Those of you who’ve read The Divide will be familiar with the griffon
Ironclaw. This is a previously unpublished account of when Ironclaw met his mate,
Thornbeak.
It was one of those lovely sunny days with no wind, when a brazzle could
use a dirtboard and all the calculations stayed where they were, as elegant and
sophisticated as the moment you first scratched them in with your talon. Ironclaw
thought for a moment. Then he erased the first symbol, and replaced it with the
square root of 2. It was a definite improvement. Suddenly, a brazzle-shaped
shadow swept across the ground. Ironclaw looked up in alarm. An interruption
from Granitelegs was the last thing he needed.
The brazzle landed on his favourite perching
rock, which was a bit much. However, it wasn’t his old mathematical sparring
partner, Granitelegs. This one had golden feathers and a bright tawny coat. It
was a female. “Can I help you?” asked
Ironclaw, hoping his tone of voice conveyed exactly the opposite. Hens were
only interested in history, which seemed like a monumental waste of time when
there were so many fascinating formulae to investigate.
“Are you Ironclaw?” asked the female, coming
straight to the point.
“I am,” replied Ironclaw suspiciously. “Why?”
“The name’s Thornbeak,” said the hen. “I’m
writing a book about Flintfeather.”
“Flintfeather?”
squawked Ironclaw. The long-dead mathematician was one of his heroes. “Why in
the name of a cuddyak pat would you be interested in him?” He suddenly regretted using the term cuddyak pat. It was a bit coarse, to be honest.
“He wrote some rather good poetry,” said
Thornbeak acidly.
“Poetry?”
Ironclaw was incensed. “No no no. Logic.
That was his first love.”
“Possibly. I did like his Liar Paradox. I
wondered whether you’d clarify a few things for me.”
“I doubt you’d understand them,” grumbled
Ironclaw. “Hens know nothing about trifles, for a start.”
Thornbeak ruffled her feathers. “Three point
one four one five nine two six five…”
Ironclaw’s beak dropped open in amazement. A
hen who could recite the most famous trifle of all? She flicked her tail. It
really did have rather a fine tassel on the end. He let his gaze travel to her
shapely hindquarters.
“Well?” said Thornbeak.
Ironclaw heard himself say, “I’d be delighted
to help.”
The hen looked surprised.
“We could go out for a haunch of something if
you liked,” Ironclaw added, surprising himself.
He’d never asked a hen out for a meal before. This one was different, though.
Very different. She had rather unexpected interests, and he found that
remarkably attractive. He felt a bit odd, really. His heart was beating a bit
too fast for comfort, and he had the disturbing feeling that Granitelegs might call
it love at first squawk.
