Copyright

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2015

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Ferals: The Crow Talker

Text © Working Partners Ltd 2015

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers, 2015

Cover art © Jeff Nentrup, 2015

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007578528

Ebook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780007578535

Version: 2015-01-20

With special thanks to Michael Ford

“Some of the victims were found with tooth marks on their bodies. Others had been dropped from great heights or were bloated with poisons found in their blood. To this day, no one knows what – or who – was behind the strange series of murders that swept through Blackstone that fateful summer.”

The Mystery of the Dark Summer by Josephine Wallace, Head Librarian, Blackstone Central Library

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About the Publisher

he night belonged to him. He wore its shadows, tasted its scents. He savoured its sounds and silences. Caw leapt from roof to roof, a boy witnessed only by the white eye of the moon and the three crows that soared in the dark sky above him.

Blackstone sprawled like a bacterial growth on all sides. Caw took in flashes of the city – skyscrapers rising to the east, and to the west, the endless slanting roofscape of the poorer districts and the smoking chimneys of the industrial quarter. In the north loomed abandoned tenements. The river Blackwater was somewhere to the south, a roiling sludge carrying filth away from the city, but never making it any cleaner. Caw could smell its fetid stench.

He skidded up against the dirty glass panel of a skylight. Laying his hands softly on the glass, Caw peered into its soft glow. A hunched janitor wheeled a mop and bucket through the hallway below, lost in his own world. He didn’t look up. They never did.

Caw took off again, startling a fat pigeon and skipping around an ancient billboard, trusting his crows to follow. Two of the birds were barely visible – flitting shadows black as tar. The third was white, his pale feathers making him glow like a ghost in the darkness.

I’m starving, muttered Screech, the smallest of the crows. His voice was a reedy squawk.

You’re always starving, said Glum, his wing-beats slow and steady. The young are so greedy.

Caw smiled. To anyone else, the crows’ voices would merely sound like the cries of regular birds. But Caw heard more. Much more.

I’m still growing! said Screech, flapping indignantly.

Shame your brain isn’t, Glum cackled.

Milky, the blind old white crow, drifted above them. As usual, he said nothing at all.

Caw slowed to gather his breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs. He took in the sounds of night – the swish of a car across slick tarmac, the thump of distant music. Further away, a siren and a man shouting, his words unclear. Whether his voice was raised in anger or happiness, Caw didn’t care. Down there was for the regular people of Blackstone. 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 asked.

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 feet, his breath coming hard. Looking up, he saw his crows perched together on the fire-escape railing, watching silently.

After the gang had rounded the corner, another smaller shape slipped from the alley’s darkness to stand close beside the man. It was a boy of about seven or eight, Caw guessed. His narrow face was pale and his dirty blond hair stood on end. “Yeah, and don’t come back!” he shouted, shaking a fist.

Caw darted towards the chips scattered on the ground. He started dropping them back into the box. No need to waste a good meal. All the while, he felt the gaze of his rescuer and the boy on his back.

When he’d finished, he stuffed the box inside the deep pocket of his coat and hurried to the fire escape.

“Wait,” said the man. “Who are you?”

Caw turned to face him, but kept his eyes on the ground. “I’m no one.”

The man snorted. “Really? So where are your parents, No one?”

Caw shook his head again. He didn’t know what else to say.

“You should be careful,” said the man.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Doesn’t look like that to us,” said the boy, tilting his chin upward.

Caw heard the crows’ claws shifting on the railing above him. The man’s eyes flicked up to them and narrowed. His lips turned in the ghost of a smile. “Friends of yours?” he asked.

Time to go home, said Glum.

Caw started up the steel ladder without looking back. He climbed quickly, hand over hand, his nimble feet barely making a sound on the fire escape. When he reached the roof, he took one last glance and saw the man watching him as the young boy rooted around in the bins.

“Something bad’s coming,” called the man. “Something really bad. You get into trouble – talk to the pigeons.”

Talk to the pigeons? Caw only talked to crows.

Pigeons! Screech said, as if he’d heard Caw’s thought. You’d get more sense out of a brick!

Probably off his rocker, said Glum. A lot of humans are.

Caw heaved himself on to the roof and set off at a jog. But as he ran, he couldn’t shake the man’s parting words. He hadn’t seemed crazy at all. His face was fierce, his eyes clear. Not like the old drunks who stumbled around the streets or squatted in doorways begging for money.

And, more than that, he had helped Caw. He’d put himself at risk, for no reason.

Caw’s crows flew above him, wheeling around buildings and circling back as they made their way to the safety of the nest. Home.

Caw’s heart began to slow, as the night took him into its dark embrace.

t’s the same dream. The same as always.

He’s back at his old house. The bed is so soft he feels like he’s lying on a cloud. It’s warm too and he longs to turn over, pull the duvet tight to his chin and fall back asleep. But he never can. Because the dream isn’t just a dream. It’s a memory.

Hurried footsteps on the stairs outside his room. They’re coming for him.

He swings his legs out and his toes sink into the thick carpet. His bedroom is in shadow, but he can just make out his toys lining the top of a chest of drawers and a shelf stacked with picture books.

A crack of light appears under his door and he hears his parents’ voices, urgent and hushed.

The door handle turns and they enter. His mother is wearing a black dress, and her cheeks are silver with tears. His father is dressed in brown corduroy trousers and a shirt open at the neck. His forehead is sweaty.

“Please, no …” Caw says.

His mother takes his hand in hers, her palms clammy, and pulls him towards the window.

Caw tries to tug back, but he’s young in the dream, and she’s too strong for him.

“Don’t fight,” she says. “Please. It’s for the best. I promise.”

Caw kicks her in the shins and scratches at her with his nails, but she gathers him close to her body in a grip of iron, and bundles him on to the window ledge. Terrified, Caw fastens his teeth over her forearm. She doesn’t let go, even when his teeth break her skin. His father draws back the curtains, and for second Caw catches sight of his own face in the black shine of the window – pudgy, wide-eyed, afraid.

The window is flung open and the cold night air rushes in.

Now his father holds him as well – his parents have an arm and a leg each. Caw bucks and writhes, screaming.

“Hush! Hush!” says his mother. “It’s all right.”

The end of the nightmare is coming, but knowing that doesn’t make it any less terrible. They push and pull him over the ledge, so his legs are dangling, and he sees the ground far below. His father’s jaw is taut, brutal. He won’t look Caw in the eye. But Caw can see that he’s crying too.

“Do it!” says his father, releasing his grip. “Just do it!”

“Why?” Caw wants to shout. But all that comes out is a child’s wailing cry.

“I’m sorry,” says his mother. That’s when she shoves him out of the window.

For a split-second, his stomach turns. But then the crows have him.

They cover his arms and legs, talons digging into his skin and pyjamas. A dark cloud that appears out of nowhere, carrying him upwards.

His face is filled with feathers and their earthy smell.

He’s floating, up and up, carried beneath their black eyes and brittle legs and snapping wings.

He gives his body to the birds and the rhythm of their flight, prepares to wake …

But tonight, he does not wake.

The crows descend and set him down lightly on the pavement, looping back towards his house along a pale driveway running between tall trees. He sees his parents at his window, now closed. They’re hugging, holding each other.

How could they?

Still, he does not wake.

Then Caw sees a figure, a thing, materialising from the darkness of the front garden, taking slow deliberate strides to the door of the house. It’s tall, almost as tall as the doorway itself, and very thin, with spindly limbs too long for its body.

The dream has never continued like this before. This is no longer part of his memory – somehow Caw knows that, deep in his bones.

By some trick, he can see the thing’s face, close up. It’s a man – but the likes of which he’s never seen. He wants to look away, but his eyes are drawn to the pale features, made paler still by the blackness of the man’s hair, which sits in jagged spikes over his forehead and one eye. He would be handsome if it weren’t for his eyes. They’re completely black – all pupil, no white.

Caw has no idea who the man is, but he knows that he is more than just bad. The man’s slender body draws the darkness to him. He has come here to do harm. Evil. The word comes unbidden. Caw wants to shout, but he is voiceless with fear.

He is desperate to wake, but he does not.

The visitor’s lips twist into a smile as he lifts a hand, the fingers like drooping arachnid legs. Caw sees that he’s wearing a large golden ring as his fingers enfold the door knocker, like a flower’s petals closing. And now the ring is all he sees, and the picture inscribed on its oval surface. A spider carved in sharp lines, eight legs bristling. Its body is a looping single line, with a small curve for the head and a larger one for the body. On its back, a shape that looks like the letter M.

The stranger knocks a single time, then turns his head. He’s looking right at Caw. For a moment the crows are gone, and there is nothing in the world but Caw and the stranger. The man’s voice whispers softly, his lips barely moving.

“I’m coming for you.”

Caw woke up screaming.

Sweat was drying on his forehead and goose pimples covered his arms. He could see his breath, even under the cover of the tarpaulin that stretched between the branches overhead. As he sat up, the tree creaked and the nest rocked slightly. A spider scuttled away from his hand.

A coincidence. Just a coincidence.

What’s up? said Screech, flapping across from the nest’s edge to land beside him.

Caw closed his eyes, and the image of the spider ring burned behind his lids.

“Just the dream,” he said. “The usual one. Go back to sleep.”

Except tonight it hadn’t been. The stranger – the man at the door – that hadn’t really happened. Had it?

We were trying to sleep, said Glum. But you woke us twitching like a half-eaten worm. Even poor old Milky’s up. Caw could hear the grumpy ruffle of Glum’s feathers.

“Sorry,” he said. He lay back down, but sleep wouldn’t come, not with the dream throwing its fading echoes through his mind. After eight years of the same nightmare, why had tonight been different?

Caw threw off his blanket and let his eyes adjust to the gloom. The nest was a platform high up in a tree, three metres across, made of scrap timber and woven branches, with a hatch in the floor he’d made using a sheet of corrugated semi-transparent plastic. More branches were knitted together around the nest’s edge with pieces of boarding he’d scavenged from a building site, making a bowl shape with steep sides about a metre tall. His few possessions lay in a battered suitcase he’d found on the banks of the Blackwater several months ago. An old curtain could be pinned across the middle of the nest if he wanted privacy from the crows, though Glum never quite got the hint. At the far end, a small hole in the tarpaulin roof offered an entrance and exit for the crows.

It was cold up here, especially in winter, but it was dry.

When the crows had first brought him to the old park eight years ago, they’d settled in an abandoned tree house in a lower fork of the tree. But as soon as he was old enough to climb, Caw had built his own nest up here, high above the world. He was proud of it. It was home.

Caw unhooked the edge of the tarpaulin and pulled it aside. A drop of rainwater splashed on to the back of his neck and he shuddered.

The moon over the park was a small sliver short of full in a cloudless sky. Milky perched on the branch outside, motionless, his white feathers silver in the moonlight. His head swivelled and a pale, sightless eye seemed to pick Caw out.

So much for sleep, grumbled Glum, shaking his beak disapprovingly.

Screech hopped on to Caw’s arm and blinked twice. Don’t mind Glum, he said. Old-timers like him need their beauty sleep.

Glum gave a harsh squawk. Keep your beak shut, Screech.

Caw breathed in the smells of the city. Car fumes. Mould. Something dying in a gutter. It had been raining, but no amount of rain could make Blackstone smell clean.

His stomach growled, but he was glad of his hunger. It sharpened his senses, pushed back the terror into the shadows of his mind. He needed air. He needed to clear his head. “I’m going to find something to eat.”

Now? said Glum. You ate yesterday.

Caw spotted last night’s chip container on the far side of the nest, along with the other rubbish the crows liked to collect. Glittering stuff. Bottle tops, cans, ring pulls, foil. The remains of Glum’s dinner were scattered about too – a few mouse bones, picked clean. A tiny broken skull.

I could eat too, said Screech, stretching his wings.

Like I always say, said Glum, with a shake of his beak. Greedy.

“Don’t worry,” Caw told them. “I’ll be back soon.”

He opened the hatch, swung out from the platform and into the upper branches, then picked his way down by handholds he could have found with his eyes shut. As he dropped to the ground, three shapes – two black, one white – swooped on to the grass.

Caw felt a little stab of annoyance. “I don’t need you to come,” he said, for what seemed like the thousandth time. I’m not a little kid any more, he almost added, but he knew that would make him sound even more like one.

Humour us, said Glum.

Caw shrugged.

The park gates hadn’t been opened for years, so the place was empty as always. Quiet too, but for the whisper of wind in the leaves. Still, Caw stuck to the shadows. The sole of his left shoe flapped open. He’d need to steal a new pair soon.

He passed the rusty climbing frame where children never played, crossed the flower beds that had long ago given way to weeds. The surface of the fishpond was thick with scum. Screech had sworn he saw a fish in there a month ago, but Glum said he was making it up. Blackstone Prison loomed beyond the park walls on the left, its four towers piercing the sky. On some nights Caw heard sounds from inside, muted by the thick, windowless walls.

As Caw paused by the empty bandstand, covered in graffiti scrawls, Screech landed on the step, talons tip-tapping on the concrete.

Something’s wrong, isn’t it? he asked.

Caw rolled his eyes. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Screech cocked his head.

“It was my dream,” Caw admitted. “It wasn’t quite the same. That’s all.”

The nightmare forced its way into his mind again. The man with the black eyes. His shadow falling across the ground like a shard of midnight. The hand reaching out, and the spider ring …

Your parents belong in the past, said Screech. Forget them.

Caw nodded, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. Every time he thought of them, the pain was like a bruise, freshly touched. He would never forget. Each night he relived it. The empty air beneath his wheeling feet; the crack and flap of the crows’ wings above.

Since then many crows had been and gone. Sharpy. Pluck. One-legged Dover. Inkspot, with her taste for coffee. Only one crow had remained at his side since that night eight years ago – mute, blind, white-feathered Milky. Glum had been a nest-mate for five years, Screech for three. One with nothing useful to say, one with nothing cheerful and one with nothing to say at all.

Caw scaled the wrought-iron gates, gripped the looping ‘B’ of Blackstone Park, and hauled himself up on to the wall. He balanced easily, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets as he walked along the top of it. For Caw, it was almost as easy as walking down the street. He could see Milky and Glum circling high overhead.

I thought we were getting food, said Screech.

“Soon,” Caw told him.

He stopped opposite the prison. An ancient beech tree overhung the wall, and he was almost hidden by its thick leaves.

Not here again! squawked Glum, making a branch quiver as he landed.

“Humour me,” said Caw pointedly.

He stared at the grand house across the road, built in the shadow of the prison.

Caw often came to look at the house. He couldn’t really explain why. Perhaps it was seeing a normal family doing normal things. Caw liked to watch them eating dinner together, or playing board games or just sitting in front of their TV.

The crows had never understood.

A shadow in the garden snatched him suddenly back to his nightmare. The stranger’s cruel smile. The spider hand. The weird ring. Caw focused intently on the house, trying to drive the terrifying images away.

He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the windows of the house were dark, the curtains drawn. Caw rarely saw the mother, but he knew that the father worked at the prison. Caw had seen him leaving the prison gates and returning home. He always wore a suit, so Caw guessed he was more than just a guard. His black car squatted in the driveway like a sleeping animal. The girl with the red hair, she’d be in bed, her little dog lying at her feet. She was about his age, Caw guessed.

AWOOOOOOOOO!

A wailing sound cut through the night, making Caw jerk up. He dropped into a crouch on the wall, gripping the stone as the siren rose and fell, shockingly loud in the moonlit silence.

From the four towers of the prison, floodlights flashed on, throwing arcs of white light into the courtyard and on to the road outside. Caw shrank back, sheltering under the branches, away from the glare.

Let’s scram, said Screech, twitching his feathers nervously. There’ll be humans here soon.

“Wait,” said Caw, holding up a hand.

A light blinked on in the upstairs room where the girl’s parents slept.

For once I agree with Screech, said Glum.

“Not yet.”

More lights came on behind closed curtains, and a minute or two later, the front door opened. Caw trusted the darkness to shield him. He watched as the girl’s father stepped out. He was a slender but tough-looking man, with fair hair receding a little at the front. He was straightening a tie and speaking into a phone clamped against his shoulder.

It’s the one who walks that horrible dog! Glum said, hissing with disgust. Caw strained his ears to hear the man’s voice over the siren.

“I’ll be there in three minutes,” shouted the man. “I want complete lockdown, a time-line and a map of the sewers.” A pause. “I don’t care whose fault it was. Meet me out front with everyone you can spare.” Another pause. “Yes, of course you should call the police commissioner! She needs to know about this, and fast. Get on it now!”

He slipped the phone away and strode fast towards the prison.

“What’s going on?” Caw muttered.

Who cares? said Screech. Human stuff. Let’s go.

As Caw watched, the girl appeared in the doorway of the house with the dog at her heels. She was wearing a green dressing gown. Her face was delicate, almost a perfect inverted triangle, with wide-set eyes and a small pointed chin. Her red hair, the same colour as her mother’s, hung loose and messy to her shoulders. “Dad?” she said.

“Stay inside, Lydia,” snapped the man, barely looking back.

Caw gripped the wall tighter.

Her father broke into a trot down the pavement.

The spider this way crawls, said a voice, close to Caw’s ear.

Caw jumped. He glanced up and saw Milky perched in a branch.

Glum snapped his head around. Did you just … speak? he said.

Milky blinked, and Caw stared into the pale film of the old crow’s eyes. “Milky?” he said.

The spider this way crawls, said the white crow again. His voice was like the rasp of wind over dried leaves. And we are but prey in his web.

I told you old snowball’s bonkers, cackled Screech.

Caw’s throat had gone dry. “What do you mean, the spider?” he asked.

Milky stared back at him. Lydia was still at the door, watching.

“What spider, Milky?” Caw said again.

But the white crow was silent.

Something was happening. Something big. And whatever it was, Caw wasn’t going to miss it.

“Come on,” he said, at last. “We’re following that man.”

aw 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 towards 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 was an abandoned building, 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, those days of usefulness were a long-forgotten memory.

Caw scrambled over the rubble up to the first 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 towards a hatch that opened on to 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 gates far below on the opposite side of the street.

A dozen men and women in prison-guard uniform were standing in groups, 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.

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. In a moment, 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 round – 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 the alley below.

It was empty, apart from a few strewn papers and some rubbish bins. One end of the alley forked into a maze of passages running between the buildings. The other, Caw guessed, eventually made its way to the main street near the prison.

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 well 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 realised 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 leant 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. 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 other 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 towards 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 pyjamas and a dressing gown. One of the laces of her trainers was trailing. How had Caw not seen her following?

Her father twitched in Jawbone’s death-grip, his face horribly contorted. Jawbone grinned, then threw him aside like a ragdoll. Mr Strickham slammed into the rubbish bin 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 towards him. Jawbone grabbed at her, seizing a handful of her hair and yanking her round to face him. Her face twisted in pain.

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

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

He flipped around so he was facing the wall, then released his grip and plummeted, hitting the ground hard. He fell into a backwards roll, coming up to see that Screech and Glum had already swooped down on to 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 realised that the girl was staring at him, open-mouthed.

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 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 lanced 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 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’s 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 him too, and Caw 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 towards 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!” the girl shouted after him.

Caw reached the street, and saw cops running towards him.

Up here! Screech called.

Caw glanced up and saw the three crows perched on a chain-link fence twenty metres 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 wasteland beyond. The old railway station. Caw ran towards the fence.

Arcs of torchlight picked out his body and several voices yelled at him to stop.

He leapt on to 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 towards him, with three or four dogs. Lydia and her father were there too.

Caw slid down the embankment and 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 hopped up and down, mimicking his actions. Peck! Scratch! Claw!

Caw heaved himself on to 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.

aw woke to the crows all squawking as one. The nest was rocking gently.

“What’s going on?” he said.

Get away! yelped Screech, flapping madly. Intruder!

Adrenaline flooded through Caw’s body and he sat up, reaching for a weapon. He managed to find a cracked plastic spoon, just in time to see a head poking up through the hatch.

“Wow!” said Lydia, resting her hands on the timbers of the nest. “This place is amazing! It’s way bigger than it looks from down there.”

Caw pressed himself into a corner, clutching the spoon in front of him like a knife. She was wearing a baseball cap, which made her red hair fall straight, curling under her chin. In the light of day, he realised she had a smattering of freckles he hadn’t seen the night before. Her eyes shone.

“Hey! Don’t point that thing at me!” she said.

“How did you find me?” Caw demanded. “No one knows about this place!”

Lydia beamed with pride. “I’m good at sniffing things out,” she said. “I’ve seen you sneaking around by our place before, watching us from the wall next to our house. So I figured you must live around here somewhere. And when I was out walking Benjy this morning, I found this by the park gate.”

Lydia dropped Caw’s shoe on the floor of the nest.

“I reckoned the park would be a perfect place to go if you didn’t want to be found. So I hopped over the gate and searched until I saw this funny thing stuck up in a tree. Not bad, huh?”

Suddenly Caw felt silly. But he was too embarrassed to lower the spoon.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

Lydia smiled. “I could ask you the same question. Don’t you have a home? Don’t you have parents?”

Caw shrugged. “I live here,” he said. “Just me.”

“Cool!” she said. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Caw glanced at Glum. Don’t even think about it, said the crow, puffing out his chest.

“No,” said Caw.

“Oh, come on!” she said. “Pretty please?”

Give her a little shove, said Screech. The young crow hopped forward menacingly, then skipped back again.

“No!” said Caw. “Leave me alone!”

The girl’s face fell. “All right, all right,” she said. “Chill out. Just give me a second to catch my breath, OK? Then I’ll go.”

As she tucked a lock of hair back into her cap, still with her head and shoulders poking into the nest, Caw’s fear evaporated. She was just a girl. What harm could she do?

Lydia blew out her cheeks. “OK. I’ll leave,” she said.

“Wait!” said Caw. He glanced at the crows then sighed. “You can come in for a bit,” he mumbled.

No! said the crows in unison. Caw lowered the spoon.

“Phew!” she said, grinning. “You could really have hurt me with that.”

Caw couldn’t help smiling, despite himself.

The girl scrambled up into the nest and settled cross-legged on the platform. She was wearing jeans and a pale hooded top, streaked with leaves and dirt. She took off her cap and shook her hair free, watching Screech and Glum with a look of puzzlement. Milky would be outside, Caw knew – he never slept in the nest.

“So these birds are your pets?” she said.

I am not a pet! said Glum.

And I’m not just any bird! protested Screech. I’m a crow.

“Sort of,” said Caw.

Sort of? said Glum and Screech together. Lydia jerked back a little. Caw realised that to her it sounded like two angry squawks.

“They live with me,” he said.

“Did you train them?”

Screech chuckled. Cha-Cha-Cha.

“So what’s it like, hiding out in this park all the time?” Lydia asked.

Caw felt a flash of annoyance. “I’m not hiding,” he said.

“OK then. So why are you always spying on me?”

Caw couldn’t hold her stare. “I wasn’t.”

“Liar,” she said, but with a smile. “I thought you were a burglar at first, but then I thought, no one’s stupid enough to rob the Warden of Blackstone Prison. Anyway, I forgive you. I’m Lydia, by the way.” She held out her hand.

Caw looked at it.

She leant forwards and took his hand, placing it in hers, then shook it up and down. “And you are?”

“I’m … Caw,” said Caw.

Lydia grinned. “What sort of a name is that?”

Caw shrugged. “It’s what I’m called.”

“If you say so.” Lydia looked around the nest. “So did you build this place?”

Caw nodded. He couldn’t help a flush of pride.

With some help! said Screech.

Lydia looked up, narrowing her eyes at the crows.

“With some help,” Caw added.

“Are you talking to the birds?”

Crows, please, said Glum.

“Well …” said Caw. He almost lied, then thought better of it. “Yes. And they’re crows.”

“OK, that’s seriously weird,” said Lydia.

Glum hissed at her.

“Sorry,” she said nervously.

“Don’t worry,” said Caw. “He’s always in a bad mood.”

Take that back! said Glum.

Lydia cocked her head. “I just wanted to come and thank you,” she said. “You ran away pretty quickly last night.”

Caw shrugged. “I just … happened to be there. It’s no big deal.”

“And your crows,” said Lydia. “I suppose I should thank them too. They were very brave.” She turned to them. “Sorry – you were very brave.”

Glum ruffled his feathers. Flattery will get you nowhere, my girl, he said.

“He says it was nothing,” said Caw. Suddenly his stomach let out a rumble. He hadn’t eaten a thing since the chips from the takeaway two days ago.

Lydia’s eyes lit up. “Are you hungry?” she asked, taking off her backpack.

“A little,” Caw admitted.

She fished inside and took out a chocolate bar in a blue wrapper. “Here you go,” she said, offering it to him across the nest.

Caw took it from her like it was a precious thing, and peeled the wrapper away carefully. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten chocolate.

Careful, said Glum. It might be poisoned.

Caw rolled his eyes, then took a huge bite. His teeth sank through the thick chocolate, and it melted over his tongue. The bar was gone in seconds, sweetness coating the inside of his mouth.

“A little hungry?” said Lydia, still grinning. “Here.” She handed him an apple. Caw tried to eat it more slowly, in methodical bites. The fruit’s flesh exploded juice into his mouth, and it dribbled over his chin.

Save a bit for us! said Screech.

Caw tossed the core to the two crows, who attacked it with their beaks. He didn’t worry about saving any for Milky. The white crow rarely ate.

“The scrawny one looks hurt,” said Lydia, pointing to Screech’s crooked leg.

Who’s she calling scrawny? said Screech.

“Come here, little crow,” said Lydia soothingly. “Let me take a look.”

She’d better not be talking to me, said Screech, lifting his beak haughtily. I’m not little.

Glum gave a throaty laugh.

“He’s just a bit nervous,” said Caw.

Lydia leant towards Screech. “I could make a splint,” she said. “You’ve got plenty of junk here I could use. And I’m good with animals.”

Screech hopped away from her.

“Let her try,” said Caw. “She might be able to help.”

“I’ve got another apple,” said Lydia, taking it out of her bag and handing it to him. “Here.”

Caw ate more slowly this time, watching as Lydia fashioned a splint out of twigs and string. Screech extended his leg gingerly, and she fastened the splint into place. Milky, Caw noticed, had dropped into the nest through the small opening in the tarp at the far end. Caw didn’t think Lydia even knew he was there. But the blind crow seemed to be watching them with his sightless eyes.

“Done!” she said, with a clap of her hands. “It’s not broken, but he should keep it rested.”

Screech peered down at the splint. It’s not a half-bad job! he said.

“He says ‘thank you’,” said Caw. He almost smiled again, but caught himself. What was he doing, letting his guard down, welcoming this girl into his most secret place? What if she told her family about it? What if she told everyone? He cleared his throat.

“Look, thank you for the food, but …”

“Are those books?” she said, scrambling across the nest. In the corner, beneath Caw’s tattered sweater, was his latest stack.

“Yes,” said Caw. “But—”

Lydia took one. “They’re picture books!” she said, grinning.

Caw really wanted her to go now, but he couldn’t think of the right words.

“Why are you reading picture books?” she said. “They’re for little kids.”

Caw felt his blush deepen.

Lydia’s look turned to utter dismay. “Wait – I’m sorry. Did you ever learn to read?”

Caw lowered his gaze and managed a tiny shake of his head.

“Hey, these are library books,” said Lydia. “Did you … steal them?”

“No!” said Caw, glancing up angrily. “I borrowed them.”

“You have a library card?” said Lydia, her eyebrow arching.

“Not exactly,” said Caw. “A woman – a librarian – leaves them outside for me.”

Lydia put the book down. “I could teach you to read,” she said.

Caw didn’t know what to say. Why was she being so nice to him?

“I mean, if you want me to,” she added awkwardly. “Maybe we could go to the library together – pick something to help you learn.”

Caw was about to reply when Milky let out a thin cry. Everyone looked at the white crow.

“Whoa, I didn’t see him there,” said Lydia, shifting uncomfortably. “Why are his feathers like that?”

“They always have been,” said Caw, his eyes fixed on Milky. “Listen, thanks for the offer with the library, but—”

Milky squawked again.

“Sounds like he wants you to come with me,” Lydia said with a grin. She pushed out her bottom lip. “But then, I don’t speak bird.”

Glum hissed.

“That one’s tetchy, isn’t he?” said Lydia.

Caw was watching Milky. Why was the white crow making such a fuss?

Milky blinked. Did he really want Caw to go with this strange girl? It had been Milky’s words about the spider that had convinced Caw to follow Lydia’s father the night before. And if he hadn’t, he never would have seen the tattoo. The one that matched the ring in his dream.

“Come on,” Lydia urged. “What harm can a trip to the library do?”

Of course! If anyone could help him understand what the spider symbol meant, it was the librarian. She had so many books.

“So what do you say?” said Lydia.

Bad idea, said Glum.

I think she’s all right, said Screech, holding up his leg.

Caw looked at both of them, then at Lydia. He’d never had a friend before. And she’d gone to a lot of trouble to find him. Plus Milky had spoken for the first time in all the eight years Caw had known him. Perhaps it was a sign.

“Before you say no, it’s my way of saying thanks for saving us,” said Lydia.

Caw watched her face closely, as if her features might betray her thoughts. Was he actually ready to trust another human being after avoiding them for so long?

Perhaps not yet. But if he kept his guard up, and the crows were with him …

“OK,” he said. “Just this once.”

aw always felt on edge when he went out in the daytime. At night, when he scoured the city for food and supplies, the darkness protected him from prying eyes. It allowed him to move freely through the streets and along rooftops. But down on the ground, under the glare of sunshine, he felt exposed. Cars gridlocked the streets and hundreds of people filled the pavements and shops. He told himself the people weren’t looking at him, but it never helped.

This time, though, with Lydia at his side, he almost felt normal. Of course he kept an eye on the sky, to check that Screech and Glum were still with them. Milky had remained behind at the nest.

Blackstone was vast, its streets organised on a grid. Caw couldn’t read the names on the signs, but he counted the blocks. That way, he always knew where to find the road that led up to the park. As they walked deeper into the city, buildings loomed up on either side, so tall the sky was just a strip of grey above. The people who lived at the top must feel like they were in a nest too, he thought.

Monorail lines threaded over the streets on viaducts or plunged into tunnels that burrowed underground. The stations were scattered through the city, disgorging passengers from the bowels of the earth. Caw had never ventured beneath the streets. The thought of being trapped down there chilled him to the bone.

“My dad’s so stressed out,” Lydia was saying. “He says his job might be on the line. Those prisoners were in maximum security, but they managed to break through the floor of one of the bathroom stalls.”

Caw let Lydia talk the whole way. She was good at talking. He learnt she was an only child, that her dog, Benjy, was scared of cats, and that her favourite subject at school was Maths. He was listening, but everywhere he went, his eyes scanned for an escape route, preferably upwards – drainpipes, fire escapes, window ledges with enough room to wrap his fingers around them. He wondered when he would find the right moment to tell Lydia that he’d never actually been inside the library before.

They were approaching it now, a huge old-fashioned building with a grass forecourt, broken up by paths and strange metal sculptures. The first time he’d gone there was just over a year ago, at twilight. A storm had swept across Blackstone, and he’d taken shelter from the rain under the grand fluted columns that stood at the front of the library. He hadn’t even known what was inside, but the lights from a window had tempted him to look closer. As he’d pressed his nose against the glass and seen those high shelves lined with thousands of books, he’d been mesmerised. They reminded him of being a child back in his bedroom on the nights when his mother would pick a picture book from the shelf and read to him until he fell asleep.

The middle-aged woman had taken him by surprise, appearing at the main doors, and asking if he wanted to come inside. She was shorter than him by a head, with black skin, and tightly curled black hair turning grey in places. It was the first time a human had spoken to him in months, and if the rain hadn’t been falling so hard, he would have run away. As it was, he froze on the spot. The woman had smiled, and told him she was called Miss Wallace, and that she was the Head Librarian. She asked him if he liked books. Caw said nothing, but the woman must have seen a look of longing on his face.

“Wait here,” she’d said.

And against all his instincts and the advice of the crows, he had.

When the lady had emerged again, she was clutching a pile of colourful books, and a steaming cardboard cup. “You look cold,” she’d said.

Caw took a cautious sip. Hot chocolate. He closed his eyes, savouring the taste. It was rich and creamy, filling him up the way rainwater never did. She let him choose the books he liked the most – the ones with the fewest words. Maybe she guessed he couldn’t read, but she didn’t say so.

“Just bring them back the same time next week,” she’d said. “Leave them by the fire-escape steps at the back of the building if you’d rather not come in.”

Caw had nodded and tried to say “Thank you,” but he was so nervous he’d ended up mouthing it instead.

The following week he’d returned the books, and found another pile waiting for him with another cup of hot chocolate. It was the same the next week, and the one after that. Occasionally Miss Wallace would come out and say hello. Only once had she suggested she could ring someone – “to help him” – but Caw had shaken his head so violently that she hadn’t repeated the offer.

“What happened to your parents, Caw?”

Lydia’s question snapped him back to the present.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she added. “It’s just that most kids without parents go to an orphanage.”

“I don’t know,” said Caw cautiously. “I don’t remember.”

He couldn’t tell her about his dreams. She’d only laugh.

“But …” She trailed off. Maybe she could sense that he didn’t want to talk about it.

They stopped to cross the road.

Glum squawked, swooping down and landing on the traffic light. She’s nosey, this one, he said.

The library rose ahead. It looked a lot older than most of the buildings in Blackstone. Lydia strode towards the huge double doors, but Caw paused. Now he was here, he wasn’t so confident. Could he really just march right through the entrance?

“What are you waiting for?” said Lydia.

We’ll stay outside, said Glum, settling on the steps. Be careful.

Caw knew he looked foolish, so he steeled himself and climbed the steps. A few pigeons scattered out of the way, and Caw suddenly remembered the homeless man from two nights ago, outside the takeaway.

He was probably mad, like Screech had said, thought Caw.

At the top of the steps, Caw felt an odd prickle on the back of his neck. He had the curious sensation he was being watched, but when he turned no one was there. Just the windswept grass of the forecourt and a couple of empty benches. He followed Lydia through the door.

It was warm inside, and sweat immediately broke out over his forehead. The silence made him suddenly aware of the sound of his own breathing, and his eyes swept across the cavernous room. On the far side, rows of towering shelves held thousands of books, and around the top of the room ran a balcony with more shelves. In front were several desks, where people sat reading and writing quietly. On the left, near the entrance, was a curved table with a computer and lots of stacks of paper, and behind it was the librarian. She was leaning over a notepad with her glasses perched low on her nose, and as she looked up and saw Caw, her face broke into a wide smile.

“Well, hello you!” she said. Her eyes fell on Lydia and her eyebrows shot up. “And you’ve brought a friend, I see.”

Caw nodded.

“I’m Lydia Strickham,” said Lydia. “Pleased to meet you.”

“You can call me Miss Wallace,” the librarian said. “Now, what can I do for you two?”

Caw placed his books on the desk. “I … Can you …” he mumbled, blushing furiously. He felt like running right back through the door and into the cool air outside. “I need to find a book,” he said finally.

Miss Wallace clapped her hands together in pleasure. “Well, it’s about time!” she said. “I never knew if you liked the ones I was picking out for you or not. Now, what is it you’re looking for?”

Caw glanced around the huge room. “I want to know about spiders,” he said. “Unusual ones,” he added as an afterthought.

He could sense Lydia frowning, but for once she didn’t say anything.

Miss Wallace just smiled. “Follow me,” she said.

Caw trailed after her between the stacks, trying not to catch the eye of any of the other readers. He was sure they were looking at him, in his dirty black coat and ragged shoes. The librarian glanced at the shelves, slowed, then paused halfway down. “You’ll find natural history here,” she said, gesturing to a section of the shelf. “Let’s see.” She peered closer, then pulled out a book. “This one is an encyclopaedia of spider species,” she said, handing it to Caw. “There are a few other books on arthropods too. Spiders are a kind of arthropod, you see? I’ll be at the desk if you need anything else.”

Caw sat on the floor, glad to be out of sight, and Lydia flopped down beside him. “I thought we were coming so I could teach you to read,” she muttered. “But you’re thinking about the prisoner, aren’t you? The big guy in the alley with the creepy tattoo.”

Caw nodded, opening the book. “I recognised it,” he said.

“From where?”

“From a dream I had,” said Caw. “A dream about my parents.”

Lydia cocked her head. “I thought you didn’t remember anything about your parents.”

Caw sighed. He hardly knew what to tell her. He hardly knew what he really knew. “I can’t explain,” he said. “It feels like a memory. I’ve dreamt it so many times. Except the last time was different. There was this man … an evil man … he wore a ring with a picture of that spider on it.”

Lydia frowned, looking puzzled. “The same spider?”

“Exactly the same,” said Caw. “Will you help me look?”

They sat side by side, flicking through the images of spiders. None of them looked like the one they’d seen, with its looping body, its long, narrow legs, and the M design on its back.

After half an hour, Lydia stood up and stretched. “It’s not there,” she said. “Let’s ask Miss Wallace if she can help.”

“Find what you’re looking for?” asked the librarian cheerily, as they walked up to her desk.

Caw shook his head.

“We’re looking for a particular spider,” said Lydia, “But none of the books show it.”

“Hmm,” said Miss Wallace. “Could you draw it?”

“I think so,” said Lydia. Miss Wallace handed her a sheet of paper and a pencil. “The body was kind of like an S-shape,” Lydia muttered as she drew. She captured the shape almost perfectly. Just seeing it again made Caw shudder.

“Don’t forget the M in the middle,” he said. He took the pencil and made the adjustments.

Miss Wallace squinted at it through her glasses. “Are you sure this is a real spider?” she asked. “It looks more like a symbol or a logo.”

“I just want to know where it comes from,” Caw said. “It’s important.”

“Well, we get all sorts of experts and academics in the library,” said Miss Wallace. “Let me make a few calls. Could you come back tomorrow?”

Caw nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

“It’s no problem,” she said. “Would you like to take some more books out while you’re here?”

“Yes, please,” said Lydia, before Caw had a chance to reply.

When they left the library, Lydia’s bag was full of new books, and most of them had a lot more words than Caw was used to. Caw didn’t care though. He was still thinking about the spider. If he couldn’t find it among all those books, what hope did he have of discovering the truth about his dream?

They found Screech and Glum perched on the steps outside, watching a man sitting on a bench across the street eat a hamburger.

This guy’s not dropped a single crumb, said Screech, bitterly.

Find anything interesting? said Glum.

Caw shook his head. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t be depressed,” said Lydia. “Miss Wallace might come up with something.”

Caw kicked a stone down the pavement. “Maybe. Thanks for helping, anyway.”

“Hey,” said Lydia, “do you think the spider could have something to do with a gang? It could be their symbol, like Miss Wallace said. Were your parents in any sort of trouble?”

Best to forget about it, said Glum, landing ahead of them. Get back to normal.

“I don’t think so,” said Caw. “I don’t know.” There was a lot he didn’t know about them.

They reached the edge of the park at about midday.

“Listen,” said Lydia. “I have to go now. But why don’t you come to our house for dinner tonight?”

No way! said Screech.

Bad, bad idea, Glum added.

“Erm …” said Caw.

This has gone far enough, Glum cut in. First this girl sneaks into our nest, then she drags you halfway across the city, and now this!

“Come on!” said Lydia. “It’s the least we can do after you saved us from those prisoners. Think of it – a hot meal! You look like you could do with one.”

We don’t need her, said Screech, flapping. Caw noticed the splint on Screech’s leg. The crow hadn’t complained once about the injury since Lydia had put it on.

“Let me think about it,” said Caw.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “All right, think about it. Then come at seven o’clock.” She gave him a wave and hurried off towards her house, pausing to call back. “Oh, and you might want to take a bath.”

“I don’t have a …”

But she was already gone.

Caw climbed the park gates, breaking a spider web that glistened between two bars. The silk strands clung to his fingers. On his own again, he felt a little strange. He was used to being alone so if anything, he should feel relieved. But somehow he couldn’t get himself to be glad that Lydia was gone. He brushed away the webbing.

Thank goodness we shook her off, said Glum. Let’s get back to the nest and have a nice nap, shall we?

As Caw reached the bottom of his tree, his eyes caught a movement, something scurrying away into a bush.

Was that a rat? said Screech.

“I think it was a mouse,” said Caw.

Same difference, said Glum. They’re all dinner.

Caw pulled his T-shirt collar up to his nose and sniffed. “What did she mean, ‘take a bath’?”

You’re not going to go, are you? said Glum, already settling on a low branch.

“No,” said Caw, as he started to climb. “Well, maybe.”

lum perched up ahead on the wing-mirror of Mr Strickham’s car. It’s not too late to turn back, he said.

Caw steeled himself and kept walking. In the distance, the bells of Blackstone Cathedral were ringing out seven o’clock. The sun still peeked above the trees, throwing Caw’s long shadow ahead of him, but already the foxes had started prowling. Caw saw one darting through the bushes as he approached the Strickham’s house.

We could go and raid the bins, said Screech. Rich pickings!

“I want to do this,” he told them.

You don’t look like it, said Glum. You’re all pale.

Caw tried to ignore them. It didn’t matter whether he wanted to come or not – he felt like he owed it to Lydia. She might be a bit pushy, but she’d come to the library with him and she’d mended Screech’s leg.

As he reached the doorstep he saw his reflection distorted in the huge polished knocker. He gave his armpit a quick sniff. He’d washed as well as he could in pond-water, and flattened his hair with an old comb, but he still felt like a fraud. At least he’d managed to find a new pair of shoes. Someone had thrown them into a skip. They were a size too small, and one had a hole in the toe, so Caw had cut the end off the other one to make them match. From his suitcase he’d selected a black T-shirt, only slightly torn at the collar. It had a paint stain on the back, but as long as he didn’t take off his long black coat, no one would know.

He lifted the knocker, heart beating fast. Then froze.

What was he thinking?

“I can’t do this,” he muttered. He let the knocker down gently and backed away.

He’s seen sense! said Screech, tapping his talons on the top of Mr Strickham’s car. So what’s it going to be? Indian food? Chinese?

The door opened suddenly, making Caw’s heart leap, and there stood Lydia, wearing some sort of green woollen dress. She looked smart. Much smarter than Caw. “I knew you’d come!” she said.

Before he could say anything, she grabbed his arm and tugged him into the house, leaving the squawking crows outside. Immediately Lydia’s dog, Benjy, began sniffing around his ankles. Benjy was white with brown patches, and had bulgy eyes and floppy ears. Caw found himself at the bottom of a wide staircase, standing on a thick pale carpet. He saw in horror that his shoes had already left a black smudge of dirt on it. “I’m sorry!” he said. “I’ll take them off.”

As he slipped his feet out, a memory of the dream came back, and the carpet at his parents’ house – bare skin sinking into luxurious softness – until he noticed Lydia looking down at his shoes and fighting a smile. “Come on!” she said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

She led him down a hallway lined with framed photographs, Benjy trotting alongside. The pictures were all of the Strickham family. There were beautiful porcelain and glass lamps giving off a soft green light. But it was the smell that Caw noticed the most. The aroma of food made his mouth water so much he was scared he might drool on the carpet.

At the far end, a set of double-doors opened on to a huge table with candles in the middle and plates laid out. Caw could hardly believe, after watching so many times through the window, that he was finally inside. The warmth and softness seemed to draw him forward.

Sitting at one end of the table reading a newspaper, a pair of spectacles perched at the end of his nose, was Mr Strickham.

“Dad?” said Lydia.

Mr Strickham turned, then started. “What the …” His mouth opened and closed and he stood up, staring at Caw. “Lydia, what’s this boy doing here?”

With a horrible sinking feeling, Caw’s eyes swept over the table. It was set for three.

“I invited him,” said Lydia. “To say thank you.”

“You invited him?” said Mr Strickham.

“I’ll go,” said Caw, turning.

Lydia grabbed him. “No, you won’t,” she said. “Will he, Dad?”

She glared at her father, whose eyes settled on Caw’s bare feet, before returning to his face.

“And your name is?” he said.

“He’s called Caw,” said Lydia. “Caw, this is my father.”

Lydia’s dad took another second before he nodded briskly and held out a hand. He seemed to be doing his best to smile. Caw took the hand, glad that he’d given his nails a thorough scrub in the pond.

At that moment, a woman entered the room, holding a steaming dish. She was slim, with softly curling red hair that she had pulled back into a loose bun, and she wore a pink apron over a pale dress. Caw recognised her at once. Lydia’s mother. Her eyes flashed wide in alarm when she saw him. “Who are you?” she said.

“It seems Lydia has brought a … er, this … friend for dinner,” said Mr Strickham.

“He’s our guest,” said Lydia. “He’s Caw. The boy who was there last night.”

“I see,” said Mrs Strickham, narrowing her gaze. Caw began to feel uncomfortable under her intense stare.

“We at least owe him dinner,” said Lydia. “I’ll get another plate.” She gestured to a chair. “Caw, sit there.”

As Lydia left the room, Caw thought about turning and running away. They didn’t want him here, obviously. He should have listened to Glum and Screech. He tried to offer a smile, but he was pretty sure it came out more like a grimace. Mr Strickham nodded, as though he wasn’t sure how to respond. His wife just placed the dish gently on the table.

“Please, take a seat,” said Lydia’s father.

Caw did as he was told, leaving his hands at his sides as he sat down. Everything looked so clean! The walls, the floor, the tablecloth … He hardly dared move for fear of spreading dirt.

Lydia soon returned, and everyone took their places at the table. Mrs Strickham lifted the lid off a platter to reveal a joint of meat. The smell made Caw’s mouth fill up with saliva all over again. He swallowed nervously.

“So where do you live, Caw?” asked Mr Strickham, as he carved the meat with a huge knife.

“Nearby.”

“With your parents?” asked Mr Strickham.

“No,” said Caw. “I live alone.”

Mr Strickham’s expression suddenly turned severe. “You don’t look old enough,” he said.

Lydia’s eyes darted to her father. Caw’s heart thumped with a rush of panic, and he racked his brains. If they found out he was only thirteen, they’d call the authorities.

“He’s sixteen,” said Lydia.

“Really?” said Mr Strickham. “I only ask because …”

“I am,” lied Caw. “I’m sixteen.”

“Stop interrogating him, Dad,” said Lydia. She laid a plate in front of Caw, heaped with meat, potatoes and vegetables, all smothered in gravy. “Dig in,” she said.

Caw looked up and Mrs Strickham nodded. She seemed a little pale, Caw noticed. “I hope you like it,” she said.

Caw picked up a slice of meat and sank his teeth in. He almost groaned in pleasure. It was like nothing he’d ever tasted, soft in texture and almost sweet. He took another bite and the sauce dribbled over his hands. He bit into a potato and almost had to spit it out because it was so hot. He opened his mouth and sucked in breaths of cold air before chewing furiously and swallowing. Then he took a handful of something green and pushed it in as well. The flavours mingled wonderfully. Some fell out on to his plate, so he crammed it back in. He swallowed thickly again and licked the rich sauce off his fingers and his wrist.

It was quiet at the table, he realised, and when he looked up he saw all three members of the Strickham family staring at him, open-mouthed. They were holding knives and forks. Caw blushed to the roots of his hair.

“He’s not used to company,” said Lydia quickly.

“Sorry,” said Caw. “This is delicious.” He picked up the knife and fork, but they felt all wrong in his hands. Mrs Strickham watched him curiously, slowly slicing her food and placing a small morsel in her mouth.

The dinner proceeded in silence. Caw barely looked up, and though he tried to pace himself, he soon finished what was on his plate. Lydia gave him more without asking.

“You seem hungry, Caw,” said Mr Strickham. “When was the last time you ate?”

Caw thought back to the apples and chocolate Lydia had given him. “Earlier today,” he said.

“You know, I might be able to find you some … support,” said Mr Strickham, laying down his knife and fork.

Caw frowned.

“The city can look after children who haven’t—”

“I’m sixteen,” said Caw, a little too loudly.

“There’s no need to be aggressive,” said Mr Strickham. “I’m only trying to help you.”

“Leave him alone, Dad,” said Lydia.

Mr Strickham shot her a glare. “Don’t raise your voice at me, young lady. Not after your disobedience last night.”

“Without Caw and his crows, we’d be dead,” said Lydia. “I just think we should respect his privacy.”

Mr Strickham seemed about to say something, then laid down his knife and fork. “You’re right, Lydia.” He smiled at Caw. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you say crows, dear?” Mrs Strickham asked.

“Yes,” Lydia answered. “Caw has these three tame crows that hang around him. Two of them attacked the prisoner in the alley last night.”

“How very strange,” Mrs Strickham said. Her brow furrowed and she cleared her throat. “I’m going to the bathroom. If you’ll excuse me.” She stood up and dabbed the corner of her mouth with a crisp napkin, then left the room.

Caw noticed a movement at the window – a fluttering of wings. It was Screech, perched outside. His heart sank. That was the last thing he needed – just when he seemed to have won them over. Caw gave a jerk of his hand, to say “Go away!”