Although not often mentioned in these tales, you will doubtless remember Tenzin, the young Buddhist monk who left Tibet beneath a yeti’s armpit and emerged on Hopeless through one of Mr. Squash’s mysterious portals. Since settling at The Squid and Teapot he had been unfailingly eager to help with any task that needed doing. Unfortunately, years of chanting, meditating, and spinning prayer wheels had left him supremely unqualified for the daily business of running even so eccentric an inn as one on Hopeless.

Philomena, recognising this, decided he would be better employed looking after her adopted children, Caitlin and little Oswald. His English was excellent and, after all, he was scarcely out of childhood himself. Apart from the chanting and wheel-twirling, he must surely have some idea of what youngsters required.

Tenzin warmed quickly to his new post, keeping the children happily occupied by day. At night, when they were tucked into bed, he came into his own. Drawing on a treasury of Tibetan folktales, he aimed to send them into sleep filled with magical dreams. That was the theory, at least.

Philomena, who had always enjoyed a good story, sometimes lingered outside their door to eavesdrop.

“Once upon a time,” Tenzin began one evening, “high in the mountains there lived a kind young girl named Langa Langchung. She had a father and sisters, but one dreadful night a hungry demon came prowling. It devoured them all in a single gulp, and only Langa escaped, weeping into the cold dark.”

“That’s what happened to Primrose Nibley’s daddy,” said Caitlin, matter-of-factly. Philomena shook her head sadly; life on Hopeless was often as terrifying as any fairy story.

“Alone and frightened,” Tenzin continued, “she wandered into the forest. But she was not without friends. A faithful dog came and licked away her tears.”

“Like Drury?” asked Oswald.

“Um… sort of,” said Tenzin diplomatically. The children had never seen a living dog, and although Drury did his best, licking away tears was not among his accomplishments.

“Even the wild birds whispered, ‘We will help you,’” he went on. “And then, from nowhere, a rooster crowed and perched upon her shoulder.”

“What’s a rooster?” asked Caitlin.

“It’s a large, colourful bird,” Tenzin explained. “Bigger than a raven and as fierce as… as Granny Bucket’s ghost when she’s on the warpath.”

Philomena smiled in the shadows.

“The demon was not finished,” Tenzin said. “It wanted Langa too. But each time it chased her, the rooster flapped and crowed so loudly that the spirits of the mountains awoke. The dog barked at its heels, the birds swooped and pecked, until at last the monster stumbled into a ravine and was swallowed by the earth itself.

Safe again, Langa returned home with her animal friends. The rooster, who had crowed bravely through every danger, became her guardian spirit. To this day, the people of the valley say that roosters crow at dawn to chase away darkness and monsters, and to remind us that light always returns. So the girl, the dog, and the rooster lived together in peace, unafraid of the night.”

“We’ve already got a dog,” Caitlin said, counting on her fingers. “And there are lots of birds. Can we have a rooster too, Tenzin? He could be our guardian spirit.”

“Oh, please,” said Oswald, who had already forgotten what a rooster was, but it sounded promising.

Tenzin hesitated. Even if one could get a rooster onto Hopeless, which seemed doubtful, the chances of him surviving for any length of time would be slim, whether he had Granny Bucket’s spirit or no. Tenzin fell back on the ancient refuge of grown-ups everywhere.

“We’ll see.”

—

The next morning Philomena and Pyralia Skant were revising The Squid and Teapot’s menu. Pyralia, since taking up residence, had steadily improved the bill of fare, introducing delicacies from who-knew-where. No one asked too closely.

“What are the chances of us having a rooster?” Philomena suddenly asked.

“To eat?” Pyralia looked appalled. “That’s not really my line…”

“No, no,” Philomena interrupted. “The children would like one as a pet.”

“A pet rooster?” Pyralia frowned. “Unusual. But… yes, I suppose so.”

“Caitlin thinks it could be a guardian spirit,” Philomena laughed.

Pyralia stiffened, eyes suddenly bright. “Why yes. That would work. But you won’t eat him, will you?” she asked sharply.

“Of course not!” Philomena protested.

“Or his wives?”

“Wives?”

“You may take a few eggs, but to eat the hens themselves would be most unfortunate.”

“You mean chickens? Here? How on earth would we keep them safe?” Philomena asked.

“They’ll be safe,” Pyralia said simply. And by her tone, Philomena knew it was true.

—

A few mornings later the island awoke to a sound almost no one had heard before: the insistent crowing of a rooster.

“It’s our guardian spirit!” Caitlin cried, delighted.

“Yes,” said Philomena, watching the proud bird strut with his little harem behind him. “And I think we may even have boiled eggs for breakfast.”