No Cage for a Crow

Two - A Reason to Fear

Within the space of a fewsteps, the house behind me had vanished into the sheeting rain. A slywind crept up behind me, only to reverse itself suddenly and comeclawing at the hem of my overcoat. I was forced to raise my arm toshield my eyes from the stinging drops, or else be blinded.

The house stood at the endof what was, in ordinary weather, a pleasant boulevard, divided up bytidy privet hedges and iron fences, awash with hydrangea and climbingrose. The other houses were quite as nice as the one I had left,their inhabitants altogether much too respectable to let even asmudge of light reach the street at that hour. And not a smudge did.Not a flicker or a gleam or a glimmer. The rain fell thick and grey,faintly luminescent itself, and all the world turned blank and whitewith each flash of lightning.

Regrets surged in mythroat – not that I was leaving, but that I had not thought tobring a hat, or to seek out more waterproof clothing. I should havewaited. A day of preparation would not have gone amiss. I should havetaken the time to pack adequately. I should have known where I wasgoing before I set out.

Well, I reasoned, ratherthan dwell on my blunders, perhaps I should leap at the chance totest my resourcefulness. Anything, you see, rather than admit that mybest course of action would have been hasty retreat. I had some vagueidea that I could make my way to my aunt and uncle in Bordeaux, who,though by no means conventional themselves, had never gotten onespecially well with my flagrantly unconventional parents. They mightsend me back, but they might not, which was more than could be saidfor any of my English relations. Reaching France would pose a problemfor one attired as I was, but I did have five pounds in notes stuffedinto my pockets, and another four in coin, the sum of whichrepresented most of my life's savings. How much it would actuallypurchase, I had no idea, but it would carry me a lot further thanwould nothing. Some tidily mended cast-offs, perhaps, and as muchstreet food as I could stuff into my pockets, transportation, and acheap room to keep the rain off me until I could pull my situationtogether enough to travel.

There, so it was not asthough I had no plan at all. I had, also, some foggy and half-formedidea, no doubt drawn from the works of Mr Dickens, that life onLondon's streets, for a capable young person of strong constitution,at least in the short term, would be more adventure than misery. Inmy agonising ignorance, I thought that sleeping in doorways could dome no harm, at least until I could find passage to France.

Already, the weather wasdoing its utmost to disabuse me of the childish fantasy. My shiversintensified into quakes as I trudged on down the street. And withevery step forward, I repeated my ill-begotten plan to myself until Ihad nearly convinced myself of its wisdom. Each footfall fuelled thenext, driving me further and further into the wilderness. Mysurroundings were invisible; all I could do was push a foot ahead,gingerly, lest I fall and utterly ruin my throbbing ankle, and thenfollow it with the other. Though I knew I would have to find shelterbefore I caught my death, I could not stop in any place where I mightbe found and recognised and dragged back.

Slowly, I lost all trackof time or distance. Minutes blurred together in the absolutedarkness, so that I could not be sure whether I had walked a quarterof an hour, or a half, or even if dawn might be breaking somewherebeyond the storm-clouds. I had no idea, either, whether I had walkedfar enough. Unable to see even to the kerbs, I could not know whetherI had left my neighbourhood behind, yet.

And suddenly, a hideousdoubt stabbed me with the certainty that I had not even left my ownstreet. I tried counting my steps, but I had scarcely reached fiftywhen it occurred to me that my hobbling gait could hardly be comparedto my usual stride. Ordinarily, I could measure out yards quite aswell as any surveyor, but my blasted ankle and the blasted darknessconspired to limit me to mere inches.

Time and distance bledtogether into a shapeless dream. I pushed one foot ahead, and thenthe other, listening to the pounding of the rain meld with thechattering of my teeth. The most reliable measure I could think ofwas my own stamina. I would walk for as far as I was able, and thatwould have to be far enough. It either would be, or it would not, andif it was not, well, there was nothing more I could do.

I walked.

I had lost sensation in myfingers almost before I was out of the bedroom window, and now thenumbness crept up my arms and my legs, followed by the dull ache andthen the sharp sting of intense cold – one of the first tastes ofmy profound error. I had endured greater cold than this, but neverwith such grossly inadequate insulation. A seed of horror took rootin the heart of the fantasy as some part of me began to understandhow winter could kill.

My legs cramped, and myshoulders and back. My skull felt squeezed with the cold.

I counted my breathsinstead of my steps and tried to follow the fatigue in my limbs.

After some time – whoknows how long – my brain became numb, as well. The number ofbreaths melted into the number of raindrops biting into my skin andthe number of lightning flashes stabbing my eyes and the unsteadytattoo of my chattering teeth.

At last, I misstepped. Mybrain continued to lag behind, and my first indication was the momentmy knee struck the pavement.

The limits of my energyclosed in around me suddenly, vise-like, and it was all I could do topull myself upright and shuffle sideways until my outstretchedfingertips brushed against rough brick. I followed it until itdropped away, and I slipped into the space I had found. It was not arecessed doorway, as I had thought at first, but a narrow alley aboutthree feet wide, and the overhang of the roofs above left only a fewinches between them. It was not a dry space, or a warm one, but theclose walls blocked out the tearing wind and the stinging rain, and Icollapsed to the alley's filthy floor in mute gratitude.

I was well-versed inthe dangers of falling asleep in the cold, but to stay awake provedimpossible. My numb limbs and numb brain refused to respond to myhalf-hearted protests, and I curled up on my side in the soot and therefuse, and I sank into oblivion.

I may never have wokenat all, were it not for the foot against my shoulder, rolling me ontomy back. I opened my eyes to a grey but daylit sky and the grinningfaces of four dirty boys about my own age.

'I likes them boots,'said one, showing black teeth.

'Rather fancy the coat,meself,' said another.

A third, the one withhis foot on my shoulder, tipped his head thoughtfully to the side.'The bird's a tad skinny for my taste,' he said. 'Anybody else want ago afore I cuts 'er a smile?'

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