Sir Corvus Riddlemire's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Corvus knew the weathervane's secret now. Its collar was thin. One good push at the right spot would spin it loose and topple the hawk from its throne. But the hawk never left its perch. It watched the roofs all day, head turning slow, eyes sharp. Corvus could not land near the collar and work it while those eyes stayed open. He needed the bird gone, even for a moment. He sat under a big weeping willow at the edge of a garden and thought. The tree's long branches hid him well. Below him, a cottage door swung open. A woman stepped out with a toolbox in her hand. Her apron was patched and stained. Her boots were caked with mud. Corvus knew her. She fixed half the roofs in Hollow Bend. She held a spare key for most of the houses on the street. If anyone climbed near the weathervane without fear, it was her. "You," Corvus said from the branch. "What has a neck but cannot swallow, and a head it cannot turn on its own?" Clementine looked up and smiled. She did not seem surprised that a crow spoke. "That'd be my old weathervane," she said. "Rattles worse every year. I've been meaning to climb up and tighten that collar." Corvus went still. Tighten it. That was the last thing he wanted. If she fixed the collar, his one plan died. But her ladder gave him an idea. When she climbed, the hawk would watch her, not the roof. Her noise and movement would pull its eyes. "Best hurry," Corvus said. "A loose thing high up is a danger to your neighbors." Clementine nodded and hauled her ladder against the wall. She began to climb, tools clinking. The hawk snapped its head toward her. It spread its wings but held its perch, staring hard at the woman rising toward it. Corvus dropped from the willow. He flew low behind the ridge, out of the hawk's sight. He landed at the base of the iron pole while the bird glared down at Clementine. She reached the top and set her wrench to the collar. Corvus hopped up the pole, quick and quiet, and pressed his whole weight against the loose ring. The collar was looser than he hoped. It slipped. The whole weathervane lurched and spun fast. The hawk shrieked and flapped hard to stay balanced. Then Clementine's wrench bit down and drew the collar tight. The spinning stopped dead. The hawk settled back, steady now, and its yellow eyes found Corvus clinging to the pole below. Corvus flew. He had spun the vane, but the woman had fixed it. The collar was tight now, harder than before. And the hawk had seen him at last, up close, no chimney between them. It knew his face. It knew he had touched its perch. The hunt was no longer a search. Now it was personal.