The Book of the Crowman (10 page)

Dear Gordon

I’m sorry I couldn’t say more last time. The scrap of note paper Bossy got for me was too small and I ran out of space. I was so desperate to tell you things. To tell you everything. Bossy couldn’t get me any more paper before his trip into the woods to deliver the letter to one of his friends. He’s very fair, really. Promises not to read a single word as long as I keep him company sometimes. The one thing I really wanted to say was please, please write back to me. Even if it’s just a word or two. Knowing we can talk to each other will make all of this OK. I told you, didn’t I, that there was a small price to pay for paper and a pencil? Bossy likes to sit beside me for that. On my bunk. I suppose I don’t mind if it means I can communicate with you. Afterwards, he tells me things about what’s going on outside the substation. He seems to know a lot. He told me you’re searching for the Crowman and helping the Green Men. He says you’re tough – well “brick-hard” he calls it. It’s good to know. I was so worried after I shut the green door on you that day. You seemed so small and terrified and I had so many nightmares about what they would do if they caught you. Never mind that now. I know you’re alive and I don’t have nightmares any more. Well not so many. I don’t know where I am or I’d tell you to come and get me. Bossy says if he had some help he could get me out of here. As wonderful as that would be, I’d settle for just seeing your face and knowing you’re OK. You must have grown so much since I last saw you. You must be a man by now. Silly me. Running out of paper again. Be safe. Write very soon. I love you, Gordon. Jude.

Long before the daylight made a target of him, Gordon raided several houses around the property where Denise’s attic now stood abandoned. Most were already cleaned out but one boarded-up basement flat had been ignored by looters. It yielded more tins of food than he could carry, some dried pasta and even some plastic bottles of water. The use-by dates had been exceeded on almost everything he could scavenge and he longed for the land, where he could trap or gather food he trusted. In the cities you had to be thankful for whatever you could steal. He made several trips to transfer the goods to number 257 and lit a fire in one of the many fireplaces the old Victorian house boasted.

Resting pans on an oven tray over the coals, he cooked penne and a couple of tins of tomatoes. By firelight he ate as much as his stomach would hold. Rather than making him sleepy, it renewed him. He mixed the leftovers into one pan and put them to one side, ready to reheat when Denise woke up.

Though he was ready to start searching for the Crowman again, to make forays into the heart of London, he was reluctant to leave Denise in the house alone. When she came round and he was sure she was OK, that would be the time.

Gordon returned to his vantage point at the top of the back steps. By comparison to the almost complete darkness of number 257’s interior, the murky light of dawn in the garden seemed bright at first. The lily and the feather remained where the girl from some long ago summer had left them. He didn’t know how he was going to explain them to Denise.

With nothing to do, he let himself drift again, hoping to recapture the vision of the previous day. Agitation in his limbs prevented him from slipping through the moment into the fluidity of time. He knew this restlessness. Even when his mind was not searching his body was itching to pursue his singular and elusive quarry. The chase was programmed into his muscles and his blood. Resisting its call created discomfort in the very hollows of his bones.

A movement at the periphery of his vision drew his attention. Beyond a fence, several properties along, heads were visible. It was the back garden of the house where Denise had lived. The heads belonged to three men. That was about all he could make out at this distance. They seemed to know where they were going and soon disappeared through the back door. These must be Denise’s friends, the ones who brought food for her and Flora. They’d be back when they got no response from the attic and then they’d start looking around.

Gordon considered his options. If they saw him sitting up here, they’d approach and then the sanctuary that was number 257 would be open to all comers. If he slipped inside now, there was every chance they wouldn’t even come in this direction. He retreated down the steps into the garden and down again to the basement window. If they were decent friends, they’d be back to search another day. By then Denise would have decided whether she wanted to share her new address. For now, undisturbed rest was what she needed most.

Ruing the interruption of what little daylight he could enjoy, he slipped back into the darkness of the house.

Gordon slept on a mattress in a room across from Denise. He wanted to be close in case she woke in the darkness and was disorientated. When she eventually rose it had been light for a while. He was cooking in the fireplace when she shuffled in.

“That smells good.”

He could barely see her face by the firelight but she seemed calm.

“This is chickpeas in tomatoes. I’ve got pasta in tomatoes from yesterday. What do you fancy?”

“Yesterday? How long have I slept?”

“Two days, near enough.”

“God. I’ve never slept that much in my life.”

“How do you feel?”

“Sleepy, believe it or not.”

They both laughed a little.

“You hungry?”

“Now that you come to mention it, I’m ravenous.”

He gave her the steaming pan and a spoon and heated up the pasta in the other pot while she ate chickpeas. There’d been a time when he’d missed herbs, spices and salt and pepper. All food tasted good now. After a while, Denise handed back the first pan and he handed her the pasta. She seemed to prefer it and he was glad to see her eat it all.

As he stacked the pans, one inside the other, a noise came up from the basement. The sound of glass underfoot. Gordon unclasped his lock knife and motioned for Denise to follow him. Together they descended to the basement. By the light coming in through the exposed, broken window they both saw two men. A third was climbing in. Gordon squeezed her hand.

Before the third figure was through the window he said:

“Didn’t your parents teach you to knock before coming in?”

The man framed in the window froze and the other two spun towards the sound of Gordon’s voice. Both men held out weapons into the darkness in front of them. One, a crowbar, the other a machete. For the moment, Gordon’s eyes were more accustomed to the gloom than theirs.

“Why are you breaking into my house?” he asked.

“It’s not yours,” said the man with the machete. “No one owns anything any more.”

“I’m the current occupier. You are the current trespasser. What are doing here?”

“We’re looking for someone. A friend.”

“Does this friend of yours have a name?”

The man with the machete took a step forward in the darkness. He could see Gordon now, that was clear. Gordon pushed Denise back up into the obscurity of the stairs. The machete man edged forward.

“Listen, shithead. It’s none of your business. You should leave before you get carved up.”

“Carved up? By three of you? That’s quite an assumption. Especially as you have no idea how many of us are in here.”

The man tensed. His machete quivered. The man with the crowbar couldn’t keep his eyes still. Gordon saw the sheen glistening across his dirty forehead.

“Ah,” said Gordon. “Nerves creeping in a bit, are they? Well, it’s your own fault – you know what they say about piss-poor planning…”

The nearest man adjusted his grip on the machete’s plastic handle.

“Don’t drop it now, will you?” said Gordon.

“Listen…”

“I’m listening.”

“We’ve seen the grave.”

“And?”

“We want to know what’s happened.”

“Of course you do. Your… friend.”

The man with the machete nodded, swallowing.

“Here’s what I suggest,” said Gordon. “You go back out into my garden. I’ll stay here while you do. Then I’ll pop out and we can talk. How’s that sound?”

The man swallowed again, glanced back at his accomplice and the man stuck halfway through the window.

“OK,” he said. “Alright.”

“Good.”

No one moved.

“I’ll stay right here,” said Gordon. “Promise.”

The man with the machete adjusted his grip again. The tip of the blade wavered. He took a step back and glanced behind. He nodded to the crowbar man and together they reversed towards the window. Seeing this, the third man dropped back into the garden. More light came in through the window but Gordon retreated up the stairs so the raiders couldn’t see him.

When they were outside he took Denise’s hand, led her down to the basement and across to the window where they crouched, out of sight.

“Nice friends,” he said. “Supportive. Strong sense of community.”

“They’re dangerous, Gordon.”

“Sometimes a dangerous friend can be a good thing. Right?”

“They’ve always brought us food. Kept our place a secret. Protected us.”

“But there were costs. Compensations to be made. True?”

Denise couldn’t hold his stare.

“Yes. There were.”

“Hey,” he reached out and raised her face with gentle fingers. “I’m no one to judge. Understand? We’ve all done things we wouldn’t have done in other times. What I want to know is how much you want these people to continue being… friendly.”

“They’ve got connections. I’ll never get away from them.”

“You will if you come with me. My connections are bigger than theirs.”

He grinned and watched her calculate the options. It was a decision based on the need to survive, not on feelings – people made cold decisions like this every day now. If they were going to be friends that could come later. If they weren’t, he’d make certain Denise was safe before he moved on.

“I want to get away from here,” she said. “From
them
. I’ve got no reason to be here any more.”

Gordon squeezed her hand and smiled.

“Good choice.” He stood up. “You stay right there.”

“I thought we were both going out.”

“Now, that
would
be dangerous. Don’t come into the garden, whatever happens. No matter what you see, OK?”

“But what if you don’t… I mean–”

“Don’t come out unless I call you, Denise. Do as I say and you’ll be fine. Alright?”

She didn’t respond.

Gordon pressed her back into the darkness and stepped into the pool of dull, wounded light seeping through the broken window. Out beyond the steps leading up to the wild garden stood the three survivors. Hungry, lean men with simple appetites and little patience. They must have been tough to have survived this long. Through earthquakes and disease, civil unrest and the unceasing round-up of suspects.

Perhaps they were in the pocket of the Ward. That made more sense; Denise had hinted that they had questionable connections. Whatever the case, Gordon had no regard for them. They’d used hard times as an excuse to live off other people’s misery – certainly they’d used Denise for their own purposes. The fact that they’d given food and medicine in return for favours made her their possession, not a friend. He’d seen people like this all across the country, seen what they’d done in the name of “survival”.

He felt a gathering within himself. Jolts of energy burst up through his feet into his belly and exploded out to his arms and hands. His vision went black for a moment as the obsidian fire ignited behind his eyes. An updraft pushed at him, sending broken glass and dust whirling. To the sound of a thousand pairs of black wings, he leapt up and out through the window.

Gordon pushed me back, away from the window and out of sight. But I saw it all. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand what happened next. I can only tell you how it looked to me. How it felt.

Before he moved, something happened around him;
to
him. The air in the room altered. He was framed in the dim light coming through the smashed basement window and in the space all around him there was this, I don’t know exactly, call it restlessness. Agitation or something. The air
fluttered
. That’s the only way I can describe it. It was like there was this energy all around him. I could feel it like a push from a strong wind. It made me take a step back.

The air around him blurred. The nearest thing I can compare it to is the movement of a flock of birds. Before all the changes, there used to be thousands of starlings around our block of flats. They often congregated on the pylons and then take off as one. They’d whirl and wheel in the sky, turning fast and coming around, blackening as they blocked the light and then spreading out and thinning as they changed direction in long sweeps. A murmuration; that’s what it’s called.

The way they flew always reminded me of nature programs about the ocean. They were like shoals of fish, flashing light and dark as they darted away from prey in the ocean. The air around Gordon Black was like that, invisible wings shimmered through it, flashed and darkened in a dozen directions. All I could think at the time was that the weather had suddenly changed. That the wind had blasted through the window and kicked up all the dust in the basement. But I knew it wasn’t that really. It was something freaky. Gordon’s murmuration. One of Flora’s dreams coming true, God rest her sweet soul.

He didn’t climb out through the window like the three Ds did – that’s Darren, Dean and Danny, by the way – and he didn’t jump either. He
flew
. I’ve never seen anyone move like that. He leapt forward and he took off and he sailed out into the garden like a cat with wings. The three Ds couldn’t believe it either. I rushed to the window and I saw the looks on their faces as he landed.

He hadn’t gone far; he still had to climb the steps from the basement up to the level of the garden. He didn’t try to make it look fancy but something in the way he moved was beautiful and wild and they could all see it. I would never even have thought anything like this before meeting Gordon but all I can say to make it clear is that it was like an animal spirit had gone into him. He moved like something lithe and free, not like the chancers and deadbeats who lived in the city. He’d been on the road for three years by then but Gordon was strong and agile. It came off him in waves.

The three Ds were scared. I was scared too, truth be told. It wasn’t like magic or anything but it was the strangest thing I’d ever seen. It wasn’t what you’d call normal. Gordon Black wasn’t what you’d call normal.

He walked up the steps to get on their level. They backed off until they were up against the thorns and weeds of the wild garden. He had his little knife in his hand. It’s not much more than a penknife. Pathetic really. But it didn’t look pathetic in his hand. It looked like a single, deadly claw. The three Ds all had their tools held out in front of them but they suddenly looked more like shields than weapons. I think they just wanted to keep him away.

“So,” says Gordon, casual as anything. “What did you want to ask me?”

Darren must have had itchy feet or something. He had his machete held out like an accusing finger and he couldn’t stand still.

“Who’s in the ground?”

“That’s Flora.”

“What did you do to her?”

“She died of a fever.”

“Bollocks.”

“Don’t take my word for it. Ask her mother.”

“You’ve got Denise in there?”

I put my head up through the window at that point so Darren could see me. I’ve never seen him so angry. But he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Did he hurt her, D?”

I was the fourth D. That was the nearest we ever got to a joke about the arrangement. It wasn’t very funny. I shook my head.

“There was nothing anyone could have done,” I says. “It was her time.” And that made me cry, of course. And that pushed Darren right to the edge.

“Let her go,” he says. “I want her out of there now.”

“She can leave if she wants.”

I didn’t move. I just stood there crying. I wasn’t going anywhere without Gordon Black.

“Look,” says Gordon. “Denise doesn’t want to be… associated with you gentlemen any more. I think she deserves a little dignity after all she’s been through, don’t you? I’m going to give you the opportunity to say your goodbyes but you must never come back to this place. Not to this house. Not to this garden and certainly not to this grave.”

“Or what?” says Darren.

“I think it’s a pretty fair deal as it stands. All you have to do is leave and not come back. That’s it.”

Darren looked at Gordon and then at me. He looked up at 257 and finally one small penny dropped.

“There’s no on else in that house, is there? It’s just you and her.”

“I never said otherwise. What does it matter?”

I’m not sure he would have let them go, even if they’d turned around and walked away when he gave them the chance. I don’t know if he tricked them into attacking or just pissed them off so much he knew they would. It’s another one of those things I’ll probably never know.

What happened was that Darren made the first move. He went on the offensive and Gordon took him to task. In these times, someone else making the first move is full justification. Always. I’m not sure it warranted the savagery of Gordon’s response, though. All I can say is, at least it was quick. And I knew one thing for certain then. While Gordon Black was alive, I’d always be safe.

Yeah. That’s what I thought I knew.

It took Gordon the rest of the day to inter the men Denise referred to as the three Ds.

He didn’t do it to hide the bodies. Nor did he do it because of the smell they would make soon enough. He did it because shit was good for the ground. They would be food for the wild garden and perhaps this place would survive and thrive in the years to come. Gordon had visions of the plants bursting the brick walls on both sides and spilling into the neighbouring properties. As the years went by they would spread and ramble, joining with the plants in the park, taking root there and flourishing. It was a pleasant fantasy; something to counteract the knowledge that in many parts of the country nothing would now grow. Gordon buried the three Ds as his gift to the Earth and he prayed for his wild garden to spread and multiply. He prayed for a future.

That night he and Denise dined on tinned potatoes, tinned mushrooms and beef stew, sitting in armchairs Gordon had manoeuvred from other rooms and placed near his preferred cooking hearth. They ate from plates Denise had found in the kitchen cupboard, used bone-handled cutlery and drank water from glasses. She waited until Gordon had finished his meal before she spoke.

“Where did the lily and the feather come from?”

“Hm?”

“On Flora’s grave.”

“Oh, those. I found them.”

“Where? I mean, the feather I can understand but where did you find a single white lily?”

“On the other side of the park there’s a pond. It’s stagnant but there was a patch of it that still had some life in it. The lily was there.”

“Only one?”

“Just one.”

“It was very thoughtful.”

“She was a lovely child. I wish I’d done more.”

“What do you mean?”

Gordon cleared his throat.

“I just wish there was more I could have done.”

Denise was quiet for a time.

“Listen,” said Gordon. “We can talk about something else if you want.”

“No. It’s OK. I don’t want to pretend it hasn’t happened. I don’t want to act as though she was never here.”

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

“The whole fucking world is upsetting. As if the disease and poverty and starvation isn’t enough, there’s violence everywhere. You killed three men today, Gordon.”

“You’ve seen plenty of killings.”

“Yes. I suppose I have.”

“I had no option. If I’d done nothing they would have killed me. And then they’d have–”

“I know.”

“And if they’d left, they’d have come back with others and we’d have had no chance.”

Denise took a sip of water.

“No one ever stood up to them like that,” she said. “They had a reputation.”

“Did they operate alone?”

“No. They were muscle for a bigger fish.”

Gordon clenched his teeth.

“We’ll have to move on then. Those bigger fish will come looking for them.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Denise. But I’ll miss number 257.” Gordon stroked the worn fabric on the arm of his chair. “This is the nicest digs I’ve had in any city.”

“What about finding the Crowman?”

“I can’t find him if I’m dead. We’ll have to get away from here. First light. Earlier if you can manage.”

“Where can we go?”

“Into the countryside. Just for a while. If they don’t find us in a few days, they’ll give up. Revenge is a low priority when no one knows where their next meal is coming from.”

Denise pushed her food around her plate with her fork.

“There’s one other problem, Gordon.”

“Uh huh.”

“The group they were part of has links with the Ward. That’s how they got some of their food.”

Gordon massaged his temples with three fingers of each hand and took several deep breaths before looking up. He’d hoped his hunch about them was wrong.

“We need to leave.”

“Tonight?”

“Right now.”

It took Gordon a few minutes to choose what they needed most from their supplies. He went to find Denise. She was kneeling between two open suitcases and a few bags, crying in the candlelight.

“You need to decide quickly, Denise. Please.”

“This is everything I own. Flora’s clothes and some of her toys too. Things my mum gave me. I can’t just leave it all here.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Gordon,” she looked up at him. “This is my life. I can’t abandon it.”

Gordon pushed his fingers back through his hair.

“Alright. Take out only what you need to survive. I’ll look for a hiding place for everything else. You can always come back here and collect the stuff when things have calmed down.”

“What if they find it?”

“This is the best I can do, Denise. If the Ward had anything to do with the three Ds, we’ll be lucky to get away with our skins, let alone all this clobber.”

Taking a candle, Gordon tore through the house, mounting each flight of stairs three at a time. None of the rooms had anything secure or unobtrusive to offer. When he reached the highest floor of the house there was small landing with an attic above. A small brass ring hung from the access hatch. Held against the wall by brackets was a boathook. When he hauled on the ring, the hatch opened and a set of aluminium pull-down stairs slipped into view. He hauled them the rest of the way down and climbed into the highest level of the house.

This was where Denise and Flora ought to have lived. It was vast. Loose boards overlaid thick insulation. The entire space was empty. He held his candle up into the gloom. Below the apex of the roof were sections of board resting on crossbeams. They looked like they’d been there since the house was constructed. If he could climb up, that was where Denise and Flora’s belongings would be safest.

It took him three trips, two with each suitcase and one with two bags. When it was done, nothing could be seen from below except the old boards. He shut the hatch with the boathook and stashed it up the chimney of the fireplace in the nearest room while Denise looked on.

“Thank you,” she said.

He smiled.

“Let’s go.”

As he slipped through the basement window and Denise handed him the bags, he heard the sounds of iron-shod hooves on tarmac.

“Quick,” he whispered, putting his hands through and helping Denise out.

When she was standing beside him, she heard it too.

“Oh, Jesus.”

“We can’t go through the back gardens,” said Gordon. “We’ll run right into them. We’ll have to try for the park. Come on.”

He shouldered his pack, grabbed Denise’s hand and pulled her up into the garden.

“We’ll never get through all that,” she hissed.

He drew her to the side wall and prayed to the spirits in the wild garden to let them pass easily. Though the thorns and brambles still plucked at their hair and clothes, they were able to edge around the perimeter with only a few scratches. When they reached the door in the back wall, Gordon mouthed a silent thank you to the garden and then yanked the door open. The hinges creaked in protest and they both cursed the noise.

“That way,” whispered Gordon, urging Denise along the rat run of an alley.

At the dead end, he boosted her up onto the wall and handed up her bag.

“Can you see anyone in the park?” he asked.

She was quiet for a while.

“I think it’s clear.”

“OK. Move along a bit.”

Gordon leapt high, grabbed the top of the wall and heaved himself up.

“That way,” he said, pointing.

Behind them, the clatter of men on horseback was loud. The patrol knew exactly where to go. Before they’d even crossed the park, Gordon heard the Ward smashing their way through the back door of number 257. He knew it wouldn’t take them long to realise he and Denise weren’t coming back. At best, they had minutes to find their next refuge or lose themselves in a crowd. The Ward were getting smarter and quicker all time; it was almost as though they were anticipating him.

“Come on,” Gordon whispered, taking Denise’s hand and holding it tight.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” she hissed.

“You have to go faster,” he said, and, breaking from a jog into a run, he drew her on into the night.