***
The pigeon had already picked over all of the raven’s things by the time the two got there.
‘Oh, good day!’ he said, as though he had not just been caught scavenging from another creature’s property. For it was still the raven’s property, even if it was strewn all over the ground and buried under dirt and mouldy masonry.
‘Coo-coo-coo-coo!’ the pigeon said. ‘It never rains but it pours, isn’t it just? Quite a treasure trove here, me hearties. I’ve found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow! Can you imagine the things I’ve seen?’
‘Yes,’ said the raven, ‘I can imagine, because they’re my things.’
‘Well, jolly nice of you to share!’ The pigeon almost couldn’t walk for the amount of trinkets he’d attached to his body, and he staggered around like an over-dressed clown.
It gave the raven some small pleasure to see the pigeon had chosen all the worst, and most worthless, pieces from his former treasure pile.
‘What do you think?’ he said. ‘Am I a pigeon of pearls or a pigeon of rubies?’ And he picked up two strings of beads and swung them around with a flourish, proceeding to hit himself on the head and fall over like an overloaded suitcase. Tarnished bracelets, strips of copper and twisted pieces of aluminium foil spewed out from under his body. He rolled about, looking deliriously happy.
‘Moronic,’ said the raven.
‘Is there anything you want to keep?’ asked Todd. ‘We can look.’
‘No,’ the raven said. ‘I will not trawl through my own belongings like a beggar. It’s too depressing. The pigeon can have them; he’s already tainted them with his germs. I don’t care anymore.’
‘If you’re sure,’ said Todd, looking very closely at the raven.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ snapped the raven. ‘I’m going to go have a wash. I feel like something that might come out of a pigeon.’
Todd followed him to the church pond a short while later. He stretched out under a honeysuckle tree and offered suggestions as the raven splashed about at the water’s edge, trying to restore some semblance of his usual impeccable self.
‘Hello,’ said Mackenzie, her feet squelching in the soft grass as she flopped down near the raven. The ends of her jumper were twisted up and over something, and one hand kept it pressed safely against her stomach. ‘Guess what, Ravo? I got something for you.’
‘Well?’ said the raven. ‘What is it?’
‘Your feathers look all shiny and sparkly,’ said Mackenzie. ‘Used a good shampoo, did you? Bit different from how you were looking last night.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ said the raven. ‘Last night wasn’t my finest hour. What do you want?’
‘I saved some stuff for you,’ Mackenzie said, and revealed the contents of her jumper. ‘Got out the good stuff. Stuff I knew you liked.’
And there, on the grass, lay five of the raven’s most precious and loved possessions.
His string of rainbow beads, one of each jewel, nipped from the market on an extremely rare venture into town. He’d often hung it up over his den door and watched as the sinking sun got trapped in each of the jewels, until the inside of his den was like being stuck in one of the church’s stained-glass windows. And there was something about it, too, that reminded him of the first sunrise he’d ever seen, long ago in the mountains.
There was the marble crucifix Father Cadman had given him, a short while after they’d met, with the small moonstone in the centre – the raven’s eye, the priest had called it.
There was a charm the raven had rescued from the church floor one afternoon after choir practice. It was of polished rosy gold, in the shape of a musical note, the one Father Cadman called a crotchet.
Of course his eyepatch was there, and then the scarecrow’s battered old hat, which Mackenzie had rescued from the storm.
The raven stared at those bits of treasure, the five things that had a far greater worth than the huge pile he’d once guarded with so much care.
‘How did you know?’ he said. ‘That these were the ones?’
‘Aww, Ravo,’ said Mackenzie, ‘I know much more about you than you think. Don’t fool no one much with all your grumps and moans.’ She stretched out her legs, enjoying the look on the raven’s face. ‘Had to scrounge round a bit,’ she said. ‘Especially ’cause some pigeon was walking round all greedy with his eyes almost popping out of his head. But I found those. Knew you’d like them the most.’
The raven didn’t know what to say, so he just shuffled his feet and nudged the girl’s leg with his head and hoped that she understood.
‘You’re a funny old thing,’ she said. ‘My brother around?’
‘Over there,’ the raven mumbled, ‘by that honeysuckle tree.’
‘What’s he doing?’
The raven finally looked up. ‘Water,’ he said, ‘in my eyes. Damn pond. Must be allergic. Messing with my tear ducts.’ He blinked and peered closer at Todd. ‘He’s sleeping. Or pretending to. I don’t know if dead people actually sleep. It might be overkill.’
Mackenzie crawled forward with her head tipped on the side. ‘I think I see him, you know,’ she said. ‘For real, I do. Just a bit. His skinny legs. And his hair. Still needs brushing.’
It was impossible that she could see him, of course, but the raven didn’t like to say so.
‘He’s wearing his old red-and-blue soccer sweatshirt, isn’t he? Think I can see the colours a bit. Yeah. He always did love that shirt.’ Mackenzie craned forward, almost toppling over in her eagerness.
The raven looked at Todd. He was wearing a yellow T-shirt and blue denim shorts, which was what he’d been wearing ever since the raven had first laid eyes on him. ‘Oh yes,’ said the raven. ‘The red-and-blue shirt. Yes, he is wearing that. You’re absolutely right.’
Mackenzie smiled. ‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘Mum tried to throw away all his clothes. Packed them up and tried to chuck them. But I stopped her. Started wearing them myself. They’re not bad. Don’t quite fit me yet, but I can grow.’
‘Of course,’ said the raven. ‘Of course.’ He looked to his left and saw Lucie Jordan standing over the other side of the pond, pretending to pick flowers but really glancing over at them. ‘Your friend’s over there,’ he said to Mackenzie.
‘Not my friend,’ said Mackenzie, but she peeked out from behind her hair. ‘Wish she’d leave me alone. Don’t wanna talk to no one.’
‘You’re talking to me,’ said the raven. ‘And I’m far less friendly than her.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t invite you to my tea party, that’s for sure,’ said Mackenzie.
‘Go and talk to her,’ said the raven. ‘Go on. I believe you really want to.’
‘How would you know?’
The raven cleared his throat and looked at her and hoped she understood without him having to say it out loud.
‘Ah,’ said Mackenzie. ‘Knew you couldn’t be that unfriendly. Lonely all this time, were you, Ravo?’
‘That’s enough from you,’ said the raven, and gave her a soft nip on the ankles. ‘Go on. Off with you. Have some manners. She only means well, you know.’
‘Watch it,’ said Mackenzie, but she did as she was told.
Once Mackenzie and Lucie had wandered off, the raven and Todd made their way back to the mausoleum, which would have to suffice as a temporary home. The raven almost felt well enough to get back into full flight – refreshed and determined, almost a new bird. Tomorrow was the last day to finalise the plan, to go over the details, and then it would be Sunday and he would return, redeemed, to the church.
‘I hope I’m not too out of practice,’ he said, as they passed by the plot where Todd was buried.
‘Mmm,’ said Todd.
‘With singing,’ the raven said. ‘I might try out a few scales tonight. The mausoleums are good for that. Echoey. Give a nice timbre to the voice.’
But the boy had stopped, his attention clearly elsewhere.
The raven tried hard not to be annoyed.
Was it really asking so much for someone to listen when he revealed the deepest and darkest fears of his heart?
But Todd was not listening to anything. He remained standing still, and there was the most awful expression on his face.
‘Well?’ said the raven. ‘What is it?’
The boy pointed.
To his grave, to the place where he was buried, now marked with a headstone. Speckled granite and marble, shiny, the top curved into a lazy arch.
Todd William Trebuchet
Died aged 12
There was nothing else except a small picture of him and Mackenzie, set into the stone behind a pane of glass. They were on a beach somewhere, he on a purple bike and she with one hand on the handlebars. The bottlecaps were still there but grass was coming up to rapidly claim the rectangle of dirt. It no longer looked like a temporary pit-stop, but rather just like everything else around it – a final resting place that indicated the person buried there would not be coming back.
‘Oh,’ said the raven. ‘They must have put it in this morning. While the earth was soft.’
Todd kept staring, his face caught up in an expression of horror. He stood still so long that he began to fade, to blend into the air around him, and the raven feared he might disappear for good.
‘I’m dead,’ the boy finally said. ‘I’m actually really dead.’
‘Well,’ said the raven, ‘what did you think was going on these past couple of weeks?’
‘That’s me, under there,’ said Todd. ‘Me. A pile of bones. And I’m dead.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ said the raven. ‘At least I didn’t eat you.’
But the boy didn’t answer. He just kept repeating, over and over:
‘I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead.’
‘Well,’ said the raven, ‘at least you’re not a pigeon.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The raven sat on the tiptop point of his church and surveyed the grounds. Dawn was breaking and colour fell from the sky; in just a few hours mass would begin. He knew all those involved in his plan to win back the church were thoroughly sick of him pestering them. But he must not fail. He would not.
Mackenzie had presented him with her sparkly shoelaces, which had so often been the subject of his wandering eye. They were now draped around his neck. He could feel the silver threads against his feathers, itching, waiting to catch the first glint of the sun when it appeared over the tops of the mausoleums.
‘For good luck,’ she told him. ‘I’m sure you don’t need none, but I want you to have them anyway. Because everyone needs luck. And because you ain’t nearly as cranky as you make out.’
As if to prove her wrong, the raven scowled and turned up his beak.
‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for your offer, but I don’t need charity. I may currently be homeless but I’m not a beggar.’
The girl shrugged. ‘Take them if you want them. I’ve seen you looking. At first I thought you wanted to have a taste of my legs, but now I know you’ve got an eye for the sparkles.’
‘I have given up on possessions.’
‘This isn’t a possession. This is my present for you. A gift.’ She swung them in front of his face. ‘Come on, Ravo. I know those darting little eyes anywhere.’
The raven snapped them up. ‘Yes, well, I suppose just one more is perfectly acceptable. And far be it beneath my manners to refuse a gift.’
‘You can thread your eyepatch onto them,’ suggested Mackenzie.
But the raven hadn’t done that. Instead, he tied a knot in the shoelaces and wore them as a necklace so that the ends hung down in a nice burst of frayed pink and silver sparkles. It was perhaps his best look yet. Not just any bird could pull off pink.
The raven admired them now, in the inky violet light that preceded the sun. His happiness was not shared, however. Down below Jeremiah Hickelsby had found something else to complain about.
‘The sun, the sun,’ he was saying. ‘Coming right on up, like a poor man isn’t trying to catch a lifetime’s worth of sleep. Can’t close me eyes for a wink of shut-eye, and here comes the sun to ruin it. Rude, the sheer rudeness of it, the magnitude of the ache in my head.’
‘You should be up anyway,’ the raven called down to him. ‘You’ve got things to do. There’s not long to go now.’
‘Aye, now it’s birds,’ Jeremiah said. ‘Too many birds, and all of them twittering. Can’t ye just shut up and let a poor man rest?’ He appeared over the top of his grave, bony fingers cupping his ears.
‘Warm-up exercises, please,’ said the raven. ‘I’ll not have the plan going bust because you were too busy moaning to limber up. There’s no room for slackers on this team.’
The old man shook a fist but he didn’t go back into the ground. Instead he floated away to the mausoleums to see if they would be more sympathetic to his plight, and the raven shuffled along until he was next to the weatherhen.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How’s it going there? Good?’
The weatherhen drooped to the left. Her hinges gave a sad, drawn-out squeak.
‘I know,’ said the raven. ‘I’m sorry. My belltower was ruined in the storm and I’ve had to relocate. So I apologise, I know how much you must miss seeing me, but we can no longer be neighbours. It’s just the way it is.’
The weatherhen said nothing.
‘So,’ said the raven, ‘that was quite a storm, wasn’t it?’
‘Hree,’ she sighed.
‘Lots of rain. And wind. Few clouds. Actually, a lot. Funny, for a storm. To have so many clouds. Usually it’s not so . . . cloudy.’
‘Hree,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said the raven, ‘well.’
‘Hree.’
‘Sorry,’ said the raven, frustrated by her lack of effort and his own inadequacy at finding something clever to say. ‘Are you hurt?’
And the weatherhen moped about and whistled so sorrowfully that the raven finally got up enough guts to turn and actually look at her. There was something wrong with the hinge that she usually rested on. It was almost snapped in half, and her whole body teetered to the left at a rather precarious angle.
‘Oh,’ said the raven. ‘That looks uncomfortable. Why don’t you just move away?’
She looked at him, and the raven saw in her eyes that it must be a stupid question.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I always thought you were rather attached to this particular spot. I just didn’t think you meant literally. But far be it from me to question the habits of others. Whatever works for you. Each species to their own, and all that.’
She gave a barely perceptible squeak.
‘You know, I may be able to help you. If you want me to.’
Her eye twinkled – he couldn’t have got a stronger response if he’d tried.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I was in the middle of preparing for a very important plan. But I can spare a few minutes. Let me just get some materials. Hang in there. Whoops. Sorry. Insensitive joke.’
She was not ill enough to forego a wolf-whistle as he flew away.
He returned with a wad of gum Mackenzie had left on the steps of his mausoleum, and a half-eaten buttered croissant. The other half he’d eaten as a midnight snack.
‘Okay,’ said the raven, and he waddled forward, shrugging the sparkly shoelace from around his neck, with the gum on the end of one claw and the half-croissant clutched in the other.
The weatherhen didn’t take her eyes off him. He pretended that he didn’t notice.
He reached for the broken hinge and his head butted into her chest. Backing away hastily, his wings then got tangled up in her feet.
‘Oh my,’ he said. ‘Excuse me.’
She tittered. Some things never changed.
He then went to grab her with one claw, to pull her upright so he could do what he needed to, but a tiny breath of wind tickled the air next to them, and her whole body moved an inch or so to the left. The raven, off-balance, found his claw swiping nothing but empty space. His other cla
w shot out so he could right himself, but what it grabbed was very much the weatherhen’s rear end.
‘Oh, pardon me,’ he said, ‘I didn’t mean to do that.’
But the weatherhen didn’t seem fussed, and finally the raven just let go of all sense of propriety and grabbed her body with both claws. He pulled her upright, fixing her into place with a bit of Mackenzie’s gum. Then he tied the shoelace around the hinge and her feet, using many intricate knots and thread work so that she would once again stand tall but still be able to swing. He finished up with a bit of greasy butter from the croissant, slathering it into the exposed bits of the hinge and her feet.
The last bit was more for himself. The weatherhen had a pleasant enough way of speaking, but when she got excited even he didn’t want to be within twenty yards of her awful screech.
‘You’ll be a bit stiff to start with,’ the raven said. ‘But when the gum wears down you’ll have more freedom to move.’
The weatherhen gave a few practice swings. The silver threads in the shoelaces did wonders for her eyes. The way she stood so proudly and upright made the air around her tingle with magnificence. She looked as though she’d finally come into herself.
‘Funny species,’ he said. ‘To want to stay in the one spot so much. Homebodies. Still –’ he tapped his beak and ruffled his wings ‘– I guess I don’t really mind.’
‘Coo coo cooooo.’
‘You look good,’ he said. The weatherhen gave him a stare that said you look more than good. The raven, even though he knew it to be true, still had the decency to duck his head.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘you’ve been here such a long time. Longer than me. This is as much your churchyard as it is mine.’
The sun rose further over the top of the mausoleums, and one by one the tombstones turned a lovely shade of violet-bronze. Old inscriptions and gilded crosses flashed briefly and were gone. Todd’s grave, with all its bottlecaps, seemed to float above the ground in a miasma of gold light.
What the Raven Saw Page 13