Jacob Grey - The Crow Talker

“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.”