and there, or old pilings jutting like rotten tooth stumps from the river’s shallows where a jetty had once been. And of course the sewers, threading their way in arched tunnels across almost all the city, emptying into pumping stations and sewage works, and ultimately into the far reaches of the River Blackwater.
In his early days of exploring, Caw had never gone down there. But as time wore on, and he grew in confidence, he had begun to venture underground. In the daytime, when the rooftops weren’t safe because of construction workers, or police helicopters, the subterranean tunnels offered another way of getting around the city unseen.
But the crows were never keen.
Birds don’t like ceilings, said Glum, as they descended through a shaft into a tunnel near the church.
The sky means safety, said Shimmer.
Don’t worry, I’ll look after you, said Screech, but his voice trembled slightly.
Glum gave a throaty chuckle. Please, someone pass me the sick bag.
“We have to make sure we aren’t being followed,” said Caw. “It’s the only way.”
He jumped from the bottom of the steel ladder and landed in the tunnel. It was dry, thankfully, but the air was stale and stuffy.
As Caw began to walk along the tunnel; he took a torch from his pocket and flicked it on. The birds swooped ahead at intervals. He’d never met anything down here apart from the odd rat, but still the place made his skin tingle. He wouldn’t have wanted to come below on his own.
His back itched and he adjusted the shoulder straps looped under his clothing to make the Crow’s Beak sit more comfortably. The ancient weapon wasn’t much to look at. A narrow double-edged blade about two feet long and not terribly sharp, but at least it might scare off an attacker long enough for Caw to escape. Besides, it was the sword of the crow line, with the power to open a gateway to the Land of the Dead. It was Caw’s duty to bear it.
With his free hand, Caw felt the stone in his pocket. Did that have something to do with the crow line too? It didn’t feel particularly remarkable today, but there had to be something special about it, else why would his mother have wanted him to have it? She’d been the crow feral before him, after all.
Had the strange, hairless figure from last night even been telling the truth about knowing Caw’s mother? Caw guessed he must have been a feral himself, though he hadn’t seen any animals.
Too many questions, and Caw knew only one place he might find answers.
Hello? Earth calling Caw … said Screech.
“What?” said Caw.
You’re acting really weird, said Screech. Glum’s talking to you.
“Sorry,” said Caw. “Just thinking about something. What were you saying Glum?”
I said, we’re heading west, aren’t we? said Glum. The crow’s eyes flashed silver in the torchlight. Are we going back to see that girl?
“No,” said Caw, not breaking his stride. “We’re going to Gort House.”
Quaker’s place! said Glum. Why d’you want to mix with that old coward?
“He might know something about this black stone,” said Caw. After all, he couldn’t just carry it around without the slightest clue as to why it was so special. His mother would want him to find out what it was – she must have left it for him for a reason. He was sure of it.
They trudged on in darkness, through the endlessly winding network of tunnels. They seemed to have been built by a madman. Shafts, wide and narrow, intercepted at different levels in a convoluted maze. Caw walked for twenty minutes, navigating from memory, before climbing several ladders. His feet clanged and echoed through the tunnels as he set out at the higher level.
You sure you know where you’re going? said Shimmer, standing on a jutting pipe. I don’t want to get lost down here.
We know these tunnels like the back of our wings, said Screech, nudging close to her. I’m cold. Are you?
Shimmer edged away. I’m perfectly fine, thank you.
The tunnel began to climb slightly. Caw counted the vertical shafts as they passed them, until he was sure he’d reached the correct one.
“Our stop,” he said.
Leading the way, he prised open the manhole cover from below and peered out. Just as he suspected, he was on a deserted tree-lined road that snaked upwards – the road at the bottom of Herrick Hill that led up to Gort House.
Thank goodness for fresh air! said Shimmer, fluttering up into the branches of a tree. The others rose after her. Caw clambered out and closed the cover. Gort House was just a short walk up the hill, but he set off at a jog along the side of the road. It was a quiet area and they were unlikely to bump into anyone. Still, he was ready to hide in the bushes if need be.
Even if Quaker was a coward, Caw could trust him. After all, it was the cat feral who had first told him about the Crow’s Beak, about his parents, and many other things besides. He was an academic of sorts, specialising in the history and culture of the feral lines. Gort House was stuffed with treasures and artefacts and books – a museum to feralhood.
But as they approached the house, Caw’s heart quickened.
Something was wrong.
The gates were open and in the circular driveway was a police car, warning lights spinning silently. Caw held up a hand to stop the crows, but they didn’t need telling. They’d already arranged themselves on the railings.
What’s going on? asked Screech.
Caw’s unease was growing by the second. Had something happened to Quaker? What if a burglar had broken in? Or someone worse than a burglar … He edged inside the gates, along the sculpted shrubbery that lined the front lawn.
“Get your hands off me!” came a cry, followed by the screech of cats.
Caw ducked out of sight, just in time to see Quaker himself shoved out through the front door of his house, arms held behind his back by two policemen. He was impeccably dressed in a brownish tweed suit and red waistcoat, with mustard-coloured moccasins on his feet. A couple of tabby cats tangled around his legs as the cops slammed him against the side of their car. His monocle popped out and one of the policemen crushed it beneath his boot.
“I’ve done nothing wrong!” said Quaker. “At least tell me what you want.”
A grey cat hopped on to the bonnet of the car, hackles rising across its arched spine.
“No, Freddie!” said Quaker.
One of the policemen unbelted his nightstick and swung savagely at the cat, sending it leaping to the ground. It sprinted off into the garden.
“This isn’t right,” muttered Caw, beginning to step out.
No! said Glum, and Caw hesitated.
“I
