Flight at dawn

Stanley resolved to stay awake all night, but his exhaustion and the comfort of her warmth drew him to sleep, as it did the next night. He wouldn’t let it happen a third time. He felt in his bones that if she slipped away this time, he might never see her again.

So, in the morning, he slept in late only joining his companions after lunch. He found the other two at a section of higher ground covered in patchy grass and reeds.

‘Stanley, come! Come! We’ve found it.’ Mr Stapleton led Stanley beyond a section of reedbed. As Stanley looked out across a wide channel, he saw the avocet sitting in flattened circle of marsh grass and twigs.

‘We dare not get closer, not yet, but the bird has sat there all day. It must be a nest.’

‘So, it must have a mate.’ Stanley rested his chin on the crook of his walking stick. ‘Then where is it?’

‘Who knows, what matters is if there are eggs or not.’ Mr Stapleton’s eyes were fixed on the nest as though he would be able to find out if he only stared hard enough.

‘It’s uncanny, is what it is.’ Mr Fobbing stood a way off his hands in his pocket. ‘We should have seen a mate by now.’

Mr Stapleton waved away the other man’s superstitions. Mr Fobbing walked off mumbling under his breath, ‘As long as I have something to shoot, s'pose it doesn’t matter.’

After they made their way back to town, Stanley made his excuses and skipped dinner. He went back to his cottage, ate a small meal and tried to get some sleep before Snow arrived. He was sitting in his usual place, dozing, when he heard the familiar knocking at the door.

The rest of the night went as before, this time however, Stanley managed to stave off sleep. He spent the time wondering about where Snow went all day, and what she had been doing the three nights she had been away. Had she found somewhere else to spend her time? The thought sent fits of jealously through every fibre and sinew.

When dawn was close, the sheets rustled. Snow’s white body glowed even in his lightless room. She stole away to the living room without a sound. Moments later, the front door creaked before clicking shut.

Stanley hurried after, quickly putting on his trousers and a coat and grabbing his walking stick. He could see her not too far off, but as he chased after, no matter how fast he went, she stayed the same small white shape in the distance. He feared he might not be able to catch her.

Slowly, the ground began to rise and soon she was out of sight, hidden beyond the ridge. He cleared the top within moments, but he could see no sign of Snow. Instead, below him, standing in a shallow pool and staring at him was the avocet.

It waded forward across the pool, occasionally stopping as if to check where Stanley was. All thoughts of Snow had fallen from his mind, and he obediently followed behind.

The sun was threatening to rise above the horizon as the bird brought him to a small patch of twigs and leaves, in the centre of which were six spotted eggs. The avocet looked up at Stanley as it ruffled its feathers.

Suddenly, its body language changed. It lowered its head close to the ground and rose its tail into the air. It gave out a screeching call of alarm before taking to the air, flying in circles around a shape that emerged from the dark.

‘Stanley, is that you?’ a familiar voice said. ‘Looks like we had the same idea. Caught red handed.’ Mr Stapleton gave a little chuckle.

Stanley’s thoughts were a thorny tangle of questions. What was the connection between Snow and the avocet? Why had it been unafraid of him and why had it led him here? His imagination tried to fill in the blanks as he watched Mr Stapleton get down on one knee in front of the nest.

‘Mr Stapleton, why are you here?’ he asked.

‘The game’s up, my lad. We’re here for the same reason, so there’s no point pretending. We’re lucky there are so many eggs, we could both take one, maybe two.’ Mr Stapleton unslung a small box that had been resting on his side.

Stanley understood. How could his mentor even consider stealing such precious eggs. He gripped tight his walking stick as he brought it down heavy on the box, shards of plastic flying. Mr Stapleton stumbled backwards, his hands sinking in the mud. ‘What are you doing? Don’t be greedy. You can’t have them all.’

‘They are mine! All of them!’ He swung down again, this time against hard bone, cracking against the other man’s temple. Arms rose in defence but were useless against the blows. Soon they fell limp on the ground, the body falling backwards. Stanley kicked it into the channel behind. Water soaked into its bloodied clothes.

Stanley felt nothing as he looked down at the body. No regrets or fear or pity. He felt only that a great wrong was about to be committed, and a brutal form of justice had intervened.

The sun rose in the sky as he thought about what to do next. He would have to hide the body, but that wasn’t the only concern. There were many dangers in the marsh, and the eggs needed to be protected.

In the shed of his cottage, there was an old, rusted shovel which could be useful, and ancient shotgun that had belonged to the house’s previous owner. If there were some shells too...

The thought of the gun led him to think of Mr Fobbing. Stanley remembered the lifeless mallards that hung from his shoulder and not just them. Woodcocks, geese and teal; Mr Fobbing and shot them all. He clenched his fists until they bled. The avocets won’t suffer the same fate.

Stanley made his way back to his cottage. If he had been paying closer attention or had taken a moment to check over his shoulder, he might have noticed the avocet and her eggs were nowhere to be seen.