Tales of Crow- The Complete series Box Set

by Chris Ward

  41

  A battle in the tower

  It was almost time. Four minutes until midday, and the moment that the hostages would take flight. The eagles had come and picked away the last of Crina’s braids, leaving the cage suspended from the gallery by one solitary rope. It was attached to a lever that would be released on his command, setting his caged birds free.

  Three and a half minutes.

  Behind the computer, Burr was getting edgy. Kurou no longer had time to maintain them, and there were likely others who had lost control by now. He had given the order for the portcullis to rise on the stroke of midday, and he would unleash the remnants of his horde on the unsuspecting witnesses. Releasing the birds was a job he could do himself.

  Still, he was disappointed, and were it not for his sense of punctuality, he might have been tempted to strike a temporary stay of execution until his decree was delivered. There had been no more military helicopters, but his satellite GPS systems informed him that finally the army was coming. No matter. There was no point to them bringing weapons; by the time they arrived all they would need was a sponge to clean up the mess.

  He didn’t like being mocked. He didn’t like being kept waiting, and he didn’t like being disrespected. From the moment Rutherford Forbes had walked into his cluttered bedroom and stepped on his first and most treasured robot, he had been the butt of people’s disrespect. What was it he had to do to get it? How many people did he need to kill?

  Two minutes.

  ‘Go,’ he said to Burr. ‘Join your comrades inside the gate. This will be over shortly, and you can feast on all the blood and flesh you need. Thank you, my dear friend.’

  As the birdman hurried off through the door, Kurou switched on the webcam, composing himself for his final broadcast.

  Naotoshi ducked into the alcove as he heard the sound of feet on the steps above him, crouching down in the shadows as best he could, aware that if whoever was coming looked just slightly to the right, his hiding place would be discovered. He held the crossbow against his chest, the quarrel pointed up, his finger resting over the release trigger. He drew in a single slow breath, smelling the age of the thing in his nostrils as his leathery old fingers caressed its smooth side.

  I’ll take at least one more of you with me.

  The creature seemed to slow as it reached him, as if sensing his presence. Naotoshi held his breath, his finger trembling over the release trigger. It would die, but its death screams would alert others, and there was no way he could reload the crossbow in time.

  It gave a little caw as if to shrug, then it hurried on down the stairwell, its footsteps fading away. Naotoshi let out a breath and stood up, tucking the crossbow back under his arm.

  He had to be close now. With each window he had passed, the cage had been even closer, and now as he made one more turn in the tower’s stairwell he saw it dangling in the air almost level with him, the catwalk stretching out from the tower wall a few feet over his head.

  He could see them in there, the other tourists, some he now considered friends. There was old Mrs. Nakayama, who had never been abroad before, and Mr. Nagai, who had bought his ticket with a lucky win on the Lotto. Then there was Mr. Koike, who had done nothing but complain about the beds in every single hotel they had stayed in, as if the staff should have moved them aside and given him the futons he was used to, and Mrs. Imai, who had confessed to them all over too much beer that she had cancer and that seeing Europe had been her dying wish.

  They were all in the cage, and the others, and some more people he had never seen before: a younger Japanese woman and a Romanian man who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, sitting next to Ludvic, the useless forest ranger who had sold them to whatever madman was behind all this.

  From the window the view of the bluff and the town below was beautiful and horrifying at the same time. The bluff looked fairly uniform from the hotel, but from the window Naotoshi could see how the two towers straddled a massive rent in the cliff as if God himself had performed a karate chop on it. The towers rose from twin outcropping headlands, with the catwalk and the cage hanging over a chasm of mostly bare rock that slanted down into the forest far below.

  He wanted to shout to them, to reassure them that he was coming, but at that moment the air was filled with the booming drone of terrible music, louder and more aggressive than before. Naotoshi ducked back inside and covered his ears, waiting for it to pass, even as the walls creaked and shook around him. Somewhere below him, he heard the shattering of glass.

  ‘What is that?’ he muttered. ‘Something that low will bring the whole castle down.’

  ‘And so, my final concerto has begun,’ Kurou said, fingers skipping over the touch screen piano keyboard on his computer. He could imagine Ken screaming, and he wondered how he was enjoying the music. Kurou smiled. If only he could have one last chance to tell the guitarist from Plastic Black Butterfly what an influence he had been on Kurou’s own work, but alas, time was short. There were other matters to take care of.

  ‘It saddens me that you have not taken my threat seriously,’ Kurou said into the camera. ‘I have given you every indication that I am serious. I do not wish for blood to be spilt; in fact, that is the reason I am doing this at all. I am trying to educate you about the folly of your human ways.’ He sighed. ‘You have one minute to comply. One single sixty-second minute to relieve yourselves of your sins, as I have requested. Tick. Tock.’

  So, they had failed. He had given them an ultimatum, and they had thrown it back in his face. He didn’t care about the offers of a truce or a deal or a pact that had come flying in like paper aeroplanes, he wanted a straight yes or no answer. And it looked like it was a no.

  He pressed the command for the portcullis to be lifted, and for his birdmen to make their final charge. He ordered his cannons—the ones containing the prototype missiles of his own creation—to turn towards the TV helicopters. If the government would not comply with his requests then he would drench Heigel in a river of blood that it would never forget.

  He went to the window. Looking out at the cage hanging from the catwalk below him, he brought up the command which would release the rope and send his birds flying to their destiny.

  Then something heavy struck him in the back, and he slumped forward over the windowsill, groaning as blood began to soak his clothes and a sharp, biting pain spread out across his body.

  As he gripped the window ledge for support, he saw the computer tablet spinning through the air. It struck the catwalk and broke apart, the pieces falling away into the chasm below.

  ‘No!’

  Down on the catwalk, two people were running to the gallery. They disappeared inside, then one of them tossed the rope ladder over the edge and began to climb down to the cage. The other leaned out, waiting to pull up the hostages as they escaped.

  One of the two was a young Japanese woman of about twenty-five. The other was a little girl.

  Someone was behind him. It had to be Matsumoto, somehow escaped. There was no time for talk now. He reached one hand under his cloak and his twisted fingers closed over a knife. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his side, he twisted and threw it in one fluid motion, judging from the angle at which the arrow had struck him where his assailant might be.

  He turned from the window, expecting to see Matsumoto with a knife in his gut, but instead he saw an old, weary Japanese man sink to his knees, his hands wrapped around the knife handle protruding from his abdomen as if he had just performed seppaku upon himself.

  Kurou staggered a few feet towards him and saw a crossbow lying on the ground by the man’s feet.

  ‘Who are you?’ Kurou muttered in English, shaking his head.

  The old man smiled. He opened his mouth and started to speak, but it took a few seconds for the words to come out. ‘I’m … the Monster … Hunter,’ he gasped. ‘And I caught you … at last.’

  As the old man keeled over onto his side, Kurou heard the sound of feet coming up the
stairwell. He grabbed the crossbow, but it would take too long to load it. He had no other knives, and all his birdmen would now be engaged in a battle with the police at the front gate.

  He staggered back towards the window as Jun Matsumoto burst into the room, an old spear held at his shoulder, ready to throw.

  ‘Crow!’

  ‘A penny for your thoughts, boy?’ Kurou gasped, trying to ignore the pain from the crossbow quarrel embedded in his shoulder as he turned and rolled backwards out of the window.

  42

  The final confrontation

  ‘Nozomi!’ Karin screamed, as the girl’s head appeared over the wall above the cage. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything more wonderful than the sight of her daughter still alive, and apparently unharmed. How she had got here Karin couldn’t guess, but she was here, and that was enough.

  At the sight of the other woman, the tourists had started to get excited too. ‘Jennie!’ some of them shouted. ‘Jennie! Help us!’

  Jennie looked giddy with fear as she climbed down the rope ladder onto the top of the cage and fumbled with a key in the lock of the cage door.

  ‘Don’t drop it!’ several of the others shouted, as if Jennie needed to be told. If the key fell through the bars they might as well just follow it now. There was no way to get the cage up onto the gallery and the rope had been creaking menacingly for the last thirty minutes. Karin had no idea how long it could hold the weight of thirteen—now fourteen—people.

  ‘Yes!’ Jennie gasped, as the lock clanked and she pulled up the door.

  People began pushing and shoving to get out. Jennie screamed as the cage creaked and tilted, starting into a slow spin.

  ‘For God’s sake make an orderly queue!’ Karin shouted. ‘Otherwise we’re all dead!’

  The two Romanians had hung back behind the crush of Japanese, but now they stood up, telling the people in their best English to stand still and help each other. Karin, stuck in the corner, stared up at her daughter as the little girl waited above. ‘I love you, Nozomi!’ she shouted. ‘I love you so much! Just hang on, sweetheart! Just hang on!’

  ‘I love you too, Mummy,’ the girl shouted back, and the words were like sugar to Karin’s tongue. If only she could touch her daughter one last time.

  The first tourists had made it out of the cage. They had finally begun to cooperate, as if realising it was the only way they could get out quickly and efficiently. Karin was desperate to get to her daughter, but somehow she had found herself at the back of the queue.

  One of the tourists was holding the others up. The old woman had managed to get up onto the top of the cage, but the rope ladder was proving too tricky for her elderly body to manage.

  ‘One step at a time, Mrs. Imai,’ Jennie said, climbing on to the bottom step as the woman lifted herself up. ‘I’ll help you. Take your time.’

  Hurry up, Karin wanted to scream, but it would achieve nothing. All she could do was grit her teeth in frustration as the old woman reached the top of the swaying rope ladder and then climbed over, Jennie climbing over behind her to help her safely up. Karin stared up at Nozomi’s beautiful little face, her daughter’s eyes not moving from hers.

  Then someone up on the catwalk screamed, and an arm snaked around Nozomi’s neck. Crow’s ugly face appeared at the girl’s shoulder, then he was dragging her over the wall of the gallery and leaping down on to the top of the cage. Blood streaked his ugly face as he leered down at Karin, Nozomi held struggling against his chest.

  With one foot he kicked the cage door shut, and Karin wondered if she had ever felt so lost.

  Viola lifted the microphone to her lips. She covered one of her ears with her free hand and tried to press the other against her shoulder, as if it would help shut out the awful sound. Even with headphones on, Mark’s face was so red he looked about to explode.

  ‘If you can hear me,’ she said, ‘this is Viola Gertualu, from Southern News. It appears … it appears that the portcullis is rising. We understand that several counter offers have been made and it looks like … it looks like the man responsible might be prepared to talk. We have a government envoy here, waiting for his emergence … there has been no more attacking fire, but we understand that military strikes will be used if the situation escalates further … for now, let’s get a shot of the gatehouse and see what’s happening….’

  She turned back to look, aware that Mark was zooming the camera in on the rising portcullis. She hoped he wasn’t filming the man bucking and dancing like a puppet beside the giant projector screen; it wasn’t something she wanted viewers to see. No one had dared go close enough after the missile that had taken down the military helicopter, but everyone could see it was a man getting tortured by some kind of electrical current. It was hideous and fascinating at the same time.

  Then the music stopped, leaving behind a screeching roar. At first Viola looked around her, wondering what was happening. It reminded her vaguely of a waterfall, a rushing sound that filled her senses.

  Mark’s hand fell on her arm. ‘Get the fuck back in the van,’ he shouted. ‘Get the fuck in the van, Viola. Now.’

  A stream of gangly figures was rushing across the causeway towards them. Even as the boom of missile fire went off and one of the TV helicopters exploded, spinning and jerking like a dying cicada as it fell into the river gorge below the causeway, police gunfire filled the air and the nearest of the men—no, not men, they could never be called men—stumbled and fell, people began to run, abandoning their cameras and rushing back towards their cars.

  Even with Mark’s hand tugging at her shoulder, Viola remained rooted to the spot. Her mouth fell open as billowing black wings opened out behind each of the creatures, which ran like men, but had beaks and claws like crows. She felt a rising nausea in her stomach and bent double, vomit splashing over the expensive shoes she had bought from a Parisian boutique. Mark’s hand had gone and she knew he had given up his attempts to save her as she looked up to see one of the hideous, birdlike creatures leaping over a car and landing in the road just feet away. She closed her eyes as the beak snapped, hoping it would be quick.

  Jun dashed across the room as Professor Crow jumped from the window, but it was too late. Down on the catwalk, Jennie was helping an old woman up over the wall of the gallery. Nozomi was leaning over the wall, staring down at the rest of the people inside. Karin was in there, but of Ken there was no sign.

  A sudden scream came from one of the tourists who had already escaped the cage and was standing on the catwalk. Crow’s skinny frame appeared, running along the catwalk towards the gallery. He was limping, and had a crossbow quarrel poking out of his shoulder, but Jun had expected the fall to kill him. How had he survived?

  ‘Crow!’ he screamed. ‘Stop!’

  He might as well have saved his breath. He could only watch helplessly as Crow rushed into the gallery, then appeared at the window with his arm around Nozomi’s neck. Jun felt a sickening crush inside, as if someone was squeezing his guts tight, and he waited for Crow to throw her over the wall. Instead, he pulled her close and jumped down on to the cage below.

  Jun wanted to see what happened, but now wasn’t the time. He could do nothing from here. He turned away from the window, back towards the man lying on the ground. Naotoshi Waribe’s eyes were open, but death had taken him. Jun gave the old man’s shoulder a squeeze, feeling a knot of sorrow, but at the same time wishing Waribe’s aim had been a little truer. It was up to him to kill Crow now.

  The crossbow was lying on the ground beside the fallen man. Jun hefted it up, poked a quarrel into the firing mechanism, and began winding it as he ran down the stairs to the catwalk level.

  He would only get one shot. It would either be enough or not enough. There was nothing else.

  ‘Let go of my daughter!’

  Kurou stamped down on Karin’s hand as it poked up through the cage, her fingers reaching for his ankle. ‘Shut up, you dumb bitch. You want me to cut her throat right now? You want me
to bleed her out on you?’

  Nozomi wriggled in his arms, but Kurou held her tight. Where are you, Matsumoto? It’s showtime, little boy.

  Standing on top of the cage was awkward. He had one arm around Nozomi and the other wrapped around the rope to hold them both still. His fingernails scratched at the threads, feeling how brittle they were, how easily they could break.

  ‘Let go of her!’

  As Karin’s hand reached up again, Kurou pulled his fingers across Nozomi’s neck and squeezed the skin tight. ‘If you touch me one more time….’

  Karin backed off. There were five other people in the cage, Grigore, Ludvic, and three of the tourists. It was still a decent catch, particularly if his birdmen had wreaked the havoc by the gate that he expected. He wished he could have seen that first-hand, but it looked like he’d be forced to watch poor quality TV footage like everyone else.

  Matsumoto appeared over the wall of the gallery above, the old crossbow leveled at Kurou’s face.

  ‘Let go of her and step away,’ he said. ‘She has nothing to do with this.’

  ‘Uncle Jun!’

  Kurou laughed. ‘Oh, Uncle Jun. There you are. Finally caught up with me, have you? What a nice surprise. I have so been looking forward to seeing you again.’

  ‘Let go of her!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ll kill you if you don’t!’

  Kurou laughed again. ‘Come on, pretty boy, you know that won’t happen. Take your best shot.’

  ‘Let her go!’

  Kurou reached up for the rope above his head and and wrapped his fingers around it, where Jun could clearly see his hand. The protruding edges of the bones that made his fingers resemble a crow’s talons were filed sharp. He began to pick at the rope, making it creak.