by Jacob Grey
Mrs Strickham glared at him. “You told her about ferals?”
Caw opened his mouth, then closed it again. His cheeks were burning.
“Hmm,” said Mrs Strickham. She flashed a suspicious look at Selina, then cocked her head at Caw’s leg. “Rat bites? Does that mean you’ve met the delightful Ms Pinkerton?”
Caw nodded. “Down by the docks,” he said. “We were attacked by a moth feral too.”
“Mr Silk?” said Mrs Strickham. “We weren’t sure if he was still around. So what did they want?”
Caw hesitated, with Quaker’s words running through his head. He’d said that the stone was the crow feral’s burden. Would she take it away from him?
All at once, Caw made up his mind. He couldn’t tell Mrs Strickham about it now – not in front of Lydia and Pip. Not in front of Selina. He tried not to break eye contact as he lied. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Yes you do!” said Pip. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Caw felt the blood rush from his face. Did Pip somehow know what he had in his pocket?
“The Crow’s Beak!” said Pip. “The moth feral said to hand it over, didn’t he?”
“Oh … oh yes,” said Caw.
“But the Spinning Man’s gone, isn’t he?” said Lydia. “Even if they could cut a gateway to the Land of the Dead, they still couldn’t bring him back. So what good is the Crow’s Beak to them?”
“Good question,” said her mother. “Whatever they’re planning, they can’t be allowed to have it.”
“Perhaps we should go …” Caw began, but Mrs Strickham cut him off with a raised finger.
“Absolutely not. If Pinkerton and Silk are out there, I’ve no choice but to insist you stay here. You and the girl.” She threw another icy glance at Selina. “Just make sure you keep the noise down. I’d rather not have to explain to Lydia’s father why we are taking in waifs and strays. In the morning, we will work out what to do about all this.”
“We could call a council of ferals,” said Pip.
Mrs Strickham turned on him fiercely. “I’ll let you know when I need your advice,” she said. “Now, get some sleep.”
After Mrs Strickham had closed the door behind her, Selina sighed.
“I thought my mum was strict,” she said.
“She’s just worried,” said Caw.
“Both of you stop talking about my mum,” snapped Lydia. She pointed to the sofa at the other side of the room. “Someone can have that. The other two will have to take the floor. There are blankets in the wardrobe.”
What about us? said Shimmer.
Lydia turned towards the crow’s squawk. “If that crow just said what I think it did, there are a lot of perfectly good branches outside.”
That’s animal cruelty, said Glum.
Still, Caw went to the window and opened it. “Go on, you three. Keep watch for me.”
The crows flew out into the night. As Caw closed the window again, he caught the shadow of a fox lurking in the garden below.
I should have known there’s no sneaking up on Velma Strickham, he thought, smiling to himself. She might be severe, but she was the best ally they had.
Selina took the sofa, and Caw lay down next to Pip on the carpet. Crumb would be wondering what was going on, but at least he knew they were safe.
It wasn’t long before Caw heard the mouse feral’s slow breathing, and Lydia’s too. He wasn’t sure if Selina was asleep or not. As he shifted to look, he felt the stone dig into his side.
Perhaps he could sneak out of the room now and find Mrs Strickham. He could trust her, couldn’t he? He propped himself up on to his elbows, ready to stand, but something stopped him.
Whatever the stone was, whatever it did, it was dangerous. Caw was sure of that. The moth feral had mentioned a woman, hadn’t he? He said she wanted it. And it couldn’t be a coincidence that Quaker had mentioned a “she” too.
She’s watching us, even now. Who was this unknown enemy? Another feral, surely.
The Midnight Stone, Mr Silk had called it. Just a name, or some clue to its powers?
Caw shuddered. Night had always been his friend, but something told him that this stone was to be feared. In which case, why did his mother have it, and what could it possibly mean for him?
Caw let his hand enclose the cold stone, and his thoughts turned dark and confused. A knot of heartburn made it hurt to breathe. Something was wrong. Normally he took comfort from the crows’ presence. Even when they weren’t speaking, he could sense them on the borders of his consciousness. But now his mind searched and found only blankness. He was gripped by the unmistakable fear they had abandoned him.
All of a sudden, a memory sprang up. He’d been only five years old, no more, a time soon after the crows had taken him in. Back then he could do little for himself and had relied on the birds completely for worms, grubs, or whatever else they could bring him. It had been a storm-filled, winter night and the crows had not returned from their forage. Hungry, alone and cold, he’d felt a terror like nothing before. He remembered clearly the nest filled with his own throat-wrenching howls and the hot tears of despair flowing uncontrollably from his eyes …
Hardly able to breathe, Caw stood up and stumbled to the window, tugging back the curtains, sure the crows would not be there.
But they were. The three birds stood huddled side by side on the garden wall. Caw pushed open the window a fraction and drew a long breath of cool air. Glum tipped his head at Caw quizzically.
Everything OK? he said in a soft warble.
Caw allowed himself a couple of seconds to recover, then gave the crow a thumbs-up. The feeling passed, and his heart returned to its normal rhythm.
Letting the curtains drop back into place, he crept back to his bedding and lay down. As he adjusted his clothes, he felt the stone again, only this time he found himself unwilling to touch it.
This object was capable of great evil, an evil he couldn’t yet begin to comprehend.
But one thing was certain. Until he knew the truth, it was an evil he would face alone.
he only sound was the gentle creaking of branches as the nest swayed slightly. In the sky above, snow fell like ash, coating the trees. But as the flakes landed in the nest they melted into non-existence. Caw wasn’t cold. He looked at his hand in front of him. In the centre of his palm lay the stone. Somehow its blackness seemed radiant, filling the nest with light and warmth.
“Hello, Jack,” said a kind voice.
Caw glanced up and his heart leapt. His mother sat opposite him, smiling. Her skin was pale, and her hair too – almost white. Even her eyelashes seemed to carry flecks of frost.
“You’re here,” he said. “But how?”
“In the Land of the Dead, many things are possible,” she replied.
Caw looked again at the stone.
“You must keep it secret,” said his mother. She reached out with a delicate white hand and folded his fingers over the stone. “It is yours to bear alone, my son.”
Caw felt the warmth of the stone passing along his veins.
“What is it?” he asked.
His mother flinched and drew her hand away. Her eyes widened.
“Go!” she said, standing and knocking over the chair on which she sat.
Caw began to panic. “But I want to stay with you,” he said.
“He’s coming, Jack,” she said. “Go now.”
Caw rushed to the hatch at the bottom of the nest and flung it open. At the base of the tree, a dark slick was closing in on the trunk, making the snow black.
Spiders. Millions of them.
“Don’t let him have it, Jack,” said his mother. She was pressing her body against the edge of the nest, trembling. “He must not have it.”
Caw crouched, transfixed, as the spiders pooled at the bottom of the trunk, piling over one another in a torrent. They began to climb, rising in a black, shuffling tide. Unstoppable.
Caw slammed the hatch down and drew across the bar to bolt
it. “Tell me what it is!” he said. “Why does he want it?”
But when he looked up again, his mother had gone. He was alone. The nest was empty and the snow was beginning to settle.
Bang.
The hatch shook and the nest trembled.
Bang Bang Bang.
Something was pounding on the other side. He knew what it was. He knew who it was.
The Spinning Man.
His breath ragged, he climbed to the edge of the nest. He could still get away. He could fly. He was the crow feral – the sky was his friend. All he had to do was change.
Bang Bang Bang.
Crash.
The hatch splintered and a spindly hand reached through, the fingers flexing like spider-legs.
Caw threw himself off the edge of the nest, spreading his arms and willing them to become wings.
But they did not.
Fear ripped out his heart as he fell, branches whipping his skin.
He hit the ground with a jolt, and then all was still.
He lay on his back in the snow. There was no pain, but he couldn’t feel his body at all. His mind drifted, untethered, and his eyes took in the sight of a swirling winter sky.
Then he heard the footsteps. Soft crunches, each one louder than the one before.
The Spinning Man was coming.
Caw clamped his eyes shut so as not to see the object of his terror.
The footsteps stopped.
“Open them,” whispered a soft voice. A voice laced with cruelty.
Caw tried to turn away, but a hand gripped his chin and held it steady.
“Look at me,” said the voice.
Caw’s eyes obeyed, though he willed them not to.
The Spinning Man stood over him, his face scarred beneath the falling spikes of black hair. Caw begged his body to move, but it did not.
“I want it,” said his enemy. The Spinning Man’s eyes were spider eyes, shining silver, reflecting Caw’s terrified face.
Caw shook his head as much as he could in the strong grip. He could not give up the stone his mother had entrusted to him.
The Spinning Man knelt over him, so that his face was just a foot from Caw’s. His skin was a smooth sheen. Too smooth, Caw thought. With the long fingers of his free hand, the Spinning Man reached up and pressed his fingertips into his own face. His blackened nails bit into his pale flesh.
Caw’s heart thumped in horror as the spider feral began to tear his face away, peeling the skin from his skull. It was a mask, he realised. This creature wasn’t the Spinning Man at all, but someone else.
Caw closed his eyes, terrified of what lay beneath …
A dim light was seeping through his eyelids. Caw blinked. At first he was confused, but as the nightmare faded, the previous night came flooding back. He looked sideways and saw the others still had their eyes closed. Selina was frowning a little in her sleep. Pip was huddled in a ball.
Caw felt a stab of guilt. Even if Crumb’s spies had seen them come to the house, he’d still be worried, especially for the mouse feral.
From outside came the sound of a car engine. The bedroom door opened and Mrs Strickham was standing there, already wearing a dark coat.
“Good morning, everyone. It’s time to go.”
“Go where?” asked Caw, sitting up.
“My husband is at a meeting all morning,” said Lydia’s mother, turning away. “I’ve called a gathering. It starts in an hour.”
“So you followed my advice,” said Pip, puffing out his narrow chest.
Mrs Strickham’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile as she left the room.
Caw staggered to his feet and followed her. “Wait,” he said, lowering his voice. “What about Selina?”
Mrs Strickham raised an eyebrow. “She’ll have to come with us. Now she knows about the ferals, she’s a liability. We can’t let her out of our sight.”
Caw detected an accusation in her tone and he blushed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Mrs Strickham’s face softened and she touched his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We can deal with the problem later. Now, we didn’t get a chance to speak properly at Emily’s funeral. How has Crumb been treating you? Your training’s going well, I hear.”
Caw hesitated for a moment. He’d assumed Mrs Strickham had no contact with Crumb, but now she sounded like she knew what was going on at the church. “It’s hard,” he said. “But I’m getting better every day.”
“Good,” she said. “And have you managed to turn into a crow again?”
Caw shook his head, remembering his failed attempt from the day before, outside Quaker’s house.
Mrs Strickham nodded. “You’re lucky you even managed to do it once,” she said. “I’ve been trying to become a fox for years.” She squeezed his arm tighter. “You have a gift, Caw. Keep trying.”
Caw’s heart swelled momentarily with pride as she walked away down the stairs, but as he turned to go back into the bedroom, he remembered the other thing she had said.
What exactly had she meant by “dealing” with the Selina ‘problem’?
Mrs Strickham led them to the door of a large taxi. It was driven by a young Asian man with piercings in his lip and dark circles under his eyes. Caw was pretty sure he’d never seen the man before. Going by Lydia’s frown, neither had she.
“To the zoo,” said Mrs Strickham through the window.
The driver’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“Please,” said Mrs Strickham. “I know it will be hard.”
The driver nodded. “If we must, Mrs S.”
As Pip climbed into the back, he noticed the mouse feral give the driver the briefest of smiles. They know each other too. Is he a feral? Caw and Selina got in the back too, Mrs Strickham going up in the front beside the driver. Caw nodded through the window to the crows perched on the wall of the park opposite. “Follow us,” he called.
Where are we going? said Screech.
Just do as he says, muttered Glum.
Caw squeezed in further to make room for Lydia. With four in the back, she could only just manage to close the door behind her.
Immediately the taxi turned in the road and sped off through the city.
“So how come I haven’t heard of Mr Silk or Pinkerton before?” said Pip. “Crumb never mentioned them.”
Caw sat straighter, hairs bristling. Whoever this driver was, he was definitely one of them, otherwise Pip wouldn’t mention the ferals.
“They weren’t around in the Dark Summer,” said Mrs Strickham. “They were always close to … well, it doesn’t matter really. They’re back now.”
Caw caught the snag in her voice. She’s keeping something back, he thought.
“Close to who?” he asked.
Mrs Strickham didn’t answer for a few seconds, but Caw watched her reflection in the wing mirror of the car. Her fingers rested on the side of her face and a flash of a frown creased her forehead as she stared into the middle distance.
“The Mother of Flies,” she said quietly.
The cab driver shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
The name meant nothing to Caw, yet there was something in the way Mrs Strickham said it and in her troubled expression that sent a cold thrill through his veins. Selina leant forward to listen.
“Ha!” said Pip. “The fly feral. No way! She’s a myth. Crumb says no one’s ever even seen her.”
Her.
Caw thought again of Pinkerton’s words – she wants it – and a shiver ran down his spine.
“Crumb is entitled to his opinions,” said Mrs Strickham.
“So she didn’t fight in the Dark Summer?” asked Caw.
Mrs Strickham sighed. “It’s a long story,” she said. “Perhaps Felix Quaker could tell you the details, but for generations, the fly ferals were spurned. You have to understand, people were different back then. There was a kind of order among the ferals and the fly talkers were always looked down on. I suppose it started off as s
uspicion, because of what flies are – they feed on what is rotten, scavenging from the dead. But even in my father’s time, no one really mixed with the fly line.”
“I heard they moved away from Blackstone before I was born,” said the driver.
Caw glanced around for any sign of the man’s creatures, but there was nothing obvious in the cab.
“So is this Mother of Flies real or not?” said Lydia, impatiently.
“I don’t know,” said her mother. “I’ve certainly never seen her myself. But it is said the fly ferals are always women. If there is no female heir, the gift passes a generation. There’s never been a male fly talker.”
“My mother used to tell us stories about the fly ferals to make us behave,” said the driver. “She said they could sneak into any room as long as there was a hole big enough for a single fly. My sister and I used to block up the keyhole to our bedroom at night just in case the Mother of Flies came for us.”
Caw kept silent, a sense of unease creeping across his skin. Quaker had been afraid of a woman too. She’s watching us, even now …
“Is there any news on your sister, Chen?” said Mrs Strickham. Caw got the impression she was pleased to change the subject.
The pierced man shook his head. “Nothing,” he said.
“Won’t there be people at the zoo?” asked Selina.
“No,” said Mrs Strickham. “It finally closed its doors last week. All the remaining animals have been shipped off to other cities.”
“Oh,” said Lydia. “Now I’ll never get the chance to go!”
“It wasn’t that great anyway,” said Selina. “Just for little kids, really.”
Caw felt Lydia stiffen. “How old are you, anyway?” she said, not even looking at Selina.
“Fifteen,” said Selina. “What about you?”
Lydia didn’t reply.
It began to rain. Chen took several narrow backstreets to avoid the worst of the traffic and pulled up around the rear entrance of Blackstone Zoo. There were signs nailed up saying the land had been bought by “Futura Developments”. Caw’s crows were already perched on one waiting for them.
Lydia’s mother stepped out with an umbrella, opened the gate a fraction and beckoned them inside. Chen followed, pulling a hood over his head, and the others trailed behind him.