realm of Mistanizzle are usually of the red variety.”
“I’ve heard of the Kite Duels up in Larnsdaisyn,” said Earnest, “but no one’s flying that thing.”
Fontarius let the groan escape. “How long has it been here for?”
“Little Merchisé saw it yesterday afternoon, and Mrs Pipcastle saw it looking down at her this morning.”
“From your roof?” “From that tree.”
Fontarius followed Earnest’s gaze across the road to a grand tree with the appearance of a mineral green dome. “Really?”
“I can show you,” said Earnest, striding across the road. Fontarius followed, not taking his eyes from the heavy, half-sphere canopied grandee, standing unbowed in the beating of the solar drum and putting its canopy to good use. Although despite being able to give a sigh of relief in the refreshing shade, he had to follow Earnest’s arm pointing up one of those lance-straight main branches.
“Don’t ask me why the Missus was so close,” said Earnest. “Probably talking to one of her friends coming up from Mistannicci. But as she lifted her head to laugh, she spied a pair of purple eyes looking back at her, plus a squawk; or was it a quack…?”
“Purple-?” Fontarius nearly choked.
Earnest nodded. “I’d say amethyst if birds flew about with jewels for eyes. It hasn’t been back to the tree for as long as I’ve been outside, but it’s never strayed very far from a circle with here and Cresten forming the two points of the diameter. Do you know what it is, apart from the fact it looks like a Kite.”
“I have to say, this is a fine specimen of an Acer,” Fontarius continued, putting a hand on the shaggy pink-grey trunk, “tall, grand and spherically handsome.”
Earnest frowned, “Acer?” “Sycamore.”