Fish Glue Escapes Customs

Is Terence broken? asks Pierre-Louis.

He is in two parts, says Gaius. 

Wah! cries Terence.

His overhead parrot-duck swings wildly.

Someone should get those ducks down! says a passenger from over the aisle.

First things first, says Gaius. My young charge appears to be broken.

But someone could hit their head on the ducks, says the passenger.

It's a parrot, says Terence. 

But not loudly.

He looks at himself. 

I'm ruined, says Terence.

One of his feet has come off.

We can fix it, says Gaius. 

What's going on? asks the flight attendant, who took her time coming, but is here now.

She pulls on the string, intending to take down the parrot.

Gaius's backpack falls out of the overhead locker, due to a tangle.

Sorry, says the flight attendant. I didn't expect that to happen.

Don't you have some sort of training? asks Vello.

Pardon? says the flight attendant. 

Pulling a string, dangling from an overhead locker, says Vello. 

Risky, says David. As we have just witnessed.

No harm done, says Gaius. In fact it is fortuitous. I can access my fish glue.

You brought glue into the aircraft? says the flight attendant. How has it escaped customs?

Fish glue always escapes customs, says Gaius. It is not modern glue.

Fix me! says Terence. And stop talking.

May I? asks Gaius.

I suppose so, says the flight attendant. But would you like me to do it? I have first aid training.

Wonderful, says Gaius. I should not like to be thought responsible for the powerful fish smell.

The flight attendant would not like to be thought responsible for it either, but feels she can't back out now.

She carries Terence, his foot and the powerful fish glue to the front of the aircraft and disappears behind a curtain.

She places Terence on a narrow shelf.

What sort of infant are you? asks the flight attendant.

Broken, says Terence. I used to have side curls, but they came off when I was riding a pony. And I've got a claw.

How did that happen? asks the flight attendant opening the jar of fish glue.

Baby Bristlebird has my finger, says Terence. And I've got his claw. We're blood brothers.

You've had a interesting childhood, says the flight attendant, smearing fish glue on Terence's foot, and then on his ankle, and pressing them together.

A strong fishy smell floats through the cabin

The passengers hope it isn't a clue to their lunch.

Now I'll just wrap it with this non-stick stretch bandage, says the flight attendant. Then I'll carry you back to your carer. You can sit on his lap.

I want to walk back, says Terence.

You can't, says the flight attendant. The glue won't have set yet.

What if it never sets? asks Terence.

Then you'll have to have a metal piece inserted, says the flight attendant. And maybe some wheels.

This is fanciful on her part. She's not a doctor.

Terence is aghast. A metal piece inserted!

But wheels might be good.