The Stone Gryphon, Part 1: Oxfordshire 1942
Chapter 10, Cross-Pollination, Part 2

Rude hummingbirds, promiscuous songbirds, formidable bloodhounds, cunning corvids, obnoxious otters, and observer bias. Rated T for some very naughty words (Otters and Hummingbirds) and some frank observations about Eagle courtship rituals.

"I think the hummingbird vocabulary is a hundred percent swear words." Sheri Williamson, Southeastern Arizona Bird Observatory.

When last we left Peter and Richard in the Botanical Garden at Oxford University, Richard was making a simple request.

"The truth, Peter. I want the truth."

The laughter died.

Peter looked away, toward the pond. At least he wasn't denying it. Nor did Richard sense the withdrawing of the turtle into the shell. Here there was a mustering, a considering.

"I thought I'd been very careful," Peter eventually said, ruefully.

"You are, and if it's any consolation, it might not be quite as you think."

His hands were shaking so violently, it took an unconscionably long time to find the right pages of the field book. Richard began to read. "Understands beaver locomotion, but no beavers observable in England. Knows of bee communication by movement, although papers are still years away from publication – I had to research that one, and I'm sure the Austrian who is looking into it would be quite put out that you've beaten him to it."

"Says songbirds – amended later to include other birds - see color differently, better than humans. I have some notes there about the ultra violet light spectrum. Says female songbirds are promiscuous and can have eggs from multiple mates in the same nest. Says male songbirds know this and will withhold assistance."

"Knows that cheetahs purr, do not roar, and have semi-retractable claws; knows that female cheetahs are solitary and males form bachelor packs. Says female cheetahs may have cubs from multiple sires in same litter. Has exaggerated sense of size of lions; amended later to, 'knows nothing about lions.'"

Knows what a beaver lodge looks like from the inside. Says that barn owls hunt by triangulating distance via sound. Says that dogs can scent on top of water; can detect scents months old, relative status, emotional states, foreign objects in a body, and aren't confounded by any number of things. Thinks very highly of corvids – that's ravens and crows – and rats. Thinks cute otters are nasty and quote, 'unspeakably foul.' Has detailed information on relative abilities of certain animals, where such comparisons are not possible/measurable. I've got a running list here: speed of cheetah vs. deer vs. horse vs. wolf; eyesight/speed of hawk vs. falcon vs. eagle vs. crow; leaping ability of tiger vs. leopard."

He closed the book. "It goes on and on like that. Horses, rabbits, moles, foxes, hedgehogs, boar, bears, wolves, leopards, tigers, vultures, hawks, eagles, owls, and others."

Peter had climbed to his feet, looking simultaneously impressed, angry, and cold. "May I?" he asked, hand extended.

Richard gave him the precious field book, feeling that somehow Peter had made it a command rather than a request, and one that he had to obey.

"I can't read any of this," Peter murmured, leafing through it.

"You shouldn't be able to. Field notes are very personal, almost code. Even Mary wouldn't understand a tenth of it, and wouldn't believe any of it. Why should she? Those observations are so counter to what we know today of animal behavior, they are obviously the reflections of a man with dementia." Richard stared again at his shaking hands. "In another year, I won't be able to read it either."

Closing the book, Peter shook his head, and handed it back. If it had been more legible, Richard rather thought Peter would have chucked it into the pond. "You're right, it's not anything like what I thought. I have been incredibly careless."

"No self criticism, here Peter, if you would. You have not been careless at all. You had the misfortune of confiding in one of a handful of people in the whole world who is actually an expert in these things and, who is open minded enough to listen to someone with some very unusual information. I realized from almost the very first that you wouldn't talk if I told you just how novel your knowledge is. So for that bit of manipulation, I'm sorry, although I certainly don't regret it."

"I'd assumed it was just obvious," Peter said, and Richard heard the temper controlled. More mildly he added, "I suppose that's what you meant about me taking it all on faith."

"Yes, and it is what would probably prevent you from ever being a scientist. Faith or no, I don't doubt the veracity of your statements, or well, most of them. Some of what you know is unknowable and untestable currently. Maybe genetics or chemistry some day might be able to confirm it. Some of your observations are so astounding, I don't doubt that they would be Nobel prize material if they could be explained."

Peter just shook his head. "I had no idea."

This is going better than I'd hoped. That guilt streak, I suppose. Or maybe it's just a relief to not have to worry anymore about hiding the Secret.

"It's a very engaging puzzle, I admit." Richard permitted himself a smile. "It's been the incentive to hold on to my wits for as long as I can. There wasn't any logic to it; you have beyond university-level knowledge about some mammals and birds but know virtually nothing of others, particularly reptiles and amphibians. You know about animals from different habitats and different continents. Some were domesticated, some not. You are incredibly well informed about all the big cats, but are wholly ignorant of the one about which the most is known."

"The Lion," Peter said.

"Yes. One thing that I could draw on was that every animal of which you were knowledgeable, save the Lion, was on the doors of Digory's Wardrobe in his office. There were many more, of course, but the correlation was highly suggestive. I suspect that if asked, you would be able to tell Mary everything she is looking for about Gryphons, including whether they fly faster than eagles, whether they see better than a hawk, and whether the male and female are bonded pairs. You'll notice that I haven't asked about that one."

There was a telling twitch in his cheek, whether humor or irritation, Richard couldn't tell. "Have you mentioned this to her?"

"Of course not; nor Asim which is much the same thing."

"Why not?"

Richard waved his hand about with a sigh. "Because she'd be all interested in the hows and the whys, wheres and whens, and I don't care about the mechanism. However incredible, there is obviously some connection between you, Digory, and that Wardrobe, and it probably dates from when you stayed with him during the Blitz. He never mentioned you before that, and he doesn't obfuscate half as well as you do."

Peter opened his mouth to say something, and Richard held up his hand to stop it. "I told you, I don't care about the details. I want to know what you know, some of which you probably only could have learned because the bluebird or the beaver told you. But, that's fine with me, because I do want to hear about how they think, and how they see the world and we can't even begin to measure such things. I've spent my life trying to get inside an animal's head, and you're the closest I've ever come to that."

With Peter still standing, and Richard still sitting, he felt a bit like a petitioner. Which, I suppose I am.

"And after I tell you, you'll forget it, won't you?" In that, Richard heard prudent shrewdness. Peter wasn't the sort to let emotion sway him unduly; duty and obligation yes, but not attachment.

"Yes. Even better, when I start rambling about how songbirds are promiscuous when everyone knows that isn't true, it will be dismissed as dementia, which, in fact, I have."

For a moment, Richard could not continue so blithely. Staring at the notebook in his hands he knew the pages held lifetimes of astonishing things to be explored and tested. There would be no one to describe them. Peter would not. He could not. Some day, someone would be able to tell the world how profoundly remarkable all our Brothers and Sisters are. If he didn't hold to that belief, the despair would engulf him. God was not cruel, but that did not mean that accepting Her Will in this was easy, either.

Richard found tears of his own splashing the pages. For a few hours or days, or whatever God in Her Mercy would give, he wanted to know of the miraculous things to which Peter had been so accustomed he had the gall to take them completely for granted. Richard wanted to hold on to these precious, extraordinary things for as long as he could, until his body and mind slowly faded to nothing.

He found he was staring at a hand, offered, palm outstretched. Richard looked up, blinded by a brilliant, disorienting light and a vision of someone very like Peter, but yet not. Beyond, was a warm breath, green grass, golden eyes in a tawny face, and the feeling that for all his many faults, he was much loved. It will be well.

He blinked and the moment passed. Richard took the handkerchief Peter offered. "This damned well better not be the one you used on that fledgling."

"The thing about songbirds," Peter said with great firmness and authority, "is that you could dismiss them as utter flirts and tarts, except that they are so very calculating, and successful because of it. I might feel badly for the males, cuckolded literally as they are, but they've found their own ways of evening things up. They are also hard put to demand loyalty from their females when they give none in return."

"Egalitarian then?"

"Opportunists."

Peter bent over, offered his arm, and a gift to a dying man. "I've long thought that that it should be possible to construct a very convincing proof of the existence of God from the miracle of the nose of a common bloodhound. Would you be willing to help me with that?"

Peter gave a wide berth around an enormous red flowering bush. "It is an old habit," he explained, "to avoid the hummingbirds."

"There aren't any hummingbirds in Oxford," Richard responded with a rueful sigh. "They are such marvelous creatures. Or, are you about to tell me that they are brutes."

"I'm afraid so. Some of the most colorful and obscene curses I ever learned were from hummingbirds."

"They curse? Those sweet creatures?"

"Now, who is showing observer bias? They are as ill-tempered as river Otters, and you know my opinion on them."

"Lady Bophus, let me speak plainly." Susan took a deep breath, willing calm. "I do not recommend our southern flower garden this time of year."

"But it is so lovely there!"

"Yes," Queen Susan (not feeling especially Gentle) had to concede, "it is lovely. It is also very popular with our Hummingbirds." She was not going to call the hellions "Friend" or "Cousin." They were bullies, to the last, delicate, ruby throated menace.

"But I simply adore hummingbirds!" Lady Bophus cooed.

"I doubt you have met a Narnian Hummingbird, Lady Bophus. Regardless, this is their courtship season, and they do prefer their privacy." The Hummingbirds of course did not care a whit who observed their vocal, aggressive sexual activity; it was the human bystander who was rather more likely to be offended.

"It shall be charming, my dear. I'm sure of it."

The woman had the gall to pat Susan on the cheek. Lady Bophus was a large woman. If she fainted from the shock of a curse-spewing Hummingbird, it was going to take a Giant to lift her up.

Susan's He-Wolf Guard, Lambert, had been listening with obvious dissatisfaction, growling faintly at Lady Bophus' condescension. "Lady, I urge you to heed My Gentle Queen's sound advice. This venture is unwise and will not end well for you."

"My dear dog! So concerned! So loyal! They are hummingbirds in the garden! What could possibly go wrong?"

Susan looked to Lambert. The Wolf arched an eyebrow, a mannerism her Guard had borrowed from His Queen, she believed. Let her try, the Wolf was saying.

One could certainly comprehend the Mischief of Rats, the Murder of Crows, a Sneak of Weasels, and even, in theory, and as foul mouthed as they were, the Romp of Otters. However, never, in Susan's mind had any collective noun ever been more ill-fitting than "Charm of Hummingbirds."

They were too fiercely territorial of their nectar sources to ever wish to congregate. The sole exception was mating. There was, in short, nothing remotely charming about them.

Susan and Lambert escorted the stout, misguided Lady down the steps to the southern flower garden. It was lovely, filled with beautiful hibiscus, bee balm, foxgloves and other brilliant flowers. The red blossoms were especially favored by hummingbirds, although any brightly coloured nectar source would attract them. Like the birds themselves, Lady Bophus made a beeline straight to the largest hibiscus bush in the garden. There was shade from a flowering quince tree, a table for her needlework, and two garden chairs that, when the Hummingbirds were not about, made for a very pleasant venue.

"She would select that one, wouldn't she?" Lambert rumbled.

That bush, being as prominent and showy as it was, was also defended by an especially obnoxious Hummingbird Hen.

Susan had thought of bringing some letters to work on while in the garden, and then had thought the better of it. She would wager her Crown to a Crow that Lady Bophus would not manage an hour here. It would be significantly less at this particular bush.

Lady Bophus settled her bulk into the chair, fetched her cross-stitch project, and gestured to them both to join her. Susan loathed the domestic arts.

"If she whistles and says 'Come,' by Aslan, I shall bite her," Lambert grumbled.

"If she offers you a bone, Friend, I shall bite her myself," Susan whispered to her Guard, knowing that he would hear her, though Lady Bophus would not. Fixing her very kindliest Gentle Queen smile on her face, Susan regally glided to the table. She sat, Lambert next to her. The Wolf, with his more sensitive ear, would hear the Hummingbirds before she would.

"What lovely needlework, Lady Bothus. I have never seen hearts and flowers so artfully done in thread. Such beautiful colours as well!"

"Why thank you, Queen Susan. It is for my daughter's wedding wardrobe. I think your Royal Brothers missed a very special girl when they let her pass them by!"

"Too special for humble Narnia, to be sure, Lady Bophus." The woman's tastes would have bankrupted them within a year; she was also highly allergic to animal hair. "Surely, her marriage to Prince Zwine is a far more advantageous match for both your Houses, sharing borders and commerce as you do."

Susan always had to try very hard to speak seriously when she said "Prince Zwine," for it was uncomfortably close to "Swine," and the Prince did have a startling resemblance to a wild boar.

Lambert's ear twitched toward the bush. Susan turned her head, and indeed, a high pitched, tinny voice could be heard.

"Bog off you bitch! It's mine! Mine! Mine! Get the hell out!"

That was the Hen who claimed the bush as her own, driving another female away.

Susan glanced at Lady Bophus, who continued to placidly stitch her little petals. Her needle was sharp, her mind rather less so, and her view of the world, nearly as narrow. She was chewing on the inside of her lip in concentration, and Susan was reminded of a Cow with her cud.

"If you aren't a cock, piss off!"

The needle stopped. "Queen Susan, did you…"

"Yes, Lady Bophus?"

"Shove off you slut! This is mine!"

"What is that noise?"

"Two female Hummingbirds, Lady Bophus. They are fighting over this bush."

"Oi! You! Make the beast with two backs you." That was the Hen, flirting with a passing male.

"I'll bugger you blind, I will." That would be the Cock, whispering sweet romance to his lady fair.

The bush shook in one corner. Hummingbird mating was, like the Birds themselves, an abrupt event.

"Now sod off, mate. This bush is mine!"

"What? No taste you ho?"

"You got your taste, now piss off."

"You! Bit! Shake those feathers!" That would be another male.

The Hen responding, "Bugger me, bugger me, bugger me!"

Lady Bophus was turning a sickly shade of green.

"Are you well, Lady? Is there something wrong?" Susan asked, putting as much Gentleness as possible into the concerned hand she rested on the woman's plump arm.

"They are …" Lady Bophus gasped, near choking then lowered her voice to strangled whisper. "The birds are copulating!"

"Why, yes they are," Susan replied. "And, like many Good Beasts, they are quite vocal about it."

The bush started shaking again.

"But, they have... there are... they..."

Words seem to fail this over-delicate cow. Actually, now considering the comparison further, cow was too kind a word. The Narnian Cows were delightful, motherly, and very pleasant, if a bit dim.

"Hummingbirds are not monogamous, Lady Bophus. Male and female each take multiple partners during the courtship season."

"Do it! Do it! Do it! Now get the hell out of my bush, you effing vulture."

"But that is just wrong! It's scandalous!"

Susan refrained from pointing out that Lord Bophus was certainly not monogamous, given the advances she had been fending off for a week. Lady Bophus herself had not been an especially loyal wife in her own younger, randier days, according to the gossip.

But, more to the point, "Kind Lady, it is neither wrong nor scandalous. Hummingbirds are what they are, as Aslan created them. Each Talking Beasts is unique, and in Narnia, we respect and cherish them for those qualities, even if we would not permit those same qualities in ourselves."

"Get out, you slut! This is my bush! I'll give you what for, you ho!"

The Hummingbirds were brutish. Yet, this is what Aslan demanded of them when He entrusted all his most beloved and imperfect sons and daughters to the care of his Monarchs. It was easy to love a loyal Hound or regal Great Cat, so where was the merit in that? To love a Narnian Hummingbird, however, required that extra effort, and a more tolerant and generous view.

"They are so rude!"

"Yes, they are. To the extent it may be excused, their sole source of nourishment is nectar from flowering plants, that is sugar and water. It obviously affects their temperament. I am certain a diet exclusively of syrup would affect my behavior. They are aggressive by necessity; a Hummingbird must defend his or her nectar source or starve."

"You should teach them manners."

And teach a turtle to fly? A Great Cat to eat grass?

Lambert saved her from making such a response. "Lady Bophus, " the Wolf said, "my Gentle Queen would never presume to attempt so profound a correction which is beyond both her ken, and that of our Hummingbird cousins." Susan could see his anger in the stiff posture and hair standing up on his back. "However, should you meet Aslan during your stay here in Narnia, I encourage you to discuss with him the shortcomings you perceive in his creation."

They had wandered through Meadow, down toward the rivers. Richard had hoped they might spot an otter, but thought it rather too busy with the rowing, punters, and boathouses. Peter was not enthusiastic.

"Really, I don't understand your fascination with them at all." Peter was prepared to be stubborn about this one. He had loved all the creatures of Narnia, but the Otters had been quite a challenge. He felt about them the way Ed felt about Eustace, come to think of it – loving a creature in a theologically abstract sense, but not liking them one bit.

"Enlighten me then. You've hinted for weeks about their behavior, so defend that point. Granted they are mustelids, but are otters really so ferocious?"

"There is not a doubt in my mind that a romp of river otters could take down a U-Boat, if you could figure out a way to motivate them to do it. Although, the sheer wanton destructiveness of it might be sufficient. They might rather like explosions. It would be in their nature."

"Lutra lutra? I refuse to believe it."

"I don't know if I was dealing Lut.. whatever. The ones I am familiar with were quite small. I've seen them harass crocodiles, cheetahs, hounds, and snakes the thickness of tree trunks. Fish large enough to eat them would be attacked and savaged. You think it looks like play, when they wrestle among themselves? Do not believe it a moment. If you go wading into an otter romp, you'll be bitten."

"Do they swear like hummingbirds do?"

"Much worse," Peter assured. "Unspeakably foul. They are particularly fond of telling you to go perform anatomically impossible acts."

"So, there's no doubt, Master Pliny?"

"No, King Edmund," the Centaur sage said gravely.

Edmund grimly stared this latest foe down. It was thin, black and white striped and hissed back at him angrily, exposing wickedly curved fangs. Fortunately it was at the bottom of a barrel. A basket of small, leathery eggs was on the ground next to the barrel. On hearing reports from the Water Birds and Squirrels that snakes were eating their way through the spring nesting grounds, Edmund had ridden out to investigate. And, lost a most beloved Hound to a horrible paralyzing death before they had realized what they were up against.

"What are they doing in Glasswater?" Edmund asked. "We've not had venomous snakes before, have we?"

"None are recorded in the Animalia as native to Narnia. They are usually further South," the Centaur said. "Perhaps someone collected a clutch of eggs away South as a curiosity and released them. Maybe they found their way here on their own, perhaps in a boat or caravan and with two mild winters, have managed to survive through it."

"It could be a form of warfare, too," Edmund said darkly. "Some enemy planting them there."

"King Edmund, sometimes, I do wonder at how your mind works."

"A Hound died in my arms less than an hour after being bitten by one of those things, Master," Edmund spit out angrily.

"My sincerest apologies, My King. I know her tragic, painful death profoundly disturbs us all."

The Centaur took one of the long Smithy pokers and dispassionately pointed it at the snake. It hissed again, and struck at the poker, three, four, five times. "They are of a type called Bungarus. They are prolific breeders, laying huge clutches, and their preferred prey is bird eggs and fledglings. They are aggressive, water-loving, hunt at night, and their venom is very powerful."

"You should have seen it, Master Pliny. Glasswater was one of the most fertile nesting places for our Water Fowl in all of Narnia. It has been decimated by these things."

"Judging from the size of this one and the dead specimens you brought back, as well as the eggs, I think we may assume it is well-established there now, King Edmund. There's nothing native to that area to check their population, either."

"No, not as I can see. We could trap and kill some of them, I think, but we need a longer term solution."

The harassed snake, exhausted from its battle with the poker, lay limp at the bottom of the barrel.

"Foxes might eat the eggs," Pliny said, withdrawing the poker. He raised the tip up and studied it, seeing a viscous venom drip off, and back into the barrel.

"The Foxes know to stay well away from those nesting sites to avoid the temptation of Bird eggs. One of the Eagles, Raffe, was with us. He said the snakes tasted ill. He did not think any of the raptors would want to eat them."

"Curious. They are a popular human food source in the South."

Edmund shuddered. Eating snake. He'd rather eat bark before trying to stomach a reptile.

"One animal does occur to me; they control snake populations in southern rivers and have some natural resistance to their venom. Getting rid of them would solve some of our problems here as well."

"Oh?"

I am not going to call them Friend. "You! There! Otters!" Edmund called from edge of the castle's bathing Pond. "Your King wants you to stay well away from him!"

The four Otters all immediately stopped their vicious wrestling in the mud and bounded toward him.

"Oi! It's the Little King!"

"What for, you dickwad."

"Piss off!"

It took them awhile to "not" come near him as the Otters started fighting amongst themselves. Edmund waited and gave the writhing cloth sack at his feet a nudge with the poker.

Deciding to move things along, Edmund shouted again, "I told you I did not want to be disturbed!"

The Otters released each other and came running to him.

"Soddin hell, what's in the bag?"

"I'll give you bag, you effing wanker!"

The bag moved again, and the Otters all lined up alongside it, standing on their hindquarters, chirping excitedly. They were riveted by it, noses all twitching ferociously. One of them dropped to all fours, leaned in, quivering with excitement, and nudged the bag with his paw, then sprang back as an angry hiss came from inside.

"Bugger me! It's a snake!"

Another of the Otters darted forward, teeth bared, grabbed the bag and gave it a vicious shake before Edmund could even mouth the order for them to hold back.

The Otter jumped away again, cackling maniacally.

The Otters all stood again upon their hind legs. In a chorus of foul demands, they squeaked, "Open it you sod!" "We wanna effing play!" Snake!" "Snake!"

The Otters had, in fact, near eaten everything they could in the neighborhood of the Pond. The frogs, newts, and most of the fish were gone. If there had ever been any grass snakes, the voracious Otters had eaten them as well. With less food, they had become even more rude. They harassed the bathers, fought with all the Good Beasts, and if there could be a way to get rid of them, everyone would be far happier for it.

"Otters!" Edmund said, very seriously, holding the bag down with the poker. "This is no ordinary snake. It is venomous and might kill you if you are bitten."

The Otters' demands intensified, chorusing some of the foulest cursing he had yet heard from the little monsters.

"I will release it, as you have asked so graciously. But, I warn you again, do not let it bite you."

Standing on the bag, Edmund used the poker to pry the tie open. The snake slithered out. Faster than his own poor eyes could see, one of the Otters sprang, grabbed the snake by the tail and jerked it across the dell of the Pond. All four went chasing after it.

It was over before Edmund could even catch up to them. One Otter lunged and bit the snake in half. In moments, the snake was in bloody shreds and the Otters were fighting over the remains.

One of the Otters, the biggest of the males, bounded to Edmund, a bit of black and white tail dangling from his mouth.

"So, you like how they taste?" Edmund asked, truly impressed at the Otters' fearless efficiency in spite of how much he disliked them.

"Test lik chikfen…" the Big Otter mouthed around the tail section he was chewing on. He swallowed and belched. "Got anymore?"

"A whole river full of them. They are yours if you want them."

The Otter turned crafty. "How many?" he demanded.

Ah, so that is the way of it.

Edmund crouched down, so he could look the little brute in the eye. "No more than three a day, for each of you."

"Oi, bugger me you fuckwit. Ten per day, each."

The Just King made to consider this outrageous counter offer very solemnly. "Otter, I cannot permit more than five.

"Nine!" the Otter shrieked. "We effing wants nine!"

"It is an extravagant demand, Otter." Edmund stroked his chin. "Very well, you drive a hard, ruthless bargain. Nine snakes a day it is."

Chapter 11, Cross-Pollination part 3 to follow

Long notes follow, mostly references.

Some of these excerpts include references to characters from the companion piece I am also writing, By Royal Decree.

A few fun facts for those of you armchair naturalists:
**Hummingbird behavior and promiscuity is well-documented and the quote that their vocabulary is 100% swear words appears frequently.
**It has only very recently been documented through genetic testing that fledgling songbirds in the same nest and cheetah cubs in the same litter can, in fact, have different sires.
**In 1947, Karl von Frisch reported on how the runs and turns of the honey bee dance correlate to the distance and direction of the food source from the hive. He performed a series of experiments and in 1973 was awarded the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine for the discovery.
**The black snake with white bands is modeled after the multibanded krait of Asia. Whether the Asian Small Clawed Otters (Aonyx cinerea) of Spare Oom have a natural resistance to that venom is not something I was able to confirm, although mongooses and and another mustelid, honey badgers, do. While it is reported that occasionally, Asian crocodiles and Tigers will eat A. cinerea, it is also reported more commonly that even these largest of Asian predators avoid these otters if they can. A. cinerea eat pythons for breakfast.