“A job. Yes. That is what you are. A job now completed.” The woman had obviously decided his fate. “My curiosity is dulled. You are a thin snack with too much gristle. Sometimes my birds bring me treasure. Sometimes they don’t. I have too many important things on my plate to bother with the likes of you.” The woman let her eyes slide away. “I have found you wanting, and the conversation tedious. My children are welcome to you.” The woman snapped her fingers.

Out of the shadows and from the surrounding treetops, a thousand pairs of eyes suddenly winked at him. There were more ravens than he had seen in a lifetime, a city of feathered monsters. Ark looked again, and the woman had turned away, dismissing him as if he were a wearisome tick to be plucked from the folds of her wrinkled black skin.

The nest he crouched in was no more than a serving bowl. The birds clacked their beaks, screeching their dawn chorus as they prepared for a feast.

27• CURIOSITY KILLS

The portrait on the floor, the big gap on the wall, Petronio shrunk into the shadows all spelled out one word: Thief! The footsteps paused outside the door.

“You checked this earlier?”

“Do I look stupid, Salix?” came a grunted reply.

“Yeah. Every shift I have to work with you!”

“Ha-buddy-ha!”

Petronio heard the sound of a cork being pulled out and then several glugs.

“Give us some of that before I die of boredom!”

If they knew who was on this side of the door, he’d be in trouble. But the footsteps faded away down the corridor.

“You fool!” Petronio whispered to himself, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. Salix and Alnus doing their rounds, dumb as clockwork, easily evaded. Crazy! He’d been more frightened of a couple of inept thugs than a Dendran-devouring raven. He hung the picture back up, making sure it wasn’t crooked.

Five minutes later, he made his way, step-by-step, up the stairs, trying to avoid the creaking treads, falling at last into his bed and a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning came, fresh and clear after the dawn mist dissipated into the leaves. His hand was still sore from the punch he’d delivered to Mucum’s guts. Though not as sore as the boy’s stomach would be. He was tempted to go down to the dungeon for a bit of taunting. Maybe later. The boy, and Ark’s sister, were right where he wanted them.

In class, the teacher droned on about the vein structure of the body — the transport system for blood. As Petronio sat at the back of the lecture room, he thought about Ark’s blood spilling into soup for the ravens.