The White Widow’s Revenge. Jacob Grey

of the van.

      Lugmann appeared through the flock of birds, wielding a sledgehammer. As he reached the top of the steps, he swung it at the glass doors. The impact reverberated throughout the bank, making Pickwick jump. Lugmann took a step back and swung again, throwing all his weight behind the hammer. A few cracks appeared in the glass.

      Then Crumb’s pigeons joined the fight, smacking into Lugmann as he hefted the hammer again. He tried to shake them off, but more swarmed over him. He dropped the sledgehammer and retreated to the van, slamming the door behind him.

      “Goodness,” said Pickwick. “Are we … Is it over?”

      The grunts of the bison were muted through the glass. Lugmann and the feral woman were trapped in the van by the crows and pigeons, staring out with cold malice. Surely someone outside had called the police by now.

      But Caw’s heart refused to slow down. It can’t be this easy …

      “We did it,” said Crumb.

      “Not quite,” said someone in a familiar Southern drawl.

      Caw flinched and spun round. The oil-painted mural that covered one wall was shifting in a way that made his eyes strain and blink. Then the shape of a man emerged, the colours of his suit flickering before settling into pale cream. It was Mr Silk, the moth feral. He tipped his broad-brimmed hat.

      “Mighty nice of you to join me, Caw.”

      Caw flung out a hand, but all of his crows were still outside. He glanced at Crumb, but the pigeon feral had made the same mistake.

      “Who are you?” asked Pickwick.

      “Just a customer, come to make a withdrawal,” said Mr Silk. “A substantial one.”

      “Pip, get him!” yelled Caw.

      A surge of mice flooded towards the moth feral, but Mr Silk merely looked bored as he raised both arms. The walls and ceiling came alive. Thousands of moths peeled from every surface, burying the mice in seconds and smothering Caw’s face. He twisted and writhed, struggling to breathe, so thick was the air with tiny fluttering wings. Through the chaos, he saw Pip rolling into a ball and Crumb stumbling over a potted plant.

      Caw heard an almighty crash and felt a shower of sharp rain across his back. Glass. Silk is just a distraction!

      He threw himself aside as the bison crashed through the doors and stomped to a halt in the bank lobby, steam rising from its back and nostrils.

      In the next moment, the moths lifted away. Light and air rushed over Caw, and he heard a terrified wail.

      The bison was looming over Pip, pawing at the ground with its horns lowered. The mouse feral was pressed up against a counter, shaking in fear.

      Caw’s crows massed by the door, but he held out a hand to stay them. One wrong move and the creature could crush Pip or rip him to pieces with its horns.

      “Smart decision,” said Lugmann. He stalked past Caw, wielding his sledgehammer once more. His panther flashed its teeth in Caw’s direction. Caw flinched as he felt the heat of the big cat’s breath.

      “No one do anything stupid,” said the convict. “Tyra’s beast can kill that kid in a heartbeat. It’ll take more than a flock of birds to stop it.”

      Mr Pickwick finally let go of the useless phone. He laid it gently in its cradle. “What happens now?”

      “Show Mr Silk to the vault,” said Lugmann.

      Mr Pickwick hesitated, and the convict rolled his eyes. Instantly the panther pounced, landing on the counter beside the sparrow feral. It swiped a paw, almost playfully, across his arm. Pickwick cried out as its claws gouged through his suit and blood spattered on to the floor.

      “Do as he says,” said Crumb, his voice quaking. “Lugmann, if that boy gets hurt …”

      “Quiet,” said Lugmann. “If you do as we say, he’ll live.”

      Mr Pickwick led the moth feral to a door at the back of the bank, and tapped in a code. Caw angrily watched Mr Silk’s cream-coloured suit disappear with Pickwick. The last time he’d seen the moth feral, Mr Silk had plunged into the Blackwater, the filthy river that flowed through the city. Caw had assumed that he’d drowned.

      “You’re pathetic,” said Pip suddenly, his lips trembling.

      “Shut your mouth,” said Lugmann, brandishing the sledgehammer.

      “I’m not scared,” retorted Pip.

      “Quiet!” said Crumb.

      “No!” said Pip. “Even if he kills us, the other ferals will still stop him!”

      Tyra laughed. “With birds and mice?” she said. The bison snorted, its massive flanks heaving.

      Pip swallowed. “You’re just a bunch of greedy crooks,” he said. “We work together, and you only look out for yourselves.”

      “Pip!” said Crumb. “Please, stop!”

      “The boy’s got more guts than you, pigeon talker,” said Lugmann.

      Some of the bank employees who’d been hiding in the back came through the door, shouldering the weight of huge canvas sacks with notes spilling out of the tops. They gazed at the bison and the panther in terrified astonishment.

      “Load up the van!” said Lugmann impatiently, waving his sledgehammer.

      The bank staff carried the sacks through the broken glass doors, down the bank’s steps and began to place them in the back of the van. They barely seemed to notice the hundreds of birds massed outside, and as soon as they had loaded the van, they ran off down the street.

      Mr Silk reappeared and Lugmann tossed him the van keys.

      “We’ll be out in a minute. I haven’t quite finished here,” Lugmann sneered.

      Tyra summoned the bison to her and patted its matted fur.

      “We’ve got what we came for, my friend,” said Mr Silk, a hand on Lugmann’s arm. “Almost three million, by my estimate.”

      Lugmann shook off the hand, and his cold eyes fell on Pip. “Yes, but my pet hasn’t eaten yet.”

      Caw tensed, ready to jump up. He could sense his crows outside, spreading their wings. Nothing would happen to Pip, not while Caw was still breathing …

      Mr Silk paused, removing his hat. He shot a look at Pip, who had begun to cry as the panther paced towards him. “Those weren’t our orders,” he said quietly.

      Lugmann and the moth feral eyeballed each other.

      Caw hesitated, his breath catching painfully. Orders? Who’s giving them orders?

      “I’m … reading between the lines,” said Lugmann. “Wait in the van, Silk. Unless you want to watch.”

      The moth feral replaced his hat and, without a backwards glance, he swept out of the bank.

      “You promised not to hurt Pip,” said Crumb.

      “No,” said Lugmann. “I promised he’d live. And he will. He can live with one leg, can’t he?”

      “You’ve got your money,” Caw growled. “Just go.”

      “Do it,” Tyra said, eyes gleaming.

      The panther opened its jaws wide.

      

      

aw summoned his crows, driving them with all his