First, catch your dodo. Marinade in lemon juice, or something equally acidic for as long as possible. Preferably overnight. Stuff with breadcrumbs, roughly chopped onions, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Season robustly, lay on a wide plank or something similar, and cook over an open fire or BBQ until the juices run clear. Carefully separate the light meat from the dark. Throw the whole lot away and eat the plank.
I waited until they were marginally calmer and looking round for more food. Slowly and ostentatiously, I began to lay a trail up the ramp. They followed, bundling together, grockling to each other and squabbling over the food. It wasn’t so very different from managing St Mary’s. The followed me into the pod, looked around with loud exclamations of grockle, took one look at the cages and made a mad, feathery dash. In seconds, each cage had a dodo or two inside, lowering its undercarriage and making itself comfortable. Those who couldn’t be inside clambered heavily onto the top of the cages and sat, grockling contentedly to their neighbours.
I backed out quietly and Mrs Partridge shut the door. We picked up the table, threw the food away, wrapped everything else in the tablecloth Dick Whittington style and sat down to await the return of our failed expeditionary force.
Team Techies were the first back, proudly displaying a small collection box, which they opened with a flourish. We peered inside.
‘It’s a pigeon,’ I said.
‘It’s a young dodo,’ they said.
‘It’s a pigeon.’
‘Are you sure? It could be a new strain of dodo.’
‘It’s a pigeon.’
They let it go.
Next back was Team History, clutching a wriggling bundle.
It was a monkey. It stuck an out an indignant head, bit someone, and shot up a tree.
‘Get a tetanus shot,’ I said.
Team Security weren’t speaking to each other. Russell had a black eye.
Team R&D brought back a small rock on which they had attempted to glue a few feathers. Someone had drawn a face on it in pencil.
I stared at it in disbelief.
‘What?’ they said.
I sighed loudly, trying very hard not to laugh.
They were, all of them, covered in mud, shit from various forest-dwelling species, leaves, crushed fruit, and something viscous that should always remain nameless.
‘So,’ they said. ‘What now?’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘I present the trophy to the winner, and we all go home, and many of us have a really good bath before presenting ourselves for the party this evening.’
Hearing there was a winner perked them all up. The teams jostled for position. I picked up the cup.
‘For successfully accomplishing our mission – which was to locate and collect twelve dodos; in fact, for more than accomplishing our mission and for providing a very excellent tea, I am pleased to award this cup to – Mrs Partridge.’
I thoroughly enjoyed the looks on all their faces.
‘But …’ they said, looking around the dodo-less clearing. Then it dawned on someone; the ramp was up.
Evan got it first. ‘How many?’
‘Seventeen.’
You’d have thought they’d caught all seventeen themselves.
We jumped back and decanted seventeen dodos into their beautiful new home. They rushed around, bouncing off walls and each other, grockling ear-splittingly. One cage already had an egg in it, which we gently placed in a nesting box. One of the parents immediately nudged it back out again. It bounced heavily onto the floor. We winced, but it survived. An anonymous dodo sat on it and all the others milled around, pushing and shoving. I was rapidly concluding that their extinction might not have been completely man’s fault. Dodos – our dodos anyway –displayed the parenting skills of a brick.
With Mrs Partridge proudly clutching her trophy and the others bickering about who got custody of the Losers’ Ladle, we made our way back to the main building.
I caught Tim counting heads.
‘No need for that. They’re all present and correct.’
He grinned. ‘Just checking. How did it go?’
‘Well. Very well.’
‘In that case …’
In that case – the time had come for the final test. The real deal.
‘Do you have the details for me?’
‘On your desk.’
‘What did you go for in the end?’
‘Thomas Becket.’
I said nothing for a while.
‘Too much too soon?’
I shook my head. ‘No, It’s perfect. They’re going to have to face violent death sooner or later. Let’s make it sooner. Find out what sort of job we’ve done.’
‘OK. I’ll set it up.’