Amanderella and the Mystery of the Crystal Aviary. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

The Ground living birds area.

A low scuffling noise came from a side passage.

Amanderella paused as a shower of seed husks pattered onto the floorboards. Something was approaching, something that rustled, thumped, and muttered all at once.

Out of the shadows stomped Troffer Dumbleside.

His boots were caked in mud so thick it looked as though he had waded through a swamp, a bog, and possibly a compost heap on the way here. A quail clung to his shoulder like a brooch that had given up. His coat sagged under the weight of seed packets, and a faint smell of damp straw followed him like a personal weather system.

He stopped when he saw Amanderella, squinting at her as though she might be a misplaced scarecrow.

“If you’re after that thieving creature,” he grunted, “it barrelled past me ten minutes ago. My pheasants are still traumatised. One of them pretended to faint. Badly.”

Amanderella inclined her head. “I am indeed following a thief. A bird, I believe.”

Troffer snorted. “Bird? That weren’t a bird. That was a menace with wings. Flew straight through my quail line. They scattered like confetti at a wedding. Took me five minutes to peel them off the rafters.”

He rummaged in a pocket, scattering millet across the floor. More seed fell from his sleeves, his collar, and possibly his eyebrows.

Amanderella waited politely.

Troffer finally produced a small, slightly muddy iron key. “Here. You’ll be needing this.”

He pressed it into her hand with the solemnity of someone handing over a family heirloom.

“Ground Gate spare,” he said. “Found it in a nest. Don’t ask which one. You don’t want to know.”

Amanderella examined the key. It was shaped like a spade, with tiny quail feathers stuck to the mud.

“Thank you,” she said. “May I ask where the Ground Gate is located?”

Troffer jerked his thumb down the passage. “Through there. Mind the burrows. And the holes. And the other holes. And the holes that look like holes but are actually deeper holes.”

Amanderella blinked. “I see.”

“You won’t,” Troffer muttered. “Not until you fall in one.”

He stomped past her, shedding feathers with every step. The quail on his shoulder gave Amanderella a weary, apologetic look before Troffer disappeared into the gloom.

Amanderella followed the direction he had pointed.

The corridor sloped downward, the air growing cooler and earthier. The metal walls gave way to wooden beams, then to packed soil. The floorboards became planks, then boards with gaps, then boards with suspicious dips.

A sign hung crookedly from a nail:

GROUND DWELLING DOMAIN

(Watch Your Step. Seriously.)

Amanderella stepped inside.

The ground was uneven, riddled with small mounds and tiny tunnels. Birds scurried everywhere, quails, partridges, pheasants, and several creatures that looked as though they had been invented by someone who had never actually seen a bird but had heard a very enthusiastic description.

A quail ran across her boot, paused, and glared at her as though she had personally offended its entire family.

Amanderella bowed politely. The quail huffed and vanished into a burrow.

From deeper inside the domain came Troffer’s voice:

“NO, YOU CAN’T ALL SIT ON MY HEAD AT ONCE! ONE AT A TIME! ONE AT, OH, FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE!”

Amanderella followed the trail of bright feathers. They led through the burrows, past a stack of overturned seed sacks, and around a mound labelled:

DO NOT DISTURB

(They’re Moody Today)

Finally, she reached the Ground Gate.

It was a squat iron door set low into the wall, decorated with carvings of quails marching in a neat line. Amanderella tried the handle.

Locked.

She took out Troffer’s muddy key and fitted it into the lock. It turned with a gritty clunk.

Behind her, Troffer’s voice echoed faintly:

“IF ANY OF YOU START A PROTEST, I SWEAR I’LL, OH, NOT THE FEATHERS AGAIN!”

Amanderella stepped through the Ground Gate.

The feathers continued into the next passage.

The snuffbox thief had gone deeper still.

And now, thanks to Troffer Dumbleside, so could she.