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“It was just a girl,” said Caw, sulkily. “Sleeping rough. You don’t have to spy on me.”
“And you don’t have to lie to me,” said Crumb. His face looked suddenly older than his twenty-something years. He laid sausages, dripping with fat, into three bread rolls. “We’re supposed to be your family, Caw.”
You gonna tell him about the weirdo outside? said Shimmer.
Caw shook his head as Crumb offered him a roll on a plate. It didn’t sound like Bobbin had seen the pale man, so there was no reason to tell Crumb. It would only lead to more questions about the encounter, and Caw remembered very clearly what the “weirdo” had said – the stone was his to bear alone. Until he knew what it was, it would stay that way.
“Well?” said Pip, through a mouthful. “What girl?”
“Her name is Selina,” Caw said. “She’s a runaway.”
Crumb nodded, biting into his own sandwich and chewing thoughtfully. “You should stay clear of her. No good comes from mixing with humans.”
Caw felt an itch of irritation. Crumb couldn’t tell him what to do. Just because he was a few years older. “But—”
“Caw, you have responsibilities now,” said Crumb. “As a feral. You can’t let people know what you are. Humans can’t be trusted.”
Caw wasn’t so sure. Crumb thought everyone was out to get him. Besides, Caw’s friend Lydia was a normal girl. True, he hadn’t seen her in the two months or so he’d been living with Crumb. But that wasn’t because he didn’t want to. It was because he knew her mother didn’t want him hanging around with her. Her father Mr Strickham didn’t even know about the ferals. They had their own life. A normal one.
“You going to eat that?” said Pip hopefully, pointing at Caw’s roll. His own plate was already empty and a couple of mice were polishing off the crumbs.
“Yes,” said Caw, drawing the plate closer to his chest.
“You’d better,” said Crumb. “We’ve got training this morning, remember? Then your reading lesson.”
Caw groaned. He enjoyed the reading bit, but Crumb insisted on training with their animals three times a week, and that tended to be a lot more painful.
“Do we have to?”
Crumb rolled his eyes. “How many times, Caw? The Spinning Man might be gone, but we don’t know how many of his followers are still on the loose, waiting to strike.”
An image flashed through Caw’s mind – the white spider he had seen scuttling through the graveyard after he had destroyed the Spinning Man. But he’d only seen it for half a second – surely it was his tired mind conjuring up phantoms. He shook off the thought.
“Without a leader—” Caw began.
“There will always be a new enemy,” Crumb interrupted sternly.
Before Caw could protest more, a pigeon flashed past, snatched the sandwich from his plate and fluttered above, just out of reach.
“Very funny,” said Caw, rolling his eyes. The pigeon dropped the sandwich and Caw caught it. “I’ll train twice as hard tomorrow. How about that?”
Crumb gave him a hard stare and Caw couldn’t help but look away, embarrassed. After all Crumb had done for him, maybe he did owe the pigeon feral more respect. But a part of him bristled still. Crumb was always telling him what to do. He’d only given Caw a watch so that he could make him show up for meals on time. Surely Caw didn’t have to tell him everything. “I can’t force you,” said Crumb. “But remember, this afternoon is Emily’s funeral.”
“Of course,” said Caw. He’d only met the elderly centipede feral once. She’d been a sad old lady, haunted by the deaths of her children in the Dark Summer. “Is it true she has no heir?” he asked quietly.
Crumb nodded. “With her passing, the centipede line will end forever.”
A silence fell. Feral powers passed from parent to child. There was no other way.
So, if we’re not training, what are we doing? said Shimmer. She was eyeing up his sandwich too, Caw noticed. He tore off a piece and tossed it to her.
“We’re going out,” he said.
“Can I come too?” said Pip, jumping to his feet.
Caw managed to disguise his grimace as a smile. Sometimes it was fun having Pip around, but other times he followed like a shadow, making Caw feel desperate to be on his own.
“Why don’t you stay and train with Crumb?” Caw said. “You’d just be bored with me. Crows are really dull, you know.”
Charming,croaked Screech.
Pip looked disappointed, but nodded.
Caw unrolled the blanket he used as a pillow and took out a slim, dark blade – the Crow’s Beak. He slid it inside the scabbard he’d made from old leather and slung its straps over his shoulders. Crumb’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Expecting trouble?”
Caw shook his head. “Like you said. You never know who’s out there.” He headed for the stairs and his crows followed.
Boring, are we? said Glum.
Caw waited until they were out of earshot, then whispered, “I didn’t want any eyes on us today. Not where I’m planning to go.”
Ooh … a secret mission! said Shimmer.
“Just keep a lookout for pigeons,” said Caw. “I’ll explain on the way.”
Blackstone was a city with a lot of history. Crumb had told Caw all about it over several nights – how it had begun hundreds of years before as a settlement by a swampy river, how it had grown when the river was dammed and diverted to irrigate fields for crops. How it had become an important staging post at the crossing of two large trade routes. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, buildings of wood had been razed for those of brick. The city had prospered through the industrial revolution that swept across the country. The river had been widened and rerouted further, with bridges spanning its course.
With each generation, new waves of people came and settled, bringing their cultures and ideas. Steelworks and factories had been replaced by the world of finance and technology. The population boomed and spread. Blackstone had seemed to be on an unstoppable trajectory of progress.
Until the Dark Summer, when the feral war had ripped the city apart.
Eight years had passed since then, but Blackstone had not recovered. It was like a wounded animal – unable to climb to its feet, but clinging to life.
Caw saw the city differently from the normal people – the ones who stayed on the ground, navigating by street names and landmarks. He knew the sections that were quiet and calm, and the ones that were always crowded. Places of safety and danger. Areas where he could scavenge or where the pickings were meagre. Where he could pass unseen through darkness or where security lights might reveal him. He measured distance not in miles, but in time. Ten minutes to cross from the abandoned train station, via the disused tracks, to the cathedral. Twelve if he took the detour over the rooftops of the old rubber factory.
Everywhere he went, the layers of the past revealed themselves. A church here and there, or old pilings jutting like rotten tooth stumps from the river’s shallows where a jetty had once been. And of course the sewers, threading their way in arched tunnels across almost all the city, emptying into pumping stations and sewage works, and ultimately into the far reaches of the River Blackwater.
In his early days of exploring, Caw had never gone down there. But as time wore on, and he grew in confidence, he had begun to venture underground. In the daytime, when the rooftops weren’t safe because of construction workers, or police helicopters, the subterranean tunnels offered another way of getting around the city unseen.
But the crows were never keen.
Birds don’t like ceilings, said Glum, as they descended through a shaft into a tunnel near the church.
The sky means safety, said Shimmer.
Don’t worry, I’ll look after you, said Screech, but his voice trembled slightly.
Glum gave a throaty chuckle. Please, someone pass me the sick bag.
“We have to make sure we aren’t being followed,” said Caw. “It’s the only way.”
He jumped from the bottom of the steel ladder and landed in the tunnel. It was dry, thankfully, but the air was stale and stuffy.
As Caw began to walk along the tunnel; he took a torch from his pocket and flicked it on. The birds swooped ahead at intervals. He’d never met anything down here apart from the odd rat, but still the place made his skin tingle. He wouldn’t have wanted to come below on his own.
His back itched and he adjusted the shoulder straps looped under his clothing to make the Crow’s Beak sit more comfortably. The ancient weapon wasn’t much to look at. A narrow double-edged blade about two feet long and not terribly sharp, but at least it might scare off an attacker long enough for Caw to escape. Besides, it was the sword of the crow line, with the power to open a gateway to the Land of the Dead. It was Caw’s duty to bear it.
With his free hand, Caw felt the stone in his pocket. Did that have something to do with the crow line too? It didn’t feel particularly remarkable today, but there had to be something special about it, else why would his mother have wanted him to have it? She’d been the crow feral before him, after all.
Had the strange, hairless figure from last night even been telling the truth about knowing Caw’s mother? Caw guessed he must have been a feral himself, though he hadn’t seen any animals.
Too many questions, and Caw knew only one place he might find answers.
Hello? Earth calling Caw … said Screech.
“What?” said Caw.
You’re acting really weird, said Screech. Glum’s talking to you.
“Sorry,” said Caw. “Just thinking about something. What were you saying Glum?”
I said, we’re heading west, aren’t we? said Glum. The crow’s eyes flashed silver in the torchlight. Are we going back to see that girl?
“No,” said Caw, not breaking his stride. “We’re going to Gort House.”
Quaker’s place! said Glum. Why d’you want to mix with that old coward?
“He might know something about this black stone,” said Caw. After all, he couldn’t just carry it around without the slightest clue as to why it was so special. His mother would want him to find out what it was – she must have left it for him for a reason. He was sure of it.
They trudged on in darkness, through the endlessly winding network of tunnels. They seemed to have been built by a madman. Shafts, wide and narrow, intercepted at different levels in a convoluted maze. Caw walked for twenty minutes, navigating from memory, before climbing several ladders. His feet clanged and echoed through the tunnels as he set out at the higher level.
You sure you know where you’re going? said Shimmer, standing on a jutting pipe. I don’t want to get lost down here.
We know these tunnels like the back of our wings, said Screech, nudging close to her. I’m cold. Are you?
Shimmer edged away. I’m perfectly fine, thank you.
The tunnel began to climb slightly. Caw counted the vertical shafts as they passed them, until he was sure he’d reached the correct one.
“Our stop,” he said.
Leading the way, he prised open the manhole cover from below and peered out. Just as he suspected, he was on a deserted tree-lined road that snaked upwards – the road at the bottom of Herrick Hill that led up to Gort House.
Thank goodness for fresh air! said Shimmer, fluttering up into the branches of a tree. The others rose after her. Caw clambered out and closed the cover. Gort House was just a short walk up the hill, but he set off at a jog along the side of the road. It was a quiet area and they were unlikely to bump into anyone. Still, he was ready to hide in the bushes if need be.
Even if Quaker was a coward, Caw could trust him. After all, it was the cat feral who had first told him about the Crow’s Beak, about his parents, and many other things besides. He was an academic of sorts, specialising in the history and culture of the feral lines. Gort House was stuffed with treasures and artefacts and books – a museum to feralhood.
But as they approached the house, Caw’s heart quickened.
Something was wrong.
The gates were open and in the circular driveway was a police car, warning lights spinning silently. Caw held up a hand to stop the crows, but they didn’t need telling. They’d already arranged themselves on the railings.
What’s going on? asked Screech.
Caw’s unease was growing by the second. Had something happened to Quaker? What if a burglar had broken in? Or someone worse than a burglar … He edged inside the gates, along the sculpted shrubbery that lined the front lawn.
“Get your hands off me!” came a cry, followed by the screech of cats.
Caw ducked out of sight, just in time to see Quaker himself shoved out through the front door of his house, arms held behind his back by two policemen. He was impeccably dressed in a brownish tweed suit and red waistcoat, with mustard-coloured moccasins on his feet. A couple of tabby cats tangled around his legs as the cops slammed him against the side of their car. His monocle popped out and one of the policemen crushed it beneath his boot.
“I’ve done nothing wrong!” said Quaker. “At least tell me what you want.”
A grey cat hopped on to the bonnet of the car, hackles rising across its arched spine.
“No, Freddie!” said Quaker.
One of the policemen unbelted his nightstick and swung savagely at the cat, sending it leaping to the ground. It sprinted off into the garden.
“This isn’t right,” muttered Caw, beginning to step out.
No! said Glum, and Caw hesitated.
“I demand to know what’s going on!” said Quaker as a third policeman came out of the house.
“Find anything?” said the cop who’d tried to hit the cat.
“Just a load of old books and dodgy antiques,” said the third cop. “We need more men if we’re going to do a thorough search.”
“Not without a warrant, you won’t!” said Quaker.
Smack! The policeman backhanded Quaker across the jaw. “Shut your mouth!”
Caw flinched. He didn’t know much about the police, but he knew they weren’t supposed to behave like this.
Quaker had gone limp in their grip as he was shoved into the car.
“I can’t let them take him,” said Caw, but his feet refused to move.
What are you going to do? said Screech. There are three of them. And you can’t show them you’re a feral, remember?
The cops all climbed in after Quaker. The engine revved and the car skidded out of the driveway. Caw pressed himself against the hedge and watched them go with his heart pounding. Several more cats ran from the house, mewling plaintively. They amassed at the gates as the car drove down the hill.
They’re police, Caw, said Glum. Crumb wouldn’t want you to get involved, and yet again, I agree with him … Hey!
Caw had begun to run down the hill, holding on tight to the stone in his pocket, in case it fell out. He knew what he had to do. If he turned into a crow, he could follow from the air. Summoning all his energy, he leapt off the ground, willing the transformation to happen, letting his inner crow take over …
… and landed hard on the road, the wind knocked out of him.
