How to Catch a Finch

How to Catch a FInch

by Michael Stevens

Michael Stevens is a writer and musician whose stories have appeared in Andromeda Spaceways, HyphenPunk, Noctivagant Press, and Honest Ulsterman. He lives in Dublin where he divides his time between hanging out with his young family, reading speculative fiction, opening a door for an orange, furry creature, and bashing guitar with an assortment of Irish bands. He finds writing fiction to be just as much fun as songwriting, but with the added benefit that it doesn’t involve carrying huge amplifiers and trying to hear oneself over the drummer. Surf into his DMs at @mikestevens72.

 

 

Sister Traxia’s small brown hands rested on the piano keys and she breathed out, happy with the finished piece. The afternoon heat from the Copernican sun filled the chapel. She became aware of movement in the nave behind her.

“Sister Delia.”

“How did you know? Is that the new piece, Sister Traxia?”

Sister Delia approached the piano and extended a smooth, pale hand to help the older woman up. Sister Traxia gently batted away her offer. “I’m not immobile just yet, thank you, Delia Cotter.”

“You’re a wonder of nature, Sister. You’ll outlive us all.” Sister Delia tried to smile.

“I sincerely hope not. And to answer your questions, I knew you by the respectful sound of your approach, which is yours, and yours alone. And yes, that’s the new piece. I think it’s rather lovely, don’t you?”

“All of your pieces are.” The two women walked slowly through the chapel doorway. An explosion of bird song met them as they approached the aviary, their flat shoes making little sound on the cobblestone. Behind them, to the west, the great Copernican mountains towered like organ pipes, their tips flirting with wisps of white in the otherwise blue sky.

The aviary with its domed cages was attached to a small gray convent, the only structures in this former agricultural complex, along with the chapel, not adapted for military use. Large sheds formed most of the complex’s perimeter. But no farmers worked here anymore, and their animals no longer occupied these stalls since the buildings had been converted to barracks by the Weltian colonists two years ago.

Beyond the complex, surrounded by conifers, the auspicious house of General Festus received the sun’s rays. A former hotel, it now housed not only the Weltian leader but also his Intelligence Centre and was today, like on most days, a hive of activity as soldiers came and went. Behind it, a distant, eternal smoke could be seen rising from the former grazing plains of East Copernica; mining country, its once grassy prairies now dotted with holes and humming with the sounds of Weltian machinery. Copernica, a single-continent planet that until recently merited barely a paragraph in galactic geography books, now boasted the richest gold mines in the galaxy. And gold was what Weltians valued most.

A young soldier clacked by and eyed the nuns haughtily. Sister Traxia’s face screwed up in a look of distaste. Even their footsoldiers were vain.

“Must you attend tonight?” whispered Delia, even though the soldier was well out of earshot. “You know how risky it is. Even with galactic protections.”

“Hmm? Oh, Delia. If anything, I’m dreading the dull conversations more than any breaches of the Galactic Convention,” said Traxia, winking. “And what’s that compared to what the poor Copernicans go through on a daily basis? Tell me, have the nest boxes for the new chicks been cleaned today?”

“Yes. But…” Delia hemmed and hawed, unwilling to let go of the subject.

The smaller, older nun stopped walking and gently grasped the other’s arm. “I appreciate your concern, Sister, I do. But I’m going in with my eyes open. You know that. When you’re an old crow like me, you’ll see. Sometimes you’ve got to move into the sights of the farmer’s BB gun. It’s our duty to the Copernicans.”

“I thought our duty was to teach their children. And run the aviary.”

“There won’t be either of those left if the Weltians get their way. Kindness has a remit beyond soft words spoken to a child.” She smiled. “Though of course that is at the centre of it. That and the welfare of the birds. Can I count on you, Deel, to carry on my work? If it comes to that?”

Delia looked sad, but nodded. “Of course. That was never in question. Your dedication inspires us all.”

“Good. Much is at stake.” Sister Traxia continued walking and made a silly face at a poor, local boy exiting through the wired door of the aviary. As they entered, she whistled and rapped a feeder table with a knuckle. A bright-eyed, russet-red bird sitting on a perch high in the aviary descended immediately, landing on it with a thunk.

“Sister Amber.” She stroked the bird’s head delicately before nodding towards the call-and-response of soldiers’ marching cadences, just beyond the general’s domicile.

“That brute’s boot is already firmly on Copernican necks, just the same as on all the Weltian colonies. And it would be on ours, given the chance. You can bet on that.”

“But isn’t there another way…?”  

Traxia shushed her fellow sister as she watched the red bird hammer at some feed. “Enough. Now, what of Sister Rose?”

Sister Delia nodded. “Your favorite has departed.”

“Favorite? Only after you, Deel, only after you. And Sister Laburnum?”

“Standing by.”

Traxia patted Delia’s hand and smiled. “You’ve always been a reliable assistant, Delia Cotter. And a good friend. We shall meet again.”

Sister Delia didn’t speak and looked resolutely toward the mountains with moist, grey eyes.

#

“Sister Lusungu Traxia. You are welcome,” said General Festus in the hallway of his house that evening. Dressed in the dark uniform of Weltian officers, he bowed stiffly in the manner of a teenage boy still unused to his somewhat new height and larger shoulders. Then he flicked his hand at a hunched servant. “David? Her coat.”

The general tapped a polished stick against his boot as she thanked David.

“The system’s most eminent ornithologist, in my own home,” said the general eventually, smiling. “What an honor.”

“Quite the house you’ve got here,” said Sister Traxia, looking around at the rich, tasteless Weltian décor. “Just you living here in this big old place?”

The Weltian laughed without humor. “And the servants. The army requires it. Like you, Sister Traxia, I am married to my vocation. And it’s a busy one. You know what these Copernicans are like.”

“Oh, they just want to live in freedom, same as anyone does.”

General Festus nodded curtly. “Indeed. David, bring our guest through to the reception room. We will talk later, Sister Traxia. I’m quite the naturalist myself, you know? Though not as eminent as yourself.”

“I look forward to it. And to your chef’s famous bisque. I’m starving.”

The reception room buzzed with a potpourri of guests; mostly Weltian officers and dignitaries. The local banker, moustached and dressed in grey as always, stood with his bored-looking wife, both listening to a bespectacled engineer, bald and squeaky-voiced, whom Sister Traxia recognized from a news story. The cherubic mayor and her almost identical pair of wives she had met several times; they nodded as one toward her. And a councilor, who looked like he was already drunk, bowed ostentatiously with his brandy in his left hand. Sister Traxia was introduced to a visiting journalist from Earth who possessed the name Grimes and a pair of lively, white eyebrows.

“What do you think of those?” The journalist’s little finger pointed from his glass to the various stuffed heads of large, Copernican ungulates on the walls.

Sister Traxia held Grimes’s wrist gently and whispered. “Sir, I think a man who needs to show off what he kills is compensating for something.”

The journalist grinned and then whispered. “I had heard he was placed here as some sort of demotion, and his career is on a knife-edge.”

Sister Traxia twisted an imaginary key at the side of her closed mouth but blinked slowly in affirmation. The journalist’s grin widened.

“I believe you studied on Earth, Sister?”

“I’m from there, isn’t it obvious from my accent? But I did my post-doc research here on Copernica. It has the most diverse wildlife of the habitable planets.”

“So like me you’re not part of the struggle here.”

“Struggle? It’s a war. You live here, you’re a part of it.”

The prodigious eyebrows went up. “Sounds like you side with the revolutionaries. How does that fit in with the constabulary’s plans?” Grimes cocked his head at the general, who was now leaning toward a slinky, young woman in a purple and silver dress as a heron might toward a glistening fish. “Isn’t their line that they’re just trying to keep the peace?”

Sister Traxia eyed the journalist gravely. “In times of war, there are no peacekeepers.”

A bell chimed. “Soup,” said David in a gravelly voice, and then lumbered out as the guests made their way through large wooden doors into a dining room, beckoned by the spicy smell of fish bisque.

#

“The rebels have no interest in a resolution,” General Festus was saying as Sister Traxia took her seat halfway down the table, his throaty voice cutting through the hum of conversation and laughter. Light patterns danced on eggshell walls; the room was lit dimly by a huge chandelier that hung over a rectangular table draped in the finest linen. A fire roared at the head of the table, where the general sat, almost silhouetted, his hands behind his head. “Chaos is their watchword.”

“I believe the West Copernicans out in Molten Valley got the better of you once again, Festus,” said the councilor, tucking his napkin into his collar.

“It’s frustrating to be sure, Councilor.”

“Clever bunch, are they?”

“Clever? Well, wily. In a natural sort of way. An adaptation, if you ask me.”

“Adaptation?” said the slinky Weltian woman.

The general leaned back. “If you spent some time here, you’d know. The locals on this side were traditionally farmers. But the west side of the mountains is wild as hell.”

“And the rebels; they don’t cross over to here?”

He brought his hands down. “Oh yes. But it’s hard to tell who’s who. Until its too late and they’ve done some mischief, bombed a mine or the like. They’re a constant thorn in our side. And as for out west, every station we have over there is attacked. Every maneuver to rout them out is sabotaged. They’re as slippery as the fish they eat.”

“Aren’t they just fighting for their land?” said Grimes the journalist. “To be treated with dignity? Yours is the occupying force.”

The general’s voice had a hint of mirth as his soup was placed before him. “A civilizing force. We’ve provided employment here. And some day their families will own a share in the mines. I for one am humbled to be a part of the prosperity we’ve brought to Copernica. The rebels only think of destroying that.”

“Some day?” said Grimes. “But until then, they must break their backs in the mines, twelve hours a day?”

The general chuckled. “Oh, it’s no more arduous than farm work. And better paid, too. Can’t you see, sir, if I don’t defend the interests of these good people against the rebels, who will? My job is to sort the scoundrels out, and sort them out I will.”

“So you can leave this hell hole once and for all, am I right?” the councilor said, following his statement with a belch.

“I have a biological view of these things,” said the general. He gestured at the guests, all Weltians bar Grimes and Traxia. “We have the benefit of a cultural and technological development centuries ahead of the Copernicans. So we have a responsibility. It’s as simple as that. We’re at the top of the food chain. Isn’t that the way it works, Sister Traxia?”

Sister Traxia, hunched, looked up from her spoon. “I hadn’t realized you planned to eat the West Copernicans.”

A titter spread around the table, and General Festus joined in, dipping a hunk of bread into his soup.

“I’m talking about evolution, Sister. Survival of the fittest.”

She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Evolution is blind, General, not a march toward anything in particular. The forces of natural selection are random. And more powerful than a Weltian army, you can bet your false teeth on that.”

The general’s mouth formed into something like a smile. He held the dripping bread in two hands, and soup also fell from his chin. “Oh come along, Sister. I believe you are quite the selective force yourself. Haven’t you bred the most amazing pretender finches?”

“Oh. I’ve heard those birds have astonishing powers of imitation,” said the mayor, her eyes fixed on the last bread roll on a nearby plate. “Like a recording.”

“True!” said the councilor. “I was walking through the woods last weekend, charging up my gun, when I heard someone doing the same. Nearly jumped out of my skin. But it was just one of those damn birds, imitating the sound. Uncanny.”

“Is that true, Sister Traxia?” said the general. “Are they as incredible as people say?”

Sister Traxia shrugged. “Mimicry is no great trick. What makes the Copernican red pretender finch so special is its intelligence. As for my work, I’ve simply helped them along. Preserved them, what with their having nearly died out.”

“Ah yes, the flitter snake, isn’t that right?” said the general.

The guests’ heads now turned back and forth between Sister Traxia and the general, like those of spectators at a paddleball game.

“That’s right. An invasive species. Non-indigenous. Its effect on the bird population was devastating. If I’ve done anything it’s just to help restore the bird’s place in the ecological balance, something that had been unchanged for thousands of years. Long before humanoids got here, that’s for sure.”

“The snakes were messing that all up?” said Grimes.

“The snake, which was introduced by invaders, snatches the finch’s eggs from the nests before they have a chance to hatch. It’s not a fair shake.” She stared right at the general.

The general placed a bit of bread in his mouth, chewed, then spoke. “Remind you of anyone in particular?” He smirked. “Personally, I admire the flitter snake. Aggressive. Knows what it wants. You know, I’ve actually caught a few.”

He bounded from his seat with surprising vigor, given his size, and reached above the hearth, where there hung sundry implements; cinch traps, guns of various kinds, and a polished, wooden implement with a forked head similar to the one he had been tapping earlier.

“A snake holder. My favorite,” he said, rubbing his hand along its brown surface that glinted a little in the firelight.

Sister Traxia nodded. “The snakes are not that difficult to trap. They’re lithe and vicious, yes. But not intelligent creatures.”

The table was silent now as the general stared at Sister Traxia. Then, as he broke into a smile, the clink of cutlery and plates resumed.

“Ha ha! You’re quite the wit, Sister. But let’s not forget that you, too, are an immigrant. And we Weltians allow your convent to continue with its work, don’t we?”

“Allow? It’s protected, is it not? As an educational establishment?” said Grimes. He received no reply.

“Back to the locals, Festus. What is it I hear about this fellow, Tall something-or-other?” said the banker while his ever-silent wife surveyed her husband’s soup-detailed moustache like she wanted to chop it off once and for all.

David had arrived, ushering in a young servant girl who began to clear the soup bowls with him. The general sat down and began taking apart another bread roll. “Tall Tod, you mean?” he said to the banker.

“He’s their talisman, yes?”

The general placed the destroyed bread roll down and shifted in his seat. “So they say. I’ll catch him soon enough. The trick is not to flinch from your quarry.”

“Tall Tod is the spy in your midst?”

“Undoubtedly.” The general leaned forward. “But our real question has been how he gets the plans over there so quickly. Over the mountains. Our pilots often leave within an hour of plans being drawn up. And our drones need only be programmed, which is even faster. And each time, the savages seem to know the location, the formation. It’s costing the army a fortune. Ah, the sorbet.”

David and his helper set down the sorbet in front of each diner. The servant caught Sister Traxia’s eye as he placed hers.

“Seems to me this spy of theirs brings them across. Or sends them,” said Grimes, spooning sorbet into his mouth.

The engineer emitted a hyena laugh and cleaned his spectacles with the table cloth. “Not too versed on Copernican geography, are you, Earthman? There is no sending stuff across the mountains here.”

“Radio signal? Satellite?”

The general shook his head. “Believe me. We monitor it all.”

“And remember,” said the banker. “It’s not like your Earth, Grimes. It’s a single landmass here. To the south is nothing but sea.”

“Which we police,” said the general. “The Copernicans have nothing faster than fishing boats.”

“And to the north?”

“Ice,” said the engineer. “Untraversable, mostly.”

“Well, over the mountains then.”

“Have you seen those mountains?” said the councilor. “No roads. Why, I was out there hunting last weeke–”

“Again” interrupted the general, “heavily monitored.”

“Horseback?” said Grimes. “Do you have horses here?”

“Very few. But fifteen hours, minimum. Longer for other beasts of burden.” The general batted his hands, shooing the suggestion away.

“Well, I’m stumped,” said Grimes. “Any ideas Sister Traxia?”

Sister Traxia shrugged. “Sounds like they’re playing you like a one-hand piano in a Martian gin-joint, General.” Someone grunted back a giggle.

The general’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think so? Well, hear this. A militia, which was over there recently, stumbled upon an encampment on the mountainside. A radio station.”

“The savages have radio?” said the mayor. “Or was it just posing as one?”

“Oh, it was a radio station all right,” said the general. “But get this: One soldier, who had his head screwed on, remarked that he’d heard, every time we were about to plan an attack, the locals would be glued to the radio.”

“Ah, so the warning message was going out by radio,” said one of the mayor’s wives.

“Naturally, we suspected that. We took their computers at once.”

“They have computers?” said the slinky woman. “And what? You found your plans?”

“Well, here’s the trick,” said the general. “All we found were audio files. Crackly musical recordings, mostly. Awful stuff.”

“Of course, if it was a radio station,” said Grimes.

“Indeed. But one bright spark had an idea. When we got them home, he cracked open a few of these audio files.”

“And the plans were encrypted in the audio!” said the engineer.

General Festus nodded. “Precisely. I must say, it was ingenious. An audio file can be a complex thing. If it contains a melody, the ear is unconsciously directed to this. But it may also contain a wealth of harmonics and other sonic elements that the humanoid ear ignores unless you’re listening out for it specifically. Crackle or moderate distortion. And this can easily conceal a large packet of information, such as an encrypted battle plan. All you need is the audio decryption key to decode it on the other side.”

The councilor banged his fist on the table and looked about for others to join in his enthusiasm. But silence had descended. All eyes were upon Sister Traxia.

Then a bustle filled the room as David and the servant girl cleared the sorbet glasses and refilled the wine.

The general, who had been looking directly at Sister Traxia with his fingers spread on the white linen, suddenly jumped up and clapped his hands. “Sister Traxia, while we wait for the main course, I must show you some more of my collections. Will you indulge me?”

Sister Traxia grew little in height as she stood, placing her napkin down without a word. General Festus gestured toward a door. “Through here.”

He stomped off and Sister Traxia followed. On the way, she stopped at David.

David looked at her, then stood tall and left the room.

#

“You’ve realized, of course, that I know you are a traitor,” said the general, his boot heels echoing in the corridor.

“Traitor?” said Sister Traxia. “To an invading force? The Copernicans were here first.”

“Does it matter who gets anywhere first?”

They entered a small room and Sister Traxia’s expression tightened at the sight of the walls, adorned with traps, nets, killing instruments – and not just for animals. Inside her right sleeve, she extracted a pinprick vial of tetrodotoxin from a small pocket.

“What matters is who is one with the land.”

“Like the flitter snake and your birds, eh?” He approached her. “Who is the spy, Sister? Who’s copying our plans and giving them to you to encode, for your birds bring over the mountain? I know they’re not just ingenious reproducers of sound. I know they’re also remarkably intelligent birds who can travel to a pinpoint location.”

Sister Traxia said nothing, just looked at him.

He placed his hands in his pockets as his return gaze faltered. “Just an hour ago I gave the order for our latest strike. Fifty craft this time. Drones. No quarter. What do you think of that? We’ll raze the mountainside. Every inch of Molten Valley.”

After a moment, she spoke. “There are families there.”

“Do you think I want to do this? Sister, I implore you. Tell me who your spy is.”

Her face was a stone.

He grew red, and Sister Traxia was reminded of schoolboys she had known, caught in the act of something illicit. “Sister, I must appeal to you, from one intellectual to another. I am not a cruel man. But you know the Weltian way. It doesn’t serve us to kill innocent families. It’s the message that counts.”

“The message. Yes.”

“As for Tall Tod, I only need to display a body publicly, immediately, in front of the barracks, to show our strength… and broadcast it on the Weltian Network. Again, the Weltian way. A head on a stick, so to speak. Do you understand? I don’t have time.”

“I’m aware of your ugly traditions.”

He grabbed the closest thing to hand – a cinch trap – and took a step towards her, true fear in his eyes as he rattled it in front of her. “Don’t you see; I must display someone. Or it will be my job on the line. My life! Tall Tod is a soldier. He has taken lives. It is no dishonor for him. Would you prefer if I simply killed an innocent person?”

“You’re already planning to do that to a whole mountainside of them.” She folded her arms and secretly replaced the vial of poison back in its pocket.

He opened and closed his mouth. Then he slammed the cinch trap on the table and pointed at her. “I see how it’s to be, then. The blood of those families will be on your hands, Sister Lusungu Traxia.”

#

“Please everyone, take your seats,” said the general hotly. “I’m so sorry for the delay. David? The main course, please. David?”

“I’m sorry,” said the servant girl. “I don’t know where he is. I’ll bring it out.”

The general grunted and the servant girl returned.

“I think you’ll enjoy this dish.” The general composed himself, hands clasped, the fire spitting behind him. “Sister Traxia, you especially.”

A plate was placed before the nun. She looked up at the general, who was walking toward her side of the table, the snake holder under one arm and his face now a picture of triumph.

“The taste, they say, is not unlike pigeon.”

The table was still. The bird’s roasted legs were pointing upwards, like a two gun salute. On one sat a ring with the engraved name, “Rose”.

“How to catch a finch,” said the general, bright-eyed. “A cinch. Don’t flinch.”

“Oh ho!” said the councilor, craning his neck over to have a look at the bird. “Good shot, Festus. Did you bring it down over the mountain?”

Sister Traxia’s chest pounded. She pulled the tetrodotoxin vial once more from her sleeve and went to place the pinprick on her left wrist, but in moments she felt pain and the vial went spinning and she looked up, her eyes on fire. The snake holder was pinning her wrist down. The woman in purple stood up, hand to her mouth, releasing an involuntary squeak. Grimes staggered to his feet.

“Not so fast, Sister,” said the general, breathing heavily. The vial rattled across the stone floor as he kicked it away. “I still need information from you.”

He released her wrist and, casting the snake holder aside, grabbed the servant girl roughly by the arm, who shrieked as a gun was placed to her head.

“As I said, I need a head on a stick; she’ll do. Perhaps seeing someone die right in front of you will jog your memory.”

“This can’t be permitted,” shouted Grimes. “This goes against–”

“Oh, be quiet, Earthman,” barked the bespectacled engineer. “The girl is Copernican. We have every right.”

“Sister Traxia?” implored Grimes.

“Who is your spy? Who is Tall Tod?” said the general, focused on Traxia. “Anything to say?

A remote clink of cutlery on glass pierced the silence as one of the guests fidgeted.

Sister Traxia stood up.

“Please. Let the child go, sir,” she said softly.

“You know what I need, Sister.”

Sister Traxia looked at the floor, then up again. “General, as part of my postgraduate studies, I worked with an expert on bird parasites. As it happens, she had travelled to some of the Weltian colonies, long before I had even heard of you. Regarded your ways with her own eyes. She had told me that, unlike most humanoids, you had no true home.”

She looked around at the Weltians: the councilor, the banker, the engineer, the mayor. “You were, in fact, nomadic plunderers. Eternal colonists who move from planet to planet. In this way, you are actually nothing like the flitter snakes of which we spoke, who have simply tried to make a new home here.”

The general glared at her.

“And since then, having spent time with your kind, under your thumb, so to speak, I have come to similar conclusions about Weltians. About their malignant, rapacious predisposition.”

“Malignant?” said the councilor. “Gag this woman!”

General Festus silenced him. “Let her speak. What are they, Sister, your ideas?”

Traxia walked over to the general and regarded him in the firelight.

“You are not predators. Not warlike. You Weltians, you simply leech off every planet you find. You arrive in numbers, increasing exponentially as soon as you get here.”

Her voice became louder. “You pollute, physically and emotionally, until the land is unfit for use, the community decimated. You dominate, through strength, yes, but also through silver-tongued treachery, coming as friends but soon sucking the life blood out of the ecology, leaving it barren.”

“Will you stand for this, Festus?” said the banker. “Her insulting our nobility in this way?”

The general had grown red-faced once again.

“Nobility?” said Traxia. “You are not noble. You are cowardly and simpering, like the eye-ticks that infest the brackish lagoons of West Copernica. Like the blind, wriggling helminths that feast on the organs of livestock and grow fat on their industry. You are an infestation that must be cleansed. You are parasitic.”

The guests were deathly silent. The little nun stood staring at the Weltian leader. He gently released the girl, whose soft shoes padded on the stone floor as she ran from the room. Then he raised the gun toward Traxia. A red laser danced on the chest area of her plain habit.

“Have it your way,” he said in a shaking, quiet voice. “You have insulted my guests, Sister. And you know exactly what that means to a Weltian.”

“Now I know you are mad.” There was a bang of chairs as Grimes stumbled from his place towards the general. “She is part of a religious order, and a Terran scientist. Protected! This goes against galactic law. I shall have no choice but to report this to the Convention, General, do you hear? You will be prosecuted, sir.”

Two soldiers emerged from the shadows and blocked the journalist’s way.

The general could not meet Sister Traxia’s eyes. “A head on a stick. Tall Tod’s accomplice. Two birds with one stone.”

Sister Traxia’s face was calm. The fire roared.

#

Sister Delia made tea in the aviary in silence but for the occasional chirp of the red pretender finches.

Out there, in the darkness, she knew that Tall Tod would be returning on foot over the mountain to his people. On the far side, the Copernican rebels would have already cleared the mountainside area the drones had targeted, the plans of which they had received in good time.

It would be an easy thing for the rebels to shoot down the drones now, she knew. And such a waste would merit far more than a slap on the wrist for General Festus from his superiors.

She viewed the cage of Sister Traxia’s favorite birds, and the two empty perches therein; one for the now-deceased Sister Rose, and one for Sister Laburnum, Rose’s nestling sister, who had set flight as soon as Sister Traxia had departed the convent.

“Their intelligence never ceases to astound me, the red pretender finches.” Sister Traxia’s kind voice floated through Sister Delia’s mind. “To not only mimic every sonic aspect of a piece of audio, but to impart this complex piece to your nestling sister, too, in minutes. Remarkable. So it falls to Sister Laburnum, now, to carry my song. Just as it will in quite another way to you, Delia.”

Sister Delia held her tea. Tears rolled down her determined face.