Four Shots

Gaius has finished comparing the tidal ranges. Yes, they are the same.

At first he had not thought so, because the cardboard version was almost unreadable, having spent so long in the sea.

It was remarkable really that the Prismalo watercolour pencil had left any traces at all.

But there it was. Eight metres, between high and low tide, while the spring and neap range might be as big as thirteen point five.

A wonderful pencil. He searches his pockets.

Drat! Where are they? Belle will know where they are.

Belle was going to find Arthur. But she is not back yet.

Gaius leaves his hotel room, goes downstairs, and enters the dining room, which has a boat theme.

He stops to look at a poster depicting ships' knots.

Belle enters.

Gaius! says Belle. I was just coming to get you. We're all at the Jardin du Bourg. No one wants to go to bed yet.

We have a great deal to do in the morning, says Gaius.

I know, says Belle. More than you think, too. Saint Roley wants to bury his oyster shell oars in the sand. A proper funeral.

How do you know Saint Roley's wishes? asks Gaius.

Méen told me, says Belle. I dropped by before I came here.

But how does Méen know? asks Gaius.

Saint Roley can speak! says Belle. Isn't it magic! Terence is excited.

No doubt, says Gaius. Well well. This will be most useful. Our trained oystercatcher can speak. I must think how we can best use his new talent.

Not now, says Belle. Come with me to the Jardin. Everyone's there.

Arthur? says Gaius.

Arthur, says Belle. And Albert, Francine and François-René. They're all talking mathematics.

.......

It is hardly mathematics.

Four more shots, says Arthur. Why?

Closure, says Albert. A deliberate killing.

Arthur is waving a butter knife.

François-René has recovered his steak knife, and is cutting the fat off a steak.

Francine is swallowing oysters.

Knife would be better, says Arthur.

Here's Gaius, says Belle. Sit down, Gaius. I'll get you a beer.

Thanks, says Gaius. This is lively. What what are we discussing?

Albert's novel, says Francine. Would you like an oyster?

Gaius takes an oyster.

Not mathematics? says Gaius.

That's my field, says Francine.

Knives, says Arthur. That's mine.

That is a butter knife, says Gaius.

Four shots, says Albert, with a gun. So that the rest of the novel can follow.

Fair enough, says Arthur.

Knot theory, says Francine.

What a coincidence, says Gaius. I was just looking at ships' knots in the hotel dining room.

Not ships' knots, says Francine.  I am currently researching unknots.

And what are they? asks Gaius. May I trouble you for a second oyster?

Go for it, says Francine. This is an unknot.

She takes out a pencil and draws Gaius a squiggly line.

For She Is Beloved

There is water all over the floor.

It's not our fault, says Terence. There was a crack in the bowl.

That's there to make sure we do the dishes quickly, says Méen. But don't worry about it. We have some good news.

My bird! cries Baldy.

No, Terence's bird, says Méen. Unless you are sharing Saint Roley.

We're NOT! says Terence. HIS bird is coming in four thousand years.

Forty! says Baldy.

What's this nonsense, says Méen.

Gaius said it, says Baldy.

He did not, says Méen. Now, come over here to Saint Roley. You too, Butterball. Stop picking at that globby potato. What would the Virgin say!

Butterball stops picking the globby lumps of potato out of the bowl, from which the washing up water has drained, and follows everyone across to Saint Roley.

Wah! cries Terence. What's happened!

An imbalance of electrical charges, says Saint Roley.  Or so I am told.

Saint Roley can talk! cries Terence. Say something else!

Where is oyster granny? asks Saint Roley.

In the washing up bowl, says Butterball. I'll get her.

I must bury her in the sand at Cancale , says Saint Roley. For she is beloved.

I'll help you, says Baldy.

This is MY parrot, says Terence. I'll help him.

We'll all help him, says Maclou. Can it wait till the morning?

Yes, it can wait till the morning, says Saint Roley. Put me back on the cushions.

You can lie next to granny, says Butterball.

He places the two parts of granny either side of Saint Roley.

What's that stuff? asks Saint Roley, looking first this way then that way at oyster granny.

Potato, says Butterball.

Saint Roley has had a long day.

He closes his eyes, his electrified feathers settle down somewhat. He murmurs a thank you to granny, and falls asleep in the sweet atmosphere of potato......

.......

Will you look at that, says Méen. Sleeping, so peacefully.

I'm looking, says Maclou. I am reminded once again that we all have reason to be thankful.

Indeed, says Macloy, except perhaps for Saint Malo, who is still lost at sea.

Of course, says Méen. And Butterball, whom I prevented from eating the globby potato.

Why was that? asks Maclou.

He might have got a gippy tummy, says Méen, and then we'd have ALL been in trouble.

Oh yes, the Virgin, says Maclou. But all things considered, it's been a good day.

.....

Oyster granny, suffering from hardening lumps of potato, lying beside a slowly discharging bird, and facing the prospect of a sand burial tomorrow, might well think otherwise.

Flash Scrape Zing!

In the background, a splashing sound. Laughter. A potato pot, clinking.

Terence, Baldy and Butterball are washing the dishes

Méen and Maclou lean back on low stools either side of Saint Roley's pile of cushions.

And sit up again.

Feeling warm, they reach up and pull off their knitted hats at the same moment.

Flash! Flash!

Golden haloes! Would you believe it!

The haloes buzz softly.

The dishwashing infants don't hear them, because of the scraping.

Scrape, scrape.

Baldy is scraping congealed potato from the potato pot.

He is using both parts of oyster granny, which were joined once, when granny lived inside.

The two Welsh monks have known one another a long time.

They often do things together.

The hat removal being the most recent example.

Now they both lean forward and place a wrinkled hand on either side of the little bird face of Saint Roley, because he looks so pale and so helpless.

And zing!!!

Electricity. Miracle or science.

Brrruuurrr! An electric current runs through the head of Saint Roley.

All the dreams he was having
All words he was sneezing
Assemble

Saint Roley sits up.

And is suddenly ARTICULATE.

It seems I have survived, says Saint Roley. Who may I thank for it? Where is my brother? Never mind. I must bury granny. But no, I perceive she is doing the dishes. I wish now I had gone back for the dermal denticle. The perfect tool for scraping off congealed potato. Oh no! What's happened to my feathers!

Probably nothing more than an imbalance of electrical charges, says Méen.

Exit To Knife

Rumble.

It's François-René's stomach.

Still hungry? asks Belle.

We have wafers somewhere, says Méen.

I like cracking wafers, says Terence.

No wafers, says François-René. I'm toying with the idea of looking for Arthur, who still has my knife.

What a good idea, says Belle. I'll come with you.

We should all go, says Gaius. Especially as no cushions are forthcoming. Any good hotels around here?

The Nuit et Jour, says Maclou. Just across the square. Most agreeable, and pets are allowed.

However, says Méen, I have heard it is dangerous for infants.

I'm not going, says Terence. I'm staying here.

Me too, says Baldy. I'm staying here with my bird.

My bird, says Terence.

And my bird, says Butterball.

Terence is exasperated.

Saint Roley can't be everyone's bird.

François-René has already reached the back door of the parlour.

He has opened it, and peered outside.

He smells steaks cooking, mingled with oysters and pizza.

Arthur will be out there somewhere with the botanists, drinking and discussing literary matters...

Alors! He steps into the night.

Well! says Belle. He might have waited!

You go after him, says Gaius. I shall find the hotel. When you find Arthur, let him know where we're staying. We shall need him tomorrow.

Okay, says Belle, heading for the back door.

.......

This is nice, says Méen. Just like the old days.

What happened in the old days? asks Terence.

The children washed up, says Maclou.

Méen takes a cracked bowl from a cupboard, and fills it with water.

.......

Gaius has found the Hotel Nuit et Jour, and booked into a family room.

Once in the room, he takes the folded cheese bag and the damp cardboard from his back pack and begins the task of comparing the two sets of tidal range figures.

They should be exactly the same.

He becomes so engrossed he forgets to check the room for potential dangers to infants.

.....

François-René and Belle arrive at the Jardin de Bourg.

Arthur, Francine and Albert have been arguing fiercely.

About time, says Arthur. We need your advice.

Really? says Belle. We need some pizza.

I need a good steak, says François-René. And I'd like my knife back.

Arthur pulls out the knife.

Case in point, says Arthur, stabbing at the table.

Francine gets up to order more beer.

Unhelpful Comforts

Saint Roley is placed on a pile of hard cushions.

Kneeling cushions, says Maclou. Not terribly comfy, but if we pile up enough of them....

I'm sure it will be lovely, says Belle. Won't it, Saint Roley?

Sasshoo! says Saint Roley.

Rest, little bird, says Méen. You have all night. I assume you're all staying? There's plenty of room here.

Very kind, says Gaius, but we shouldn't impose any further.

Not at all, says Méen. Butterball, go and ask the Virgin for a few extra cushions.

Butterball finds himself in a pickle

She won't give me any, says Butterball.

What? says Méen. In trouble again are we? Did you finish your homework?

Yes, says Butterball. I got the right answer.

What was that? asks Maclou.

Not fixed, says Butterball.

What was the question? asks Méen.

The Arctic Circle, says Butterball. The answer is: IT ISN'T.

That can't be the answer, scoffs Terence.

No, says Baldy. It isn't.

That's what I SAID!, says Butterball.

Let me resolve this , says Gaius. Was it mathematics or geography?

It was homework, says Butterball.

He doesn't know, laughs Terence.

I do know, says Butterball trying to remember the question.

The words of the Virgin.

The Arctic Circle. Is it fixed or not fixed? That was the question.

Butterball says it.

Aha, says Gaius. I can help you with that one.

Help us all, says Maclou.

The position of the Arctic Circle is not fixed, says Gaius. It's latitude depends on the earth's axial tilt, which fluctuates within a margin of two degrees over a period of 40,000 years due to tidal forces resulting from the orbit of the moon.

Gaius! says Belle. What does that mean, simply?

It means, says Gaius, the Arctic Circle is currently drifting northwards at a speed of about 15 metres per year.

That's right, says Butterball.

Terence doesn't get it. But Baldy is smarter. He gets it.

Baldy has been thinking about his poor missing baby Saint Malo, adrift on the ocean. The Arctic Circle. So that's where he's going. Very slowly.

And in forty thousand years he will float back again.

It's a comforting thought, which doesn't help Saint Malo.

Fixed, Not Fixed

Eglise de Saint Méen, later in the evening.

Méen enters, through the back door, with a lantern and Saint Roley's wet cardboard.

O marvellous! says Gaius. I recognise that cardboard. Where is the rest of it?

This is all that remains, says Méen. The little sailor is being looked after by Terence.

Bad idea, Méen, says Belle.

Bring them in, says Maclou.

Leave the cardboard, says Gaius. I need to examine it.

Méen leaves the cardboard, and goes back for Terence and his cousins.

A kerfuffle is happening.

Baldy: Let ME!

Terence: He's my parrot!

Baldy: Mine's missing. I should have half of this one.

They pull at the opposite ends of Saint Roley,

Butterfatty: Stop it! He's not breathing!

Saint Roley: Sasshoo!

(So he is breathing).

Méen: Ah there you are, boys. Bring him into my parlour.

Butterfatty picks up Saint Roley and runs with him to the Virgin.

He has forgotten about his homework.

Butterball! says the Virgin. What's that you've got there?

Saint Roley, says Butterfatty. Protect him!

There is no such saint, says the Virgin. Put him outside and finish your homework.

I finished it, says Butterfatty.

Then I shall test you, says the Virgin. Is the Arctic Circle fixed or not fixed?

FIXED, says Butterfatty.

It's the wrong answer.

Get back up here, says the Virgin. The latitude of the Arctic Circle depends on the earth's axial tilt. What does that tell you?

NOT FIXED! says Butterfatty.

Terence runs in.

I knew it! cries Terence. Bring him into the parlour. They've got cushions.

Cushions! says the Virgin. Not my kneeling cushions!

Terence doesn't know what sort of cushions.

He knows cushions are cushions. And Virgins are to be avoided.

I'll take him, says Terence, grabbing Saint Roley.

Sasshoo! says Saint Roley.

He's sneezing, says the Virgin. It may be the bird flu.

He's saying thank you, says Terence. He can say thank you. Before he couldn't.

The Virgin peers down at Saint Roley.

Say thank you, says the Virgin.

But Saint Roley won't say it.

......

Butterfatty follows Terence back to the parlour. His job is to make sure they don't use the kneeling cushions.

It sucks being a spy for the Virgin.

Keep Me To

Swish! Swish!

It's the rhythmic sound of oars, swishing through the dark waters, on the way to Cancale.

Yes, Saint Roley has resolved his dilemma.

It was a long and ethical story.

First, he held granny oyster shell lightly, between the tips of his feathery wings.

Granny remained passive, and half open, but firmly joined at the hinge.

If I break you in half, thought Saint Roley, will it make any difference?

A granny-oysterlike voice answered: KEEP ME TO......Shurrr....

This was puzzling.

I can't understand you, thought Saint Roley.

Granny repeated: Shurrrr.

I understand that part, thought Saint Roley. But KEEP ME TO what?

No answer is forthcoming.

After all, granny is empty.

It remained for Saint Roley to extrapolate KEEP ME TO ..... satisfactorily.

Saint Roley made a list in his head.

1. Keep me together
2. Keep me together with you
3. Keep me to do whatever you like with.

It's three, decided Saint Roley.

And so he had broken granny apart very gently, and begun rowing, although it was hard.

Granny was not good at rowing.

It was her lumps that caused the difficulty, and her dodgy left umbo.

Swish! Swish! Erk! Swish!

......

Swish Swish! Erk! Swish!

Terence, Baldy and Butterfatty are waiting down on the shore, with Méen and a lantern.

I hear something, says Terence. It's Saint Roley.

I do believe it is! says Méen.

He swings the lantern, to be helpful.

Saint Roley slides into the shallows on his cardboard.

My parrot! cries Terence.

Sasshoo! says Saint Roley.

He can talk! cries Terence.

Unless he was sneezing, says Méen.

Where's Saint Malo? asks Baldy.

Saint Roley is knackered. He does not want to think of Saint Malo.

He points vaguely towards the horizon.

He's coming! says Baldy.

Don't get your hopes up, says Méen.

Terence picks up his parrot and hugs him.

Butterfatty picks up the two pieces of granny.

Can I have these?

Yes, thinks Saint Roley. Perhaps that was her meaning. Keep them two.

Méen picks up the soggy piece of cardboard, lest the beach should be littered.

Sasshoo Oyster Granny

The oyster farm oysters are not used to being woken at night by an oystercatcher floating on cardboard.

Zizz! Is this a bad dream? It must be.

The oysters close up again.

Bloop. Hmm. Back to oyster dreamland.

Saint Roley has had plenty of time for thinking, on his long voyage.

He has thought of these things:

1: Food.
2: Oars would be handy.
3: Saint Malo is worse off than him.
4: Saint Malo is heading for the horizon.
5: Too bad for Saint Malo.

And then the collision with the oysters, who have gone back to sleep.

But.... there is always one oyster.

Heading for Cancale? asks the One Oyster.

Yes, says Saint Roley.

It's that way, says the One Oyster. I suppose you could do with some oars.

Yes, says Saint Roley.

I've got a pair, says the One Oyster. Would you like them?

Yes, says Saint Roley.

Wait here, says the One Oyster.

He submerges for five seconds and comes up with what looks like an oyster granny, hard, grey and lumpy.

Of course it isn't really his granny. She is long gone. It is her shell, joined at the hinge, close to the umbo.

Granny will row you to Cancale, says the One Oyster. But you must do all the work. Are you okay with that?

Yes, says Saint Roley.

(Note that Saint Roley has learned to say yes, with its difficult consonants).

Here, says the One Oyster, handing Saint Roley the shell of his granny. No need to return her. Bury her in the sand at Cancale. I was fond of my granny.

Yes, says Saint Roley. Sasshoo.

He means thank you. Or perhaps he is sneezing.

No worries, says the One Oyster. Off you go.

Saint Roley has no choice. A wave has taken him anyway.

He floats on the cardboard, contemplating the shell of the granny.

For her to be useful as oars, he should break her apart.

But she was someone's granny.

The Mysterious Depths

It's dark on the sea.

Saint Roley floats in what he hopes is the right direction.

Up and down on the waves.

Wait a minute.

It occurs to him that an oar would be helpful.

Is it too late to go back to the plain piece of cardboard?

Not that there was an oar.

But there was that dermal denticle which would make a fine one.

He stares back at the floating piece of plain cardboard.

He turns his head slowly, and stares at the shore.

A few lights flicker in the distance. Yellow red blue green white electric.

Music.

A scent of oysters.

Bumppp! Splash! Hey-aah!!!

Saint Roley has bumped into an oyster farm, and woken the oysters.

.....

Way out in the seascape, Saint Malo is floating towards the horizon. The horizon is dark. The all knowing finger on his cardboard vessel is no longer visible.

This is good for Saint Malo, who need not know

that the finger has bent away from the hand

due to a crease which has weakened the cardboard

and is now pointing downwards

into the mysterious depths of the ocean

where god only knows what goes on......

......

It is bright and noisy in the Jardin du Bourg.

Arthur helps Albert with his absurdist novel, while Francine orders more pizza and beer.

What if, says Arthur, the novel was set in Algiers?

It already is, says Albert. I grew up there.

And became a botanist, says Arthur.

No, a journalist, says Albert. Botany's a hobby.

And Francine? asks Arthur.

She's a mathematician, says Albert.

Francine brings back a pizza with mixed seafood topping.

Oysters, says Albert. I LOVE oysters!

Eat up, says Francine.

.......

In the Eglise de Saint Méen, Baldy looks for his cousin.

He turns a corner.

There before him on a plinth stands a shiny white Virgin, with her hand on his fat little butterball of a cousin.

Hi Fatty, says Baldy.

His name is BUTTERBALL, says Aunt Marie. Hello Baldy. How's your mother?

Good, says Baldy. (A safe answer). Can Butterfatty come down and play?

Butterfatty looks hopeful. What will she say?

He's busy right now, says Aunt Marie. Doing his homework.

This seems to be true.

Butterfatty is standing on a blue globe of the world, his fat little feet on the Arctic Circle.

We can help him, says Baldy. Terence is here.

This revelation receives a lukewarm reception from aunty.

We Grow Old And Forget

My parrot is Saint Roley, says Terence.

Then I have good news, says Maclou. Your parrot is at this moment sailing to Cancale. He is approaching an oyster farm.

What about MY parrot? asks Baldy.

Maclou looks at his colleague.

Méen swallows a lump of potato.

Your parrot rests in the hand of god, says Méen.

Yay! says Baldy.

My parrot's luckier, says Terence.

François-René feels he ought to say something.

They are not strictly parrots, says François-René.

Aren't they? says Maclou. What then?

Baby oystercatchers, says François-René.

Even better, for at least one of them, says Méen.

Forgive me, but I'm surprised you didn't know they weren't parrots, says François-René.

We grow old, says Maclou. We forget things. Sometimes our predictions are wrong.

So.... says François-René. But seeing Terence's face, he doesn't pursue it.

....

Arthur's evening has turned a corner.

The Jardin du Bourg does an excellent pizza.

Francine orders beer.

Albert becomes expansive.

I'm writing a novel, says Albert.

What about? asks Arthur.

Life's absurdity, says Albert. A man's mother dies. He doesn't know if it was today or yesterday.

Someone's already written that story, says Arthur.

That's what I said, says Francine, coming back with the beer.

Then what happens? says Arthur.

He takes two days off work and goes to the funeral, says Albert.

Perhaps you could change it right there, says Arthur. Say he doesn't go to the funeral.

Good idea, says Albert. Then what?

Whatever you like, says Arthur. He could go to the beach and get into a knife fight with an Arab.

Just what I was thinking, says Albert.

You were not, says Arthur.

You guys, laughs Francine.

........

At last, Gaius and Belle arrive at the Eglise de Saint Méen.

Terence runs towards them.

Guess what?

Later, says Belle. Give us a chance to recover.

Come in! Come in! says Méen. Maclou, is there any more boiled potato?

Yes, one big one, says Maclou. I shall cut it in half. Sit down my friends, tell us your story.

You know our story, says Gaius. I lent you my bicycle. You went off with our cheese bag. I trust you still have it.

Of course, says Maclou. It had something written on it.

Good, says Gaius, accepting half a cold potato.

Can I tell you NOW? asks Terence.

Yes dear, says Belle. Is it about your cousin? I spotted him in the corner with his mother. He's such a cute little butterball.

NO! says Terence. What cousin?

I'll go and look, says Baldy. You tell them.

Yes, says Terence. You go.

Baldy goes off to look for their cousin, the butterball.

My parrot is coming, says Terence. Baldy's isn't.

We didn't exactly say that, says Méen.

The Nearly All-Knowing

Six pieces of cardboard.

Which one to sail on?

The bird babies must make a decision.

Saint Malo thinks it's a no-brainer.

The one printed with the hand of god and his all-knowing finger.

Saint Malo jumps onto that one.

Saint Roley tries to warn him, by raising his feathery eyebrows, that the all-knowing finger points to the horizon, and a good chance of drowning.

But Saint Malo is firm.

He floats off towards the horizon, trusting in the all-knowing finger.

Is it nature or nurture? Who knows? But at least he has had a nice dinner.

Saint Roley remains on a blank piece of cardboard.

O for a sign!

A bigger piece of cardboard nearby catches a swell. On the cardboard, still visible, in purple Prismalo, are the tidal ranges of the Rance estuary, that Gaius recorded when Maclou went off with the cheese bag, upon which they were originally jotted.

If that's not a sign...!

Saint Roley leaps onto the larger piece of cardboard.

A life-affirming decision.

This is not to discount the potential of the all-knowing finger. Just my opinion.

.......

Eglise de Saint Méen.

Arthur has eaten a token quarter of one boiled potato.

He has stood up and walked to the door.

There Francine sees him, when she arrives with Baldy.

Hello, says Francine. I hope you knew we were coming. I've brought Baldy. Albert's retrieving Terence from the fountain.

I've just eaten a quarter of a boiled potato, says Arthur.

Poor you, says Francine. Look, Albert and I are heading to the Jardin du Bourg for a pizza. Want to come with us?

Sure, says Arthur.

Albert arrives, with Terence.

I'm wet, says Terence. That's a good fountain. You should have come, Baldy.

No, says Baldy. I'm going inside. We have to wait there for Gaius.

Okay, says Terence. Let's go inside.

Is anyone in there? asks Francine. We shouldn't just leave them.

Yes, says Arthur. Méen and Maclou, and François-René de Chateaubriand. They're eating potatoes, and congratulating themselves on their half-baked predictions.

Old guys, says Francine. Let's go and get pizza. Albert, are you good to go?

Good to go, says Albert.

....

Surprise! cries Baldy.

It is no surprise, says Maclou. We knew you were coming.

Surprise! says Terence.

And you, says Méen. Sit down and have a bite of potato, and wait quietly for Gaius.

How did you know? asks Terence.

If you live long enough, you know, says Maclou.

What about our parrots? asks Terence. When will they get here?

Maclou looks sad with the sadness of aeons......

How to tell the dear child?

Which parrot is yours? asks Maclou.

Coming Together Breaking Apart

Water pours in through the holes .

Aie! (we're sinking!) Aie-ee!

They are sinking.

An eye looks though one of the holes.

The eyes vanishes...

...and is replaced by something more creepy.

A dermal denticle reaches down though the hole.

A juvenile small spotted cat shark has thumped into the cardboard box and attempted to get at what's in it.

Saint Malo looks at Saint Roley.

Aie-ee!

Saint Roley extricates his feet from the holes and clambers on top of Saint Malo.

He can't at first reach the dermal denticle.

But the cardboard box disintegrates further. The juvenile small spotted cat shark sinks lower, hooked by his dermal denticle. Saint Roley pecks at him sharply.

The dermal denticle and a small chunk of flesh detaches.

Now what?

The juvenile cat shark swims away, without his most prized dermal denticle.

Sheesh! What will ma say?

The box is now flat. It floats, undulating, with Saint Roley, Saint Malo and the chunk of cat shark flesh balanced on wet cardboard. Saint Malo's feet are still paddling, towards Cancale.

Saint Roley contemplates the potential source of energy.

Until recently, cat shark was used in Scottish fish and chip shops, and known as rock salmon.

So it must taste all right.

Saint Roley doesn't know that. But he boldly attacks it.

Erwk! The skin is like pumice! Who'd eat that stuff? He drops it.

Saint Malo picks it up.

He remembers an instruction, from somewhere, a folk memory: to release........stab and twist!

Success! The flesh comes away from the sharp dermal denticle.

Now they have dinner!

But no longer a vessel, because the cardboard is now in six parts.

Uncertain Until It Happens

A smell of boiling potatoes wafts through the church.

Shall we go back now? asks François-René.

Okay, says Arthur. I don't think my prayers have been answered.

You can't know that, says François-René.

I smell boiling potatoes, says Arthur.

Don't tell me..... begins François-René.

Can't, says Arthur.

Why not? asks François-René.

Science, says Arthur. Everything is uncertain, till it happens.

This is the first time Arthur has thought something even vaguely scientific.

They could still be fried, says Arthur.

Like Schroedinger's cat, says François-René. I'm with you.

They stroll back to Méen's little kitchen.

Feeling better? asks Méen.

Much better, says François-René. Do you have any cooking oil?

No, says Méen. Only scented unguent.

No good, says François-René. It's for the potatoes.

Maclou shakes his head. Just be thankful.

However, says François-René, Arthur has brought up a salient point about the lost babies.

What's that? asks Maclou.

At this moment, they are both alive and dead, says François-René. It's science.

That is not science, says Méen.

Modern science, says Arthur.

Yes, modern science, says François-René.

The two old Welsh monks exchange glances.

Let them think this. After all, who if not god can have invented modern science?

.......

Schroedinger's cat notwithstanding, ditto god, we are in a different position.

Should we wish to, we can see into the box.

The question is, do we have the courage?

Warning: we shouldn't read on if we don't.

........

The cardboard box floats on the ocean, with the baby chicks inside.

It has flipped once or twice. This too is science.

They were paddling, with their feet through the holes in the cardboard, crying Aie! and Aie-ee!

Then, flip! Upside down suddenly. Feet paddling the air.

Gravity acts. They drop downwards. Plop. Plop.

Now the top of the box is the bottom. It grows soggy.

The baby birds scramble upright, their feet drop through the floor.

Once again they are able to paddle.

But to paddle takes energy, and energy must come from somewhere.

Saint Roley looks up through the holes in the tattered cardboard vessel.

At first he sees only the inhuman sky. Then...

....a dark shadow covers the holes.

May They Be Fried

Evening, in Place Saint Méen.

Arthur, François-René and Maclou stop in front of Les Laveuses d'Huitres.

The bronze Laveuses are washing their oysters, in bronze baskets, creating a fountain of water falling into a tub.

Very fine, says François-René. It's good to see the common people honoured.

It is indeed, says Maclou. Now.... I wonder if Méen is at home. You wait here. I'll knock on his back door.

He leaves Belles's bicycle propped at the side of the fountain, and disappears round the back of l'Eglise Saint Méen.

He left his potatoes, says Arthur.

That's probably their dinner, says Francois-René. Along with the clams and the chestnuts that you polished off.

I was hungry, says Arthur. I still am. You wait here and...

NO! says François-René. Stay with me and mind the potatoes.

Arthur sits on the edge of the tub into which water drips from bronze oysters.

Maclou comes back, beaming.

He's at home, says Maclou. He's invited us all to dinner. Come in, boys!

They wheel the bicycles and the cheese bag of potatoes to the back entrance of l'Eglise de St Méen.

The door is open.

Méen is inside.

Like his colleague Maclou, he is dressed as a fisherman with a beanie that buzzes.

Welcome, welcome, says Méen. I know of your trials. You must be exhausted. Sit down. Have a canapé.

He indicates a low table on which is:

a pile of thin wafers.

Yerk!

And have you brought clams? he continues.

The chestnuts were hot and we thought the clams may have gone off, says Maclou, diplomatically.

Where are the chestnuts? asks Méen.

Long story, says Arthur. But, you know of our trials.

Yes, yes of course, says Méen. Tragic. Perhaps you'd like to pray before trying a wafer.

You start the potatoes says Maclou. I'll take them over to the Chapelle des marins.

Good man, says Méen. Potatoes take some time to cook. Should I peel them?

No need, says Maclou. I washed them in the sea after the clam débâcle. And don't throw out the cheese bag. Gaius wrote something on it.

I wasn't going to, says Méen.

He takes out four potatoes and folds the cheese bag.

Maclou leads François-René and Arthur to the Chapelle des marins péris en mer.

It is hung with life buoys and crossed oars. Priez pour les marins de Cancale péris en mer, reads a banner.

Does Méen know something we don't know? asks Arthur.

Yes, says Maclou. And I too know something.

What is it? asks François-René.

Your two little avian charges have perished in the ocean, says Maclou. The cardboard box, with them in it, was on the point of being rescued by a lady botanist, when it slid into the sea. They then floated away on the tide. It's most unlikely they have survived. But .... you might like to have a go while the potatoes are boiling.

Do they have to be boiled? asks Arthur, who much prefers fries.

François-René nudges Arthur. This is no time to be ordering alternatively cooked potatoes.

Maclou leaves them, to assist his colleague with the cooking.

It's weird how they know some things and not others, says Arthur.

Shut up and pray, says François-René. It may not be too late.

If you say so, says Arthur.

François-René prays silently for the souls of the two little oystercatcher babies. May they not perish.

Arthur prays for the potatoes. May they be fried.

Losing The Box

The cardboard box floats on the ocean.

The lid is tied down with twine.

The baby oystercatchers feel their cardboard floor growing soggy.

Then pop! Their feet drop through four separate holes.

They paddle, automatically.

Will this help them?

Who knows?

.......

Can we go now? asks Terence. We have to be there when they land.

Unfortunately, says Gaius, that may not happen.

We shouldn't give up hope yet, says Belle.

No, you mustn't, says Francine. Is there anything Albert and I can do to help you?

There is actually, says Belle. Gaius lent his bicycle to Arthur, And I lent mine to Maclou.

Albert looks alarmed. Surely she doesn't expect him to give up his bicycle?

And Terence and Baldy are tired, says Belle.

No we aren't, says Terence.

So perhaps you could give them a lift to Cancale, says Belle. Just drop them at the church of Saint Méen. Maclou will be there, and I'll contact Arthur.

Sure we could, says Francine. They can ride on our cross bars. Come on kiddies! Who's riding with me?

ME! says Baldy, quickly.

So Terence is now stuck with Albert, who coughs.

......

Belle and Gaius start walking.

A most unfortunate happening, says Gaius. We've lost a great deal of time. Not to mention our trained oystercatcher chicks disappearing.

They were hardly trained, says Belle. One could dig holes, the other wouldn't.

I had low expectations of that one, says Gaius.

Sometimes the independent ones are the best leaders, says Belle.

Ah, you are thinking of Arthur, says Gaius. He is independent.

Yes, he is, says Belle. I wouldn't call him a leader.

There you are then, says Gaius.

It seems such a shame, says Belle. Terence and Baldy loved them. And you've lost the box.

Jumping Jupiter! says Gaius.

In the excitement, he had forgotten.

They're babies themselves, says Belle. We should have been more careful.

But Gaius isn't listening. He is looking for his purple pencil.

.......

Francine is chatting to Baldy.

Your mother is nice.

I know, says Baldy. I wish I could find her.

She's just back there, says Francine.

She's not my mother, says Baldy. My mother's made out of a cannon, like me.

Oh, of course, says Francine. Is it fun being made out of a cannon?

Baldy has never pondered this question.

Now he does.

No, says Baldy, it's more fun to be made of cement.

Terence doesn't think so, at this moment.

Albert is making hard work of pedaling. And every few revolutions, he coughs.

So Terence jiggles on the cross bar, and scratches the paint.

And Albert gets shitty.

The Weedy Botanist

It's garden twine, says Francine. I never travel without it.

It might not be strong enough, says Belle.

It will do nicely, says Gaius. I'll tie it round my waist. Perhaps this young man would hold the other end for me.

He glances at Albert, who, for a botanist, looks a bit weedy.

Gaius! says Belle. It's too dangerous.

I'll go down, says Francine. We've been up and down lots of steep slopes already.

Collecting samples, says Albert. She goes, usually.

Only because... says Francine.

Albert coughs pathetically. That is the reason.

Francine ties one end of the twine round her waist and hands the twine ball to Belle.

She slithers down the slope to the cardboard box in which Saint Malo is crying Aie! and Saint Roley is answering Aie-ee! (note the extra syllable).

Do you want both of them? she shouts upwards.

Yes, please, says Belle.

What about the shoe? yells Francine.

NO! Not the shoe! shouts Belle.

Good answer, says Francine. It's full of maggots!

Terence and Baldy stand spellbound at the edge of the slope watching Francine gently pick up Saint Roley and place him in the box with Saint Malo.

Now she is closing the lid.

The lid on which the hand of god points to the words Tirer Ici Pour Ouvrir.

Ici is a tab. Francine unties the string round her waist, and loops it under god's finger.

The box is secure.

Pull now! she shouts up to Belle.

Can we help? asks Terence.

No, says Belle. Oh, all right. Hold the ball. Wait! Oh! Crikey!

Terence has dropped the ball of twine.

The ball of twine rolls to edge of the slope, past Baldy, who is too slow to stop it.

Gaius and Albert are no use at all. They are looking at various seeds and samples, which Albert and Francine have collected.

They stand up.

Too late.

The box has slid down the slope to the sea, and plopped into it. The twine floats behind.

Shit! shouts Francine. Sorry!

My fault! shouts Belle.

I'm coming up, says Francine.

She scrambles up the slope, as best she can without any twine to assist her.

Go back! says Terence. Get them!

Get them, shouts Baldy.

No, says Francine. I can't.

You killed them, says Terence. They were going to be models.

They'll come ashore somewhere, says Francine.

Yes, of course they will, says Belle. Probably in Cancale, where we're going. They might even get there before us.

What's all this nonsense? says Gaius.

Interference And String

There you have it in a nutshell, says Maclou. Why is the wind more conventional?

Huh? says Arthur, who has moved on.

Dear Maclou, says François-René. You are missing the point. The idea of the sky blinding someone is conventional. The wind, less so.

Heavens! says Maclou. I had no idea poetry could be so demanding. And that's just one line!

Yes, sighs François-René. Now I must decide whether to make use of deliverance.

Deliverance, a fine rhyme for indifference, says Maclou.

You would think so, says François-René.

Better than reverence, says Maclou.

Oh, but that's a good one, says François-René. Arthur, what about reverence?

What about interference? says Arthur.

Which is rather unkind.

......

Some way back, Gaius and Belle peer down the slope at the edge of the Grand Randonnée.

We can't wait for Arthur, says Gaius. Something must have happened.

It'll soon be evening, says Belle. What shall we do?

Me and Baldy'll go down, says Terence. They're our parrots.

Not parrots, says Gaius. Oystercatcher chicks. Get your nomenclature right.

And you're NOT going down, says Belle. Then there'll be four of you to rescue.

Do we have a rope? asks Gaius, suddenly thinking a rope might be handy.

No, says Belle. We don't even have bicycles now.

That's a point, says Gaius. However, we'll deal with that later. I must go down.

Yes, we can't leave them, says Belle. Listen to them, crying Aie Aie ! It's heart-breaking.

And I must recover the box, says Gaius. The Rance estuary tidal ranges are recorded on it.

Are you sure that you did it? asks Belle. I know you were going to.

I remember it clearly, says Gaius. I used a purple pencil. Now, steady. Here goes.

He is about to step over the edge of the Grand Randonée, when help arrives, in the form of two cycling botanists.

The two we met earlier. They have been taking their time, identifying rock roses, asters and lotus maritimus, (not figwort) and various types of vetch.

Hello again! says the first cyclist (Albert).

In trouble? asks the second (Francine).

Oh YES! says Belle. Our chicks have gone over the edge. Gaius was just going down but we don't have a rope. Do you have one?

Not a rope, says Francine. But I do have some string.

Rhymes With Deliverance

Saint Roley is halfway down the slope near a shoe, says Maclou. He has been joined by another.

Is it Terence? asks Arthur.

No, says Maclou. It's Saint Malo, my namesake. He slid down in the box I left with Gaius.

Well, in that case..... says Arthur.

Indeed, you had better go back, says Maclou.

No, says Arthur. I'll just call Belle and tell her.

He takes out his phone.

Ring ring.

Hello? Arthur?

Yes, it's me.

How far away are you?

Not that far.

Well, hurry up then. Now we've got TWO birds to rescue.

That's good. So you know where they are.

Down the slope with the shoe. I should have guessed. But hurry up. It's getting dark and we need to get on to Cancale.

Okay, says Arthur.

So, you are going back, says Maclou.

No, says Arthur. I didn't say that. They know where the birds are. And Gaius will want to recover the box.

Do I understand that you propose to continue in this direction? asks Maclou.

Yes, says Arthur. Gaius'll sort something out, if he has to.

Tch! If I were your father.... says Maclou.

You'd be away, says Arthur.

Then I regret the hypothesis, says Maclou. I suppose you are right about Gaius.

I know I am, says Arthur. And Belle's there.

They are about to remount their bicycles and press on to Cancale when...

Enfin! says Francois-René. I catch you up. But you are going in the improper direction!

Cancale, says Arthur. It's the right direction. The cafés and bars will be open.

And Méen awaits his potatoes, says Maclou.

What about the rescue? says François-René. I take it you now know what happened?

We do, says Maclou. And we predict that Gaius will deal with the rescue.

Very well, says François-René. I'll continue to Cancale with you, if you don't ride too fast. By the way, what rhymes with indifference?

Deliverance, says Arthur.

How do you like this? says François-René. It's a fragment I composed, while walking:

'The wind blinds him to the sky's indifference'.

Not bad, says Arthur. You've avoided the conventional.

Has he? says Maclou. I've never understood poetry.

'The sky blinds him to the wind's indifference', says Arthur. That's more conventional.

François-René nods, as though yes, this was his line of thinking, as well.

The Sky's Indifference

Gaius is looking out to sea.

Is that a dolphin?

Belle watches François-René growing small in the distance.

Terence and Baldy sneak up to the box.

Saint Malo is in it, still pointing.

Now what? asks Baldy.

We lower the box, says Terence. Ask your bird if he wants to stay in it.

He wants to, says Baldy.

Saint Malo doesn't want to.

He moans.

See, says Baldy.

Okay, says Terence. Help me push the box over.

The box is light with only Saint Malo inside it. So it's easy.

Pwoosh! it slides down the slope and stops at the shoe.

Saint Roley is not expecting a visitor.

He is so surprised to see Saint Malo and the box that he utters his first complex diphthong.

Aie!

Aie! answers Saint Malo.

It's just the beginning.

......

François-René walks towards Cancale, expecting to meet Arthur, returning.

To pass the time, he composes a fragment:

The wind blinds him
to the sky's indifference......

hmmm......what rhymes with indifference?

And what the devil has happened to Arthur?

......

Arthur has caught up with Maclou.

Maclou has convinced him that he has not abducted Saint Roley.

Certainly not, says Maclou. If I were to abduct one of your newly-hatched oystercatchers, it would not be Saint Roley.

Thought not, says Arthur. But he has disappeared.

I realise that, says Maclou. I specialise in lost things. In fact I could probably, if I stopped to think about it, locate him.....

That would be helpful, says Arthur. Go on.

Protocol demands that you pray to me, says Maclou. Just a quick one.

Merde! says Arthur.

No need to be rude, says Maclou. It's just the way things are done here.

Okay, says Arthur. Tell me, where is Saint Roley?

Call that a prayer? says Maclou.

Yes, says Arthur.

Maclou makes a generous decision.

Bird Boy

Saint Roley is preparing to die.

He amuses himself by watching the ants more intently.

And concludes they are overly focused on the work ethic.

He turns his attention to the blowflies.

They lay their eggs and fly off, a sensible laissez faire strategy.

Thus Saint Roley, should he live, learns a lesson.

......

Meanwhile, Saint Malo practises pointing, trying out various appendages.

He has no success with his wings.

His wings point in the opposite direction to the one he is intending to indicate.

And yet, if he turns around, nothing happens. Not even Baldy guesses there might be a reason.

He gazes at Baldy, his master.

Baldy looks like the bird boy Saint Malo would most like to be.

Baldy has chubby legs painted with black and white feathers. And THE RISING, on his back. But the best thing is his orange pointing finger.

(Splosh having left it unpainted, as a reference).

Saint Malo has a beak.

FINALLY!  He points his beak in the general direction of the verge down which Saint Roley skittered in search of the shoe.

Gaius! says Belle. Look, Saint Malo is using his beak as a pointer.

How do you know? asks Gaius, who knows more about beaks than the general population.

Beaks point at a ninety degree angle to the direction in which the bird is looking.

I just know, says Belle. His head is all stiff and suggestive.

Worth an investigation, says Gaius, peering down the road, factoring in the ninety degree angle, and then unfactoring it, in case Saint Roley has factored it in.

There he is! Down the slope near the shoe. He looks spent.

Oh dear! How will we rescue him? asks Belle.

Wait for Arthur, says Gaius. Arthur will do it.

I'll walk on ahead to meet him, says François-René, who is bored with the business, and not prepared to mount a second rate rescue.

Terence and Baldy watch him grow smaller.

What if we do it? whispers Terence.

Baldy's eyes shine.

He whispers, Let's go!

A Point To Lost Things

WHERE IS HE! shouts Terence.

Don't shout at Saint Malo! says Baldy.

Where is he? says Terence to Saint Malo.

Saint Malo can't speak, so he mimes the answer, by jumping.

He jumps, but drops back and collapses.

Oh look, says Belle. That proves something. Saint Roley didn't get out by himself!

(Which is false reasoning).

Maclou may know something, says Gaius.

He won't, says François-René.

I'll find out, says Arthur, grabbing Gaius's bike.

Take it, says Gaius. But bring it back when you have an answer. We'll stay here and search the surroundings.

Spread out everyone, says Belle.

I'm not going anywhere, says Baldy. Someone might steal Saint Malo.

No one would want HIM, says Terence.

Little Saint Malo has been thinking and thinking.

He knows what happened to Saint Roley.

......

Saint Roley had jumped out of the box easily.

He had wanted to look at the ants.

Here he is.

He knows they are all over the shoe that he has been sick in. Terence said so. Why would ants do that?

He tiptoes to the grass verge and looks down the slope at the rocks and the wild crashing ocean.

There is the shoe.

He skitters down the loose gravel scree on his feathery bottom.

He stops at the shoe.

Silent ants run all over it.

Large blue-green blowflies dive into it.

But as to the reason....

It occurs to him that he has made a mistake coming down here.

He could die here and no one would know.

Some of the flies are spitting on the dried vomit.

Then yuck! laying eggs in the wet bits.

Ants are dragging pieces of sicked-up eel back to their tunnels.

Getting on with it.

Perhaps it's a lesson.

But Saint Roley doesn't learn it.

Luckily for him, in the intervening moments, Saint Malo has been teaching himself how to point.

God's Finger

The melon is divided.

Belle, Gaius, Arthur, Maclou and François-René sit on rocks to eat it.

Excellent melon, says Gaius.

Petit gris, says Maclou. The melon of melons.

Terence  and Baldy are not eating the melon of melons. They sit by the box.

The box has not been described yet.

It is difficult, perhaps that is why.

The saintly box, which until recently held hot chestnuts, warm clams and new potatoes, and now none of these, is a cardboard box of medium dimensions and nondescript colour.....

No, no!

A cardboard box of recycled cardboard, with the hand of god on the lid (boldly depicted).

God's finger points to a tab. His words are printed neatly alongside.

In French. This may or may not surprise you.

The words are: TIRER ICI POUR OUVRIR.

It is typical of god that he thinks an instruction is needed.

But then again, we humans often run into trouble with this type of tab.

Inside the box are Saint Malo and Saint Roley flat on their backs recovering. The lid is ouvré.

They open their eyes.

You've got a box, says Terence. Belle threw the shoe in the bushes. Ants are in it.

Saint Roley tries to stand up.

He can just see over the rim of his new cardboard vehicle.

Maclou notices the feathery head, the little eyes blinking.

Is this the one that's named after me? asks Maclou.

No, says Belle. That one's Saint Roley.

I don't know a Saint Roley, says Maclou.

He's a model, says Terence.

Role model, whispers Belle to Maclou.

Bless him, says Maclou. I'm sure he will be an excellent role model.

I am less sure, says Gaius, wiping the melon juice from the melon of melons from his chin. In fact I'm not confident that either of these chicks is mature enough for our purpose.

Courage! says Maclou.

We are not lacking courage, says Gaius. We are lacking in time.

I can't help you there, says Maclou. I too am lacking in time. I promised Méen I'd be in Cancale by supper time.

Would you like to borrow my bicycle? says Belle.

Thank you, that is most kind, says Maclou. You can pick it up at the Church of Saint Méen in Cancale when you get there. Now then, where are my potatoes?

In the cheese bag, say Belle. Careful! You'll be unbalanced.

Maclou mounts the bicycle, and wobbles off down the wide path of the Grand Randonnée, rattling and buzzing.

WHERE'S SAINT ROLEY! yells Terence.

They all peer into the saintly box.

Oh no! Saint Roley is missing!

Up To Date With Fate

Arthur, François-René and Saint Maclou have passed the two cyclists.

Botanists, bless them, says Saint Maclou.

I studied botany, says Francois-René.

Did you? says Saint Maclou. I often wondered what became of you.

Knife, says Arthur, picking his moment.

François-René hands him the knife. Doesn't ask him what for.

He has begun telling Saint Maclou his life story: the French Revolution, the trip to America, the Indians, the broken arm, the Napoleon debacle .......

So that ended your brilliant career, says Saint Maclou.

No indeed, says François-René. You must know what became of Napoleon.

I fear not, says Saint Maclou. But I am all ears.

Arthur has finished the chestnuts. He examines the clams. Even Arthur knows not to eat ones that have started to open.

He opens a clam with the knife.

It's warm. But he has faith in Saint Maclou. Anyway, it tastes alright.

He opens another.

Fifteen minutes later, Saint Maclou is up to date with the fate of Napoleon.

Bless the poor fellow, says Saint Maclou.

François-René is now relating the rest of his brilliant career.

Arthur has eaten the clams. All that remains in the box are a few new potatoes.

It is now that they catch up with Gaius and Belle, who have had to stop suddenly.

Arthur! cries Gaius. With a box! Good man!

The baby oystercatchers are lying on the grass verge, gasping for air. One is covered in vomit.

Don't die yet, says Terence, who is kneeling beside them. Baldy is weeping.

It's my box, says Saint Maclou. I'll just empty it.

He takes the box from Arthur.

I had to throw out the clams, says Arthur. They were off. And the rest of chestnuts smelled fishy. You could wash the potatoes.

Dear me, says Saint Maclou, gathering up the potatoes. I'll be back in a jiffy.

He picks his way lightly down the rocks to the sea, to wash the potatoes.

Gaius places the oystercatcher chicks in the box.

What's Maclou going to put his potatoes in? asks Belle.

I don't know, says Gaius. I didn't expect him to bring potatoes.

I know! says Belle. The cheese bag. The one you wrote the estuary tidal range averages on.

I need that, says Gaius.

You can write on the the box, says Belle. Here's a pencil.

She hands him a purple Prismalo.

What a business, says Gaius. Arthur, I trust you will stay from now on.

Y..ulp, says Arthur, stifling a burp, yawn or something......

Maclou returns with his washed potatoes.

Let's all have some melon, says Belle.

Halo

Having stopped to look at the puffin, Arthur and François-René are caught up by a fisherman.

A fisherman in a knitted hat, wide at the top, randomly buzzing.

Hello lads, blessings be upon you, says Maclou.

Maclou! says François-René. Good to see you. Where are you heading?

The same place as you, says Maclou.

Walk with us, says François-René. This is Arthur. Arthur, Maclou.

Perhaps Arthur would carry my box, says Maclou.

What's in it? asks Arthur.

A few clams, says Maclou. And several new potatoes. A handful of Radon chestnuts. They're for Méen, my colleague, in Cancale. But the box is for Gaius.

Gaius! We're supposed to be catching him up, says Arthur. What's the box for?

The oystercatcher chicks, says Maclou. Gaius has them in an old shoe.

Okay, says Arthur. Give me the box. Can I try a chestnut?

Of course. Take two, says Maclou.

The chestnuts are hot, and recently roasted, which does not augur well for the clams.

They continue walking along the Grand Randonnée.

I used to meet Maclou and Méen often on this path, says François-René.

Did their hats buzz? asks Arthur.

Is my hat buzzing? asks Maclou. I'd take it off, but these days one can't be too careful.

Skin cancer? asks Arthur.

Halo, says Maclou.

Arthur nearly chokes on his chestnut.

Maclou is Saint Mâlo, says François-René.

Yes, I was tickled to learn that one of the oystercatcher chicks is named after me, says Maclou.

Maclou? says Arthur.

Saint Mâlo, says Maclou. Is it confusing? Maclou, or as I am also known, Maclew, or Machutis. I was born near Llancarfan in Wales. I came here with Saint Brendan, many years ago now. Not so much happens these days. I find lost things and return them. Pig keepers ask me for favours.

A saint. So the clams can't be off, thinks Arthur.

They walk on.

Not far ahead they come upon two cyclists.

Have they caught up with Gaius and Belle already?

The two cyclists have stopped to examine a patch of vegetation.

Cyclist 1: Is that.... horseshoe vetch?

Cyclist 2: It's not flowering at present. Hard to tell. It may be lotus maritimus.

Cyclist 1: Also known as dragon's teeth. But I don't think it is.

Cyclist 2: You're right. It's neither. I believe it's a figwort.

Cyclist 1: Not a figwort. A linaria.

Cyclist 2: Of course. I'd forgotten they've been reclassified.

Cyclist 1: Look a puffin!

(It's that same puffin, again. It's just leaving).

Afternoon, says Maclou to the cyclists.

Afternoon, say the cyclists to Maclou.

Afternoon, says François-René to the cyclists.

Lovely day, says one of the cyclists, to Arthur. Did you see the puffin?

Arthur doesn't bother to answer.

Those chestnuts were excellent. He is thinking of chancing a clam.

To Die Killing Others

Gaius and Belle continue cycling the Grand Randonnée.

Pedals squeak rhythmically, the sea roars and crashes, guillemots and fulmars call, someone retches inside Gaius's backpack.

That will be Saint Roley, who ate the eel Gaius discarded, and feels poorly.

......

Arthur and François-René are a long way behind.

They are deep in conversation, and miss seeing a puffin.

François-René: One does not learn to die by killing others.

Arthur: That's very good. But why would you expect to?

François-René: It's a thing I said once. I was being critical of the French Revolution.

Arthur: So you went to America. How did that go?

François-René: I broke my arm, following the Mohawk trail up the Niagara, and spent a month with an Indian tribe, recovering.

Arthur: I know what that's like. Then what?

François-René: Went home. I was only in America five months.

Arthur: Short trip. And you came back an expert.

François-René: Of course. Once back in France, I wrote pamphlets against Napoleon, and other stuff. He was going to kill me. But in the end I was exiled.

Arthur: So, did you ever learn how to die?

François-René: What?

Arthur: You said...

François-René: Haven't you ever said anything just for effect?

Arthur: My knee's itching.

François-René: Such as that, for example?

Arthur: No, it's itching.

François-René (looking at Arthur's knee): It's very scabby. No wonder. Do you pick them?

Arthur: Sometimes.

François-René: You shouldn't. It just makes them worse. Look! a puffin.

(It's the one they missed earlier, out spotting for sand eels).

Flighty Frothy Faulty

Terence explains the situation to Saint Roley.

You're supposed to be digging a nest.

Saint Roley rolls his eyes at Saint Malo, who has just got into trouble for digging a nest.

Saint Malo fluffs his feathers and shrugs.

He waits for further instructions.

Now fill it up, says Baldy.

Saint Malo starts filling the hole up.

STOP! says Baldy. That's good. Now what?

Now for the eggs, says Gaius. Where are the cheeses?

In this cheese bag, says Belle. Here you are Baldy. Put the cheeses in the scrape. Very gently. Pretend that they're eggs.

Baldy places the cheeses into the scrape.

Terence watches. So does Saint Roley.

Now what? asks Baldy.

We wait, says Gaius. See what Saint Malo will do when his nest is destroyed.

He won't do anything, says Baldy.

Saint Malo fluffs his feathers again.

Yes. He will do something.

Are we waiting for the tide to come in? asks Belle. That could take ages.

I'll destroy it! says Terence.

He jumps on the nest and the little red cheeses.

Yuck! cries Terence.

His cement feet are stuck in the cheeses, one cheese on each foot.

You WRECKED it! says Baldy.

Let's see, says Belle. No, we can get the cheeses off easily. Terence, sit down.

Terence sits down. Belle prises the cheeses off.

Everyone stares at the cheeses, each with foot imprints.

Ha ha! laughs Terence.

Baldy doesn't think it is funny.

We'll try again later, says Belle, But we should be going. We need to get to Cancale before evening.

Yes, says Gaius. Good try, Baldy's bird.

What about my bird? says Terence.

Saint Roley knows he is thought of as Terence's bird, so the answer will concern him.

Your bird, says Gaius, appears to be faulty.

It's lucky that Saint Roley doesn't know what that means. To him it sounds like a good thing.

Flighty-fluttery-frothy-fluffy-faulty. Fantastic.

Saint Roley makes a decision.

Yes, he knows he is faulty!

He will show them all next time.

He feels older. He feels hungry.

He looks around for some mussels. There are none.

He spies the sandy eel chunk that Gaius discarded.

And eats it.

It smells bad, but not as bad as the shoe, in which he and Saint Malo are travelling.

Is Pointless

We might as well get going, says Arthur.

Let's go then, says François-René.

Have you got a spare bicycle? asks Arthur.

Spare? I don't even have one, says François-René.

So we're walking, says Arthur. That's good, in a way.

Yes, it is pleasanter, says François-René. The Grand Randonnée 34 is best enjoyed at a slow pace.

I meant, says Arthur, it's good that we won't catch up with the others.

I thought that too, says François-René. Those infants can be tiresome.

Gaius can be tiresome, says Arthur. That reminds me, have you got a knife?

François-René never goes anywhere without his steak knife.

They set off for the Grand Randonée.

.......

Belle and Gaius are cycling along the old customs path that is known as the Grand Randonée 34.

Terence and Baldy are in the bicycle baskets.

Saints Malo and Roley are jolting along in a shoe, in Gaius's back pack.

Brittany's coastline is spectacular. High cliffs, rocky points, wild coasts, low headlands, marshes, dunes, ruins of coastal chapels and abbeys, old customs shelters.

Belle wants to keep stopping.

O look!

.......

A long way behind them Arthur and François-René are just starting.

Memories, murmurs François-René.

He sniffs the scent of yellow gorse and purple heather

Was this where ....? asks Arthur.

Yes, says François-Rene. As a solitary young man, and sometimes with my sister Lucile....

Did you bring any snacks? asks Arthur.

She did, says Francois-René. O how I loved my sister.

I meant now, says Arthur.

No, says François-René.

......

Gaius and Belle have stopped and made their way down to a flat stretch of sand, between pink granite rocks.

It's snack time.

I'm looking forward to trying those eels, says Gaius.

Belle opens the jar, spears an eel chunk with the melon knife, and hands it to Gaius.

Delicious, says Gaius. Could be improved with some vinegar.

What can WE have? asks Terence.

I don't think Gaius brought anything for you guys, says Belle. But I might have a couple of Babybel cheeses in a paper bag somewhere.

Yay! says Terence. Our babies can practice.

Gaius gets the shoe out and sets it on the sand.

The baby oystercatchers sniff the fresh breeze and the scent of yellow gorse, and are energised.

Saint Roley leaps out of the shoe, followed by Saint Malo.

Dig, says Baldy.

Dig, says Terence. See who digs the deepest.

The baby saints dig, flicking the sand up.

Watch out, says Gaius. You're flicking sand on my eel.

Have another one, says Belle. O well done Saint Malo! You've made such a great hole there.

It's too deep, says Gaius. Don't give praise where praise is not due.

It's a good first effort, says Belle. Now what?

Saint Roley stops digging.

It occurs to him that the exercise is pointless.