Wrapped up, Charlie heaved the basket out of the car. Staggering under the weight, he made his way to the castle gates. With a heavy heart, he placed the basket down, placing a note on top. Whispering a farewell to his beloved birds, he walked away.
Charlie had found the birds after a storm had blown their nest out the trees. Taking them home, he had hand-reared them. Attila became his favourite, such an intelligent bird. It was he who started bringing him bits of coloured glass for which he was rewarded with his favourite treat.
From there the others also bought him presents. Over time they bought rings, earrings, even the occasional watch. Once in a while Charlie would go into London and sell the bits to jewellers, telling them they were his late wife’s. He always got a good price.
Every evening Charlie would watch his circle of criminals, as he called them, come home. Things were starting to get unpleasant, as the police had started to investigate the sneak thief who had made off with quite a few valuable items.
At seventy Charlie didn’t want to spend his last days locked up; a decision had to be made. Although he hadn’t stolen anything, he was guilty of receiving.
Days passed, as he couldn’t think what to do with his little flock. Never could he harm them. A bird sanctuary wouldn’t work as they would keep returning to their criminal ways. Pondering, Charlie hit on the idea of taking them to the Tower of London. They had ravens, they would have company. A plot was hatched.
Back home after the deed was done Charlie relaxed, watching the early news. Poor Charlie spluttered in his tea at a news item about a bomb scare at the tower. Packing a bag and his passport Charlie made good his escape. Now living in the Costa del Sol.
