Tales of Crow- The Complete series Box Set

by Chris Ward

  Her parents were second generation Catalans, but her grandmother and grandfather were from Valencia and Córdoba in the south. Elenora was terrified someone would ask her heritage and see the lie in her eyes. They had been heading for the Metro, trying to get away, but the throng of people moving towards the port had swept them up. No one knew who was who, that was the irony. It wasn’t like you could pick a Spanish or a Catalan face out of a crowd, and people were beginning to turn on each other.

  Where was her mother?

  The towers of La Sagrada Familia were rising to her left. She gave up crying for her mother and let the crowd drag her in that direction, pulling her like an offshore riptide. People were shouting that it was open as a refuge, native Spanish only. A skirmish had broken out a little way to the east, gunshots being fired amid roars from parts of the crowd. Nearby, people began to push harder towards the huge doors.

  The church loomed over her, lights illuminating it like a giant Christmas tree against the darkening sky. The entranceway looked like the giant fanged mouth of some ancient fairground funhouse, and a tingle of trepidation rushed through her as the crowd dragged her beneath the towering arch. Was her mother inside? There was no way to know. She turned, thinking perhaps to try to stay outside, but the crowd was too thick. It was go forward or be crushed beneath the feet of thousands of desperate people.

  The nave ballooned around her, ninety metres long and nearly fifty high. Lights illuminated its ornate walls, but its ceiling was dark. There were already hundreds of people inside, pushing into every available space. Elenora wondered whether they would keep pushing until everyone was crushed like a concertina. She was already desperately hot, jostled among so many larger bodies, her skin bruised and sore from knocks and scrapes. She couldn’t see to either side, only above her, up into the gloom in the eaves far above.

  A wail rose from a section of the crowd back near the main doors. People were screaming for them to stay open, not to break up families, not to lock people outside, then there came a huge boom as the doors closed. People were still screaming, but there was a ripple of relief now passing through the crowd. Shoulder to shoulder, they could barely move already, but unless the doors were forced they were safe.

  ‘Excuse me!’ she asked a woman standing near her, worry drawn on her own face. ‘What’s happening? I lost my mother.’

  ‘Don’t cry,’ the woman said, putting an arm around her, even though Elenora had set her face to refuse tears. Her father always told her only babies and cowards cried, and she was neither of those. ‘I think we’re safe. I just don’t know what’s happening. Where did you lose your mother?’

  Elenora swallowed, making sure she wouldn’t be blubbing when she spoke. ‘Outside. We got split up. What’s happening?’

  The woman squeezed her shoulder. ‘Just hold on. We’re safe now.’

  ‘Are you sure? Are you—’

  The lights went down, abruptly, at once, plunging the massive chamber into darkness. Screams and shouts of anger came from all around as people began to jostle and fight, trying to push back towards the doors. The woman grabbed hold of Elenora and pulled the girl protectively against her chest. Elenora tried to let the comforting scent of olive soap calm her thundering heart.

  A crack of thunder brought a hush to the crowd. When it came again, Elenora realised it wasn’t thunder at all, but some kind of gong or a huge drum.

  Lights appeared near the ceiling, spotlights of red, blue and yellow, searching across the crowd. More sounds came. Elenora couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  Music.

  The crowd had fallen near silent. Just a few cries of disorientation punctuated the air as a dramatic drumroll began. Smaller lights flickered in alcoves around them, illuminating the ceiling. Something was dangling from ropes or wires about halfway to the ground. It was human-shaped, its legs and arms folded at its sides, casting a huge shadow of a seated person on to a huge white canvas hung across the ceiling like a giant projector screen, the backdrop for a grand and sinister shadow puppet show.

  ‘I think we need to get out of here,’ the woman whispered into her ear. ‘I have a really bad feeling about this.’

  She tried to twist them both around, but it was no use. The sweating crush of bodies was too great. As more lights came on, and a booming narrative voice began to speak, reluctant tears sprang to Elenora’s eyes and her chest beneath to tighten as she realised that whatever was going to happen next, they were powerless to prevent it.

  #

  Tied up in a harness in a vestibule of the balcony that ran around the wall of the great church just thirty feet from the roof, Merlin shivered at the sight of the ropes and wires tied to steel frames built into the ceiling. Hanging over the centre of the massive, churning crowd, the man the deformed guy had called Jun Matsumoto hung in his own harness, the ropes and wires twisting him into a sitting position, his shadow cast over the white screen in the centre of the roof.

  Merlin could see it all now, how it had played out. They were players in some madman’s ultimate show of puppet theatre, in front of an enforced audience that must number in the thousands. Jun Matsumoto was the star, and the rest of them made up the supporting cast.

  Several of his friends lay dead, killed in cold blood. If this performance proved to be a tragedy, how many more of them would die?

  Looking down at Jun Matsumoto made him too nervous. He looked up again towards the ceiling, at the impressive array of steel struts and girders that had been fixed there, somehow, without anyone knowing. It was insane and it was impossible, yet it was there in front of his eyes, undeniable. Massive speakers hung from the walls and lights flickered from every alcove. It was a perfect stage set-up.

  The only thing Merlin couldn’t figure out was why there were huge pipes pointing out of the walls down towards the audience.

  39

  The circus leaves town

  ‘Run!’ Jorge shouted as the rat-thing darted forward. Around it other monstrosities were joining the chase too, dropping their loads and turning towards Jorge and Jennie. With Jorge holding on to Jennie’s left hand they dashed down the loading ramp and under the huge back wheels of the truck. Jorge pulled Jennie down a moment before an axle clubbed her in the head, then dragged her across the concrete as the rat-thing lunged for them. Jennie turned to see its robotic jaws stretching for her, only for something heavy to slam into its face, knocking it sideways. Jorge tossed the lid of the trashcan aside and pushed her towards the open cab of the truck.

  ‘You drive.’

  Jennie climbed up, pulling Jorge up beside her as something leapt up on to the windscreen. It looked like a bat with a human face, its body and legs miniscule in comparison with the enormous wings that beat against the glass in a drum-like rhythm. Jennie screamed, pressed the lock down on the doors and hoped the glass was thick enough to keep it out.

  ‘There’s no key, Jorge!’

  ‘Wait.’

  The boy climbed over the seats into the space behind the cab. A curtain was drawn across, separating them from a small living space with a fold out bed and even a television set into one corner. It looked like the occupant had never ever cleaned it and the whole thing reeked. When Jorge climbed back over the seats carrying something in his hands, the smell lingered even after the curtain had fallen back across.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Jorge grinned, holding up the leg of a foldout chair. ‘Starter motor.’

  Jennie shifted aside as the boy crawled under the dashboard and began to bash away at the casing under the truck’s huge wheel. A huge crack sounded, then a square of plastic fell on her feet. A tangle of wires appeared, and Jorge began to poke them together randomly like a blind man trying to thread a needle.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Hotwire. See on cop show. Love cop show.’

  ‘That’s just on television, Jorge! It doesn’t work like that in—’

  ‘Got it!’

  The huge truck roared into
life at the exact moment the side window exploded, showering Jennie with glass. The truck lurched forward, throwing her against the dash, then the rat-thing was climbing into the cab, grabbing Jennie around the shoulders, pulling her towards the window. Sharp claws ripped into her skin. Not giving herself a moment to think, she reached up with her left hand and jabbed at the creature’s face, thinking to obscure its vision. Only when her fingers pressed into the soft tissue inside one metallic socket did she realise it had human eyes. It let out a squeal and let go of her just as the truck lurched forward.

  Jorge was squatting at her feet, hands pressed on to the accelerator. The huge wheels groaned and the truck lumbered towards the wall of the loading bay, leaving a screech of metal in its wake. The rat-thing bumped against the door jamb and slipped away, the truck bumping as it crunched beneath the rear wheels. Jennie winced, but she had no time to think as the compound wall came up on them.

  ‘Turn!’ Jorge screamed.

  She leaned into the heavy steering wheel with her good hand, struggling for a grip. Blood was dripping on to her jeans, and soaking into the leather cover of the steering wheel. Her head was spinning, her vision fading in and out of focus. The wall coming up on them was just a grey shade beyond the windscreen and the bat-creature that still clung there, then something changed. Streaked white replaced grey, the colour thinning as the wall veered off to the left.

  ‘Exit!’ Jorge shouted, as Jennie was thrown forward, her head smashing against the wheel as the truck bucked, the engine wheezing. She leaned back, her eyes rolling, gritting her teeth to stay conscious. Broken gates had parted in front of them, and they were moving out into a quiet road. The huge truck let out a shriek of grinding metal as the gatepost scraped its side.

  ‘Woman driver!’ Jorge shouted from somewhere beside her. ‘High insurance!’

  Jennie tried to laugh, but it came out as a hysterical wail, like a long-trapped ghost released from a tomb.

  ‘Quiet!’ Jorge said, slapping hands over his ears. ‘Watch road!’

  The first few cars left abandoned in the middle of the road had no chance. The truck bumped them aside like a bully dodgem at a fairground, the cars spinning away to hit other cars, the truck forcing a fifteen-foot-wide channel to open up through the debris down the seemingly deserted street.

  As her body started to come to terms with the shock of having a bullet wound in one shoulder and the other lacerated, she made a conscious effort to avoid as many cars as possible. The truck was like a huge battering ram, but there was only so much damage it could take.

  ‘You okay?’ Jorge asked.

  Jennie looked across to see the boy dabbing an old cloth against the wounds on her shoulder. On her right the sling was soaked in blood. She didn’t want to think about the pain. Wouldn’t let herself think about it. Her hands were shaking, and had the wheel been much smaller she would have struggled to keep a grip. As it was, she was glad that the ability to drive in a straight line was no longer important.

  ‘Ow, Jorge, be careful!’

  ‘Watch out!’ the boy shouted. Then his hand flew up, pointing to the wing mirror. ‘Bad news! Passenger!’

  The bat-thing was clinging to the side of the truck, and was slowly hauling itself hand over hand towards the front, its half-human, half-animal face stretched into a violent scowl. Jennie forced her shaking fingers to grip harder on the wheel and haul it to the right, angling the truck closer to the edge of the street. They were approaching a junction with a wider road. A four-storey townhouse stood on the corner, an air-conditioning unit on a frame protruding from the wall at the same height as the cab. She slowed the truck, steering it around a van that had toppled on to its side, then stamped the accelerator, aiming straight for the corner of the building.

  ‘No!’ Jorge shouted.

  Jennie’s eyes glazed. The city of Barcelona became a smear of colour, a smashed kaleidoscope. She felt her head lolling to the side, and she was powerless to do anything about it. She had a vague sensation of something striking the window and the glass shattering, then the truck bumped and Jorge was screaming, ‘Crunch!’

  Then everything went black.

  #

  Galo opened his eyes. He felt a crushing sensation on his chest, felt a stabbing pain in his side with each breath. He didn’t need the shockwaves of white heat running through him to know he was hurt bad.

  He closed his eyes again, concentrating.

  I’m alive.

  I’m alive, but I’m hurt. I can’t move.

  Help me.

  He had called the Grey Man many things over the years. Master had been one, Father had been another. The Grey Man was old beyond words, and wise. He, Galo, was but a child in the Grey Man’s eyes. A child to be scolded or praised.

  The Grey Man would be angry this time. Galo had made a mistake, got complacent when faced with what he had thought was a helpless child.

  The girl had been different, somehow. The way her fingers had ripped into his calf muscle was not something he would forget. Ken Okamoto’s daughter. He could understand why the poor fool might be proud.

  He needed to make amends for his failure, but he could feel the breaks in his body where the bus had slammed him into the wooden doors of the old theatre and carried him fifty feet back into the lobby, burying him under a mesh of steel girders ripped out of the ceiling.

  A normal man would be in pieces, a smear across the lobby carpet.

  But Galo wasn’t a normal man.

  He closed his eyes, concentrating, feeling the prickling motion in his body as it slowly knitted itself back together.

  We’ll meet soon, Kurou. And when we do, I’ll have a special message for your young accomplice.

  40

  The loveless young man and the river god

  ‘The young man had never known true love. After the death of his parents, he toiled for years on his family’s farm, teasing bitter vegetables out of the arid soil.’

  The wires jerked Jun’s arms and legs as he frog-walked through midair fifty feet above the roiling mass of people. Lights shone in his eyes and he gritted his teeth as he found himself upended, stretched into a lying position, his hands cupped beneath his head.

  ‘Every night as he lay asleep, he dreamed of finding that special person to spend the rest of his life with.’

  He was jerked upright. His hands rose above his head, fell towards the ground. Rose again, and fell. He glanced upwards, towards the ceiling, and saw another shadow made it appear that he was holding some kind of farming tool. He strained, trying to gain control, but the wires were too strong. And even if he did break them or get free, what then? A fall would kill him, and if it didn’t, the wild mass of people might.

  ‘Near his farm was a river. The river was dying, flowing over rocks that easily absorbed its waters, beneath a sun that dried it out between each infrequent rainfall. The boy would go to the river every day and scrape his bucket among the rocks for a few handfuls of water.’

  Jun groaned as his body twisted and dipped, his hands using an imaginary bucket to scoop up imaginary water. As he straightened up a floodlight flashed across him and for a moment he caught sight of Professor Crow, standing on a balcony twenty feet below him, reading from a computer screen, his hands held above his head like a mad conductor. If Jun could make the wires swing and break himself free, perhaps he could reach him….

  ‘Then one day he reached the stream and found no water flowing. Instead, an old man was sitting in the dirt, crying.’

  Jun saw something swinging towards him out of the corner of his eye, and then he was face to face across fifteen feet of air with the street performer dressed like a wizard.

  The man shouted something at Jun as his limbs snapped back and forth to Crow’s rhythm. ‘I don’t speak Spanish!’ Jun shouted back.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ the man said again, this time in English. ‘What’s he doing with us?’

  The guy was crying behind his fake beard. Jun wanted to slap him. ‘We
have to get out of this!’ he shouted.

  Over the top of his voice, the droning narration continued:

  ‘…and the old man told him he was the god of this part of river, but without water even he would soon die, and he implored the man to build a dam so that the land could become fertile again.’

  Jun got the distinct impression that Professor Crow was making this up as he went along. He looked towards Crow’s balcony, and saw just the shifting of shadows behind the glow of a screen as the mad professor controlled the movements of the players. Glancing down at the milling crowd below, he could only wonder what they thought. Some were standing with their eyes on the ceiling as if witnessing the second coming of the Star of David. Others were still fighting to get to the doors which were barricaded shut. From here Jun could see something metallic had slid down over the entrance, a storm door perhaps. As his limbs continued to jerk around him he shook his head in amazement. Crow had been thorough.

  ‘And so the young man agreed, on the condition that the river god provided him with a bride. The river god was only happy to agree. The young man recruited his friend, a circus strongman named… Crick … to help him.’

  Jun looked up to see the huge pale wrestler swinging towards him. Crow’s aim was off and the wrestler bounced off Jun and spun away, his wires creaking. Jun glanced up and saw a spider scuttling across the metal scaffolding above to secure a broken line. So, Crow’s contraption wasn’t foolproof. Maybe they had a chance.

  The wrestler slammed into Jun again and the crowd below gasped as the shadows on the ceiling blurred and verged for a few seconds before Crow was able to put it right. Goddamn it, they’re watching us, Jun thought. They actually want to know the end of this ridiculous story.