The Seagull Parliament
A seagull arrives at breakfast with a summons scratched on driftwood. Pedro has been formally accused by the Coastal Seagull Parliament, and he desperately needs a character witness by eleven o'clock.
Prince Freddie was eating breakfast when Pedro landed on the garden wall and announced that he needed a character witness by eleven o'clock.
“Good morning,” Freddie said.
“There isn’t time,” Pedro said. He ruffled his wings in the way that meant he had been rehearsing this conversation since before dawn. “The parliament convenes at the top of the high cliff above the harbour at eleven. I have been summoned to account for the shiny-thing incident. Formally. With a vote.” He paused. “There may be a gavel.”
Freddie set down his bowl. “I thought that was resolved.”
“Resolved between me and the Pearl of Granada, yes. Resolved between me and the Coastal Seagull Parliament,” Pedro said, “apparently not. I have received a summons.” He produced a small piece of driftwood from under his wing. Something had been scratched into it in enthusiastic capital letters. “It arrived this morning. I am fairly certain Rodrigo wrote it. Rodrigo has always had it in for me.”
Freddie read the driftwood. The summons was long. It used the phrase in the matter of four times.
“I’ll come,” Freddie said.
Pedro’s feathers settled by approximately one degree. “I knew you would. You are a corgi of principle.” He looked at Freddie’s bowl. “Are you going to finish that?”
The cliff above the harbour was a proper climb. The path was narrow. The rock uneven underfoot. Freddie’s short legs worked for it. By the time they reached the top, his crown had tilted sideways. He corrected it with dignity. Pedro flew beside him at head height, offering directions and encouragement.
The parliament was already assembled. Eleven seagulls on a flat shelf of rock, arranged in a rough crescent. At the centre, a larger seagull with an unusually formal demeanour stood behind a piece of driftwood that was clearly serving as a lectern. Beside it, something smaller, the size of a fist. The gavel.
The parliament’s Presiding Officer was named Eugenio. He introduced himself as Presiding Officer three times in the first minute, which gave Freddie a reasonable sense of Eugenio.
“We are convened,” Eugenio said, and struck the gavel. “The matter of Pedro. The shiny-thing incident. There will be a vote.”
Pedro, beside Freddie, was very still.
“The individual known as Pedro may make his statement,” Eugenio said.
Pedro stepped forward. He drew himself up. He smoothed one wing with the other.
“Señoras y señores of the parliament,” he said, “I have prepared some remarks.”
The remarks ran to considerable length. They covered his childhood on the north rocks. His life as a collector. The night of the Pearl of Granada. The moment he understood one find had somewhere else to be. At one point he appeared to reach a conclusion and then continued. A seagull in the back row fell asleep.
At last, Pedro finished. He bowed.
Eugenio turned to Freddie. “The character witness may speak.”
Freddie stepped forward. He looked at Pedro. Then at the parliament.
“I’ve known Pedro for some time,” he said. “He collected many things. One of them was needed elsewhere. The Pearl of Granada. He returned it. He’s brought me fish. He warned me about a seal. He helped a fishing boat in trouble.”
Rodrigo made his noise again. “That’s very touching. But character is demonstrated over time, not in individual acts. How do we know the hoarding is really behind him? How do we know he won’t relapse? Trust is not a feeling. It’s a track record.”
“He’s right,” Freddie said.
Rodrigo blinked. This was clearly not the direction he had expected.
“Trust is a track record,” Freddie continued. “Pedro’s track record is good. But I understand why you want the parliament to ratify it. The parliament can’t make Pedro trustworthy by voting. He either is or he isn’t. You already know the answer. You’ve been watching him for months.” He looked at Rodrigo. “You’ve been watching him carefully. Has he taken anything that wasn’t his?”
A pause.
“No,” Rodrigo said, with some reluctance.
“Has he warned anyone about anything useful?”
A longer pause. “The seal on the south rocks,” Rodrigo said. “That was him.”
“Then the parliament already has its answer. The vote is just paperwork.”
There was a silence on the flat rock. One of the sleeping parliament members woke up, looked around, and went back to sleep.
Eugenio struck the gavel. “We will vote.”
The vote was nine to one in favour. Rodrigo abstained, which Freddie suspected was the closest he could get to voting yes while still maintaining his position.
Pedro, walking back down the headland beside Freddie afterward, was quiet for a while. Freddie glanced at him.
“Nine to one,” Pedro said.
“That’s a strong result.”
“Rodrigo abstained.”
“He didn’t vote against.”
Pedro considered this. “No,” he said. “He didn’t.” He was quiet. Then: “I thought my speech was rather good.”
“Parts of it were very good,” Freddie said.
“Which parts?”
“The first part,” Freddie said. “And the last part.”
Pedro opened his beak, closed it, and then made a sound that might, in another species, have been a laugh.
Freddie walked home as afternoon cooled. The cliff top, the stepped lane, the beach. Then the cottage.
The gate was open. Someone had been in the garden. The lavender had been cut back, neat and low. The smell was everywhere, sharp and clean.
His human was at the kitchen table and looked up when Freddie came in. Then they looked back at what they were doing.
After dinner, Freddie went to the bed. He stood for a moment. Just stood there. He circled once, twice, three times. His eyes closed. His legs bent. His chin met the covers. His weight settled.
His tail moved once, slow and content. Then stopped.
Beside him, his human had settled too. His human’s hand moved along his back. Then it was still.
Somewhere on the cliff above the harbour, seagulls dispersed. They carried the vote result across the coast, loudly, in several directions.
Rodrigo flew home to the north rocks. He told no one he had abstained.
Sleep well, Prince Freddie. On the north rocks, Rodrigo has not told anyone.