3

Caw tiptoed along the top of the park wall, keeping pace with Lydia’s father.

This is ridiculous, said Glum. You’ll get us into trouble again, just like last night.

Caw ignored him. They reached the end of the wall, and the man took a right turn toward the prison gates. For a moment Caw panicked. He couldn’t follow without being seen. But then he remembered.

“Meet me on the roof,” he said to the crows, then slipped down and ran across the dark, deserted road. On the far side, an abandoned building stood on the corner of the street, half-demolished, with one wall completely gone, the insides exposed to the elements. Caw could see skeletal hulks of old machines within. Whatever they used to make, their days of usefulness were a long-forgotten memory.

Caw scrambled over the rubble up to the second floor, careful not to make a sound. He skirted boxes piled high with old books, their covers mostly rotted away. He climbed two flights of stairs toward a hatch that opened onto a roof of corrugated metal. Then he crept to the highest point, where Glum, Screech, and Milky were already perched, just as Lydia’s father reached the prison far below on the opposite side of the street.

A dozen men and women in prison guard uniform were standing in groups just outside the open gates, illuminated by the floodlights, looking nervous but excited. Dogs strained at their leads, nosing the air.

The wailing siren cut out suddenly, and the vibrations faded on the air.

“Where’s that plan of the sewers?” said Lydia’s father. His voice carried clearly up to Caw.

One of the men laid a large sheet of paper on the hood of a car parked by the sidewalk.

Caw’s heart quickened. He was right to think that Lydia’s father wasn’t just a guard. He was ordering the others around like he was in charge of the whole prison!

“The police will be here in the next five minutes, but we can’t afford to wait. The clock is ticking. Everyone get into pairs. One dog per pair. Fan out into the surrounding streets. Check every manhole cover. If you see them, call it in. Don’t try to apprehend them—you know who we’re dealing with. And be careful!”

The guards started to disperse, while Lydia’s father peered at the map. Within moments, he was alone.

Can we please go home now? said Glum, fluffing out his feathers. It’s freezing!

Hey, over here! called Screech.

Caw turned around—the youngest of the crows was perched at the other end of the roof. A faint grinding sound was rising up from below. Something’s happening down there, said Screech.

Caw looked at Lydia’s father. His head had jerked up, as though he’d heard it too. He swiftly folded the map and began to pace across the street.

Caw ran over the roof to join Screech and stared down into an alley that ran between the building he was perched on and a derelict warehouse beyond.

The alley was empty, apart from a few strewn papers and some Dumpster bins. One end forked into a maze of passages running between more abandoned buildings—the other made its way to the main street that ran beside the park.

With another grinding sound, the manhole cover directly below Caw turned. One side cracked open, then the whole thing lifted free and was tossed aside like it weighed nothing, spinning like a coin, then settling flat. Caw shrank back, peering over the roof’s parapet. Something small scurried out of the dark hole in the ground. An insect, or maybe a spider. And then two hands emerged. Big, meaty hands. A huge figure heaved itself into the open. Caw saw a bald head, a great gleaming dome of skin stretched over skull. The man wore an orange shirt and trousers.

Suddenly it made sense. The guards in a panic. The search parties.

“An escaped prisoner,” Caw whispered. “That’s who they’re looking for!”

I can see that, said Glum.

The man tipped back his head, and terror caught in Caw’s throat. Something was wrong with the man’s mouth. It was too wide, like his cheeks were split in a hideous grin. Then, after a heartbeat, Caw realized it was a tattoo. A permanent smile.

He’s a looker, Screech muttered.

The prisoner started to tear off his shirt and called down into the manhole in a muted voice, “All clear!” Then the man tossed the ripped prison shirt aside and turned back around.

As Caw saw the man’s bare chest, he felt his bones turn to ice. A new wave of terror hit him, deeper than anything he’d felt outside his nightmares. Pure fear, straight from the darkest depths of his mind, undimmed by logic and impossible to ignore. It squeezed each of his nerve endings and turned his stomach to water.

Inked across the massive man’s chest was a tattoo that rippled with his muscles, almost as though it was alive. Eight legs, scurrying.

A spider.

And not just any spider. Its body was a looping line, and a spiky M shape was emblazoned inside it.

Caw gripped the parapet, his mouth dry as dust.

It was the spider from his dream.

Beside him, Milky ruffled his feathers.

The tattooed prisoner leaned over the manhole, took hold of a skinny wrist, and pulled a second figure into the open—a young woman. She had black hair that fell to her waist and caught the streetlight like a raven’s wing. As she straightened up, she stood even taller than the man. The sleeves of her prison uniform were soiled with dirty water from the sewer, and she began carefully rolling them up. Her arms were lithe and muscled, as though she could wrap them around a person and squeeze their life away.

And then came a third person. He flopped out into the alley and scrambled to his feet, brushing down his clothes. He was less than half the height of the others and hunched over. He looked old, but he moved like a younger man, feet turning this way and that. His eyes darted around in all directions.

“Finally, the smells of the city!” said the short man. “How I missed the delicious stench of rot.”

The big man cracked his knuckles. “Time to get back to business,” he said.

“We shouldn’t delay,” hissed the woman. Her voice was soft and sibilant. “It won’t be long before they work out where that tunnel leads.”

“Freeze!”

All three prisoners turned to the far end of the alley. A man stood silhouetted there, holding a gun, its barrel glinting.

Oh dear, Glum said.

It was the man from the house. But the prisoners didn’t look afraid. Instead, the big one stepped forward.

“Warden Strickham,” he said. “What a nice surprise.”

We should go, said Glum. This has nothing to do with us. It’s—

“Human stuff?” whispered Caw. “I know. But in case you hadn’t noticed, I am a human, Glum.”

That wasn’t why he was staying, though. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he needed to know about that tattoo. He had to find out what it meant.

“You’re going right back to jail, Jawbone,” said Mr. Strickham.

The big man, Jawbone, grinned for real. It twisted his face, making him look even scarier, like a hungry dog. “What d’you say, friends? Should we crawl back to our cells?”

The short man sniggered, and the woman’s tongue flickered over her lips. “I say we refuse his kind offer,” she said. “He tastes a little scared to me.”

Mr. Strickham brought his other hand to the hilt of his gun to steady it. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m the one with the bullets. And a squad of police officers on the way.” He glanced behind him.

Suddenly Caw felt nervous.

“Leave this to me,” said Jawbone. “I’ll catch up when I’ve dealt with him.”

The others nodded and melted away into the alley—the short man shuffling, his tall companion almost gliding.

“Hey!” shouted Mr. Strickham. “One more move and I’ll shoot!”

There was a flash and a deafening crack as Mr. Strickham’s pistol went off. A warning shot, but the prisoners ignored it. The woman took one fork, the short man the other. The next moment they were gone.

“Just us now,” said Jawbone, moving slowly toward Mr. Strickham.

“I don’t like this,” said Caw. “We should help him.”

In a flash, Jawbone lunged, and his shovel-like hand gripped the gun and twisted it from the warden’s hand. With a cry of pain, Mr. Strickham cradled his arm, backing away.

Jawbone tossed the gun behind him. “Never liked guns,” he said. “They kill too quick.” He reached out and gripped Mr. Strickham’s neck, then hoisted him one-handed into the air. The warden’s legs kicked out weakly as his face turned red, then purple.

Caw’s stomach churned with fear. It was a long way down from where he stood on the roof. He thought he could make it with a couple of jumps, but what then? He swallowed and swung a leg over the parapet.

Then a new voice called out, “Leave him alone!”

At the end of the alley, a small shape had slipped from the shadows. Caw caught his breath. It was Lydia—the girl from the house! She still wore her pajamas and a dressing gown. One of the laces of her sneakers was trailing. How had Caw not seen her follow him?

Her father twitched in Jawbone’s death grip, his face horribly contorted. Jawbone grinned, then threw him aside like a rag doll. Mr. Strickham slammed into a Dumpster and collapsed in a heap.

“Lydia?” he croaked, managing to get to one knee. “Oh, God. No.”

Jawbone aimed a kick at Mr. Strickham’s stomach, and he crumpled with a moan.

“Dad!” shouted Lydia, rushing toward him. Jawbone grabbed at her, seizing a handful of her hair and yanking her around. Her face twisted in pain.

“Let me go!” she yelled, scrabbling at his arm.

“Now!” whispered Caw to the crows. “Get him!”

He swung his other leg over the parapet, then pushed off and plummeted, hitting the ground hard. He fell into a backward roll, coming up to see that Screech and Glum had already swooped down onto Jawbone’s head. Kow-kow-kow! they screamed.

Jawbone dropped Lydia and swatted at the crows with his massive arms.

“Get them off me!” he bellowed.

The prisoner punched the air as the crows raked his face with their claws. A fist caught Screech and sent him crashing into a wall. He slid to the ground but flapped away just as Jawbone’s foot came down in a stamp. Glum squawked and stabbed his beak at the prisoner’s eyes. Jawbone staggered, his spider tattoo writhing as he fought off the attack. Screech threw himself bravely back into the fray.

Caw rushed to Mr. Strickham’s side, and he and Lydia helped him stand. At the same time Caw realized that the girl was staring at him, openmouthed.

Mr. Strickham frowned in confusion, watching the crows swirl around Jawbone in a blur of feathers. The giant was twisting like a man fighting shadows.

“Come on!” Caw said, pulling Mr. Strickham away. “Run!”

But Mr. Strickham staggered in the opposite direction, and Caw saw he was heading for the gun on the ground.

“Dad! Leave it!” said Lydia, running after him. Too late. Mr. Strickham had reached the gun. He wheeled around, bringing the barrel up to point at Jawbone. And the crows.

“No!” yelled Caw. He threw himself at the warden’s arm as the gun went off with a crack. The sound rang through his ears, and Caw clenched his eyes shut against the stabbing pain. When he opened them again, Mr. Strickham was mouthing at him furiously, but Caw couldn’t hear the words. He turned and saw that Jawbone had gone, and so had his crows.

Gradually sound seeped through his eardrums.

“. . . saved us, Dad,” Lydia was saying.

“He helped him escape!” said Mr. Strickham.

Lydia put a hand on his arm. “That man was going to kill you!”

The radio on Mr. Strickham’s belt crackled, and panicked voices came through. “Sir, where are you? . . . Shots fired! . . . Warden Strickham?”

Mr. Strickham plucked the radio off his hip. “Alleyway between Rector and Fourth,” he said. “I’ve lost them.”

The hard lines of Mr. Strickham’s face softened. He looked at Caw, and his nostrils twitched like he’d smelled something bad. Lydia was looking at Caw too, and he felt his face getting hot. “Who are you?” said Mr. Strickham.

Caw didn’t know what to say. If there were police on the way, he had to leave, or they’d send him to an orphanage. His eyes searched the roofline for the crows.

“Those birds,” said the warden. “What was that?”

Caw backed away, letting his feet take him toward the other end of the alley. He felt trapped. The crows were right—he should never have interfered.

“Hey! You’re not going anywhere, young man!” said Mr. Strickham. “I need a statement.”

Caw turned and ran. His ears picked up the sound of dogs barking again, not far off. He heard another crackle of a radio. He had to get back to the nest.

“Come back!” said Mr. Strickham.

“At least tell us your name!” Lydia shouted after him.

Caw reached the street and saw cops running toward him.

Up here! Screech called.

Caw glanced up and saw the three crows perched on a chain-link fence sixty feet away, where the street ran to a dead end. One of Screech’s legs looked crooked, as though it was broken. He’s hurt, thought Caw. He’s hurt because of me.

There was a patch of waste ground beyond. The old railway station. Caw ran toward the fence.

Flashlight beams picked out his body, and several voices yelled at him to stop.

He leaped onto the metal mesh and swung his legs over the top, landing on the other side. When he looked back, he saw a dozen officers coming toward him, with three or four dogs. Lydia and her father were there too.

Caw slid down an embankment just beyond the fence, out of sight.

“Hold it!” cried the warden.

No way, thought Caw. He ran, and he didn’t stop until he’d doubled back to reach the park again. He peered at both ends of the street, making sure that no one was watching, then climbed over the gate. As he scrambled over, one of his flapping shoes came loose and fell to the street. No time to go back for it. He jumped down to the other side.

Finally, his pumping blood began to calm. He was safe here in the shadows. Home.

He walked slowly back to his tree, limping a little on one bare foot.

Well, that was fun! said Glum sarcastically, already in the nest as Caw clambered up.

Did you see me? said Screech. The way I got him? He spread his wings, mimicking his actions. Peck! Scratch! Claw!

Caw heaved himself onto his bed and lay on his back, letting the sweat cool on his body. He suddenly felt very tired indeed.

I was pretty brave, right? said Screech.

“You were both incredible,” Caw told them.

Milky was perched at the side of the nest, looking completely unruffled. He hadn’t joined in the fighting. His blind eyes stared in Caw’s direction.

“What’s going on, Milky?” asked Caw. “Who were those prisoners?”

The old white crow was silent and still as a marble statue.

I think he’s done talking, said Glum.

“The spider,” said Caw. “I dreamed it. And then it was there in real life, on that prisoner’s chest. You know what it means, don’t you?”

Milky cocked his head and turned away.