12
As slowly and smoothly as he could, Caw pushed the blanket off and rose into a sitting position. Lydia was facing the other way, fast asleep. He had been planning to wake her, but the dream had changed his mind. If the prisoners were followers of the Spinning Man—that nightmarish creature—she was better off as far away from Caw as possible. With any luck, Crumb would help her get home.
As soon as he stood up, Screech and Glum began to twitch on their perches near the stairwell. Caw put his finger to his lips and they remained silent, watching him inquisitively. He pulled on his coat and tiptoed across the floorboards. Then he padded down the steps, followed by his crows.
Don’t suppose we’re going back to the nest, said Screech, shivering as Caw unlatched the church door.
“Not yet,” whispered Caw.
Outside, he took a last look at the silent church. He wondered what it had been like before the Dark Summer. A place of happiness, probably, where families and friends gathered together in peace. But the Spinning Man had destroyed all that.
The dream spiders crept into his mind again, their gleaming bodies twitching, their footfalls light and quiet as scattered pins. He shuddered and forced the memory away.
Caw crept across the deserted parking lot, savoring the silent cold of the night. He was just turning onto the road toward the river when he heard footsteps rushing up behind him.
We’ve got company, said Glum, passing overhead. Caw raised his hands to defend himself as he twisted around.
It was Lydia. Her face was pale, and she looked as though she hadn’t slept a wink. “You’re going to find Quaker, aren’t you?” she said. “Well, I’m coming too.”
Caw lowered his hands and sighed. “You don’t have to,” he told her.
“I know. But I want to. Those prisoners threatened my family too, remember?”
“Don’t suppose I can really stop you, can I?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
Lydia grinned. “I’ll take that as an invitation.”
You would, muttered Glum. He flew upward and away.
They set off together, over the steel girders of a railway bridge spanning the Blackwater. At this time of night there were no trains rumbling across.
“You’ve got good hearing,” said Caw. “Even the pigeons didn’t wake up.”
“I must get it from my mom. She always hears me listening to music when I should be doing homework. Even when I’ve got my headphones on!”
Caw grinned. After being so sure he should leave her behind, he was pleased she was here. With Lydia and the crows at his side, he felt more confident. His parents had done all they could to protect him, so that the crow feral line could continue. He was going to make sure they hadn’t died in vain.
“Your parents sound like they were very brave,” said Lydia, as if she could read his thoughts. They had reached the other side of the river. “You must be proud.”
“I guess so,” said Caw as they began to walk along the north bank. Arches lined the embankment, shops and stalls all shuttered up for the night.
His latest dream was an ever-present shadow, and his parents’ cries as the spiders overwhelmed them seemed like faded echoes. He didn’t feel ready to tell Lydia about it, not with the terror still so fresh. All his life he had let his bitterness toward them grow, but now it seemed as though that anger was misplaced. It was the Spinning Man who deserved his rage—for taking his parents away from him.
“I hope my mom and dad are okay,” said Lydia quietly.
“Me too,” said Caw automatically.
“They’re not bad people, you know,” said Lydia.
Caw looked sideways at her.
“I know they haven’t been very nice to you,” she added.
“Do you mean when they locked me in a room, or when your dad tried to arrest me?” said Caw, trying to keep a straight face.
Lydia giggled. “Yes, but you’ll see. When all this is over and the prisoners are back behind bars, they’ll get to know you properly. You can come for dinner again!”
“That didn’t go very well, did it?” said Caw. Despite everything, he was smiling at the memory. “I must have looked like an animal.”
Lydia suddenly slowed her steps, then sped up again. Her eyes were fixed resolutely ahead.
“What?” said Caw.
“Nothing,” said Lydia. “Let’s hurry.”
Caw stopped and looked around. Then his eyes fell on a stack of newspapers, tied with a cord, sitting on the pavement outside a closed newspaper stand. The front page was dominated by a picture of his face.
“Oh, no,” he said. He walked over to it, sinking to his knees beside the stack.
Good likeness, said Screech, hopping onto one corner.
It wasn’t perfect—just a drawing in black and white—but it was good enough. Beneath were several words in huge writing and two much smaller pictures—photographs—of Lydia and Miss Wallace. “What does it say?” he asked.
Lydia looked over his shoulder. “You don’t want to know.”
“It says you’re wanted for questioning about the murder.”
Caw squeezed his eyes shut. “What am I going to do now? The whole city will be looking for me.”
Lydia touched his arm. “Those people just want to sell papers, Caw,” she said. “We’ll set them straight. And when all this is over . . .”
“I know, I know,” he said with a touch of irritation. “Everything will be back to the way it was.”
He tugged up his collar and set off again, with Lydia trotting behind. He knew she was only trying to comfort him, but deep down he was sure that nothing would ever be normal again. He was walking a path with no way back. At the end lay either the truth and revenge, or the same fate that his parents had met.
The spider this way crawls, Milky had said. And we are but prey in his web.
The crows circled over the river and above their heads. Though it was well after midnight, the streets weren’t quite empty. Occasional cars swished past, and drunk people spilled out of bars. Caw kept his head down as they headed to the west of the city. The gates of Blackstone Zoo were locked, but Caw could smell the creatures and the warmth of their sleeping bodies. He had never been inside, but the crows had told him of all the animals in their cages, and even taught him their names using a picture book back at the nest. Is there a feral for each and every creature? he wondered. Crumb had said there were lots more, all over the city. . . .
A siren cut through the air, and Screech swooped down.
Police car! he said.
“Run!” hissed Caw, grabbing Lydia’s arm.
Blue light spun around the corner ahead, so they doubled back, down a cobbled street where vents on the side of a building blasted hot air into the night. Caw flattened himself against the wall and peered through the billowing water vapor. The sirens died, but the lights were still flashing. Slowly, the police car turned into their street.
“No, no,” muttered Caw. They sprinted away from their hiding place, and the car’s engine roared after them.
“This way!” said Caw, skidding around a corner and climbing a set of steps. He grabbed Lydia’s hand and tugged her after him. They ran across a small ornamental garden as the police car screeched to a halt. They jumped over some flower beds, then crossed another road, running under an arch and along an enclosed row of shops. Trash littered the ground, kicked up by a gusting breeze. Caw heard footsteps coming after them and saw a flashlight jolting in the darkness.
“D’you see which way they went?” shouted a voice.
“No,” called another. “You check that way.”
Caw and Lydia came out of the far end of the shops. Caw was breathing hard and Lydia was bent double, hands on her knees. Across the street was a nightclub, a neon sign glowing above the door.
“I think we lost them,” said Caw as Lydia straightened up, “but we should keep moving.”
“Okay,” said Lydia, pushing a lock of hair off her sticky forehead.
They set off again. Caw was still looking back as they rounded a corner and walked straight into a couple holding hands. He stumbled and caught himself against Lydia.
“Excuse me,” he muttered.
“Hey there!” said the woman.
She was wearing high heels and some sort of fur coat, and her lips were bright red. The man she was with was in a black suit, his cheeks flushed. Caw guessed he was drunk. “Keep walking,” he said to Lydia.
They hurried away. “Honey,” Caw heard the woman say, “isn’t that the missing girl from the news?”
Caw broke into a jog, taking Lydia by the arm. The low-rise bars and clubs and vacant shop fronts gave way to the business district. It was completely deserted, the skyscrapers standing like sentinels guarding each side of the street. Their black windows reflected a hundred Caws back at him. His ears were pricked for any more sirens, but no sounds disturbed the night.
“Can we slow down now?” Lydia gasped. “We need to be careful. Our faces . . . they’re too well known.”
Beyond the steel-and-glass office buildings, the city rose into several forested slopes dotted with residential houses.
“We’re looking for Quaker, right? Herrick Hill is this way,” said Lydia, pointing up a road lined with trees. “Hey, what’s the matter?”
Caw had paused at the roadside. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just . . . I’ve never been farther than this before.”
Lydia gave him a smile, then crossed the road. Caw followed her.
It was strangely quiet now that they’d left the bustle of the city center. Even the air smelled different—cleaner, fresher. There were no streetlights, and soon there were no sidewalks either, as Caw and Lydia followed the edge of the road winding up the hill. The crows were almost invisible as they flew between the branches of the pines. Caw stared into the trees, but he couldn’t see farther than a few yards before the darkness swallowed the trunks. Occasionally they passed a driveway with the dim shape of a house set well back from the road.
Caw’s nerves tingled, and he threw frequent glances over his shoulder. Going anywhere new made him anxious, and the more distance they put between themselves and Blackstone Park, the more he worried.
“You’re sure this is the way?” he asked. His voice sounded thin and hollow.
Lydia nodded. “You can’t miss Gort House,” she said. “It’s one of the oldest in the city. My dad and I sometimes come this way on the weekends—we take Benjy for long walks out in the country.” Her face froze. “I mean, we took Benjy for walks.”
Caw glanced at her, expecting to see her fighting back tears. Instead, she just looked more determined.
Lydia was right—Gort House was unmistakable. The first they saw of it was a tall wall lined with razor wire, with a double-spiked gate. The place looked like it had once been as impenetrable as a fortress—maybe this was what had kept Quaker safe from the Spinning Man’s followers during Dark Summer. But it appeared the cat feral had let the place go since then. Some of the spikes on the gate had broken off, leaving harmless stumps behind.
As they got closer, they saw a long drive beyond the gate, offering a view up to the house. It stood on the top of the hill, silhouetted against the skyline. There was a moss-covered fountain in the middle of the front courtyard, and the babbling water glistened like silver in the moonlight. The house was three stories tall, with a tower at each corner and battlements running across the top. Once it might have been painted bright blue, but time had faded and chipped that away until all that remained was a dull gray. Arched windows sat at irregular heights across the front and sides, and ivy crept over the walls like it was trying to smother them. A single window on the second floor was dimly illuminated.
“Shall we?” said Lydia, placing a hand on one of the railings.
Caw nodded. He boosted Lydia to the top, then scrambled up after her.
“You’re stronger than you look,” said Lydia, carefully climbing over the section of the gate where the spikes had fallen away.
Caw blushed as Lydia lowered herself over the other side. He followed, dropping and landing in a silent crouch.
Not all the grounds of Gort House had been left to molder. Sculpted gardens lined the driveway up to the front of the house, the hedges all elaborately shaped into cats. Caw noticed that the fountain was a sculpture of cats playing, the water spouting from their mouths. His footsteps crunched on the gravel path. He couldn’t help feeling like they were being watched from one of the many windows. His pulse raced as he lifted the heavy knocker, a paw shaped in cold iron.
Thunk! Thunk! The sound of the metal was deafening.
Caw took a step back and waited. His crows were perched high on one of the turrets, out of sight. Weird, he thought. Yesterday they’d have been dead set against a trip like this. But they’re barely saying a word.
It was almost as if, now that the truth was out, they were willing to go along with his wishes. Whether that was because their respect for him had grown, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was just that he was being more stubborn.
The sound of footsteps came from within, then the squeal of a key turning. The door opened with a creak, just a few inches, and a green-eyed cat slunk out, winding itself around Caw’s legs.
Caw’s gaze traveled up a pair of baggy purple trousers to a substantial gut hemmed in by a matching purple waistcoat with quartz buttons. Over the top, the man wore a woolen jacket the color of a tangerine. His face was broad and ruddy cheeked, with a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache twisted at the ends to look like whiskers. His small eyes glinted suspiciously, one slightly magnified by a silver-chained monocle.
The cat at Caw’s ankle slipped back inside. A moment later it hopped up and rested on the man’s shoulder.
“Felix Quaker?” said Caw.
“And who might you be?”
Caw hesitated, wishing he’d thought this through more. Everything depended on what he said next.
“What, cat got your tongue?” snapped the man. He smiled creepily, and Caw caught a glimpse of small, spiky teeth behind his lips.
“My name is Caw,” he said. “I’m a feral just like you, and—”
The door slammed shut.
Lydia banged the knocker again. “We need to talk to you,” she called through the door.
“That’s too bad, my dear,” said the man from inside. “Because I don’t want anything to do with you!”
“Please!” said Caw. “We know you’re a feral.”
“I don’t know what you’re blathering about. I’m calling the police. You’d best get away from here before they arrive.”
Caw shot a glance at Lydia. “He won’t call them,” she whispered. “Let’s find another way in.”
They trod as quietly as possible around the side of the house. Halfway around, Glum squawked from a narrow ledge above.
Window on the second floor. It’s not closed properly.
“Perfect!” Caw whispered.
Luckily, the ivy was thick enough to get a firm grip, and placing his hands carefully among the tangle of branches, Caw managed to pick his way up. Lydia followed, looking uncertain. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “It’ll hold your weight.” He’d climbed much weaker patches of ivy back in the park.
He found the window slightly ajar. The frame was made of lead, and the glass was so old it had distorted out of shape. Caw prized it open. He couldn’t make out much in the room beyond, apart from what looked like glass cases on tables.
Caw hopped onto the ledge and reached down to pull Lydia up. She wobbled slightly, but he kept a firm grip on her arm and then she climbed through the window first. The three crows landed beside Caw in a gust of beating black and white wings. They jostled on the window ledge.
“You’d better stay outside,” said Caw.
If we must, said Glum, settling onto his belly feathers. But be careful.
“I will,” he said.
Screech shuffled alongside him. Move over, chubby.
“Hey, check this out!” whispered Lydia.
Caw climbed into the room and saw her standing beside one of the glass cases. There was nothing else in the room but the tables and the cases. Caw followed Lydia’s pointing finger and gasped. Inside the case, lit by moonlight, was a small, wizened hand. “You think it’s real?” he said.
Lydia shrugged, moving to the next case, which contained a curved shield made of glass or crystal, maybe even diamond, with hairs embedded inside. Caw had never seen anything like it. The third case held a mask, made of a thin sheet of metal and shaped into the face of a lion.
“I think that’s gold,” said Lydia. “What on earth is this place?”
“Crumb said Quaker collects stuff on ferals,” said Caw. “But this doesn’t look like just some old junk. These things seem valuable. I wonder what else he’s hiding here?”
He went to the door and eased the handle down. It opened smoothly onto a carpeted hallway above a set of sweeping stairs, with a banister ornately carved from dark wood. Huge portraits lined the walls, men and women in different historical dress. Were they all ferals? There were black statues of cats, positioned on plinths where the stairs turned. One suddenly moved, and Caw realized it was alive. It descended the steps like a shadow.
The carpet cushioned Caw’s footsteps as he crept out of the room. He turned across a landing toward another set of stairs, leading up. More glass cases lined the walls of the landing, and several doors led off it, all closed. Caw was sure he’d never been here before, yet there was something weirdly familiar about the house. He put his foot on the first step leading upward.
Somewhere below a piano tinkled discordantly, then paused.
“Where are you going?” whispered Lydia. “Sounds like Quaker’s downstairs.”
Caw rested a hand on the banister. His feet moved on, drawing him toward the top of the house—but he didn’t know why.
“Hey,” hissed Lydia. “Don’t you want to look at these?” She was standing by one of the cases, nose pressed to the side. “This one’s a spider necklace!”
A wordless summons seemed to beckon Caw, calling him toward the top of the stairs. “I just thought—y’know—spiders and all,” said Lydia behind him, her voice dim and distant.
Caw climbed the steps. At the top there was nothing—just a small square landing of bare floorboards and no windows.
“Caw, come back!” called Lydia in an urgent whisper. “Why are you acting so weird?”
He walked to the wall and ran his hands over its uneven surface. He expected it to be cold, but it wasn’t. Lydia hurried up the stairs behind him.
“Caw?” she said. “Can you even hear me?”
He let his palm rest on the wall.
“You’re scaring me,” said Lydia. “What’s going on?”
Caw pressed hard, and a section of the wall gave way—a narrow hidden door that swung inward on noiseless hinges. The blood pumping through Caw’s temples subsided.
“How did you know that was there?” said Lydia.
“I didn’t,” said Caw, stepping through. Or perhaps, somehow, he did.
The room was gloomy, without any sort of light. It had to be in one of the towers, because it was perfectly round, with a single window high up on the wall. It was more like a cell than anything. There was a rickety chair and an old wardrobe, plus a stained sink. But all these details seemed to fade away when Caw’s eyes rested on the object in the center of the room.
It was a glass case containing a red velvet cushion. And on top of the cushion lay a sword almost a yard long, its blade black and slightly curved—wide at its base, sharpening to a deadly point. It looked like some ancient artifact dug up from the earth and polished until its surfaces gleamed. The hilt was protected by several looping metal talons and covered in a thin layer of what looked like black leather. There was writing engraved along the length of the blade.
“What does it say?” he asked. His voice was little more than a croak.
Lydia peered closer. “It’s some strange language,” she said. “Weird symbols. Listen, there’s a huge double-headed ax downstairs. Come and see!”
But Caw wasn’t interested in any ax. He didn’t know how, but he knew this sword was important. And somehow he knew exactly the feel of it, the weight, without even holding it. He knew that the sword had been calling him to this room. It wanted to be found. He reached out toward the case.
“Are you sure you should be doing this?” asked Lydia.
“Yes,” said Caw. As his fingers touched the glass, blinding light filled his head, making him stagger back. Images from his dream flashed behind his eyes—his mother’s mouth stretched in fear; his father’s fingers clawing at his throat; the spider ring on the long finger of the Spinning Man.
“Caw! Someone’s coming!” Lydia gasped.
Caw blinked the visions away. Footsteps. Then there were cats streaming into the room, hissing and wailing. The narrow door burst open wide and Felix Quaker surged through. “I can explain—” Caw began.
Quaker grabbed him by the ear. “How dare you break in here!” he said. “Get out!”
He hauled Caw toward the door. Pain burned at the side of Caw’s head. He was dimly aware of Lydia following. “Don’t hurt him, please!” she was saying. “We only want to talk.”
Quaker dragged Caw out of the room and into the hallway. Caw stumbled to keep his balance, bent over almost double to stop his ear from being torn off his head. The cats flooded after them, yowling all the time.
“You little rats!” Quaker snarled. “I’ve a good mind to— What on earth?”
Caw heard the whip crack of wings, and Quaker stumbled back, as Milky, Glum, and Screech shot into the room. “No! Don’t!” Caw said as the crows descended on the cat feral. At the same time several cats leaped into the air. Caw flinched as they dragged the flailing crows to the ground, pinning them easily. Quaker straightened his waistcoat, licking his lips as he surveyed the crows.
“Please!” Caw said. “The crows are just trying to help me!”
The cats looked up to their master, eyes gleaming hungrily.
“Maybe it’s time to give my darlings a treat,” said Quaker, his voice cold. “After all, this is my house.”
Do your worst, cat talker, said Glum, squirming under a paw.
Caw, said Milky calmly. Leave us. Go now.
The white crow’s voice took Caw by surprise. It gave him courage. He hadn’t come all this way just to desert his crows. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I came here to talk to Felix Quaker about my parents and the Spinning Man.”
Caw, you must flee this place! said Milky, his voice more urgent.
Quaker twisted the ends of his mustache and looked at Caw curiously. “I admire your tenacity, my boy, but as I told you—I have nothing to say. Now get out of my—”
The front door below crashed open with a bang. Between the wide columns of the balustrade, Caw saw three drooling attack dogs stalking through the entrance hall. A shadow fell on the carpet from outside, and then Jawbone’s huge bulk stepped over the threshold.