by Jacob Grey
Caw made his way down the overgrown garden path. It must have been beautiful once – there were still flowers of every description growing among the weeds and the remains of a delicate wooden archway. Caw tried to remember playing here with his mum and dad, but his memory refused to give anything up. A rose bush had grown away from the trellis in a wild sprawl, and he had to pick his way past the thorny overhang.
At the back of the garden grew a tall chestnut tree, covered in knots and whorls. On sunny days, its huge canopy cast the garden in an emerald glow, but now its leaves were slick and dark with raindrops. Caw wedged his foot on a scar in the bark, pushed upwards and leapt for a low-hanging branch. Water droplets scattered from the drooping leaves as he swung up to sit astride it. As Caw scrambled swiftly up the tree, the tension across his temples vanished. Soon he couldn’t hear anything but the leaves rustling as the dense foliage lent everything a peaceful hush.
The nest at the top of the chestnut tree was almost invisible from the ground, and Caw liked it that way. With the help of a legion of crows, he’d moved his tree house, piece by piece, from Blackstone Park. He knew that he had a cosy bed in the main house, but it brought him comfort to have his former home close at hand. He’d even slept out here once or twice, and he had a feeling he’d want to tonight.
As he climbed in, Screech looked up, rice scattering from his beak.
You want some? he said.
“I’m OK, thanks,” Caw said.
Phew, said Screech, head disappearing into the carton again.
Glum opened one eye, peering out in the direction of the house. Bit noisy in there, isn’t it? he said.
“I’m sure it won’t be forever,” said Caw doubtfully. He lay down across the nest, hands behind his head, and stared up at the gently swaying leaves. The only sound was the steady drip-drip of rainwater. It made him think of a book he’d been reading – with a bit of help from Crumb. There was a story in it about an angry god who made it rain until everyone in the world was drowned. Well, almost everyone. One man and his family survived in a great big ship called an ark. Somehow he invited two of every animal on board.
Sounds a bit unlikely, Glum had said when Caw told him about it.
“Maybe he was a feral,” Caw had suggested.
The nest was the perfect place for Caw to empty his thoughts. Sometimes, it wasn’t hard to fool himself that he was back in the park – just Caw and his crows, before his world changed completely. Back then he hadn’t known that there were other ferals in Blackstone. He hadn’t even known there were ferals at all. Life was hard, of course, but it was simple too. Forage, stay out of sight and sleep. No Spinning Man, no Mother of Flies, no fighting against ferals who wanted to kill him. But no friends either – other than his crows, Screech and Glum. And his oldest companion, Milky, who was gone forever to the Land of the Dead. No Lydia. No Mrs Strickham or Crumb or Pip.
No Selina.
Guilty feelings surged through Caw’s brain. Poor Selina. What was going on in her head? Was she dreaming or just drifting on a sea of emptiness?
Caw sat up, rocking the nest slightly. “We need to check on Selina,” he said.
Again? asked Screech.
“There might be a change,” said Caw firmly.
It’s Glum’s turn, said Screech.
I’ll go, said Shimmer.
“Caw, are you up there?” called a familiar voice from below.
For a moment, Caw thought about not answering. He was fairly sure Mrs Strickham couldn’t see him, and she wouldn’t be able to climb up. Nor would her foxes. One of her creatures must have seen him come up – Velma had spies everywhere.
“Caw?” she said again.
“Ladder’s coming down,” he called out. “Stand back.”
He’d found the old rope ladder already attached to the tree, and with a bit of fixing up it was perfect for guests. He unfastened it from the nearby branch and let it unroll.
The ladder tightened and swayed as it took Mrs Strickham’s weight, and a few seconds later her head broke through the foliage. She climbed a little unsteadily, and it was odd to see her so unsure of herself – the fox feral was normally completely in control. Caw offered a hand to help her in. For a brief instant, he remembered the first time he’d met Lydia and smiled. She’d invited herself in too.
Scrambling over the edge, Lydia’s mother regained her composure as she crouched in the tree house. She’d never been up here before.
“Well, this is … um … cosy,” she said.
It’s not built for two, Glum snapped.
Mrs Strickham looked at the old crow askance. “I might not speak crow, but I’m guessing that was a grumble.”
Glum haughtily turned his beak away.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not staying long.”
As she glanced around the nest, Caw wondered what it was she wanted.
“So, you know Johnny?” he said.
Mrs Strickham smiled and nodded. “Very well,” she said. “He saved my life, on more than one occasion. I never thought he would come back.” She shook her head in wonder. “Anyway, Caw, that’s not what I came to speak with you about. I wanted to thank you for letting the other ferals use your home. A place where we can gather offers us security – a lot of those ferals inside are scared of becoming the next target.”
“It’s fine,” said Caw, sort of meaning it. “But is this really the best place? There isn’t even any electricity. Wouldn’t they be better somewhere … else?”
He knew it sounded like an excuse, but Velma didn’t look annoyed. Instead, a wave of sadness passed over her face.
“I wish they could stay at mine,” she said, “but things at home are … they’re a little difficult. Lydia’s father … let’s just say he’s trying to get his head round some changes.”
Caw tried to look sympathetic – things must be worse than he had imagined at the Strickhams’.
“Don’t worry, though,” said Mrs Strickham with forced brightness. “He and his prison guards are working with the police to track down the escaped convicts. We can win this battle if we all pull together.”
“I know,” said Caw.
“And that’s why,” continued Mrs Strickham, “I wanted to speak with you about the Midnight Stone.”
Caw resisted the urge to look up towards the whorl in the tree trunk a few feet above Mrs Strickham’s head. Hidden inside that whorl, wrapped in a cloth pouch, was the Midnight Stone. Caw had threaded it on to a piece of cord so he could wear it round his neck, but the tree seemed the safest place to keep it out of sight.
So that’s what she’s after, said Glum.
“What about it?” asked Caw.
“It’s a great burden on your shoulders, Caw,” said Mrs Strickham. “If ever you want help, someone else to hold on to it, then—”
“No,” said Caw quickly.
The Midnight Stone had been guarded by his ancestors for hundreds of years – since the days of the greatest crow talker that ever lived, Black Corvus. Caw’s famous ancestor had persuaded other ferals of his time to lend a portion of their powers to the Midnight Stone. This was in order to conserve their lines, in case they were killed without a feral heir. The Midnight Stone could absorb the abilities of any feral who touched its surface and bestow those powers on a normal human.
Caw’s mother had kept the Midnight Stone safe from the Spinning Man, and had been murdered protecting it. The Mother of Flies had used it to create a fearsome army, and Caw had almost died getting it back. The Midnight Stone belongs to the crow line.
“All I’m saying—” began Mrs Strickham.
“I can look after it,” said Caw firmly.
You tell her, said Shimmer.
Mrs Strickham smiled. “I know you can, Caw,” she said, touching his knee. Then she took a deep breath. “I should get back to the others.”
She reached out for the rope ladder and placed a foot on a rung. But once she had climbed down a couple of steps, she stopped.
<
br /> “One more thing, Caw,” she said.
“Yes?” said Caw.
“Can you talk to Lydia for me? She’s having a tough time. With things at home.”
Caw swallowed. He wanted to help his friend, but he wasn’t sure how. He knew nothing about families or family problems. He hadn’t even known his own parents.
“Just hearing from you would help,” said Mrs Strickham.
“Sure,” said Caw.
“Thank you.”
As the lush leaves swallowed Mrs Strickham, Screech flapped on to Caw’s arm.
What does she want with the Stone? Glum said.
“You heard,” Caw replied. “She wants to look after it.”
Or maybe she wants to use it, said the crow. If there’s going to be another war, she could use the Stone to create her own feral army.
Caw hadn’t thought of that. “No one is going to use the Stone,” he said. “It’s too risky.”
You say that now—
“Glum, can you go and check on Selina, please?” Caw interrupted. He’d had enough of the crow’s chattering.
Me? said the crow. Why me?
It’s your turn, old-timer, said Screech.
I don’t mind going, said Shimmer.
“No. Glum goes,” said Caw. “Please.”
All right, said Glum. But I’m telling you, there won’t be any change.
He spread his wings and dropped out of the nest, gliding gracefully between the leaves.
The other crows were silent, but Caw couldn’t shake the niggling doubts from his mind. Could Glum be right about Mrs Strickham? And if she wanted to use the Midnight Stone, why wouldn’t she come straight out and say it?
Caw’s neck prickled with an uncomfortable sensation of being watched. He scrambled up a branch until he could push the leaves aside and peer at the house. His house, even if it had been commandeered.
There was a flock of parakeets on the guttering under the roof’s edge. The upstairs windows were empty.
Then a flash of orange caught his eye, disappearing behind the chimney stack. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been a fox.
Caw waited a few seconds, then he let the leaves move back to their natural resting place and climbed down to the nest below.
aw tugged his companion through the streets, feet splashing in puddles. The hand in his was sweaty. Selina’s black hair was plastered to her head and her skin was pale. Her wide eyes reflected silver specks of moonlight.
“Come on!” he said, gripping her hand tighter. “We have to run!”
His breath was like fire in his lungs as they skidded round a corner. He didn’t dare look back. He could feel them following – a menacing presence that grew all the time.
They ran beside a looming apartment block then plunged through a side door into a deserted stairwell. Caw’s legs burned as they dived up the steps, tripping and sliding. How far was it to the top? Caw glanced down as they flung themselves from one flight to the next and saw a black tide swamping the floors below. It rose fast – faster than they could climb. Selina was pulling on his hand like a dead weight, panting.
“Leave me,” she said. “I can’t go on.”
“No!” said Caw. “Don’t give up now!”
He tugged her after him.
They reached the door to the roof quicker than seemed possible, and ran out into the open space. It was the roof of Cynthia Davenport’s apartment. There was nowhere else to run.
“They’re here!” said Selina, terror lacing her voice.
Caw glanced back and saw an army of spiders pouring through. The eight-legged creatures clambered over each other in a greedy rush, scurrying across the rooftop. Caw felt Selina’s hand slip from his as he backed away. She stood perfectly still as the monstrous tide of spiders approached.
“Hurry!” said Caw.
She turned slowly to face him, her mouth open in shock as she clutched her stomach. Her hands parted and he saw a red mark spreading across Selina’s shirt. He hadn’t heard the gunshot, but it was all happening again, just like before. The Mother of Flies had shot her own daughter. And there was nothing he could do but watch.
The spiders smashed into Selina, rising up her legs and turning them black. She didn’t scream, but her knees gave way and she fell into the arachnids’ fatal embrace. Yet more spiders swamped her body. Caw’s feet were rooted to the spot as Selina was carried like a coffin on a thousand brittle spider legs across the roof.
All too late, he ran after her, arms stretched out desperately. The spiders had reached the roof’s edge. Caw sprinted, but each step became harder, as if the air was thickening into a swamp.
Caw? said a voice from somewhere.
Caw screamed as Selina’s body slid over the precipice …
Caw, wake up.
Caw sat bolt upright, making the nest creak. The leaves looked ash-coloured in the dark, and he could only just make out the silhouette of a crow perched on the edge of the nest. Glum.
“Selina …” mumbled Caw.
Yes, said Glum. Something’s happened at the hospital.
Caw tried to calm his breathing. “I dreamt of her.”
You need to come and look, said Glum.
Is she better? said Screech, hopping up to a higher branch.
I don’t know, said Glum. Something’s happened in her room – the window’s boarded.
Caw leapt up. Was Selina in danger?
He quickly fastened the Crow’s Beak under his coat, then swung out of the nest and dropped from branch to branch, leaping down to the grass. It was a clear, cold night.
Caw glanced back to the house, shrouded in darkness. Should he wake them? No. No need.
He ran towards the back fence, ignoring the slashing rose thorns, summoning all the crows he could find. Black shapes flickered against the moonlit sky. Caw held out his arms, waiting for the moment when their talons would fall on him and their wings would make him weightless.
They flew at high altitude, the glow of street lamps and headlights illuminating the city far below. Caw and his birds crossed the river and then passed the ram-shackle ruin of the church where Caw had once lived with Crumb and Pip. In the distance, Caw could make out the solid outline of their destination.
Blackstone Hospital was a towering structure of purpose-built concrete blocks, sprawling around a maze of access roads. The visitor car park was practically empty, and a lone ambulance with spinning lights was parked next to an open set of double doors. Caw and his crows circled over the main entrance. A mad part of him thought about transforming into a crow and flying along the corridors …
Follow me to the back, said Glum, turning his wings and descending in a shallow dive.
The crows swooped low over trees and then banked up round the far side of the building. Glum landed on a windowsill four storeys up. Caw saw that one of the windowpanes had gone, and a wooden board had been nailed up in its place.
“Are you sure this is her room?” he asked.
It’s hers, said Shimmer. I’ve been here enough times …
The slatted blinds on the other side of the glass were closed.
“We have to get inside,” Caw said.
As they flew away from the window, something caught his eye – a sparkle below. At Caw’s command, the crows deposited him softly on the grass. Hundreds of tiny glass shards were scattered on the ground. Directly beneath the boarded-up window. Caw ran towards the main entrance.
What are you doing? asked Screech, gliding above. They won’t let you in at this time of night.
“Wait by the doors for my signal,” Caw told her. “I might need a distraction.”
The three birds landed on a bench beside the front doors as Caw marched into the well-lit foyer. A man with a bandage over his hand was falling asleep on a chair, and beside him an elderly woman sat knitting.
The man at the front desk looked up. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a patient,” said Caw. “I think she may have been
moved.”
“What’s her name?” asked the receptionist.
“Selina Davenport,” Caw replied. “She’s my sister,” he added quickly.
The receptionist held Caw’s gaze then picked up a phone. “Hi, Marie – I’ve got a kid in reception. Says he’s related to the girl …” He paused. “Yes, the Davenport girl.” He smiled unconvincingly at Caw as the person on the other end of the line spoke. “Sure. Of course.” He put down the phone. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment, someone will be with you.” The smile looked faker by the second, and the back of Caw’s neck itched.
“Is she all right?” he asked.
The receptionist gave him a sympathetic look. “Please, just wait here.”
Something was wrong. Caw leant as casually as he could on the counter, and turned his head towards the closed doors.
“Now!” he mouthed, and summoned his crows with his mind.
They took off as one and the doors swished open.
The man with the bandaged hand jerked upright with a startled cry as the birds flew through the foyer.
The receptionist leapt up from his seat as the birds descended on his desk, squawking wildly. “What the—! Get out of here!”
Shimmer landed on the edge of a mug and tipped coffee across a keyboard. The receptionist picked up a folder and began flailing it at the birds.
Caw walked quickly down the corridor to the stairwell. He knew the way from his previous visit. The crows would find their own way out. A few orderlies passed him on the steps, but no one seemed bothered by his presence.
Caw exited on the fourth level, found Selina’s room and tried the handle. Unlocked. He stepped into the dark interior, his fingers fumbling for the switch.
As the light flickered on, his heart fell. The room was the same – a bed and several pieces of monitoring equipment – but it was empty, the sheets neatly folded.
What if she hasn’t made it? What if …
But that didn’t explain the broken window. Caw crossed the room quickly.
A few jagged shards of glass remained in the frame. He glanced around the room. Something was missing from beside the door – there was an empty stand where the fire extinguisher had been. Maybe it was used to smash the window.
