Tales of Crow- The Complete series Box Set

by Chris Ward

  ‘I’m not … l—l—lying,’ Jack stammered.

  ‘You’d better fucking not be,’ the angry one said, pushing Jack again.

  The two men stalked off up the corridor. As the door clanged and the lock clicked, Suzanne dropped to her knees to check on Patrick, who was just starting to come out of the paralysis. As she patted him on the shoulder, he looked up and mouthed, ‘I’m all right.’

  Suzanne looked at Jack. ‘I don’t know how I can thank you,’ she said. ‘That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.’

  Jack was shaking. ‘I nearly pissed myself,’ he said, voice cracking. ‘Don’t worry, by the time they find out I bullshitted them, we’ll be out of here.’

  ‘You just made that up?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Kind of. Dad will give them what they ask for, but it won’t be rump steak. He’ll give them minced bull penis. They might not even realise.’

  Suzanne pulled Jack into a hug. Patrick, wincing from the tasering, gave Jack a tentative pat on the leg.

  ‘Thank you,’ he muttered. ‘Are you sure … we’re getting … let out?’

  Jack nodded. ‘That’s what they told me. Tomorrow.’

  10

  Tommy

  The DCA had hunted him, and other gangsters had hunted him, but Tommy had never been hunted by something that could run like a dog, jump like a cat, and handle weapons like a man.

  With his back soaked with sweat and the sleeve of one arm torn open from one time it had got too close, he rolled across the top of an empty production line and dropped down into a space beneath.

  Where had it gone? How close was it?

  Catching its leg with a thrown metal pipe had been sheer luck. It was limping, but still coming forward, relentless. He was tiring, and soon his advantage would be lost. He gripped the gun with his right hand, aware he had only one bullet left.

  He had foolishly wasted three early on, thinking he could cut the creature down. He had seen two bullets penetrate its chest, yet it had barely flinched. As it leapt at him he had understood why: its billowing cloak had revealed a tangle of electronics and wires buried into the flesh of its chest. It might once have been a man, but whatever it was now, it would no longer die like one.

  Something moved out of the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing a box of papers flutter to the ground like the shredded pieces of dead birds.

  A clink of metal behind him was the only warning. He turned, ducking back as the creature leapt out of nowhere, doglike maw snapping at his face. A claw raked him across the chest, ripping open his shirt and leaving deep lacerations across one pectoral.

  Tommy staggered back, gritting his teeth. The creature had tricked him, using a decoy to disguise its attack. As it came up from a crouch and turned, Tommy lifted his gun, aware that if he failed with a direct headshot, he was dead.

  ‘Enough!’

  Wires whizzed above him and then Kurou was there, leaning out of his harness, clapping his hands together. Tommy, breathing hard, lowered the gun, wiping sweat off his face with his left hand. Just ten paces away, the Huntsman dropped back into a crouch, its head lowered, terrifying human eyes hidden beneath the cowl. Tommy stared at it, watching blood and oil pooling around its feet. So, he had hurt it after all, but how much could it stand before it was taken out?

  ‘Fifty-five minutes,’ Kurou said. ‘Wonderful. I gave you a bonus of five for your efforts, and because I didn’t really want you to die. A fascinating spectacle for an unarmed creature barely half finished, and your own survival skills have impressed me. I believe we can do business now.’

  He clicked talon-like fingers. Tommy heard running feet, then to his horror two other robed figures appeared. Exhausted, he tried to lift his gun, but they moved straight past him to their fallen comrade. They lifted the creature up then helped it limp back to the research labs.

  Kurou lowered himself in the harness and climbed out. He tipped his hat to Tommy and gave his walking stick a twirl. As the light through a window caught Kurou’s face, Tommy saw he was monstrosity layered upon monstrosity: a deformity had left him looking birdlike with overlarge eyes and a long nose that resembled a beak. One eye was gone, the socket sewn shut. Tufts of feathery hairs protruded out of scar tissue covering half his face.

  ‘What the fuck are you?’

  Kurou gave a short bow. ‘Just a man like yourself. One blessed less with looks but more likely with brains. Alas, I am old now, treading my last path in life, with just one small task left to complete.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘Something to be talked of another time. Won’t you come with me to my lab?’

  Tommy lifted the gun and pointed it at Kurou’s face. ‘I should blow your fucking head off,’ he said. ‘Rid the world of a monster.’

  Kurou laughed. ‘Oh, there are far greater monsters than me,’ he said. ‘And whole tribes of little monsters. Have you looked in the mirror recently?’

  Tommy said nothing. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the cuts on his chest, wincing as tremors of pain shot through him.

  ‘Come,’ Kurou said. ‘Let us go to my office. Laurette, assist him please.’

  The little assistant appeared out of the shadows. One clawed hand took Tommy’s and helped him after Kurou, who limped to a door near the entrance, twirling his walking stick each time he leaned on his good leg. Tommy watched him as he stumbled after, wondering how such a bizarre character could even exist. He had a thousand unanswered questions, but for now he was happy just to be alive.

  The room Kurou led him into had once been Stanley Carmichael-Jones’s main office. Kurou had taken down the old aerial photographs of the factory and replaced them with photographs of birds in flight: eagles, condors, hawks, even a crow soaring above a London townhouse. He had kept Carmichael-Jones’s furniture, though, and Laurette helped Tommy down onto a plush leather sofa.

  ‘Don’t worry about getting blood on the upholstery,’ Kurou said, taking a swivel chair behind a desk. ‘I’ve never been one for worrying about small details. Now, let’s talk about how we can be of help to each other.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘I went through all the old ledgers with a fine toothcomb, in particular those under the table relating to smuggled goods sent overseas.’ At Tommy’s look of surprise, Kurou spread his arms. ‘Oh, you don’t think I cared about his regular business, did you? There’s nothing to interest me there. All the rest though … fascinating.’

  ‘Carmichael-Jones could see what was coming to this country,’ Tommy said. ‘It’s heading for a total lockdown. He figured it was best to get the keys out into Europe before the doors got locked, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘And you were one of the gatekeepers, were you not?’

  ‘I suppose you could say that. I was helping him get electronics parts out of the country.’

  Kurou leaned forward. His old body creaked, and as his smile faded, Tommy felt an uneasy sense of dread.

  ‘And now I’d like you to help me,’ Kurou said. ‘I’m working on a very special project, of which you have only seen a minor part. What I would like from you is some assistance in acquiring those items I might need to further my production along.’

  ‘What makes you think I can help you?’

  ‘Because you’re connected to what we could call the underworld, are you not? A mongoose by day and a snake by night, wouldn’t that cover it?’

  ‘I have connections.’

  ‘Ones you’ll need when the country goes fully underside up, wouldn’t you say?’

  Tommy nodded. ‘It’s best to be prepared.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. However, I don’t intend to be around much longer. A crow never likes to stay in one place too long, and soon the time will come to spread my wings once more. Summer is coming, and the heat really does prickle so. You will probably see the back of me within a few weeks from now, but during that time of my occupancy, I’ll be as busy as a whole hive of little be
es.’

  ‘Making monsters like that thing that attacked me?’

  Kurou leaned back suddenly. He kicked the table and the chair spun him around. ‘Oh, you call Divan a monster? You foolish man. Divan is a work of wondrous art. A perfect alignment of human, beast, and machine. However, when one works with such unpredictable subject matter, it is inevitable that it will take much trial and error to achieve a perfect prototype. Therefore, what I require from you is a supply of raw materials.’

  Tommy leaned back, finally understanding. ‘You want me to bring you people, don’t you?’

  Kurou grinned, making Tommy shiver. ‘I already have the machinery, thanks to my deal with the wonderful Mr. Carmichael-Jones. And the animals will be easy to acquire. So, yes, it’s just the third part of my little triangle of optimism that I require. And I’m certain that a man of your resources will have little trouble.’

  ‘You’re sick.’

  Kurou spread his hands. ‘Come now, we’ve been through all this. I’m not asking you to bring me your grandmother. You may select from whatever human detritus you can find. I’m sure there are plenty of people this world has no more use for.’ He leaned forward again, his voice lowering, becoming a sinister, sibilant hiss. ‘Bring them to me, sire.’

  Tommy gave a slow nod. He thought about all the people he had roughed up, some of the scum he had killed himself. And others, people no one would miss if they disappeared.

  It wouldn’t be hard to find people to fulfill Kurou’s fantasies, but he needed assurances. He needed proof that their partnership went both ways.

  ‘You want me to supply you with people to do your experiments on,’ he said. ‘What do I get in return?’

  Kurou spread his hands. ‘Whatever you want which is in my power. You only have to ask.’

  Tommy nodded. ‘There is one thing,’ he said.

  11

  Urla

  The gallows looked magnificent. Urla had insisted the wooden frames be painted bright red, and they now stood resplendent in the morning sunshine. As she stood beside her car, she folded her arms and smiled.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said.

  Beside her, holding a clipboard, Justin nodded. ‘You’ve done a fine job, Ms. Wynne. This will be a day the people will never forget.’

  Urla gave him a sideways glance. The previous night had been one she would never forget, either. Justin had dressed up like a man for the occasion, but during the night he had become an animal. Now, basking in the glow of an excessive amount of sex, she waited for the procession that would seal her authority over the town, and herald a new dawn for her administrative region.

  Informed by posters hastily distributed during the night, the townsfolk were beginning to arrive, herding into carefully monitored fenced areas guarded by armed DCA agents and ringed by members of the regular army from the Bristol barracks. Buses had been arranged from some of the outlying villages, and while attendance wasn’t mandatory, travel was reimbursed for anyone wishing to attend.

  Billed only as a legal announcement, the first people to arrive had seen the gallows set up on a temporary stage at the back of the main town square and were beginning to show their anger. Too late to back out now, they were penned in and had no choice but to witness the coming spectacle. Urla was sure it would be a day that would live long in the memory.

  ‘The condemned will arrive at ten a.m. sharp,’ Justin said. ‘Would you like to give each of them a moment to speak? It might recall justice systems of the past, but it might also rile the crowd. I can have them gagged or even hooded if you wish.’

  Urla shook her head. ‘I would like to have them speak,’ she said. ‘It will humanise them, therefore emphasising what we are talking away, what the law can do if it is not obeyed. However, it is likely to cause a rumpus at the front of the crowd, particularly if any of the family of the condemned are in attendance. It would be wise to double the barriers and the guard. Warn them that trouble might erupt and ensure they are heavily armed.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Justin scribbled something down on his clipboard pad, then hurried off to speak to an army captain standing nearby.

  Urla watched the growing crowd with interest. A couple of pockets of protest had already broken out, and she signaled a guard captain to make some arrests. Within a few minutes, three men were being dragged away, while the others assumed an uneasy silence.

  She nodded. If violence was what it took to pull them into line, then so be it. The great unwashed had gotten away with murder for years, forever pushing back the boundaries of what was accepted behaviour, always wanting just a little bit more, never, ever satisfied.

  She waited as the minutes slipped by. The crowd swelled, but tempered by the guards and the words of warning filtering back from the front, they were subdued rather than incensed. She hoped the shock of the executions meant that everyone present would take away the same message: rules existed to be obeyed.

  The time came. A police truck appeared in the streets to the square’s north, pulling to a stop behind the stage. Several armed officers unloaded the eight chosen for execution. All were hooded and bound, their arms restrained behind their backs, their legs in shackles. Urla smiled. She had wanted their identities revealed as late as possible. No families had been notified: it would make for greater shock value if someone in the crowd noticed one of their own.

  The man she had chosen as the executioner stepped up onto stage. Justice Arden Law was appropriately named and had the callous, weathered look of a man who felt no mercy. She had talked through the situation with him, and he was happy to become a hated public figure if the price was right. Now, as he stepped up to a microphone, grinning like a madman, cries of anger and hatred rose up from the crowd.

  ‘Thank you for gathering here today,’ he said. ‘In light of recent changes to law, it has been decided that an example needed to be set. It is written into law that rules must be obeyed and every able-bodied man, woman and child be required to work towards a common good: the advancement of our great country. In many cases it has been found that that was not the case. Our prisons are overflowing. It is time to offload some of those who will not comply. Today you will see an example set. Eight young hooligans will be executed before you, hanged until they are dead.’

  The angry roar from the crowd was deafening. Urla took an involuntary step back towards her waiting car in case a full riot broke out. Near the stage, the soldiers closed ranks, their guns raised. If the crowd surged forward, they had orders not to hesitate.

  Justice Law walked along the line and pulled off the hoods. Eight pairs of groggy, blinking eyes looked up. A couple of the faces were badly bruised, but Urla just looked away. If they played up in captivity they deserved what they got.

  Justin had told her the captives would be drugged to ensure they didn’t create a commotion. Now, though, as the full understanding of what was about to happen hit home, some began to struggle.

  Soldiers came forward to hold them from behind as Justice Law walked along the line, looping a noose around each neck. They had been specially designed on Urla’s instruction with Justin’s advice: the noose wasn’t rope but tightly wound nylon cloth, and the captives would be slowly lifted all at once, the gallows having a small pulley built into its frame. It was important that they didn’t die for some time; she wanted them slowly choked while the crowd watched.

  It was callous, for sure, but a long, slow lesson would work far better than a short sharp one.

  ‘Do you have anything to say?’ Justice Law said to the first captive, a fat sniveling toad of a boy who was sobbing uncontrollably.

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ the boy muttered. ‘I wasn’t doing any harm.’

  ‘Oh, but the justice system found that you were,’ Justice Law said. ‘You will die today like the scum you are.’

  He moved along to the next person, but a commotion had begun in the crowd near the back.

  ‘That’s my boy!’ someone shouted.

  Urla groaned as she rec
ognised the voice. The butcher. Her meat order would be soured from now on. She wished she had thought to give Justin a lineup order; half the captives were runaways with no known family, but the others were well known in the town. They had inadvertently been lined up first. She waved at her nearest captain, then gave the order with a hand swiped across her throat.

  The crack as the gun butt struck the butcher’s head was as loud as any gunshot. Urla gave a satisfied nod as his voice fell silent.

  ‘You?’ Justice Law said to the next person on the stage, and Urla wished she’d not allowed them to speak.

  The girl’s face was puffy and bruised from a recent beating, but Urla could see the beauty hidden beneath the swellings and guessed what might have happened to her in the detainment block.

  ‘Down with the government!’ the girl screamed before Justice Law jerked the microphone away. Even unamplified, Urla heard what she said next over the crowd’s growing roar: ‘I was held down and raped in detention by two DCA scum! These bastards don’t protect us! Kill every last one before they kill you!’

  Urla turned to Justin and gave him a hand signal which he had relayed to Justice Law on the stage. No more speeches. String them up.

  Too late; the crowd was rioting. Justice Law operated the gallows control and then jumped off the stage as the contraption lifted the eight captives by their necks. The crowd surged forward, fighting to reach them, but the soldiers had made a line across the front of the stage. Gunfire rang out and several men fell under the feet of their comrades. The rest drew back, their anger tempered, even as other groups urged them forward from the rear.

  ‘Mayhem,’ Urla muttered, heading for her car. She waved at Justin to follow. It was too dangerous to stick around. She could relay orders from the safety of her office.

  She had one hand on her car door when she saw the running Justice Law struck in the neck by what looked like a long arrow. She stared, horrified, as he slumped to his knees and then fell face forward to the ground. She was still staring when Justin pulled her into the car.