Up here, among the skyline silhouettes … was for him and his crows.
He passed through the warm blast of an air-conditioning vent, then paused, nostrils flaring.
Food. Something salty.
Caw jogged to the edge of the rooftop and peered over. Down below, a door opened on to an alley filled with rubbish bins. It was the back of a 24-hour takeaway. Caw knew they often threw out perfectly good food – leftovers, probably, but he wasn’t fussy. He let his glance flick into every dark corner. He saw nothing that worried him, but it was always risky at ground level. Their place, not his.
Glum landed next to Caw and cocked his head. His stubby beak glinted gold, reflecting a streetlight. You think it’s safe? he
A sudden motion drew Caw’s gaze; a rat, rooting in the rubbish bins below. It lifted its head and eyed him without fear. “I think so,” Caw said. “Stay sharp.”
He knew they didn’t need the warning. Eight years together, and he could trust them better than he could himself.
Caw swung a leg over the lip of the roof and landed softly on the platform of the fire escape. Screech swooped down and perched on the side of a bin, while Glum glided to the corner of the roof, overlooking the main street. Milky dropped on to the fire escape railing, his talons scratching the metal. All keeping watch.
Caw crept down the steps. He crouched for a moment, eyes on the back door of the takeaway. The smell of food made his stomach rumble violently. Pizza, he thought. Burgers too.
Caw fished inside the nearest rubbish bin, and found a yellow polystyrene box, still warm. He cracked it open. Chips! He shovelled them into his mouth. Greasy, salty, a little burnt at the edges. They were good. The acid vinegar caught in his throat, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t eaten for two days. He swallowed without chewing and almost choked. Then he crammed more down. One chip fell from his hand and Screech was there in a second, attacking the scrap with his beak.
A hoarse cry from Glum.
Caw flinched and cowered beside the bin, eyes searching the darkness. His heart jolted as four figures filled the end of the alley.
“Hey!” said the tallest. “Get away from our stash!”
Caw scrambled back, holding the box to his chest. Screech took flight, his wings slapping the air.
The figures stepped closer and an arc of streetlight caught their faces. Boys, perhaps a couple of years older than him. Homeless by the looks of their tattered clothes.
“There’s enough,” said Caw, nodding towards the rubbish bins. He felt awkward, talking to other people. It happened so rarely. “Enough for all of us,” he repeated.
“No, there’s not,” said a boy with two rings in his upper lip. He walked ahead of the others with a shoulder-rolling swagger. “There’s only enough for us. You’ve been stealing.”
Shall we get them? said Screech.
Caw shook his head. It wasn’t worth getting injured over a few chips.
“Don’t shake your head at me, you filthy little thief!” said the tall one. “You’re a liar!”
“Gross – he stinks, too,” said a smaller boy, sneering.
Caw felt his face getting hot. He took a step backwards.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked the boy with the lip rings. “Why don’t you stay a while?” He stepped up to Caw and shoved him roughly in the chest.
The sudden attack took Caw by surprise and he fell, landing on his back. The box flew from his hands and chips spilled over the ground. The boys closed in.
“Now he’s throwing them on the floor!”
“You gonna pick them up?”
Caw scrambled to his feet. They had him trapped. “You can have them.”
“Too late for that,” said the leader. He ran his tongue over his lip rings. “Now you gotta pay. How much money you got?”
Caw turned out his pockets, his heart thumping. “None.”
The glint of a blade, emerging from the boy’s pocket. “In that case, we’ll take your thieving fingers instead.”
The boy lunged forward. Caw grabbed the edge of the rubbish bin and vaulted up on top of it.
“He’s quick, isn’t he?” said the boy. “Get him.”
The other three surrounded the bin. One swiped at Caw’s ankle. Another started to shake the bin. Caw staggered for balance. They were all laughing.
Caw saw a drainpipe three metres to his left and jumped. But as his fingers caught the metal, the piping broke from the wall with a burst of brick dust. He fell and hit the tarmac on his side, the air exploding from his lungs. Four grinning faces closed in.
“Hold him down!” said the leader.
“Please … no …” Caw struggled, but the boys sat on his legs and pulled at his arms. He was spread-eagled as the one with the knife loomed over him. “Which will it be, boys?” He pointed the tip of the blade at Caw’s hands in turn. “Left or right?”
Caw couldn’t see his crows. Fear pumped through his veins.
The boy crouched down, resting his knee on Caw’s chest. “Eeny, meany, miny, moe.” The knife’s tip danced from side to side.
Watch out, Caw! called Glum. The boys all looked up at the crow’s piercing cry. Then a hand reached down from above and gripped the knife-wielder by the back of his collar. The boy yelped as he was jerked away from Caw.
There was a smacking sound – skin against skin – and the knife clattered to the ground.
Where’d he come from? said Screech.
Caw sat up. A tall, thin man was holding the boy by the back of his neck. Brown wiry hair protruded from beneath the man’s stained woolly hat. He was wearing several layers of dirty clothing, including an old brown trench coat fastened around his waist with a belt of frayed blue cord. A tufty beard coated his jawline in uneven patches. Caw guessed he was in his mid-twenties, and homeless.
“Leave him be,” said the man, his voice rasping. In the semi-darkness, his mouth was a black hole.
“What’s it to you?” said the boy holding Caw’s left arm.
The man shoved the boy with the lip rings hard at the bin, letting him go.
“This guy’s crazy!” said the boy holding Caw’s legs. “Let’s go.”
Their leader picked up his knife and brandished it at the homeless man.
“Lucky you’re so filthy,” he snarled. “Don’t want to get my knife dirty. Come on, fellas.” The four attackers turned and tore out of the alley.
Caw scrambled to his
