The Duck Who Came for a Minute

The first thing Bam noticed about Bamboo Corner was the smell.

Something warm.

Something buttery.

Something that suggested whoever lived there understood the importance of breakfast.

He stopped on the path.

His stomach made a small, persuasive noise.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose I could ask for directions.”

He did not need directions.

Quill opened the door to find a duck standing on the step.

The duck had a leaf stuck to his tail and the expression of someone who had arrived precisely where he intended.

“Good morning,” said Quill.

“Is it?”

Quill glanced at the sunlight falling across the path.

“Yes.”

“Thought so. Just checking.”

“Can I help you?”

Bam leaned slightly to the left.

Behind the owl, a little panda carried a plate through a patch of golden light.

“Are those biscuits?”

“Yes.”

“Then possibly.”

Quill waited.

“I’m only stopping for a minute,” Bam added.

At the table, Ziggy looked up.

“Would you like to sit down?”

Bam stepped inside.

“Since you’ve offered.”

The chair was rather high.

Bam examined it from three angles.

Quill fetched a cushion.

Remy brought another cup.

Lumina moved the honey somewhere it was less likely to meet an elbow, a wing, or whatever happened when a duck climbed onto a chair.

Bam settled himself.

The cushion gave a pleasant little sigh.

He understood its feelings.

“I’m Bam,” he announced.

“Ziggy.”

“Remy.”

“Lumina.”

“Quill,” said Quill, returning to his seat.

Scribble made an enthusiastic loop of blue and orange above the table.

Bam watched him.

“Does he do that often?”

“Quite often,” said Lumina.

“Excellent.”

Ziggy passed the biscuits.

Bam took one.

Then, after a moment’s consideration, he took another.

“For the journey,” he explained.

Nobody asked which journey.

His minute became several.

There was the tea to finish.

Then Remy asked whether he wanted jam.

Then Ziggy showed him a drawing, which required looking at properly.

Bam leaned close to the paper.

“What’s that?”

“A dragon.”

“Ah. Thought it might be.”

He tilted his head.

“Does it like biscuits?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“You should.”

Outside, the bamboo rustled.

Bam glanced toward the window.

The path continued beyond the garden gate, bending out of sight.

He had been walking since early morning. Before that, there had been another path, and another place to stop, and a night spent somewhere reasonably dry.

He turned back to the drawing.

“Give him a bigger plate,” he advised.

By midday, Bam had found several ways to be useful.

He held a door open for Remy.

He collected three pencils that rolled beneath the table.

He attempted to carry a folded blanket.

The blanket was larger than expected.

For a short while, Bamboo Corner contained a travelling pile of cloth with orange feet.

“Bam?” Quill called.

“Yes?”

“Where are you going?”

“I was hoping you knew.”

Lumina rescued him.

Bam shook out his feathers with as much dignity as the circumstances allowed.

“Excellent blanket,” he said.

That afternoon, Quill found him beside the door.

His leaf had finally fallen off.

His journey biscuit sat wrapped in a small piece of paper on the bench.

“Leaving?” Quill asked.

Bam looked down at the parcel.

“Probably should.”

“Somewhere you need to be?”

“Well.”

Bam nudged the paper with his bill.

The little room behind him was busy with ordinary sounds. A cup being set down. Remy opening a cupboard. Ziggy asking Scribble whether a dragon could have too many wings.

Quill waited.

“No,” Bam said at last. “Not particularly.”

From across the room, Ziggy called, “Bam, are you coming back to the table?”

Bam looked over his shoulder.

“There’s a chair?”

Ziggy pointed.

The cushion was still there.

Bam stayed for supper.

This was partly because it smelled excellent and partly because nobody seemed surprised when he sat down.

Afterward, he helped carry the spoons.

All of them.

Including one Quill was still using.

“My apologies,” Bam said, returning it.

When the lamps were lit, Remy brought out the blanket.

Lumina placed a cushion beside the window, where the last light lingered in the bamboo leaves.

“You can sleep here tonight,” she said.

“If you’d like,” Ziggy added.

Bam looked at the cushion.

Then the blanket.

Then the little space they had cleared just for him.

“For tonight,” he said.

Quill nodded.

“For tonight.”

In the morning, Quill came downstairs carrying his clipboard.

Bam was already at the table.

His blanket was folded.

His cushion was on his chair.

Beside his plate sat the little paper parcel.

“You haven’t eaten your journey biscuit,” Quill observed.

Bam looked at it thoughtfully.

“No.”

“Will you be needing it today?”

From the kitchen, Remy called that breakfast was ready.

Ziggy hurried in and climbed onto the next chair.

Bam unwrapped the biscuit and broke it into two pieces.

He offered one to Ziggy.

“Doesn’t appear so.”

Quill sat down.

Outside, the path still curved past the garden gate.

Inside, Bam passed the jam.

And when someone knocked later that morning, he was the first to climb down from his chair.

“I’ll get it,” he said.

He opened the door wide.

“Come in. There’s room.”