The Rose Comb

Ageless didn't mean it, says Kobo.

What? asks Ageless. That she looks like a cock?

O waley-waley! cries Pinky.

Sweetness, says Kobo. He means a cockerel. Or a chicken. The proud red comb. That's what he thinks you look like.

Pinky is not greatly comforted.

Snort!

And Ageless doesn't help, saying nothing.

Come here, Pinky, says Gaius. If it's any comfort to you, you are now useless to us as a container.

How come? sniffs Pinky.

No points of entrance, says Gaius. Brad has sealed off your thumb.

O, says Pinky.

But, says Gaius, bad news can be good news. You have a new form. Ageless may see you as a fleshy protuberance on the head of a chicken or pheasant or turkey....

Turkey! yelps Pinky. I don't...

Hear me out, says Gaius. There are many kinds of bird combs. There are rose combs and pea combs, v-combs and buttercup combs, walnut combs and cushion combs...

These all sound lovely. Pinky is cheering up now.

Then Humboldt spoils it, by saying combs are used in various dishes, by the French and Chinese.

Not rubber ones, says Kobo quickly. Come to me, dear. I think I see you as a Rose comb.

Really? says Pinky. But I'm still useless.

Not to me, says Kobo.

Not to ME! says Terence. You look like a comb crested japonica!

Jacana, says Humboldt.

Terence ignores him.

You can be my new parrot, says Terence.

No I can't,  says Pinky. I'm a Rose comb.

Good for you, says Kobo.

Yes, good for you, says Gaius. Now, where are those bandy bandies? And Brad, may we borrow your torch?

Sure, says Brad. You heading off somewhere?

Yes, says Gaius. Keep it quiet, but we're going to poke about near the proposed new mine site.

The Amrun? says Brad.

Yes, says Gaius. Look for the new species of bandy bandy. We should have a good chance at night.

Terence spots the two bandy bandies hooping quietly away.

STOP! shouts Terence. You're coming with us!

No. We have to go hunting! they say.