The Hatchery
It was Soren's second night on the job. He actually worked a shift with three other Barn Owls, one of whom was male. When it was a night shift, he did not have to report to the glaucidium. It wasn't quite as humiliating as he had thought. There certainly was a constant stream of food. Broodies were well tended. Someone was always coming by, clucking, "How about a nice fat worm, just flown in from Tyto, a bit of snake, a vole, red squirrel." No, the eating was definitely good in the hatchery. Gylfie did manage to get herself in as a moss tender. And if their shifts coincided, there was plenty of time to talk, as Gylfie made extra trips to tuck moss and bits of fluff into Soren's nest. Soren had four eggs in his nest, which seemed a tad crammed. He thought mostly there were two or three eggs to a Barn Owl's nest. But then again, what did he know? Just as he was beginning to think on this, the second night, that it wasn't so bad, the Barn Owl on the nest
next to him spoke in that empty moon-blinked voice, "Crack alert! Crack alert. Egg tooth vis ib le."
Two Barred Owls came hustling over. Soren felt his gizzard twinge with excitement. He leaned out of his nest to take a peek. The egg was giving those familiar shudders -- just like Eglantine's egg had, which now seemed so long ago. But no one seemed at all excited. No one was gasping with joy, saying, "It's coming! It's coming!"
The egg was rocking now. Soren could see the little hole and the egg tooth, pale and glistening, poking out.
"All right," said the first Barred Owl in a cool voice. "Enough with that egg tooth. Lets crack it." And with that, the two Barred Owls gave solid thwacks with their talons. The egg split. Then one of the Barred Owls hooked the slimy white blob with its talon and firmly pulled it out while the other one turned the shell up. "Bottoms up!" the owl said crisply, and she dumped out the hatchling.
Soren was so shocked he could barely breathe. No one exclaimed "It's a girl!" No one said "adorable" or
"enchanting." No one said anything except "Number 401-2."
The other Barred Owl nodded in response. "So we're into the four hundred sequence with the Barn Owls, now."
"Yes, what an accomplishment," sighed the one who had numbered this little owlet. Soren felt a rage, Accomplishment! This was the most horrid, despicable thing he had ever witnessed. A coldness that began in his gizzard seemed to creep through Soren from his new tail feathers up to his wing tips and down to his talons. He realized that he would rather see this little owl dead than alive in St. Aggie's. They had to get out. He and Gylfie had to get out. They must learn to fly Where was Gylfie? She was on this shift. He wished she could come by and see this. He craned his head about but there was no sign of the little Elf Owl.
It was the stillest time of the moonless night, and on break Gylfie had stepped into a large crack in the rock, perfect for hiding an Elf Owl. She was watching Hortense. Hortense had proven herself to be such an exceptional broody that she had been given a big nest on a large outcropping of stone somewhat away from the others, where there was more room. She had become very adept at spreading herself over several eggs at a time. It was a change in shift for moss tenders in Gylfie's area so it would be a while before any came by.
And now the Spotted Owl, who was indeed large for an owl her age, was doing something rather odd.
She had actually stepped off her nest, and it appeared to Gylfie as if she were trying to dislodge an egg from the nest. Gylfie blinked and blinked again. Gylfie nearly gasped out loud as she saw 12-8 gently roll the egg to the edge of the stone outcropping. Then, out of the blackness of this moonless night, there appeared a spot of dazzling white -- just a spot like a tiny moon floating in the darkness, a tiny feathered moon! Gylfie's eyes widened. It was the head of a bald eagle. She had seen them in the desert. This one was huge and had a wingspan that was immense. It alighted on the ledge and silently picked up the egg in its talons.
Not a word was exchanged. Indeed, the only thing that Gylfie heard was a soft sigh in the night as 12-8
climbed back on her nest.
Gylfie and Soren finally met up at dawn when they were both due to go off their shifts. They each were so eager to talk about their experiences that they began to argue as to who would go first. Finally, Gylfie hissed her news. "12-8! She's an infiltrator!"
"What?" Soren was stunned. His beak dropped open. The story of the horrific hatching seemed like nothing compared to this.
"A spy," Gylfie said in a throaty voice.
"Wait. Are we talking about the same owl? Hortense? Number 12-8?"
"She's no more 12-8 than I'm 25-2 or you're -- what's your number? I keep forgetting."
"12-1," Soren said dimly. "Hush, here she comes now."
Hortense walked by and then stopped. "I hear, number 12-1, that you are doing an admirable job as a broody. It is the most rewarding work. Each little egg that I bring to hatching makes me feel satisfied in a most humble way."
"Thank you, 12-8," Soren replied numbly. Then the Spotted Owl turned to Gylfie. "And I understand that you are an excellent moss tender. You, too, might advance to become a broody for small eggs. I am sure you shall find complete fulfillment in this task."
Gylfie nodded mutely.
What an actress!
For the next two nights, Soren and Gylfie argued about how they would confront Hortense.
"I think we should just go up to her when she's alone," Gylfie said. "And we say, 'Hortense, it has come to our attention ..."
"What do you mean 'come to our attention? You spied on her, Gylfie. That could make her nervous, 'the come to our attention' bit. She might think a lot of owls have seen her."
"You're right."
"Why do we have to confront her at all?"
"Why? Well, what if she's part of something here?
What if there are twenty Hortenses in St. Aggie's? What if there is some hidden network of... of disgruntled unmoon-blinked owls? Maybe they're planning a revolution."
"What's a revolution?" Soren asked, and Gylfie blinked.
"It's kind of like war but the sides aren't exactly equal. It's like the little fellows rising up against the big baddies," Gylfie said.
"Oh," said Soren.
"Look," Gylfie said, "we have to make friends, real friends, with Hortense. Her nest is in the highest place in St. Aggie's. That's where we're going to leave from." Gylfie paused and walked right under Soren's beak. "Look down at me, Soren."
"What?"
"Soren, we've got to learn how to fly. Now!"
