Beasts of New York | Page 5

Silver returned home and retrieved him. The robin mother had
been unamused by Silver's profound apologies, and even less amused
when Patch had returned to her nest the very next day.
Eventually Silver taught Patch to leave the robins alone, but not before
he had learned how to speak Bird. Most squirrels of the Center
Kingdom could say and understand a few simple things in Bird, but
Patch could actually hold conversations. And so, one autumn day when
a bluejay swooped past and stole an acorn out of Patch's paws, Patch
shouted angrily at the thief in Bird to bring it back; and the thief,
intrigued, wheeled around in midair, perched on a branch above Patch,
and looked curiously down at the irate squirrel.
"Thieving feather-brained no-nose hawkbait!" Patch shouted up.
"Stupid blind furry groundworm!" the bluejay retorted, and began to
peck at the acorn.
"Your mother should have dropped your egg onto a rock!"

"I must say," the bluejay said between bites, "you speak Bird
remarkably well, for a thick hairy slug with a mangy tail."
"Thank you, you moldy-feathered sky-rat. Now give me back my
acorn!"
The bluejay considered, while he finished eating half of the acorn. And
then, rather incredibly, he let the other half drop to the ground.
"To tell you the truth I wasn't very hungry," he said. "I just enjoy taking
acorns from squirrels. I didn't know you spoke Bird. What is your
name?"
"My name is Patch."
"My name is Toro."
Patch didn't know what to say. He had never been introduced to a
bluejay before. Like all squirrels he thought of bluejays, the Center
Kingdom's most prolific eaters of nuts, as dire enemies. Patch looked
around to see if any other squirrels saw him talking to a bluejay.
Fortunately none were nearby.
"If you're looking for acorns," Toro said, "the wind has been strong
today on the other side of those rocks, and many there have fallen."
After a moment Patch said, stiffly, "Thank you."
"Any time," the bird said carelessly, before flying away.
That was the beginning of their secret friendship. It had to remain
secret, for other squirrels would have been enraged by the thought of
Patch befriending Toro, and other bluejays would have looked askance
at Toro befriending Patch. But the two had much in common. Both
were lone explorers. And when they saw one another in remote corners
of the Center Kingdom, as they often did, they stopped to talk. It was
during one of those conversations, during the depths of the winter, that
Toro told Patch of what his sharp bluejay eyes had seen in the nearby

mountains.

In The Mountains
Patch stood beneath the tree that marked the absolute edge of the
Center Kingdom and stared horrified at the wasteland between himself
and the nearest mountain. Death machines hurtled past in both
directions, roaring and snarling, zooming by at speeds so great that
Patch could feel the wind of their slipstreams. Sometimes they stopped
for a few moments to gather in packs; then they all leapt into motion at
once. On either side of the wasteland, metal tree trunks protruded from
the concrete, and from their glistening branches hung ever-changing
lights. Patch knew from previous experimentation that he could not
climb these metal trees. Even a squirrel's claws found no purchase on
their shining smooth bark.
At least he saw no dogs, and only a few humans. But from where he
stood his intent seemed not just dangerous but actually insane. Surely it
was better to abandon the Treetops and swear allegiance to the Meadow
than to leap into the certain death of the wasteland. Patch turned around
and took a few steps back towards Tuft's drey.
Then he stopped, turned back, cocked his head, and looked once more
at the wasteland. He had just realized there was something rhythmic
about the way the death machines moved. There was a pattern. The
same pattern as that of the changing lights in the sky.
He thought of what Toro had told him. Heaps and rivers of food,
waiting to be eaten. Patch couldn't smell any food. He could hardly
smell anything over the foul belches of the death machines. The death
machines that stopped when the lights changed, maybe, just maybe,
long enough for a squirrel to scamper across the wasteland.
Hunger plays tricks on the mind. By the time Patch realized he was
actually running for the mountain, and not merely considering it, he
was already halfway across the wasteland. The concrete beneath his

paws was hard and cold. The several humans on the mountain side of
the wasteland had ceased their motion and turned their heads to look at
Patch. That wasn't good. But he had gone too far to turn back. The
death machines would crush