12 The Warlike Wintlorian

The Warlike Wintlorian In Wintloria, Mortimer was preparing for a dangerous mission of his own. He had no idea where the beast or the Bethany lived, but he was determined to scour the earth—even if it took the rest of his life. "Why are you sharpening your talons, Morty?" asked Giulietta. She swooped down

whilst he was grinding his talons against a rock on the edge of the forest. "Make them any sharper and you'll turn them into a set of daggers, what-what!" The trickiest part of Mortimer's journey was getting out of the forest undetected. So he had come up with a rather cunning lie. "I'm about to leave the forest to go shopping, and I want to make sure my talons are strong enough to carry everything I need," said Mortimer. "Ooh! What are you shopping for?" asked Giulietta. "Haven't you heard?" said Mortimer. "I've decided to get a feast ready for Claudette. You know, for when she gets better. I've told some of the other parrots already."

"Great heavens, this is the most spiffy- whiff news I've ever heard!" said Giulietta. "No need to go shopping, though—we can get by on what we have in the forest." "Not for the sort of feast I have in mind," said Mortimer. "How exciting! I'll come with you to help," said Giulietta. "No!" snapped Mortimer. Then, realizing he didn't want her to be suspicious, he spoke in a softer voice. "I mean, no. I need to do this on my own—it's important to me." Giulietta suppressed her every natural instinct to force her help on others and nodded her feathery head. She was thrilled to see him finally getting into the feasting spirit. "Well, I think this is wonderful. I understand

now why she has been so frightfully keen to speak to you." "Who's been?" asked Mortimer. "Haven't you heard, Morty?" asked Giulietta. "Gosh, you must have been out here talon-sharpening for a very long time indeed. Claudette's awake! And she is most keen to have a little chatty-woos." Mortimer couldn't believe his ears. He jumped off the rock and flew away from the conversation without uttering so much as a ta-ta, cheerio, or any of the other popular farewells. When he got to the feasting tree, Claudette was sitting up in bed. She still looked frail and thin, but at least she was awake. She murmured something, but her voice was too weak for him to hear, so he flew closer.

"Morty… I heard about the feast. And I just wanted to say… thank you," she whispered. "I'm sure I'll be well enough for it… any day now." Mortimer felt terrible. He hadn't thought she'd be awake to hear the lie about the feast, and he hated the thought of deceiving her. "There was something else as well. What I said about the girl, Bethany… I was delirious. Ignore me. That's not… your problem," whispered Claudette. "D.o.R.R.i.S. has the beast in a cage, anyway." "Don't worry," said Mortimer. He decided not to tell her about what he had learned from agents Hughie, Louie, and Stewie. "What the beast did to you won't ever happen to anyone else. I promise you."

Whilst Mortimer had been out sharpening his talons, D.o.R.R.i.S. had puddled over the small suitcase of things that Claudette had left in the hospital bay. The other parrots had hung the contents of the suitcase in the tree to cheer her up. Now the branches around her bed were plastered with memories from all the places Claudette had visited. There was a picture of her in Las Vegas, singing backstage with Elvis and her dearly departed cousin, Patrick. There were postcards and thank-you letters from the many friends she had made across the world. There were seashells from her favorite beaches and menus from her favorite restaurants, and there were framed black-and-white photographs of her parents—who, like Mortimer's, had fallen into the hands of