The Clockwork Crow

by Catherine Fisher

  She stopped, clutching tight, her breathing huge in the well. ‘It’s getting smaller. The walls are closing in.’

  The Crow said, ‘Stay there.’ It flew down past her and was gone, deep into the dark. Seren waited, but it didn’t come back. She couldn’t stay here, hanging on, so she carried on down, and after a while the Crow swooped up. ‘Not much further,’ it whispered. ‘And then you’ll get a big surprise.’

  Seren nodded. She was so cold she couldn’t speak.

  But at that moment her foot touched something soft. She had reached the floor.

  To her astonishment it was carpeted with green grass, so rich and thick her feet sank into it. Small white flowers grew everywhere, their sweet smell overpowering.

  Seren stared around. She was standing in a meadow that stretched as far as she could see. The sky was blue but there was no sun or moon, just a pale light that cast no shadows and never seemed to change.

  Seren blew hair from her eyes and untied her skirt. ‘Maybe I should have taken one of the other tunnels. Where now?’

  The Crow landed and looked closely at the flowers. ‘This is so strange. No insects. No butterflies. The petals of these flowers look like crystal.’

  ‘That’s not much help.’ She set off, walking.

  The Crow hopped behind. ‘And I can smell something.’

  ‘I can’t. What is it?’

  The Crow stopped, considering. Then it said, ‘Danger.’

  The walk through the meadow might have taken hours or days, but there was no time here. Seren didn’t even get tired. After a while she realised the meadow was gone and she was walking through a wood. When had that happened? It was like being in a dream, but the wood was scary. The trees were all black, and their trunks contorted and tangled, and the further she went the more tangled they got, and it was like they were laughing at her.

  At first she thought nothing else lived down here. Then she saw a fox.

  It sat under a tree and looked at her, its yellow eyes sly and alert. Quickly it slid away into the trees.

  ‘Oh dear. I think They’ve spotted us,’ the Crow muttered, nervously.

  A little later there was an owl, high in the branches. Seren stopped and the owl stared down. It didn’t fly away.

  ‘I only want to find Tomos,’ she said to it quietly. ‘And to take him home. That’s all.’

  The owl blinked.

  Seren gasped, because it had become just an owl-shaped hole in the tree.

  ‘No use talking to Them.’ The Crow was looking over her shoulder. ‘They don’t take any notice. Anyway, look there!’

  Seren turned, and at once a great cry broke from her.

  Beyond the wood, high on a hill of snow, there rose a palace. It was like all the palaces she had read about in the fairy tales, diamond-white and shining. It had thin towers and turrets, high walls, gleaming roofs of silver. Every pinnacle was decorated with a flag and each flag showed a different bird – owls, eagles, ravens.

  ‘But no crows,’ the Crow said in disgust. ‘Snobs.’

  Annoyed, it flew straight towards the palace and then, suddenly, with a great smack, it bounced back and fell into the dark grass.

  Seren raced towards it. ‘Are you all right?’

  The Crow was dazed. It lay on its back. For a moment it stared, its eyes blank, then it blinked twice and sat up. Its beak was even more dented than before and it looked furious.

  ‘I should have known!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can’t you feel it? Just reach out! Feel it! I could have broken my neck!’

  Seren did, putting her hand out cautiously into thin air. She touched something hard and smooth and invisible, and as she felt along it she found that it rose up and out as far as she could reach in any direction: a great wall of invisible glass. She stretched up, on tiptoe. But there was no end to the glass.

  ‘The palace is covered with a great dome,’ the Crow snapped. ‘And there’s no way through.’

  Inside the glass it was snowing. Stars sparkled in the sky. One window, high in the palace, had a light inside it. Maybe Tomos was up there, a prisoner. But how could they reach him?

  Seren put her palms flat against the glass and her nose against it and stared in.

  ‘It’s an enormous snow globe!’ she whispered.

  Walls of ice, stars of silver.

  Winter ways you’ll walk forever.

  ‘It’s impossible.’ Finally Seren had to stop for breath. She stared ahead in despair. ‘There’s just no way through!’

  She had tramped along the outside edge of the invisible globe for what had seemed hours, the Crow fluttering above her, but the strange thing was that nothing changed or moved. Inside the glass the palace still stood tall and glittering and the snow still fell soft and silent, while out here stars were scattered like diamond dust in a black velvet sky.

  She didn’t feel tired, but she was starting to get seriously annoyed.

  ‘Typical of Them.’ The dent in the Crow’s beak made it sound even tetchier. Seren had tried to straighten it but the Crow had pecked her fingers away and snapped. ‘Leave it! I’ll survive!’

  Now it swooped down onto the grass in front of her.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said.

  ‘I mean They’re laughing at us. We’re wasting our time.’

  ‘I thought Time was different here?’

  ‘You know what I mean!’ The Crow shook its head. ‘If there’s really a way through, we won’t find it walking round in circles.’

  ‘There must be a way. A door…’

  ‘There won’t be a door unless we make it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’

  ‘Even a prince doesn’t always get things right.’

  ‘But you always think you know everything,’ she snapped.

  ‘I do. I certainly know more than a silly little girl.’

  Seren simmered. Still she kept her temper and even managed a tight smile. She had to flatter the wretched thing.

  ‘If anyone can get inside this glass dome it would be you,’ she said. ‘I mean, an enchanted prince that knows magic. If you put your mind to it, I bet nothing could stop you…’

  The Crow looked surprised. It preened and smirked a foolish grin. ‘I’m glad you’re starting to appreciate my talents. But it will cost me another feather and I don’t know…’

  Seren made herself look small and humble. ‘You’re so generous.’

  ‘Um… I suppose I am.’

  ‘And really clever. How will you do it?’

  ‘Ah, well…’ The Crow stared at the glass wall and the snowy world inside it. ‘Let me think.’ It hopped on one leg, then on the other, made a few rapid kek keks and said suddenly, ‘There is one thing that might work, though it’s tricky. I’ll need a single drop of blood and a tear.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll have to supply those. Surely you can do that?’

  ‘But what if it doesn’t work?’

  The Crow shrugged. ‘What have you lost? A drop of blood.’

  Seren scowled. ‘You’re not the one who gets hurt.’ But she unpinned a small brooch from her coat, took a glove off, and taking a deep breath, jabbed the point into her thumb and squeezed. A tiny drop of blood welled up. It hurt so much the pain brought a tear to her eye.

  ‘That’s good,’ the Crow said hastily. ‘Now. Drop it here, on the glass.’

  Seren came close to the invisible wall and shook her hand. The small red drop fell on the glass and ran down.

  ‘Now the tear.’ The Crow pointed with its wing. ‘Just there please.’

  Seren put a finger under her eye and caught the tear. She carried it carefully and let it drip onto the glass.

  Her thumb throbbed; she shoved her hand deep in her pocket.

  Then she stared. The blood became a red line on the glass. It was etched like acid, and as she watched it did the impossible and ran upwards and then across and down, forming the narrowest of doorways.

 
The tear, where it hung, became a small glittering keyhole.

  The Crow watched her astonishment. ‘Impressed?’

  ‘Yes! But…’

  ‘A door of Blood and Tears.’ It stuck its chest out, looking smug. ‘Pretty impressive, if I say so myself. It’s a spell from an old grimoire I read once, though I have to say I’ve never actually tried it before. There are other interesting things in that book too. For instance, if you want to change a snake into a river you just…’

  ‘What about a key?’ Seren said quickly. She didn’t want it to get too puffed up; it was conceited enough already.

  ‘Oh. That’s my contribution.’ Reluctantly, the Crow shook the smallest feather from its tail, then uttered a sharp Karak of command. The feather crackled as if a black frost enveloped it, then she saw it had become a black key, lying there on the ground.

  Seren snatched it up – it was icy cold – and slid it into the teardrop lock.

  It fitted exactly, and with a great effort she turned it. The key made a strange snapping, clunking noise.

  The door of blood opened. The glass shuddered and cracked apart, slivers of ice falling from it. A bitterly cold wind gusted out, lifting her hair, ruffling the Crow’s plumage. With the wind on her face, Seren ducked through the narrow opening into the glass globe.

  And sank into snow!

  It was knee-deep, and so wet and cold she had to tug her skirt up. ‘What now?’

  ‘Walk. To the palace.’

  That was easy for a bird to say. Each step was an effort. The Crow fluttered overhead, the only dark spot in a white world of snowfall. Below, Seren struggled, lifting her feet high and staggering in the soft drifts. The snow was treacherous; it crunched under her weight and its crusted surface glittered with millions of faceted flakes. Each step could send her plunging into invisible chasms or secret lakes; she had no idea what lay beneath. The snow stung her cheeks and clogged her eyelashes. She had to blink it away but it kept on coming, and twice she fell, her wide-splayed hands making deep prints in the drift.

  She was so tired! Looking up she saw she was barely halfway across the snowfield. The palace rose high above her, the single lit window in its highest tower. All she wanted was to stop, to sink down and go to sleep and let the falling snow softly cover her.

  At last she sat down, then curled up.

  ‘What are you doing?’ The Crow fluttered overhead in alarm.

  ‘Nothing. Just taking a rest.’

  ‘Get up, you silly girl. Now!’

  ‘Leave me alone.’ She was so sleepy and comfortable in the strange warmth of the snowdrift. It was like a bed, soft and white, and she thought there were invisible hands tucking her in, and soothing voices whispering a lullaby in the wind.

  She closed her eyes.

  But just as sleep came over her she felt something sharp-cornered in the lining of her coat. It nudged urgently against her and, sleepily, she knew it was Tomos’s diary. As she thought his name a new strength came back – a sudden wakefulness and warning – and she snapped her eyes open and said, ‘NO! No, I won’t sleep!’

  She scrambled up, furious with herself.

  The Crow looked relieved. But it sniffed and said, ‘They nearly had you then.’

  ‘No, They didn’t,’ Seren snapped. But it was a lie, and she knew it.

  Strangely though, something had changed. The palace seemed nearer, because with only a few more paces she came to some steps, and pulled herself up them. They led to a great wooden door, all caked in snow, with one large round iron handle on which the Crow was perched, hunched up with snow on its head. ‘Hurry up,’ it said, annoyed, ‘before I freeze here.’

  Seren turned the handle.

  The door grated open, and they slid in.

  It was so good to be out of the storm. She shook snow from her coat and hair onto the smooth white floor. Then she looked up.

  At once she took a great breath of excitement. A vast hall faced her. Its million pillars were delicate spindles of frost. High above, the roof was fretted with white lacework. The windows were tall lancets, the snow falling outside them. The floor tiles were solid slabs of ice.

  A faint mist hung in the air.

  Seren felt very small. The gusting of the wind was left behind and it was very quiet. As she set out carefully across the great floor her footsteps tapped in the silence.

  ‘It’s a palace of ice.’ Her breath made more mist in the air.

  ‘Frozen solid,’ the Crow muttered. ‘Not my sort of comfort.’

  There were tables like slanted bergs and chairs of spun icicles. As she tiptoed between them they reminded Seren of something, and then she realised that it was the muffled furniture of Plas-y-Fran, covered in its white dustsheets. And here too there were pictures on the walls, but these were silvery faces in narrow frames, too beautiful and strange to be human, and their eyes watched her pass beneath with cold curiosity.

  The Crow said, ‘The lit window we saw was up in the tower. So we’ll have to climb. There are stairs over there.’ It swooped in a circle but then came back and perched on her shoulder, gripping with its clumsy claws. ‘Listen to me now, girl. This is important. They’llbe here soon. They’ll try to stop us getting to Tomos. If that happens you go straight on and you don’t look back. You don’t stop; you don’t turn round for any reason. Any reason! Understand?’

  She nodded. She had never heard it sound so concerned.

  ‘What about you?’

  The Crow shrugged, scornful. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m the prince. Right. Let’s hurry.’

  They began to climb the stairs. The steps were wide and splendid, but at every turn Seren had to step over a litter of objects. There was a rocking horse, frozen on its side and, a few steps above, a fort with the soldiers all spilled out and drawn up in rows, their tiny rifles pointing at her.

  ‘They’re his toys!’ she gasped.

  ‘Mmm?’ The Crow blinked its jewel eyes, glancing back.

  ‘Tomos’s toys! How did they get here?’

  ‘How did we get here? Don’t ask stupid questions, girl. Just keep climbing!’

  She was breathless, half-running past a scatter of clothes, a shoe, an open book – when she bent and tried to pick it up it was hard as a stone and immovable in the ice.

  A trail of jigsaw pieces led up the stairs as if they had fallen from someone’s pocket. And the stairs were getting narrower too, she thought, they were becoming like the ones at Plas-y-Fran, white and spiralling to the attic.

  Then she saw the dolls’ house.

  It waited for her on the next landing. She had a stitch in her side and bent over to take a gasping breath and saw the windows of it were all lit and smoke was coming from its chimneys, and a tiny coach and horses stood outside it.

  ‘Don’t stop!’ The Crow swooped past.

  But she couldn’t help it.

  She knelt down, and turned her head sideways, and looked in.

  ‘It’s real!’ she murmured. ‘It’s Plas-y-Fran!’ And it was, because her huge eye at the window was staring into the blue sitting room, and the fires were lit, and Mrs Villiers was there crying into her handkerchief at the table, and a lady was comforting her, a young lady in furs and a hat. Seren gasped, because surely that was Lady Mair – just as in her portrait, but her face white now with anxiety! And this must be Captain Jones, hurrying in with Denzil, with policemen behind him, and servants, and even Sam the cat sitting on the mat. They were all talking, but she couldn’t hear a word.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Seren hissed. ‘How could they have got home? We’ve only been gone a few hours.’

  ‘Who knows how long we’ve been gone,’ the Crow snapped, circling wildly. ‘Time’s not the same here. Days might have passed back there. Now hurry!’ It turned its head anxiously. ‘I can hear Them.’

  Seren listened.

  Through the silence of the ice palace came a crisping whisper. A murmur of voices. As if a great crowd of invisible people was coming together from somew
here far away, talking angrily, and now she could hear footsteps, too, and hissing questions, and strange scratching, crawling, scurrying sounds.

  ‘Run!’ the Crow karked.

  They raced up the stairs. The steps were steeper, more slippery. Behind them the sounds grew closer, but Seren willed herself not to look back, remembering the Crow’s warning. Even so, out of the corners of her eyes she saw their reaching fingers, white as bone, their silver eyes. She gasped, her lungs aching, grabbing the steps and scrambling up.

  But where was the Crow?

  ‘Where are you?’ she screamed, not looking back.

  ‘Go on!’ Its voice was strangely croaky. ‘Never mind me. Get … to … Tomos.’

  It seemed far behind. And then with a shock of horror she knew that the clockwork was running down!

  She stopped.

  Instantly hands grabbed her hair and skirts. She shrugged them off, yelling, ‘I’m coming back!’

  ‘No!’ The Crow’s croak was harsh. ‘Get … Tomos…’

  A whirr of clockwork.

  A long slow slur of sound. ‘Ser … rr … rr … en…’

  Then silence.

  ‘Crow?’ she whispered.

  There was no answer. Seren stood still. The Crow had said her name. For the first time ever. And he was in trouble. She wanted so much to go back. But she felt Them all around her, their hands on her spine, their fingers in her hair, their soft whispers in her ears. If she turned she would see Them, and they would take her hands and they would lead her away, because already their magic was in her heart and she longed to go with them.