Barry Hutchison

The Crowmaster


Скачать книгу

I immediately swung it back down again, realising I may as well leave it beneath the plastic shelter while I went for a look around. It wasn’t like it had anything worth stealing in it, and even if it had, there was nobody around to steal it.

      The steps leading down from the platform were little more than cleverly arranged boulders. I picked my way down them, holding on to the rough stone wall of the station building for support.

      There was no path at the bottom, but a track had been worn through the tangle of grass and heather that surrounded the building. A soft wind swished through the foliage, and I realised its whispers were the only sound I could hear.

      I was completely alone – further away from any other human being than I had ever been in my life. There was nothing but me, the landscape and the flock of birds circling far, far above my head. It was strangely relaxing.

      The track curved around the back of the station building. I followed it, almost skipping along, until I realised I wasn’t actually alone at all.

      A battered old Morris Minor estate car stood in the small car park behind the station. The building shielded the four-space parking zone, making it impossible to see from the platform.

      The car was dark blue, with occasional spots of brown rust. Its entire rear end was clad with panels of varnished wood, giving the impression it was half car, half walk-in wardrobe.

      I knew right away it had to be Marion’s. I couldn’t remember much about Mum’s cousin, but I remembered enough to know this was exactly the type of thing she was likely to drive.

      The front door swung open and my suspicions were confirmed. Marion’s prematurely grey head popped up on the other side of the roof. One of the few things I could remember about her was the colour of her eyes. They were a striking shade of bright blue. They almost shone as she fixed me with a glare, gave me a curt nod, then stared down at my empty hands.

      ‘No luggage?’

      ‘What? Oh. Um, hi, Marion,’ I smiled. ‘I left my bag up there. I didn’t think…’

      She nodded again and climbed back into the car. The door closed behind her with a thunk.

      ‘I’ll just go and get it, shall I?’ I muttered. I waited for a moment to see if she’d pop back up. She didn’t, so I turned and backtracked up to the platform.

      When I got there I found another surprise waiting for me. An oily-black crow sat perched on top of my bag. Its wings were folded in against its back, and its head was tilted slightly to one side. The bird’s dark, beady eyes stared at me as I scurried up the stone steps and stopped.

      ‘Shoo,’ I said, stamping my foot hard on the ground. The bird didn’t flinch. I took a few steps closer and stamped my foot again, harder this time. The crow tilted its head further to the side, but otherwise did nothing.

      We watched each other for almost a minute, while I tried to figure out what to do next. I’m not keen on birds, not since the budgie we had when I was three got its claws tangled in my hair. My memory of the thing flapping and pecking at my head as it tried to get free is hazy, but even now, when I get up close to anything with feathers, I can feel myself getting nervous.

      And the monster perched on top of my bag was no budgie. For a start it must’ve been about fifty centimetres in length. Its beak was long and curved, with short feathery tufts covering the top. Its legs were long and spindly, tapering at the bottom into sharp-looking claws.

      The feathers, the legs, the beak; no part of the bird was any other shade but black. It didn’t just look like a crow, it was a perfect example of crowness. Like something from a creepy fairy tale. Or – I realised with a shudder – a horror story.

      ‘Right, come on, shift,’ I urged, clapping my hands loudly and shuffling towards my bag. The bird gave a faint caw, then hopped into the air. It appeared to beat its wings only once, but that was enough to carry it up to the roof of the station building. It perched there, watching with its dark eyes, as I picked up my bag and made my way back to Marion’s car.

      ‘You got it then,’ Marion said, as I clambered into the passenger seat. The inside of her car was as neat and tidy as it was chilly. I slipped my seatbelt on and pulled my jacket tightly around me. Somehow it felt colder inside the car than it did outside.

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4QAYRXhpZgAASUkqAAgAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP/sABFEdWNreQABAAQAAABaAAD/4QN0aHR0cDov L25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wLwA8P3hwYWNrZXQgYmVnaW49Iu+7vyIgaWQ9Ilc1TTBNcENl aGlIenJlU3pOVGN6a2M5ZCI/PiA8eDp4bXBtZXRhIHhtbG5zOng9ImFkb2JlOm5zOm1ldGEvIiB4 OnhtcHRrPSJBZG9iZSBYTVAgQ29yZSA1LjAtYzA2MSA2NC4xNDA5NDksIDIwMTAvMTIvMDctMTA6 NTc6MDEgICAgICAgICI+IDxyZGY6UkRGIHhtbG5zOnJkZj0iaHR0cDovL3d3dy53My5vcmcvMTk5 OS8wMi8yMi1yZGYtc3ludGF4LW5zIyI+IDxyZGY6RGVzY3JpcHRpb24gcmRmOmFib3V0PSIiIHht bG5zOnhtcFJpZ2h0cz0iaHR0cDovL25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wL3JpZ2h0cy8iIHhtbG5z OnhtcE1NPSJodHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvbW0vIiB4bWxuczpzdFJlZj0iaHR0 cDovL25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wL3NUeXBlL1Jlc291cmNlUmVmIyIgeG1sbnM6eG1wPSJo dHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvIiB4bXBSaWdodHM6TWFya2VkPSJGYWxzZSIgeG1w TU06RG9jdW1lbnRJRD0ieG1wLmRpZDpENjVGM0Y1QjZBNzYxMUUyODJFMkM2MkMzREQxODZBMiIg eG1wTU06SW5zdGFuY2VJRD0ieG1wLmlpZDpENjVGM0Y1QTZBNzYxMUUyODJFMkM2MkMzREQxODZB MiIgeG1wOkNyZWF0b3JUb29sPSJBZG9iZSBQaG90b3Nob3AgQ1MyIE1hY2ludG9zaCI+IDx4bXBN TTpEZXJpdmVkRnJvbSBzdFJlZjppbnN0YW5jZUlEPSJ1dWlkOjdBNDZCOUI0Q0VFNjExREZBRDlF QkZBOUY5RTlENzhFIiBzdFJlZjpkb2N1bWVudElEPSJ1dWlkOkI1RjFFNzRENEVEMDExREZBQkI1 RTRFNDUwQUZDREI4Ii8+IDwvcmRmOkRlc2NyaXB0aW9uPiA8L3JkZjpSREY+IDwveDp4bXBtZXRh PiA8P3hwYWNrZXQgZW5kPSJyIj8+/+IMWElDQ19QUk9GSUxFAAEBAAAMSExpbm8CEAAAbW50clJH QiBYWVogB84AAgAJAAYAMQAAYWNzcE1TRlQAAAAASUVDIHNSR0IAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPbWAAEA AAAA0y1IUCAgAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR Y3BydAAAAVAAAAAzZGVzYwAAAYQAAABsd3RwdAAAAfAAAAAUYmtwdAAAAgQAAAAUclhZWgAAAhgA AAAUZ1hZWgAAAiwAAAAUYlhZWgAAAkAAAAAUZG1uZAAAAlQAAABwZG1kZAAAAsQAAACIdnVlZAAA A0wAAACGdmlldwAAA9QAAAAkbHVtaQAAA/gAAAAUbWVhcwAABAwAAAAkdGVjaAAABDAAAAAMclRS QwAABDwAAAgMZ1RSQwAABDwAAAgMYlRSQwAABDwAAAgMdGV4dAAAAABDb3B5cmlnaHQgKGMpIDE5 OTggSGV3bGV0dC1QYWNrYXJkIENvbXBhbnkAAGRlc2MAAAAAAAAAEnNSR0IgSUVDNjE5NjYtMi4x AAAAAAAAAAAAAAASc1JHQiBJRUM2MTk2Ni0yLjEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAFhZWiAAAAAAAADzUQABAAAAARbMWFlaIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAABYWVogAAAAAAAAb6IAADj1AAADkFhZWiAAAAAAAABimQAAt4UAABjaWFlaIAAAAAAAACSg AAAPhAAAts9kZXNjAAAAAAAAABZJRUMgaHR0cDovL3d3dy5pZWMuY2gAAAAAAAAAAAAAABZJRUMg aHR0cDovL3d3dy5pZWMuY2gAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAZGVzYwAAAAAAAAAuSUVDIDYxOTY2LTIuMSBEZWZhdWx