April Fool by William Deverell

Arthur.” The reverend, everyone calls him, or Reverend Al, a short, bearded, energetic Welshman, twenty years of preaching the gospel at the local Anglican church. “We have a nesting eagle pair over there.” He points to a Douglas fir thirty feet away. “We had an engineer design the platform,old boy, it’s built to specs. For emergencies they have a rope ladder with a safety line.”
    Todd Clearihue comes striding up, but before he can speak, Reverend Al says, “Todd, we’re not moving until you send away the logging crew. In addition to humans, there’s another species up there we propose to protect. Bald eagles. There’s a nest.” A sonorous voice, well suited to the pulpit.
    â€œAw, come on, Al, don’t try to pull that off on us. How would you know?” The air is thick with friction, but Clearihue maintains his smile.
    â€œTake a hike up the bluffs, old fellow. You can see the nest, it must weigh half a ton.”
    Clearihue turns to Arthur, sensing he’s more malleable. “I can’t believe this is happening in my community.” Though his family remains in Vancouver, he has bought waterfront property and joined several community groups, but retains the pasty look of one unused to rambling down wooded paths. “This is going to cost us at least twenty thousand a day.”
    Garlinc didn’t have to borrow to buy the land, so Arthur suspects it has the resources to hold out. A private corporation with several partners, though Clearihue is reputed to be the majority shareholder, old money from precious minerals. “I’d sure like to figure a way to avoid going to court,” he says.
    Arthur is thinking about court, about the eagle’s nest. He saw the mating eagles yesterday, above the Gap. He’s not sure if they’re on the protected list. He’s not sure if there is a protected list.
    Trustee Zoller descends. “What’s the law here, Arthur? Couldn’t they go to jail for squatting?” He operates the water taxi service and in the last election squeaked in by two votes, cashing in on his popularity as an accordion player. An odd fellow with his twitches and flinches and hints of paranoia. “I hope you’re not part of this underground operation.”
    â€œOf course he’s not,” says Clearihue. “This must really be embarrassing for him. Any ideas, Arthur?”
    â€œI suggest we wait for Corporal Ivanchuk.” Who’s absent because it’s Tai Chi Thursday at the hall.
    Arthur thinks about the Confederation Club, his old chums carrying on about how he married a 1960s back-to-the-lander, now she’s become an eco-terrorist.
    Corporal Al Ivanchuk finally trudges up, Corporal Al, as he is known so as not to be confused with Reverend Al. He’s an easygoing giant who instructs Tai Chi and is the local Cub and Scoutmaster.
    â€œWhat have we here?” he says.
    â€œA blind man could see what we have,” says Zoller, snappish. “There has been unseen activity going on under your very nose while you’re dancing the Tai Chi.” Arthur tries to work his way through this abstraction. He thinks of three weeks of vegetarian dinners.
    â€œThat’s a pretty good piece of work,” says Corporal Al, gazing up at the tree fort.
    â€œHow are you going to handle this, corporal?” Clearihue asks. “I’d hate to see them criminally charged, they’re friends, but this is costing us big time.”
    â€œMoney is only something printed on paper–seems to me our first concern should be for people’s safety.” He calls, “You folks okay up there? Last thing we want is an accident.”
    Cud Brown answers: “Boom-shaka-laka, we’re living large, man, but I can’t get cell reception. Can you call Felicity’s old lady? I don’t think she knows.”
    â€œNot good. She’s going to be very upset.”
    â€œCapiche,