Lily ducked into the Rookery’s arched passageway where many of the animals had gathered to wait out the storm. The rain was falling in what seemed like bucket-sized drops, and she could hear the rooks grumbling about the weather as they swooped one by one up to their roosts.
She was about to say something to the badger standing next to her when out of the corner of her eye she noticed Arthur rushing toward the stone bridge. His eyes met hers, and then he scanned the entire length of her body with an amused look on his face. She immediately looked down at herself by the light of the candles.
“Oh no,” she groaned.
Her dress was dripping with water and streaked with the mud that she had kicked up as she ran. Her shoes, which she had so carefully cleaned that morning, were a muddy mess. For a moment, Lily thought only of herself. She wanted to cry. Instead, she broke down in laughter, for she looked around and realized that every single animal huddled grudgingly in the archway trying to stay dry was blackened with mud, while the animals who had decided to play in the rain were perfectly clean. “Well,” she said, “I see only one wise course of action, Mr. Badger.” And she kicked off her shoes and bounded into the courtyard.
The animals were having a splendid time in the rainstorm. Lily caught sight of an otter basking in a shallow pool of murky water, a giddy smile stretching across his face as the water ran off his slick, shiny coat. The jackrabbit and his cousins were bouncing like march hares from puddle to puddle spraying each other with rainwater. Even Arthur began to behave more like a mouse than Lily thought possible. He scurried here and there laughing with the animals in the courtyard, and then he disappeared into the Rookery wall. Lily watched the place where he had vanished in fascination, wondering where he had gone. Then, as suddenly as he had gone, he reappeared in an opening halfway up the Rookery. He disappeared again, only to find his way to yet another opening. One last time, he disappeared, reappeared, and then, to Lily’s great surprise, made a leaping swan dive into the moat.
Lily gasped as the little mouse plunged head first into the bubbling stream, then giggled with delight as he bobbed to the surface, flipped onto his back, and squirted a tiny stream of water playfully from his mouth.
Arthur made his way out of the stream, grinning, and sauntered over to where Lily stood with a weasel and the tawny owl. “There you are, Miss Lily. All clean. Shall we go dry off inside?”
They walked side by side over the stone bridge and made their way to the main hall to join the other animals who were attempting to dry themselves before a small, warm fire in the fire pit. Just before he stepped through the doorway Arthur shook himself vigorously from ears to tail, sending a shower of droplets in every direction.
Lily laughed again, thinking that Arthur reminded her a great deal of her fox terrier Dot after a bath.
“Well now, Miss Lily,” Arthur smiled warmly when they had settled into the hay in front of the fire, “you’ve discovered yet another part of life in the forest. Rain. It’s not all Tea Times and fellowship, after all.”
“Oh no,” Lily admitted. “It’s much more than that, I’m sure. But even the rain wasn’t all that bad. You seemed to be having the best time of all!”
“It was fun, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t all silliness you know.”
“What do you mean?” Lily asked, somewhat surprised.
“I was merely doing my duties, dear,” he answered, inching closer to the fire. “Every animal in the Rookery has his own job, and we must all do them to the best of our abilities if we are to keep things running smoothly. There are a great many things to be done in the Rookery in order to prepare for a storm like this, and it is my job to remind everyone to do their part. It would be a shame for the Rookery to be flooded by all this rain, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh!” Lily cried. “But then, why did you jump in the moat?”
“Well, Miss Lily,” Arthur laughed, “I suppose I did it because it seemed like it would be fun!”
“Arthur, why do you always call me ‘Miss Lily’?” Lily asked.
“Oh, a gentleman must always address a young lady with respect, Miss Lily,” he replied. “I would never presume the familiarity of simply calling you Lily without being invited. I suppose that must seem archaic to you…”
“Oh, not at all. I quite like it. No one has ever called me ‘Miss’ anything before!”
“That is a shame, Miss Lily, for you are every bit a lady, deserving of honor, if I may be so bold,” Arthur said gallantly.
“You wouldn’t think so to look at me today!” she laughed.
“No, indeed, Miss Lily. That is true!” he agreed with a chuckle. “But my mother always taught me to judge the heart, not the stockings. Or the muddy shoes…or ragged ribbons.”
“Oh, Arthur,” Lily laughed. “I think we will be good friends. So…I think from now on you should just call me Lily.”
“Your wish is my command, Lily,” he grinned.
Just then, the jackrabbit and the tawny owl rolled to a stop in a giant ball of feathers and fur. They split apart as they bowled over a small weasel who was warming himself perhaps too near the fire, and almost knocked him in.
“Oi!” shouted the weasel, rubbing his singed tail. “That was my tail, that was!”
“Apologies, mate,” the jackrabbit stuttered, rubbing his elbow and pushing the owl back down with his hind leg.
“Hey,” complained the toppled owl as he tried to right himself. “Sorry old chap,” he said to the weasel.
The jackrabbit plopped onto his tail by the fire next to Arthur. “Brilliant Tea Time, eh Art?” he blubbered, punching Arthur on the arm.
“Hello, Sigmund. Yes, it was indeed one for the history books.”
“Ugh, Sigmund! Why do you have to call me that? You know I hate that name!”
“You would prefer Siggy, perhaps? Or Mundo?” Arthur teased.
“Funny, mouse. But, you know, Mundo does have a ring to it. Munnnndo. I like it. Oi, Jack!”
The owl turned on hearing his name.
“Call me Mundo, alright?”
“Fine,” the owl replied as he rather awkwardly sat down on his tail feathers, his spindly legs sticking out in front. “Hi, Arthur,” he said.
“Jack,” Arthur said in greeting. “Actually, I don’t think you two have been introduced to my friend Lily.”
“Hello,” Lily said, attempting to curtsy while seated and looking very much like she was trying to touch her knees with her nose. “I think we’ve met before,” she said to the owl.
“Oh yes, I remember. You’re the human. Pleased to meet you, miss.”
“Pleasure,” Sigmund sniffed. “So Art, me and—”
“Arthur,” the mouse gently corrected.
“—very well. Arthur. Me and Jack were having a discussion. When do you reckon these rooks are gonna get on board with the rest of us? I mean, a little rain happens and they fly off like owlets (no offence, mate) back to mummy. Are they too dignified to have a romp in the yard?”
“Now Sigmund—”
“Munnndo,” the jackrabbit carefully articulated for everyone’s benefit.
“—there is no need to insult the rooks. It’s not their way to play in the rain. They don’t play like you do, but they are a good enough natured folk if you give them a chance. I know a rook or two who might think your exuberance a bit extreme, truth be told,” Arthur chided.
“Well, I think they’re just a bunch of featherbrained nutters,” Sigmund replied.
“They’re alright,” Jack countered. “I mean, they let us come here all the time and they don’t eat us and they give a cracking Tea Time, hey? I think they’re okay.”
“I think so too,” Lily interjected.
“And I know from experience that if you treat them kindly, they will treat you kindly in return. They may even go out of their way to help you,” Arthur winked at Lily. “It would do you well to go out of your way to help them from time to time. We all need each other, after all.”
“Help them? Forget it, mouse,” Sigmund snorted.
“It’s just a suggestion,” Arthur said. “But I’ll keep suggesting it until you all finally listen.”
Sigmund jumped up, tired of a conversation in which he couldn’t make himself the primary subject, and beckoned to Jack. “Come on, mate,” he said.
“You’re all right. I’m still a bit knackered. I’ll catch you up later,” the owl returned with a shy smile at Arthur.
“Suit yourself,” Sigmund called back as he bounced away.
“Do you really believe all that, Arthur? That things would be better if we help each other?” Jack asked. “Everything seems just fine to me as it is.”
“I do, with all my heart,” Arthur replied. “It’s a matter of honor, isn’t it. I remember a day when a mouse—or an owl—”
Jack smiled.
“—might have acted on someone else’s behalf just because it was the right thing to do. No thought for his own gain or loss—just a matter of right and wrong. Some would say that right and wrong are a matter of personal judgment, but I don’t believe that. It’s nonsense. No, there’s more to it. We know when we’ve chosen wrong over right, don’t we?”
Lily and Jack both nodded, and Lily’s eyes dropped in shame over the lie she had told Nan and Strathclyde that morning.
“The right thing,” Arthur continued, “is to help one another. It’s only by working together that we will be happy in the end.”
Arthur had barely finished speaking when the Rookery positively shook from such a deep, booming peal of thunder from overhead that even the rooks, no matter how courageous they thought themselves, jumped with fright, some of them actually tumbling out of their nests.
“Why, I didn’t think that this storm could become any worse,” said Titus who had flown down from his roost and was now looking out onto the courtyard from the doorway, “but it’s coming down harder now, and the wind has picked up. Why, it’s practically a typhoon out there!”
“But we don’t have typhoons in England!” Lily objected.
“Well, whatever you choose to call it,” Titus replied, “it’s phenomenal. I haven’t seen anything like it in years.”
“It really is terrible,” Lily agreed as she crouched down next to Titus and looked out at the rain pounding the empty courtyard.
Red and gold leaves swirled about in miniature cyclones in the intense wind, and the sky burned bright with sudden flashes of lightening every few moments. Each stroke of lightning was accompanied by another deafening peal of thunder. The two were separated by less than a second, which (according to Lily’s brothers—who claimed to know about such things) meant that the heart of the storm was very close indeed.
Just how close the storm had come was evident soon enough, for a flash of lightening—this one brighter and more frightening than any before it—illuminated the courtyard and brought with it a rumble and a crack that was far more than just thunder. It was as if the rumble had come from within the Rookery itself.
The animals who were huddled around the fire grew terribly silent as they awaited what was to come. No one was quite prepared, however, for Sigmund to bound in from the storm, true terror in his wide eyes.
“Fire!” he shouted as he hopped around frantically. “Fire in the Rookery!”
Sigmund’s alarm was met with a rather peculiar mixture of reactions. Some of the rooks began to cower in the corners, while others—Titus and Romulus namely—began at once to argue about what ought to be done. Jack the owl hooted excitedly, flying around and around the Rookery, making himself and everyone who watched him dizzy. The bats screeched, the weasels burrowed, the turtle disappeared inside his shell, and the otters made for the stream. Nothing was being accomplished in the way of putting out the fire.
“Perhaps you can see,” Arthur said to Lily, “why the rooks need me.” Then, very oddly indeed, he winked and turned for the doorway.
Ignoring her newly dried dress and the dangers of being outside during a lightning storm, Lily followed him through the passageway. She stood in the quickly flooding courtyard, and watched as he darted in and out of the Rookery’s woven walls until he finally emerged at the highest point of the structure.
“Arthur!” she gasped. Nearly the whole topside of the Rookery was engulfed in bright orange and yellow tongues of fire, licking out from every crack and crevice of the building. Dark smoke billowed in big, floating clouds as if from a giant’s pipe, and Lily had the most horrible thought: the Rookery looked less like a home and more like the bundles of kindling her father used to build a fire the drawing room fireplace.
In her fear for the Rookery, she momentarily lost sight of Arthur, though soon her eye caught a flicker of movement at the base of the fire where she saw the little mouse hopping about frantically on the surface of the structure. At first, she couldn’t make out what he was doing, but she soon understood as a blazing twig plummeted to the courtyard and dropped, hissing, into the ankle-deep water. Arthur was pulling apart the top of the Rookery, and putting out the fire, twig by twig, in the water below.
It was a futile effort, Lily feared, for the Rookery was far too large for any mouse, no matter how brave, to save on his own. And yet Arthur persisted, as if there was much more than a home to be saved—and it was this very persistence that assured he was not alone in his efforts for long.
Lily didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to help. But she cried out, “Help! Help!” anyway, and just as she did, she saw a streak of brown fly out of the archway and up to the top of the Rookery. It was Jack the tawny owl! He was followed almost immediately by Titus. One or two rooks had gathered enough courage to venture outside, and perhaps it was a sudden pang of guilt, seeing Arthur alone atop the Rookery trying to rescue their home, or perhaps it was a sudden surge of bravery, but in any event, the small group of rooks flew into action, joining Arthur, Jack and Titus on the flaming roof of the Rookery.
The burning Rookery erupted into a flurry of activity. Now, along with the torrent of rain, the courtyard was suffering a firestorm. Great blazing branches and gnarled, blackened twigs pummeled the flooded courtyard, causing a fog of steam to rise waist high all around Lily. Before long, many of the other animals—those who could climb—joined in the effort to save the Rookery, and soon enough, the fire began to dwindle. It took some time, but at last it was put out entirely; and as if nature itself decided to rest from its busy afternoon, the rain stopped not long after.
The animals at the top of the Rookery gave a great cheer when the last burning branch hissed and was silent, and Lily and the animals on the ground cheered and clapped along with them. Behind her, in the receding waters, the beaver was whistling happily as he collected the charred branches into an enormous pile at the edge of the courtyard. “Ooh, a lovely dam this will make. I say, a lovely dam, indeed!” he sang to himself.
Lily laughed as she imagined the long story the beaver would construct about this day, and had just spotted Arthur again at the top of the Rookery, when over his shoulder, she noticed the shape of a huge bird drifting low across the sky. She was not alone: the beaver stopped his whistling and cowered under his pile of branches, and as if by magic every single animal disappeared. Lily was alone in the courtyard, and not one animal was visible on the top of the Rookery.
“Lily!” someone hissed from the archway, “Come inside, girl!” It was the otter, cowering in the shadows. “Not too fast!” he hissed again as she began to run. She stopped again, and attempted to walk calmly into the Rookery.
“What happened? Where did everyone go?” she whispered to the otter as she passed through the archway, and then “Oh!” as she walked into the Rookery. Every one of the animals save the beaver was huddled around the fire, whispering in hushed tones.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Titus spoke to the frightened crowd as she came near and sat down outside the ring of animals. “I’m sure he was only passing by.”
“I agree,” Arthur said. “There is no need to worry. We have more pressing matters to discuss at present, such as the repair of the roof. But—”
“Speaking of the roof—” Titus interrupted, his accusing wing pointing upward at the many rooks who had refused to help. “Our home was nearly destroyed, thanks to you lot!”
The offended rooks began to twitter excitedly.
“Thanks to us? What is that supposed to mean?” Romulus cried, landing heavily outside the circle.
“Now, friends—” Arthur interrupted. But the rooks ignored him.
“If you hadn’t been so afraid, so lazy, we could have put that fire out long before the damage became so bad! Did you think the fire would put itself out?” Titus shouted at Romulus.
“It wasn’t my tree that was on fire. What did I care?” Romulus sneered.
“Not your tree! Not your tree! Why—well—I—you coward! Do you mean to tell me that you refuse to lift a finger for anything that doesn’t benefit you? Do you mean to say that you would let our trees, the trees of our forefathers burn to the ground because you couldn’t be bothered? Where is your sense of honor? Arthur has always said—” Titus sputtered, completely indignant.
“Gentlemen, please—” Arthur attempted again.
Romulus turned his fiery black eyes on Arthur, who was now standing between the two rooks with a placating hand raised to each. “What about Arthur? He’s a mouse. He doesn’t belong here, Titus. None of them do! You’ve turned this place into a circus—moles and weasels and all kinds of rabble coming and going when they please! It’s a disgrace to rookkind. And this mouse is worst of all.” Romulus took one step toward Arthur, but Arthur neither moved nor dropped his gaze.
“Please, brothers, let’s stop blaming one another and move on,” Arthur offered kindly, still holding Romulus’ gaze.
Titus took a few steps backward, finally turning his back on Romulus and looking out over the frightened animals. “Right. Right, I’m sorry, Arthur,” he said. “Let’s move on. My apologies, everyone. It’s been a difficult day.”
“Hmph,” Romulus grunted as he flew alone to his roost, turning his back on the group of weary animals.
“As I was saying before,” Arthur continued as if nothing had happened, “we have more important matters than the hawk to discuss, but I think it would do us all very well to have a nice long nap. It has been an exciting day, and I for one am exhausted. We will convene again at sunset.”
As if to show their agreement, the rooks took off for their roosts and settled in far more promptly than usual. The otters made wearily for the stream, and the other animals dragged themselves toward their various holes and burrows.
“You too, I think, Lily,” Arthur smiled as he walked her toward the door. “We must get you home. After a storm like that, I’m sure you will be expected.”
“Yes,” she answered wearily. Tea Time and the storm had tired her, but the fire and the argument had pushed her beyond exhaustion.
They passed through the archway and over the stone bridge. The water had mostly receded from the courtyard and the busy beaver had cleared away all the branches. Lily turned to look at the roof of the Rookery and smiled in spite of her exhaustion. The clouds had finally parted and the sun shone through the trees, casting a beautiful rainbow over the Rookery—the damaged, but not destroyed, castle of the forest.
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