Tales of Crow- The Complete series Box Set

by Chris Ward

  Patrick Devan had propped his bicycle against a wall and was approaching the main entrance to the office. Through Divan’s eyes, Kurou watched him thump on the door, and from out in the corridor he heard Patrick shout, ‘Open up! I want to talk to you!’

  Kurou switched off the screen and took up the cloak hanging over a chair back. After assembling the rest of his most delightful attire, he went to meet his new guest.

  30

  Patrick

  There was only so long he could sit on the step feeling sorry for himself before he had to do something. Unsure what else he could do, Patrick went back into the chalet and looked around, trying to establish what might have happened.

  It quickly became apparent that the cabin had not been ransacked in the interest of a search, but rather in anger. And among the calamity of broken foodstuffs, the medical pack was missing, as was Suzanne’s bag, and the clothes they had taken from her mother’s house. Much of the stored food was gone, but it was clear that whatever had befallen them, Suzanne had had some time to prepare.

  And she had at least left the house ahead of her pursuers.

  Patrick took a drink from the water tap in the sink. As he wiped his mouth, a shadow fell over him.

  He turned to find a hulking shape leaning in the doorway.

  ‘Do you know anything about that little whore that was shopped up in here?’

  Patrick’s sense of survival kicked in. He grabbed an overturned can off the surface in front of him and held it behind him.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he said, trying to sound convincing. ‘I just showed up, saw the door was open, you know …. This your place? I’m sorry, mate, I didn’t mean it, I thought no one was here.’

  The man’s stance softened, apparently convinced. ‘Couldn’t believe me luck when that little slut came knocking.’ He gave Patrick a lecherous grin. ‘I knocked her good in turn, then the whore goes and steals me jeep.’

  Patrick’s face burned at the man’s words, but he knew without question that the man was talking about Suzanne. Patrick had failed her, but Suzanne, ever resourceful, had found her own way out.

  ‘That’s, uh, too bad.’

  ‘And I want to know what you’re going to do about it.’

  Patrick looked up. ‘Me? What?’

  The man came forward. ‘Don’t lie to me, you little fuck. I know you know exactly who I’m talking about.’ He lifted a hand. ‘About this high, nice tight tits, lips that suck and suck and suck—’

  ‘Fuck you!’

  Patrick launched himself forward, swinging the can into the man’s face. The man had clearly been trying to entice Patrick into a fight, but hadn’t banked on the ferocity as Patrick caught him flush under the eye. The man groaned, but swung a fist, catching Patrick in the stomach. They rolled together, and for a few seconds the man got the upper hand, holding Patrick with one hand while pummelling him in the face with the other fist, then Patrick, still holding the can, caught him on the side of the head, knocking him off.

  He shoved the man away and made a break for the door.

  His bike was hidden in the hedge back where the tarmac access road gave way to the forest trail.

  He ran.

  The man came behind, shouting, but he was limping from some other injury Patrick hoped Suzanne had inflicted. Patrick’s face ached from a second beating in the last three days, but his legs were still good.

  The bike lay exactly where he’d hidden it. Patrick pulled it out of the bushes, climbed on, and forced the pedals to move. The man’s shouts faded as he picked up speed along the narrow road.

  He had to find Suzanne. He repeated it like a mantra, over and over again.

  I have to find Suzanne. I have to find her.

  Whether those creatures like the one Race had become could track a moving vehicle, Patrick didn’t know, but he was desperate, and there was only one way to find out. He had pedalled all day, only taking a couple of hours’ rest through sheer necessity, when, exhausted, he had slipped off his bike, landed in the undergrowth by the roadside, and failed to find the strength to get back up.

  Now, with night having long since fallen, he was again at the end of his strength as he rested the bike against a wall outside the looming grey hulk of Carmichael Industries and headed for the door. Through frosted glass he could see a single light flickering somewhere inside, even though the outside of the place was dark, the car park deserted. Behind him, a graveyard of abandoned industrial holdings watched impassively.

  There was no point in being subtle. Patrick hammered on the door, shouting to be let in, even though when he tried the handle he found it unlocked. The door opened into a small reception area, with two doors leading out, one in the far wall, the other behind a deserted reception desk. It was through the latter one that he saw a light, so he went around the desk and tried the door.

  Open. He emerged into a warehouse. One aisle stretched in front of him, doors leading off. Above him, he sensed a tall ceiling hidden in the dark. To his left, another corridor opened out into production lines and storage areas, visible only in the glow of a couple of red security lights.

  He walked forward, heading for the only yellow light he could see, coming from the window of an office a couple of doors down. Above the door a name plate: “Stanley Carmichael-Jones, C.E.O” hung comically from one nail. In its place, someone had scrawled “Doctor Crow, Esq.” in black marker pen.

  Patrick opened the door. A room adorned with framed pictures of birds seemed appropriate for the monstrosity sitting with its feet up on a desk. Certainly he was human, but his face was grossly disfigured, a huge nose giving him a birdlike appearance accentuated by tufts of feathers growing haphazardly across his face.

  One eye was covered by a patch, the other fitted with a monocle. He wore a black top hat and a shimmery crimson conjuror’s suit.

  ‘Welcome, young Patrick Devan,’ he said, his voice a watery hiss. ‘How delightful to make your acquaintance, dear sire. My name, as you probably know, is Doctor Crow.’

  He turned the word “Crow” into two syllables, adding a “U” after the first “C”.

  Kurou.

  Patrick felt a shiver down his back. At first he thought it was his mounting fear, but then he realised the door had opened, and someone had come into the room behind him.

  ‘Well, look at this,’ Kurou said. ‘A little family reunion.’

  Patrick looked up. The figure beside him, at least a head taller, lifted veiny, clawed hands and removed a hood.

  Race’s eyes stared at him over the snarling of a dog’s snout.

  Patrick’s vision wavered. His brother was there and then not there as he crashed to the floor.

  When he awoke, he was naked and strapped to a stretcher. He wouldn’t have recognised the masked man in a doctor’s coat and mask leaning over him, were it not for the monocle still covering one eye.

  ‘Aha, we have life,’ Kurou said. ‘I’m afraid you took a little turn back there.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just a little light testing. I’m so delighted to have completed my family set. What an opportunity you have given me.’

  Patrick tried to move, but he found the only unsecured part of him was his head. He glanced down at his chest and saw wires all over him.

  ‘I’m something of a magician,’ Kurou said with an air of pride. ‘An old world spin doctor, a master technician, an auteur … you name it, at some point I have achieved every pinnacle of mastery.’ He paused, lifting one hand into the air. It was covered with a plastic glove which had ripped through in several places to reveal Kurou’s unnaturally shaped fingers.

  ‘Yet, what has it gained me? I am a recluse, an outcast, a societal reject. Not a street in the land could I walk down during day and receive less than derision, while at night inspiring terror. It is you and your kind—your perfectly formed kind—who have rejected me and left me on the fringes of a world falling apart, a world which my own vision might have the capabilit
y to repair. Are you not, sire, a modest member of society?’

  Patrick wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘I’m just a man,’ he said.

  ‘Yes!’ Kurou punched the stretcher, and Patrick felt the tug of dozens of wires attached to his body as the metal shook. ‘You are just a man, and I … am just a crow. Shunned, despised, picking at the scraps of the world, while forever plotting how to fly without being shot down.’

  ‘Can you let me go?’ Patrick said.

  Kurou leaned over him. A tuft of feathers just under his seeing eye lifted and fell with his breathing. ‘Now, why would I do that?’

  ‘Because I came here looking for help.’

  Kurou’s thin lips parted in a hideous sneer. ‘Does anything about me give you the impression that I am some kind of Samaritan? Have I somehow failed to explain what mechanisms make me tick, sire?’

  Patrick felt on the verge of hysteria, and despite the hopelessness he felt, he forced a smile.

  ‘I think you are still a student,’ he said.

  ‘A student, you say?’

  ‘Still learning things. Is that right?’

  Kurou gave a theatrical wave of his hands. ‘When one stops learning, one dies,’ he said.

  ‘I want your help to find my girlfriend,’ Patrick said, his voice shaking as though he were trying to a make a pact with a devil determined to throw him into a cooking pot. ‘My brother … that thing you made my brother into … can it track?’

  Kurou throw his arms in the air and howled with laughter. ‘Can it track, sire? Who is the jester in this room, you or me? Of course it can track. That’s the very point of its existence.’

  ‘Can it track a moving vehicle?’

  Kurou frowned. ‘Can it … are you testing me, sire?’

  ‘My girlfriend stole a man’s car and took off. Can it track a scent travelling at speed in a moving vehicle?’

  Kurou frowned. ‘I’m not sure.’

  Patrick sensed an opportunity to beat on the man’s fragile mentality. Despite the fear he felt, he tried to show a look of disgust.

  ‘What do you mean you’re not sure? What kind of a scientist are you? You built that thing and you didn’t even test it?’

  Kurou scowled. ‘You mock me, sire?’

  ‘I only mock what deserves to be mocked. Help me find my girlfriend, and prove how good you are.’

  Kurou appeared to be thinking. ‘I think it’s time for you to be a little quiet,’ he said.

  Before Patrick could respond, a syringe had appeared in Kurou’s hand. A needle pricked Patrick’s shoulder, and the world went black.

  When he awoke, he was no longer strapped to a stretcher but sitting up in a chair, a towel covering his body from the chest down. When he tried to move his skin felt tight, as though it had shrunk during a long night.

  ‘Ah, welcome back, sire.’

  Kurou stood by a line of filing cabinets, dressed in the conjuror’s regalia of their first meeting. The monocle now covered the sighted eye, the patch the blind one.

  ‘What did you do to me?’

  Kurou gave a coy smile. ‘Nothing much; just ensured the return of my investment. You see, I have decided to take you up on your offer. I will allow a little family reunion. Your brother will accompany you in your search for your girlfriend, but after she is found and her safety achieved, I would like a little favour.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You will return here, and do something for me.’

  Patrick stared at Kurou. ‘What?’

  ‘I haven’t yet decided.’

  ‘And you give your world that you will let me save Suzanne?’

  Kurou nodded. ‘In this day and age, my word is as valuable as any.’

  Patrick sighed, aware he had no choice. ‘I’ll do whatever you want,’ he said.

  Kurou spread his hands. ‘Fantastic. Then let the games begin.’

  31

  Suzanne

  Suzanne tried to concentrate on the road, but whenever she found herself bumping along narrow country lanes, with only the overgrown hedges to avoid on either side, her thoughts constantly turned to the events of the last few days.

  Both her body and her heart ached. Less than a month ago, she had been in school, idling away the time before her final exams, sneaking out at night to spend time with Patrick beneath clear, starlit skies.

  And then her father had disappeared, and the world had shifted.

  She had been raped, beaten, had a noose hung around her neck, seen men die, lain on her back to save her dying half-sister, and now abandoned Patrick, the only constant through it all.

  The events of the last couple of weeks had pushed them both to breaking, and she had found things out about his personality that she didn’t like, and no doubt he felt the same. Yet, through it all, she only felt more strongly about him, and realised that above everything else, she loved Patrick Devan more than anyone else in the world.

  Lying together in the country house, she had thought that as long as they stayed together, everything would be okay.

  But now they were apart.

  Kelly, sitting in the half-reclined passenger seat beside her, groaned. Her young half-sister, whom Suzanne barely knew, had become her priority, her reason to keep pushing forward. She barely knew the girl, yet Kelly’s suffering was Suzanne’s fault, and she had to try to make it right.

  Because if she didn’t, she had nothing left.

  ‘Keep driving,’ she muttered.

  The car was electric like the one they had taken from the country house, but its battery was fully charged, with a couple hundred miles of potential range. Suzanne, though, had no real plan, and knew that if she went into any built-up area, she would be immediately noticed, and the DCA would close in. No doubt they would be even harder on her than before, but while Suzanne feared no brutality, she was terrified of what might happen to Kelly.

  After driving around for a while, she decided on a vague plan to head for the coast. They were only a few miles from the Bristol Channel, and if they headed due west they would eventually encounter the remote fishing villages along the Atlantic coast. Suzanne had only seen the sea on a couple of occasions, but where there was water there were boats, and boats offered a way out of the country that a car didn’t.

  So the coast it was.

  She didn’t really know where she was going, and there was no map she could find in the car, but by checking her position through open gateways that looked down on the Somerset Levels, she managed to keep in a rough westerly direction.

  And then, as the day began to fade, she spotted water in the distance. A few minutes later, she passed a dirty sign that said “PORLOCK BAY”. Rolling hills gave way to a wide semi-circle of beach with a quaint fishing village nestled around it.

  Suzanne took a small lane leading into forest and pulled up at a secluded viewing point that looked down over the village. It looked so retro it was almost otherworldly, untouched by the corruption and political strife that was overtaking the rest of the country. The roads were in place, fishing boats sat moored along a little weir, and there was no sign of the DCA.

  Beside her, Kelly groaned again. Suzanne started as her sister opened her eyes and looked up.

  ‘Are we there yet?’ Kelly muttered, before breaking into a tired burst of laughter. She looked about to say something else, but her head lolled and her eyes closed.

  Suzanne felt her sister’s brow. She was still highly feverish, so she shook Kelly awake and forced her to drink some bottled water. Suzanne then lowered Kelly’s seat completely flat to create a makeshift bed, then draped a jacket over her.

  She pulled out of the viewing point and drove on a little way until she came to a small forest road. She turned down it, driving through bushes that had nearly overtaken the road. It ended a couple of hundred metres in at a towering pylon no longer supporting any electricity cables. As sure as she could be that their car would be undiscovered, Suzanne whispered to Kelly to stay put, then climbed out and locked the door.
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  If there was any help to be found in the village, she had to look for it.

  After half an hour of walking downhill, backtracking to ensure she remembered how to find the car, and following the distant lights of the village, she came to the outskirts of Porlock. The village was one main street along the beachfront with a few smaller residential streets leading away. There was no sign of any people, but Suzanne recognised a few shops and businesses and then came to something utterly banned in her own town: a pub.

  The sound of voices came from inside, but Suzanne didn’t dare go in. She glimpsed people through a window, chatting amicably, drinking what appeared to be alcohol, and generally enjoying themselves. Whatever stain the government and the DCA was leaving on the rest of the country was yet to spread here.

  She left the pub behind, continuing up the road. Everything was closed, but she passed a couple of general stores, and then, at the end of the main street, a place that made her eyes light up with excitement.

  A doctor’s surgery.

  It was of course closed, but signs in the window gave opening hours, and it looked well taken care of. Suzanne peered in through a window and saw a neat waiting room inside, at the back a little counter from where prescriptions would be dispensed.

  She took a step back and sized up the window. A couple of feet square, she could just about fit through.

  A loose rock from a low stone wall around the neighbouring garden looked big enough. Suzanne took off her sweater and wrapped it around the rock to muffle the sound.

  As she hefted it, ready to slam it against the window, a shuffle of feet came from behind her.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  Suzanne turned, lifting the rock to use as a possible weapon, but it slipped out of the sweater and landed on the corner of her foot. She twisted sideways, ending up in a heap on the floor.