“...reports of unusual weather conditions,” the news man was saying as Mrs Dorothy Heather turned the radio on. “Thunderstorms are continuing to pummel the east coast, with flooding and fallen trees in several areas, and sporadic reports of ball lightning are coming in from some seaside towns. A tornado damaged the roof tiles of a home in Saltmarsh...”

Dorothy mentally tuned out the radio, and she looked out the kitchen window while she waited for the music to come back. The sky was a dull, leaden grey with rain battering the glass, and the driveway was a sheet of water across which the wind swept lines of spray. She turned her back on it, glad it was a Saturday, and went to get her breakfast. She and her husband could watch the storm from the warmth and comfort of their living room armchairs.

She took a knife and a loaf of bread to the table and began cutting a couple of slices when there came a loud, impatient tapping at the window. Her first thought was that it must be the postman, dripping wet and anxious to get back to his nice, warm van, with something that had to be signed for, but when she looked the road was empty. She went to the door anyway, but when she opened it there was still no-one there. Rain gusted in, blowing her dressing gown around her knees and stinging her face, and she hurriedly closed the door.

Before it was fully closed, though, something dark and wet flashed past her face, startling her and splattering her with droplets of water. She gave a cry of alarm as the door slammed shut and spun around, to see a large crow shaking itself dry on the kitchen table. “Oh!” She cried in surprise. “Harold! Harold!” There was no reply, though. She hadn’t really expected one. Her husband always rose a good thirty minutes later than her, and until then nothing short of an earthquake would wake him up. She put him out of her mind, therefore, and looked at the crow with amusement and sympathy.

 
“No fit night for man nor beast, eh, my girl? I don’t blame you. If I were you, I’d want to get out of the rain too.” The crow just looked at her with its beady black eyes, then began preening its wings. “Well, I suppose you’re not doing any harm. You can stay until the rain stops. I think we’ve got a bit of left over ham somewhere...”

She went to the fridge and moved things around until she found the small plate wrapped in a freezer bag. The crow watched with interest as she unwrapped it and placed a couple of slices of cold meat on the plastic veneer. It hopped over and pecked at it suspiciously with its beak.

Watching it, she noticed for the first time that it had something attached to its leg. Some kind of small, metal canister. “What’s that you’ve got there, dearie? Don’t you peck me now...” She reached out to the canister, and the bird watched warily but made no protest as she carefully removed it. “You’re used to this, aren’t you?” she said as she examined the small object. “You’re trained to carry messages, aren’t you? Did the storm blow you off course? Didn’t know anybody still used birds for this. Where have you come from? Ah!” As she’d expected, the canister had a door that opened, and inside was a tiny roll of paper rolled up very tightly. She opened it up to read it.

The message was handwritten in extremely small letters, and she had to fetch her reading glasses to read it. “My Lord Edmund,” she read. “We cannot name ourselves here, for obvious reasons, but you will be able to guess who we are. You are our last remaining hope. The zeal with which you continue to defend your King during this time of crisis has been noted, and it is our ardent wish that you will be willing to serve him with more than words. The Cardinal must be persuaded to yield the item he holds, to cease his treasonous activities before disaster befalls us all, and you alone have the means to do this. If you have the courage to act, please append your reply to this message and the bird will find us. May the First protect us all.”

How strange, she thought as a thunderous crash of lightning shook the house. Probably a couple of kids sending joke messages to each other. Pretty enterprising of them to train the crow, though. If all that talent could be harnessed and put to good use all the world’s problems could be solved overnight.

She smiled mischievously as she fetched a pen from the living room, deciding to enter into the spirit of the thing. She couldn’t match the neatness and smallness of the original message, though, and could only manage a few words on the opposite side of the paper. “Maybe the Cardinal is just misunderstood. I’m sure he’s not the monster you think he is. If you try to get to know him better who knows what new friends you might make. Yours, Lord Edmund.”
 

She rolled the paper up as tightly as she could and stuffed it back in the metal cylinder, smiling again as she imagined the sender’s reaction when they read it. The bird allowed her to attach it to its leg, then hopped off the table and walked back to the door. Dorothy watched it in astonishment as it looked back at her, its head cocked. “You want to go back outside? Don’t you want to wait until the storm’s gone?” In answer, the crow pecked loudly at the door, then looked at her again. “All right,” she said, and opened the door.

The crew hopped over the threshold, spread its wings, leapt into the sky and then it was gone as lightning continued to flash, thunder rolled and the terrible, unearthly wind drove the rain like bullets.