The Crow Talker

by Jacob Grey

  Don’t trust her, said Glum.

  Caw glanced at Crumb.

  “I wouldn’t,” he said, “but it’s your nest.”

  Caw tried to think straight. Sure, Lydia’s parents might not like him, but Lydia herself – well, she’d only tried to be his friend.

  He might regret it later, but he couldn’t just cut her off.

  “Come up,” he said. “You know the way.”

  “Thanks!” she said, and Caw could hear the relief in her voice. Crumb shrank back to the other side of the nest with his pigeons, as the branches began to shake gently. Finally Lydia appeared in the hatch, pulling herself inside.

  When she caught sight of Crumb, she yelped and clambered over to Caw.

  “Who’s that?” she said.

  “Lydia, meet Crumb,” said Caw.

  Crumb unfolded his long limbs and held out a hand, the nails caked with dirt. He inclined his head in a small bow. “Pleased to meet you, Lydia.”

  Lydia looked at the hand for a fraction of a second before taking it. “Are you a friend of Caw?”

  “More of an acquaintance,” he said. “Are you a friend of Caw?”

  Lydia looked hard at Caw. “I hope so,” she said. “Caw, I know you don’t trust the police, but maybe we should consider talking to them.”

  “I told you, I can’t,” said Caw. “They’ll take me away. From the crows. From the nest. This is my life.”

  You tell her! said Screech with an emphatic nod of his beak.

  “But they won’t stop looking for you,” said Lydia. “You’ll be in tomorrow’s papers, on the evening news.” Her eyes were pleading. “You’ll be hunted down.”

  “Then I’ll leave,” said Caw desperately. “Find another nest, in another city.” Glum and Screech looked at him with surprise.

  “And how will you get there?” said Lydia. “You can’t drive, you can’t take public transport. You wouldn’t make it a mile without someone calling the police.”

  Caw slumped. He knew she was right. And besides, he missed his park after being gone only a few hours – leaving Blackstone was a ridiculous idea.

  Suddenly a pigeon burst into the nest, shrieking.

  “What?” said Crumb, his pale eyes alert. “Where?”

  A terrible realisation hit Caw in the gut. Why was Lydia even here? Her parents would have been watching her like a hawk. “How come your dad let you leave the house, Lydia?” he said fiercely.

  “Caw, come down!” called a voice from below.

  Lydia’s eyes went wide with shock. “Dad?” she said.

  Caw felt like his heart was breaking. “You led him here?”

  “No!” said Lydia, her face pale. “No, I didn’t!”

  Caw stared at her, but she shook her head. “I promise, Caw. He must have followed me.”

  Caw peered out of his nest and his heart sank like a stone. There were policemen there – at least three of them surrounding the tree, as well as Mr Strickham.

  “I see the boy!” said one of the officers, a hand on his gun.

  “Leave that alone!” said Mr Strickham, sharply. “He’s just a kid. And my daughter’s up there, for God’s sake.”

  The officer left the gun in its holster.

  “Caw,” called Mr Strickham. “These men are friends of mine. They won’t hurt you, I promise. We can work this out together, but you have to come down.”

  Crumb laid a hand on Caw’s shoulder. “Those people can’t help you. The enemies we’re facing – they’re our own kind. They’re ferals.”

  The word hung in the air, carrying with it something ancient, something powerful. It was strangely familiar, even though Caw was sure he had never heard it before.

  “Those who talk to animals,” said Crumb. “I believe you’ve met three others already, though there are many more.”

  “The prisoners,” said Caw.

  “Of course!” said Lydia. “The dogs, the cockroaches. And that hideous snake!”

  “Lydia?” said Mr Strickham. “Sweetheart, please come down.”

  Her face twisted with anger and she leaned over the edge of the platform. “You lied to me!” she shouted. “You said you’d let me talk to him.”

  “The time for talking is over,” said Mr Strickham. “Get down here at once!”

  What now? said Screech. Last stand?

  “The police can’t stop those bad ferals,” said Crumb. “Listen to me, crow talker. There’s another way out of here.”

  “How?” said Lydia, throwing up her hands and casting a look around the confines of the nest. “Fly?”

  Crumb shot her a glance. “Yes,” he said simply.

  Lydia rolled her eyes, but Crumb wasn’t smiling.

  “I’m serious,” he said. He looked at Caw, his blue eyes alive. “Get your crows to carry you.”

  Caw gestured to Milky, Screech and Glum. “There are only three of them,” he said. “They can’t possibly lift me.”

  “So call more,” said Crumb, with a frustrated shake of his head. “Come on!”

  “I … I can’t,” said Caw. “I don’t know how.”

  Crumb gripped him hard on the arm. “Have you ever tried?” he said, leaning close enough for Caw to see the chip in his front tooth. With his free hand, Crumb tore the tarpaulin from half of the nest, letting in the daylight. “Watch and learn,” he said.

  Crumb raised both arms and whistled. Within seconds, black spots appeared in the sky to the east. Pigeons – hundreds of them! Caw stared open-mouthed as the flock crossed the park towards them, then swooped low over the treetops and landed, one by one, on Crumb’s arms and shoulders.

  “What’s going on up there?” shouted Mr Strickham.

  As more and more birds arrived, Caw saw that Lydia was gaping just like him. It was the strangest sight he had ever seen, but familiar too. His dream – the night at his bedroom window when the crows had come and taken him. It was just like this.

  “Where’ve they come from?” said someone from below.

  Caw glanced down and spotted an officer in a trench coat next to Mr Strickham, giving silent commands with his hands to the other policemen. They were pressing closer to the bottom of the tree.

  “Now you try!” said Crumb. The pigeons flapped and warbled as they jostled for position over his body.

  “It won’t work,” said Caw, his heart hammering in his chest.

  “Do it!” said Crumb fiercely.

  With the tarpaulin pulled back, Caw stood tall in the nest. Lydia was watching him, an intense gleam in her eyes.

  “Go on,” she said, nodding encouragement. “You can do it. I know you can.”

  Caw reached out his arms.

  “Will them to come!” said Crumb.

  Caw tried a whistle like the older man had done, and his three crows jumped up on to his arm. For once, neither Screech nor Glum spoke a word. Caw saw that they wore a strange, vacant expression, almost as if a trance had descended over them. He closed his eyes. Come to me! he urged. Come to me!

  “That’s right,” said Crumb. “You’re doing it!”

  Caw clenched his fists and imagined power in his arms. He imagined himself drawing the birds towards him. He opened one eye and saw in the distance, over the prison, that birds had gathered.

  “That’s amazing!” whispered Lydia.

  Caw focused on the feeling. And then he didn’t have to imagine it any more, because it was really happening. Not just in his arms. He felt a ball of warmth in the pit of his stomach, growing and swelling until it spread through his limbs, right to his fingertips and beyond. Half a dozen crows alighted on his arms, birds he was sure he’d never seen before. Caw closed his eyes again as the energy gripped him, making him feel light, as though his body weighed little more than a feather. He felt countless crows, their talons scrabbling at his jacket. Each bird that landed made him stronger than before. Stronger and lighter.

  Caw realised he couldn’t feel the nest beneath his feet any more and opened his eyes. He was floating, as the c
rows flapped their wings in time. His memory from all those years ago at the window returned, fresher than ever. But this wasn’t the same at all. Then he had felt only fear and confusion. Now he felt in control. He could sense the crows’ beating wings as if they were part of him.

  “I’d grab on if I were you,” said Crumb to Lydia. Caw noticed Crumb’s heels were no longer touching the nest either. He was suspended half a metre … no, a full metre … above the timber planks.

  “Are you serious?” Lydia asked.

  “Hold on,” said Caw, never more sure of his words. Lydia wrapped her arms around his middle. A part of his brain acknowledged that no one had hugged him like this for as long as he could remember, but it didn’t feel awkward – it felt warm, powerful. It gave him even more strength.

  “We’re coming up!” said Mr Strickham, his voice panicky. “If you hurt my daughter, Caw …”

  “Ready to go?” asked Crumb, landing on the very edge of the nest. “On the count of three, we jump! Trust the birds, Caw, and they won’t fail you.”

  I trust them, thought Caw.

  He set his feet down beside Crumb’s, just as a policeman’s head poked through the hatch.

  “One …”

  The cop turned towards them and his mouth dropped open. A hundred crows screeched and squawked in protest.

  “Go!” said Lydia. “Quickly!”

  “Two …”

  Caw looked down through the branches. The fall would kill them without a doubt. But he wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t.

  “Three!” said Crumb.

  The policeman lunged forward, as Caw stepped off into nothingness.

  scream split the air, and Caw realised it was his own. He was plummeting downwards. Lydia’s arms dug tight into his sides.

  And then all of a sudden they weren’t falling any more. Caw’s legs wheeled in the empty air and his stomach settled back to where it belonged. A gun went off with a crack and he heard the soft phut of a bullet hitting wood.

  “Hold your fire!” shouted Mr Strickham. “Lydia!”

  Caw saw the branches of the tree sinking below them at a sickening pace as Lydia’s father and the policemen stared upwards in astonishment. With every metre the crows climbed, Caw felt smaller, his body more fragile.

  “This can’t be happening …” murmured Lydia, clinging to him tightly.

  Caw glanced across and saw Crumb hanging from his pigeons. He must have weighed twice as much as Caw, but the pigeons seemed to be having no trouble. They turned as one and flew in the direction of the park gates, Crumb a raggedy scarecrow in their grip. Behind Caw the policemen became dots as the circular pond passed below like a dirty copper coin.

  A laugh of pure delight escaped his lips.

  “Caw, I can’t believe this,” Lydia said, breathless with excitement.

  The crows’ wingbeats were smooth and steady. As Caw’s fear melted away, he could feel his racing heartbeat slow to match their rhythm. Lydia was right – this couldn’t be happening. It defied all laws of physics and gravity. It was … magic.

  They gathered speed and the wind buffeted their bodies. They crossed the railway tracks, flying above the smoking factories and then the northern curve of the Blackwater. From the sky, the river looked like a snake coiling through the city. A few boats scarred its dark surface with white wakes. Caw gazed in wonder at the city’s vastness reduced to a grid of streets and a patchwork of rooftops. He saw the library, small enough to reach out and pluck from the ground. Beyond, the edges of the city came into view, borders he’d never dreamed he would see. Pastures of beige and green spread all the way to the horizon, interspersed with huge, scattered expanses of dark forest.

  Lydia clung to him, her feet resting on his. Her hair whipped around his face and she looked up at him, grinning, though her lips were going blue with cold. He felt a rush of guilt. He should never have doubted her.

  Crumb’s pigeons wheeled west towards the sun and dipped their flight. Caw willed his crows to follow and they did, levelling their wings into a glide. The sun warmed his face as the wind rushed through his hair. They crossed the Blackwater again, and he saw a train threading over the railway bridge. They were too high to hear the thunderous roar of its engines.

  They were heading for a church, he realised, its spire piercing the sky like a dagger. The building was surrounded by ruined low-rise buildings. They swooped low, right across a car park, towards the huge church door.

  The ground rushed up and Caw felt a sudden surge of panic. A few of the crows let go and he dropped several feet as the remainder adjusted to take their weight. He drew up his legs instinctively. But the crows banked as one, tipping back their wings. A metre or so above the ground, their talons released him.

  Lydia screamed and lost her grip, hitting the ground and rolling over. Caw lost sight of her as he slammed down. Unable to stay on his feet, he tucked up his elbows and tumbled over on his side, pain shooting through his limbs.

  When he came to a halt, bruised and shaken, he saw the crows scattering through the sky like flakes of ash in the wind. All except Milky, Glum and Screech. “Thank you,” Caw whispered.

  Crumb alighted in front of them, landing softly on his feet. He took a handful of seeds from his pocket and scattered them on the ground, sending his pigeons into a frenzy of pecking. It was hard to imagine that a few moments ago they’d been carrying a fully grown human through the air. Crumb grinned mischievously. “I should have said, landing’s tricky to master.”

  Lydia was first to her feet and pulled Caw up. “Well, that was different,” she said.

  Caw nodded, staring at Milky, Screech and Glum. “I’m learning a few things too,” he said quietly.

  “Welcome to chez Crumb,” said Crumb, gesturing towards the hulking building. “Or the Church of St Francis, as she was once known.”

  “You live here?” said Lydia.

  The church might have been grand once – like many of the others in Blackstone – but it had obviously been badly damaged by fire. The stonework was blackened in large swathes, and half the roof slates were gone, leaving charred timberwork open to the elements like an exposed ribcage. It made Caw think of a decomposing creature, pecked at by scavengers.

  “We can’t all have feather beds and running water,” said Crumb, his mouth drooping momentarily before the smile reasserted itself. “Come on in.”

  The pigeons peeled off the ground and flapped through the gaping hole in the roof, settling on the lofty beams.

  “Don’t need to worry about security around here,” said Crumb, as he pushed open the doors with both hands. Caw and Lydia followed.

  Inside, the church was a wreck. The stonework was covered in graffiti and not a single one of the filthy windows was intact. It smelled damp and forgotten, with something more pungent in the air that caught the back of Caw’s throat. Pews were scattered at angles on the floor. There had once been a cross on the wall at the far end, but all that remained was a slightly paler section of stone. Caw wondered if it had been rescued when the building caught fire or simply stolen.

  Taking two steps at a time with his long strides, Crumb led them up a narrow stone spiral staircase. Lydia followed Caw, with the crows’ talons scrabbling on the stone as they hopped up at the rear. A chill draught cooled the air.

  “This whole district was gutted by fire during the Dark Summer,” said Crumb. “The city had no money to rebuild it so the area was pretty much abandoned.”

  A low doorway at the top opened on to another level at the back end of the church. The floor was gone in patches, exposing rafters beneath the floorboards. More pigeons gathered at the far end, around what looked like glowing embers in an old tin drum. The boy with dirty blond hair who had been with Crumb the other day was sitting beside it, stirring something in a pot. He looked up and flashed a smile as they approached.

  “How’s dinner coming along, Pip?” called Crumb.

  “Who’s she?” asked Pip, nodding at Lydia.

  “My nam
e is Lydia,” she said. “And who are you?”

  Pip ignored her and turned back to the pot. “You took your time,” he said.

  Crumb strode across the floorboards. “No need to be rude to our guests,” he said. “We had a bit of trouble with the police. Had to make an aerial getaway.”

  “They see you?” said Pip, shooting them an urgent look.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Crumb. “We had little choice in the matter.” He looked at Caw and Lydia. “You hungry? Pip’s been cooking his speciality – pumpkin soup.”

  Caw was about to follow, when he noticed that Lydia was staring out of a broken window, a worried look on her face. “Are you OK?” he asked her.

  “Oh – yeah,” she said. “I’m fine.” She paused a moment. “I was just thinking about my mum and dad. They’ll probably ground me for life for this.”

  Caw looked at the floor. “If you want, I can find a way to get you ba—”

  “No!” Lydia cut him off. “I was just carried across the city by a flock of birds. Birds. I’m not going home until I know everything.”

  Without another word, Lydia hurried after Crumb. Caw followed.

  They settled on to the floor around the brazier. The sun was low in the sky and Crumb went round with a box of matches, lighting a few candles planted into old wine bottles.

  “So you’re a feral,” said Lydia, looking first at Crumb, then at Caw. “You both are!”

  Crumb held the match in front of his face and his features were cast in shade and orange light. His eyes, for a moment, looked a lot older than the rest of him. He blew the match out. “Yes,” he said. “And Pip here.”

  Crumb held out chipped mugs while Pip ladled in the soup. Steam rose off it, and a draught whipped the grey wisps away through the roof. The stars were emerging outside and all was quiet apart from the occasional warble of a pigeon. Caw sipped the delicious thick soup as Crumb began to speak.

  “Blackstone is no ordinary city, you see,” said Crumb. “There’s something special about it. No one knows what, exactly, but the fact is, this place attracts people like us. There used to be more ferals here – the ones who have the gift and can talk to animals. Now only a few remain.”