The Fatal Strand. Robin Jarvis

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      ‘You!’ Miss Ursula snapped at Neil. ‘Remove that accursed bird of ill omen from my sight, before I wring his wretched neck.’

      Tickling Quoth reassuringly under the chin, Neil returned the old woman’s imperious glare, yet did not answer. Normally he would have shouted right back at her, but that morning he made allowances for her grief – and besides, he was too tired.

      ‘Come on,’ he told the raven. ‘We’ll grab something to eat, then I honestly think I could sleep for the rest of the day.’ With the scraggy-looking bird casting a fretful glance over his shoulder, they made their way through the many rooms and galleries, towards the caretaker’s apartment.

      When they reached a dreary passageway, ending at a door covered in peeling green paint, Neil hesitated and turned to his faithful companion.

      ‘Listen,’ he began. ‘My dad can be a bit funny sometimes.’

      Quoth gave a hearty cluck and hopped up and down with excitement. ‘Thou art the son of a jester!’ he chirruped. ‘That is well, for this sorry chick is melancholy as a gallows cat. ’Tis most surely a great truth that the memory of joy doth make misery thrice times awful. Haste, haste, Squire Neil, let us to this worthy fool – I wouldst be made merrie!’

      ‘I don’t mean it that way,’ Neil groaned. ‘My dad can be a bit strange, that’s all.’

      The raven nodded sagely. ‘Ah!’ he croaked. ‘Thy father is mad.’

      ‘Very likely,’ Neil couldn’t help smiling. ‘So don’t make it any worse. Try and keep quiet. He doesn’t like stuff he can’t understand and there’s enough gone on in here to last him a lifetime.’

      Trying to make as little sound as possible, Neil opened the door and crept inside the apartment.

      To his surprise he found that his father was already awake. Half-submerged in the padded blue nylon of his sleeping bag, Brian Chapman was sitting up on the shabby settee, his face turned towards the window.

      He did not seem to hear his son enter and Neil eyed him quizzically. ‘Dad?’ he ventured.

      The man continued to stare fixedly out of the window.

      ‘Dad,’ Neil repeated, ‘I’m back.’

      Quoth craned forward to peer at the boy’s father more closely.

      ‘’Tis most certain an affliction of the moon,’ he cawed. ‘Never hath this poor knave espied such a muggins.’

      At that moment, Brian Chapman gave a violent shiver and he whipped around – startled.

      Taken aback by the sudden movement, the raven squawked in surprise and flapped his wings to steady himself.

      ‘What’s that?’ Neil’s father cried, scowling at the bird in revulsion. ‘Take it out of here, Neil. It’s vermin! Full of germs. You’ll catch all sorts!’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Neil said hurriedly, seeing that Quoth was already clearing his throat to let loose a fitting retort. ‘He’s very clean and doesn’t bite.’

      ‘You can’t keep him.’

      ‘I don’t have to – he’s my friend.’

      Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, a sure sign that he was growing impatient.

      ‘I hate this place,’ he grumbled, extricating himself from the sleeping bag whilst snatching his spectacles from the nearby shelf. ‘Always something peculiar happening. Never stops. Couldn’t sleep a wink last night. An absolute madhouse! One of those barmy women was screeching her head off till God knows when.’

      ‘One of them’s died,’ Neil said simply.

      But his father wasn’t listening. He glared at the raven and shook his head resolutely.

      ‘Disgusting!’ he declared. ‘It’s bald and mangy. What’s happened to its other eye? Might have fowl pest or worse – you’ve got to get it out of here. I don’t want it anywhere near your brother.’

      Unable to remain silent any longer, Quoth finally defended himself against these unwarranted insults. ‘Woe to thee – most ill-favoured malapert!’ he quacked. ‘Verily dost thou show how abject be the poverty СКАЧАТЬ