A Raven's Journey, Pt. 4

It has been a long night, and the lone raven soars, through a downpour, seeking the updrafts from the factories, heading back home, to Bellwhether Crematorium. She found many bodies this night, but there are always many bodies to find; humans are far too fond of killing one another. She swoops down through the small door at the very top of the rookery’s spire, swooping into the main hall. The shrieking of burning ghosts is always present here, and the ravens that can’t handle the onslaught of noise and emotion are quickly cooked into pies. She lands on the perch that is solely hers - no other would dare to occupy it - and folds up her wings, preparing for sleep.

A lone figure walks along the ravens’ perches, giving each raven a bit of meat in turn. The figure has the long-beaked bronze mask of the Spirit Wardens, and they wear the mask even though they wear the robes of a Raven Tender rather than the posh uniform of an agent. The largest piece of meat is for the raven we know best, and as the Tender passes they smooth her feathers and croon softly:

“Good work tonight, darling.”

The raven caws softly in response, already halfway to sleep. The Tender finishes their rounds and heads out of the rookery towards one of the other buildings, a warehouse next to the main crematorium, covered in soot from the tall stacks. Even the short trip outside has the Tender shaking off their cloak as they enter the building, as the black rain comes down in sheets. The tender enters to see an agent exiting the interrogation chamber. The tender only catches the briefest glance at his face as he puts his mask back on, but he looks exhausted. The tender approaches cautiously.

“Six hours for a historian? Sounds like a rough one.”

The agent pauses for a moment, adjusting his mask and smoothing down his uniform.

“She was Severosi, you know how they can be when they’re gone. Stubborn. Plus, she thought maybe we killed her.”

The tender thinks about that for a second. 

“Wait. Did we?”

“Did we what?”

“Kill her.”

“Oh. No, I don’t think so. Bolt through the head’s what did her, not really our style. Could have been a contractor of ours, I guess. Still, I don’t think we care if her crackpot theory of history gets out, and the six hours I just spent leaves me pretty sure that’s the only reason someone would want to kill her.”

“So why all the fuss at the University then? Why are both you and an inspector involved? Doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Seems like someone with a lot of pull thinks there’s enough truth in her ramblings to put her down for it.”

“Who’s foolish enough to believe that all of recorded history is a lie?”

“These are the questions I’ve learned not to ask, Tender. You eaten?”

“No. The birds always eat first. It’s my rule.”

“Mess hall?”

“Yeah sure.”

The two figures step back out into the rain, pulling their cloaks tight around them as they walk quickly across the cobblestones, away from the warehouse, and far in the distance, lightning crashes.