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It takes Matthew a while to find Morpheus. Weirdly so, since he ends up finding him in his own throne room. Somehow, he doesn’t think to check there at first. Morpheus spends most of his time by the shores of the Dreaming these days. Creating.
He’s engrossed in a book when Matthew flies in. A large hardcover, bound in leather dyed red, with golden letters. He doesn’t even look up when Matthew enters, only flicks to the next page with a quiet scoff.
“Hello, Matthew.”
“Hi, boss!”
And Matthew doesn’t know what to say next. Morpheus isn’t exactly the most giving of conversation partners. Meaning – he usually doesn’t give an inch.
He shifts his weight from one leg to the other and waits by the door. Morpheus doesn’t say anything else. He’s sitting on the steps leading to his throne, his long black coat sprawled all over them. He turns to another page, reads for only a couple of seconds, then flicks to the next one.
A bad mood, then, Matthew guesses. He’s still new, but he’s learning his boss’s various quirks and whims that seem to make up his emotional expression.
Now, question is – what’s gotten him in a bad mood?
“What are we doing?” he asks, keeping an air of nonchalance, and flies over. He’s gained shoulder-perching privileges. And head-perching privileges, too – at least, as long as he isn’t being irritating.
Now, though, he decides that pushing boundaries is not the best approach, and lands on his knee, instead. Morpheus adjusts it to make it more comfortable for him, but still doesn’t look up from his book.
Right. Matthew needs a more engaging conversation starter, then. “How are the dreams coming along?”
A frown twists his boss’s face, half-irritated, half-upset. He carefully closes the book; a cloud of dust comes out anyway. Matthew sneezes.
“They are not.”
“Huh?”
“They are not coming along,” Morpheus repeats, sounding more irritated now.
“Oh,” Matthew says, trying to sound like he understands. He doesn’t. “What’s the matter?”
Morpheus scoffs. That one sounds like pure frustration. “I do not have a proper vision.”
“Vision? You do not know what you want to make?”
“Indeed.” Morpheus shakes his head. He looks up at the countless stars in the sky that make up the ceiling of the throne room. “The entire collective unconscious contained in me, and I cannot come up with a cohesive idea.”
Matthew nods slowly. “I see. Are you sure you’re not just done? I mean, you’ve made a lot of new guys already.”
Quite a lot of them. Up to the point where there seems to be some kind of competition between Lucienne and Abel on who gets to greet more of them first and introduce them to the Dreaming. Both were cross with Matthew once when he, when loitering around Morpheus during his creating, got to greet a dozen of them before either of them.
“I will surely know when I am done, Matthew.” Irritation drips in his voice again, but the distracted way he runs his fingers up Matthew’s back tells the raven that he isn’t truly mad at him.
No, just frustrated. And isn’t everyone when their work doesn’t seem to want to get completed?
For a few seconds, Matthew thinks of what to say. That is a difficult task when Morpheus is absent-mindedly petting him; makes him think about curling up in his lap instead of about his boss’s creative predicaments. Centuries upon centuries of having ravens have taught him how to pet one.
Right. Creative predicaments.
“What do you normally do when that happens?”
“That rarely happens.”
Matthew hardly expects a different answer. Okay, new approach – what does he do when his work isn’t going well?
Well. What he used to do. Now that he’s a raven, things are very different. Tasks are much easier to complete, for one. Being a Dream Lord’s convoy in the waking world is surprisingly easy work. Fly, relay some message from time to time, fly again.
Lately, Matthew finds himself more and more unwilling to think about his life as a mortal. He wasn’t the best human when he was alive. That didn’t bother him before, but now… now, he’s gotten to see what a different existence feels like, and he much prefers this one.
He does think about it now, though. For his boss’s sake. And he quickly comes up with something. “You know, maybe you need a break.”
The fingers in his plumage still. Still, Morpheus only gives it a second of consideration before replying:
“Hardly.”
Matthew inwardly rolls his eyes.
“Okay, maybe not a break, but a change.”
“Change?”
“No need for all that scepticism in your voice, you know,” Matthew caws. “Like, a change of scenery. A little break from your usual routine. That might get your vision going.”
For a second, Morpheus is silent. Then, he lowers his gaze from the ceiling and to Matthew. His fingers resume their petting once more.
“This is not a bad idea,” he finally concludes.
“It always used to help me.”
“Then I assume you might have an idea of what exactly this change of scenery should entail.”
No, Matthew hasn’t. Under his boss’s intense stare (seriously, does he not know how much gravity there is in those eyes even when they appear human?), he shuffles a bit.
“Hmm. Maybe a walk somewhere?”
“Somewhere.” There is amusement in Dream’s voice, and one part of Matthew feels a little ridiculed while another internally cheers that at least his boss is not in such a bad mood anymore.
“You know. Somewhere nice. That isn’t the Dreaming.”
Morpheus hums and looks up at the sky above them again. Looking for inspiration, or maybe an appropriate destination. Matthew doesn’t do well in silence; he shifts his weight some more, fluffs up his feathers, and then finally asks:
“Will you take me with you?”
“If you so wish.”
“Well, it was my idea.” Matthew points out.
“Then maybe you have an idea for a place as well.”
Once again, Matthew hasn’t. He’s kinda brainstorming as he’s going at the moment. But, when Morpheus turns his eyes back to him, he remembers something. One of the better memories of his mortal life.
“You know, you might be right.”
Morpheus raises a brow.
“I think I know a good place.”
~*~
“I fail to see how this is a good place, Matthew,” Morpheus remarks once he stops in front of the Byward Tower.
Matthew scoffs. “I lived in London for a couple of years. I used to come here all the time when I needed to… feel more human, I guess. Less shitty about myself.”
Morpheus hums, just to show that he’s heard, and casts a judgemental look at the outer walls and the crowds coming in and out of the main gate. Furrowed brows and pursed lips and everything.
“I know, I know.” Matthew sighs. “You’ve seen more grandiose things.”
Hell, Matthew has seen more grandiose things since he took on the mantle of Dream’s raven – one of which was the aforementioned Hell. That was one pants-shitting affair, but hey, what other raven can say that they went to the actual, literal Hell on their second day on the job!
At least, that’s what he tells himself every time he thinks about it.
“But this is worth it, I promise,” he quickly adds. “It’s got all this history in it, and the atmosphere, and… it’s got cool stuff, trust me,” he finishes, somewhat frustrated.
He feels Morpheus’ eyes on him and turns. One thing about shoulder-perching privileges means that his boss’s face is always uncomfortably close when he’s looking at him, but Matthew is slowly getting used to that.
Morpheus is looking at him with an inscrutable expression. That was the thing Matthew got used to the quickest – how little his boss actually expresses.
“I do trust you, Matthew,” he says simply, with a lot of gravitas in his voice. Strangely, it makes Matthew cheer up.
Morpheus turns his eyes back to the tower, hesitates a moment longer, then heads back to the ticket office. Matthew doesn’t expect him to actually pay for the admission – most humans hardly notice the Endless unless the Endless want to be noticed. Still, he does (and the woman that gives him his ticket doesn’t say anything about Matthew, so there has to be some of that unnoticeability going on), and the two enter the Tower of London.
It's crowded and noisy inside. It’s summer, which means lots of tourists and lots of Londoners enjoying the sunny days while they last. Morpheus stops for a second to look at a Yeoman Warder preparing to start a guided tour. It’s included in their ticket, but Matthew doubts that Morpheus will want that.
A second later, he continues. Stone walls surround their way. Morpheus goes forward down Water Lane.
“You know what’s down there?” Matthew asks, memory resurfacing. It’s been a while since he’s visited the Tower. Yet, everything is exactly as he remembers it.
“What?” Morpheus asks just before he stops in front of it.
It’s an arch in the stone wall separating the castle grounds from the Thames. Barred with a wrought iron fence are stone steps that lead to a small landing and an iron gate. Beyond it the river flows lazily.
“Traitors’ gate!” Matthew announces with a flap of his wings.
“Matthew, you’re right by my ear. Stop screaming.”
“Sorry. Anyway, you know why it’s called traitors’ gate?”
“Do enlighten me.”
“It’s because they brought in prisoners from here! From the Thames instead of the court gate. It was built by… fuck, who was it…”
“King Edward I . He built it as a way of the royal family to enter the Tower from the Thames. Eventually, it began to be used as a way for those imprisoned there, as they had to pass London Bridge, where the heads of decapitated criminals were displayed on spikes as a warning. Thomas More entered the Tower through here. Some speculate that Anne Boleyn did so, as well, but it’s most likely that she went through Byward Tower.”
“Damn!” Matthew flaps his wings. “You really do know everything, don’t you?”
“Hardly. But I do know how to read.”
“Huh?” Matthew says, confused, then follows Morpheus’ line of sight. There, he finds a shiny plaque mounted on the fence. With the history of the gate and all the interesting facts written on it.
He turns back to Morpheus and finds the tiniest of smug grins he’s ever seen. It’s barely a twitch of the lips but it’s there, and it’s got to be one of the widest smiles that Matthew has seen on his face.
He caws indignantly and flaps his wings, entirely in jest. Morpheus responds by batting his hand at him, also in obvious jest.
“Matthew, you’re still right by my ear.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Who knew you could be a prankster, boss?”
“It was not a prank. I was simply reading out loud.”
“Sure.”
“Well, you’re the expert here.” And Matthew swears that there’s a hint of jest in his voice, still. “Where to now?”
“Hmm.” Matthew shuffles a bit on Morpheus’ shoulder as he recalls the castle outline. “Maybe the White Tower? Or the Waterloo Block, see the Crown Jewels?”
Morpheus raises a brow. Yeah, those would probably not interest him. Matthew thinks some more.
“The Bloody Tower? See all the torture devices? That was my favourite part whenever I visited.”
The brow climbs higher. Okay, worse choice. The things that fascinate Matthew hardly impress his boss. Plus, they’re here with a goal – it has to be something that offers inspiration.
He comes up with an idea. This one he’s sure Morpheus will like.
~*~
Quelana feels it first.
It’s a strange pull, like a tug demanding her attention. Something has shifted. Something that she should investigate.
It’s not unpleasant. It’s the furthest thing from unpleasant. It’s exciting, and enthralling. It’s something that she doesn’t want to miss.
She turns to Laurentius, who walks with her along Tower Green. “My friend. Do you feel it?”
“Feel what, my friend?” he asks and tilts his head.
Around them are people, but neither of them is interested in people. People come and go all the time. Only the Warders and their kind caretaker – who the other humans call the Ravenmaster – stay around for long enough to warrant their attention.
Quelana waits. She waits, until Laurentius turns big black eyes to her and blinks owlishly.
“My friend, I did not understand you at first, but now I believe I do. What is that? What could it be?”
“I do not know. But I believe it is not to be missed.”
“Should we fetch the others?”
“It will be best.”
Their wings are trimmed regularly. It’s an irritation, but it doesn’t prevent them from flying – only disbalances them. It’s to guarantee their safety, so the humans say.
They all know it’s because they don’t want them to run away. There must always be six ravens in the Tower of London, so says superstition, or England will come to ruin. The humans are quite attached to that particular belief of theirs.
It wouldn’t stop them from leaving. But they don’t want to. Quelana is quite happy with her life in the Tower. It’s worth it being a little clumsy when flying.
And, sometimes, interesting things like this happen, too.
They fly, lacking a little balance but well enough, to the White Tower. There, in the small lawn, they find Yuria and Karla, lounging in the sun.
“Our sisters.” Quelana lands near them. “Do you feel it?”
The two ravens give them confused looks, then get up from the ground and shake the blades of grass off their bodies. Karla speaks first.
“I feel a change in the air.”
“I feel a change in the trees,” Yuria adds. The two exchange looks.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, my dear Karla. Indeed.”
“Do you feel where it’s coming from?” Quelana asks.
“It feels like everywhere,” Karla readily answers.
“That can’t be!”
“I know what can and can’t be, Laurentius. I am merely saying what it feels like.”
“Whatever it is, we should find it,” Yuria declares. “Come on, let’s go find the others.”
That they can all agree on. Four ravens take flight again.
~*~
Eileen first sees the raven. Only then does she notice the man on whose shoulder he’s perched on.
She’s seen various of the Tower ravens already. They’re allowed to roam the castle grounds, the Yeoman Warder who led her tour had explained. That charms her to no end. She’s more of a crow gal herself, but it’s always lovely to see corvids living happy lives.
And those birds look happy. Eileen doesn’t like the idea of their feathers being trimmed, no matter that it doesn’t hurt them and doesn’t prevent them from flying, only disbalances them.
Other than that, however, they look like healthy, happy ravens. They walk around the green areas, perch on castle walls and staircases, and look apathetically at the visitors. Some even play pranks by loudly cawing when people who didn’t notice them pass them by to startle them.
Eileen finds those hilarious, too.
So, she notices the raven. This one looks a little different, she thinks, though she isn’t sure how exactly. Maybe he looks a tad too big, or his feathers just on the side of too black and shiny. Maybe his big black eyes are just a bit too expressive.
Then, she sees the man. He’s skinny, pale as a sheet, dressed entirely in black, and his equally black hair looks like it has never known a comb. He is grimacing slightly, but Eileen gets the vibe that it’s just his resting face.
He completely ignores the entrance to the Bloody Tower and heads instead for the apothecary garden. It’s a small recreation, barely four rows of plants in front of the Bloody Tower’s entrance, but it’s a charming thing. Eileen herself decided to spend a little time here after her guided tour had ended.
There aren’t a lot of people there. Still, Eileen notices that nobody else looks at the man. Like they don’t even notice him. But she notices him. They were all warned at the entrance not to approach the ravens, that they can get territorial and aggressive with people they don’t know.
And this man is walking around with one of them on his shoulder. He’s not a member of staff, he has neither a uniform nor an id.
Yet again, Eileen muses, the raven himself looks different from those other ones that reside in the Tower.
The man stops in the middle of the path and contemplates a spearmint plant. Nobody turns their head around. As if they can’t notice him.
Eileen realises with a start that she herself didn’t notice him until the raven caught her attention. And he only did because she’d been keeping an eye out for them, wanting to spot them whenever she could.
“An apothecary garden.” Suddenly, the man speaks. His voice is deep, rich, and Eileen swear that it reverberates in the stone path under her feet, the plants around her, and the breeze in her hair. Like the entire world wants to wrap itself around him, just a little bit.
There is nobody around him. Nobody for him to talk to.
“You were right, Matthew. This is wonderful.”
Except the raven…
The raven caws in agreement and puffs his feathers, looking as pleased as a raven can be.
Still, the people around don’t pay attention at all. Like they can’t notice him.
Eileen intended to continue her solo journey, but now she settles at one corner and observes as the man moves among the plants and looks at them with keen attention. He’s moving painfully slowly, like he has all the time in the world.
Well, Eileen doesn’t have all the time in the world, but she does have a whole free day and it’s just begun. She can wait.
She has a feeling that something interesting is about to happen.
~*~
Quelana, Laurentius, Yuria and Karla find Valtr and Henryk in a tree near the Headquarters of the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers.
“Do you feel it?” Laurentius yells at them first before the group lands in the branches.
“Ah,” Valtr says. “So, it is not only I who feels it. Do you feel it, Henryk?”
“I do. It’s so… charming. I haven’t felt something this wonderful before.” He turns to the others. “Do you know what it is?”
“That is what we’re trying to find out.”
“It seems to come from everywhere. Like it’s mother nature itself.”
“It isn’t nature,” Karla interrupts Valtr’s musings. “It’s something quite different. More elevated, dare I say.”
“Indeed,” Yuria agrees. “Seems to me like it’s got more to do with the spirit than with the nature.”
“Hmm.” Quelana notes. “Almost reminds me of a dream I once had.”
“A dream! Yes, that feels excellent,” Valtr agrees. “We should go find the others.”
Something overhead casts a shadow. Something flying.
“Rogier!” Henryk calls first. Their friend caws a greeting and slows his flight down near their tree.
“My friends! What are you waiting for? Don’t you feel it?”
“We all do! But we do not know where it’s coming from.”
“Neither do I,” Rogier admits. “I was looking for it.”
“And you haven’t found it?”
“If I had, I wouldn’t be flying.”
“Where’s Flora, then?”
“Oh! You’re right! If somebody would know, it would be her. I last saw her near the water gate.”
Together, the seven ravens depart for the water gate in search of the oldest raven. However, they find her in the air, going in the opposite direction.
“I suppose you all feel it,” she says instead of a greeting.
“It’s so wonderful!” Valtr says.
“Feels like gentle moonlight,” Laurentius adds.
“And quite calming, too, like a rocking boat,” Rogier agrees.
“It feels powerful,” Yuria notes.
“Quite so. Like reality would bend to it.” Karla adds.
“Like what I feel when I go to sleep,” Quelana muses, more to herself than to her fellow ravens.
“I just want to know what it is,” Henryk finishes. “Flora, have you any idea?”
“Of course I do. Most importantly, I know where it is. It’s close by. You must feel it.”
Indeed, it feels very close, now. This lovely presence. Quelana finds herself trembling in anticipation.
“Follow me,” Flora tells them and dives down. The rest follow her. Though maybe at that point they don’t need to. They can all feel it.
~*~
Emma takes a lot of photos.
It’s one of the best inventions of humanity, hands down. The ability to capture a moment and preserve it in time with just the press of a button. How wonderful!
And smartphones have cameras, too! Emma remembers the times when they only had rotary phones, how they gradually got replaced by landlines, and now – this. Marvellous thing, progress.
She takes photos of everything. From the grand White Tower to the little bugs in the crack of the cobblestone. There are better photographers than her who’ve displayed their works on the Internet for everyone to see, but those are her photos. That, in a way, makes them special.
She’s in the middle of her photoshoot of the apothecary garden when she hears the first caw. The ravens. What wonderful creatures! And they roam the place! Emma managed to snap quite a lot of photos of them already, but she’d love a few more.
She turns around, following the sound, fully expecting to see one raven jumping in the aisles.
Instead, she sees an entire army of them, clumsily descending from the sky towards the garden.
They all land on a man. Emma hasn’t noticed him at all until now. But they all land on him with loud caws and screams, entirely obscuring him from view. Their talons glow in the midday light.
She screams. What else can she do? These ravens are attacking a defenceless man!
Next to her, another woman screams, too. She’s young, with a pale face, short blonde hair, and a terrible posture. She’s hunched almost in two.
“Oh my goodness! Help, somebody help!” Emma screams.
The only other person in the garden is a woman dressed in black from head to toe – combat boots, a long double-breasted trench coat, leather gloves and a large Gainsborough hat that hides her face. She stays in the corner and doesn’t move a muscle.
“I’ll go find the Ravenmaster!” The young woman next to her tells her and runs off.
Emma is about to follow at whatever speed her elderly body allows when the man catches her attention. She would expect a bit more anguished screaming from a man mauled by vicious birds. But there’s no such thing. In fact, he hasn’t made a sound.
And the ravens themselves don’t act like what Emma pictures mauling birds to act like. There is much less trying to peck his eyes than she would expect.
She turns, but the young woman is already off. Instead, a lot of visitors and some Yeoman Warders come, probably because of the screams. She makes room for them and, in the resulting shouting and cries for the Ravenmaster, flicks her phone camera to video mode.
Aren’t they wonderful, smartphones? How many things they can do at the same time!
~*~
Gehrman is confused.
Usually, the ravens would be pestering him to feed them at this time of day. Yet here he is, with a bucket full of whole rabbits – a treat for them, they like to tear a carcass apart every once in a while – near their cages, and they’re not there.
Of course, they don’t all show up. There is always one or two who are more interested in whatever they are currently doing than in food. They know they’ll receive it. They’re birds of habit.
But all of them? That is unusual. Maybe even a little worrying. Still, to be sure, he gives his signal – three loud snaps with his fingers. He’s trained them to come to him when they hear that. If there are any in the vicinity, they will come.
Nothing. Only a bunch of tourists eyeing him with bewilderment.
Looks like he has to look for them. Strange.
He turns to go to Tower Green, the other obvious place, when he hears fast footsteps behind himself.
“Ravenmaster? Ravenmaster? Does anybody know where the Ravenmaster is?” A female voice calls out in between strangled breaths. “It’s an emergency!”
Fear grips Gehrman’s heart. What emergency? What’s happened to the ravens? God forgive them if something happens to them! The whole of Britain will fall to ruin if the ravens in the Tower of London aren’t protected!
He turns around. A young woman runs in the middle of the grass, panting and crying.
“Ma’am!” Gehrman calls for her. “What’s happened?”
She eyes him and stutters clumsily to a stop. Her legs are shaking, she’s panting.
“Are… are you… the Raven… mas…”
“Yes, I am the Ravenmaster!” he says hurriedly. “What’s going on?”
“The… the ravens…”
“What about them?”
The woman finally gets enough air in her lungs to make a full sentence.
“The ravens attacked a man!”
“What?” Gehrman shouts.
What has that man done to provoke them like this? They’re peaceful creatures, uninterested in the visitors! All the visitors are explicitly told not to go close to them!
He’s starting to see red.
“Yes! In the apothecary garden. Hurry, please!” The woman bursts into tears again and Gehrman hesitates a little. The ravens don’t usually hang around the apothecary garden – the space is too narrow, when the moat and Tower Green provide much more broad greenery.
Maybe something truly bad has happened…
“Come, let’s go!” he beckons the woman and rushes to the garden.
A crowd has gathered at the entrance to the Bloody Tower. Yeoman Warders are trying to push them back and reassure them, but it’s hardly working. Most people are recording on their phones. Gasps and whispers echo around. And a lot of raven caws.
Gehrman has been the Ravenmaster at the Tower of London for several decades, now. He knows how ravens sound like in all of their moods. Those aren’t vicious or aggressive caws. Neither are they frightened or distressed.
No, they sound… cheerful? Excited?
He makes his way through the crowd with shouts and elbows. The Warders help him; even they look relieved at his presence.
Finally, he makes it to the garden.
And sees all the ravens snuggling up to a skinny, sickly-looking man.
He is sitting cross legged in the middle of one of the aisles. All his attire is black, from the long overcoat to his shoes, making his papery skin look even paler. His black hair is a mess. Gaunt and looking like he should be resting in bed and drinking chicken broth by the gallon – that’s how Gehrman would describe him.
And the ravens are all over him. One is perched on top of his head. One at each shoulder. Two are lying down in his lap. One at each knee. And one on every arm.
At least he has the good sense to keep perfectly still. How his arms are not growing tired from keeping them up as perching places for two large corvids, Gehrman does not know and does not care.
The man trains his eyes on him when he steps forward. Something about them gives Gehrman pause. It’s like they have their own gravity that the man aims at him. For a moment, he feels like he can’t move at all.
But he’s got duties to do, and he will do them. He clears his throat, hoping that the familiar sound might catch the ravens’ attention.
It doesn’t. Yuria nuzzles the man’s neck, and Valtr rubs his beak against his knee. The rest are all pressed as close to him as possible. They don’t even turn to look at him.
The man, however, gives him his full attention. His face is angular and sharp, almost too sharp to be fully human.
What a stupid thought. Gehrman shakes his head. It’s this weird view; it’s messing with him. His ravens have never acted this way before.
“I’m the Ravenmaster,” he announces. The man doesn’t move. “Are you hurt, sir?”
“Not at all,” the man replies. Gehrman’s knees go a little weak when he hears that voice. It sounds like the roar of the ocean.
There are people watching. And the man himself. That yanks Gehrman back to the task at hand.
“Okay, guys, come on! Leave the man alone,” he tells the ravens. None of them give any indication that they heard him.
“Yuria!” he calls first. “Henryk! Valtr! Flora! Come on, all of you, come here!”
Usually the names work. The ravens know their own names. They know to respond to them when he’s calling.
They all ignore him. At this point it feels almost intentional. Laurentius even turns so he technically is looking at Gehrman, yet he only shifts into a more comfortable position in the man’s lap and closes his eyes like he’s having a nap.
Like he’s having the best damn nap in his life.
“Sir, did you do something to them?” he snaps. That has to be the only explanation. Why else would they be acting so strangely?
“I have not done anything to them.” The man is staring at him without blinking. As if daring Gehrman to call him a liar.
“Did you give them something? Feed them, maybe?”
“No.”
Gehrman is about to go out of his mind. What is happening, then? Have all the ravens in the Tower gone crazy simultaneously?
A Yeoman Warder gives him a hesitant look. He’s waiting for Gehrman to tell him to do something. That would be great if Gehrman had any idea what to do.
“Sir, I need to warn you that if you’re lying, there will be consequences, these ravens are property of the Crown and-“
“He’s not lying!” says an elderly woman taking a video with a smartphone. “I was there when it happened. He was just standing there in the garden, and they ambushed him!”
“Yeah!” agrees the young woman who brought Gehrman here in the first place. “I was there, too. He didn’t do anything, they just came from the sky and crashed into him! I thought they were attacking him!”
“They weren’t attacking him,” adds another woman from the corner of the garden. She’s dressed in all black and her large picture hat hides her face. “They just wanted to greet him.”
“I agree. Their presence is not unwelcomed,” says the man himself. He doesn’t sound at all worried about all the Tower ravens that have swarmed him.
Gehrman has definitely lost his mind. There’s no other explanation. All that time spent in the company of birds has scrambled his brain. There is no way that his ravens, his polite ravens who harbour absolutely no interest in humans, would just jump a man like this.
And yet…
“Gehrman?” the Yeoman Warder whispers to him. “Safety of the visitors.”
But of course. The safety of the visitors always comes first. Right. Gehrman should get the ravens off this weird man, thank the Lord that they’re all unharmed, and then ban him from visiting for life, for his own safety and the safety of the birds.
“Alright. Sir, sit very still now! Don’t move a muscle.”
The man hasn’t so much as moved a single finger since Gehrman first arrived, but he says it anyway.
The crowd seems to be holding its breath. Gehrman himself is holding his when he carefully steps closer. The ravens ignore him, too busy nuzzling into the man’s skin and cawing happily.
He goes for Flora first, perched on the man’s knee. She sees him offer his arm for her to jump to and caws angrily.
All the ravens turn to him. In a flurry, they caw and hiss and flap their wings. Some jump off the man, only to stay on the ground in front of him with spread wings and clicking beaks. None of them go as far as a foot away from the man, who watches impassively, with a stone-cold expression.
“Lads, come on! Behave, now! Stop!” Gehrman tries calling to them, scolding them, whatever else he can think of, but nothing works. The ravens only hiss and snap at him with a viciousness he’s never seen from them. The more he tries, the rowdier they become.
The crowd is uneasy, people whispering worriedly, others slowly retreating as if afraid that the ravens would attack them.
This is an absolute disaster, Gehrman thinks. An absolute disaster. And, worst of all, he has no idea what’s caused it.
Until the raven at the top of the man’s head caws once, loudly.
For a second, all the ravens stop. They forget about Gehrman entirely, turning instead back to the man. Then, they’re all cawing happily again and crowding the man, climbing on his shoulders and arms and legs and flapping their wings in excitement.
Gehrman has no idea what’s going on. He can’t even tell which raven this one is. He usually only needs a glance to recognise his ravens. He spends all his time with them.
Something changes. At first, Gehrman doesn’t realise what it is. Then, he realises that he feels lighter, freer to move.
And notices that the man isn’t looking at him anymore.
He’s looking up, at the raven on his head.
Said raven caws once more, then, right in front of Gehrman’s eyes, lowers its head to look into the man’s eyes upside down. The man frowns, just the tiniest pursing of lips, but it’s more than he’s moved his face this entire conversation.
“No,” he says. At first, Gehrman is confused. No what? He hasn’t even said anything.
The raven caws again, right in the man’s face. And Gehrman realises that the man is talking to the raven.
This is it. Gehrman has a few screws loose.
“Absolutely not,” the man says, like he’s replying. To the raven. Either the man’s got a few loose screws, too, or Gehrman is missing the entire plank.
The raven clicks its beak and caws.
“This is unacceptable,” replies the man.
The rest of the ravens join in, cawing and hissing. Like they’re having an argument. Gehrman hasn’t seen them react this way. Not even when they’re being prissy with him.
The man remains silent and still, staring into the raven’s eyes without blinking, through the cacophony that has even the Warders shuffling in discomfort. Until, finally, the lets out a huff of breath that can be considered a sigh.
“Very well.” Then, he turns to the ravens crowding him. “I promise.”
The ravens make one elated choir. They fly around, flap their wings, caw. And then gather around Gehrman like they’ve totally forgotten the man. Some of them eye the bucket of rabbits that Gehrman’s still holding, and Henryk even pecks at it impatiently.
The last thing on Gehrman’s mind right now is feeding time. He’s aware that he’s staring at the man, mouth wide open, while the man continues sitting cross-legged on the ground.
The raven is still on his head; it straightens up and fluffs its feathers. Gehrman still can’t tell which one it is, but it’s odd that it’s the only one who’s still around the man.
That gives him something to focus on, at least. He reaches for it, only for it to hiss at him and flap its wings indignantly.
“He is mine,” the man speaks again. Gehrman nearly jumps at the voice.
“What do you mean, yours?” he asks incredulously. “This raven is the property of the Crown!”
“Not this one. He is mine.” Something twists in the man’s face. His voice turns icy.
“Are you out of your mind?” Gehrman snaps. This man has already made this day tiresome enough, he does not have the patience to deal with this on top of everything else. “Listen, sir, you have caused quite enough of a disturbance as it is. Return this raven and the Yeoman Warders will escort you out of the premise.”
“He is his,” confirms the woman clad in black from the corner of the garden. “He came with him. I saw him.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Check his feathers. They’re not trimmed.”
The raven immediately spreads its wings and caws, sounding almost offended. The feathers are all intact.
And the man is looking at Gehrman again. His gaze feels ever heavier now. “You should count your ravens, Ravenmaster.”
Gehrman blinks rapidly. Of course he counted them! He counted them as soon as he arrived!
Here, they’re still around his feet, waiting to be fed. Quelana, Laurentius, Yuria, Karla, Valtr, Henryk, Rogier, and Flora…
He pauses. That’s all of them. Eight ravens – six because of the legend, and two spares.
He turns to the other raven again. It looks somewhat different than a normal raven, but Gehrman can’t put his finger on how. But it’s definitely not one of his.
It looks at him almost smugly, caws again, and perches on the man’s shoulder. He slowly gets up from the ground and dusts off his clothes.
“You need to leave. Sir. Please,” Gehrman says tiredly. That is the only thing that comes to his mind.
“Very well.” At least the man doesn’t argue. He heads down the road to Water Lane and the Byward Tower.
Gehrman releases a breath he didn’t realise he’s been holding. There is still a small crowd around him, but he can’t be bothered to care. The Warders will take care of them.
Instead, he turns to the ravens. The intelligent birds look at him with wide black eyes just like they always do, as if nothing peculiar has happened. Karla has joined the pecking at his bucket to remind him that he’s missed feeding time.
Right. He’d got a job to do. Time – and hungry ravens – waits for no one. Slowly, he walks away, and the ravens follow. They seem to be in high spirits, but other than that it’s like nothing is out of the ordinary.
He checks his watch. He’s missed his lunch, too. What a day this has been – and it’s only halfway over.
Best get to it, then, he decides. If he’s still feeling like a madman tomorrow, he might consider a few days of paid leave.
He pointedly avoids looking at Water Lane where the strangest visitor he’s ever seen must be, on his way to leave. He does not need to see that face ever again.
~*~
Rya returns to her hotel exhausted. When she planned a holiday in the UK, this wasn’t what she’d imagined.
That poor man… what was that about, anyway? Why would all the Tower ravens suddenly go mad about him? She swears she thought they were attacking him – that’s why she fetched the Ravenmaster in the first place. Yet, when she returned with him in tow, they looked like cuddly cats after their owners have been away for long.
On the other hand, she’s never seen anything like this, so maybe her trip to the Tower wasn’t wasted, after all.
That doesn’t make her feel any less tired, however. It’s been a long day with a lot of stresses. She calls her mother and goes to sleep early.
And she dreams of ravens.
~*~
Emma returns home excited. She has so many things to show her husband! All those photos. And the video! The video she took of the man and the ravens!
“Honey?” She yells from the door. “You will not believe what happened today at the Tower!”
Her husband insists on them putting away all the souvenirs she bought, and then having dinner – he’s made steak and kidney, the dear – before the two sit on the sofa so she can show him.
It takes a little bit of fumbling through all the photos in the gallery, but she eventually finds the video. Strange. It appears as a black screen.
She clicks on it. A rotating circle appears. It doesn’t disappear for several minutes. Her husband’s giving her a sceptical look all the while.
Finally, it disappears. Instead, a message pops up.
Corrupted file
We could not load the file due to data corruption.
“Wha-“ Emma stutters. She tried so hard for that video! She remembered to keep her fingers away from the camera, she held the phone still, she turned the camera the correct way, even! How can it be corrupted? What does that even mean?
Next to her, her husband’s laughing.
“It’s not funny!” she scolds. “I have never seen anything like this, and now it’s lost!”
“It’s alright, honey,” her husband’s still grinning. “There will probably be videos circulating the Internet tomorrow. Not your own, but it will be something, right?”
“I suppose,” Emma murmurs. She prefers her own videos, thank you very much. She records them herself. That makes them special.
And she has an inkling that there won’t be any videos of the accident on the Internet tomorrow.
“Come, love, don’t be upset. You can tell me about it, instead,” her husband urges.
Yes, that’s an excellent idea! Emma spends the rest of the evening relaying the raven accident to him in great detail. He laughs at some parts, frowns at others, and in the end shakes his head and complains about tourists.
“I don’t know about that,” Emma admits. “He sounded English to me.”
“Nah, he must have been a tourist. One of them mouse whisperer types, only for corvids.” He’s only saying that to make her laugh. It works.
That night, Emma falls asleep next to him, like every night.
And she dreams of ravens.
~*~
Eileen returns to her apartment a little disappointed.
Of course, she got to see something quite interesting. It’s not every day that one sees an unkindness of ravens be so affectionate towards an ordinary person. She knew from the start that they weren’t looking to harm the man, their caws were friendly. She doesn’t understand why those other two women made such a big deal out of it.
But, in the end, she comes home bearing interesting memories. Her instinct has paid off.
Still, she feels like she’s missed the truly big thing.
Alas, there is nothing she can do about that. She’ll take what she can get. After all, those gorgeous creatures, and that man’s voice… those were interesting enough, she decides.
Still, visiting the Tower again is bound to be disappointing in comparison.
She stays up late preparing for work tomorrow, then goes to sleep.
And she dreams of ravens.
And crows.
~*~
“Are you bored, Matthew?” Morpheus asks, mainly out of irritation. “Is that the reason for this?”
The streets of London are quiet at this time of day. The sun has long set, and decades of pollution hide the stars and the moon. The streetlamps don’t provide sufficient light. Few people want to be outside. Most are in his realm.
“I can find you plenty to do if you feel bored,” he continues with little bite as he passes the ticket office.
On his shoulder, Matthew caws and flaps his wings.
“I’m perfectly fine, boss, thanks a lot.”
“I should think that somebody who is fine would not propose such a thing.”
“What? I just wanted to make them leave you alone!”
“If I wanted them to leave me alone, I would have done it myself.” He passes the welcome centre next. Matthew scoffs.
“Well, I’m sure you noticed, boss, but we were about to be thrown out for disturbing the peace.”
“We were asked to leave regardless.”
“Well, yeah.” Matthew shuffles on his shoulder. Morpheus sighs.
“You just wanted to come back, didn’t you?”
Matthew is silent.
There is a security guard by the main entrance. He yells at them to stop. Morpheus easily puts him to sleep with a handful of sand. The doors open after a brief touch.
The Tower of London is different during night-time. There is nothing to provide light and the tall stone walls cast large shadows. The dark doesn’t bother Morpheus. Matthew, however, shifts a little bit in discomfort.
“You know, I’ve never been here after closing time. It’s kinda creepy.”
“This was your idea,” Morpheus takes a little satisfaction in reminding him.
“I know!” Matthew caws. “But don’t you go pretending that you don’t like my idea!”
“Because of your idea I’m sneaking in a human establishment in the dark like a common burglar.”
Matthew huffs but remains silent. He’s lucky that he’s on Morpheus’ shoulder; that way Morpheus can ignore the eye roll that definitely happened.
They meet several more guards. None of them can do more than yell a warning before they fall asleep. They’ll wake up before anybody can notice and accuse them of not fulfilling their duties.
They reach the cages. The ravens are already fluttering around inside and cawing. There are Warders living on site, but they won’t wake up.
Morpheus opens all the cages, then the separate one with a little window for “the princess”, as the other ravens jokingly say. The raven who introduced herself as Yuria earlier jumps out.
“You came!”
“Of course. I promised.”
Morpheus sits cross legged and lets the ravens climb all over him once more. They talk a lot and don’t seem to mind talking over each other and interrupting. He tries to follow along.
“It is so lovely to see you!”
“What’s your name?”
“Sorry we got you on the do not visit list.”
“You’ll visit again anyway, won’t you?”
“We kinda couldn’t help ourselves.”
“Our poor caretaker. He’s not a bad man, don’t think ill of him.”
“Yeah, I think we just gave him a little scare.”
“I wouldn’t call it little.”
He lets their chatter fall to the background of his awareness. Ravens aren’t particularly chatty; when they run out of things to say, they’ll go quiet, and they won’t miss their own voices.
He focuses on petting them, instead. They’ve left his arms free this time. Instead, they push themselves into his hands and caw softly until he strokes down their beaks or up their heads and necks. They switch around often, in his shoulders, his lap, his legs.
He lets them, aware of their movements around him but not keeping track, only focusing on the ones under his hands. Matthew’s chatting with them now – his own raven is sitting on the grass near his feet, his head rested against Morpheus’ ankles. Occasionally, Morpheus gives him a caress, too.
The night is dark and the air – cool. It’s relaxing. The ravens around him have exhausted their desire to talk and now only have conversations with Matthew, usually one at a time. Small bugs hidden in the grass make buzzing noises every once in a while.
The feeling of feathers under his fingers has always been a pleasant one. One that he likes to focus on. He pets around Flora’s ears, then up Henryk’s head when the two switch. Birds like it better when petted in the opposite direction of their plumage, Morpheus has learned.
It’s different from his routine. Lately, he spends all his time on the shores, creating. This is much simpler. Easier. It’s resting for a bit. Perhaps he doesn’t have the time to waste in rest, but he made that promise and he sticks to it.
It allows him to clear his head. He hasn’t even noticed how much clutter he’s accumulated. Passing thoughts and inconsequential musings that serve no purpose but make thinking harder. The peace and the pleasant background noise of cheerful corvid voices help him shake them off like dust off his clothes.
And he thinks undisturbed for the first time today.
He keeps going, enjoying a calm night as everything settles into quietness around him. The voices stop coming. After a while, Morpheus looks down and finds eight sleeping ravens.
Karla is sleeping in his hands. He stops his petting to lay her down on his leg, then focuses on Valtr snoring into his other leg. Flora and Laurentius have fallen asleep standing up, perched on his shoulders. Quelana and Rogier sleep in his lap. Yuria and Henryk doze on the ground, bodies pressed into him.
The only one still awake is Matthew. He’s still sitting with his head rested on Morpheus’ ankles. Two big shining eyes turn to him. Matthew can’t smile, but smugness radiates from him anyway.
“Well?” he says. “Do you like my idea?”
Morpheus absent-mindedly pets Rogier as he considers Matthew’s words. Finally, he concedes.
“It was lovely to meet them. And I admit that having nobody to interrupt has improved the experience. But I cannot fault the Ravenmaster for acting like he did. Especially since some people seemed to believe that the ravens were attacking me.”
“Well, they did kinda come out of nowhere just to cuddle,” Matthew notes, with only good humour in his voice. He shifts to a standing position and shakes the grass off his body. “It’s been several hours, boss. Should we head back?”
Morpheus hasn’t felt those hours pass at all. But Matthew’s right. They should head back.
The ravens are a little grumpy to be woken up, then liven up again when they see him. They try to get him to promise to visit again – and Henryk even attempts blackmail by threatening to scream at the top of his lungs and wake up the Yeoman Warders if Morpheus doesn’t do so.
He stops after one stern look, and Morpheus firmly tells them that he cannot make any such promises.
Still, as he bids them farewell, he thinks that he will come again. Rather soon, too.
With Matthew perched on his shoulder, they depart only minutes before the first Warder wakes up.
~*~
Matthew has a lot to think about.
The day hasn’t turned out like he expected it to. For one, he never would have expected that a group of ravens would take such interest in his boss. And having them show up from the sky with a bunch of rushed greetings was frightening for a moment.
How Morpheus kept his cool, Matthew doesn’t know. Must come with having lived for this long. You must see some truly weird shit when that happens.
Oh, fuck. That means that Matthew will have to see some weird shit in the future when acting as his raven, doesn’t it?
Ah, whatever. He’s been to Hell; nothing can top that. Yeah, he’s seen the weirdest. Everything else pales in comparison. All is good. He just has to remind himself of that every time he reaches a new peak of weirdness.
Plus, it was nice to chat up some fellow ravens. Ones that aren’t dreams. And it was funny when he told them about his life as a raven of the Lord of Dreams and they seemed surprised. How one misses that it’s the actual Dream of the Endless they’re talking to is beyond Matthew, but also beyond hilarious so he’s glad that it happened.
And he got to see the Tower of London during the night, and that memory will stick around for sure.
Yeah. It has been a good day. Matthew’s quite pleased with this turn of events.
Morpheus seems content with it, too. He’d taken a while to agree to Matthew’s idea to leave and come back during the night when nobody would interrupt them, as a way to please both the ravens and the Tower staff, but eventually he came around to it. And he seemed to have a good time.
All in all, Matthew would call that a success.
He enters the throne room alongside Morpheus. His boss frowns at the book on the staircase, as if he forgot that he was the one who left it there, and puts it in his lap when he sits down. Matthew perches on his knee.
“So?” he says, just a tiny bit smug. A tiny bit only. “Had a good time?”
Morpheus throws him a glance, looks like he wants to roll his eyes but doesn’t, and suffices with crooking a finger and running the knuckle down Matthew’s beak.
“If it will satisfy you, I will admit that your idea was good.”
“It will.”
“Your idea was good.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Morpheus is silent after that. Matthew’s not good with silence, so he busies himself with fixing his feathers. Just until he figures out what to say.
For the first time, Morpheus beats him to it:
“I believe I owe you a thank you as well, Matthew.”
“Huh?” Matthew meets Dream’s eyes. As usual, his expression doesn’t reveal anything. “What for?”
Morpheus smiles. It’s one of his, the ones that are more in the eyes, but it’s there, and Matthew hasn’t got a clue what he’s talking about but pride swells in him, anyway.
“I have a clear vision.”
At first, Matthew doesn’t get it. Then it clicks. It seems insignificant, in the face of all the other events of this long day, the reason why Matthew suggested a trip to the Tower in the first place.
He feels even more accomplished. If he could smile, he’d be grinning right now.
“Oh, yeah, that.”
Morpheus’ smile grows a tiny bit wider. He pets from the back of Matthew’s head to the top with a slow, gentle movement.
“Thank you, Matthew.”
Yeah, Matthew would be grinning ear-to-ear. He’s sure Morpheus knows that. “You’ve got it, boss.”
Then, he adds:
“Mind if I come with you?”
“Not at all.”
Matthew perches on his favourite place – Morpheus’ shoulder. He can’t smile, but he can settle comfortably and feel pleased with himself.
It has been an excellent day.