Tales of Crow- The Complete series Box Set

by Chris Ward

  Nozomi stared at him. It couldn’t be true. Everything she had done had been at her master’s urging. Hadn’t it?

  ‘Therefore, whatever bounty our dear friend Matsumoto has placed on my head, he has likely placed on yours too.’ Her master smirked. ‘So much for Uncle Jun, wouldn’t you say? Your dear dead mother was right all along. It was all his fault.’

  Nozomi looked up at him, and felt the hate return. ‘Monster….’

  Her master nodded. ‘I agree. We have to stay on our guard and stay hidden until my work is finished. Then we leave.’

  ‘You!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re the monster! You twist everything! How can I believe a single word you say? Uncle Jun hiring a killer? That’s absurd.’

  Her master rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, my dear. We’ve been over this ground a thousand times before. Let’s not waste time repeating ourselves, shall we? I will assign one of my better experiments to you as a personal bodyguard. Much as I detest everything that you remind me of, I wouldn’t like to be cleaning up your remains.’

  Before Nozomi could think of something else to say, he had stood up and gone to the door. He gave her a little wink and slipped out.

  Nozomi lay back on the hard pallet of her bed and stared up at the damp stains on the ceiling. Was he telling the truth? Would Jun really have sent a hired killer after her?

  What could she do?

  She knew her master was evil. There was a whole new level of the word established just for him. In the past he had protected her and kept her safe, even if he had never allowed her to put down any roots or make any friends. Now, though, if someone was closing in on them, she had choices to make.

  Staring up at the cracks on the dirty, stained ceiling, three options presented themselves.

  Kill her master before the assassin did and hope her master was lying; kill herself and be done with it or escape.

  A thousand times she had looked out from the high windows of buildings, aware that one more step would end everything. There had been days when she had felt so low it had been like a magnet hanging around her neck, dragging her down, yet she had been unable to take that ending step. Nozomi didn’t want to die. She wanted to live, and while she had seen great vistas of the world on her travels with her master she had never really found the part of her that had been lost that day she fell from the castle catwalk into a new world.

  She lifted one of the comic books in her hands. It was more of a chapbook, about ten centimetres high and a hundred or so pages thick, ideal for the back pocket of someone’s jeans. She lifted it in front of her face, then with one quick motion she ripped it in two, tossing the pieces aside.

  Muscles that weren’t real muscles bulged in the back of her hands. While her shelf life had outlasted most of her master’s creations, she hadn’t received any special treatment. She’d spent as many hours on the operating table as the rest of them.

  At the same time that he had installed her with a safety net of his own design, he had given her the tools to protect herself.

  Could she turn those weapons on her master?

  Did she have the nerve to try?

  Nozomi lay back on the bed. If there really was a killer hunting her master, then she might not have to. On the other hand, they came as a package. She might have no choice if she wanted to save herself.

  21

  Jennie takes a day off

  When Jennie woke up, the bed beside her was empty. She felt a momentary sinking feeling, like a widow waking on the first morning after her husband’s death.

  Jun hadn’t come back. She had waited up as long as she could, but eventually she had fallen asleep.

  What to do now? She wanted to call the police and report him as missing, but it had been less than twenty-four hours. What was the rule? Wasn’t it forty-eight before they would even take her seriously? Jun was thirty years old. He was no kid. They would probably tell her to go buy some aspirin and wait until he came stumbling in from whatever nightclub he’d been dancing at all night.

  And if they did believe her, what then? They put out missing persons notices all over Barcelona that a Japanese man called Jun Matsumoto was stumbling around lost somewhere?

  Professor Crow would love that.

  ‘I lost him so I have to find him,’ she muttered to herself, but even as the words came out she knew they weren’t true. He had lost himself. She had been a spectator in the stands at a sports match, able to do no more than scream desperately at him to change his mind.

  She got out of bed and forced herself to go through the motions of showering, getting dressed and putting on her make-up. Her stomach was growling, even though food was the last thing on her mind. She had eaten well yesterday afternoon, taking the little boy, Jorge, to a paella restaurant after getting him some clean clothes, but after Jorge had left to “run errands” as he called it, she had wandered round in circles for a while, hoping that Jun would reappear. When evening arrived and there was no more sign of him, she had headed back to the hotel to wait there. Too tired and too worried to eat, she had drunk coffee after coffee in the lobby until giving up and going up to bed.

  Manuel greeted her at reception, looking her up and down as if her appearance might be the reason for Jun’s vanishing act. She had said nothing to the receptionist, but Jun’s absence was so obvious she might as well be carrying around a placard board. Perhaps if she cried or pouted she could pass it off as a lovers’ falling out, but right now she didn’t care what other people thought. She just wanted to find Jun.

  When she stepped out of the hotel she found Jorge sitting on a step across from the entrance.

  ‘Jorge…?’

  The little boy stood up. The clean trousers and shirt she had bought him from a cheap clothing store were already grubby, but he looked more like a normal kid than a street urchin, even though one eye was still a little swollen and shadowed by a big purple bruise.

  ‘Hi, Jennie.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Was near.’

  Had she given him her hotel’s address or not? The boy had run off without warning yesterday, as if he’d been on a timer that had abruptly run out. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him where she was staying.

  ‘Did you follow me?’

  The boy grinned and shrugged. ‘No follow. Worry about Jennie. Friend come back?’

  Jennie shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t. I don’t know where to look. The police won’t listen to me.’

  Jorge smiled. He skipped across the road and took her hand. ‘Go sightseeing with me? Feel better?’

  ‘Who’s paying?’

  ‘I pay,’ Jorge said.

  He lifted his other hand, holding out Jennie’s purse. She gasped, unable to recall how he had plucked it out of her bag without knowing. Feeling a little embarrassed, she held out a hand. ‘I think it might be a good idea for me to look after that,’ she said.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Heavy. Big money.’

  They headed for a subway station on Avenida Diagonal. Jennie swallowed down a feeling of guilt for not searching for Jun, but being around Jorge made her feel happy. He was a street kid with nothing in the world, but when he smiled it was like the sun shone out of him. She had helped him out, and that made her feel good. Maybe he could help her out in return.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘Las Ramblas,’ Jorge said. ‘I want to see human statues.’

  Jennie smiled. Perhaps Jun would have returned by the time she got back. She suppressed her urge to panic. He was a grown man after all, and he could make his own decisions. It was too early to start worrying.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said.

  From the entrance to the subway station in Placa de Catalunya they found themselves in the middle of the tourist crowd. It was a feeling Jennie had once loved and dreaded, leading groups of elderly Japanese on guided tours to many of the great cities of the world. It was a thrill to be there, but a constant worry that one of the o
ld-timers would get lost or left behind. As she spotted other tour groups weaving their way like snakes through the crowds, she felt a mixture of nostalgia and relief.

  Jorge led her south across the square towards the top of Las Ramblas, and they joined the throng of tourists making their way down the picturesque tree-lined street towards the tall Christopher Columbus Monument by the port. Even though Jennie knew a lot about the street from her tour guide days, Jorge delighted in telling her about it in his broken English.

  A little over a kilometre long, it was actually made up of six connected streets, heading from Placa de Catalunya—long considered the city centre—down to the port, where the monument stood. To the east was the Gothic Quarter, a maze of pretty streets and home to a couple of famous buildings by Gaudi, while to the west was the Raval Quarter, once standing outside the city walls and known for religious and medical institutions. Still known by many locals as Barrio Chino—or Chinatown—its close proximity to the port had made it infamous for all things nightlife. It was Jorge’s favourite place to pickpocket, he said, because there were always drunk tourists wandering around late at night. Over in the Gothic Quarter people tended to be a lot more on their guard.

  While he was talking to her about life in Barcelona, Jennie found it difficult to remember Jorge was just a little boy, yet as soon as he was confronted by one of the human statues that stood at regular intervals down Las Ramblas, his eyes grew wide with delight and she could see the child in him again. As they stood in front of a man in a gorilla costume, Jorge tugged at the hem of Jennie’s skirt, begging her for a coin to throw into the bucket at the man’s feet.

  Jennie shrugged and held out a couple of Euros. Jorge tossed them in and then squealed in delight as the gorilla threw its arms up in the air and a huge, amplified roar boomed out from some hidden speaker. Jennie had to admit it made her smile.

  They moved on down the street. Jorge tugged her arm at practically every statue they encountered. For a starving street kid he was quite happy to throw her money away, but Jennie didn’t mind so much. It was nice to see him happy, even if some of the statues freaked her out a little bit. It was unnerving the way their eyes watched her out of those painted faces.

  They stopped for lunch in a little café down near the port. Jennie had a Spanish omelette while Jorge had a hotdog and an ice-cream. The boy smiled as he whirled a little flag she had bought him in the breeze coming in off the Mediterranean. She still wasn’t sure what she was doing making friends with this street kid, but she felt happier than at any time since she had arrived in Barcelona.

  Maybe she was compensating. She had failed with Jun so Jorge was a second chance. Replace one with the other. But where was it leading? She couldn’t take this little boy back to Japan with her. Sooner or later she would have to say goodbye. He was eleven years old and she was a single Japanese woman in her mid-twenties. It was possible she could adopt him, but would she want the burden of looking after a little boy who didn’t speak her language?

  Collecting strays again, are you? That’s what her ex-husband Brian would have said. Every time she tossed a scrap of food to a feral cat or even to a bird, he would sneer and turn his nose up at her. Once she had found an injured starling out on their lawn and brought it inside, putting it into an old birdcage she had found in the attic. The following day she had found its body in the trash along with the birdcage, which had been smashed up.

  She had never asked why, but thinking about it now, she probably knew. Brian hadn’t been the kindest of people. After all, he had….

  ‘Aquarium?’ Jorge said.

  ‘What?’

  The little boy pointed out along the pier to a squat building that seemed to be sticking up out of the sea.

  ‘Aquarium?’ he said again.

  Jennie smiled. ‘Why not?’ she said.

  A couple of hours later, after getting their fill of the aquatic life the Mediterranean had to offer, they were walking back up Las Ramblas as the sun began to drop towards the horizon. Jorge was humming quietly to himself as they passed groups of older tourists sitting outside cafés and wine bars, but Jennie was finding it increasingly difficult to share his contentment. As night approached, so did her trepidation. When she got back to the hotel would Jun be there? Would there be any sign that he’d returned, or would the room be as empty as before? With the trepidation came the guilt, that she was here enjoying herself while her friend was lost. He could be anywhere. He could be dead. He could be lying on one of Professor Crow’s operating tables suffering like Ken Okamoto had.

  Up ahead of them, one of the street performers was packing up, while another was setting up in his place. Jennie lost her step for a moment as the man in wrestling garb straightened up from the box he was looking through to tower seven feet high. Covering her mouth to stifle a little gasp, she reached out for Jorge to pull him back.

  There was something about the man that had unnerved her. She couldn’t understand why; he was just a street performer like the rest, but something about his size and appearance seemed out of place.

  He turned towards her and she gasped again. His eyes were a smouldering red set into an off-white face with thick, lumpy features out of place with the timbre of his skin. A signboard announced him as Slav the Giant, but despite the name she couldn’t smother the feeling that he had come from somewhere far away from Russia.

  ‘Jorge … come away,’ she said to the boy, but it was too late. Jorge was whooping with delight as he rushed to stand at the giant’s feet.

  ‘Jennie, come,’ Jorge said. ‘I want to try.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s ready yet,’ Jennie said, looking up at the mountain of a man as he stretched and flexed the huge muscles of his arms. For some reason he made her think of Brian, even though Brian had been much more lightly built. It was the eyes, she realised, as they looked down on her. Brian had shared the same look those nights he had been on top of her long after his love for her had gone. Those nights near the end of her marriage when she had been reduced to a piece of meat on a series of grainy internet videos, uploaded for all the world to see.

  ‘Jorge….’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Slav said. ‘Come here, boy.’

  His voice was deep and dark, like chocolate. Jennie felt a pain pressing against her temples and closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them Jorge was nine feet in the air, held high above Slav the Giant’s massive head.

  For a moment Jennie thought the giant meant to smite the boy against the ground, and tears rushed to her eyes even as Jorge squealed with delight, shouting, ‘Camera, camera!’, then Slav smiled and gave a deep, throaty laugh.

  Jennie fumbled with her smartphone, managing to hold it still enough to take a couple of snaps of the pair of them. Slav’s eyes bored into hers as he lowered the boy gently to the ground.

  ‘No charge,’ the giant said, giving her a slow, languid wink. ‘Enjoy your evening.’

  Jennie took Jorge’s hand and pulled him away, jerking him up the street until he scowled and pulled out of her grasp.

  ‘What?’

  Jennie glanced back over her shoulder, half expecting to see Slav standing motionless, staring up the street towards her, but his back was turned as he posed with some other children.

  ‘That man scared me,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why. I just had a bad feeling.’

  ‘Bad feeling?’

  ‘Like he was … like … I don’t know.’

  Jorge frowned, and she wondered if he’d understood. ‘Jennie tired,’ he said. ‘And worry about friend.’

  She smiled. Jorge was right. Perhaps that was all it was. The giant had freaked her out, but there were other things playing on her mind.

  ‘I need to find him, Jorge,’ she said. ‘I need to find Jun. What kind of a friend am I to let him run off?’

  The boy cocked his head. ‘What friend run off?’

  At first she thought he had made a mistake in mimicking her words, then he added, ‘Friends are complicado.’ He po
inted to his bruised face. ‘This my friend.’

  ‘Your friend did that?’

  Jorge smiled. ‘Girl friend.’

  Jennie laughed. ‘I thought I was your girlfriend, Jorge?’

  The boy shrugged as his cheeks reddened, then held up two fingers. ‘Number two.’

  Jennie forced a laugh. While the boy had been joking, his words had cut right through to her bones. Wasn’t that about it? Second place to a girl who liked to beat up her friend, just as she was second place with Jun to Akane, second place to a fucking ghost?

  She swiped away a tear before the boy could see.

  ‘I help,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I help. Find friend. Find together.’

  Jennie smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Welcome.’

  Dusk was fully upon them. Jennie looked up at the sky, at the last traces of purple being chased away by a night made grey by the city’s glow. The feelings of trepidation that had been following her around all day seemed to come dancing out of the dark alleyways to taunt her.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said to Jorge.

  Something in the tone of her voice must have portrayed her feelings far better than her words. Jorge took her hand and squeezed it, for the first time not backing up his actions with some cheerful retort. Whatever darkness was gradually encircling the city, perhaps he felt it too.

  22

  Battle on the rooftop

  The spider had appeared at the end of Las Ramblas just after ten p.m. Merlin, no longer in costume but sitting in a portside café to keep watch, sent a coded email message to Dave Balls, who was sitting at a similar café about halfway up to Placa de Catalunya.

  In the mixture of shadows cast by a failing streetlight peering through the branches of a nearby tree, the spider was a hideous mass of legs and hair as it crouched in the V made between a park bench and a drinking fountain like a dark, deformed dog. The first group of tourists to spot it shrank away shrieking as it stood up on four legs and shook its other four out in front of it in a threat to keep out of range. Even from forty metres away it made Merlin shiver.