The Crow Talker

by Jacob Grey

“Extreme caution, they might be armed!”

  “Room clear!”

  Lydia squeezed through the gap and Caw boosted himself after her. He heard the bathroom door slam open and dragged his body out on to the gravel outside. He didn’t look back as they ran across the car park, past Miss Wallace’s car.

  “Hey you!” cried a voice. “Stop!”

  An engine revved and a police car slewed across their path. Two cops jumped out. One reached for his gun, but before it was out of the holster Screech swooped down on to his arm. The cop jerked back with a wail of surprise as Glum snatched the hat from his head. Lydia ran past, towards an alleyway. The other cop spread his arms wide to catch Caw, bending slightly.

  “You’re not going anywhere, kid!” he said. Caw ran full pelt at him, and for a strange second he felt almost weightless, like he was a crow himself. He jumped high, his legs connecting with the policeman’s shoulder, and the world turned upside-down as he tumbled head over heels.

  Caw landed on his back on the car bonnet, sliding off the far side. The cop turned, eyes wide in amazement, as Caw ran after Lydia with his coat billowing.

  Moments later he heard the pounding feet of the cops close behind them.

  An enormous flock of pigeons was feeding on the ground ahead and Caw plunged straight through them. The birds took flight in screeching panic, and when Caw looked back he saw the cops fighting their way through the flapping wings.

  Above them soared two black shapes – Glum and Screech.

  “Which way?” said Lydia.

  Screech and Glum veered left ahead. “Follow the crows!” said Caw, pointing.

  They ran at full pelt through the twisting alleys of the rundown riverside districts of Blackstone, the crows always just ahead.

  By the time they stopped running, they were by a junction with one of the main roads running north. Sirens occasionally wailed nearby, but they had lost the cops. Caw’s breath was ragged and Lydia was bent double. “That was … some jump,” she said. “Sure you didn’t spend time in the circus?”

  Caw shook his head. He didn’t know how he’d done it. He just … had.

  Glum flapped to the ground at their feet, while Screech landed on the awning of a café opposite.

  “You came,” said Caw.

  I didn’t want to, said Glum, with a haughty lift of his beak, but Screech convinced me. Lucky for you.

  “Tell them thank you,” said Lydia.

  Tell her we don’t need her thanks, said Glum. Caw, can’t you see she’s dangerous?

  “What did he say?” asked Lydia.

  “He said, ‘Think nothing of it’,” Caw lied.

  Enough, Caw, said Glum. This road leads back to the park. Say your goodbyes.

  “We should go to my father,” said Lydia. “He’ll know what to do.”

  Absolutely not, said Glum. Don’t listen to her.

  “I can’t,” Caw said. “He won’t understand.”

  Lydia blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Then we’ll make him,” she said. “He’s not the police. He’s not against you. And he’s my dad!”

  You can’t trust him, said Glum.

  Lydia flashed an annoyed glare at the crow, almost as if she understood his squawks.

  “My dad’s not interested in you, Caw,” she said. “He wants those convicts.”

  Caw knew Mr Strickham wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn’t a friend either.

  “Don’t you see?” Lydia urged. “We need people on our side. We don’t have to face this on our own.”

  You’re not on your own, said Glum. You’ve got us.

  Caw shook his head and stared at the crow. “You saved us, Glum,” he said. “I know you did, but there’s something big going on here. They killed Miss Wallace. And that spider from my dream had something to do with it. It was painted on the wall, and … they put a spider’s web over her mouth.” He felt a lump in his throat. “She must have been so afraid,” he mumbled.

  Glum cocked his head and looked upwards. Caw followed his gaze and saw Milky for the first time, standing on the rim of a satellite dish.

  “When did he get there?” asked Caw.

  He’s been watching all along, said Glum.

  Milky gave a soft warble that Caw hadn’t heard before.

  Screech flew over and landed on Caw’s shoulder. Did you see the way I got that cop? he said. Kapow!

  “I saw,” said Caw. He smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I don’t deserve your help.”

  As they emerged on to the main street, Caw saw a pigeon standing on top of a streetlamp.

  “The pigeons helped too,” he said, looking up into the bird’s unblinking eyes. “Didn’t they?”

  A fluke, said Screech. He gave a couple of harsh squawks and the pigeon took off.

  Caw lost himself in his thoughts while they hurried towards Lydia’s house. As the adrenaline of the chase seeped away, his heart became heavy.

  “You’re not to blame, you know,” said Lydia, as though she’d guessed what he was thinking. They were both keeping a lookout for any sign of the police as they hurried down a deserted side street. The crows flew ahead to the road junctions, squawking twice if the way was clear, once if not. Caw and Lydia frequently ducked behind parked cars, just in case.

  “She’d be alive if it wasn’t for me,” said Caw. “I felt like we were being followed the first time we went to the library. It must have been those prisoners. Maybe if I hadn’t asked her to help …”

  At the back of his mind lurked another question. Who, or what, was Quaker? And why was the word so important that Miss Wallace kept it in her hand, even as she was being killed?

  Lydia took hold of his arm. When he looked up, he saw her gaze pleading with him. “Caw, those three prisoners killed Miss Wallace, not you. And when the police get them, my dad will lock them up and make sure they never get out again. All right?”

  Caw was grateful for her words, even if he wasn’t really convinced by them. He felt a sudden fierce rage burning through his chest. Those murderers deserved worse than a prison cell. A lot worse.

  After a few more turns, the walls of the park appeared at the end of the road and then the Strickham’s house came into view.

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Caw, feeling suddenly apprehensive. “I mean, your parents don’t exactly like me, do they?”

  “It’s not that,” said Lydia. “You’re just a bit … different.”

  Charming, said Glum, swooping overhead. We’ll wait here.

  The three crows landed in the branches of the beech tree, Milky a branch higher than the others. His pale eyes seemed to follow Caw. The day had turned chill, with grey clouds amassing in the sky.

  Mrs Strickham flung open the door before they were halfway up the drive.

  “Where have you been, young lady?” she asked.

  “Mum, we need to speak to Dad,” said Lydia.

  “Your father is on the phone,” said Mrs Strickham. “And what is that boy doing here again?” Her eyes snagged on something beyond Caw and she paled. Caw turned and saw that she was looking at the crows. “Get inside,” she said.

  Lydia walked up the steps.

  “Just you, Lydia,” said her mother, as Caw tried to follow.

  Lydia stopped. “He’s my friend. I’m not coming in without him.”

  Caw felt a rush of pride. No one had called him their friend in his entire life.

  Mrs Strickham opened her mouth, but hesitated, as though she wasn’t sure what to say. Her expression shifted, and all of a sudden she looked more sad than angry.

  Mr Strickham appeared behind her, his phone to his ear. “Thanks, John,” he was saying. “Keep me in the loop.” He looked haggard as he hung up, but his face came alive when he saw his daughter. “Lydia – thank goodness you’re safe.” His eyes flicked over to Caw nervously, and he turned to his wife. “DI Stagg says there’s been some sort of … incident at the library. Apparently the commissioner’s taking a particular interest in
it.”

  “I know,” said Lydia. “We were there.”

  Mr Strickham did a double-take at his daughter. “You were what?” he snapped.

  Caw stepped forward, trying to look bold. “We saw the killers, sir. It was those escaped prisoners.”

  “Tony!” pleaded Mrs Strickham. “This boy …”

  “Let him in,” said Mr Strickham. “It sounds like the pair of you have some explaining to do.” Mr Strickham muttered something to his wife. Then he turned back to Caw. “Could you wait in the lounge a moment while I talk to Lydia alone?” he said.

  Caw nodded, and Mr Strickham led him into another huge room, this one with plush sofas and a fire burning in the hearth. There was a set of double doors leading to a wrought-iron balcony overlooking the back garden, and beyond that, the hulking shape of the prison. Mr Strickham gestured to a sofa and switched on the TV as Mrs Strickham came in with a glass of water. She handed it to Caw without a word then left again. Mr Strickham fiddled with the remote and the sound got louder. A woman was talking about fuel prices.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” said Mr Strickham. He left the room, closing the doors behind him.

  Caw sipped the water, trying to clear his head. What had those convicts wanted in the library? Not to kill them, that was for sure. But what they’d done to Miss Wallace showed how merciless they could be. How were they connected to the spider?

  And what about ‘Quaker’?

  The woman on the screen touched her ear and a piece of paper was handed to her by someone out of shot.

  “This just in,” she said. “Police are reporting a suspicious death at Blackstone Library. The victim has been identified as Miss Josephine Wallace, Head Librarian for the last decade. Police are keeping an open mind as to motive at this time, but anyone with information should contact …”

  A tapping at the window made Caw look up. Screech and Glum were perched on the railing of the balcony outside.

  Caw went quickly to the window doors. They were locked and the keyhole was empty. He put his mouth to the small hole.

  “What is it?” he said.

  Milky’s worried about you, said Screech. He doesn’t trust them.

  “Who? The Strickhams?” said Caw. “Did he say that?”

  Sort of, said Screech.

  “Sort of?” Caw said, rolling his eyes. “Look, I know you don’t like Lydia, but she’s on my side. And I think her father is too.”

  Really? said Glum. In that case, why has he locked you in?

  Caw’s blood ran cold. “He … he hasn’t.”

  Try the door then, said Glum.

  Caw left the window, crept around the sofa and placed his fingers on the door handle. When he pressed down, it didn’t move.

  aw pushed harder to be sure. A chill crept across his skin.

  He glanced back at the crows, and Glum cocked his head, as if to say, Told you so.

  Caw pressed his ear against the door. With the noise of the TV it was hard to hear.

  “… for the best …” Mr Strickham was saying.

  Lydia’s voice was louder. “But it didn’t have anything to do with Caw, I swear!”

  Mrs Strickham cut in. “You don’t understand. When all this is cleared up, you’ll thank us.”

  “Please, Dad, don’t!”

  “It’s settled,” said Mr Strickham. “I’m calling DI Stagg. We’ll get a squad car out here.”

  “No!” said Lydia. “How could you?”

  Caw’s eyes travelled back to the locked window doors, then he jumped over the sofa to the mantelpiece. It was lined with ornaments. There were three little pots – he turned them over swiftly. Where were the keys? He went to a tall dresser holding china and glassware. He opened a drawer halfway down, his hands rooting about, but there were only papers inside.

  “No, no, no …” he mumbled under his breath.

  Then his eyes settled on the potted plant. He rushed over and picked it up. Nothing underneath. But the blue ceramic pot was heavy. Easily heavy enough.

  He walked to the window, raising the pot to shoulder height. The crows must have known what he was planning, because they flapped skyward.

  Caw hesitated. Could he really do this? Something was peering at him from the wall – a photo of Mr Strickham shaking hands with a female police officer, looking pleased with himself.

  Yes, he could.

  The smash as the pot hit the glass seemed impossibly loud and the whole window pane fell out in jagged shards.

  “What was that?” yelled Mrs Strickham.

  Heart thumping, Caw climbed through the remains of the window, placed both hands on the balcony and vaulted over. He landed in the grass below, then darted towards the far fence. As he scrambled to the top, he saw the side road leading to the park. To safety. He looked back, just as Mr Strickham reached the balcony, his face livid. “You come back here!” he shouted.

  Caw turned away, dropped to the other side and, out of sight, ran towards the park wall.

  Two minutes later he heaved himself through the nest’s trapdoor, panting heavily. Milky was perched on the branch outside. Glum and Screech were waiting on the platform, huddled side by side and watching him cautiously, as if they could sense his mood.

  Caw crawled to the edge of the nest and buried his head in his hands. Why had he agreed to go to Lydia’s house again? He should have known not to let his guard down. And now he’d lost everything. Any chance of keeping his new friend was smashed, along with that window.

  Don’t worry, said Glum. You’ve got us to look after you.

  Just like old times, Screech added.

  Caw looked up at them, shaking his head. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t.

  He had no one. Lydia’s parents would probably keep her inside for weeks, and they would never let her come to the park again. The police would be all over the city looking for him, so it would be almost impossible to find food safely.

  “I can’t believe they betrayed me,” said Caw. “Why didn’t they listen to Lydia?”

  She’s just a child, said Glum. You’re better off staying well away from that family.

  Caw felt hollow. “Maybe you’re right,” he said.

  “Hello, crow talker,” said a man’s voice.

  Caw almost leapt into the air, pressing himself against the side of the nest. The crows went wild, screeching and flapping as the curtain across the centre of the nest was pulled aside. “What the …?” Caw cried.

  A dirt-smeared face peered at him. It was the homeless man – the one who’d rescued him from the gang outside the takeaway. He was here, crouched in the nest. His blue eyes glinted with curiosity. “Get out!” shouted Caw, raising his fists. Screech and Glum flew in front of him, snapping with their beaks.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” said the man, batting the air with his fingerless gloves. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  “How did you get in here?” said Caw. He glared at Screech and Glum. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  He must have sneaked in when we were at the house, said Glum, letting out a flurry of hostile squawks.

  Caw frowned, puzzled. “But Milky was—”

  “The white crow knows I’m here,” said the man.

  “He what?” said Caw.

  “My associate, Pip, he’s been keeping an eye on you. Please, crow talker, we have much to discuss.”

  “Stop calling me that! My name is Caw.”

  “Is it?” said the man, smiling strangely. “But you talk to crows, don’t you?”

  Caw was breathing heavily. “Yes,” he said. “So what?”

  “‘So what’ indeed! You say it like it’s nothing special. You know others who can speak with animals, do you?”

  Caw’s heart was beginning to slow. “No,” he admitted. But for a moment, he thought of the prisoners in the library. Those dogs, the cockroaches and the snake …

  The man clicked his fingers and two pigeons hopped out from behind him.

  Get out of our nest! said Scr
eech.

  “Meet my friends,” said the man. “On my left is Blue. On my right, Sleektail. You were lucky she spotted you before you ran into those kids behind the takeaway. More lucky than you know.” The pigeons both warbled. “And my name is Crumb.”

  “You can talk to them?” said Caw.

  Of course he can’t, said Screech. Pigeons only understand one thing. Peck, peck, peck. All day long.

  “Since the day my father died, I’ve heard their voices,” said Crumb. “Twelve years or thereabouts. This is a nice place, by the way.” He pushed the tarpaulin with his fingertips. “Could do with more headroom, but it’s cosy.”

  Milky flapped under the gap at the end of the tarpaulin, squawking.

  Someone’s coming! said Glum.

  Crumb dropped into a crouch, faster than Caw would have thought possible. Silently, he prised back one edge of the tarp and peered over the side.

  Caw scrambled to the hatch and looked down. Through the mesh of branches he saw Lydia at the base of the trunk.

  “Caw?” she called.

  Crumb put a dirty finger to his lips.

  “Caw, are you up there?” said Lydia. “I just want to talk.”

  “Who is she?” whispered Crumb.

  One of the pigeons cooed and Crumb looked sideways at it.

  “From the library?” he said.

  The pigeon bobbed its head and cooed again. Crumb frowned.

  “Please, Caw,” said Lydia. “I just want to say I’m sorry. It was a misunderstanding.”

  Caw’s anger flared and he flung open the hatch. “Your dad was going to hand me over to the police!”

  Lydia’s head dropped. “I know. He made a big mistake. He just thought it was for the best.”

  “The best for who?” shouted Caw. He couldn’t believe she was trying to make excuses. “Not for me, that’s for sure.”

  “Can I come up?” asked Lydia.

  No way, José, said Screech.

  Not a chance! said Glum.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said Caw. “Your parents don’t trust me.” He looked at the others. Glum was nodding in a satisfied way. “We can’t be friends, Lydia,” Caw added. Every word felt wrong.

  Lydia was quiet for a long moment. “Please Caw, you don’t understand,” she said at last. “My dad – he hasn’t called the police. He promised he wouldn’t. Can I come up?”