‘So I take it you’ve forgiven her?’
‘One days I is not being here. One days I be away and going and having those footsteps that are not here.’
‘To go after Lucie? Why stop there?’
‘If I had me skin, and movings, and breaths, then with all I would have devotions to Lucie Jordan, and if I be of luck, she would be having devotions back.’
‘If you say so.’
‘It is of much goodness to have devotions, handsome raven-bird,’ said the scarecrow.
‘I have devotions,’ the raven said. ‘The church, my treasure . . .’
‘Devotions of skin, and movings, and breaths,’ said the scarecrow. ‘Devotions of heart-thumps. These be the bestest devotions there possibly is.’
‘I don’t know anything about it,’ said the raven. ‘I’ve never had a devotion shown to me in all my life.’
‘There must be showings of devotions before you get devotions back.’
‘Okay,’ said the raven. ‘And they make you happy?’
‘Oh yes,’ said the scarecrow. ‘I is much happiness.’
‘I’ll leave you alone with it, then,’ said the raven. ‘Evening’s coming on. Got to do the rounds.’
‘Yes,’ said the scarecrow, ‘do what you must, little bird-beast.’ His head twitched and his shiny black eyes bored into the raven. ‘I be of thanks to you,’ he said. ‘You have listening ears. This is much goodness. I give you the name of friend.’
‘Better than all this God business,’ the raven said.
‘I wishes you much devotions,’ the scarecrow said.
‘Thank you,’ said the raven. ‘I wish them for you too.’
The scarecrow nodded and sunk back into his post. Then he began to chuckle. ‘That be the taste,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘The taste of the red berry-eats – they be tasting of devotions.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Next morning the raven flew back to the vegetable patch. He had the beginnings of a plan and wanted to run it past the scarecrow. Halfway down the road he realised he’d picked up the pigeon. Sighing, he slowed down so the pigeon could fly alongside him. Better than having him at his rear.
The pigeon had no concept of left and right and kept encroaching on the raven’s way.
‘Do you mind?’ he snapped.
‘I say, old boy,’ said the pigeon, ‘is there a bee in your bonnet, wot?’
‘Don’t talk to me about bees. I’m here for the scarecrow, not you.’
‘What scarecrow?’ said the pigeon.
‘The one you were talking to yesterday who you made your best friend. Although I should think he likes me better.’
‘I know what scarecrow, you great big goose,’ said the pigeon. ‘But where?’
‘In the corner of the vegetable patch, you idiot,’ said the raven. ‘Right there.’
‘Not that I can see,’ the pigeon said.
‘What?’ the raven said. ‘Don’t play the fool. He’s right there -’
‘No he isn’t,’ the pigeon said.
And, for once, he was right.
The scarecrow was not tied to his post. Instead, one boot lay sprawled in the dirt, the stave that had held him upright cracked and splintered, his mouldy straw strewn all over the vegetables, and his old hat half-hidden by the strawberries.
‘Oh,’ said the raven.
And for a terrible moment the raven thought he might cry.
‘Oh!’ cried the pigeon. ‘What is this I see? He has gone! It is a stunning move. A bold statement. But soft, what light through yonder fence-pane breaks! It is the scarecrow, and death is his sun!’
‘Shut your mouth,’ the raven said. ‘Just shut up. He isn’t dead. Look around. You can’t see him, can you?’
The pigeon clacked his beak shut and held it that way with one dirty, grime-infested claw. ‘I say, awfully sorry,’ he mumbled. Then he did look around. ‘Doesn’t look good, though, does it? Won’t get far with a body like that. Not with all that straw. The horses will get to him in the end.’
The raven inspected the scarecrow’s old stave. It was covered in hairline cracks, as though the scarecrow had wriggled and jostled about until he felt the nails loosen. There were a few bigger fractures, where the scarecrow must have tasted the promise of freedom and had tugged and strained harder.
And then the final crack, a clean break, where the scarecrow had paused for breath and steadied himself for the jump. Where he would have launched himself into the air, felt the rotten timber giving in and pitching him forward, into the loam of cabbages and the deep, clean smell of dirt.
And then what? Only the night pressing in all around him, the fence, the field, the trees. The whole world suddenly available to him, and the delicious possibility of that first step.
‘What happened?’ the pigeon asked.
‘He went in search of devotions,’ said the raven.
‘What?’
‘Devotions,’ said the raven. ‘He got restless, always in the one place, waiting for devotions to come to him. So he went in search of them instead.’
‘Oh,’ said the pigeon. ‘But where could something like that possibly go?’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said the raven. ‘It isn’t important.’
‘Huh?’ said the pigeon, ‘You’ve lost me, old chap. Nice fellow, though, wasn’t he? Bit of a lonely sort. Not like us social butterflies.’
‘Devotions,’ said the raven again.
‘I can smell strawberries,’ the pigeon said.
‘Yes,’ said the raven. ‘I know what I have to do.’
***
Todd was at his grave, mooning about, exactly where the raven knew he would be. He nodded a greeting as the raven flew down and deposited a load of bottlecaps, which clinked together in the bowl of the scarecrow’s old hat. Directly under the T, the raven added an O, and then a D, and then another D. Feeling artistic, he then made a border around the rectangle that marked where Todd lay buried.
The raven had spent all night polishing the bottlecaps. He’d used a whole branch of eucalyptus leaves, and his sinuses were the clearest they’d been in his life. But it was worth it now, to see the caps gleaming in all directions, casting twinkling sun-ladders all the way up into the sky.
‘Well,’ he said, dancing from claw to claw, ‘what do you think?’
Todd knelt down and reached out for the raven, his fingers soft curls of mist.
The raven backed away, and a subdued pruuuk crept out of his throat. His gaze shifted from one finger to the other and back again, but still the hand crept closer, shot through with gold from the bottlecaps.
Todd’s hand hovered over the raven’s head, barely distinguishable, and then one finger dropped and smoothed a path down the raven’s neck and along his back. Neither of them could feel it, of course, but the raven remained where he stood and imagined he could feel the warmth from Todd’s fingers come burrowing into his body.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘that’s enough of that.’
Todd smirked. ‘Knew I’d get you in the end.’
‘It’s only because you’re dead,’ said the raven. ‘Anything to keep you from moping about. If you were alive, you wouldn’t have a hand by now.’
‘You’re all right, Ravo,’ said the boy. ‘You’re not bad, as far as friends go.’
The raven shifted. ‘Don’t get excited with this friend business. My track record isn’t great. The last creature to call me his friend just disappeared.’
‘I’m a ghost,’ said Todd. ‘Won’t be a problem for me. The novelty’s long since worn off.’
The raven nudged the scarecrow’s hat forward. ‘This was his hat,’ he said. ‘You can have it. I’ll put it on your grave. It looks scrappy, but if I stick a few bottlecaps on it I’m sure it will be fine. It belonged to a good fellow. He was stuffed full of hay, but you’re stuffed full of air so it’s a fair swap.’
The raven realised he was just about chasing his own tail, so
he slowed down and took a few paces back.
‘Thanks,’ said Todd. ‘I like it.’
The raven could hear the faint strains of someone singing ‘I Saw the Light’ in church and felt the old itch take hold of his wings.
‘I heard about what happened with Father Cadman,’ said Todd. ‘You all right?’
‘What?’ said the raven. ‘How do you know?’
‘Ghosts gossip too,’ said Todd. ‘What else are we supposed to do all day?’
‘True enough,’ the raven said. ‘Just don’t tell the pigeon. Terrible mouth on him.’
‘Deal.’
‘Okay,’ said the raven. ‘I’ve got one more stop this morning, so I’d best be off. See you later. I might need you for something soon, so don’t go anywhere, okay?’
‘Can’t leave your churchyard, anyway,’ said Todd. ‘Don’t know how.’
***
The weatherhen was twirling around in aimless circles when the raven landed next to her. He reached out a claw and gently pulled her to a stop.
‘You’ll make yourself dizzy,’ he said.
The weatherhen stared at him and her eyes almost bugged out of her face. The raven took to the roof lichen with a frenzy, realised he looked ridiculous, and instead surveyed the churchyard with such intensity it was as if he hadn’t seen it ten hundred times before.
‘So,’ he mumbled, ‘how are you?’
‘Heeheehee,’ she said.
‘I suppose that’s good,’ said the raven. ‘Seen any, er, clouds lately?’
The weatherhen snickered.
‘Beautiful weather,’ he said, ‘clouds and all. But I would take more glory in it if not for the fact that I have just lost one of my dear friends.’
He accentuated the word ‘friend’. The weatherhen was full of squeaks and giggles.
‘I do have friends,’ the raven said. ‘Just because you don’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there.’
‘Creeeak-ha,’ she said.
‘You look nice,’ he said. ‘Is that a new coat of, um, varnish? It really brings out your . . . tin.’
Now she was about to fall off the roof she was squeaking so hard.
‘Anyway,’ the raven blustered on, ‘just wanted to say hello. To let you know that you’re okay. Before it’s too late. Metal rusts, paint flakes and all that. But don’t go getting too excited. Ours is a friendship only. If, you know, you’re okay with that.’
‘CreeeeakcreeeeakcreeeeakCREEEEEEEAK,’ said the weatherhen.
‘So I should go now. Afternoon naps falling, I mean, calling. And I’ve got things I need to plan. Big things. Lots of planning. But I’ve told you, now. So take care. Don’t, um, stay up too late.’
The weatherhen did a half-turn and looked at him from the corner of her eye. The look said, oh but I will be, and I will be thinking about you.
Back in his den the raven drew in a huge breath. He felt as though he might start shedding feathers. There was so much to do, so much to plan. But as he listened to the organ playing on below him he knew that it was worth it.
Tomorrow he would talk to Mackenzie.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘You like her,’ said Todd.
‘Who?’
‘The weatherhen.’
‘I do not.’
‘You do. I can tell.’
‘I most certainly do not.’
‘Been talking about her all morning. I’ve seen you looking up there.’
‘I’m checking on the weather,’ said the raven. ‘The rain brings out all the best worms. I like to plan my meals in advance.’
‘Wouldn’t be planning them too much.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘All I’m saying is watch your weight. You might not mind a bit of excess padding round the middle, but she might.’
‘Why does everyone keep bringing up my weight? I am not overweight. And I don’t care what she likes.’
‘I think you do.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Aw, Ravo, I’m not stupid. What else am I gonna do? I’m stuck here. I see everything. Who’s your pigeon friend following you around everywhere?’
‘He is not my friend. He is an acquaintance.’
The raven bustled up and down the steps of the crypt, as though each ledge might get jealous of the other if he wasn’t on it.
‘Good idea,’ said Todd. ‘Concentrate on the rear area. It needs the most work.’
‘Maybe you could concentrate on the task at hand,’ the raven said. ‘I’m trying to tell you something. Father Cadman won’t see tail nor beak of me. He makes that cross sign every time I approach. So I’ve figured out a way to make him see I’m not lying.’
‘He snuck out here again after church today,’ said Todd, throwing himself off the roof of the mausoleum, somersaulting, and then gliding up within inches of the ground. ‘That Barnabas Brittle. His pockets were jangling. And he had something stuffed inside his shirt. I think it was that huge wine chalice.’
‘Nice for some,’ said the raven, ‘to have the leisure of sitting out in the sun, waiting for crooks to stumble by. I’ve only been making the biggest decision of my life.’
‘I wasn’t just sitting out here waiting for crooks to stumble by,’ said Todd. ‘I was watching Mackenzie.’ He threw himself off the roof again, and this time when he landed he rolled over until he was lying on his back. The grass sprouted up out of his middle until he resembled an inside-out echidna.
‘Not your best look,’ said the raven.
‘She was bad today,’ said Todd. ‘Real bad. Never seen her cry like that before. Looks sick too. Probably not eating properly. Good excuse to stay away from Mum’s lasagne, I guess. Not really her specialty.’
‘Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ said the raven. ‘I made a very important decision yesterday, and it involves your sister.’
‘You know,’ said the boy, ‘if you could just talk to her –’
‘Listen to me,’ said the raven, ‘I –’
‘All you need to say is that I don’t blame her,’ said the boy. ‘That’s all.’
‘We don’t converse with humans,’ said the raven. ‘They’d be on our tails in an instant, trying to put us in circuses and glass cages and taking all the credit, as they usually do. Despite this, despite me putting my life in peril, I have decided –’
‘Father Cadman knows you can talk,’ said Todd. ‘I’ve seen that too.’
The raven poked around in the dust outside the mausoleum door. ‘That’s different. Father Cadman and I have an understanding. Or did.’
‘Kenzie would understand,’ Todd persisted. ‘She wouldn’t tell.’
‘I’m going to take your word for it,’ said the raven.
‘Please,’ said Todd. ‘Please. She’d be happy then. I’d be happy. Wouldn’t have to hang around here annoying you. I could leave.’
‘Why not?’ said the raven. ‘Everyone else does.’
‘What?’ said Todd
‘Nothing,’ snapped the raven, and the scent of strawberries wafted past his beak. ‘Stop talking and listen to me. I’m going to do it. I’m going to talk to Mackenzie.’ He scratched at some lichen on the door and refused to look at Todd. ‘But only because I need her help.’
Todd started to giggle. ‘How are you going to get her to help? By chasing Barnabas Brittle with her bad temper?’
‘No,’ said the raven. ‘I’m going to ask her to talk to Father Cadman after mass. Say that she needs to talk to him about you and how she’s so upset. He’ll listen to her. He has to, he’s a priest.’
‘Guess that’s the price you superior sorts have to pay,’ said Todd, with what looked very much like an eye roll. ‘Talking to the little people. Helping them with their problems.’
‘That’s enough out of you, Toddy,’ said the raven. ‘I’d be watching my mouth, if I were you. Too much attitude and you’ll be getting no help from me.’
‘I am sorry, oh great one,’ said Todd. ‘Do go on
and tell me your plan.’
‘Well,’ said the raven, ‘as I was saying: while Father Cadman and Mackenzie are talking I’ll get her to lead him here, to the mausoleum, at the same time Brittle is offloading his loot. And they’ll catch him, and the church will once again be mine.’
‘Oh,’ said Todd. ‘That’s the plan? Bit simple, isn’t it? Leaves a lot to chance.’
‘There are other parts to it,’ huffed the raven. ‘Intricacies. Refinements. That’s just the general gist.’
‘Okay,’ said Todd. ‘If you think it will work.’
‘I know it will,’ said the raven. ‘After all, apparently I’m God in disguise. Isn’t the world supposed to answer to me?’
‘What makes you think Mackenzie will help?’
‘Because I’m a talking raven. Novelty factor.’
‘You’re not that good, Ravo,’ said Todd, with more than a trace of cheek. ‘You’ll have a harder time than you think getting her to do what you want. It never worked for me. She’s too stubborn.’
‘I’d prefer to call it insolent and spoiled.’
‘You know nothing about how it was,’ said Todd. ‘You don’t know how it used to be. Shut your old clackity beak.’
‘Less of the old, if you don’t mind.’
The tension between them was broken. Todd grinned and propped himself up on an elbow. ‘She’d help you if she knows that I wanted her to.’
‘I know where this is leading,’ said the raven ‘And I won’t do it. I can’t possibly reveal two secrets in one day – yes, I can talk, and guess who I’ve been talking to? Your dead brother! It’s just never enough for you humans.’
‘Aww, come on,’ said the boy. ‘She won’t tell no one. Your secret will be safe. The church will be safe. And so will your reputation.’
‘What if she doesn’t believe me? What if she then starts questioning me about all her dead grandmothers and great-uncles and what they’ve got to say for themselves?’
‘Nothing worth hearing,’ said Todd, with a tiny grin. ‘Bad birthday presents, too.’
‘I’m not good with people,’ the raven said. ‘I’m not good with anyone much. Only the hymns. I never have any trouble with those.’
What the Raven Saw Page 10
