“So as I told you concerning me and mysteries, eventually I made up my mind to go inside. Which proved harder than I imagined. On the day the priest left he had bolted the front doors with a lock I had no hope of undermining. But there was one place. For a long while the branch that had caved in the roof to the annex had hung there, the bark sloughing off and leaves falling away until now it finally lay stripped and dead across the hole it had made.
“I flew over to the roof top and perched there, poking and scratching about, trying to get a view into the gloom within. I could see nothing. So with no other alternative, I puffed up my courage and hopped down into the darkness. I clipped something on the way down and landed in a tumble on the wet, tile floor. The smell of mildew and rot was nearly overpowering, the darkness worse. Gradually my sight grew clear and I found myself claw-deep in a mud puddle skim which covered what remained of the study. I could still smell the ghost of burned wood floating on the air. A water-warped, three-legged chair canted against one wall. There was nothing else left in the room except odd patches of paper swollen to nearly the size of cave mushrooms. A door in the corner of the room stood ajar, and a ghostly light outlined the frame. I hopped through the mess toward it and found a passage that emptied out to a side door near the vestibule. I poked my head through the opening.
“Above the choir loft I could see where the organ had been. Most of it had been removed just before the church was vacated, but the pipes remained. All three-hundred and sixty-five of them, ranging in size from no larger than a twig to the size of small pines lined up side by side in a forest grove.
“I hopped over to the first row of pews and looked around. Another door stood across from where I'd entered, also slightly ajar. It was a much thicker door and the smell wafting from within was muddy and dank, wet stones, dripping passageways. I knew immediately: the door to the tunnels below.
“But the strangest thing remained: a small oak had sprouted up through the pulpit's floor, just then illuminated by an early afternoon slip of sunlight from high up through the stained-glass. Its leaves swayed back and forth in a breeze I could not feel, and even then I could hear the whisper of its magnificence. It called to me in the Voice of Leaves and I came on as if hypnotized. Just looking at the sapling brought my breath in sharp jags, and I could feel my heart racing. With no thought at all I suddenly took to the air, climbing higher and higher, circling pillars and sailing through rails of stained-glass sunlight. As I made my way along the edge of one corner of the beautifully-wrought ceiling I suddenly saw it on a dusty window ledge. A crumpled ball of leaves, a bit of cloth, a huge knot of twine all pressed and laced together into a neat little nest. Upon landing I immediately saw a bobbing shadow within a nearby crack in the masonry. And that was when the mouse stepped into the light.
“The mouse?” Connor said.
“Indeed,” the crow replied. “And what a mouse.”
“The one from the dream?” Ian asked flatly.
The crow's yellow eyes widened and it shook its ragged head. “You didn't tell me...”
The boys looked at one another and then back to the crow. In answer they simply shrugged.
“Well, yes,” it admitted. “I'm sure that's the very one. You see, she plays an important role in this business. Let me tell you how she got inside...”
Chapter 7: How the Mouse Got In
“Up until the moment the church was abandoned she'd lived in the base of a rotten log not far from the cemetery. But when rains made the place unlivable she decided inside would be a much better place than outside. Like me, she too had been called by the singing and music, but the whole while I'd had no idea she lived nearby.
“She was born in the attic of a small, clapboard shack near the northern edge of the forest and even if it had been a bit drafty during the winter, it had always been dry and, I soon found out, that has always been one of her chief concerns.
“Another late fall thunderstorm finally spurred her to action. She told me she could smell it coming on the wind and determined that she would get inside the Church before it arrived. But she had to be very careful. Along with the electric smell of the approaching storm came also the distinct odor of cat. There is no smell like it, I assure you. It made her hair stand on end, her nose to twitch.
“She raced through the thick, overgrown grass, stopping halfway to the Church, and as she ran along the side of it, she sniffed and poked her head into every available niche, finding nothing promising along the whole front wall. But thankfully, no cat either. At the side wall, however, things were different. Here, the workers had left large stacks of wood piled about in random stacks. Plenty of places for a mouse, or creatures that liked to eat mice, to hide.
“She leaned against the cornerstone, trying to calm her rapid breathing but the worry would not go. Finally, only the thought of another night alone in the cold muddy puddle beneath the rotten log was enough to get her going again. She checked around the first pile of wood she came upon. It was stacked far above her head, dwarfed only by the looming Church itself and the sprawl of clouds racing above it. Then she caught the whiff of another, more lethal, odor hanging on the breeze. The decay of death. But very old, almost indistinct. Almost.
“There was a crack at the bottom of the pile of lumber and the mouse stuck her head in only after a careful pause. The smell of the tiny weight of death lingered on the edge of invisibility. It was dark and gloomy within and it took several seconds for her eyes to adjust, but when they did she found herself at the beginning of a rather crude trail that ran back into a tangle of boards, bricks, and mortared stone. It disappeared back along the Church wall and she could see where several large objects had been pushed or pulled out of the way a little farther down. The work was plain.
“Rats.
“And with this new, disquieting revelation she finally made out the stench of their former occupation. But, seemingly, they were long gone. For some unknown reason they'd quit the trail. Which was exceedingly strange since rats aren't ones to change their behavior unless forced to. At this juncture she considered giving up the search and heading back to the hollow log, but the distinct rumble of thunder in the distance changed all that. The rain was coming and she knew turning back now would be to surrender to another cold, wet night shivering beneath that tree stump. So she squared her shoulders and pushed ahead.
“No more than two turns into the curling, ragged passage she felt the slight pull of cool air trailing past her and knew the trail had to lead somewhere. The decay was heavier here and the source seemed to lie just ahead. Hardly able to coax one paw in front of the other, she crept forward...and came face to face with a ghastly sight. Wedged firmly into a crack in the mortar against the back wall were the skeletal remains of a large rat! Its bones were the only evidence left of its existence, even its fur had blown and scattered away. Apparently it had tried to squeeze through the rent in the foundation here and in its haste or carelessness had gotten stuck. And subsequently starved to death.
“The mouse stepped back and studied the skeleton, fearing the thing she had to do. The thunder was really picking up outside and the rain would soon follow. The current of air rifling past seemed proof enough that the passage twisted along to somewhere inside the Church. The only thing left to do was remove the obstacle. Or at least enough of it to squeeze by.
“The bones had shifted down and many were now only piled atop one another in what remained of the vague outline of the rat that had once owned them. She reached up with trembling paws and grasped the biggest bone. She pulled hard and it snapped away from the rest, spilling the mouse to the ground. She got back to her feet and pulled another bone free, jammed it back into the pile for leverage, and in this way managed to clear a space big enough to pass through. The passage wound through the remaining wood pile and then into the wall itself like a gigantic snake. She punched blindly through long-abandoned spider webs, coughing and sneezing along great expanses of darkness.
“And this is how she
eventually found the ledge.
Chapter 8: Trouble
By now both Ian and Connor sat close together on a broken limb which had only recently fallen from an otherwise healthy-looking gum tree. They were mesmerized by the dream-like surroundings: the whirr of the cricket in the grass never wavering from its one, constant note; the stilled clouds at the moon's flank; the light in the sky constant, unchanging. But strangest of all, they had to admit in the stillness of their minds, the sudden, perfect logic it made to sit calmly on this frozen edge of night and listen to a bird tell of an ancient Church and events long past.
The crow closed its beak and brilliant yellow eyes for a moment. Then it opened them and stared at the ground. Bent to clean its beak again. It fluffed out its feathers and gently let them resettle before turning its attention back to the boys.
Connor spoke first. “So what you're telling us has something to do with the dream last night?”
The crow nodded but did not speak.
“And this dream we both had has something to do with this problem you were talking about?” Ian added.
Again, the crow nodded. “Correct,” it cawed. “These are only details to the pieces I tried to send, but I don't know what got through. I just gave it everything I had and hoped for the best.”
“And the best is us!?”
The crow's eyes sharpened to pinpricks. “At this time...maybe for all time...you're the best chance we've got.”
“But what's all this talk about the mouse and the Church got to do with you?” Ian said. “And what's it got to do with us?”
“It's all a part of the Trouble, lads. And I don't think I should be asking your help without letting you know what you're getting into.” The crow made a somewhat comical attempt at a shrug itself. “So...? Would you care to hear the rest?”
You bet, both boys thought in unison, unaware they'd not spoken aloud.
So it is that strong, the crow thought, catching the vibration of their thought up its spine. They don't know the power they possess. And even though they were indeed its last hope, it would not force them. That is what the magician had taught all those years before, and it was a law that would not be broken at this late date with so much riding on an uncertain outcome. It pretended ignorance of their telepathy and hurried on with its story.
“While we were enjoying our sudden good fortune the town began to take on new residents. Strange men moved uneasily near the Church in the deepest parts of the night and it wasn't long until the Fat Man made his appearance. One day I was inspecting my treasure hoard and heard voices caterwauling through the forest. I could tell they were making their way closer. I eased from the hole and hid behind a tuft of leaves. And that's when I saw him make his waddling way through the knee-deep underbrush, sweating like a madman and trailing a group of three hairy trappers behind him.
“He had a sling blade in one hand and he ripped and slashed his way to the massive front doors. The band of men behind him pulled up tightly. He turned and pointed at one, said something to another, and after a somewhat troubled search pulled a ring of keys from his greatcoat. Even from my perch high above, I heard the dry rasp as the bolt was drawn. Then with a heave, he bent to one of the doors and forced it back. They squeezed inside where I heard more muffled talking and laughter.
“That's when I made a nearly fatal mistake. Because, you see, watching them break into my beloved Church was the last straw. I hopped along the branch where I'd been hiding until I was stupidly exposed and began cawing my loud displeasure. I don't know how long I carried on like that, but when something suddenly told me to stop I looked down and the whole group was once more standing outside. Looking up at me! A trapper beside the Fat Man pulled a musket (I know now, then I only saw a long, metal pipe, from the folds of his coat) and pointed it my direction. I saw a puff of smoke and a great BOOM filled the air! At that same instant I was rocked by an incredible, ripping pain in my wing and fell backward and down. Luckily I fell into my hoard chamber where the men couldn't get at me or I wouldn't be here to tell my story now.
“When I came around it was grave-dark and my wing was a living agony. I could hardly move, and all that night I lay delirious at the bottom of my hold, feverishly coming to know the as-yet unknown truth of death.
“But the next morning I was still alive.
Chapter 9: The Rescue
“I was in and out of consciousness for a long while and I remember the pain and the foggy passage of light and dark. Thousands of deaths haunted me: I saw the woman in shining white the day the Church opened; my mother close by my side, whispering salves in my ear as she faded away; many of my friends that were no more. And in the end, always round and round, the Fat Man and his hooligans.
“Finally it was thirst and hunger that brought me back to the living. I fought first into consciousness and then, after a lot of trouble, to my claws. The wing was a screaming agony as I staggered through the coins, tin cups, metal trinkets and scarves, but eventually I stood unsteadily before the entrance to the hoard chamber, looking up and out onto a bright, crisp day.
“I closed my eyes and stretched out my wings, fighting through the nauseating pain that radiated out, focusing on the squashed melon-looking opening just above my head. It took a long time but I did finally feel myself slowly coming round. When I felt I could wait no longer I heaved myself into the air, the injured wing kicking off a strip of bark in the tight confines and shooting such a wave of excruciating pain through my body I almost blacked out. But when my head steadied I found myself teetering on the edge of the entrance. I waited, clutching that curled rim until the grinding explosion of pain ebbed.
“First, I tried calling out. There was only a slim hope the mouse would hear me, I knew that, but I croaked until exhaustion and heat forced me back inside. But as unluck would have it, as I was turning back, I lost my grip and fell again into the grayness of the hole. I bounced and slid down to the bottom of my treasure heap and lay there with the knowledge that I was surely resting in my grave.
“When I came around again it was to a confusion of shadows. I tried calling out again but my throat was too parched to manage even a whistle. I groaned and tried to squeeze back into a corner, all the while straining in the darkness to make out the shape of the intruder. On the instant a shadow crouched next to me and I was suddenly sure I was dreaming. The mouse! I could just make out her trembling whiskers in the gloom and straightaway felt her tiny, strong fingers playing along my breastbone, searching out my injuries. I faded away again as I felt her strong arms embrace me.
“It was full night when I regained consciousness again, the mouse's faint whispering the spark that brought me around. 'Drink, drink,' she said, one paw behind my head as she held the half-shell with the other. She tilted it up to my beak and when the cool water slipped down my throat my mind came suddenly, agonizingly, alive. Immediately I was sick with a grinding hunger.
“The mouse moved into the shadows and retrieved something, brought it back to me cupped in both paws. A large, beautiful, moldy chunk of bread! My stomach turned somersaults, my eyes bulged. She broke off a small piece, soaked it a terribly long time in the acorn-shell filled with water, and held it out to me. I swallowed it whole and croaked for more. She gave me another and a couple more mouthfuls of water, all the while warning me to slow down. That I was safe now, that she wouldn't leave me. The next thing I remember is the sunlight streaming in through the entrance.
“For just a moment I thought the whole thing had been a dream but that didn't last long. Because now, added to her typically trembling whiskers, was another altogether different face of worry. I squeaked weakly and she hurried across the floor, picking up the small piece of bread she'd left warming in a ray of sunlight. I'd hardly finished when she said, very quietly and urgently, “We have to go. The cat is about.” My heart almost stopped. It'd been lurking. I knew because I'd seen it. A huge, black beast with a stub of bone for a tail, a coat reeking of madness. And cats could climb!
/> “I agreed, at the same time realizing that she could have left any time she wanted, but how was I? With my wing quite useless I could neither fly nor climb. Hopeless, it seemed, and I told her so. But she had a plan.
“She'd been with me four days and nights and had seen the cat nosing around twice, she said. It was this that caused me to suddenly realize how much danger I'd placed her in, I begged her to go, to just leave, to save herself. She would have none of it. She pointed to the huge, round shape resting in the shadows of an old leaf pile in the corner and I suddenly understood. My treasures weren't for nothing! She'd threaded together from this and that a ball of string and said she fully intended to lower me to the ground herself! Without another word she hustled me into an upright position and slung one end of the twine underneath each wing before bounding it up tightly around my body. While she was thus occupied I took time to notice she'd also pushed together a whole mess of junk into a sort of crude stairway on up to the entrance. Now if only her strength held out!
“I managed to stand upright on wobbly legs (the mouse steadying me every step of the way) and we crossed through the chamber and began the slow ascent to the entrance. After a lot of huffing and puffing and ringing of ears, we finally stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the rim, gazing down. The distance was indeed great but at least there was no sign of the cat or the horrible trappers around. No time like the present. I slipped over the edge and with just a few fits and starts she surprisingly lowered me down to the base of the tree to no bad effect. I lay there huffing and puffing, as if I'd done all the work, and watched as she raced headfirst down the trunk toward me. Within seconds she was at my side. Now she was in a state of high tension, eyes darting side to side, whiskers trembling. I could almost hear her heart. Because I knew. Injured and out in the open is a terrible combination. She quickly pulled me to my claws, stripped the string away, and began to hurry me toward the Church.