The people in the office were having an argument.

'I think democracy is overrated,' said a man in his thirties who obviously did a lot of weightlifting in his spare time. 'What we need in this country is more authority – and fewer immigrants.' He flexed his useless muscles as he reached for a Post-It note.

'You're all the same,' sniffed a woman with pink-and-purple hair. 'Always looking for someone else to blame. What we need is an appreciation of diversity.' She rooted in her desk drawer and pulled out a Tupperware containing her macrobiotic lunch.

'As long as diversity doesn't mess with canon on my superhero movie,' commented the teenager from the mailroom. The rings in his ears and nose were conspicuous even under fluorescent lighting.

'Aaargh! Enough!' Demetrius's disgusted yell broke the spell. He awoke with a start. Moonlight was streaming into the room and had hit his face, which always caused these kinds of dreams. All right for you, Luna, he thought, and got up. He studied the sleeping town through the open window and made a sudden decision.

The cool night air felt good on his face. It flowed under and over his gliding wings: flying was like swimming, if you thought of the air as water, and he did. Silently, he moved through the town, avoiding the night watch. He wasn't worried that they would shoot a bow at him – they wouldn't, and it wouldn't matter if they did. But they were likely to decide he was an 'ill omen'. He didn't like to cause unnecessary rumours.

Most of the town, however, was asleep. Through the open windows he could see them: children hugging their dolls and toys, adults, singly or in pairs (even one puzzling threesome), dogs curled up at the foot of the bed, undisturbed by his silent flight. I'll bet they're not dreaming about idiots with Post-It notes. But, oh, how much of that is your fault, you'll never know. He flew on, silent as an owl can be, alerting no one, not even the cats on nocturnal mouse patrol. The kitties wouldn't notice him unless he swooped down to steal their prey, and he wasn't particularly hungry. Pertinax's dinner had been more than sufficient.

On he flew, over the city gate and past the harbour, gliding along the beach. Just outside of town, a tall column gleamed in the full moonlight. Atop the column stood a solitary Roman soldier, magnificent in marble, gazing out to sea. The owl joined him on his perch.

'Hi, fella,' he said aloud, just because he could, and for the comfort of hearing his own voice. 'What can you see out there?' He said this in Greek because he was used to thinking in Greek when awake.

'I don't think he can tell you,' called a small voice from the foot of the column. Also in Greek.

Demetrius was so startled he nearly toppled from the soldier's shoulder. With a rather undignified flutter of his wings, he righted himself and looked down.

He gave a hoot of astonishment. There was a little boy sitting at the foot of the column, gazing up at him. The kid was about the age of Argyros. And he obviously had good ears.

Demetrius hesitated. What to do? Fly off? He shrugged – mentally, not much in the way of shoulder to work with – and flapped down to the foot of the ludicrous plinth, settling a safe distance from the little boy.

'You don't mind a talking bird?' he asked.

The boy grinned. 'Nah. Birds talk all the time. Except usually, they don't speak Greek. But owls are smart birds. I guess you can speak Greek if you want to.'

Demetrius chuckled. 'My name is, er, Archimedes. Servant of Athena.' (That should be safe enough.) 'What's your name?'

'Lucas. I live over there' pointing, 'just outside the gate. My folks are sponge divers.'

Demetrius bobbed his feathered head. 'Pleased to meet you. What in the world are you doing out so late?'

Lucas sighed. 'I couldn't sleep. You?'

'Looking around. Nighttime is for owls, didn't you know?'

'I knew. I guess the mice are awake at night.'

'Yes. Also fewer people. You aren't worried about seeing me, are you? I'm not really a bad omen.'

Lucas laughed. 'I know that! I'm not an old lady. But I won't tell Aunt Theofani I saw you. She'd have a fit. Very superstitious, is Aunt Theofani. She sees omens everywhere.'

'You live with your aunt and uncle?'

'Yes,' he sighed. 'My mother and I do. Ever since my dad was killed by the bandits.'

'Oh, that's rough, I'm sorry. Where was this?'

'In the camp outside Patra. There was an earthquake, you see, and we had to move to tents. Then the bandits came. My dad tried to protect us.' He regarded the owl sadly. Obviously, talking birds were no big deal – vicious humans were more of a worry.

Demetrius gave an angry little hop. 'That's terrible! So then you came here?'

Lucas nodded. 'To live with Aunt Theofani and her husband. Mama and Auntie do sewing and my uncle and cousins dive for sponges. They're teaching me. I'm a good swimmer,' he said proudly. 'I can hold my breath for a long time.'

'That's an important skill for a sponge-diver! Me geia.'

The attention span of even the most remarkable eight-year-old is fairly short. Lucas lost interest in his own life story and began collecting shells from the beach. The brightness of the moonlight made this easy. As he picked up a shell, a tiny lizard scurried out from underneath and tried to get away. Unfortunately, instinct took over for Demetrius, who scarfed it up without thinking.

Ugh. Did I just do that? He fluttered, embarrassed.

Lucas looked at him sympathetically. 'That's okay. I get hungry, too. Sometimes I wish I could eat lizards. What do they taste like?'

Demetrius thought about it. 'Kind of like mushrooms. If you swallowed one whole, which I do not recommend.' He burped, and coughed up a pellet. 'Excuse me. I have terrible manners tonight.'

This set Lucas to giggling. Then Demetrius. They both laughed, there under the moon. Demetrius thought that Luna might possibly be laughing, too.

He had a thought. 'Lucas, why did you come out to this place? Was it the memorial?' He craned his (very flexible) neck to look up at the top of the plinth, where the Roman soldier gazed out implacably at the sea.

Lucas arranged his shells on the sand, studying them. He nodded absently. 'Uh-huh. I see it every day. Sometimes people leave a flower or a token. They think it is very important to remember the soldiers who died – heroically' he rolled his eyes, 'in this or that battle.'

'Well,' mused Demetrius, 'this town was founded by veterans. So I guess it makes some kind of sense.'

Lucas said, 'But where are the memorials to the others?'

'To people like your father?'

'Yes! When there are wars, it isn't only the soldiers who die. And other times – hard times and hunger, the sea, accidents, bandits. . . all sorts of things make people die. Good people. People who did their best. And other people miss them, too.'

As an owl, Demetrius had excellent vision. He and Luna could both see the tears that glistened in the child's eyes.

He spoke softly. 'I agree. There should be memorials to people like your father, too. Perhaps someday, you can make one. Even better, you can grow strong and wise yourself – and tell the world how to be better.'

Lucas nodded, collecting more shells, and some pretty stones. Sadness in children can be as sudden and overwhelming as a summer storm – but, like the storm, it passes quickly. Soon the little boy was absorbed in showing Demetrius a counting game he knew. Demetrius knew the game, but pretended not to, and deliberately lost for the fun of it.

Now you pay the penalty!' Lucas crowed.

'All right. Name the penalty.'

'Show me something you can do that I can't.'

Demetrius the Owl chuckled. 'Watch this!' And he turned his head all the way round. He winked at Lucas, who chortled in delight.

From above, Luna the goddess shone down benevolently at the two laughing figures on the beach. However, being a moon, she could no more resist her own nature than could Demetrius the Owl. Eventually, the rising Adriatic tide caused boy and bird to relocate. Yawning, Lucas said good night and crept back to his house before his absence could be noticed.

A lone owl flew away, thoughtfully.

DG

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