The Siege. Kathryn Lasky

up whenever possible, he would have said they were completely yoicks.

      “I’m very sorry, my dear, but that is absolutely impossible. That book has been declared temporarily spronk,” Dewlap said primly and turned to the list she had been making.

      “SPRONK!” Otulissa gasped. There was such emotion in her voice that every owl in the library looked up in genuine alarm.

      “Yes, spronk.” A testy note had crept into Dewlap’s voice.

      “There is nothing more ordinary, less noble, more ignoble, less intelligent, more common and completely vulgar than spronking the written word,” Otulissa sputtered. “It is completely lower class.”

      “Well, the book is spronk,” Dewlap growled.

      Then Otulissa swelled up to twice her normal size. “Well, SPRINK ON YOUR SPRONK!”

CHAPTER FIVE

       A Mission Most Dreadful

      “She fainted? Dewlap actually fainted?” Twilight said with stunned disbelief.

      “Yes, they rushed her to the infirmary,” Soren said.

      Soren, Gylfie, Twilight, Digger and Eglantine swung their heads towards Otulissa, who stood very still except for her quivering beak. “I don’t regret a word. Not even the you-know-what word. I shall not apologise. Spronking is very lower class, and it is against everything that the Guardians of Ga’Hoole are and everything they stand for. I don’t care if I get a flint mop for this. I don’t care if I get chaw-chopped.”

      The other owls blinked in horror. To be chaw-chopped was not simply a flint mop, which was the owls’ form of punishment. It was the ultimate humiliation that could befall an owl of Ga’Hoole. It meant being dropped for an indefinite period of time from one’s chaw.

      The five owls had returned to their hollow after the episode in the library. Otulissa had come too. They peered at her now in awe and wonder. This very prim and proper owl had not only said the worst curse word in the owl vocabulary, but she had spat it at a ryb. What would happen to her? They could only imagine.

      Suddenly the parliament matron poked her head into the hollow.

      “The lot of you are required in parliament immediately!” She did not sound pleased. “Except for Eglantine – she can stay.”

      Oh Glaux! they all thought.

      “Why don’t I get to go?” Eglantine asked in a quavering voice. “I want to be included.”

      “You want to be included in a flint mop?” Twilight asked. “The last flint mop we got, if you recall, was having to bury pellets for Dewlap for three days. You were excluded from that too and, believe me, you were lucky.”

      As the owls made their way down to the parliament hollow, Gylfie muttered, “Good Glaux, we’re going to be burying pellets from now until summer.”

      “You didn’t say the word, I did,” Otulissa muttered. “It just sort of came out. I was amazed myself.” But then she quickly added, “But I’m still glad I said it!”

      Secretly, they were all glad she had said it. There was something terribly wrong with this whole idea of spronking. It did not fit in Soren’s mind with the values of Ga’Hoole. It is a sprinky kind of thing, Soren thought. Yes, good for Otulissa!

      When they were ushered into the parliament chamber, Dewlap was not there. Only Ezylryb and Boron and his mate Barran, the two Snowy Owls who were the monarchs of the tree, were in attendance. And much to Soren’s surprise, two other members of the weather chaw, Ruby, a Short-eared Owl and the best flier in the chaw, and Soren’s flight partner Martin, a tiny Northern Saw-whet.

      What’s going on here? Why Ruby and Martin? Soren blinked at them in dismay, and they seemed equally puzzled as to why they had been called.

      Barran coughed several times to clear her throat and began to speak. “The seven of you have been called here for a reason.” Dread swam in all of their gizzards. What was it to be? Burying pellets? Or would they be chaw-chopped?

      Boron was now speaking. “The seven of you combine an interesting array of talents.” He paused. “As was proven in the extraordinary rescue of Ezylryb.” Ezylryb nodded and seemed to fix his gaze on Soren. “Some have come to refer to you as ‘the Chaw of Chaws’.” Soren almost gasped, and he felt his gizzard give a thrilled little twitch.

      “To get to the point,” Boron continued, “your special talents as the Chaw of Chaws are now needed.” One could have heard a blade of grass drop in the parliament hollow.

      Glaux, Soren thought, if Twilight pipes up about war and battle claws, I’ll smack him. That was all the Great Grey ever thought about. But of course he was brilliant in battle.

      Then it was as if Barran had read Soren’s thoughts. She swung her head round and fixed Twilight with a piercing stare. The light from her yellow eyes was like sharp, bright-golden needles. “In a sense, it is much more dangerous than war. Although the stakes are as high, for you could be killed.”

      Whether Soren and his friends drew a breath for the next several seconds was questionable.

      “Your mission is to penetrate the St Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls.”

      What! Soren thought. Go back? He and Gylfie were horrified.

      The two owls almost fell off the parliament perches. They were being asked to go back to the place that had attempted to destroy their personalities and their wills, through the brutal processes called moon blinking and moon scalding.

      “We have reason to believe that a dangerous group of owls, the ones that call themselves the Pure Ones, have possibly already infiltrated St Aggie’s with the intention of capturing the immense stores of flecks. We have had intelligence reports from Ambala that suggest this,” said Boron.

      “Ambala?” Digger said. “Isn’t that where the slipgizzle was, the Barred Owl?”

      “Was is right,” Boron said. “As you know, he was killed. Over the last several months, we have been cultivating a new slipgizzle. She is rather frail and quite eccentric. They call her Mist, and she is perfectly suited for this work because through some odd accident, an almost terminal shock to her gizzard, she has lost all her colouration. Her feathers have turned a pale, almost foggy grey. Some might think she is a scroom. But she isn’t. She does not fly well, but she has incredible powers of observation. The reports she has been sending about the Pure Ones are most disturbing.”

      Soren blinked. “Why?”

      “They want flecks,” Barran said, “and St Aggie’s has the largest repository of flecks in existence. But Mist thinks their interest extends beyond the flecks, and that is what we want you to find out. The two greatest threats to the owl kingdoms are St Aggie’s and the Pure Ones. The very idea of their being brought together in some sort of grand mischief is …” Barran hesitated. “… gizzard-chilling, to put it mildly.”

      Then Boron resumed. “So, you see how important the seven of you are. We have faith in you. Now the question is, will you accept this mission?”

      The owls were stunned. They had come in expecting a scolding or a flint mop and instead they had been charged with this important mission. Soren felt Ezylryb’s gaze upon him. And Boron began to speak. “Soren and Gylfie, we realise that going back to St Aggie’s will be most difficult for you.”

      “Yes,” Soren said slowly. “But Boron, won’t they recognise us?”

      “Never!” Barran said quickly. “You were an owlet when you were there before. Your flight feathers had not fledged, nor had your face fledged white, and you were half your size. Gylfie – you too looked