The Humming Feather

Chapter 1: The Feather That Hummed

Late afternoon sun lay warm on the canal towpath, and the water slapped soft against the side of the ⟨home⟩.

⟨Character 1⟩: That’s a pigeon one. That’s a swan one. Ooh, that one’s got a grey tip, that’s going in the jam jar. I’ve got forty-two feathers now. Forty-two! That’s more than anyone on this whole canal, I bet. I keep them in the jam jar on the shelf and I count them every night before bed, and I know every single one. The swan one is the biggest. The pigeon one is the softest.

Something blue came down through the sunlight and landed on the gravel by her boot, light as a leaf.

⟨Character 1⟩: Hello. You’re new. You’re the bluest blue I ever saw, bluer than the paint on our boat. Wait. Are you humming? Feathers don’t hum. Sticks don’t hum. Nothing on this towpath hums except the bees, and you are not a bee. But you are humming. I can feel it in my fingers, like a tiny mmmm.

⟨Character 1⟩: Mum! Mum, come and look at this, quick! I found something on the path and it’s humming and it’s blue and it’s the best thing I ever found in my whole entire life! Mum!

⟨Character 1⟩: I’m keeping you. I’m keeping you right here in my pocket where it’s warm, and we’re going to walk along the canal, you and me, and see where you want to go. That’s called following. I’m good at following. I’m six.

Footsteps came along the boat roof, and a voice called down from the stern.

Mum: ⟨Character 1⟩, what have you got down there? You’ve gone very quiet, and you’re never quiet.

⟨Character 1⟩: Nothing! Just a stick! Just a boring old stick, that’s all. Nothing humming. Sticks don’t hum. I’m going for a little walk along the path, only a little one, I can see the boat from everywhere, I promise!

⟨Character 1⟩: Come on, blue one. Which way? This way? Mmmm. Yes, this way. Little steps. Past the mooring rope, past the flowerpot, past the bench. I’m brave. I’m very brave and a bit loud. Watch me go.

Chapter 2: The Secret Path

The towpath ran on past the moored boats, and the blue feather in Tilly’s pocket hummed harder with every step, buzzing like a bee in a jar.

⟨Character 1⟩: Shh, shh, not so loud, blue one. We’re nearly at the lock gate and the gate has ears. Everything drips there, the wood drips, the bricks drip, you can hear it from here. You keep your hum in my pocket and I’ll keep my secret in my mouth. That’s the deal.

An old man in a flat cap stood by the gate patting his coat, and a gate arm dripped a slow note into the canal.

Mr. Grimshaw: Now where has it gone? My lunch bag. Ham roll, one apple, and two biscuits, and I’ve looked under the gate and in the gate, and all I’ve found is a very strange noise. A humming. Like a big sleepy bee. Have you heard a humming, little one?

⟨Character 1⟩: Never! No humming near me! I’m just picking up feathers, that’s all, only feathers. Wait. Is that your bag? That green bag on the post, with the strap hanging down, is that the one? I can see a biscuit tin in it. I’ll get it. I’m tall enough if I stand on tiptoes.

Mr. Grimshaw: Well, bless my gate. Here, take a biscuit, you’ve earned it. Mind the crumbs, the ducks are fussy.

Past the lock, a weeping willow leaned over the water, its branches hanging down like long green hair. Underneath, the feather hummed so hard it tickled Tilly’s palm.

⟨Character 1⟩: Oh. Oh, look at that. Right up in the branches. It’s a nest, a whole nest made of feathers, and every one of them is humming, all together, hum hum hum. A nest of hummers. I found it. I followed the blue one all the way along the canal and I found it. That’s my secret and I’m keeping it, just mine. Now walk home, little boots, while the sun goes orange.