Sir Corvus Riddlemire's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The hawk knew he was coming. Corvus could not fly close and study it without being seen. He needed a hidden place to watch, high enough to see the weathervane but far enough to stay unnoticed. He scanned the rooftops until his eye caught the village clock tower. Two dark bell arches sat below its face, deep and shadowed. From inside those arches, he could watch the hawk all day and never be spotted. He flew to the tower and slipped into the lower arch. The great bells hung still on their beams. He tucked himself behind the near one and peered out. There it was. The iron weathervane stood clear across the roofs, the living hawk perched on its top, head turning slow. Corvus could see every twitch of its wings. He settled in to watch, pleased. A voice cut the quiet. "Enjoying the view, thief?" Whiskers sat in the shadow of the far bell. She had climbed here before him. Her collar hung bare now, the little bell gone, torn free by the farmer's hand at Corvus's bidding. Her green eyes did not blink. She knew every rooftop in Hollow Bend, and she had chosen this one. "You take my bell," she said, "so I take your secret. Fair trade." Her tail flicked once. Corvus held still. "A cat with no bell should not speak of trades." "I don't need a bell up here." She rose and stretched, slow, deliberate. "I only need one push." She stepped to the beam that held the near bell. Her paw hooked the old rope. Corvus understood too late. She pulled, and the great bell swung. Its bronze rim struck the frame with a deep, ringing boom that rolled across every roof in Hollow Bend. Corvus dove from the arch. Below him the tower sang once, twice, a heavy chime that no beast could ignore. Across the roofs, the hawk snapped its head toward the sound. Its wings spread. It saw the crow break from the bell tower, black against the pale stone, and it knew. Corvus beat his wings hard and dropped low behind a chimney. His heart hammered. His hidden perch was ruined. The tower would forever mark him now, its bells a trap the cat could spring again. He landed on a gutter and looked back. The hawk had lifted off its iron perch. It circled the tower once, studying the empty arches, then returned to its post. It had not caught him. But it had seen where he liked to hide. Whiskers watched from the tower's edge, silent and pleased. She had lost her bell. Now she had a bigger one, and she had used it to sell him out. Corvus had no vantage left. The one high place that hid him now belonged to his enemy, and every eye on the roofs had turned to hunt for him.