Silas barely had enough time to fly back and check on the nest. He bartered with Colin Squirrel for some acorns hollowed out and filled with birdseed — it tasted suspiciously like the slop from Corey Chapman's feeder — and took them back to Crystal, who didn't get all her questions out before Silas flew back out of the nest and back to the barn.
Barnes met him in the loft; he had transcribed the writing on the wall, the scrambled letters and COWARD spelled out. On the back of the paper was an ink drawing of the scene done in impressive detail. Silas thanked Barnes for the paper, tried taking it, but Barnes had held on until Silas assured him multiple times that yes, he was going to use the paper to find the killer soon, and yes, he understood the impact these killings were having on the Council, and the forest as a whole. Silas was tired, and would have assured Barnes his own breast was colored lime green if it would have gotten him out of there sooner.
Harvey agreed to meet with Silas later at the time and place they arranged. Silas needed Harvey's help to break into Fox's Den. Where at first Harvey wouldn't do it, after he had seen Quail's body and the whole drama around the murder scene, Harvey said he hadn't had so much fun sober in a long time, and agreed.
Silas took off heading away from the main body of the forest, past the suburbs, to a residential neighborhood near the center of the human city. Corey's car was parked on the street in front of an old Victorian. Silas would have liked the house were it not for the pigeons; a group was always hanging around the eaves. Silas hated city birds.
One of the louder pigeons called out, a greasy fat one with small eyes. "Oy! Country boy! Whatdya got there? Permission slip from your mommy to fly across the crosswalk?" He turned to his group, bobbing his head energetically, in an Am I right? gesture. They sniggered.
Silas held up the clue sheet. "Actually, your mother gave it to me when I was over at her roost. I didn't respect her enough to read it, but I see it says 'coward', so I think she was talking about you, Larry."
Larry Palomita's face clouded. "Don't you talk about my mother like that, Oaktree … I'll knock your beak in…."
This pigeon posse held Larry from flying off the eave at Silas. One of them hissed in his ear, "He's not worth it, Larry!"
Silas gave a bored readjustment of his wings to aggravate Larry more. "Is Grace in?" he asked.
Larry scoffed. "What? Do you think the broad went out for a jog?" He looked back at his group, head bobbing — Am I right? Can you believe this guy? — but they didn't seem to share his joke. Larry turned back to Silas. "Yeah, she's down there. But you better get there fast — before she's down there even farther, you know?" Larry looked at the ground. "You get what I'm sayin'? Like, 'down there' — meaning in the ground … dead … From being old and whatever.…” Seeing he wasn’t getting the reaction he was after, Larry went on. “What? You so desperate you're trying your wing with dying old ladies, Oaktree? Have some respect …"
"I could say the same, Palomita — but I somehow think you're beyond that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to talk with Grace and Corey … recommend she have spike strips installed on her house …" Silas dropped off the edge, spread his wings, and glided around the side of the house.
Larry called after him, "You wouldn't dare, Oaktree! We like it here —" but Silas was out of earshot.
Silas landed outside a window. He liked these old houses, with their generous eaves and accommodating window sills. Corey was moving around Grace's bed, making adjustments on the surrounding machines that helped keep Grace alive. Even with Grace's body ready to rejoin the earth, she looked cheerier than Corey, who was huffing something as he fluffed a pillow.
Silas tapped on the window with his beak. Neither Grace nor Corey seemed to hear. He tapped again. Humans had a lot of good qualities, but Silas had to marvel at how they survived given their dull senses, slow movements, and obliviousness to what was going on in their surroundings.
Silas tapped one of the dirtier mating call songs he knew, until finally, Grace noticed, said something to Corey, and he came over to open the window. Corey cursed more than usual as he wrestled with the heavy window, shouldering it up.
"Hold on, Silas," Corey panted. "Got to get the stick … prop it open…. There!"
Grace's voice was quiet, raspy, but sincere and buoyant. "Why! As I live and breathe, if it isn't Silas Oaktree! Come to brighten our day with a visit."
"Hello, Grace." Silas flew onto the edge of her bed. Silas knew not to land on one of her legs, even when three stamps were enough to send him through the mail. He always got empathy pains when he visited Grace; his knees and wings ached looking at her.
Grace Winsworth was a dark-skinned human; at least, her complexion would have been darker, had her skin not been so thinned with age, in which it took on a spotted, milky transparence. An IV snaked from the crook in her arm to a bag of fluid on a metal stalk; her hair was a wiry explosion of white on top of her head, where kind almond eyes watched Silas from a sea of wrinkles; she wore a white patterned nightgown with a high collar.
"And how's my favorite robin doing today? Your colors look so bright, Silas."
Silas couldn't stop himself from preening. He sighed. "I'm okay, Grace. Just have a lot going on right now."
"Not you too!" Grace nodded her head at Corey, who was still beating the pillow harder than was necessary. "This boy here's been a sourpuss all day. Won't say nothing's wrong, mind, but there be a storm cloud thunderin' ‘roun his head all day."
"I said there's nothing wrong, Grace," Corey said. The pillow got a few more punches. Silas looked away, studying the pile of newspaper at the side of Grace's bed; he didn't want to let on he knew about Corey's girlfriend with another mate.
"Well, either that pillow done insult you 'n all yo kin, or it be something else." Grace winked at Silas. "I be thinkin' it's lady troubles, myself."
Corey colored, but didn't say anything.
"I thought so." Grace cackled, her mouth more gaps than teeth. Her laugh was infectious, and Silas joined in chirping in spite of himself. "Well, when youz is good an' ready, we'z is here fo' you, boy. Or, you can jus’ keep on wif yo' hissy fit." Grace cackled anew.
Silas didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was feeling the best he had felt all day. Grace was a shriveled human, dying; she couldn't walk, let alone fly. Nature had spent decades to cane her good with the ugly stick — And here she was, uplifting him — mouth wide open, gaps of missing teeth and the few remaining dangling on for dear life in diseased gums — cackling her head off. Even Corey started to smile.
And she wasn't being mean to Corey, Silas knew, though she was laughing. She was enjoying her time with him to the full. She understood being open, making her interaction with people as enjoyable as possible, was the way to most honestly like them. Silas hoped he didn't have to be hooked up to machines keeping him alive and nest-ridden before he learned that lesson.
"What's that you done brought me, Silas?" Grace asked, nodding at the paper he carried.
Silas felt guilty bringing something so depressing. "It's a follow-up to something I meant Corey to get earlier." Silas gave Corey a significant look. "You went home this afternoon?"
Corey nodded. "For lunch. Maybee was taunting me the whole time. I was just going to put her out, when she said she had something from you."
"That witch," Grace said. "Lars … If that cat be in my house, dat cat done be yowlin' from the whoopin' she get! Cat be spawn of the Debil!"
"So you got the paper?" Silas asked.
"Yeah." Corey frowned. "Creepy stuff. Didn't know animals — non-humans, you know — did that stuff to each other, too."
"What stuff be dat?" Grace asked.
Silas filled them in on what had been going on in the forest. Corey produced the paper from his back pocket, showing Barnes' drawing of Mole's murder scene, and the message written out, SIGHTLESS unscrambled. Silas showed them the paper with Don Quail at the barn.
"Lars, Silas, you be swimmin' wif the sharks! Corey done said it: din' think God's creatures be crazy enough to be killin' each uffer. Thought that was just us humans bein' stupid."
"Yes, well, this animal isn't stupid. Just evil," Silas said. "And I've got to search his Den tonight, try to find those cubs — get proof so the Council will finally do something to put him down."
"Boy! I be forgettin' how young you is!, be doin' all the grown fings you be doin'. … But you thinkin' the law be takin' care o' this? Unn-mmm. You be thinkin' one thing, an' it be de other. Ain't nobody in dat forest who gon' be endin' this but you, hear? You put dat in yo beak an' swallow it dawn — bitter med'cin though it is."
Grace winced in pain. Corey rushed over, changing out one of the pillows propping her up with the one he fluffed. He adjusted something on the IV. Silas felt more empathy pains seeing the stain yellowing the pillow Corey removed.
"You don' be payin' that no mind, now," Grace said, catching Silas watching. "You be closer to nature 'dan us humans … you know I dyin', an' that be part a-life. That be somefin' Corey here need to learn. I'm dyin', 'n tha's that. Da sooner he get straight what's goin' on be what goin' on, sooner he be moving on.
"Don' think you flyin' above him, 'do, Silas. You right dere wivvum: You thinkin' someone gon' come 'roun, fix dis here unnaturalness," she nodded at the papers on her bed, "but you jus' be dreamin'. Stars and body, boy! Unnaturalness be part-a nature — ain't separate. Unn-mmm. Corey, get me my pocketbook."
Corey brought over a floral patterned pocketbook, opened the clasp for her. Grace fumbled around for a minute until she brought out a picture, yellowed with age.
"This was my boy. That's Nathaniel there. He was in Vietnam, I ev'r tell you dat, Silas? Corey here be hearin' all the stories." Grace laughed, but her voice was softer, wavering. "You know what Vietnam is, Silas? It be a place over there in Asia, but I'm talkin' da war. Der was a war — stupid damn thing, thousands killin', an' ain't nobody got a good reason between theyselves fo' why. An' my Nathaniel done got caught up in it. Din' want a part-a it, but dat don' matter for chicken's teeth. God ain't ask for none our 'pinion, an' neither did the Ten'see Draf' Board. He went, same as all'em boys. They be sayin' he comin' home, jussa peacekeepin' they be doin'. But for all dem years searchin' 'froo that bush, they ain't find even a little bitta peace.
"What happened to your son?" Silas thought of his clutch of eggs, of Crystal — how he had been spending more time away from them than with them.
"He died. — An' don't you be openin' your beak to be sayin' sorry fo' nunna that — He died decades 'go, there in that Vietnam bush. Tha's what happen', 'an there be no chagin' it. Tha's what I sayin', Silas. What done got on got on. No changin' it. Nathaniel, he be with his group in the bush — leaves 'n trees diff'rent, but woods is woods — an' the gooks gottem in a trap. Shootin' all sides, ain't no way out. Call in fo' a gunship — that what they did, see? Turn the tides, 'n all…. But they ain't comin'. Ain't nobody comin' fo' them, an' that's what my boy done knowed. If they group be gettin' out-a dat, someone done gotta start shootin' through to the field; ain't no gunship. It's what you gotta know."
"That there is no gunship?"
Grace nodded emphatically. "That's right. Ain't nobody but you to watch yo' brood. Don' matter if someone say they comin', cuz they ain't. Don' want no parda it. What do matter is you is there — on da ground, shootin'. You don' wanna be in this here messa killins 'n unnaturalness never — no more dan my boy Nathaniel did. But here y'are. Ain't no changin' that. Only thing you gotta do is choose."
"Did your son and his group escape the trap?" he asked.
"They got out. Mos' the fighters did." There was wetness in the corners of her eyes. "Not Nathaniel 'do. He be the one layin' down his life so heez friends could live."
Well, this turned into a cheerful visit, Silas thought.
"Grace," Corey said quietly, "you should rest. I'll get making your supper."
"Ain't got no time fo' rest. Our frien' Silas here needs our help. Gots him a puzzle to solve."
"A puzzle?"
"Yessuh, boy, a puzzle." Grace had a tissue, blotted her eyes. Her bony hand reached over to her side table. She tapped the pile of newspapers. "Juz like the puzzles I do in these here newspapers, when Corey's an' my conversating catches the slows." She winked at Silas. He tried his best to follow what Grace was saying.
"Your newspapers have puzzles like these murders in them? Why would you want to read about such things?"
Grace looked surprised, then cackled. "Ain' no murders in the papers, boy! 'Cept the stories." She laughed, her head going back; she dabbed her eyes with the tissue she always seemed to have in hand. "I be meanin' the puzzles, Silas. The puzzles! You know — crosswords, the word fines —"
" 'Word fines'?"
"Find. You lookin’ fo’ words in a whole bunch-a them letters. I got good at it, too. Here," Grace picked up a folded newspaper. It was a page with cartoons on it, and words and boxes. Most of the page was filled in with letters in Grace's shaky handwriting.
Silas nodded his understanding. He asked Grace if she would be okay with him taking this paper; he'd been putting off maintenance on his nest — now it was in desperate need for refeathering. Newspaper would be excellent building material.
" 'Course," Grace said. "I'm done wif it. Take all it. Corey can take it home wif 'em — closer to yo' tree."
"Thanks.” Silas wanted to get them back on track; his wings were already feeling heavy, his lack of sleep was catching up with him. He thought how he still had to break into the Fox Den tonight. “What do you make of the clues? These murders? I could use yours and Corey's help. If no one else is going to end this but me, I’d rather figure it out sooner than later."
“Like I done said, you got a puzzle ta figga. Silas, take ‘nother look at them tossed-’round words.”
“The ones Barnes unscrambled? Sightless and coward?"
Grace rocked her head. "Them the ones. An' whadda they have in common?"
Silas felt like he could do with an overturned rock of grubs and another cup of coffee. "I don't know, Grace. Obviously Fox is saying something —"
"You don't know that —"
"Okay. Fox or not, the killer is saying something about about the animals he killed. Mole, he was blind — sightless. Quail — well, sorry to say it, but yeah, he was a coward. Scared like a rattling leaf."
"Ain't no one got that right to judge 'less you Saint Peter. You done said Quail looked froo a bear cave, then parlayed with a fox. Bein' scare't don' mean you no coward."
"He flew off before the inspection of Fox's den, too scared to go in." Silas opted not to mention finding Quail's droppings in the corner of the Bear Cave, pooping himself, he was so scared. Silas was starting to feel anger towards Quail. He was a Council Member — it was his job to keep peace in the forest. What right did he have to run, when Silas had nothing to do with the Council, and was sucked into this whole thing like an eddy?
"You said that killuh put chore name up by them words bofe times. You got a patt'n formin'. Silas, maybe he done be accusing you a-bein' sightless 'n a cow'ert."
"My vision is excellent," Silas said. It came out more defensively than he meant.
"Maybe he ain't talkin' 'bout seein' how a mole can't. Maybe you ain't seein' somethin' the killer think you should. Mayhap it a test — like if you don't figga dis out, tha puzzle — you done good as blind. Good puzzles got all you need right there front chore eyes; that don't make it no easier fo seein' the answer."
"So this is some kind of test for me? Why? Why bring others into this if it is just about me? Fox and I've had challenges between us before, and it was just between him and me." Silas knew what he said wasn't true the moment it left his beak. Hadn’t Fox been ready to eat Harvey?
"It ain't about chu, Silas, whatever it seem. You saying it about takin' over the Council, takin' control da forest … maybe. But even dat — dat ain't about nobody but the one doin' it. They doin' it fo they own reasons, an' ain' nobody else's. But they gon' make you play tho game, that fo sure. It's them words he usin' for a puzzle. You show't me they words that are circled. That tells me mo's comin'. They gon' link togedda, like in my here crossword."
Silas shook his head. "The only thing I'm seeing is the motive to eliminate the Council. Fox would have free reign of the forest — even more than he does now — to run his drug business, to do his challenges and racketeering with no one to make him pay the consequences. He's killing off each Council Member, taking a parting shot calling them 'sightless' or 'coward' or whatever else he has planned…. All the while Fox is keeping me teetering on my perch by involving me, because Fox and everyone else thinks I'm running for Council…. I'm not," Silas finished lamely.
Corey came in with a tray of Grace's supper, as much medicine as there was food. Grace shared a saltine with Silas. The light coming through the window was yellowing.
Silas sighed. Harvey would be waiting for him. "I better get going. Need to take a grand tour of Fox's Den."
"Will you be okay?" Corey asked. "My cousin owns a rifle, I could ask him —"
"No, thanks, Corey." Silas didn't like the chances of anyone going into Fox's den uninvited — human with a gun or not. "I've got to slip in undetected. If I'm going to find anything, they can't have warning someone's come looking. I know that's why the Council's inspection today was worthless. They announced themselves first."
Silas wanted to say something to Corey about his girlfriend Jenny, but he didn't know what he would say that would make any difference. The last thing he needed was yet another issue to dip his beak into.
"You come back tomorrow, hear?" Grace said. "I want-a know what chu find in that Fox Den. An' I have not gotten out my bed so long, I need you to come back, tell me if my pyracantha done start its blossomin'. I miss watchin' you birds goin' hog-wile wid dem berries."
"Yes, ma'am," Silas said. He bid them farewell, flying out the open window.
Silas thought what it would be like living in the city. Slower pace of life, no forest politics … There was Larry Palomita and all the other loudmouth pigeons, but when you flew in a new direction, Silas knew, you tilted one wing down to raise the other.
Silas met Harvey back at the rest area. Harvey was on a light pole, dropping pebbles on a dog leashed underneath.
"What took you?" Harvey asked.
"I'm early."
Harvey had a pebble in his mouth, aimed it, dropped it. The dog growled, barking furiously. "Since when have you been early for anything, late bird?"
"Can it, Harvey. You ready?"
Harvey clicked his beak. He studied Silas with his beady eyes; they didn't focus perfectly on Silas' face. "The question is, are you, little bro? I'm always up for fast talking. You're the one stupid enough to try getting into the Den. But you do what your big brother says, and you might just live through this."
"How stoned are you?"
"Just a little,” Harvey said. “Not as bad as this mutt.” He laughed, getting his own joke. "Get it? Ha! Stoned!" He dropped a few more pebbles on the dog's head, who was swearing and yowling, scratching at the post, desperate for revenge. "I'm good, Sai, I’m good. Had a few Berries to get me in the mood. So I'm a little blazed … so what? I'm in control. Besides, I told Weasel we'd — I mean, I — I would be by soon. Better not be late; that rodent's got a temper. Like this dog here."
Harvey showered down the rest of the pebbles to the dog's howls of outrage. They took off for the heart of the forest.
The large deciduous trees of the forest gave way to scraggly pines, their branches knitted together in a web of sharp dead wood. About a mile from the den, Harvey dropped below the treeline, Silas following. The trees were so dense the moonlit night vanished into pitch; Silas strained his senses to follow Harvey as he darted and wove between the dense branches.
They landed on a branch. A wall of trees and brambles was between them and a clearing, where the dancing glow of firelight cast the shadows of animals moving around.
"Whew." Harvey panted, wiping a wing across his head. "Haven't flown that hard since I was a fledgling chasing after Marge Grubler. Remember Marge? Momma Spider, she was hot! — Yeah, yeah, I can't see your face, but I know you're looking at me, all business. You're so stiff — Loosen up, bro!. Anyway, yeah, you can see the Fox Den through the trees. Boiling berries, buy the looks of it … maybe cooking down needles —"
"Stop licking your beak and focus."
"Like I said, you really only need to worry about Tony Crow. And I'll distract him, tell him Brandon Weasel is expecting me. You fly around the other side — the place is huge. The tunnel access is on the north side, if you're really stupid enough to go in there … don't know where you'll hide…."
"Let me worry about that. I'll go hide over there until you get talking to Tony. Keep him busy. Seven minutes."
"Seven?” Harvey said. “Why not five? What am I going to say to Tony to keep him busy for seven minutes?"
"I don't know … reminisce about how you met … how you both like supporting the dirty underside of the forest —"
Harvey gave Silas the feather.
Silas found a cluster of branches that hid him from all sides. Silas heard Harvey flap closer to the clearing with the fire; he was talking with someone now. The animal Harvey was talking to asked someone a question, who relayed the question to someone else. For a while Silas couldn't make out anything else. Then he heard the impossibly deep voice of Tony Crow. "Yeah, who's asking?"
Silas jumped. Tony's voice was closer, up in a tree; Tony's voice was the kind that projected, so it sounded next to you no matter where he perched. Silas peered around the branches, seeing Harvey's outline on a tree, joined by the larger black silhouette of Tony.
"Aren't songbirds like you supposed to be roosting at this hour?" Tony asked.
"Songbirds, yeah,” Harvey said. “Junkie birds: we keep a different schedule. We don’t roost until after blitz o’clock has come and gone.”
“We’ve had enough visitors today, Oaktree. Get lost. Find Weasel another day to get your fix.”
Harvey hesitated. Silas was ready to fly, not knowing if Harvey would be able to hold Crow’s attention long enough for him to do any real searching, but then he heard Harvey start in again with Crow.
“C’mon, Tony — you know it’s for more than just me; sure, I taste the product from time to time —”
Laughter from the animals in the clearing; they knew an understatement when they heard it.
“— but you know I sell to a lot of animals in the woods. No bird flies high in this forest without me supplying them … come on, Tony, let me talk to Weasel. It’s late, I know, but I know that son of a grub can’t sleep when there’s profit to sniff out.…”
It was silent for a moment, Tony considering. Then he said, “Alright, Oaktree. Wait here with me. I’ll have one of the goons — I mean, employees — get Weasel. You better be ready to buy.…”
Silas took his cue. He hopped around to the other side of the tree where he was hiding, launching himself into the air; Silas glided as much as he could, beating a few strong beats of his wings, but minimizing the sound. He made a wide perimeter around the clearing. When he was on the opposite side, where his perfect sense of direction and perception of magnetic fields told him was the north side of the clearing, where Harvey had said the entrance to the underground part of the Fox Den was. He would see what he could find aboveground first. Then, as he knew he would have to, he would search underground.
It was an expansive clearing, at least as large as the one where the Forest Council meeting had been. On the north side where Silas was, stacks of barrels stood warehoused in a neat grid pattern around a large hole in the ground. The hole was big enough to be the opening to a mine. Across the clearing was a fire pit, large and rectangular, stretching some forty feet across. The fire was dug into the ground, so suspended almost level with the forest floor were large black cauldrons; Silas could smell the sweetness of what was cooking inside. Various animals worked around the fire, some up on a metal scaffolding adjacent the fire pit, working controls.
Silas flew from cover, dropping almost vertically to the ground. There he hopped as quickly as he could across open ground. He could hear a group of animals' voices growing closer from the underground entrance. Silas flew between the stacked barrels for cover, peeking his head out to watch. Fox emerged, flanked by a porcupine and an opossum.
"— better teach the Council a lesson. Think they can put their beaks wherever they please — telling the rest of us what we can do and not." It was Fox's voice, greasy. The group came out of the tunnel, Fox flanked by a skunk and a porcupine.
"Yeah, showed them, didn't you boss?” the porcupine said. “Old quaky Quail put in his place … Ain’t gonna be shakin’ with the Council no more.…”
“Shut up, Quill. But yes, one less Council Member to deal with.… It’s going better than I expected.”
The opossum spoke in his nasally voice.
“You hear, boss? Oaktree’s brother is here. Harvey. Came to buy from us. Weasel and Crow are with him now.”
“Is that so? Harvey’s been a good customer,” Fox said. “But I don’t even want to hear the name Oaktree. Silas has been a thorn in my paw for too long. Now that he’s running for Council, and accusing me of the Bear kidnappings, and the murders …”
“But, boss, didn’t you —”
There was a scream as Fox hit the opossum.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Dell. So don’t — talk.”
The opossum called Dell rolled on his side, playing dead. Fox scoffed.
“I don’t need any more talk from any of you. Especially about Oaktree. I don’t care if he’s out trying to solve the riddles, or taking a dump on his human friend’s car.” Fox giggled at his own joke.
Quill laughed dutifully. They came level with the stack where Silas hid. He shrunk back among the barrels, his feathers scraping the wooden sides of the barrels. Silas held his breath, trying not to make a sound. Fox stopped walking, not saying anything. Quill asked Fox what he was looking at. Fox ignored Quill, saying nothing as he stood still, listening. Finally Fox walked on.
Silas let his breath. He peeked out from the stack. Fox and Quill were inspecting the fire, the opossum called Dell catching up. Fox was inspecting the overhead winch where the cauldrons of berries boiled over the fire, conveyed to the end, where they turned and dumped into waiting barrels identical to those Silas hid among.
He could delay no longer. Silas dropped to the ground, hopping quickly to the entrance of the Den’s underground. The tunnel was dark, the air stale and palpably still. It was so other from the Den’s aboveground, which seemed almost cheery in comparison, with it’s warm firelight and bubbling pots of berries.… And homicidal animals that would kill him given the chance, Silas thought. He hopped down the earthen ramp.
Despite the dark, his excellent night vision and keen awareness of magnetic fields made it easy to navigate the underground corridors. What he was looking for now was about a million times bigger than a worm, black and furry, with claws and a musty scent. Plus, there were two of them. If they’re still alive, Silas thought. He shoved the thought aside, coming to a fork. He picked the left tunnel.
More of the barrels were underground, fermenting the berries inside. Just coming out of winter, there were less than Silas imagined would be there in autumn; still, dozens of barrels lined the walls and filled the cavernous burrows serving as storerooms. The shear size of Fox’s enterprise — the amount of trade he did with forest animals and humans to get this scale — struck Silas for the first time. Silas was getting woozy from the smell of all the fermenting berries.
He searched down tunnel after tunnel. The organized layout of the underground impressed Silas, and with his near perfect sense of direction, and paying attention to the subtle exchange of air, he mentally crossed off corridors and rooms he had already been through. The underground portion of the Den was benign, even if it was in the heart of his greatest adversary’s lair: It was just warehouse space for Fox’s illegal products. The Council had searched the Den. If Top Perch Barnes was anything, the old owl was thorough, and would not have neglected searching here as well as the rest of the Den. As long as they didn’t get drunk off the fumes, Silas thought, shaking his head. He would check down the last tunnel he missed, then head up to the surface.
Silas hammered the sides of a few of the barrels, making sure they weren’t hollow. He heard a soft rumble and groan. He looked around for its source. Then Silas realized it was his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since the small bit of cracker Grace had shared. He moved on, checking the walls for hidden rooms and secret compartments.
He went down the last tunnel. It was different from the storage rooms; there were no barrels or crates; a light radiated from the chamber Silas was coming upon. He hugged the wall as the tunnel turned, opening into a chamber.
It was more of a private residence, or a study, though Silas had never seen any animal besides Wesley Barnes keep a formal study. Papers a