The wheels began to bounce against a stretch of washboard bumps in the rough road, and the whole carriage shook. The boxes of ammunition beneath our seat rattled, and a bear trap, its steel jaws fortunately closed, swung free from its peg above us, whipping back and forth like a grisly pendulum. Jackaby dropped his whistle to grab at the trap, but on the third swing, the chain holding it slipped as well, whipping over his shoulder and rattling into the back of the cart.
There came a loud squawk from behind us, and I looked back to find that the cloth shrouding Rosie had been knocked away. The bear trap had clattered to the floor, its long metal chain drooping over and into the poor bird’s enclosure. Every bar of the massive cage had been lined with what looked like corks from wine bottles. It had a round base about three feet in diameter, and as the creature within flapped to steady itself, I could see that its wingspan must have been twice as wide. The bird’s plumage was dark amber and rust red, with wings of brilliant gold. It was built like a large crane, with less neck and more beak—and what a beak! It was slightly curved and as glossy as polished brass. Rosie squawked again and shifted her weight from foot to foot as she eyed the intrusive chain with annoyance.
I reached back to pull the jangling chain off her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jackaby said. “You don’t want any part of you too near that bird.”
Hank’s head appeared through the flap again. “She’s a softie, these days, but he’s right. Best to keep yer fingers clear of—”
Rosie let out a shrill screech, and I turned back in time to see her rear up and lash at the chain with her sharp beak. Two halves of a cleanly split link fell to the bottom of Rosie’s cage, and the ends of the chain slid away to either side. The light streaming through the flaps caught Rosie’s beak and danced along its razor edge, and she preened briefly before settling back down.
“Don’t worry. She’s a grumpy old thing, but she’s basically harmless,” said Hudson. “Besides, she doesn’t go for the bars anymore. Haven’t found a metal she can’t cleave clean through, but she gets stuck in the cork.”
“W-what?” I stammered. “What kind of bird is she?”
“One of a kind!” Hank smiled. “Used to be whole flocks of ’em, once upon a time. I did some trade with a funny little Greek fella out of Arcadia a few years back. One day his ship comes in—he’s lost half his cargo, three crewmen are gettin’ hauled off to the hospital, and he tells me this pretty thing got loose in the hold. She carved her way through to the mess hall like it was a tin can and put a breach in the hull before they managed to get her secured. Poor girl was so trussed up in leather straps, she could hardly move. Well, the Greek is more than happy to let her go for a decent price, but he knows she’s worth more’n I can pony up—plus he’s got all them ruined goods to make up for—so, I brought your boss here out to the docks with me to see her for himself.”
Jackaby nodded, confirming the story. “Seemed a shame to let such a remarkable creature be sold off to the highest bidder, and worse yet to see her fall into the wrong hands—besides which, Hudson had already proven himself a capable handler.”
“So,” continued Hudson, “he drops enough for a whole new boat, which makes the Greek happy as a fish in whiskey, and he gives Rosie to me, along with a little history lesson to make sure I knew what I had bought.”
“And what was that?” I asked.
Hudson winked. “Stymphalian bird.”
“Have you ever heard of them, Miss Rook?” Jackaby asked.
“Isn’t that one of the labors of Hercules?”
“Hah!” Hudson looked very pleased. “No wonder Jackaby hired you. Yup, the very same. Beaks like bronze, only sharper and stronger. Feathers like daggers. If she has enough room, Rosie can whip one of them suckers faster’n I can pull a trigger.” He leaned in with a grin, “An’ that’s purdy darn fast. Apparently old Hercules had to scare ’em off with some sorta magic chimes. The cork was Jackaby’s idea.”
“Not entirely,” said Jackaby. “I did find a few relevant passages that suggested it had worked before. Soldiers in Arcadia made armor out of cork, because the birds carved right through iron. With the cork, however, their beaks would catch and become stuck.