The Tangle Box by Terry Brooks

But now Skat Mandu was history himself.

Horris stopped a second time at the door, seething. All because of Biggar. He was going to lose it all because of Biggar and his big mouth. It was inconceivable. The fifty acres that formed the retreat, the manor house, the guest house, the Assembly Hall, the tennis courts, the stables, horses, attendants, cars, private plane, bank accounts, everything. He wouldn’t be able to salvage any of it. It was all in the foundation’s name, the tax-sheltered Skat Mandu Foundation, and he couldn’t get to any of it in time. The trustees would see to that quick enough once they learned what had happened. Sure, there was the money in the Swiss bank accounts, but that wouldn’t make up for the collapse of his empire.

Other fish in the ocean, he repeated silently—but why did he have to go fishing again, for pity’s sake?

He kicked at the wicker chair next to the door and sent it flying, wishing with all his heart that he could do the same to Biggar.

The shouts rose anew from the Assembly, and there was a very clear and unmistakable cry of “Let’s get him!” Horris quit thinking about what might have been and went quickly inside.

He was barely inside the house when he heard the beating of wings behind him. He tried to slam the door, but Biggar was too quick. He streaked through at top speed, wings flapping wildly, a few feathers falling away as he reached the banister of the stairway that curved upward from the foyer to the second floor and settled down with a low whistle.

Horris stared at the bird in bleak appraisal. “What’s the trouble, Biggar? Couldn’t get them to listen?’

Biggar fluffed his feathers and shook himself. He was coal black except for a crown of white feathers. Quite a handsome bird, actually. A myna of some sort, though Horris had never been able to determine his exact lineage. He regarded Horris now with a wicked, gleaming eye and winked. “Awk! Pretty Horris. Pretty Horris. Biggar is better. Biggar is better.”

Horris pressed his fingers to his temples. “Please. Could we forgo the dumb-bird routine?”

Biggar snapped his beak shut. “Horris, this is all your fault.”

“My fault?” Horris was aghast. He came forward threateningly. “How could this be my fault, you idiot? I’m not the one who opened his big mouth about Skat Mandu! I’m not the one who decided to tell all!”

Biggar flew up the banister a few steps to keep some distance between them. “Temper, temper. Let us remember something here, shall we? This was all your idea, right? Am I right? Does this ring a bell? You thought up this Skat Mandu business, not me. I went along with the program because you said it would work. I was your pawn, as I have been the pawn of humans and humankind all my life. A poor, simple bird, an outcast…”

“An idiot!” Horris edged closer, trying unsuccessfully to stop the clenching of his hands as he imagined them closing about the bird’s scruffy neck.

Biggar scooted a bit farther up the railing. “A victim, Horris Kew. I am the product of you and your kind. I did the best I could, but I can hardly be held to account for my actions based on your level of expectations, now can I?”

Horris stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Just tell me why you did it. Just tell me that.”

Biggar puffed out his chest. “I had a revelation.”

Horris stared. “You had a revelation,” he repeated dully. He shook his head. “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds.”

“I see nothing ridiculous about it at all. I am in the business of revelations, am I not?”

Horris threw up his hands and turned away. “I do not believe this!” He turned back again furiously. His scarecrow frame seemed to fly out in half-a-dozen directions at once as he gestured. “You’ve ruined us, you stupid bird! Five years of work out the window! Five years! Skat Mandu was the foundation of everything we’ve built! Without him, it’s gone, all of it! What were you thinking?”