeling that he was one egg short of a clutch was not reduced in any way, but we were getting somewhere.
"What sort of a mammal?" I asked, keeping one finger crossed for a horse. Horses were easier to deal with - they had in common with we swans the less adversarial attitude to humans that came from not being food. A horse was a worker, a slow but thorough thinker - and generally cleaner than the other mammals, for reasons which I had never been able to determine.
"It's Beaufort," the goose said, his customary whisper slipping for a moment into a honking rendition of the last syllable of his enemy's name. My heart sank. Beaufort wasn't a horse name. "A bull?"
"The worst kind," the goose confirmed. There would be no arguing with a bull, no negotiation. "And he controls the pigs, too."
"Shit," I said.
"Exactly. He's got everyone under his thumb. Well, except for the giants of course. There's nowhere in the farm that he can't get, no-one he couldn't intimidate into-"
"I'm sorry," I interrupted him. "Did you say giants?"
"Hey, new guy," hissed a raspy voice. It appeared to be coming from a bunch of rushes by the north side of the pond. As I looked, trying to work out how the foliage had spoken, a head atop a long black neck emerged from the top of the leaves. The head itself was black, but decorated with a thick band of white that stretched across the throat and up onto the cheeks, which were presented to me in turn as the owner of the voice looked nervously left and right so as to check all around him. "Over here," it said, nodding me forwards, then it descended again and vanished.
I stepped closer - cautiously at first, then deciding that it was simpler to get things over with I used my bill to push aside the fronds at the edge of the clump and shouldered my way inside. The canada goose - I recognised it as one of the species that had frequently flown over my old home - was crouched in the middle of the clump, in a crude nest that he had flattened out. I had never seen one so close before.
"Did anyone see you?" he asked, in hushed but urgent tone. He had a strong lisp: did anyone thee you?, and when he had finished the sentence he repeated it again under his breath, as if checking what he had said.
"I don't think so," I said. "Sorry, I wasn't really paying attention. Do you want me to go and look?"
"No! Listen man, you've got to pay attention if you're going to last long around here. Look at me - I keep my head down, and I've survived two years. The other geese, they're lucky if they see out the end of Christmas. The man can't get me, because I've got smarts."--he unfolded one wing and tapped the side of his head with it. Thmart-th.
"But surely you're-" I cut myself off immediately. If the guy was a nutter, better I didn't try to point it out in his own home. No sense in antagonising him, I thought. If he'd been here for two years, too, there was some chance that he'd have useful information for me. "Surely you're right," I said lamely. "What else can you tell me? Who's in charge around here?"
He hissed, and his neck suddenly lunged out past me - I dodged back in alarm, thinking that he was going for my eyes, but in fact his bill clasped around a fly that had been sitting on a leaf to my right. He pulled a disgusted face, then spat out the remains of the pest.
"Damn little spies," he said. "They work for him - I see them hanging around him all the time."
"Who?"
"A mammal," he said acidly. "Who do you think? It's the same everywhere, friend. They think just because they're more like the man that they're somehow better than the rest of us. It ain't like the old days."
My feeling that he was one egg short of a clutch was not reduced in any way, but we were getting somewhere.
"What sort of a mammal?" I asked, keeping one finger crossed for a horse. Horses were easier to deal with - they had in common with we swans the less adversarial attitude to humans that came from not being food. A horse was a worker, a slow but thorough thinker - and generally cleaner than the other mammals, for reasons which I had never been able to determine.
"It's Beaufort," the goose said, his customary whisper slipping for a moment into a honking rendition of the last syllable of his enemy's name. My heart sank. Beaufort wasn't a horse name. "A bull?"
"The worst kind," the goose confirmed. There would be no arguing with a bull, no negotiation. "And he controls the pigs, too."
"Shit," I said.
"Exactly. He's got everyone under his thumb. Well, except for the giants of course. There's nowhere in the farm that he can't get, no-one he couldn't intimidate into-"
"I'm sorry," I interrupted him. "Did you say giants?"
Comments