Atticus Claw Breaks the Law

1

Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw – the world’s greatest cat burglar – was lying on a comfy bed in Monte Carlo when a messenger pigeon landed on the window ledge. Atticus opened one eye, then the other. Finally, with a yawn, he stretched lazily, jumped off the bed and padded over towards the window.

‘Are you Claw?’ The messenger pigeon said
cautiously
.

‘Who’s asking?’ Atticus replied, examining his sharp talons.

‘Never you mind.’ The pigeon shivered. He blinked at Atticus. He had been told to deliver the note to a brown-and-black-striped tabby with a chewed ear, four white socks and a red handkerchief with its name embroidered on it tied round its neck. He was sure he’d got the right cat. It looked a nasty
piece of work; but then most cats did as far as he was concerned. ‘I’ve got a message for you.’

‘Hand it over then,’ Atticus purred, jumping on to a table and holding out a paw.

‘No chance!’ the pigeon sidled away from him along the ledge. Carefully, watching Atticus all the time with his beady eyes, he unclipped the tube containing the message from his leg and threw it on the table.

Atticus flipped off the lid, reached in with a claw and uncurled a tiny piece of paper. He stared at the message. It was in a strange scratchy writing he didn’t recognise.

‘Who gave you this?’ Atticus demanded.

The pigeon looked frightened. ‘I can’t remember,’ he cooed.

Suddenly Atticus pounced. His left paw pinned the pigeon’s tail. ‘Don’t waste my time,’ he hissed. ‘I want to know who gave you this.’

The pigeon looked more frightened than ever. ‘I can’t say,’ he squawked. ‘They’ll kill me if I do. And worse! You’re not supposed to find out until you get there. Help! I’m in a tizzy!’ The pigeon fainted.

Atticus let go. ‘Hmmm,’ he said, reading the
message
again. ‘Interesting …’ He glanced at the dazed bird. Pigeons always talked. Yet this one had kept its beak shut. Whoever had sent the message, Atticus decided, had certainly scared the poo out of the pigeon.

For a moment he hesitated, wondering what to do. Then he grinned. All cats like mysteries – that’s why they’re called ‘curious’. And Atticus was no
exception
. In fact Atticus
loved
a mystery. Especially when he was at the centre of it.

The pigeon came to with a start. ‘Well?’ he
trembled
. ‘What shall I tell them?’

‘I’ll be there,’ Atticus said.

The pigeon looked relieved.

‘Off you go, then.’ With a sweep of his paw, Atticus pushed the startled bird off the ledge.

He watched it flap away. Then he padded down the stairs and went into the study. The computer was on. He tapped out the words
Littleton-on-Sea
expertly
with his claws. A picture of a sleepy cobbled town next to a flat grey sea popped up on the screen. It didn’t look much, Atticus thought. Not exactly the sort of place you’d expect a summer crime wave. But he could soon change that! Tapping away at the keyboard, it didn’t take him long to work out exactly how he was going to get there. Then, without a backward glance, he slipped out of the cat flap, jumped on a train to the nearest port and boarded the next cruise ship to England.

2

At about the same time that Atticus Claw was
talking
to the messenger pigeon in Monte Carlo, three black-and-white birds with dark blue wings and
jade-green
tails flew down from the sky and landed by the side of the main road leading to Littleton-on-Sea. They were magpies.

They crowded round the limp body of a fourth bird, nudging it with their claws. The first magpie had a tuft of grass in its beak. The second one had a twig. The third hopped from one foot to the other, dipping his head and dangling a worm.

None of the birds spoke. The only sound was of the occasional car rushing by.

After a little while the first bird, the glossiest and sleekest of the three, with cruel glittering eyes to match, dropped his offering of grass beside the dead
bird’s tail. He nodded to the others. ‘You can begin the funeral now, Slasher,’ he cawed quietly.

The second magpie, who was thin and scrawny with a hooked foot, hopped forwards and arranged the twig neatly beside the tuft of grass. ‘Huh hum.’ He cleared his throat and bowed his head. ‘We are gathered here together,’ he began, ‘in the sight of the A1234, to say farewell to our dear friend, Beaky.’

The third magpie, who was fatter than the other two and had feathers missing from his tail, let out a sob.

‘It’s all right, Thug,’ the first magpie put a
consoling
wing around his friend’s heaving body. ‘It’s good to cry.’

‘Beaky was truly one of us,’ Slasher continued. ‘He was mean and horrible and nasty. Everyone hated him. He helped give magpies the bad name we’re so proud of. He stole eggs and scared baby birds. He woke people up at five o’clock in the
morning
with his awful voice—’

‘— Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka …’ Thug managed a throaty chuckle between sobs.

‘He loved bashing blackbirds and chasing
chickens
—’ Slasher’s voice was breaking. He wiped tears away with the black tip of his wing. ‘He was an
example 
to us all. I’m sure I squawk for everyone when I say I’m going to miss him.’ He hopped aside to make way for the first magpie. ‘Now Jimmy will say a few words.’

‘Thank you, Slasher; that was beautiful.’ Jimmy Magpie preened his glossy feathers. His eyes
glittered
like diamonds. Looking down at the roadside, he addressed the dead bird in a solemn voice. ‘You were our friend, Beaky – a valued member of the gang. We lived together, we fought together and we stole together.’ He paused. ‘Good times!’ He let out a cry. ‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka.’ It was harsher than Thug’s – more of a battle cry. Then his voice hardened. ‘Yours is the third funeral I’ve been to this year, Beaky. First Goon. Then Penguin. Now you. All squished by the side of the road. All
mangled
by murderers. All crushed by
cars
.’ Suddenly he looked up sharply. ‘Any more clues yet, Slasher? You were with him when he died.’

Slasher shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry, Boss. All I know is that it was a Rolls-Royce. I didn’t get the number plate. It all happened so fast.’

Jimmy Magpie glared at him menacingly before turning back to his task. ‘As I was saying … Goon, Penguin and Beaky. All flattened like pancakes by our
sworn enemy …
humans
.’ Jimmy Magpie spat the word out.

Slasher and Thug nodded. They had heard the speech before. At Goon’s funeral. And Penguin’s.

‘But this time the death won’t go unavenged,’ Jimmy Magpie continued, his beak set. ‘This time, we magpies are going to fight back.’

Thug and Slasher looked at one another, puzzled. This bit was new.

‘What are we gonna do, Boss?’ Slasher flexed his wings. ‘I mean, I don’t mind having a go at one but you’ve got to admit them humans are an awful lot bigger than us.’

‘They may be bigger,’ hissed Jimmy Magpie, ‘but most of them are stupid.’

‘Let’s scare baby birds.’ Thug’s beak was
twitching
with excitement. ‘Humans hate that!’

‘That’s hardly original, Thug, and it’s the wrong time of year.’ Jimmy Magpie sounded bored. ‘Baby birds are born in spring. This is the summer, in case you haven’t noticed.’

‘What about waking them up at five o’clock in the morning with our beautiful singing?’ Slasher
suggested
.

‘
You
can if you want, Slasher,’ Jimmy Magpie shook his head impatiently, ‘but I’ve got something much more evil in mind.’

‘What? Like raiding a chicken coop for eggs?’ Thug chuckled. ‘Good thinking, Boss. That always gets them going.’

‘Still too small, Thug,’ Jimmy Magpie said. ‘Think bigger. Think
outside
the nesting box.’

‘You mean, like get some help?’ The words were out of Slasher’s beak before he realised Jimmy might get mad.

‘CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA!’ Jimmy Magpie’s voice rose in his harsh chatter. He flew up and beat the air furiously with his
magnificent
wings.

Slasher hid behind what was left of Beaky. ‘I didn’t mean it, Jimmy. Honest I didn’t,’ he trembled. ‘Everyone knows you’re the boss.’

Jimmy Magpie put his head to one side and gazed at Slasher without blinking.

‘Sorry, Jimmy!’ Slasher hopped his scrawny frame behind Thug for protection. ‘Please don’t peck me!’

‘
Peck
you, Slasher?’ Jimmy said smoothly. ‘I wouldn’t do that. In fact, you’re absolutely right,’ he crowed. ‘We
could
use a little help. Which is why I’ve
already made contact with someone I’ve heard of; an animal almost as fiendish as me, who’s perfect for what I’ve got in mind.’

‘No way, Boss.’ Thug gaped at him. ‘No one’s as fiendish as you!’

‘Thank you, Thug.’ Jimmy Magpie preened.

‘Who is he, Boss?’ the magpies chattered.

‘Tell us!’

‘Yeah, please tell us!’

‘His name,’ Jimmy Magpie said slowly, ‘is Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw … he’s the world’s greatest cat burglar and he’s going to steal every piece of jewellery in Littleton-on-Sea.’ He paused. ‘For us.’

‘A cat …’ gasped Thug.

‘Burgling humans …?’ cawed Slasher.

‘For magpies.’ Jimmy Magpie watched it sink in. ‘Exactly.’ A nasty smile was spreading across his beak. ‘And the beauty of it is that even if the cat gets caught, no one will ever suspect in a million years that he’s working for us.’

‘It’s brilliant, Boss!’ Thug and Slasher said
together
, looking at their leader in awe.

‘I know,’ Jimmy Magpie said modestly. He
straightened
up. ‘Now that’s enough chattering. We’ve got
work to do. You two start checking out the best houses to burgle.’

They nodded.

‘And I’ll get down to the pier and prepare for the cat.’

Then the three magpies spread their wings and took off up into the blue sky.