“I can’t believe she’s coming with us!” muttered Lydia as they left the church. Dusk was falling, and they had finally agreed on the plan over a dinner of grilled-cheese sandwiches, courtesy of Crumb. “You know she’ll give us away at the first opportunity.”
“We’ve been over this,” said Mrs. Strickham, glaring at Selina. “She won’t, because if she does, my foxes will make her pay. Understand?”
Selina nodded, her face white.
Lydia caught hold of Caw’s arm. “And you agree with all this too?” she said.
Caw didn’t know what to say.
“I might be able to talk to my mom,” Selina said. “Make her see sense.”
“You won’t say a word,” said Mrs. Strickham. “When all this is over, then we’ll decide what to do with you.”
Lydia didn’t look at Caw as they climbed into the car. She was obviously still fuming as they drove off into the darkening roads of Blackstone. “I’m sorry,” Caw murmured to her. “I should have told you about the stone.” But she ignored him.
A few streets over from the prison, Mrs. Strickham pulled over in an alley and killed the lights. A shadow detached from a wall. It was Mr. Strickham, dressed in jeans and a black sweater. His skin was pale.
“Stay inside a moment,” said Mrs. Strickham. She opened the door and climbed out. Caw watched her silently approach her husband. They stopped when they were a couple of yards apart and didn’t move any closer. From the corner of his eye, Caw saw Lydia leaning forward.
He couldn’t tell who spoke first, but he saw Mr. Strickham shaking his head, then gesticulating angrily. Lydia’s mother held her ground, her body language giving nothing away as her lips moved. She looked completely calm. At one point Mr. Strickham stabbed a finger toward the car, then paced over and flung open the door. “Lydia, out!” he said.
Lydia did as she was told.
“Dad, please,” she said.
“No!” he answered. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know what sort of game you two are playing, but it’s gone far enough.”
“It’s not a game, sir,” said Crumb, unfolding his limbs from the car. Caw got out the other side, while Selina remained in the back.
“So,” said Mr. Strickham, glancing at each of them. “You’re all ferals too, I suppose? You can communicate”—he made quote marks with his hands—“with animals?”
Crumb clicked his fingers, and a bank of a dozen pigeons swooped and landed on the roof of the car. Glum and Screech landed on Caw’s shoulders without even being asked.
Caw couldn’t read the emotions shifting across Mr. Strickham’s face. After several seconds, he looked at Lydia first, then his wife. Several foxes had gathered silently at her feet.
“I’m just glad you came, Tony,” she said.
Lydia’s father exhaled a long breath, seemed to be about to speak, then paused. “It can’t . . . it can’t be true.”
“It is,” said Lydia. She reached for her father’s hand. “We wouldn’t lie to you, Dad.”
“But you did,” he said sadly. He pulled Lydia into an embrace and stared over her head at his wife. “You lied to me for years.”
For a few moments, no one spoke.
It was Crumb who broke the silence. “So can you get us in or not?” he asked.
Mr. Strickham stiffened.
“Dad?” asked Lydia, breaking their hug.
He looked down at her. “I don’t like it,” he said. “What you’re doing is against the law. You’re nothing better than vigilantes, really, and if you weren’t my family, I’d be tempted to call the federal authorities. It’s not too late to reconsider, you know.”
Mrs. Strickham shook her head briskly. “We need you, Tony. Are you with us, or not?”
“I suppose I have no choice,” he said.
Caw listened as Lydia’s parents went over the plan together. Mr. Strickham didn’t officially work at the prison anymore, but the guards still knew him. He’d march right up to the front gates. He thought he might be able to claim he was collecting the last of his belongings from his office.
Meanwhile Caw and the others would enter through the sewer tunnels, the same way that the disciples of the Spinning Man had escaped a few weeks before. Mr. Strickham was sure repairs hadn’t been started on the breakout tunnel yet. “The city council kept promising the funds, but they always do,” he said.
“Good luck,” said Mrs. Strickham. She reached out to touch her husband, but he backed away. Lydia hugged him fiercely.
“Be careful, Dad. Any sign of trouble, you run.”
“Same goes for you,” he said.
He strode off into the darkness toward the prison. Caw knew that the words of warning would be ignored. No one was backing down tonight.
Caw saw several foxes emerge from the surrounding streets, padding silently toward them. Pigeons settled on rooftops above.
“Ready?” said Crumb, holding Selina by the arm.
Mrs. Strickham took a crowbar and a flashlight from the boot of the car and went to the manhole cover in the alleyway. It was loose, and she prized it open in a matter of seconds. Her foxes went down first, leaping into the dark hole and landing softly somewhere below. Lydia followed, then Selina.
As Crumb went down, Caw made a decision and summoned his crows. Shimmer, Screech, and Glum landed beside him.
Caw took the stone from his pocket and placed it between them, keeping hold of the handkerchief. “Take this to the old bandstand in the park,” he whispered. “Bury it under the bench.”
Why? said Glum.
“I don’t want to risk the Mother of Flies getting it,” he said. “And if I don’t come out again . . .”
Don’t talk like that, said Shimmer.
“. . . take it somewhere far away,” he finished.
Crumb stuck his head out again, and Caw positioned his body to hide the stone. “What are you waiting for?” Crumb asked.
“Nothing,” said Caw.
As Crumb lowered his body again, Caw followed.
See you soon, said Screech, hopping onto the stone and clutching it in a talon.
Caw gave them a wave and descended the ladder, then pulled the manhole cover over him with an echoing clang.
Mrs. Strickham’s flashlight beam illuminated the narrow tunnel. A channel of foul-smelling slime sat stagnant to the depth of about an inch. The foxes kept their paws well out of it, and Caw placed his feet on either side. He had to stand in a slight crouch.
Lydia held the rough map her father had drawn.
They trooped through, stopping at intersections to check the way. There was no life down here, and the only sounds were their breathing and the shuffle of footsteps. Caw began to feel closed in, and doubts crept into his mind. What if Mr. Strickham had gotten the route wrong? Would they even be able to find their way back?
The foxes’ eyes gleamed like gold coins in the glow of the flashlight.
“This should be it,” said Lydia, pausing at the side of the tunnel—Caw saw a shaft leading off the main tunnel at chest height, barely wide enough to crawl down. The metal cladding was discolored with streaks of orange and green.
“I’ll go first,” said Caw, taking the flashlight from Mrs. Strickham.
As he reached up, Lydia caught his arm. “What you said in the car,” she said. “About the stone. I just want you to know that I—well, I understand why you kept it secret.”
Caw was so grateful he didn’t know what to say. He smiled in the darkness. Then he pulled himself into the shaft, edging along on his hands and knees, with the flashlight shaking in his hand.
The shaft followed a slight incline for several yards, then reached what looked like a dead end. But, on closer inspection, he saw it turned vertically upward. He maneuvered himself around the bend, wondering how on earth a man of Jawbone’s size could have managed. The dog feral had been well over six feet tall, and thick with muscle. Caw saw the glint of a metal grate above, and light beyond. He reached up. The grate moved easily in his hand, and he pushed it carefully aside. Still, the scrape of metal seemed horribly loud.
He held his breath, expecting to hear guards’ whistles or alarms.
Nothing.
“Go on then,” said Crumb from below. “I can’t stand this stink anymore.”
Caw stretched up with both hands, grabbing the cold floor.
Fingers closed around his wrist, and he let out a cry.
“Quiet!” said Mr. Strickham, leaning over the hole.
Caw’s thumping heart subsided, and he let Lydia’s father heave him up. He emerged into a shower room of grubby tiles.
“Sorry if I scared you,” said Mr. Strickham.
Together, they helped the others from the drainage shaft. Lydia brushed down her clothes. “That was horrible,” she said.
“Getting in was easier than I expected,” said Mr. Strickham.
“We still need to be careful,” said his wife. “Cynthia Davenport will have eyes everywhere.” Mrs. Strickham alone looked unperturbed by the expedition through the claustrophobic sewers. Her black coat didn’t even seem dirty, whereas Crumb was caked in all sorts of scuffs and stains.
“There’s another problem,” said Mr. Strickham. “I’ve already checked the systems, and the prisoners haven’t been logged. That means I don’t know which cells they’re being held in.”
“Where are the high-security areas?” said Caw.
“There are several,” said Mr. Strickham, “all spread about the prison. That way, security breaches can be contained more easily.”
Something scurried across the tiles, making Lydia jump. One of Mrs. Strickham’s foxes pounced and landed on top of it.
“Off,” she said, and the fox lifted its front paws. It was a cockroach.
“We always tried to keep the place clean, but we never could get rid of the damn things,” said Mr. Strickham. His gaze was fixed on the fox that his wife had controlled, as effortlessly as though it were part of her own body.
Caw caught Lydia’s eye. A cockroach might mean something—a face from the past he had hoped never to see again. He leaned down. “Take us to your master,” he said.
Mr. Strickham glared at him. “So now you’re going to tell me that insects speak human?” he said.
“This one might,” said Lydia. Selina looked on, mystified.
The roach scurried away, and Caw followed. It moved quickly, never seeming to doubt where it was going, and they had to jog to keep up. They climbed up metal stairs, along corridors past featureless, identical cell doors. The whole place smelled of disinfectant, but other odors lurked beneath—stale sweat and desperation. Soon the signs on the wall read “B WING.” The roach slipped under a barred doorway.
“This is one of the high-security areas,” said Mr. Strickham, sliding an access card through a reader and cranking open the door. “But I’m pretty sure all these cells are empty.”
The roach disappeared under a door labeled “Cell B23.”
The door was solid steel with a grille as big as a mailbox at head height. Before Caw even put his eye to it, he had guessed what he’d see.
“Hello, crow talker,” said a voice from the dark room. Caw pressed a switch beside the door, and a light came on inside. A doughy face with a stubbled chin leered at him, eyes set in hollow sockets. Caw’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t look away. He wasn’t the same scared boy who would have run before.
“Hello, Scuttle,” he said.