It made him quite ill, the way everything had turned around so neatly. As though everything that had happened since the day he’d watched Todd Trebuchet being lowered into the ground meant nothing, as long as everyone got their happy ending.
Barnabas Brittle was caught and everything he’d stolen returned to its rightful place. The church committee had even decided to put the surplus money towards the restoration of the belltower and the long-forgotten bell. So the raven would have his real home back soon enough, if he wanted it, and not some stinky old mausoleum.
Father Cadman had apologised profusely for doubting the raven’s word, but said that he liked to believe in the best of people at all times. Barnabas Brittle must be forgiven, he’d said, because everyone does what they think they must to survive, and Brittle would most likely punish himself more than others could punish him.
What a load of claptrap. Barnabas Brittle had been the cause of the raven’s breakdown, and he could never forgive him for the grey feathers he’d caused.
The weatherhen was back to her flirty best, spinning round and round on top of the church with her sparkly shoelaces, dazzling anyone who caught her in a moment of sun.
The pigeon, cashing in on his hero status after recent events, had found himself a lady-bird admirer, and never missed a chance to fly past the raven’s mausoleum talking to her in a very loud voice. She was from out-of-town, a seagull, and she seemed to have encouraged the pigeon to talk and act like a pirate. The raven drew the line, however, at lending out his eyepatch.
Mackenzie no longer seemed such a fan of that horrid scrunched-face look she’d liked so much, and had taken up a job restoring the church’s garden. Lucie Jordan was helping her out. Under the raven’s watchful eye, of course. He’d seen what little girls could do to his agapanthus beds the first time round. Thankfully, this time they seemed content with digging up worms, which the raven had no problem with taking off their hands. They also amused themselves with making up rhymes about him. One of their favourites included:
Ravo, Ravo,
He’s so crazo,
But when he flies
He is so amazo
And the raven strutted along behind them and told them to get on with it but secretly wondered if he could somehow work that into a hymn.
Todd was fading a little bit more every day. His unfinished business was resolved; he had reached his use-by-date as a ghost. Soon he would be completely gone. The raven thought he might avoid telling Mackenzie that, if it meant she hung around just a little bit longer.
Jeremiah Hickelsby had made a real art out of frightening old ladies as they took what they thought was a leisurely stroll after mass. He had not complained of a headache in days. But soon he too would start to tire of it and begin to fade away. And then – just like the scarecrow and the man up the tree and everyone else – he would be gone, and the raven would remain behind alone, left, as always, to take care of everyone else’s mess.
That was what he got for dealing out happiness to others, granting wishes and putting everyone else before himself. He was no better off than he had been before. The same heaviness was in his heart, and the only thing that ever seemed to fix it was his hymns and the gospel songs.
The raven shuffled in closer to the weatherhen and made a point of not looking at her.
‘Heeee-roorrrh?’ she asked, turning her dazzling eyes onto him.
‘It’s nothing,’ said the raven.
‘Heeee-roorrrh?’ she said again.
‘Really, I’m fine.’
This time the weatherhen didn’t say a word but her body turned an inch more in his direction.
‘Well, it’s just . . . It’s nothing really – I just, well – can I tell you a story? Do you mind very much?’
The weatherhen gurgled and cooed, and the raven lifted his wings to let a bit of air in under his body. She sure didn’t make it easy for him. But that was all part of her appeal.
The raven fixed his own gaze out beyond his churchyard. ‘It happened when I was young,’ he said. ‘I fell out of my nest.’
The weatherhen squeaked, and the wind seemed to drop away from where they sat.
‘Actually, I didn’t fall. I’m not that clumsy. I was pushed. Maybe half-pushed, half-fell. Does this interest you at all? I don’t have to go on.’
But the weatherhen’s eyes said she wanted him to go on very much.
‘Okay. It was dinnertime. My mother had brought in some very ripe kangaroo meat. Dead not five minutes. I was the smallest of the chicks, the last to hatch. Like the ugly duckling, except I was never ugly. What a preposterous idea. The quality of my features has never been in question. It was always more that I was small and unnoticeable. Hard to believe, I know. Anyway, in all that excitement over the meat there was a lot of jostling going on, and it just so happened that I got nudged to the very edge of the nest. And then I fell out.’
The weatherhen swung as close to him as she dared. The raven didn’t move away.
‘I didn’t hurt myself too badly,’ he continued. ‘It was more of a shock. But I got myself together and I settled down for my mother to realise and come and find me. Surely she would notice soon enough that one of her chicks was gone. So I kept waiting and waiting, right up until it got dark. I got so hungry and cold but I kept waiting. And then, sometime in the middle of the night, I realised something very important: she wasn’t going to come. Furthermore, she probably didn’t even care. And when the sun came up, finally, I realised that it was just me now. I was on my own.’
The raven looked away towards the mountains, into the forested hills, and tried to make himself look wistful and sad. ‘But you know what else I realised? That I didn’t need anyone. I had survived the night, I had kept myself warm, I had caught myself some bugs. And all before I could even fly.’
The weatherhen nudged him, very softly, with the tip of her beak.
‘Well, I made my way down the mountain. I asked a few other birds for flying advice. They weren’t interested in helping me. They said the fewer of my kind in the skies, the better. I asked other animals about the best places to go. They hissed and spat at me and told me to go far away from here and never come back. Needless to say, I figured it all out for myself.
‘I left those mountains. Far too hostile and totally uncivilised. But when I tried my luck in the city it wasn’t much better. Vermin, dirty crow, vile, scavenger, native-killer. Humans called me all kinds of names. They threw anything and everything at me just to get me to go. Misunderstood, is what ravens are. But when I found this churchyard there was none of that. It felt like somewhere that welcomed all creatures. And I met others like me, and I learned about devotions. And then I heard the music, those wonderful hymns, and I knew this was the place. And you know, I’ve worked tirelessly to watch over it, to keep it as a place of flawless reputation, so that nothing could taint those hymns or my songs. So that nothing could get to me.’
The raven risked a look at the weatherhen, and what he saw there made him so nervous that his claws began to dance away behind her, just to escape the intensity of her eyes. She followed him, and the faster the raven walked the faster she swung to keep up with him.
‘I never got any recognition, of course,’ he stuttered. ‘Not that I really mind. I don’t want people fawning over me. Embarrassing. But I would like, just once, to not feel so reviled. To be appreciated. For everyone to see and understand just what those songs did for me.’ He tripped over his own claws and went crashing to the roof. Sighing, he picked himself up and faced the weatherhen. ‘I apologise for unloading on you like that. It was unnecessary. I won’t do it again.’
But the weatherhen looked as though she didn’t mind at all.
The raven laughed, a little too high-pitched to be natural. ‘Yes. Well, you know it wouldn’t hurt if you talked a bit more. Saves my beak from flying away with me. Without me. Er . . . whatever it is. Haha.’
‘You’re right, Ravo,’ said a voice behind him. ‘You should get a medal
for that speech. Bet you’ve never said so much in all your life.’
The raven turned to find Todd, who was sitting up on the roof as well, leaning back, relaxed, on one elbow.
The raven cast an eye over the weatherhen. ‘You knew he was there, didn’t you?’
She tittered.
‘Kraaa!’ said the raven. ‘Rude, the pair of you. To let a fellow reveal his innermost soul like it’s a joke.’
‘Well,’ said Todd, ‘had to find out your secret somehow. At least now I know why you’re such a grumpy old thing.’
‘Don’t go spreading it around,’ said the raven.
‘I won’t,’ said the boy. ‘I know how much you value your reputation.’ He looked over at the weatherhen. ‘That your lady friend, then?’
‘Mind your own business,’ said the raven, and the weatherhen gave a tiny squeak.
Todd stared at her for a moment, and a confused expression briefly took over his face. He looked at the raven and then back at the weatherhen. Then he shrugged. ‘Good choice, Ravo,’ he said. ‘You make a good pair.’
The raven sniffed and looked away. But not before he tipped a jaunty wink in her direction.
‘You know,’ said Todd. ‘I think I can help you. With that last bit – about people and the hymns and all that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the raven, ‘I don’t quite know what you mean.’
‘Why don’t you have a chat to Kenzie,’ said Todd, with a trace of his little sister’s impish grin. ‘She and Father Cadman are great friends these days. I’m sure he’ll take notice if she puts forward a few suggestions. If you don’t want to ask yourself. You know, pride and all that.’
‘Excuse me?’ said the raven. ‘What exactly are you implying?’
‘How’s your voice these days?’ asked Todd.
‘My voice?’ said the raven, and he stood up a little taller. ‘It’s spectacular, of course.’
‘Well, it better be,’ teased the boy. ‘Because it needs to be pretty outstanding for what I’m about to suggest.’
‘Get on with it, then,’ the raven said. ‘Don’t worry yourself over my voice. I assure you it’s absolutely fine.’
The truth was, it was more than fine; it was magnificent, because he’d been practising a few serenades on the weatherhen, and if the mood took him he could go all night.
‘Good,’ said Todd.
‘Good,’ said the raven.
‘Right,’ said Todd, standing up and stretching. ‘Let’s go find Kenzie, then, shall we? I’ll explain on the way.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The raven had sweaty claws. He knew it was impossible to have sweaty claws, but he had them anyway. For the sixteenth time, he took a nervous nibble of the eucalyptus leaf next to him and did some quiet trills.
‘The show must go on!’ the pigeon was warbling to himself. ‘There’s no business like show business! All the world’s a tree, and all the birds and bees merely pigeons!’
‘A bit of shush would be nice,’ said the raven. ‘I’m trying to focus.’
‘Brother bird, never fear, you will put nightingales to shame!’
‘I’m not your brother,’ said the raven, but then he added, ‘Thank you. I appreciate your support.’
‘May the horse be with you!’ said the pigeon, and then because he remembered he was supposed to be a pirate, he added, ‘Yohoho, me heartie, arrrrgh,’ and flew away to settle in the rafters and prepare himself for the raven’s big performance.
Because the raven was going to sing in church.
It was Todd’s idea. He was out there now, sitting unseen next to Mackenzie, in the back pew she always favoured. He had gone to his sister and, through the raven, asked her to have a word in Father Cadman’s ear – how did the priest feel about singing ravens? Was there a place for them in his church? Would they be well-received?
According to Father Cadman, there was always a place for the voices of all creatures in his church. It would be a privilege and an honour. The raven suspected the priest also felt bad about making him an outcast, but he would take what he could get. The agreement was thus: in two Sundays the raven would sing ‘When I Survey the Wondrous Cross’ and Father Cadman would accompany him on the organ, just like old times.
Except it wasn’t quite like old times, because the raven had never sung in public before. And those two Sundays had come and gone and now, in just a few minutes, the raven would be opening his beak and showing the congregation there was more to him than just scavenging intestines from dead animals.
It would be in Bird-Speak, of course. The raven couldn’t risk total exposure – he was not silly enough for that. He didn’t want every bird and his egg to come seeking vengeance for the betrayal of their species. It was enough just dealing with the pigeon. So he would sing in a way befitting of birds, except he would exceed all human expectation. He would make them see that here was a bird, and a raven no less, who had taken the seeds of the songs and grown them in his heart.
He would show them who he was.
Sure, at the moment he was a trembling ball of fluttery feathers. It was fair to say he had undone the two hours’ worth of grooming he’d undertaken this morning. He’d looked so good the weatherhen had almost fallen off her perch.
She would be listening too, up on the roof. He could not persuade her to come down into the church, but he knew she would be listening closely. There would be no room for mistakes.
The raven peered around the corner, into the church. He almost passed out at the number of expectant faces. Father Cadman was saying it was now his pleasure to introduce a special friend, and the raven realised with a start that the priest meant him. Where had the time gone? He wasn’t ready! Father Cadman continued by saying that his friend had an astounding gift to the world; he stood as a shining example of how love existed in every creature, great or small, and could be found in the most wonderful of places.
Well, normally the raven would tune out when the priest started on with all that rubbish. But now he heard each word distinctly, building him up, and he only got more nervous. He needed to cough. He needed to gargle. He needed more warming-up time. But he couldn’t, because Father Cadman’s hand was held out and that meant the raven was to go to him. He took a last, desperate sniff of the eucalyptus leaf and then he was walking towards the priest and flying up to resume his usual place on top of the organ.
Father Cadman smiled. His fingers were poised over the keys, waiting for the raven’s approval to begin. The raven transferred his weight. He fluffed out his feathers. He could hear whispers, gasps and murmurs around him and he thought he might throw up his breakfast. But then, above it all, he heard the songs he had listened to a thousand times before, and he felt them shift inside him.
And he knew that he could do it.
Father Cadman saw too, and his whole face transformed into a mass of happy crinkles. His fingers came down on the keys and the softest, sweetest refrain leapt tentatively into the church. The congregation breathed silence, and the choir began laying down the notes as though they were smoothing the sky:
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died
And then the raven, quietly at first, but gaining in strength and volume, added his own voice, matching each inflection and intonation:
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride.
On the second and third verses Father Cadman joined in, and the two sang together, supported by the choir with their full, harmonious sound. And then, just before the last verse, Father Cadman poured all the power of his fingers into the organ and the whole song lifted, the choir went full-bellow, and the raven trilled until his lungs had deposited everything they could possibly hold:
Were the whole realm of nature mine
That were an offering far too small
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
The raven opened his eyes. He looke
d about. In the whole church, not one single person moved. People stood, paused, half-in and half-out of their seats, lingering in the aisles, and hundreds of pairs of eyes stared, stunned and stupefied by what they had just heard.
Something dropped inside the raven.
He had stuffed it up.
He had sounded terrible.
He had shamed himself beyond belief.
He risked a peek at Father Cadman. The priest’s fingers still rested on top of the keys, as if reluctant to relinquish whatever they had just made happen. He looked at the raven and he grinned.
And so did everybody else. And not just grin, but beam until they were all teeth and not much else.
They clapped and beamed and dabbed at their cheeks, and as they did the last of the gloom lifted from the raven’s body and he felt as if the only thing holding him to this world was how much everyone would miss him when he was gone.
He looked towards the rear of the church, to the very back pew, where Mackenzie and Todd were sitting next to each other; she wearing the scarecrow’s hat and he the last remnants of the boy he had been. And Lucie Jordan was there next to them, one foot clad in a dainty little slipper and the other in the old boot the scarecrow had left behind. The pigeon was crying unabashedly, creating a scene that the raven only forgave because it was over him. From up above came the shrill excitement of the weatherhen celebrating his success. The raven hoped the shoelace would hold.
Even Jeremiah Hickelsby and Clarinda Shuttleworth were there, lurking behind some old ladies. She was holding a small golden locket and gazing at Jeremiah adoringly. The raven had dropped a hint to him that he might find the locket among the last scattered remains of the raven’s treasure pile. The raven supposed even ghosts deserved a shot at romance. What better way to woo someone than with their most prized possession? If he’d known how important the locket was, he would never have stolen it years ago.
The raven could have almost called himself happy. But he didn’t want to get soft. It would do nothing for his reputation.
What the Raven Saw Page 15
