A Box of Nothing by Peter Dickinson Page B

have a highly developed sense of honour. Overdeveloped, you might almost say.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWell, some of their behaviour is extremely ridiculous, but we strongly advise you not to laugh at them.”
    It was a bore being a prisoner again, though at least the food was better and there was the Burra to talk to. But there seemed to be even less chance of getting away from this high, cold ledge than there had been from General Weil’s camp, and all so far from home, and Floral Street, and the family. James was feeling pretty depressed when, halfway through the next morning, he heard a whoosh and a thump and there was one of the great gulls ruffling its feathers into place on the rim of the ledge.
    The gull didn’t do anything. It just stood there, facing out over the cliff edge. If you want to show how haughty you are, James thought, standing still is a good way. Ordinary seaside gulls do a lot of that, on flagpoles and statues and things, but they do quite a bit of quarrelling too. A quarrel between two of these monsters, with their big tearing beaks, would be something to see.
    He was wondering about that when there was another whoosh as a gull swooped by and without landing plucked the Burra off the ledge by one ear. The first gull stalked over to James, pecked down, grabbed him by the scruff of his anorak, and launched itself out over the valley. No please or do-you-mind or anything like that, oh no. James could see the Burra dangling from the other gull’s beak a hundred yards ahead. He only hoped the ear would stand the strain.
    They swung out around a jut of the mountain and then in towards a great curve of cliff where hundreds of the huge gulls roosted on different ledges. James could see nests with fluffy young in them, and others where a parent sat on eggs, just like ordinary gulls. The only difference was that a place like this at the seaside in the real world would have been deafening with squawks and squabbles. Here it was almost silent.
    They landed on a large ledge where a dozen other gulls were waiting. The birds who had brought them put James and the Burra down and stalked over to join their comrades. All the gulls stood quite still. James couldn’t even guess whether they were watching him—a bird’s eye is different from an animal’s. You can tell where an animal is looking, you can’t with a bird. He didn’t think he liked the gulls much. They were beautiful, but dangerous. He’d hated the rats but he’d been able to understand them, guess what they were thinking and feeling. He hadn’t a clue with the gulls.
    â€œWhat’s happening?” he whispered.
    â€œWe do not know. Stand still. Stare back at them. And whatever you do, do not laugh.”
    â€œFat chance.”
    So James stood and stared. He tried to imagine what it was like to be a gull, to feel as haughty and fierce as that, Emperor James, ruler of the universe, terror of the skyways, et cetera, et cetera. The gulls didn’t seem to notice but it made him feel better. At last they moved, closing into a ring with their beaks inward, and began a soft bubbling noise, gull talk, probably.
    â€œSmell anything?” muttered the Burra.
    James sniffed. There was a bad stink—just what you’d expect coming from beneath a cliff where gulls had been nesting for years.
    â€œWe could fractionate some gas out of there,” said the Burra.
    â€œWouldn’t you need the computer?”
    â€œLuckily the equipment has come along as a member of the expedition.”
    â€œYou’ve still got to persuade the gulls.”
    â€œShh. Something is happening.”
    The circle of gulls was breaking apart to form an arc facing James and the Burra. The gull in the centre stepped forward. It was slightly larger than the others, and haughtier, and fiercer-looking. It bent its head, pecked something off the ledge, and came forward carrying in its beak what looked