The Crow Talker. Jacob Grey

dream.

      Beside him, Milky ruffled his feathers.

      The tattooed prisoner leant over the manhole, took hold of a skinny wrist and pulled a second figure into the open – a young woman. She had black hair that fell to her waist and caught the streetlight like a raven’s wing. As she straightened up, she stood even taller than the man. The sleeves of her prison uniform were soiled with dirty water from the sewer, and she began carefully rolling them up. Her arms were lithe and muscled, as though she could wrap them around a person and squeeze their life away.

      And then came a third person. He flopped out into the alley and scrambled to his feet, brushing down his clothes. He was less than half the height of the others and hunched over. He looked old, but he moved like a younger man. His eyes darted around in all directions.

      “Finally, the smells of the city!” said the short man. “How I missed the delicious stench of rot.”

      The big man cracked his knuckles. “Time to get back to business,” he said.

      “We shouldn’t delay,” hissed the woman. Her voice was soft and sibilant. “It won’t be long before they work out where that tunnel leads.”

      “Freeze!”

      All three prisoners turned to the other end of the alley. A man stood silhouetted there holding a gun, its barrel glinting.

      Oh dear, Glum said.

      It was the man from the house. But the prisoners didn’t look afraid. Instead, the big one stepped forward.

      “Warden Strickham,” he said. “What a nice surprise.”

      We should go, said Glum. This has nothing to do with us. It’s—

      “Human stuff?” whispered Caw. “I know. But in case you hadn’t noticed, I am a human, Glum.”

      That wasn’t why he was staying, though. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he needed to know about that tattoo. He had to find out what it meant.

      “You’re going right back to jail, Jawbone,” said Mr Strickham.

      The big man, Jawbone, grinned for real. It twisted his face, making him look even scarier, like a hungry dog. “What d’you say, friends? Should we crawl back to our cells?”

      The short man sniggered, and the woman’s tongue flickered over her lips. “I say we refuse his kind offer,” she said. “He tastes a little scared to me.”

      Mr Strickham brought his other hand to the hilt of his gun to steady it. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m the one with the bullets, and a squad of police officers on the way.” He glanced behind him.

      Suddenly Caw felt nervous.

      “Leave this to me,” said Jawbone. “I’ll catch up when I’ve dealt with him.”

      The others nodded and melted away into the alley – the short man shuffling, his tall companion almost gliding.

      “Hey!” shouted Mr Strickham. “One more move and I’ll shoot!”

      There was a flash and a deafening crack as Mr Strickham’s pistol went off. A warning shot, but the prisoners ignored it. The woman took one fork, the short man the other. The next moment they were gone.

      “Just us now,” said Jawbone, moving slowly towards Mr Strickham.

      “I don’t like this,” said Caw. “We should help him.”

      In a flash, Jawbone lunged, and his shovel-like hand gripped the gun and twisted it from the Warden’s hand. With a cry of pain, Mr Strickham cradled his arm, backing away.

      Jawbone tossed the gun behind him. “Never liked guns,” he said. “They kill too quick.” He reached out and gripped Mr Strickham’s neck, then hoisted him one-handed into the air. The Warden’s legs kicked out weakly as his face turned red, then purple.

      Caw’s stomach churned with fear. It was a long way down from where he stood on the roof. He thought he could make it with a couple of jumps, but what then? He swallowed, and swung a leg over the parapet.

      Then a new voice called out. “Leave him alone!”

      At the end of the alley, a small shape had slipped from the shadows. Caw caught his breath. It was Lydia – the girl from the house! She still wore her pyjamas and a dressing gown. One of the laces of her trainers was trailing. How had Caw not seen her following?

      Her father twitched in Jawbone’s death-grip, his face horribly contorted. Jawbone grinned, then threw him aside like a ragdoll. Mr Strickham slammed into the rubbish bin and collapsed in a heap.

      “Lydia?” he croaked, managing to get to one knee. “Oh, God. No.”

      Jawbone aimed a kick at Mr Strickham’s stomach and he crumpled with a moan.

      “Dad!” shouted Lydia, rushing towards him. Jawbone grabbed at her, seizing a handful of her hair and yanking her round to face him. Her face twisted in pain.

      “Let me go!” she yelled, scrabbling at his arm.

      “Now!” whispered Caw to the crows. “Get him!”

      He flipped around so he was facing the wall, then released his grip and plummeted, hitting the ground hard. He fell into a backwards roll, coming up to see that Screech and Glum had already swooped down on to Jawbone’s head. Kow-kow-kow! they screamed.

      Jawbone dropped Lydia and swatted at the crows with his massive arms.

      “Get them off me!” he bellowed.

      The prisoner punched the air as the crows raked his face with their claws. A fist caught Screech and sent him crashing into a wall. He slid to the ground, but flapped away just as Jawbone’s foot came down in a stamp. Glum squawked and stabbed his beak at the prisoner’s eyes. Jawbone staggered, his spider tattoo writhing as he fought off the attack. Screech threw himself bravely back into the fray.

      Caw rushed to Mr Strickham’s side, and he and Lydia helped him stand. At the same time Caw realised that the girl was staring at him, open-mouthed.

      Mr Strickham frowned in confusion, watching the crows swirl around Jawbone in a blur of feathers. The giant was twisting like a man fighting shadows.

      “Come on!” Caw said, pulling Mr Strickham away. “Run!”

      But Mr Strickham staggered in the opposite direction, and Caw saw he was heading for the gun on the ground.

      “Dad! Leave it!” said Lydia, running after him. Too late. Mr Strickham reached the gun. He wheeled around, bringing the barrel up to point at Jawbone. And the crows.

      “No!” yelled Caw. He threw himself at the Warden’s arm, as the gun went off with a crack. The sound lanced through his ears, and Caw clenched his eyes shut against the stabbing pain. When he opened them again, Mr Strickham was mouthing at him furiously, but Caw couldn’t hear the words. He turned and saw Jawbone had gone, and so had his crows.

      Gradually sound seeped through his eardrums.

      “… saved us, Dad,” Lydia was saying.

      “He helped him escape!” said Mr Strickham.

      Lydia put a hand on his arm. “That man was going to kill you!”

      The radio on Mr Strickham’s belt crackled and panicked voices came through. “Sir, where are you?… Shots fired! … Warden Strickham?”

      Mr Strickham plucked the radio off his hip. “Alleyway between Rector’s and Fourth,” he said. “I’ve lost them.”

      The hard lines of Mr Strickham’s face softened. He looked at Caw, and his nostrils twitched like he’d smelled something bad. Lydia was looking at him too, and Caw felt his face getting hot. “Who are you?” said Mr Strickham.

      Caw didn’t know what to say.