The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More(36)

        ‘’Ow about that?’ Ernie said. ‘That’s better’n ducks, ain’t it?’

        ‘You think you can get ’er?’ Raymond said.

        ‘Of course I can get ’er. I’ll drill a ’ole right through ’er noggin!’

        Peter felt a wild rage beginning to build up inside him. He walked up to the two bigger boys. ‘I wouldn’t shoot that swan if I were you,’ he said, trying to keep his voice calm. ‘Swans are the most protected birds in England.’

        ‘And what’s that got to do with it?’ Ernie asked him, sneering.

        ‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ Peter went on, throwing all caution away. ‘Nobody shoots a bird sitting on its nest. Absolutely nobody! She may even have cygnets under her! You just can’t do it!’

        ‘’Oo says we can’t?’ Raymond asked, sneering. ‘Mister bleedin’ snotty-nose Peter Watson, is that the one ’oo says it?’

        ‘The whole country says it,’ Peter answered. ‘The law says it and the police say it and everyone says it!’

        ‘I don’t say it!’ Ernie said, raising his gun.

        ‘Don’t!’ screamed Peter. ‘Please don’t!’

        Crack! The gun went off. The bullet hit the swan right in the middle of her elegant head and the long white neck collapsed on to the side of the nest.

        ‘Got ’er!’ cried Ernie.

        ‘Hot shot!’ shouted Raymond.

        Ernie turned to Peter who was standing small and white-faced and absolutely rigid. ‘Now go get ’er,’ he ordered.

        Once again, Peter didn’t move.

        Ernie came up close to the smaller boy and bent down and stuck his face right up to Peter’s. ‘I’m tellin’ you for the last time,’ he said, soft and dangerous. ‘Go get ’er!’

        Tears were running down Peter’s face as he went slowly down the bank and entered the water. He waded out to the dead swan and picked it up tenderly with both hands. Underneath it were two tiny cygnets, their bodies covered with yellow down. They were huddling together in the centre of the nest.

        ‘Any eggs?’ Ernie shouted from the bank.

        ‘No,’ Peter answered. ‘Nothing.’ There was a chance, he felt, that when the male swan returned, it would continue to feed the young ones on its own if they were left in the nest. He certainly did not want to leave them to the tender mercies of Ernie and Raymond.

        Peter carried the dead swan back to the edge of the lake. He placed it on the ground. Then he stood up and faced the two others. His eyes, still wet with tears, were blazing with fury. ‘That was a filthy thing to do!’ he shouted. ‘It was a stupid pointless act of vandalism! You’re a couple of ignorant idiots! It’s you who ought to be dead instead of the swan! You’re not fit to be alive!’

        He stood there, as tall as he could stand, splendid in his fury, facing the two taller boys and not caring any longer what they did to him.

        Ernie didn’t hit him this time. He seemed just a tiny bit taken aback at first by this outburst, but he quickly recovered. And now his loose lips formed themselves into a sly, wet smirk and his small close-together eyes began to glint in a most malicious manner. ‘So you like swans, is that right?’ he asked softly.

        ‘I like swans and I hate you!’ Peter cried.

        ‘And am I right in thinkin’,’ Ernie went on, still smirking, ‘am I absolutely right in thinkin’ that you wished this old swan down ’ere were alive instead of dead?’

        ‘That’s a stupid question!’ Peter shouted.

        ‘’Ee needs a clip over the ear-’ole,’ Raymond said.

        ‘Wait,’ Ernie said. ‘I’m doin’ this exercise.’ He turned back to Peter. ‘So if I could make this swan come alive and go flyin’ round the sky all over again, then you’d be ’appy. Right?’