22 The Beast and the Bird-Keeper

The Beast and the Bird-Keeper Three weeks later, Bethany and Ebenezer helped the bird-keeper carry the baby grand piano into his shop. Sweat poured off their brows, and their arms ached from the carrying. "Put it by the counter. I want to be able to play for the customers when they come in,"

said the bird-keeper. The bird-keeper had bought the instrument and a few other things in a yard sale that Bethany and Ebenezer had held to raise funds for the orphanage. All the items on offer had originally been vomited out by the beast, and the bird-keeper had bought the baby grand from Bethany at the very reasonable (and slightly ridiculous) price of twenty worms. "Do you need help with anything else?" asked Ebenezer. "We don't have any time, you nitwit. We need to go," said Bethany. "If you need any help feeding the birds, or clearing out their cages, or even just talking to them in soothing tones—just let us know. We'd be happy to stick around to help you out," said Ebenezer to the bird-keeper.

"We'll be happy to do no such thing!" said Bethany. She had a day of do-gooding planned for the two of them. Ebenezer was far from excited. "There's nothing you can help me with, I'm afraid, Mr. Tweezer. You'd probably get it all wrong anyway," said the bird-keeper. "But I don't see why on earth you're getting involved with all this do-gooding nonsense. Sounds like nothing but a waste of energy to me." "Exactly, it's a waste of time, too! I've only got eighty years left to live, now that the beast is gone," said Ebenezer, brimming with self-pity. "We've been through this already. Eighty years is flipping loads, and we're gonna make sure we live those years in a better way. Get in

the car. I'm not arguing with you about this anymore," said Bethany. She dragged Ebenezer out of the shop and into the car. The bird-keeper was left with nothing but his birds for company. He took a seat at his brand-new piano. He hoped that his new purchase would help attract customers and bring joy to the birds. Unfortunately, the piano did neither of these things. The bird-keeper was not a natural musician, and he had refused to take lessons because he thought it was a waste of money. The sounds he made on the piano over the following day were far from pleasant, and so his playing not only drove customers away from the shop, but also angered the birds.

As he sat that evening, trying, and failing, to play "Pop Goes the Weasel," the birds finally made their feelings of anger clear by clucking, shrieking, hooting, tweeting, and quacking at him in an aggressive manner. "Oh, shut up!" he shouted back at them. "I'd like to hear you lot try to play 'Pop Goes the Weasel.' It ain't half a hard song to master!" The birds responded by singing, in beautiful harmony, the entirety of the song. They were about to launch into an encore, but they were silenced when the bird-keeper threatened to stop feeding them. "And if I hear so much as one more chirp out of any of you, I'll send you all to the rescued cats' home," he added.

He listened carefully for a good ten seconds and was happy to find that his threat had worked. He cracked his knuckles, stretched his fingers, and was about to resume playing his unusual version of the song, when he was interrupted by another bird. This time, however, it was not one of his own. Claudette, the Wintlorian purple-breasted parrot, was knocking her beak at the window of the shop. The bird-keeper sighed and opened the door. He was about to tell her to get lost, but then he noticed that the past three weeks had not been kind to her. She had lost a lot of weight, and her sparkling blue eyes were bloodshot with sleeplessness. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, as he beckoned her in.