The Crow Talker

by Jacob Grey

  Silence fell in the church. Caw felt completely powerless.

  “There were stories once,” Crumb murmured. “Stories of ferals so powerful they could become the animals they controlled.”

  “Just stories?” said Caw.

  “Well, I’ve never met one,” said Crumb. “I’ve been training since I was fifteen and I haven’t come close.”

  “Maybe you just don’t know how?” said Lydia, tipping her chin up in challenge.

  “Listen, you!” Crumb said, his face flushed with anger. “You don’t know anything about this. You haven’t lost friends and loved ones, or creatures as dear to you as family.”

  “I have actually,” said Lydia. For a moment her bold expression dropped. “Mamba’s snake killed my dog, Benjy. He was my best friend in the world.”

  Crumb stared at her, his gaze softening. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said quietly. “But the point still stands. We don’t have a hope this time.”

  “We have to at least try,” said Caw.

  “And get killed?” said Pip. “What’s the point in that?”

  “We’ll die anyway if they hunt us down,” said Caw.

  “And they know where I live,” Lydia interrupted. “They know where my family lives.”

  “It’s true,” said Caw. “If you won’t help us, Lydia and I will have to go against them alone.”

  We’ll come too! said Screech, hopping along the back of the pew.

  Will we? said Glum, looking at him askance. He shrugged his wings. I suppose we have to.

  Caw grabbed Lydia’s hand and walked towards the church door.

  “Listen to you!” Pip called after them. “The boy who can barely control three crows. Now you’re talking like you’re Felix Quaker with lives to spare!”

  Caw froze. Quaker. He felt Lydia tighten her grip on his hand.

  “Who’s Felix Quaker?” he said, turning round.

  Crumb shrugged. “The cat feral,” he said. “He’s rumoured to have nine lives – and to have been around for a couple of hundred years.”

  Caw glanced at Lydia. “We need to talk to him.”

  Crumb shook his head. “You won’t get any help from old Quaker. He’s not exactly friendly. He sat out the Dark Summer – locked himself away in his mansion – and wouldn’t join either side.”

  “But he’s in Blackstone?” said Caw.

  “Yes,” said Crumb. “Lives in Gort House. Great big place on Herrick Hill – spires and turrets and the rest. He collects anything to do with feral lore. Memorabilia, books, all kinds of junk. And he knows more feral history than most people can be bothered to remember.”

  “I know the place!” said Lydia. “Everyone says the guy who lives there is crazy.”

  “Not far off, if you want my opinion,” said Crumb.

  “But maybe he can help us,” said Caw eagerly.

  “He’s not fond of visitors,” said Crumb, shaking his head. “You’re better off focusing on your skills, learning to defend yourself and keeping yourself from getting caught.”

  Lydia was watching Caw, frowning slightly. He knew what she was thinking: why aren’t you telling him about Miss Wallace’s note?

  He shrugged at her, hoping Crumb wouldn’t notice. Why should he tell the pigeon talker everything? OK, Crumb had given them shelter, but that was as far as it went. Caw was sure that more answers lay with this cat feral, perched on his hill above the river. He was tired of the surprises, and tired of people telling him what to do – he wanted to be in charge for once.

  Crumb sighed. “Look, why don’t you stay the night? Lie low until morning, then we can talk again.”

  Caw nodded in agreement. But secretly, he was already making other plans.

  Caw is dreaming.

  It’s the same dream as before, only now he is watching as the tall, pale stranger brings down the knocker on the front door of his parents’ house. The moonlight glints on his spider ring.

  “Don’t answer it,” Caw shouts, but no sound escapes his lips. The door opens of its own accord.

  This is the horror his crows carried him away from. But now, for the first time, they bring him inside, in the wake of the stranger.

  In the wake of the Spinning Man.

  The door slams closed behind them.

  Caw sees his parents, standing side by side in front of the dining-room table. Two half-empty glasses of wine sit there. A single crow perches next to them. Caw’s mother faces the Spinning Man, unflinching, the folds of her black dress billowing around her like a crow’s wings, as though she controls the very air around her.

  “Get out of my house,” she commands through gritted teeth. Caw can see sweat glistening on her forehead, as if she were straining with effort. “I’m not telling you where it is.” The crow puffs up its feathers in agreement.

  “Don’t come any closer!” shouts Caw’s father. He’s standing next to his wife, brandishing a poker from the fireplace.

  The Spinning Man just smiles. “And what are you planning to do with that?” he asks, his voice like silk drawn over stones. He nods at the poker.

  Caw’s mother looks at her husband. “Please, you have to get out of here. Now. This is nothing to do with you.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” he tells her.

  “I can handle that monster,” Caw’s mother says, her eyes focused on the Spinning Man. But her voice sounds tired.

  “I think not,” says the Spinning Man. “Not without your crows.”

  With horror, Caw sees that the windows are covered in a pale gauze: spider webs. Listening closely, he can hear the wingbeats and desperate cries of hundreds of crows trying to break through.

  “If you won’t tell me what I want to know, then you’re of no more use to me, crow talker.”

  Caw’s mother falters – her dress hangs loose around her now. She turns to her husband and says, “Run, darling – please, just run.”

  “No,” Caw’s father says, grasping her hand in his. “Never.”

  “As you wish,” says the Spinning Man. “You can die together.”

  He lifts a hand, and the room darkens as though he’s dimmed the lights.

  From the corners shadows begin to crawl. Not shadows – spiders. Hundreds of them. They emerge from the ceiling too, descending the walls like falling drapes of black. The crow tries to take off, but is overwhelmed by crawling creatures. Caw’s parents press closer to each other and back into the table. A glass of wine smashes on to the floor. Caw wants to rush forward, but the crows hold him, a powerless spectator. There are thousands of spiders now, their legs shuffling as one. They close on his parents, a carpet of glistening black bodies. So many that he can hear the rustle and chatter of their movements.

  Caw watches as the spiders crawl over his parents’ feet and up their legs. They try to brush them away, but there are too many. The poker falls, landing among the spiders with a soft thud. Caw’s parents squirm and writhe like they’re on fire as the spiders consume them, and he feels their agony in his own powerlessness. The sounds from their mouths are not cries of pain, but worse. Short panicked wails. The spiders cross their chests, their shoulders and their necks.

  Caw wants to look away, but he can’t.

  Now his parents are straining their chins upwards, as if they’re drowning, searching for air. His father howls, and then chokes as spiders pour into his mouth.

  With her last breath, Caw’s mother speaks to the Spinning Man in a muffled voice. “You won’t win. You’ll see.” A moment later, the spiders silence her. Her eyes find Caw at last, and a wind seems to rush out of her, whirling towards him like a gale. It lasts for a split-second before the tide of spider-legs blinds her and …

  Caw woke with a gasp. The church attic swam into focus, lit only by the glowing embers of the fire in the brazier. It was still night-time. He propped himself up on his elbow, shivering under the threadbare blanket. The dream still held him in its clutches, wringing his nerves. He pressed his eyes shut, trying to stamp out the nightma
re images.

  Was that really how they had died, in wordless terror, choked by the Spinning Man’s creatures? Milky landed silently beside him and cocked his head. His pale eyes were moist. In that moment, Caw knew it was the truth.

  Crumb was lying on his back, a whistling sound escaping his lips with every breath. Pip was huddled under blankets, completely hidden. Across the rafters, an army of pigeons had their beaks tucked into the thick feathers of their breasts.

  If Caw was going to slip away, now was the time.

  s slowly and smoothly as he could, Caw pushed the blanket off and rose into a sitting position. Lydia was facing the other way, fast asleep. He had been planning to wake her, but the dream had changed his mind. If the prisoners were followers of the Spinning Man – that nightmarish creature – she was better off as far away from him as possible. With any luck, Crumb would help her get home.

  As soon as he stood up, Screech and Glum began to twitch on their perches near the stairwell. Caw put his finger to his lips and they remained silent, watching him inquisitively. He pulled on his coat and tiptoed across the floorboards. Then he padded down the steps, followed by his crows.

  Don’t suppose we’re going back to the nest? said Screech, shivering as Caw unlatched the church door.

  “Not yet,” whispered Caw.

  Outside, he took a last look at the silent church. He wondered what it had been like before the Dark Summer. A place of happiness probably, where families and friends gathered together in peace. But the Spinning Man had destroyed all of that.

  The dream spiders crept into his mind again, their gleaming bodies twitching, their footfalls light and quiet as scattered pins. He shuddered and forced the memory away.

  Caw crept across the deserted car park, savouring the silent cold of the night. He was just turning on to the road towards the river when he heard footsteps rushing up behind him.

  We’ve got company, said Glum, passing overhead. Caw raised his hands to defend himself as he twisted round.

  It was Lydia. Her face was pale and she looked as though she hadn’t slept a wink. “You’re going to find Quaker, aren’t you?” she said. “Well, I’m coming too.”

  Caw lowered his hands and sighed. “You don’t have to,” he told her.

  “I know. But I want to. Those prisoners threatened my family too, remember?”

  “Don’t suppose I can really stop you, can I?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  Lydia grinned. “I’ll take that as an invitation.”

  You would, muttered Glum. He flew upwards and away.

  They set off together, over the steel girders of a railway bridge spanning the Blackwater. At this time of night there were no trains rumbling across.

  “You’ve got good hearing,” said Caw. “Even the pigeons didn’t wake up.”

  “I must get it from my mum. She always hears me listening to music when I should be doing homework. Even when I’ve got my headphones in!”

  Caw grinned. After being so sure he should leave her behind, he was pleased she was here. With Lydia and the crows at his side he felt more confident. His parents had done all they could to protect him, so that the crow feral line could continue. He was going to make sure they hadn’t died in vain.

  “Your parents sound like they were very brave,” said Lydia, as if she could read his thoughts. They had reached the other side of the river. “You must be proud.”

  “I guess so,” said Caw, as they began to walk along the north bank. Arches lined the embankment, shops and stalls all shuttered up for the night.

  His latest dream was an ever-present shadow, and his parents’ cries as the spiders overwhelmed them seemed like faded echoes. He didn’t feel ready to tell Lydia about it, not with the terror still so fresh. All his life he had let his bitterness towards them grow, but now it seemed as though that anger was misplaced. It was the Spinning Man who deserved his rage – for taking his parents away from him.

  “I hope my mum and dad are OK,” said Lydia quietly.

  “Me too,” said Caw, automatically.

  “They’re not bad people, you know,” said Lydia.

  Caw looked sideways at her.

  “I know they haven’t been very nice to you,” Lydia added.

  “Do you mean when they locked me in a room, or when your dad tried to arrest me?” said Caw, trying to keep a straight face.

  Lydia giggled. “Yes, but you’ll see. When all this is over, and the prisoners are back behind bars, they’ll get to know you properly. You can come for dinner again!”

  “That didn’t go very well last time, did it?” said Caw. Despite everything, he was smiling at the memory. “I must have looked like an animal.”

  Lydia suddenly slowed her steps, then speeded up again. Her eyes were fixed resolutely ahead.

  “What?” said Caw.

  “Nothing,” said Lydia. “Let’s hurry.”

  Caw stopped and looked around. Then his eyes fell on a glowing television screen in the window of an electrical goods shop. It was a news report, the volume muted, but behind the newsreader’s head was an image of his face. “Oh no,” he said. He walked over to it, sinking to his knees in front of the screen.

  Good likeness, said Screech, hopping onto the pavement next to him.

  It wasn’t perfect – just a drawing in black and white – but it was good enough. Beneath the newsreader words were scrolling, and two much smaller pictures appeared – photographs – of Lydia and Miss Wallace. “What is it saying?” he asked.

  Lydia looked over his shoulder. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me!” said Caw.

  “It says you’re wanted for questioning about the murder.”

  Caw squeezed his eyes shut. “What am I going to do now? The whole city will be looking for me.”

  Lydia touched his arm. “Those people just want a good story, Caw,” she said. “We’ll set them straight. And when all this is over …”

  “I know, I know,” he said, with a touch of irritation. “Everything will be back to the way it was.”

  He tugged up his collar and set off again, with Lydia trotting behind. He knew she was only trying to comfort him, but deep down he was sure that nothing would ever be normal again. He was walking a path with no way back. At the end lay either the truth and revenge, or the same fate that had met his parents.

  The spider this way crawls, Milky had said. And we are but prey in his web.

  The crows circled over the river and above their heads. Though it was well after midnight, the streets weren’t quite empty. Occasional cars swished past and drunk people spilled out of bars. Caw kept his head down as they headed to the west of the city. The gates of Blackstone Zoo were locked, but Caw could smell the creatures and the warmth of their sleeping bodies. He had never been inside, but the crows had told him of all the animals in their cages, and even taught him their names using a picture book back at the nest. Was there a feral for each and every creature, he wondered? Crumb had said there were lots more, all over the city …

  A siren cut through the air and Screech swooped down.

  Police car! he said.

  “Run!” hissed Caw, grabbing Lydia’s arm.

  Blue light spun around the corner ahead, so they doubled back, down a cobbled street where vents on the side of a building blasted hot air into the night. Caw flattened himself against the wall and peered through the billowing water vapour. The sirens died, but the lights were still flashing. Slowly, the police car turned into their street.

  “No, no …” muttered Caw. They sprinted away from their hiding place, and the car’s engine roared after them.

  “This way!” said Caw, skidding around a corner and climbing a set of steps. He grabbed Lydia’s hand and tugged her after him. They ran across a small ornamental garden, as the police car screeched to a halt. They jumped over some flowerbeds, then crossed another road, running under an arch and along an enclosed row of shops. Rubbish littered the ground, kicked up by a gusting breeze. Caw he
ard footsteps coming after them, and saw a flashlight jolting in the darkness.

  “D’you see which way they went?” shouted a voice.

  “No,” called another. “You check that way.”

  Caw and Lydia came out at the far end of the shops. Caw was breathing hard and Lydia was bent double, hands on her knees. Across the street was a nightclub, a neon sign glowing above the door.

  “I think we lost them,” said Caw as Lydia straightened up, “but we should keep moving.”

  “OK,” said Lydia, pushing a lock of hair off her sticky forehead.

  They set off again. Caw was still looking back as they rounded a corner and walked straight into a couple holding hands. He stumbled and caught himself against Lydia.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered.

  “Hey there!” said the woman.

  She was wearing high heels and some sort of fur coat, and her lips were bright red. The man she was with was in a black suit, his cheeks flushed. Caw guessed he was drunk. “Keep walking,” he said to Lydia.

  They hurried away. “Honey,” Caw heard the woman say, “isn’t that the missing girl from the news?”

  Caw broke into a jog, taking Lydia by the arm. The low-rise bars and clubs and vacant shop-fronts gave way to the business district. It was completely deserted, the skyscrapers standing like sentinels guarding each side of the street. Their black windows reflected a hundred Caws back at him. His ears were pricked for any more sirens, but no sounds disturbed the night.

  “Can we slow down now?” Lydia gasped. “We need to be careful. Our faces … they’re too well known.”

  Caw nodded grimly.

  Beyond the steel and glass office buildings the city rose into several forested slopes dotted with residential houses.

  “We’re looking for Quaker, right? Herrick Hill is this way,” said Lydia, pointing up a road lined with trees. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

  Caw had paused at the roadside. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just … I’ve never been further than this before.”