Next morning the raven flew back to the vegetable patch. He had the beginnings of a plan and wanted to run it past the scarecrow. Halfway down the road he realised he’d picked up the pigeon. Sighing, he slowed down so the pigeon could fly alongside him. Better than having him at his rear.
The pigeon had no concept of left and right and kept encroaching on the raven’s way.
‘Do you mind?’ he snapped.
‘I say, old boy,’ said the pigeon, ‘is there a bee in your bonnet, wot?’
‘Don’t talk to me about bees. I’m here for the scarecrow, not you.’
‘What scarecrow?’ said the pigeon.
‘The one you were talking to yesterday who you made your best friend. Although I should think he likes me better.’
‘I know what scarecrow, you great big goose,’ said the pigeon. ‘But where?’
‘In the corner of the vegetable patch, you idiot,’ said the raven. ‘Right there.’
‘Not that I can see,’ the pigeon said.
‘What?’ the raven said. ‘Don’t play the fool. He’s right there -’
‘No he isn’t,’ the pigeon said.
And, for once, he was right.
The scarecrow was not tied to his post. Instead, one boot lay sprawled in the dirt, the stave that had held him upright cracked and splintered, his mouldy straw strewn all over the vegetables, and his old hat half-hidden by the strawberries.
‘Oh,’ said the raven.
And for a terrible moment the raven thought he might cry.
‘Oh!’ cried the pigeon. ‘What is this I see? He has gone! It is a stunning move. A bold statement. But soft, what light through yonder fence-pane breaks! It is the scarecrow, and death is his sun!’
‘Shut your mouth,’ the raven said. ‘Just shut up. He isn’t dead. Look around. You can’t see him, can you?’
The pigeon clacked his beak shut and held it that way with one dirty, grime-infested claw. ‘I say, awfully sorry,’ he mumbled. Then he did look around. ‘Doesn’t look good, though, does it? Won’t get far with a body like that. Not with all that straw. The horses will get to him in the end.’
The raven inspected the scarecrow’s old stave. It was covered in hairline cracks, as though the scarecrow had wriggled and jostled about until he felt the nails loosen. There were a few bigger fractures, where the scarecrow must have tasted the promise of freedom and had tugged and strained harder.
And then the final crack, a clean break, where the scarecrow had paused for breath and steadied himself for the jump. Where he would have launched himself into the air, felt the rotten timber giving in and pitching him forward, into the loam of cabbages and the deep, clean smell of dirt.
And then what? Only the night pressing in all around him, the fence, the field, the trees. The whole world suddenly available to him, and the delicious possibility of that first step.
‘What happened?’ the pigeon asked.
‘He went in search of devotions,’ said the raven.
‘What?’
‘Devotions,’ said the raven. ‘He got restless, always in the one place, waiting for devotions to come to him. So he went in search of them instead.’
‘Oh,’ said the pigeon. ‘But where could something like that possibly go?’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said the raven. ‘It isn’t important.’
‘Huh?’ said the pigeon, ‘You’ve lost me, old chap. Nice fellow, though, wasn’t he? Bit of a lonely sort. Not like us social butterflies.’
‘Devotions,’ said the raven again.
‘I can smell strawberries,’ the pigeon said.
‘Yes,’ said the raven. ‘I know what I have to do.’
***
Todd was at his grave, mooning about, exactly where the raven knew he would be. He nodded a greeting as the raven flew down and deposited a load of bottlecaps, which clinked together in the bowl of the scarecrow’s old hat. Directly under the T, the raven added an O, and then a D, and then another D. Feeling artistic, he then made a border around the rectangle that marked where Todd lay buried.
The raven had spent all night polishing the bottlecaps. He’d used a whole branch of eucalyptus leaves, and his sinuses were the clearest they’d been in his life. But it was worth it now, to see the caps gleaming in all directions, casting twinkling sun-ladders all the way up into the sky.
‘Well,’ he said, dancing from claw to claw, ‘what do you think?’
Todd knelt down and reached out for the raven, his fingers soft curls of mist.
The raven backed away, and a subdued pruuuk crept out of his throat. His gaze shifted from one finger to the other and back again, but still the hand crept closer, shot through with gold from the bottlecaps.
Todd’s hand hovered over the raven’s head, barely distinguishable, and then one finger dropped and smoothed a path down the raven’s neck and along his back. Neither of them could feel it, of course, but the raven remained where he stood and imagined he could feel the warmth from Todd’s fingers come burrowing into his body.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘that’s enough of that.’
Todd smirked. ‘Knew I’d get you in the end.’
‘It’s only because you’re dead,’ said the raven. ‘Anything to keep you from moping about. If you were alive, you wouldn’t have a hand by now.’
‘You’re all right, Ravo,’ said the boy. ‘You’re not bad, as far as friends go.’
The raven shifted. ‘Don’t get excited with this friend business. My track record isn’t great. The last creature to call me his friend just disappeared.’
‘I’m a ghost,’ said Todd. ‘Won’t be a problem for me. The novelty’s long since worn off.’
The raven nudged the scarecrow’s hat forward. ‘This was his hat,’ he said. ‘You can have it. I’ll put it on your grave. It looks scrappy, but if I stick a few bottlecaps on it I’m sure it will be fine. It belonged to a good fellow. He was stuffed full of hay, but you’re stuffed full of air so it’s a fair swap.’
The raven realised he was just about chasing his own tail, so he slowed down and took a few paces back.
‘Thanks,’ said Todd. ‘I like it.’
The raven could hear the faint strains of someone singing ‘I Saw the Light’ in church and felt the old itch take hold of his wings.
‘I heard about what happened with Father Cadman,’ said Todd. ‘You all right?’
‘What?’ said the raven. ‘How do you know?’
‘Ghosts gossip too,’ said Todd. ‘What else are we supposed to do all day?’
‘True enough,’ the raven said. ‘Just don’t tell the pigeon. Terrible mouth on him.’
‘Deal.’
‘Okay,’ said the raven. ‘I’ve got one more stop this morning, so I’d best be off. See you later. I might need you for something soon, so don’t go anywhere, okay?’
‘Can’t leave your churchyard, anyway,’ said Todd. ‘Don’t know how.’
***
The weatherhen was twirling around in aimless circles when the raven landed next to her. He reached out a claw and gently pulled her to a stop.
‘You’ll make yourself dizzy,’ he said.
The weatherhen stared at him and her eyes almost bugged out of her face. The raven took to the roof lichen with a frenzy, realised he looked ridiculous, and instead surveyed the churchyard with such intensity it was as if he hadn’t seen it ten hundred times before.
‘So,’ he mumbled, ‘how are you?’
‘Heeheehee,’ she said.
‘I suppose that’s good,’ said the raven. ‘Seen any, er, clouds lately?’
The weatherhen snickered.
‘Beautiful weather,’ he said, ‘clouds and all. But I would take more glory in it if not for the fact that I have just lost one of my dear friends.’
He accentuated the word ‘friend’. The weatherhen was full of squeaks and giggles.
‘I do have friends,’ the raven said. ‘Just because you don’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there.’
‘Creeeak-ha,’ she said.
‘You look nice,’ he said. ‘Is that a new coat of, um, varnish? It really brings out your . . . tin.’
Now she was about to fall off the roof she was squeaking so hard.
‘Anyway,’ the raven blustered on, ‘just wanted to say hello. To let you know that you’re okay. Before it’s too late. Metal rusts, paint flakes and all that. But don’t go getting too excited. Ours is a friendship only. If, you know, you’re okay with that.’
‘CreeeeakcreeeeakcreeeeakCREEEEEEEAK,’ said the weatherhen.
‘So I should go now. Afternoon naps falling, I mean, calling. And I’ve got things I need to plan. Big things. Lots of planning. But I’ve told you, now. So take care. Don’t, um, stay up too late.’
The weatherhen did a half-turn and looked at him from the corner of her eye. The look said, oh but I will be, and I will be thinking about you.
Back in his den the raven drew in a huge breath. He felt as though he might start shedding feathers. There was so much to do, so much to plan. But as he listened to the organ playing on below him he knew that it was worth it.
Tomorrow he would talk to Mackenzie.