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“The raven, of course,” hissed Sorrel. “Look up there. Don’t you see it?”
“You’re right,” he said in surprise. “It really is a raven.”
“It’s following us,” growled Sorrel. “It’s been following us for quite some time, I’m sure it has. All through this voyage, I’ve had a feeling that one of those beaky creatures was after us. I’m beginning to think there was something in what that white rat said about someone sending out those ravens as scouts. Suppose the golden monster’s behind it? Suppose the ravens are his spies?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Ben narrowed his eyes. “Sounds a bit far-fetched.”
“And what about the birds that covered the moon?” asked Sorrel. “In the old days, when the dragons were trying to escape the monster? Those were ravens, weren’t they, serpent?”
The sea serpent nodded and swam more slowly.
“Black birds with red eyes,” she hissed. “They’re still sometimes seen on the coast to this day.”
“Hear that?” Sorrel bit her lip angrily. “Oh, moldy morels! If only I had a stone to throw. I’d soon send that black feathery thing packing.”
“I have a stone,” said Ben. “In my backpack, in the bag with the scale. The mountain dwarves gave it to me. But it’s only a little one.”
“Never mind.” Sorrel jumped up and made her way along the serpent’s back to Firedrake.
“But how are you going to throw a stone so high?” asked Ben when she returned with his backpack.
Sorrel only chuckled. She rummaged around in Ben’s backpack until she found the bag. It really was a small stone, not much bigger than a bird’s egg.
“Here!” Alarmed, Twigleg put his sharp nose over the top of the backpack. “What are you going to do with that stone, fur-face?”
“Get rid of a raven.” Sorrel spat on it a couple of times, rubbed her saliva off it, and then spat again. Ben looked at her, baffled.
“Better not,” whispered Twigleg from the backpack. “Ravens don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”
“Don’t they indeed?” Sorrel shrugged her shoulders and tossed the stone playfully from paw to paw.
“No, honestly they don’t!” Twigleg’s voice was so shrill that Firedrake raised his head and Ben looked at the homunculus in surprise. Even the sea serpent turned her head to them.
“Ravens,” faltered Twigleg, “ravens bear a grudge. They’re vengeful birds — the ones I know, anyway.”
Sorrel looked at him suspiciously. “You know a lot of ravens, do you?”
Twigleg jumped nervously.
“N-n-not really,” he stammered. “But … I’ve heard people say that.”
Sorrel just shook her head scornfully and glanced up at the sky. The raven had come closer and was circling lower and lower. Ben could see its small eyes quite clearly.
“Look, Sorrel!” he said in surprise. “That raven has red eyes.”
“Red eyes? Well, well.” Sorrel weighed up the little stone in her paw one last time. “I really don’t like this at all. No. That bird must go.”
Like lightning, she took aim and hurled the stone into the sky.
It flew straight as an arrow to the raven, struck his right wing, and remained stuck to his feathers like a burr. Cawing angrily, the black bird fluttered about, beating his wings violently and lurching around in the sky as if he had lost all sense of direction.
“There!” said Sorrel, pleased. “That’ll keep him occupied for a while.”
Ben watched incredulously as the raven pecked more and more frantically at his wing and finally flew unsteadily away. Before long, he was a mere speck in the distance.
Sorrel chuckled.
“Brownie spit — nothing like it,” she said, going back to have a nap in the shade of the dragon.
