Birds of Paradise by Oliver Langmead (read any book .TXT) 📗

feels as if he would quite like to go back to the Pride parade and join in the celebrations.

Through an archway is the upper gallery surrounding the Jewel of Paradise. The reinforced glass dome above is bright today, filling the room with light and making all the greenery gleam; and there, at the centre of it all, is the brilliant cherry tree, which is a remarkable shade of pink against the pale walls and floor. Its eternally blossoming petals flutter, caught in some errant air-conditioning breeze. There are tourists admiring the Jewel in its glass case, but there is no queue for it today, and only a couple of guards on duty. Magpie makes a point of ignoring the view of the tree below, and goes from portrait to portrait hung up along the upper gallery, admiring each as if he is a buyer in the market for good art.

“What’s the plan?” asks Adam.

“We’re going to steal the tree,” says Magpie.

“Yeah, I get that. But how?”

“In about…” Sliding back the sleeve of his jacket, Magpie checks his watch. “…a quarter of an hour, you’re going to pick it up and walk out with it.”

Leaning over the balcony, Adam studies the black railing at the base of the tree, and then at the bulk of it. Its cherries gleam like rubies among its pink petals, and its trunk is a gnarled weave of wood. “It looks pretty heavy.”

“You’re going to have help.”

“From who?”

Magpie’s semi-silver smile shines in the bright daylight beaming down through the roof. “Everybody,” he says, as he comes to the corner of the upper gallery. There, he reaches up and twitches the cable running into the security camera attached to the wall. It doesn’t dangle free, but it does come loose, and the little red light at the front of the camera fades. “Timing is important,” he says. “Do what I say, when I say it. Okay?”

“Sure,” says Adam, uncertainly.

“Wonderful,” says Magpie, with absolute confidence. “Then let’s begin.”

Back downstairs, Magpie makes his way through the Royal Academy with greater purpose. He winds a route between strange, contemporary sculptures, and into a room with unusual, blurry photographs of trees, all the while chatting to Adam about nothing at all. The guards pay him no attention, and nor do the attendants. In a broad hallway with two sets of enormous double doors to either side, Magpie glances about to make certain that nobody is watching, before entering the set marked Staff Only.

This room is a large storage space, lit by weak fingers of light from the slotted, barred windows on the far wall. “They got the tree in through three sets of double doors,” he says, stepping around empty crates and sculptures wrapped in bubble wrap. “And we’re going to take it out the same way.”

The double doors at the back are chained shut. Beyond them, there is the roar of the crowds, and through the slotted windows Adam can see the bright colours of their banners and clothes. The bass beat of their music vibrates the stone floor and up through Adam’s feet, and all he wants is to throw these doors open and go out there among his children. Magpie removes his black jacket and pulls the sleeves through so that it’s no longer inside out, revealing it to not be a black jacket at all, but a silver sequinned jacket, which twinkles brightly even in the gloom of the storage space.

Watching his watch, Magpie counts down beneath his breath.

There is a loud knocking at the doors.

“Answer that,” says Magpie, his eyes agleam, “if you’d be so kind.”

The chains are thick and new. Adam twists them until they break, and slides the remains free. Then he hauls the doors back. The noise of the parade is immediate, and a push of people rushes into the room, making the heart in Adam’s chest beat quicker. At their head is a team of fabulously dressed folk carrying DJ equipment: a heavy-looking set of speakers, along with turntables and cases of records. Light spills into the dark space along with them, and their smiles and laughter seem as bright as the blue sky as they unroll long rainbow banners and start setting up, throwing the switches on in the storage chamber so that it’s abruptly filled with a glow.

The rush of people setting up is so great that Adam is unsure how to react; he is still stood with the broken chains in hand, even as the banners are hauled high above the doors. PRIDE PARTY AT THE ACADEMY, they read, and just as Adam manages to catch sight of the words, the pounding of loud music begins.

There is a cheer from the crowds outside, and they begin to flow into the Royal Academy.

“The next door!” cries Magpie. “Quickly, Adam!”

Pushing his way clumsily through the people rushing into the room and filling it as if the party is a liquid, Adam manages to make his way across to the double doors marked Staff Only and hauls them both back. The party immediately pushes further in. There are people with water pistols, spraying each other and laughing, and there are rainbow flags being draped across sculptures, and there are the Academy’s guards, awake and unsure how to process the overwhelming rush of people flowing into the building, mumbling into radios and doing little to prevent the party as it spreads.

Magpie seems to be everywhere, his sequinned jacket shimmering silver along with his smile, and wherever he goes he spreads cheer and celebration, filling the corners of the corridor so tightly with dancing people that there is no room for any of the Academy’s staff to move even if they wanted to. “The last doors, Adam!” he cries, over the thudding music. “Now!”

Forcing his way through, Adam pushes at the last set of double doors leading to the Jewel of Paradise, and they refuse to give way. The crowds crash across his back like a wave, pushing him against the rough wood, but