shit.
“ Caw !” the ravens thank you’d.
“What’s the wuther like in Big Creek today?” said Morris to the ravens.
“Em...Calm with light winds,” said the raven on the left and then he cawed.
“Better than last week,” cawed the raven in the middle. “There was a hurricane on the twenty-fifth day at precisely one-fifty-four p.m.”
“ Caw ! Caw !”
I raised a brow. Birds that spoke were enough to believe, birds that had Irish accents were worse, but a hurricane? This place was nowhere near a body of water bigger than the hole at the bottom of the waterfall.
“Tomorrow,” cawed the raven on the right after dropping his coin into the pile below, “we predict severe thunderstorms with the likelihood of tornadoes.” The raven cawed and squawked and ruffled his big, black feathers.
“I hate crows,” Tsaeb said bluntly.
“ Caw ! Caw ! Caw ! Eejit little wanker!”
Tsaeb stood with his arms crossed over his midsection; he wore an annoyed and bored expression.
I, on the other hand, had begun scratching my crotch vigorously about twenty minutes back when we passed the halfway mark. It was beginning to worry me.
“It rains in Big Creek?” I asked confusedly.
“When it rains, it pours! Caw !”
“They talk ‘bout everything like it’s the wuther,” Morris revealed, “but what they mean is tomorrow sumthin’ will have the residents in an uproar and a few might even turn violent.”
“Ah...,” I said with the backward tilt of my head.
Glad I won’t be here for that.
“What happened last week on the twenty-fifth day at precisely one-fifty-four p.m.?” Morris put his hand up to shield his words and whispered to me, “A newspaper covered in feathers ‘stead of ink.” He winked.
“ Caw !” the raven in the middle began, “Mary Mallon was boiling babies again. Cooked them up in fries and bangers, she did!”
“Erm,” the raven on the left paused, “the mothers beat Miss Mary with her own pots and pans and wooden spoons.”
“ Caw !” said the raven on the right. “Strung her up on level three and hung her by the neck with, erm...” it looked to the raven in the middle, “What was it?”
“A rope ?” it mocked, “ Caw !”
The raven on the right squawked and ruffled its wings angrily. Two feathers, black and shiny, floated into the pile of coins and bird shit. A third was caught by the wind and carried off somewhere in the bushes behind the sign that read ‘Big cReeK’.
“They said today was calm,” interrupted Tsaeb, “so let’s go and find the damned imp and get the hell out of here.”
For once, I actually agreed with the demon.
“Cheers!” the ravens said as we walked away and down the last leg of the path.
My fear of having to go over the bridge again on our way back helped keep my mind off the itching in my pants.
“ If you must eat it raw, please use a napkin.”
--
OLD RONAN WAS PARTIALLY demented and the rest of him, intellectual. He was a man of gray on white hair, combed back perfectly behind his ears. Everything about Old Ronan was clean and sophisticated except for his two wooden legs that tapped and sometimes scraped the floor when he walked. And despite what the brown-haired man in the tavern said about him, Ronan was not a crazy drunk from what I could tell.
He had beady black eyes like the rat that sat atop his makeshift desk made of crates and books, happily chewing on a cracker. Pushed up to the top of Ronan’s nose was a pair of glasses, lenses thin as though he only needed them for reading. He wore a monk-like robe complete with roped belt and big, hanging sleeves.
“It’s not often I get visitors anymore,” Ronan said. He walked toward the rounded ship window, struck a match and set fire to the lantern sitting in front of it. Daylight had been making its way over the mountain for an hour, but it was still dark and dank in this room, deep in the bowels of the larger ship. He had only this one window and the outside light
“ Caw !” the ravens thank you’d.
“What’s the wuther like in Big Creek today?” said Morris to the ravens.
“Em...Calm with light winds,” said the raven on the left and then he cawed.
“Better than last week,” cawed the raven in the middle. “There was a hurricane on the twenty-fifth day at precisely one-fifty-four p.m.”
“ Caw ! Caw !”
I raised a brow. Birds that spoke were enough to believe, birds that had Irish accents were worse, but a hurricane? This place was nowhere near a body of water bigger than the hole at the bottom of the waterfall.
“Tomorrow,” cawed the raven on the right after dropping his coin into the pile below, “we predict severe thunderstorms with the likelihood of tornadoes.” The raven cawed and squawked and ruffled his big, black feathers.
“I hate crows,” Tsaeb said bluntly.
“ Caw ! Caw ! Caw ! Eejit little wanker!”
Tsaeb stood with his arms crossed over his midsection; he wore an annoyed and bored expression.
I, on the other hand, had begun scratching my crotch vigorously about twenty minutes back when we passed the halfway mark. It was beginning to worry me.
“It rains in Big Creek?” I asked confusedly.
“When it rains, it pours! Caw !”
“They talk ‘bout everything like it’s the wuther,” Morris revealed, “but what they mean is tomorrow sumthin’ will have the residents in an uproar and a few might even turn violent.”
“Ah...,” I said with the backward tilt of my head.
Glad I won’t be here for that.
“What happened last week on the twenty-fifth day at precisely one-fifty-four p.m.?” Morris put his hand up to shield his words and whispered to me, “A newspaper covered in feathers ‘stead of ink.” He winked.
“ Caw !” the raven in the middle began, “Mary Mallon was boiling babies again. Cooked them up in fries and bangers, she did!”
“Erm,” the raven on the left paused, “the mothers beat Miss Mary with her own pots and pans and wooden spoons.”
“ Caw !” said the raven on the right. “Strung her up on level three and hung her by the neck with, erm...” it looked to the raven in the middle, “What was it?”
“A rope ?” it mocked, “ Caw !”
The raven on the right squawked and ruffled its wings angrily. Two feathers, black and shiny, floated into the pile of coins and bird shit. A third was caught by the wind and carried off somewhere in the bushes behind the sign that read ‘Big cReeK’.
“They said today was calm,” interrupted Tsaeb, “so let’s go and find the damned imp and get the hell out of here.”
For once, I actually agreed with the demon.
“Cheers!” the ravens said as we walked away and down the last leg of the path.
My fear of having to go over the bridge again on our way back helped keep my mind off the itching in my pants.
“ If you must eat it raw, please use a napkin.”
--
OLD RONAN WAS PARTIALLY demented and the rest of him, intellectual. He was a man of gray on white hair, combed back perfectly behind his ears. Everything about Old Ronan was clean and sophisticated except for his two wooden legs that tapped and sometimes scraped the floor when he walked. And despite what the brown-haired man in the tavern said about him, Ronan was not a crazy drunk from what I could tell.
He had beady black eyes like the rat that sat atop his makeshift desk made of crates and books, happily chewing on a cracker. Pushed up to the top of Ronan’s nose was a pair of glasses, lenses thin as though he only needed them for reading. He wore a monk-like robe complete with roped belt and big, hanging sleeves.
“It’s not often I get visitors anymore,” Ronan said. He walked toward the rounded ship window, struck a match and set fire to the lantern sitting in front of it. Daylight had been making its way over the mountain for an hour, but it was still dark and dank in this room, deep in the bowels of the larger ship. He had only this one window and the outside light
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