Scavenger

Sorry I took so long to get back to you on this one, TL. I got all caught up in the holiday fervor ( read: I spent the weekend wasted because my boyfriend bought a keg ) and didn't get around to doing much posting online. XD

Anyway, let's start with a few things I noticed that detract from your story:

1. Titles
The titles to all your chapters are in another language, which is fine. However, I think it might be nice if you included the English translations as a subheader, for those of us who only speak one language.

2. Description
I had a problem with your initial description of your main character, when she looked at herself in the mirror. Firstly, it's a far-overdone method of describing a first-person main, and, secondly, she's standing in front of an audience. why not describe her from their perspective. "I knew what they saw, and it was not pretty," for example. Just a thought.

3. Raven?
In your description of the character, she's got her skin dyed with walnut-juice and fur glued to her body. When he started calling her Raven, and the horse referred to her as a bird-thing, I went back and read over her description again, and I could find nothing that would indicate any avian nature. Why do they call her Raven? Perhaps she should have feathers attached instead of fur?

I'm not going to touch on the spelling/grammar errors I noticed, as I'm sure the previous reviewers have already pointed out anything I would have, and you're asking for a generalized review. Now, it's time for the things that I did like about your story.

1. General Premise
I gathered from your story that half-elves take refuge in another world, which happens to be our own. This might seem like an over-used premise, but I really enjoyed your take on the subject, and I found nothing at all cliche in the story except the main character's name. I liked how you slipped little references in to show us that the other world is, if not ours precisely, at least closely related.

2. Raven's Attitude
I love the way you put this character together. She's bearing up well under her torment, comforting herself with snippets of the world which she previously called home, and using it to taunt the locals with her seeming madness. She seems young; I didn't notice if you ever stated her age, but I'd place it between 12 and 14. I love her backsass. XD

Overall, I think you've got a wonderful start here, and, to answer your question, I would definitely be interested in reading further. You've got solid characterization and the seriousness of the plot is offset by humor. The only real question is, where are you going with this? My attention is caught so far, but we're three chapters in, now, and I'm ready for some action. Give me some!

Woo, you are so brilliant! Sorry it took me forever to get to this. Can I kidnap Raven? She can read me bedtime stories. Please? *wibbles*

Jiggity and others pointed out all of the grammatical points I noted, so there are just a couple of things I'd like to touch on. You writing style is thick and sparse in all the right places, but there are still a few more details I'd like to see. My only note is that I never really get a very thick sense of place or time as I'm reading this. I get a sort of mid-1800s to turn-of-the-century kind of vibe just from the fact that Raven wears a waistcoat and there are still freak shows meandering about, but beyond that, I don't have a lot to help me piece together what isn't illustrated. This wouldn't stick so much, except that Raven seems to have some knowledge that I wouldn't assume she'd be privy to:

TL G-Wooster wrote:‘If you can’t tell, it might explain certain things, like Morley’s imbecility… but no, TIAs don’t cause brain damage, do they?’

This and a couple of other lines just confused me a touch. Maybe I read those first couple of chapters too quickly, but I never really saw a solid reason for Raven's possession of Wikipedia-worthy tidbits like this. I'm guessing she's either from a world that vaguely mirrors our own, or else her powers allow her knowledge of this parallel world, but that's just blind guessing. And maybe I'm not supposed to know why she's spouting off facts about transient ischemic attacks. But if I'm not supposed to know, maybe it should be clearer that I'm not supposed to know. Does that make sense? Probably not.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm three chapters into this piece of fiction and I still have a shadowy sense of the setting. Describing the curtains and spiders is all good and well, but I want you to tell me about the things I haven't seen before, the gaps I can't fill - what it smells like, how they dress, and why Raven knows what a television is is but Quennel wouldn't recognize MTV if it danced naked in front of him (which MTV is wont to do). I'm still not sure what makes Kiona "tick."

Quennel, though - I like how you've illustrated this character. He's very manipulative, but at the same time he seems a bit vulnerable. I really can't wait to see how this plays out.

Aflonyddwch emosiynol

Cold.

Still with my eyes closed, I curled up tight and wrapped my arms around myself. I tried to scrub my upper arms with my hands and still stay asleep but it didn’t work. Mumbling in my throat, I opened my eyes. The fire had died down and the room was dark. The sleeping shapes of the others made solid shadows on the floor and in the two chairs.

There were goose bumps on my arms. I shifted closer to the fire and bumped into Colby’s chair. He stirred and sighed; I sat up in despair. Everything was peaceful and very quiet. No sound came from the street except for a tiny scuffle in the alley behind the house. Probably a rat, I decided, tucking my knees under my chin and shivering. Or a stray cat. The amount of stray animals I saw in the cities and towns we visited was nothing new. There had been plenty of stray cats and dogs in London, and when you sleep on the streets, it’s hard not to see rats. I remembered one time, I asked Da if rats could still give you the Black Plague.

He had laughed. ‘I don’t think the Black Plague exists anymore.’

‘Oh, it does!’ I had assured him. ‘It was on House. You can still get it, I just wondered if you could still get it from rats.’

Da had rolled his eyes. ‘You’re the medico of the family. You tell me.’

I smiled now, and looked into the nearly dead fire. TV was so far away. Have they made any new seasons of House? I wondered. How many episodes have I missed by now? That was one of the main downers of living in a alternative past – the lack of medical dramas. Leaving Grey’s Anatomy didn’t hurt, though…

Something niggled in the back of my brain. I thought I felt a flash of sudden movement, and I looked over my shoulder to see the door opening. A tiny light flickered and the doorway was suddenly lit up by a candle.

‘It’s in here!’ someone whispered, and four people darted into the room.

It all happened so suddenly; my mind was still on Izzie and George and Meredith when someone grabbed me and yanked me up by my hair. I yelped, and the candle was pushed into my face. I shrank away from the flame, and someone hissed, ‘Keep quiet, freak.’

‘Please – let go my hair – you’re hurting –’

Someone hooked a finger under my collar, and my hair was released. The candle was held up and I saw four young men, none of them over twenty-one and all of them smelling of cheap ale. One of them with fox-red hair held the candle close to my face, and I stared at him.

He smiled slowly, wonderingly. ‘Cor,’ he breathed. ‘It was true, then. A real life hybrid like what Anselm said. Look at its eyes, Curt.’ He passed the flame in front of my eyes. ‘They go all gold-like, in the light.’

‘You can see all this in the show,’ I whispered, going at top speed so they wouldn’t try and shut me up before I’d finished. ‘Come back tomorrow and see it all properly. I’m sure I can get you a discount.’

‘What’re you doing?’

Redhead and his friends whipped around in alarm. Frona was sitting up and yawning, pushing back her hair from her face with one hand.

‘Private viewers, love,’ one of them said, smirking.

Frona’s mouth gaped a little open, and she looked blearily at me. ‘Private viewers?’

Oh, don’t be so naïve! I wanted to yell at her.

The tallest blond-haired boy bent down to Frona’s level and smiled. ‘And what’re you then? One of the private freaks?’

The others began to snigger.

Frona stared at him, then leaned over to shake the twins awake. The boy swatted her hand down, grinning. ‘Hey, don’t wake up any more boys, there’s enough of us here to make things exciting.’

‘Uh, Frona?’ I hissed. ‘Right now, screaming might be a good idea.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ she began.

Redhead lifted my hand and prised open my fingers. He pinioned my first finger and held it dangerously close to the candle flame. ‘You say one more word, freak,’ he breathed in my ear, ‘and I burn your skin black. Black. You got that?’

The blond boy stroked Frona’s face. ‘Pretty little hunchback, ain’t you though?’

From the look on Frona’s face, she had suddenly twigged as to how this might end. ‘No,’ she whispered, trying to pull away.

The boy laughed and pushed back onto the floor. She fell awkwardly, silent tears beginning to track down her face.

Redhead chuckled quietly. ‘Keep her, Rigg and don’t use it all –’

‘What are you doing?’ Eldreda sat up in her chair, her eyes and mouth wide open in horror. ‘Frona!’

‘Oh, stuff it, Legs,’ Rigg said. ‘There’s plenty to go round.’

‘Pace!’ Eldreda’s scream almost blew out the candle flame. Colby jerked awake and the twins snapped upright simultaneously.

Redhead rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, great.’

‘Pace!’

‘All right, Legs. We’re going, we’re going.’ Redhead’s finger tightened around my collar, and for one mad moment I thought he was going to drag me along with him.

Rigg leaped up and bounded for the door. ‘Come on, George!’

Redhead tilted his head to one side, still looking at me, his mouth curling up into a half smile. The others had already fled, and Rigg hesitated just long enough to yell, ’Come on!’ before dashing out of the door. Redhead patted my shoulder lightly, released my collar and followed.

Colby knelt down beside Frona. She was still crying silently, and he pulled her to him in a tight hug. ‘It’s all right,’ he crooned softly, for once not stuttering. ‘It’s all right.’

Frona buried her face in his shirt, her shoulders shaking.

‘You bastard.’

Eldreda’s face was tight with fury. I don’t know what surprised me more – her curse or the fact that it was directed at me.

‘Pardon?’ I said disbelievingly.

Eldreda got to her feet, stalked towards me like a furious mother bird defending her young. ‘You utterly heartless bastard.’

‘What?’

‘I saw you, I saw you! You were just standing there – not doing anything!’ She drove me back against the wall, and I was still too gob smacked to do anything about it. ‘Do you know what could have happened to Frona, do you know what that would have done to her? Do you know what she’s been through – what happened to her before she came here?’

‘Let me think. Oh yes. Before, everyone gawked at her free of charge, but now they have to pay. It’s wonderful what a little showbiz know-how can achieve with the right management.’

‘Stop it!’ She was breathing like she’d just finished the marathon, her face flushed.

‘And here,’ I continued, ‘we see a classic example of the advantages of arms over feet. Note the peculiar helplessness of the Armless Wonder here. She obviously wants to hits me, but has no arms with which to do so. The uses of the arm, we can then conclude –’

I didn’t see how it happened, but Eldreda made a movement and I hit the floor with a thud. Then she knelt on my arms, and that really hurt.

‘Ow!’ I squirmed, trying to reach up and bite her. Failing that, I spat in her face, unconsciously baring my teeth.

Eldreda smiled mirthlessly, immune to my show of fierceness. ‘It hurts, does it, hybrid?’

Colby, still rocking Frona, said, ‘I think I c-c-can hear P-p-p-pace coming.’

‘He took his time,’ Lyndon said, looking over Eldreda’s shoulder. ‘You know, hybrid, it’s just like everyone said.’

‘Hybrids are animals, with no human thoughts or feelings,’ Lionel finished.

‘He had a candle!’ I protested. ‘He was going to burn my hand if I made a noise.’

Eldreda shifted one of her knees onto my stomach and I yowled wheezily.

‘You sound like a dying cat,’ Lyndon said contemptuously.

‘And I – I suppose you’d sound like a songbird if you had a great – hulking Armless Wonder rupturing your lungs! I suppose you’d have – got help even if you were going – to get burned!’

‘Oh dear,’ Lionel mocked. ‘You were threatened by a candle? What a shame, what a traumatic bloody shame. You are pathetic. Couldn’t you think of someone else, someone worth more than your stinking yellow self?’

The door slammed back on its hinges, and turning my head on the floor, I saw Pace and Quennel in the doorway. Pace had his trousers on under his nightshirt, and looked completely ridiculous.

‘Get off my hybrid!’ Quennel screeched, leaping forward like Jesse Owens. He wrestled Eldreda out of the way and I scrabbled over the floor and latched onto the hem of his nightshirt, gripping the coarse white fabric like it was a lifebelt in a storm.

Pace rounded on his freaks. ‘What the blazes has been going on here? What’s the matter with Frona?’

Colby rose to his feet. ‘There was a b-b-b-b-break-in, sir. A couple of youths. They m-must have come in through the k-kitchen. They w-wanted to see the Raven.’

‘See the Raven?’

‘Yes, sir. And then they… g-g-got d-d-d-istracted.’ Colby pressed his lips together into a thin, pale line.

Pace ruffled Frona’s hair. ‘You all right, Frona?’

Frona drew a long, shuddering breath and bit her lip. She nodded.

‘Good girl.’ Pace glared around at the others. ‘And what else happened?’

Quennel tapped the top of my head, and I looked up at him, still holding onto his nightshirt. ‘Raven,’ he said deliberately. ‘What happened?’

I looked at Eldreda – still flushed and panting – and then at the twins who were glaring at everyone through half-lidded eyes. ‘They got cross ’cos I didn’t help Frona.’

There was a pause. Quennel lifted an eyebrow. ‘That’s it? They “got cross”?’ He glared at Eldreda. ‘Getting cross is no reason to try and suffocate my hybrid!’

Eldreda returned his look, but addressed Pace. ‘I think all of us are agreed, Mister Pace. We won’t have the Raven with us anymore.’

‘Oh you are agreed are you!’ Pace scoffed. ‘Well I’m not agreeing. That hybrid’s bringing this shop more business than the lot of you would ever get, and if they pay to see that freak, they’ll pay to see you as well. The Raven is staying.’

‘With respect, sir,’ Lionel said. ‘No.’

‘No? I’m your manager! You can’t just –’

‘We can, actually. We’re the ones who make the money, Mister Pace, and if we don’t go out, the show can’t go on.’

Pace’s face turned pink. ‘Are you threatening me, Lyndon?’

‘I’m Lionel, sir. No, I am not threatening you. Just bargaining. Unless the Raven goes, there’s no show.’

‘Now look here,’ began Quennel. ‘You can’t fold up everything like that just because the Raven upset you. She can be difficult, I know, but if you just give her time, she’ll get better.’

Eldreda laughed. It sounded harsh and short, more like a bark. ‘If I found a rabid dog, Mister Quennel, I would shoot it. I wouldn’t give it time, and neither would you. Your freak goes.’

Another uncomfortable silence. For the first time I noticed Morley and Mistress Addie in the doorway. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece, a strangely mundane, homely sound in the tightly strung room.

Pace blew out his breath in a huff and shrugged his shoulders. ‘We’ll talk about this more in the morning. I’ll tell the watch about the break-in, see if they picked up anyone tonight. You freaks go back to sleep. You’re tired and upset; if you sleep on it, it’ll be better in the morning.’ He turned and went out. I heard him go back to his room and close the door.

Quennel looked at the freaks: Eldreda grimly defiant, Frona still tear-damp and shaking, Colby silent but unforgiving, the twins furious and showing it.

‘We mean it, sir,’ Eldreda said.

Quennel yanked me to my feet and pushed me out, past Morley, along the corridor to his own room. My stomach seemed to be full of eels, all writhing about and tying themselves into knots.

‘When,’ Quennel whispered through clenched teeth, twisting my wrists sideways, ‘when, oh when, oh when will you learn?’

‘I didn’t do anything, Master! I really didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t! The others, they just didn’t like me, they don’t like hybrids and they had a candle and they were going to burn my hand and I thought she would scream, and I didn’t want to get burned and they kept on whispering so no one would hear –’

Quennel shoved me against the bed, and fumbled to find his trousers on the floor. He unthreaded his belt. I buried my face in the patchwork quilt, the squares of material creating a mad, distorted jigsaw in front of my eyes. An embroidered daisy on red cotton. Light blue feathering across a cream background. Rough brown homespun, coarse and practical. The neat stitching binding them together; thin white thread running out and through like a spider web of sinews.

Quennel swung the belt, and I closed my eyes against the impact, taking refuge in the plain darkness behind my eyelids.


---

I think this is the worst chapter yet. It was awful to write, anyway. Obviously, comments on the whole thing, please, and especially whether it was rushed, whether the whole thing worked, whether you understood it all, and what you think of all the characters now.

Heh, I missed that chapter with the rest of the freaks in it, somehow. I was like, wait, what happened to the guy with the stutter! *facepalm* And Raven is a bitch. XD She's funny. I would think more people would think she was mad, talking like that.


Those titles are still driving me crazy. I want to know what they mean! I only speak American English and fragments of Russian. Welsh is beyond me, though I learned a few pronunciation rules from reading the Dark is Rising sequence by Susan Cooper. And I digress.

I tried to scrub my upper arms with my hands and still stay asleep but it didn’t work.

"Without waking" might sound better than "and still stay asleep."

The sleeping shapes of the others made solid shadows on the floor and in the two chairs.

I'd use "silhouettes" instead of shadows. I actually thought you were talking about their shadows until I saw the "in the two chairs" part.

I remembered one time asking Da if rats could still give you the black plague.

"one time asking Da" sounds a little awkward. Maybe "I remembered asking Da, one time, if rats..." Not sure tho. Also not sure whether the Black Plague should be capitalized or not.

‘Oh it does!’

Comma after "oh."

Da had rolled his black eyes.

That detail about his eye color feels a little forced to me.

Leaving Grey’s Anatomy didn’t hurt, though…

Ellipses are almost never necessary. Use a period.

‘It’s in here!’ someone whispered and four people darted into the room.

Comma after "and."

It all happened so suddenly, my mind was still on Izzie and George and Meredith when someone grabbed me and yanked me up by my hair.

I'd use a semicolon here. You've got two complete thoughts, so a comma's not enough.

‘Please – let go my hair – you’re hurting –’

Not sure if you meant to leave out "of" in "let go of my hair."

The red-headed one held the candle close to my face, and I stared at him.

We don't know there's a redhead, yet. Introduce us. "One, a redhead, held the candle..."

‘They go all gold like, in the light.’

"Gold-like."

Frona was sitting up and yawning, one hand pushing back her hair from her face.

"Pushing back her hair from her face with one hand."

‘Private viewers, love,’ one of the blondies said, smirking.

You never told us there were any blondes, either.

Frona’s mouth was a little open

Maybe "Frona's mouth gaped a little," might sound better.

The others began to snigger.

"Began to" seems unnecessary here. It kind of implies that they continue to snigger for a long time. Of course, if that's what you meant, by all means, leave it.

Frona stared at him, then leaned over to shake the twins awake, but the boy swatted her hand down.

This sounds like a list of things that happened. Show, don't tell, remember?

‘But I don’t understand,’ she began.

Comma after "but."

she had suddenly got hold of an idea of how this might end.

"Got hold of an idea" is weak phrasing. I know you can do better than that.

‘Pace!’ Eldreda’s scream almost blew out the candle flame. Colby jerked awake and the twins snapped upright simultaneously.

Took them long enough. Must be heavy sleepers! XD

Redhead put his head on one side

That sounds a little strange. I'd use "tilted his head to one side."

and Rigg hesitated for only a moment longer. ’Come on!’ He dashed out of the door.

and Rigg hesitated only long enough to call out to his friend before dashing out of the door. "Come on!"

Redhead patted my shoulder lightly, released my collar and followed suit.

I'd delete "suit" and put the period after "followed."

She was still crying silently, and he pulled her to him, hugging her tightly.

"She was still crying, silently, and he pulled her to him in a tight hug."

still too gob smacked to do anything

What the hell is "gob smacked?" I mean, I get the general idea, but it seems a weird term.


I didn't find any real problems in the rest of the story, and I was too busy enjoying the read to spot the nitpicky stuff. I really like the way you put this together. We're sympathetic for Raven, of course, as she's the POV character, and we think the freaks are over-reacting, because she was threatened, but, at the same time, she did behave very passively in the situation and was going to let the boys do as they wish upon thread of a little candle. You can clearly see both sides of this situation. I think you did a very good job with this, and I don't think it was your "wost chapter yet."

As for the characters, I see Raven as a selfish bitch, but also a half-mad child struggling to cope with a terrible life. The rest of the freaks seem to be a close-knit band, unwilling to accept outsiders, and fiercy protective of their own.

Well done, and I can't wait to see more of this! However, I'd like to see some kind of idea of a larger plot. Right now, the story is good, but it doesn't really seem to be going anywhere. They're travelling from place to place, putting on a show, suffering antagonism - but what else? What is the plot behind this story? I'd like to see things pick up a little in the upcoming chapters.

Wow, I'm glad the Proff was here before me--now I don't feel so bad about not giving you a nit-picky crit.

‘Oh it does!’ I had assured him. ‘It was on House. You can still get it, I just wondered if you could still get it from rats.’

0.0 I think I can safely say that this is the first Fantasy reference ever made to House. (P.S. I love that show!)

That was one of the main downers of living in a alternative past – the lack of medical dramas.

Aha! A hint!


Wow. How can you even think this is the worst chapter yet? Those two are my only comments, and they’re not even critiques! You’ve given me so little to edit that I doubt this post will even count as a review! It was spectacular, darling. Not rushed at all, but tense and frightening and wonderfully done. The only thing you might improve on just a tiny bit is the way the freaks reacted to Raven’s actions (or lack thereof), some more explanation might be nice. Also, does Raven have a particular fear of fire? Is it an Elf or Half-Elf thing? Some idea of why she didn’t call for help or struggle might be nice, too. Really lovely, darling.

P.S. Don’t feel bad—the chapters I think I stink on are almost always the chapters everyone loves. It’s kind of a bummer, isn’t it?

Cyfeiriad newydd

‘Look, I’m… I’m really sorry about all of this, Quennel.’ Pace popped his knuckles, looking at the hall floorboards. ‘I don’t understand the freaks. They’ve never been this… difficult… before.’

‘You don’t have to apologize,’ Quennel said stiffly. He held my lead tightly; I could feel the tension in his grip. ‘The Raven can be difficult to get along with. We’ll find somewhere else.’

‘If you need anything –’

‘No. Thanks. But no.’ Quennel opened the front door and went out with his head in the air. Morley trailed behind, juggling the luggage in his arms. The early morning air was sharp and damp, and little wreathes of mist curled over the dewy street cobbles. I looked over my shoulder; Pace was watching us go, and he raised his hand in a little wave. Quennel didn’t look back. He kept his head up, strode confidently to the end of the street and turned the corner. Then he stopped and leaned against the wall.

Morley, trying to support the slipping crate, asked, ‘Why are we stopping?’

‘To think about where to go next, idiot!’ Quennel snapped.

I began licking a scratch on my wrist. My back and shoulders still hurt from last night, but Quennel was very good at causing pain without causing damage. He had scratched my wrist with his nails, though, and it stung.

‘Well, where are the other freak shops?’ Morley asked.

‘I looked into them before I decided to share with Pace. They’re all full up.’

‘There can’t be that many freaks running around,’ I said between licks. ‘Or is it a lack of freak shops? Why not start a new shop?’

Quennel cuffed my ear. ‘Be quiet. It’s a lack of freak shops.’ He thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘We’ll just have to try normal shops, then. See if they’ve got a spare back room.’

Morley hefted the crate again. ‘Can’t you take something?’

‘No.’ Quennel straightened and headed for the nearest shop.

‘He’s too important,’ I told Morley wisely.

Morley snorted and followed. The shop was a watchmaker’s; the walls were filled with clocks and a huge grandfather clock stood in one corner. A man sat behind the counter, peering through a jeweller’s glass at a pocket watch in his hand. He looked up as we entered, and the glass fell out of his eye like an upper class twit’s monocle.

‘Good morning,’ Quennel began politely. ‘I wonder if you had –’

‘What is that?’ The watchmaker’s eyebrows were touching his hairline.

Quennel smiled. ‘This, sir, is my fortune.’

‘Looks like a hybrid to me,’ said a new voice. A curtain hung behind the counter and a boy had pushed past it and stood watching. ‘’Tis a hybrid,’ he said. ‘It’s the one from the freak shop in the next street. I went and saw it and all.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Quennel tried not to show his irritation. ‘A hybrid. I was wondering if you had a spare room or a shed that you wouldn’t mind hiring out.’

The watchmaker frowned. ‘And you’d show this… hybrid… in it?’

‘That is our hope, sir, yes.’

The watchmaker leaned his elbows on the counter top and surveyed me. I blinked at him, felt Quennel’s grip on my lead tighten.

‘Does it talk?’ the watchmaker asked.

‘Oh yes, sir. Say something Raven.’

I smiled. ‘Your assistant is a cross-dresser.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

The boy’s mouth opened in outrage. ‘I am not! Whatever a cross-dresser is, I’m not one of them.’

‘What if it’s a good thing?’ I asked him. ‘You’re throwing away a compliment.’

‘I…’

‘That’s enough, Corey,’ the watchmaker said. The boy disappeared back behind the curtain, and his master took up his glass again.

‘Sir?’ Quennel queried.

‘No. I’m sorry, but it’s…’ He sighed and stared at the watch in his hands. ‘I just wouldn’t feel comfortable with it. It’s too – too unnatural. I’m sorry.’

‘But sir,’ Quennel began, then stopped. ‘Very well. Good morning.’

‘Good morning.’

Back in the street, Quennel started towards the next shop – a jeweller’s. Then he paused. ‘Hey, Morley.’

‘Can you at least take the crate?’

‘Morley, you stay outside with the hybrid this time.’ Quennel gave me a pointed look. ‘That way there’s no chance for bad behaviour, is there?’

Morley shrugged and took my lead. Quennel went into the shop and Morley put the luggage on the ground and leaned against the wall. I squatted down on my heels and surveyed the street.

An artist wanting to paint the scene would have been kept very busy, I decided. I had a mental image of an artist hunkering over his easel, sending paint spattering everywhere in his frantic efforts to capture the burgeoning bustle of the early morning street traffic. Over against the opposite wall stood a crouched old man selling laces. A few paces away from him was a little girl selling apples, and she was soon joined by another little girl with a tray of ribbons around her neck.

A ballad seller passed by, crying, ‘All come hear the tale of Kendal Grover and his unfaithful murderin’ wife! A penny a sheet! A penny a ballad, a penny, a penny, a penny, a penny for a ballad!’

A man with a donkey cart loaded with vegetables turned into the street; a boy walked beside him, shrieking out over and over again, ‘Peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas,’ with hardly a pause for breath.

‘Too noisy,’ Morley grumbled.

‘Silence is golden,’ I agreed.

‘Silence is golden?’ Morley gave me a sceptical glance. ‘Since when have you known about keeping silent?’

I grinned. ‘You know about playing sour notes, but you don’t play your whistle out of tune.’

‘There’s a difference between silence and music.’

‘Oh-h, but of course. One’s blue and the other’s multi-coloured, sa?’

‘No sa.’ Morley dug the toe of his boot against the cobbles and sent a pebble skittering into the gutter. A small boy picking over the rubbish there sent Morley a violent glare and hunched a thin shoulder, his grubby fingers curling over the pebble as though he wanted to throw it back.

‘Muffins! Hot, piping hot, r-r-ree-king hot muffins!’ The muffin man swung his heavy bell in one hand and steadied the tray on his head with the other. ‘Muffins! Three a penny!’

Quennel came stalking out of the shop and, squaring his shoulders, went straight into the next one.

‘No go, then,’ I observed.

‘No. You’re too repulsive, that’s why,’ Morley said crushingly. ‘If you had three heads and a tail, it’d be easier to find somewhere to go.’

‘Well, okay, then,’ I said obligingly. ‘You cut off your head and Quennel’s head and find a stray cat’s tail. Then we’ll stick them on with super-glue, and no one’ll ever notice the difference.’

‘Be quiet.’

‘I thought it was a good idea.’

‘Well it isn’t.’

‘Oh, blow you, then.’ I began to whistle ‘This is Halloween.’

Morley yanked on my lead so hard that I choked. ‘Shut up!’

I shut up and sat down on the pavement with my legs outstretched, running a finger under my collar to ease it. The wind blew strands of my hair into my mouth and eyes, lifting my feather there and bumping it against my shoulder. I caught it with a handful of hair and looked at them together: fine black strands of hair tangled around a rather ragged black feather. I tried to smooth the feather out, zip it together again, but some of the barbs were broken and wouldn’t catch against each other. It needed replacing, really. After all, how could I look smart and exhibitable with untidy plumage? People would think I had no sense of neatness.

‘Morley sir.’

‘What?’

Quennel left the second shop and went into the next one.

‘Morley sir, I need new feathers.’

‘What?’ He turned his head and stared. ‘You need new what?’

‘Feathers,’ I explained, twirling my feather between finger and thumb. ‘See, it’s all old and broken. And my other ones as well.’ I swivelled my wrists and ankles, showing him the state of the feathers there. ‘I’m all ill-shod and sullified. Besmirched. Tarnished. Polluted. Unshipshape. Inverted spick and perverted span.’

‘Talk to Quennel.’ Morley hunched his shoulders.

‘Master’s in the shops,’ I pointed out.

‘No he isn’t, he’s coming back.’

Quennel was indeed crossing the street, avoiding a woman with a basket of fish on either arm and a donkey cart full of cabbages.

‘No luck?’ Morley called.

‘Obviously not,’ Quennel retorted, and went straight past us into the shop behind.

It was the same in all the shops we tried. Either there was no room to spare, or the owner wanted more money than Quennel could afford. Most often though, it was that no one wanted a hybrid on the premises. It was too unnatural, too wild, too strange. Yes, they were sure Mister Quennel had it under control, but they wouldn’t feel easy, knowing that a hybrid was in their back room. They had children to think of, too. What if they went in and saw it and got scared? What if the hybrid got loose and hurt someone? No, they were sorry, but…

By the end of the day, Quennel was in a thoroughly bad temper. My feet hurt, and Morley was banging the crate against his leg with every step he took. Quennel was no longer quite as polite as he should have been when asking for a room, and I knew that we wouldn’t find anywhere tonight.

Quennel eventually took us to a small inn called The Oak and Crown near Klaes Gate and managed to persuade the landlord to let us have a room for the night. The landlord chewed on his lower lip, eyed me, said, ‘Just make sure it doesn’t get loose,’ and took the tuppence Quennel pushed into his hand.

Morley dumped the crate on the floor of our room with a sigh of relief. ‘Quennel, can you please carry it tomorrow?’

‘No I cannot! I’ve got enough to worry about without hulking a dirty great crate around with me all the time.’ Quennel sat down on the bed and scowled at the floor, digging his fingernails into the stitching on my lead. I sat next by his feet, rubbing a sore spot on my ankle.

‘Well, that’s that for today, then,’ Morley said. ‘Are you going to go down and get supper, or what?’

‘You go get it.’

‘But… Oh, all right.’ Morley sighed, scratched his head and went out.

Quennel stared at the floor for a moment longer, then he reached down and unclipped my lead from my collar. I smiled and curled up on the floor. ‘Thank you, Master.’

‘You are impossible, Raven, you know that? Impossible.’

‘Master is too kind.’

‘You’re too good a freak. You’re too much of a horror. In Londlow and Arlow and Obury and all the other places we’ve been to, people haven’t been that sensitive. They didn’t ’ave a watch there, either. But here…’ He sighed, almost groaned. ‘The watch close down the freak shops that offend people too much. I’ve got a feeling that you’re going to be one of the more offensive freaks. People here just look at you and think about what a depraved animal you must be. It’s like the people who don’t like menageries, ’cause of the animals not looking ’appy and all.’

‘Animal Rights Activists,’ I said, stretching my neck out and in again. ‘Save the skunks and hug the nettles. Give the bramble a seat in Parliament.’

‘I mean, I never thought we’d ’ave this much trouble. Competition with other freaks, yes, but not people just saying “no” without giving a proper reason.’

‘Maybe we should try a new angle,’ I suggested. ‘A new name or something. The Fantastic Elastic Freak – and I can do pirouettes and grand assemblé en tournant and a cabriole or two. And, Master, I need new feathers.’

‘Feathers?’ He looked down at me and tutted. ‘You go through them far too quickly.’

‘But they matt even quicker, Master.’

‘Oh, all right. I’ll start the next bundle with the next performance. Whenever that may be.’

I rested my cheek on my hand and decided not to answer.

---

The next day we headed further into the city. There were more shops here than on the outskirts of Selseaton, but even less enthusiasm. Quennel tried everywhere: the butcher’s, the baker’s and the candlestick maker’s, but it was no use. Even my new feathers didn’t help soften the people’s hearts, and I supposed that Quennel was right. I was too shocking, too disturbing to be successful in the way that Pace’s freaks were successful. Even Frona, tragic though she was, with her pretty face and hunched back, was easier to sympathize with than The Only Hybrid In Kiona.

Sometimes it seemed as though I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t been a freak. I must have always been with Quennel and Morley, always lived in Kiona, always been exhibited about the country. But there was something else, always some memory tucked away at the back of my mind that pulled me back from forgetting. A memory of a time when there had been smiles and laughter and warm sun sparkling off the face of Big Ben. A memory of a man with black eyes and black hair and a sing-song way of speaking, who spread my sleeping bag on rough pavements and called me cariad.

Then the memory would harden and solidify and I would remember that it was Da who had called me that, lilting the word in his Welsh accent. I would wonder how I could have possibly forgotten him; the way he grinned, pulling up one corner of his mouth, the way he stirred his coffee, little finger unconsciously cocked in the air, the way he read Shakespeare, savouring the rhythm of the words and phrases that I often couldn’t make head or tail of.

I remembered lying next to my brother and sister in a dark corner of a subway, huddling together to keep warm. Da had managed to get his arm around all of us, and with his free hand he held a battered copy of Midsummer Night’s Dream.

‘Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere…’

It was so difficult to remember, sometimes. Someone had once told me that Elves have extremely short memories. It was to do with their shame, their secret that the humans weren’t supposed to know about. It seemed that the hybrids had got the Elves’ bad memories along with their shame as well. Only with the hybrids, it wasn’t a secret shame, because everyone knew about it and that was why they hated us.

They certainly hated us in Selseaton. Quennel tended to use a lot of bad language in the weeks that we spent there. We usually managed to find an inn that would let us stay the night, but we always had to move on the next day. Then there would be another fruitless day of searching.

Once, Quennel managed to hire a stable stall in a small, squalid public house near Pegger’s Court. Our exhibition there lasted a grand total of two days before the watch closed us down and we had to move on again.

---

One evening at the end of our daily round, we found an abandoned house in Eartha Street. The whole neighbourhood was rather seedy, the type of place where people got mugged on their way home from work without too many eyebrows being raised by the neighbours, and the watch tended to be extra zealous there in consequence.

Morley wrinkled his nose at the dirty, timbered building. ‘It’s not very clean, is it?’

‘Morley, my dear chap.’ Quennel looked up and down the street, making sure that no one was providing an audience to this display of breaking and entering. ‘What does clean matter?’

‘Speaking personally,’ I said, ‘it matters quite a bit.’

Quennel got his knife out of his pocket and began levering out the nails holding the window shutters closed. ‘Raven. You want to have a show, don’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Yes, Master. I want a show.’

‘Good. You’ll just have to put your cat-habits on one side for now. Morley don’t just stand there gawping, come and help.’

They managed to prise open one window shutter, and Quennel boosted me up, saying, ‘Climb through and see if it’s all right inside. Then come back.’

‘Yes Master.’ Obediently, I climbed through the small gap and landed on the floor inside. It was almost pitch black; the only light came through the half open window which Quennel was looking through. He saw the trouble and moved behind the remaining shutter.

His voice came clearly: ‘Hurry up, Raven, or the watch’ll come.’

I was tempted to dawdle and see Quennel sweat, but he had a point. If the watch did catch us breaking in, even into an abandoned house, it might be days before we were allowed anywhere near here again. And then, goodbye any hopes of the Fantastic Elastic Freak idea.

The light from the window was blocked as Quennel looked in. ‘Get a move on!’ he hissed.

‘Yes, Master.’

The room I was in must have once been used as a kitchen. I could dimly see a table with a huge split down the middle and a fireplace set in one wall with a rusted, broken spit. I wrinkled my nose; the whole place stank, and there was something rotting nearby.

There was only one other room downstairs, and that was filled with rubbish, broken furniture and the decaying body of what had once been a cat. It smelt even worse at close quarters, and I quickly left to find the stairs. The upstairs consisted of a large, bare attic with a smashed oil lamp in one corner. My feet left a trail of prints on the dusty floorboards. I squatted down on my heels and spent a few minutes drawing pictures in the dirt.

First I drew a cat – my cat, the one that had died over a year ago. I drew him sitting bolt upright, his tail curled tight around his toes, his eyes tiny horizontal slits as he gazed into the distance. I wrote his name, ‘Hamlet,’ underneath, and then moved onto a fresh stretch of floorboard. I drew a smiley face with big, protruding ears and a missing tooth, and next to that I drew a sad face with long ringlets and perfect eyelashes. As a final finishing touch, I added, ‘Quennel is an flatulent blonde porpoise,’ underneath.

I rubbed the dust off my finger and went downstairs, wincing as the boards creaked. The smell of the dead cat made me gag, and I hurried through to the kitchen.

‘It’s okay in here,’ I announced, poking my head through the window. ‘Just a bit pongy and dirty, that’s all.’

‘Raven –’

‘Oh,’ said the captain of the watch, raising an eyebrow. ‘Not doing anything ’ere, are you?’

‘Hello,’ I said, looking past him to the rest of the watch gathered in a formidable knot around Quennel and Morley. ‘Are you the tax gatherers?’

The captain jerked a thumb at me. ‘Get that out of there.’

‘Come on, Raven,’ Quennel muttered. He lifted me down from the window and wrapped my lead around his wrist.

‘Right,’ the captain said, one hand on his belt, resting on his pistol. ‘And just what were you doin’ in there, may I ask?’

‘You mayn’t,’ I said.

Quennel laughed nervously. ‘We, ah, we thought there was an intruder and I, ah, sent the hybrid in to… to look around.’

‘An intruder in an abandoned house?’ the captain queried. ‘I think, sir…’

‘That you must warn us that anything we say may be used against us?’ I suggested.

The captain sighed. ‘Sir, it’d be nice if you could keep your creature quiet. Now sir, it’s getting late. Just you come down to the watch-house and we can –’

‘We weren’t doing anything!’ Quennel insisted.

‘Then, sir, you won’t coming, will you, sir?’

Quennel cast a wild look around, then dashed away down the street. He still had my lead around his wrist, and, taken by surprise, I tripped and got tangled up with one of the watch’s legs. Quennel was brought to a halt and the watch captain got him by the shoulders. Quennel punched him, the captain punched him back and the rest of the watch flung themselves into the fray.

In the middle of the fight, someone’s elbow crashed into my nose and I squealed, eyes watering. Dropping down all fours, I tried to scuttle away, but the captain hauled me back.

‘Heel!’ he panted, and I sat down on his feet.

It was all over astonishingly quickly. By the time it had finished, several of the watch were in various stages of dishevelment, Quennel had a split lip and the beginnings of a black eye, Morley’s shirt was ripped along the shoulder and his cheek was grazed and bleeding. The watch lieutenant finished strapping Quennel’s wrists together and said, ‘All done, sir. You got the… the, uh…’

‘The hybrid,’ Quennel ground out between his teeth.

‘Oh, an ’ybrid?’ The watch captain eyed me with interest.

My nose had started to bleed. I pressed the back of my wrist against the flow and blinked at him from over the top.

‘Well I never,’ he said. ‘An actual ’ybrid.’ He smiled and clucked his tongue, tugging my lead gently. ‘Come along then, ’ybrid.’


---

Cariad = Welsh for darling, sweetheart

I'm most worried about the narrative here. Is it too much, 'then it was this' and 'then it so happened that'? Too bland? And the whole memory thing, with the Raven's past, is that too thingyummy?

Still with the untranslated titles, I see. Well, I guess I'll just give up on that one. If I really wanted to know what they said, I could paste them into an online translater.

‘Look, I’m… I’m really sorry about all of this, Quennel.’ Pace popped his knuckles, looking at the hall floorboards. ‘I don’t understand the freaks. They’ve never been this… difficult… before.’

I'd use dashes instead of ellipses in all cases. Those three little dots are almost always trouble.
"Look, I'm- I'm really sorry about all of this, Quennel." Pace popped his knuckles, eyes locked on the hall floorboards. "I don't understand the freaks. They've never been this- this difficult before."
Something more along those lines, anyway.

‘You don’t have to apologize,’ Quennel said stiffly. He held my lead tightly; I could feel the tension in his grip. ‘The Raven can be difficult to get along with. We’ll find somewhere else.’

‘If you need anything –’

For some reason, that sentence about holding the lead doesn't seem to quite fit in where you've put it. I'm not sure quite what to do with it, but it feels awkward where it is.

‘No. Thanks. But no.’ Quennel opened the front door and went out with his head in the air. Morley trailed behind, juggling the luggage in his arms. The early morning air was sharp and damp, and little wreathes of mist curled over the dewy street cobbles. I looked over my shoulder; Pace was watching us go, and he raised his hand in a little wave. Quennel didn’t look back. He kept his head up, strode confidently to the end of the street and turned the corner. Then he stopped and leaned against the wall.

"No. Thanks, but no." Quennel turned and exited through the front door, head held high."
All your sentences in this paragraph start with "he," "the," "I," "then," and such. I'd consider revising.

Morley, trying to support the slipping crate, asked, ‘Why are we stopping?’

‘To think about where to go next, idiot!’ Quennel snapped.

Haha. Sucks to be you, doesn't it, Quennel?

I began licking a scratch on my wrist. My back and shoulders still hurt from last night, but Quennel was very good at causing pain without causing damage. He had scratched my wrist with his nails, though, and it stung.

I'd reword the initial sentence so that she notices the scratch first. Something like:
"A small scratch on my wrist had begun to bleed again, and I began licking it to soothe the sting."
The middle line is good, but the last one is a little redundant.
"without causing damage. He'd only scratched my wrist by accident, with his nails, when he'd grabbed me."
Something more like that, perhaps.

‘Well, where are the other freak shops?’ Morley asked.

‘I looked into them before I decided to share with Pace. They’re all full up.’

Haha, again. Have I mentioned I don't like Quennel? lol
Oh, and I'd remove "up," but that's just me.

‘There can’t be that many freaks running around,’ I said between licks. ‘Or is it a lack of freak shops? Why not start a new shop?’

Quennel cuffed my ear. ‘Be quiet. It’s a lack of freak shops.’ He thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘We’ll just have to try normal shops, then. See if they’ve got a spare back room.’

What kind of shop, other than a freak shop, would house a freak? You might be able to get a back room to sleep in, but I doubt you'd make any money that way. I'd think his next move would be to try a different city, but that's just me.

Morley hefted the crate again. ‘Can’t you take something?’

‘No.’ Quennel straightened and headed for the nearest shop.

‘He’s too important,’ I told Morley wisely.

I love your portrayal of Quennel. He is such an ass.

Morley snorted and followed. The shop was a watchmaker’s; the walls were filled with clocks and a huge grandfather clock stood in one corner. A man sat behind the counter, peering through a jeweller’s glass at a pocket watch in his hand. He looked up as we entered, and the glass fell out of his eye like an upper class twit’s monocle.

I'd probably use a colon instead of a semicolon in the first sentence, but I don't think your punctuation is incorrect. I'd reword parts of the sentence, though.
"The closest shop belonged to a watchmaker: the walls were filled with myriad timepieces, and a huge grandfather clock stood in one corner."

‘Good morning,’ Quennel began politely. ‘I wonder if you had –’

‘What is that?’ The watchmaker’s eyebrows were touching his hairline.

Quennel smiled. ‘This, sir, is my fortune.’

‘Looks like a hybrid to me,’ said a new voice. A curtain hung behind the counter and a boy had pushed past it and stood watching. ‘’Tis a hybrid,’ he said. ‘It’s the one from the freak shop in the next street. I went and saw it and all.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Quennel tried not to show his irritation. ‘A hybrid. I was wondering if you had a spare room or a shed that you wouldn’t mind hiring out.’

The watchmaker frowned. ‘And you’d show this… hybrid… in it?’

I like the dialogue here. The only thing I have to comment on are those ellipses. I'd find a way to puntuate that sentence so that you don't need them, were I you.

‘That is our hope, sir, yes.’

The watchmaker leaned his elbows on the counter top and surveyed me. I blinked at him, felt Quennel’s grip on my lead tighten.

‘Does it talk?’ the watchmaker asked.

‘Oh yes, sir. Say something Raven.’

I smiled. ‘Your assistant is a cross-dresser.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

The boy’s mouth opened in outrage. ‘I am not! Whatever a cross-dresser is, I’m not one of them.’

‘What if it’s a good thing?’ I asked him. ‘You’re throwing away a compliment.’

‘I…’

‘That’s enough, Corey,’ the watchmaker said. The boy disappeared back behind the curtain, and his master took up his glass again.

More good dialogue. If the boy's being cut off there, a dash would be better than the ellipsis you have.

‘Sir?’ Quennel queried.

‘No. I’m sorry, but it’s…’ He sighed and stared at the watch in his hands. ‘I just wouldn’t feel comfortable with it. It’s too – too unnatural. I’m sorry.’

‘But sir,’ Quennel began, then stopped. ‘Very well. Good morning.’

‘Good morning.’

Now, I think this particular ellipsis works.

I like the dialogue here in this section of the chapter. It all flowed well, and it was an amusing read. I hardly had anything to comment on at all! The only thing I should mention is that this seems largely pointless except as an example of the general attitude of the town, and you've remedied that; I see that in the next section Quennel decides to leave Raven outside, so he's learned from the encounter. Good work!

Back in the street, Quennel started towards the next shop – a jeweller’s. Then he paused. ‘Hey, Morley.’

I'd use a comma instead of that dash. And you need a comma after "then."

‘Can you take the crate at least…’

Use a question mark instead.

‘Morley, you stay outside with the hybrid this time.’ Quennel gave me a pointed look. ‘That way there’s no chance for bad behaviour, is there?’

I'd take off "is there" and put the period after "behavior."

Morley shrugged and took my lead. Quennel went into the shop and Morley put the luggage on the ground and leaned against the wall. I squatted down on my heels and surveyed the street.

"Morley shrugged and took my lead, putting the luggage on the ground and leaning against the wall as Quennel entered the shop. I squatted down on my heels and surveyed the street."

An artist wanting to paint the scene would have been kept very busy, I decided. I had a mental image of an artist hunkering over his easel, sending paint spattering everywhere in his frantic efforts to capture the burgeoning bustle of the early morning street traffic. Over against the opposite wall stood a crouched old man selling laces. A few paces away from him was a little girl selling apples, and she was soon joined by another little girl with a tray of ribbons around her neck.

Good description here, but I'd cut that first sentence and amend the beginning of the second to accomodate. So the beginning of your paragraph would be:
"The busy scene gave me a mental image of..."

A ballad seller passed by, crying, ‘All come hear the tale of Kendal Grover and his unfaithful murderin’ wife! A penny a sheet! A penny a ballad, a penny, a penny, a penny, a penny for a ballad!’

Comma after "unfaithful." Also, awesome. XD

A man with a donkey cart loaded with vegetables turned into the street; a boy walked beside him, shrieking out over and over again, ‘Peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas, peas,’ with hardly a pause for breath.

‘Too noisy,’ Morley grumbled.

‘Silence is golden,’ I agreed.

‘Silence is golden?’ Morley gave me a sceptical glance. ‘Since when have you known about keeping silent?’

Good point. *laughs*

I grinned. ‘You know about playing sour notes, but you don’t play your whistle out of tune.’

‘There’s a difference between silence and music.’

‘Oh-h, but of course. One’s blue and the other’s multi-coloured, sa?’

‘No sa.’ Morley dug the toe of his boot against the cobbles and sent a pebble skittering into the gutter. A small boy picking over the rubbish sent Morley a violent glare and hunched a thin shoulder, his grubby fingers curling over the pebble as though he wanted to throw it back.

POW! And Morley's skull is cracked.

‘Muffins! Hot, piping hot, r-r-ree-king hot muffins!’ The muffin man swung his heavy bell in one hand and steadied the tray on his head with the other. ‘Muffins! Three a penny!’

...since when is "reeking" a selling point?

Quennel came stalking out of the shop and, squaring his shoulders, went straight into the next one.

‘No go, then,’ I observed.

‘No. You’re too repulsive, that’s why,’ Morley said crushingly. ‘If you had three heads and a tail, it’d be easier to find somewhere to go.’

Ouch. And here I was thinking Morley was friendly. *growls*

‘Well, okay, then,’ I said obligingly. ‘You cut off your head and Quennel’s head and find a stray cat’s tail. Then we’ll stick them on with super-glue, and no one’ll ever notice the difference.’

roflmfao, srsly.

‘Be quiet.’

‘I thought it was a good idea.’

‘Well it isn’t.’

‘Oh, blow you, then.’ I began to whistle ‘This is Halloween.’

Morley yanked on my lead so hard that I choked. ‘Shut up!’

I shut up and sat down on the pavement with my legs outstretched, running a finger under my collar to ease it. The wind blew strands of my hair into my mouth and eyes, lifting my feather there and bumping it against my shoulder. I caught it with a handful of hair and looked at them together: fine black strands of hair tangled around a rather ragged black feather. I tried to smooth the feather out, zip it together again, but some of the barbs were broken and wouldn’t catch against each other. It needed replacing, really. After all, how could I look smart and exhibitable with untidy plumage? People would think I had no sense of neatness.

"It" is a little vague in the first sentence of the big paragraph.
"running a finger under my collar to ease my throat. The wind blew strands of my hair into my mouth and eyes, and lifted my feather, bumping it against my shoulder. Catching the feather, along with a handful of hair, I brought it close so that I could look at it: fine black strangs tangled around a ragged black quill. I tried to smooth the feather out, zip it together again..."
Just a little rephrasing here.

‘Morley sir.’

‘What?’

Quennel left the second shop and went into the next one.

‘Morley sir, I need new feathers.’

‘What?’ He turned his head and stared. ‘You need new what?’

‘Feathers,’ I explained, twirling my feather between finger and thumb. ‘See, it’s all old and broken. And my other ones as well.’ I swivelled my wrists and ankles, showing him the state of the feathers there. ‘I’m all ill-shod and sullified. Besmirched. Tarnished. Polluted. Unshipshape. Inverted spick and perverted span.’

Comma between "Morley" and "sir" in the first line and the third.
I can't tell if Raven is slowly going mad, or just desperately trying to keep herself sane.

‘Talk to Quennel.’ Morley hunched his shoulders.

‘Master’s in the shops,’ I pointed out.

‘No he isn’t, he’s coming back.’

Quennel was indeed crossing the street, avoiding a woman with a basket of fish on either arm and a donkey cart full of cabbages.

Comma between "no" and "he isn't." Also, commas on both sides of "indeed."

‘No luck?’ Morley called.

‘Obviously not,’ Quennel retorted, and went straight past us into the shop behind.

It was the same in all the shops we tried. Either there was no room to spare, or the owner wanted more money than Quennel could afford. Most often though, it was that no one wanted a hybrid on the premises. It was too unnatural, too wild, too strange. Yes, they were sure Mister Quennel had it under control, but they wouldn’t feel easy, knowing that a hybrid was in their back room. They had children to think of, too. What if they went in and saw it, what if the hybrid got loose and hurt someone? No, they were sorry, but…

I'd separate all those questions at the end of the paragraph and use question marks for all of them.

By the end of the day, Quennel was in a thoroughly bad temper. My feet hurt, and Morley was banging the crate against his leg with every step he took. Quennel was no longer quite as polite as he should have been when asking for a room, and I knew that we wouldn’t find anywhere tonight.

Quennel eventually took us to a small inn called The Oak and Crown near Klaes Gate and managed to persuade the landlord to let us have a room for the night. The landlord chewed on his lower lip, eyed me, said, ‘Just make sure it doesn’t get loose,’ and took the tuppence Quennel pushed into his hand.

Morley dumped the crate on the floor of our room with a sigh of relief. ‘Quennel, can you please carry it tomorrow?’

‘No I cannot! I’ve got enough to worry about without hulking a dirty great crate around with me all the time.’ Quennel sat down on the bed and scowled at the floor, digging his fingernails into the stitching on my lead. I sat next by his feet, rubbing a sore spot on my ankle.

‘Well, that’s that for today, then,’ Morley said. ‘Are you going to go down and get supper, or what?’

‘You go get it.’

‘But… Oh, all right.’ Morley sighed, scratched his head and went out.

Again, I'd use a dash instead of an ellipsis, but the rest of this is good. YOu're improving!

Quennel stared at the floor for a moment longer, then he reached down and unclipped my lead from my collar. I smiled and curled up on the floor. ‘Thank you, Master.’

‘You are impossible, Raven, you know that? Impossible.’

‘Master is too kind.’

‘You’re too good a freak. You’re too much of a horror. In Londlow and Arlow and Obury and all the other places we’ve been to, people haven’t been that sensitive. They didn’t ’ave a watch there, either. But here…’ He sighed, almost groaned. ‘The watch close down the freak shops that offend people too much. I’ve got a feeling that you’re going to be one of the more offensive freaks. People here just look at you and think about what a depraved animal you must be. It’s like the people who don’t like menageries, ’cause of the animals not looking ’appy and all.’

Suddenly he's not pronouncing his "Hs?" Now, what exactly is it about Raven that so terrifies people? Why is a hybrid so freaky, anyway? Are elves just these psycho wild animals, or what? I think we're going to need a little more background information on all of this fairly soon, before we start to get confused. Maybe once Quennel finds himself a new gig he could include a brief rundown in his introduction. Or maybe back in the very beginning of your story you could edit in the info.

‘Animal Rights Activists,’ I said, stretching my neck out and in again. ‘Save the skunks and hug the nettles. Give the bramble a seat in Parliament.’

‘I mean, I never thought we’d ’ave this much trouble. Competition with other freaks, but not people just saying “no” without giving a proper reason.’

‘Maybe we should try a new angle,’ I suggested. ‘A new name or something. The Fantastic Elastic Freak – and I can do pirouettes and grand assemblé en tournant and a cabriole or two. And, Master, I need new feathers.’

‘Feathers?’ He looked down at me and tutted. ‘You go through them far too quickly.’

‘But they matt even quicker, Master.’

‘Oh, all right. I’ll start the next bundle with the next performance. Whenever that may be.’

I rested my cheek on my hand and decided not to answer.

I'm not sure if "Animal Rights Activists" should be capitalized or not, so I'm gonna leave it be.
"Competition with other freaks, maybe, but not people just..."
"But they mat even quicker, Master."

The next day we headed further into the city. There were more shops here than on the outskirts of Selseaton, but even less enthusiasm. Quennel tried everywhere: the butcher’s, the baker’s and the candlestick maker’s, but it was no use. Even my new feathers didn’t help soften the people’s hearts, and I supposed that Quennel was right. I was too shocking, too disturbing to be successful in the way that Pace’s freaks were successful. Even Frona, tragic though she was, with her pretty face and hunched back, was easier to sympathize with than The Only Hybrid In Kiona.

"The next day, we headed..."
"...the butcher's, the baker's, and the candlestick maker's..."

Sometimes it seemed as though I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t been a freak. I must have always been with Quennel and Morley, always lived in Kiona, always been exhibited about the country. But there was something else, always some memory tucked away at the back of my mind that pulled me back from forgetting. A memory of a time when there had been smiles and laughter and warm sun sparkling off the face of Big Ben. A memory of a man with black eyes and black hair and a sing-song way of speaking, who spread my sleeping bag on rough pavements and called me cariad.

o.o Sounds creepy. Anyway, quote marks around "cariad," I think.

Then the memory would harden and solidify and I would remember that it was Da who had called me that, lilting the word in his Welsh accent. I would wonder how I could have possibly forgotten him; the way he grinned, pulling up one corner of his mouth, the way he stirred his coffee, little finger unconsciously cocked in the air, the way he read Shakespeare, savouring the rhythm of the words and phrases that I often couldn’t make head or tail of.

"Then the memory would solidify and I would recall that it was Da who had called..."
"...possibly forgotten him: the way he grinned, pulling up one corner of his mouth; the way he stirred his coffee, little finger unconsciously cocked in the air; the way he read Shakespeare, savouring the rhythm of the words and phrases of which I often could make neither head nor tail."

I remembered lying next to my brother and sister in a dark corner of a subway, huddling together to keep warm. Da had managed to get his arm around all of us, and with his free hand he held a battered copy of Midsummer Night’s Dream.

‘Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere…’

I'd just put a period here. And it sounds like her life before this land was pretty crappy, too. Poor kid got the shit end of the stick all the way around, didn't she?

It was so difficult to remember, sometimes. Someone had once told me that Elves have extremely short memories. It was to do with their shame, their secret that the humans weren’t supposed to know about. It seemed that the hybrids had got the Elves’ bad memories along with their shame as well. Only with the hybrids, it wasn’t a secret shame, because everyone knew about it and that was why they hated us.

Don't capitalize "elves," though I guess this one's a judgement call.
"It had to do with their shame, the secret that they kept from the humans. It seemed that the hybrids had inherited the elves' poor memories, as well as their shame. Except, with the hybrids, the shame was no longer secret, for everyone knew of it and hated us."
Some rephrasing, here.

They certainly hated us in Selseaton. Quennel tended to use a lot of bad language in the weeks that we spent there. We usually managed to find an inn that would let us stay the night, but we always had to move on the next day. Then there would be another fruitless day of searching.

Once, Quennel managed to hire a stable stall in a small, squalid public house near Pegger’s Court. Our exhibition there lasted a grand total of two days before the watch closed us down and we had to move on again.

Lame. Maybe it is time to move on to another city.

One evening at the end of our daily round, we found an abandoned house in Eartha Street. The whole neighbourhood was rather seedy, the type of place where people got mugged on their way home from work without too many eyebrows being raised by the neighbours, and the watch tended to be extra zealous there in consequence.

Morley wrinkled his nose at the dirty, timbered building. ‘It’s not very clean, is it?’

‘Morley, my dear chap.’ Quennel looked up and down the street, making sure that no one was providing an audience to this display of breaking and entering. ‘What does clean matter?’

‘Speaking personally,’ I said, ‘it matters quite a bit.’

Quennel got his knife out of his pocket and began levering out the nails holding the window shutters closed. ‘Raven. You want to have a show, don’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Yes, Master. I want a show.’

‘Good. You’ll just have to put your cat-habits on one side for now. Morley don’t just stand there gawping, come and help.’

You dialogue is fun.
"One evening, at the end of our daily round, we found..."
"and the watch, in consequence, tended to be extra zealous in the area."

They managed to prise open one window shutter, and Quennel boosted me up, saying, ‘Climb through and see if it’s all right inside. Then come back.’

‘Yes Master.’ Obediently, I climbed through the small gap and landed on the floor inside. It was almost pitch black; the only light came through the half open window which Quennel was looking through. He saw the trouble and moved behind the remaining shutter.

His voice came clearly: ‘Hurry up, Raven, or the watch’ll come.’

I was tempted to dawdle and see Quennel sweat, but he had a point. If the watch did catch us breaking in, even into an abandoned house, it might be days before we were allowed anywhere near here again. And then, goodbye any hopes of the Fantastic Elastic Freak idea.

The light from the window was blocked as Quennel looked in. ‘Get a move on!’ he hissed.

‘Yes, Master.’

The room I was in must have once been used as a kitchen. I could dimly see a table with a huge split down the middle and a fireplace set in one wall with a rusted, broken spit. I wrinkled my nose; the whole place stank, and there was something rotting nearby.

There was only one other room downstairs, and that was filled with rubbish, broken furniture and the decaying body of what had once been a cat. It smelt even worse at close quarters, and I quickly left to find the stairs. The upstairs consisted of a large, bare attic with a smashed oil lamp in one corner. My feet left a trail of prints on the dusty floorboards. I squatted down on my heels and spent a few minutes drawing pictures in the dirt.

First I drew a cat – my cat, the one that had died over a year ago. I drew him sitting bolt upright, his tail curled tight around his toes, his eyes tiny horizontal slits as he gazed into the distance. I wrote his name, ‘Hamlet,’ underneath, and then moved onto a fresh stretch of floorboard. I drew a smiley face with big, protruding ears and a missing tooth, and next to that I drew a sad face with long ringlets and perfect eyelashes. As a final finishing touch, I added, ‘Quennel is an flatulent blonde porpoise,’ underneath.

Oh, yeah, that's a good idea. lol, I thought she was in a hurry? She's probably just doing it to piss of Quennel, though. I like Raven.

I rubbed the dust off my finger and went downstairs, wincing as the boards creaked. The smell of the dead cat made me gag, and I hurried through to the kitchen.

‘It’s okay in here,’ I announced, poking my head through the window. ‘Just a bit pongy and dirty, that’s all.’

‘Raven –’

‘Oh,’ said the captain of the watch, raising an eyebrow. ‘Not doing anything ’ere, are you?’

And, there you have it. Shouldn't have wasted the time.

‘Hello,’ I said, looking past him to the rest of the watch gathered in a formidable knot around Quennel and Morley. ‘Are you the tax gatherers?’

The captain jerked a thumb at me. ‘Get that out of there.’

‘Come on, Raven,’ Quennel muttered. He lifted me down from the window and wrapped my lead around his wrist.

‘Right,’ the captain said, one hand on his belt, resting on his pistol. ‘And just what were you doin’ in there, may I ask?’

‘You mayn’t,’ I said.

Quennel laughed nervously. ‘We, ah, we thought there was an intruder and I, ah, sent the hybrid in to… to look around.’

‘An intruder in an abandoned house?’ the captain queried. ‘I think, sir…’

‘That you must warn us that anything we say may be used against us?’ I suggested.

You just love those ellipses, don't you? These should probably be dashes, instead.

The captain sighed. ‘Sir, it’d be nice if you could keep your creature quiet. Now sir, it’s getting late. Just you come down to the watch-house and we can –’

‘We weren’t doing anything!’ Quennel insisted.

‘Then, sir, you won’t coming, will you, sir?’

Quennel cast a wild look around, then dashed away down the street. He still had my lead around his wrist, and, taken by surprise, I tripped and got tangled up with one of the watch’s legs. Quennel was brought to a halt and the watch captain got him by the shoulders. Quennel punched him, the captain punched him back and the rest of the watch flung themselves into the fray.

In the middle of the fight, someone’s elbow crashed into my nose and I squealed, eyes watering. Dropping down all fours, I tried to scuttle away, but the captain hauled me back.

‘Heel!’ he panted, and I sat down on his feet.

It was all over astonishingly quickly. By the time it had finished, several of the watch were in various stages of dishevelment, Quennel had a split lip and the beginnings of a black eye, Morley’s shirt was ripped along the shoulder and his cheek was grazed and bleeding. The watch lieutenant finished strapping Quennel’s wrists together and said, ‘All done, sir. You got the… the, uh…’

‘The hybrid,’ Quennel ground out between his teeth.

You left out a word there in the guard's line. After Quennel says he wasn't doing anything.

‘Oh, an ’ybrid?’ The watch captain eyed me with interest.

My nose had started to bleed. I pressed the back of my wrist against the flow and blinked at him from over the top.

‘Well I never,’ he said. ‘An actual ’ybrid.’ He smiled and clucked his tongue, tugging my lead gently. ‘Come along then, ’ybrid.’

Well, dearie me, I never. XD


I think your chapters are improving progressively, which is definitely a good thing. By the time you're done with the story, you'll have everything down pat, and it'll be a piece of cake to go back and correct the initial paragraphs. As to your specific comment requests, I'd say that you do use "and then" a bit much, but it's not too bad. I hadn't really noticed much until you mentioned it. Raven's memories, on the other hand, seemed to fit into the story just fine where you put them, and it gave me some more insight into Raven's character and her past, which I appreciated. I've been getting a little frustrated, not being sure what's going on with her. I hope you'll continue to expand, as I'm hooked.

Be certain to let me know when you've posted another part; I'll be waiting with bated breath!

‘Look, I’m… I’m really sorry about all of this, Quennel.’ Pace popped his knuckles, looking at the hall floorboards. ‘I don’t understand the freaks. They’ve never been this… difficult… before.’

I had to read this a couple times before I got it. I assumed that the first sentence was Raven’s, and thus got confused. I’m not sure if that’s just me, but I thought it was worth mentioning in case you wanted to clarify a tad.

The shop was a watchmaker’s

This is a bit ambiguous—what shop was a watchmaker’s? The one we tried first, the one we finally settled on, what? Besides which, passive tense is a generally bad idea.

‘I am not! Whatever a cross-dresser is, I’m not one of them.’

Eh, I don’t know, it seems as if he wouldn’t admit ignorance right up front, not if he’s so proud as to deny it straight up.

An artist wanting to paint the scene would have been kept very busy, I decided. I had a mental image of an artist hunkering over his easel, sending paint spattering everywhere in his frantic efforts to capture the burgeoning bustle of the early morning street traffic.

Tis a bit redundant—I’d pick one sentence or the other, and the second one is cooler, so…

Morley gave me a sceptical glance.

Might be a Brit/Yank thing, but my spell-checker’s telling me that’s meant to be “skeptical.”

After all, how could I look smart and exhibitable with untidy plumage?

*snicker*

I swivelled my wrists and ankles,

Falcon’s spell-check says “swiveled.” But again, may be Brit/Yank.

. ‘I’m all ill-shod and sullified. Besmirched. Tarnished. Polluted. Unshipshape. Inverted spick and perverted span.’

*uncontrollable giggling* Seriously, I love her. She’s like a walking thesaurus sometimes.

Either there was no room to spare, or the owner wanted more money than Quennel could afford. Most often though, it was that no one wanted a hybrid on the premises.

“Either/or” indicates only two choices, so when you come in with “Most often” it really threw me. Perhaps try: “Sometimes there was no room to spare, or the owner….” What do you think?

The watch close down the freak shops that offend people too much.

I think you mean “closes.”

Once, Quennel managed to hire a stable stall in a small, squalid public house near Pegger’s Court. Our exhibition there lasted a grand total of two days before the watch closed us down and we had to move on again.

I’m just curious, why doesn’t Quennel move us to a different city?

I drew a smiley face with big, protruding ears and a missing tooth, and next to that I drew a sad face with long ringlets and perfect eyelashes.

Veerrryyyyy intriguing. Are they meant to be her dad and mom?

‘Then, sir, you won’t coming, will you, sir?’

I think you’re missing a word, and chances are, it’s “mind.”

‘Heel!’ he panted, and I sat down on his feet.

“on” his feet? That must have hurt…

He smiled and clucked his tongue, tugging my lead gently. ‘Come along then, ’ybrid.’

I like him rather better than Quennel. He seems to regard Raven as more pet than freak, and at this point, that’s an improvement.


Overall

I'm most worried about the narrative here. Is it too much, 'then it was this' and 'then it so happened that'? Too bland?

Not at all! Especially after all the excitement of the last chapter, the slightly more sedate pace of this one, combined with your little hints about Raven’s past, make this chapter a perfect balance. Not to mention, of course, the fact that all doesn’t stay ‘bland’ (:p) for long! I’m really looking forward to seeing what’s going to happen next!

Hey, Twit!
Sorry I didn't get to this sooner-- I've been out of town and away from internet access most of July. But here goes, for the first part of this tale...

TL G-Wooster wrote:There was a tiny hole in the curtain in front of me. Its edges were slightly ragged, and a minute tear wandered away from it into the rest of the rough fabric.

The occurance of "was" and "were" so close together distracted me. I'm a stickler for active verbs (at least, I try to be), and these are pretty dull. I'd suggest rearranging your sentences a bit for a stronger read. Otherwise, good opening.

This creature here. Even now, after months of being exhibited, that phrase still stung.

Ouch! I like the way you use this to convey seamlessly what's going on.

‘This mixed breed, this hybrid of two different species – what place has she in nature?

Why is he referring to her as "she?" Why not "it?"

The Elves are at one with nature, but the hybrids?’

This seems like awkward wording. "The Elves are at one with nature" just sounds like you're trying to show exposition.

and slowly shaken head.

How about "shaking?"

harsh plains providing the perfect isolated habitat.

This sounds a little too dry and informational for Quennel's melodramatic style.

Poetic license, I thought, eyeing Quennel’s stick. With that thing around, how is anyone allowed to get in a rage? Much less express it.

I love the contrast between the Raven's thoughts and what Quennel is telling the audience.

Quennel let them stare at me for a moment longer, then he said sharply, ‘Turn around!’ and tapped the floor with his stick. Slowly I turned, letting the audience see me fully.

I can't envision why they wouldn't be able to see her fully. Why would she turn her back? Which direction is she turning? Wouldn't she just face the audience instead?

The creature in the mirrors had short dark hair hanging in lank strands over its face. A black feather was tied into a side lock of hair, its tip almost brushing its shoulder. Its skin was blotched with walnut juice, creating mottled dark brown patches, and tracings done in dark blue and brown paint ran in strange, curling, smudged designs over its face, bare arms and legs. It wore a thin leather waistcoat and short, tight trousers. Two soft, curling black feathers were tied around each of its wrists and ankles, and a leather collar was fastened around its neck.

These descriptions help me envision her, and I like the idea, but it's too much. The narrative comes to a screeching halt to describe this person. String out the description a bit more, perhaps entwining it with narrative, Quennel's dialogue, or the Raven's thoughts. Pick only the best details.

That was not me. That was a strange little thing, wild and animal-like, seeing the world out of inhuman, light brown eyes. It would look on dispassionately at the misfortunes of others, not turn a hair if any one of the audience dropped down dead in front of it. It was a picture of something else, some being that wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. I pitied the creature in the mirrors, doomed forever to the loathing and prejudice of others, never allowed to have a sensible idea of its own. It was an animal. How could it be me?

Once again, I'd pare this down a little, or else alternate it with other things happening.

. ‘All you get for your money, ladies and gentlemen, all you get for sixpence, and I think you’ll agree ’twas money well spent.’

This sounds like an incomplete sentence. "All you get for your money... all you get for sixpence..." is what? This might be an English expression I don't know about, but it threw me off.

descending like a hawk, l

Ready for a tiny nitpick? I think "descending" is a word too slow right here.

‘Maybe we should stay here in Londlow, then,’ Morley said. ‘Carry on while we’re doing well.’

‘When we’re doing well is the right time to leave. Keeps the people wanting, makes ’em eager when we come back.’

I like the way you use his change of dialogue to show how fake he is.

An animal that just happens to have the ability to be sarcastic.

Great line, but could be worded simpler.

‘None of them.’ My voice was flat, reciting the words – the facts – that he had hammered into my head since the day he had first found me in the gutter. ‘No one would let me do anything. No one would care if I starved to death in front of them. People would kill me. They fear me. I shock them, make them sickened. I’m a freak, a hybrid, a slave, a mistake. I’m your’s. I am the Raven, the only hybrid out of Carathara.’

This made me shudder. Well done.
Tiny note: are you sure "your's" is correct? Over here, it's "yours."

This piece has a creepy feel and does a great job of contrasting the people's perception of the Raven with her own. Even though she says very little, we get a feel for her personality through the way she acts and thinks. The characterization was great.
This could do with a bit more forward plot motion. For instance, the Raven's own desires could be clearer. Right now she seems apathetic and without hope, which is believable but not the usual mettle of a protagonist. I really can't say more until I read the rest, which I will soon.

Overall, this is coming along well and I want to read more. I'll crit again soon!

Cheers,
Shafter

Thanks for requesting a critique!
Comments in red.


--------

‘Even if you are a minority of one, the truth is the truth.’ – Mohandas Karamchad Gandhi



Drych-ddelwedd

There was a tiny hole in the curtain in front of me. Its edges were slightly ragged, and a minute tear wandered away from it What is the it? The hole? The curtain? The edges? Right now "it" refers to the edges, but "edges" are plural and therefore cannot be a singular "it". into the rest of the rough fabric. I wanted to poke my finger through it, make it larger. You meant the hole, then. Fair enough. Now clarify. Would Quennel notice? I could hear his voice on the other side of the curtain, loud and impressive. ‘When we think that the world is within our grasp, that we know all – only then do we realize just how little we do know.’ The second "do" might work better in italics.

He always started off with that; he said it impressed the audience. No matter where we were; in a pig sty, a lord’s hall, or the back room of a printer’s shop like today, Quennel always insisted on being dramatic. Your semi-colons should be regular old colons.

‘We, as human beings, know the difference between good and evil. We know what means this and what means that. We can realize truth and lies. We are at an advantage in Nature. But for this creature here – this mix of Elf and human blood – there is no such advantage.’ This would be more dramatic if the first line read "As human beings, we know the difference..." Since you say that Quennel is a fan of drama, I think it would be best to use that old speech-writers' trick.

This creature here. Even now, after months of being exhibited, that phrase still stung. Very well done.

‘This mixed breed, this hybrid of two different species – what place has she in nature? Too human to be an animal, too animal to be a human. The Elves are at one with nature, but the hybrids?’ I could imagine Quennel’s shrug, his wide-spread hands and slowly shaken head. ‘They are forever divided. They can live with neither humans, Elves or animals. And so they live in Carathara, the land far beyond here, the wide, harsh plains providing the perfect isolated habitat. For drama's sake (again) you should introduce a pause here. He would want the audience to have that description and information sink in before he revealed his miracle. All but one of the hybrids. All but one! Ladies and gentlemen, there is only one hybrid not living in Carathara. That one,’ – Quennel would have raised his finger now – ‘that one hybrid, ladies and gentlemen, is here in Kiona. Here, before you now.’

The curtain quivered on its line, strung across the room. Quennel’s fingers appeared at the edge; dirty finger nailed but otherwise clean, tanned brown against the dark red curtain. That description doesn't make much sense. Say something along the lines of: "Quennel's fingers appeared at the seam of the curtains, his skin rough and tanned, his hands clean except for bitten nails." Except not really that at all. Just sort it out a little bit.

‘Ladies and gentlemen. He said. See the only hybrid in Kiona. See… the Raven.’ Quennel flung the curtain wide.

It was a good-sized audience made up of small boys, young working-class men with their sweethearts on their arms, a few older men and two elderly women in matching lavender silk hoods. One of them put her hand to her mouth when she saw me; the other blinked and looked away, then back again. The boys crowded close, grubby fingers outstretched, but a sharp word from Quennel halted them.

‘Keep back! She may look tamed Either "she may seem tamed" or "she may look tame". At least in my opinion., but be careful. You don’t want to see her in a rage.’ This is too much like the tired "You don't want to see her angry!" Find a different phrase.

Poetic license, I thought, eyeing Quennel’s stick. With that thing around, how is anyone allowed to get in a rage? Much less express it. Cute.

Quennel let them stare at me for a moment longer, then he said sharply, ‘Turn around!’ and tapped the floor with his stick. Slowly I turned, letting the audience see me fully. Quennel had set up three large mirrors in a semi circle against the wall behind me, and as I turned, I saw myself in three different directions. Left profile, straight on, right profile. It was strange, but I found it difficult to connect myself with the creature that I saw in those mirrors.

The creature in the mirrors had short dark hair hanging in lank strands over its face. A black feather was tied into a side lock of hair, its tip almost brushing its shoulder. Its skin was blotched with walnut juice, creating mottled dark brown patches, and tracings done in dark blue and brown paint ran in strange, curling, smudged designs over its face, bare arms and legs. It wore a thin leather waistcoat and short, tight trousers. Two soft, curling black feathers were tied around each of its wrists and ankles, and a leather collar was fastened around its neck. Out of curiosity--is walnut juice actually brown, and can you actually dye someone's skin with it?

That was not me. That was a strange little thing, wild and animal-like, seeing the world out of inhuman, light brown eyes. It would look on dispassionately at the misfortunes of others, not turn a hair if any one of the audience dropped down dead in front of it. It was a picture of something else, some being that wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. I pitied the creature in the mirrors, doomed forever to the loathing and prejudice of others, never allowed to have a sensible idea of its own. It was an animal. How could it be me? I like the opening and close, but I think it needs to be parsed a bit.

‘Go down!’ Mention who is saying this. It's obviously Quennel, but it's good to gently remind readers of his name and position. As I dropped down onto all fours, Quennel began his commentary again. ‘See, ladies and gentlemen, the way that the Raven is made. Arms and legs all the same length. Pointed features, a sure sign of her Elven blood.’

I tucked my head under my arm and peered at the audience behind me. The boys gawked. The men stared. The young women drew in their breaths. I stared at them unblinkingly.

‘Stand up!’

I rose and turned around once more. In the opposite corner of the room, next to the door, Morley piped a few notes on his whistle, a signal that the show was over. Quennel smiled, and spread an arm towards the door. ‘All you get for your money, ladies and gentlemen, all you get for sixpence, and I think you’ll agree ’twas money well spent.’

The elderly ladies immediately shuffled towards the door and the young girls pulled their escorts forward when they would have lingered longer. One of the boys made a quick dash forward and would have touched my shoulder, but I ducked out of his way and Quennel, descending I'd suggest "dropping" like a hawk, latched onto the boy’s ear.

The boy squealed, ‘Ah-ow! Leggo!’

Quennel said grimly, ‘Out,’ and pushed him out of the door to run after his friends, who had already fled.

Quennel turned back and grinned at Morley. ‘Now that,’ he said, dropping his polished accent for more comfortable tones, ‘was a good day. I’ve lost count of the people we’ve ’ad in!’ I like this. Not sure how I feel about the "'ad" in particular, but the thought is nice.

‘Maybe we should stay here in Londlow, then,’ Morley said. ‘Carry on while we’re doing well.’

‘When we’re doing well is the right time to leave. Keeps the people wanting, makes ’em eager when we come back.’

‘But Selseaton’s days away. The hybrid might not travel well.’

‘It will travel well,’ Quennel said calmly, ‘because I sez it will. Selseaton’s the capital of Kiona. Are they not from Kiona? Or is Kiona not a big country. It seems weird that Quennel would say this if either thing is true. Think about it--if someone said "London's the capital of England!" You'd just go "Well...yeah." The money we’ve made here’s nothing compared to what we’ll get there.’

Morley shrugged and wiped the mouthpiece of his whistle. I lowered myself onto my heels, keeping my back straight and my eyes on the dark-beamed ceiling. Quennel came and stood behind me. I resisted the urge to look around at him.

‘Good little Raven,’ he said. His hand patted my head, then stroked the side of my face. I whipped my head around and snapped with my teeth at him Just say "snapped at him" or "snapped my teeth at him", but he jerked his hand away in time and only laughed. ‘I don’t care how much you hate me, Raven. I’m the only one who keeps you alive.’

‘My gratitude makes me lie awake at nights,’ I said. "...lie awake at night" or "...lie awake nights"

He smiled. ‘You’re a freak. I like this quipped summation. It collects everything we've learned and adds in layers and emotion. An animal that just happens to have the ability to be sarcastic. I can accept that, but out there,’ – he waved a hand towards the door – ‘how many people out there would let you think even one thought of your own?’ I think that, overall, you could boil this down to:
He smiled. "You're a freak," he said. "An animal with the brains to be sarcastic." I lowered my eyes. "I can accept that, but," he waved at the door, "how many people out there would believe that you could think at all?"
Now you can debate the technicalities of my phrasing--"brains" for instance, or the sentiment of the "believe that you could think" bit, but I do think you have to get to the heart of your descriptions./color]

‘None of them.’ My voice was flat, reciting the words – the facts – that he had hammered into my head since the day he had first found me in the gutter. [color=red]Did he find you in the gutter more than once? No? Then "they day he found me in the gutter". ‘No one would let me do anything. No one would care if I starved to death in front of them. People would kill me. They fear me. I shock them, make them sickened. I’m a freak, a hybrid, a slave, a mistake. I’m your’s. I am the Raven, the only hybrid out of Carathara.’ I'd like to see more of the listing. Have the Raven tick off the words on her fingers or look at the ceiling as she recites or something. We get the sense that she's reciting, but we need a visual too.

‘Good little hybrid.’ Quennel pinched the top of my ear gently, and this time I let him. Strong close.

----------


Well done! Trim up some of your sentences a bit--you need to practice cutting straight to the heart of things.

Other than that, I'm excited about reading more (I'll do the next bit tomorrow), and I like what I'm seeing so far. It's a fresh take on some traditional characters and story-lines.

One thing that bugged me--I have no idea how tall the Raven is. Is she human height, or tiny? I can't help but picture the house elves in Harry Potter.

(More tomorrow!)
Avens

First off, I’m sorry that it has taken so long. Second, I have not read the critiques of others so please don’t shoot me when I start to sound repetitive. Thirdly, I’m critiquing Drych-ddelwedd in this post but if I get time I’ll do the other chapters too.

he said it impressed the audience

Here the word ‘impressed’ is used well here, but you are repeating it from a few lines ago when you describe his voice. I think that you could perhaps change one of them (preferably the first ‘impressive’) to something else. I know that I’m being nit-picky but you’re writing at a very high level and I think that this whole critique will be nit-picks!

All but one!

Perhaps have him pause after this for dramatic affect before he leads into ‘Ladies and gentlemen’. It just creates suspense for both the audience in the story and your audience (us).

My gratitude makes me lie awake at nights,’ I said.

Some description after ‘said’ perhaps? Something which suggests Raven’s human features – like ‘with heavy sarcasm’ or something better than that. Side note: I’m absolutely hooked at this pointed; well done on drawing the reader in.
(Ah, I just read Quennel’s reply to that ^^ and I understand why you didn’t describe how Raven said it. Yet again, though, you could have Raven do some sort of gesture – rolling the eyes?)

Overall

I liked reading this a lot. It had a good, steady pace, the characters are fairly well shaped and I’m completely hooked.
What I would say is that you could do with describing the crowd a little more, the surroundings. We know that they’re in the backroom of a printers shop, but what’s in there? Remember your five senses here. Also, I know I may sound loopy, but you could perhaps describe Raven a little less. When writing in first person it’s hard to describe the MC – to quote an article I found ‘Because your narrator is finite they will never have all the details of the story they are unfolding for you.’ This applies to all aspects, not just describing the MC.

As I said, I really liked this and I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.

Keep writing, Twit dearest.

Alainna
xxx

TL G-Wooster wrote:Aflonyddwch emosiynol

Cold.

Still with my eyes closed, I curled up tight and wrapped my arms around myself. I tried to scrub my upper arms with my hands and still stay asleep (comma here) but it didn’t work. Mumbling in my throat, (just mumbling...you don't mumble inside your throat. You could growl, maybe, but not mumble) I opened my eyes. The fire had died down and the room was dark. The sleeping shapes of the others made solid shadows on the floor and [s]in[/s] the two chairs.

There were goose bumps on my arms. I shifted closer to the fire and bumped into Colby’s chair. He stirred and sighed; (period, not semi-colon) I sat up in despair. (Despair? Why?) Everything was peaceful and very quiet. No sound came from the street except for a tiny scuffle in the alley behind the house. Probably a rat, I decided, tucking my knees under my chin and shivering. Or a stray cat. The amount of stray animals I saw in the cities and towns we visited was nothing new. There had been plenty of stray cats and dogs in London, and when you sleep on the streets, it’s hard not to see rats. I remembered one time, I asked Da if rats could still give you the Black Plague.

He had laughed. ‘I don’t think the Black Plague exists anymore.’

‘Oh, it does!’ I had assured him. ‘It was on House. You can still get it, I just wondered if you could still get it from rats.’

Da had rolled his eyes. ‘You’re the medico of the family. You tell me.’

I smiled now, and looked into the nearly dead fire. TV was so far away. Have they made any new seasons of House? I wondered. How many episodes have I missed by now? That was one of the main downers of living in a alternative past – the lack of medical dramas. Leaving Grey’s Anatomy didn’t hurt, though… (I think maybe you should italicize 'House' and 'Grey's Anatomy'... totally agree with her taste in television though. :) )

Something niggled in the back of my brain. I thought I felt a flash of sudden movement, and I looked over my shoulder to see the door opening. A tiny light flickered and the doorway was suddenly lit up by a candle.

‘It’s in here!’ someone whispered, and four people darted into the room.

It all happened so suddenly; my mind was still on Izzie and George and Meredith when someone grabbed me and yanked me up by my hair. I yelped, and the candle was pushed into my face. I shrank away from the flame, and someone hissed, ‘Keep quiet, freak.’

‘Please – let go my hair – you’re hurting –’

Someone hooked a finger under my collar, and my hair was released. The candle was held up and I saw four young men, none of them over twenty-one and all of them smelling of cheap ale. One of them with fox-red hair held the candle close to my face, and I stared at him.

He smiled slowly, wonderingly. ‘Cor,’ he breathed. ‘It was true, ('It's true') then. A real life hybrid like what Anselm said. Look at its eyes, Curt.’ He passed the flame in front of my eyes. ‘They go all gold-like, in the light.’

‘You can see all this in the show,’ I whispered, going at top speed so they wouldn’t try and shut me up before I’d finished. ‘Come back tomorrow and see it all properly. I’m sure I can get you a discount.’

‘What’re you doing?’

Redhead and his friends whipped around in alarm. Frona was sitting up and yawning, pushing back her hair from her face with one hand.

‘Private viewers, love,’ one of them said, smirking.

Frona’s mouth gaped a little open, and she looked blearily at me. ‘Private viewers?’

Oh, don’t be so naïve! I wanted to yell at her.

The tallest blond-haired boy bent down to Frona’s level and smiled. ‘And what’re you then? One of the private freaks?’

The others began to snigger.

Frona stared at him, then leaned over to shake the twins awake. The boy swatted her hand down, grinning. ‘Hey, don’t wake up any more boys, there’s enough of us here to make things exciting.’

‘Uh, Frona?’ I hissed. ‘Right now, screaming might be a good idea.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ she began.

Redhead lifted my hand and prised open my fingers. He pinioned my first finger and held it dangerously close to the candle flame. ‘You say one more word, freak,’ he breathed in my ear, ‘and I burn your skin black. Black. You got that?’

The blond boy stroked Frona’s face. ‘Pretty little hunchback, ain’t you though?’

From the look on Frona’s face, she had suddenly twigged (twigged? what does that mean?) as to how this might end. ‘No,’ she whispered, trying to pull away.

The boy laughed and pushed ('her') back onto the floor. She fell awkwardly, silent tears [s]beginning to[/s] track(ing) down her face.

Redhead chuckled quietly. ‘Keep her, Rigg (comma) and don’t use it all –’

‘What are you doing?’ Eldreda sat up in her chair, her eyes and mouth wide open in horror. ‘Frona!’

‘Oh, stuff it, Legs,’ Rigg said. ‘There’s plenty to go round.’

‘Pace!’ Eldreda’s scream almost blew out the candle flame. Colby jerked awake and the twins snapped upright simultaneously.

Redhead rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, great.’

‘Pace!’

‘All right, Legs. We’re going, we’re going.’ Redhead’s finger tightened around my collar, and for one mad moment I thought he was going to drag me along with him.

Rigg leaped up and bounded for the door. ‘Come on, George!’

Redhead tilted his head to one side, still looking at me, his mouth curling up into a half smile. The others had already fled, and Rigg hesitated just long enough to yell, ’Come on!’ before dashing out of the door. Redhead patted my shoulder lightly, released my collar and followed.

Colby knelt down beside Frona. She was still crying silently, and he pulled her to him in a tight hug. ‘It’s all right,’ he crooned softly, for once not stuttering. ‘It’s all right.’

Frona buried her face in his shirt, her shoulders shaking.

‘You bastard.’ (Okay, it's a little weird to correct swearing-grammar, because technically it isn't supposed to be grammatical...but the word 'bastard' is usually directed at boys, not girls. Just something to think about.)

Eldreda’s face was tight with fury. I don’t know what surprised me more – her curse or the fact that it was directed at me.

‘Pardon?’ I said disbelievingly.

Eldreda got to her feet, stalked towards me like a furious mother bird defending her young. ‘You utterly heartless bastard.’

‘What?’

‘I saw you, I saw you! You were just standing there – not doing anything!’ She drove me back against the wall, and I was still too gob smacked to do anything about it. ‘Do you know what could have happened to Frona, do you know what that would have done to her? Do you know what she’s been through – what happened to her before she came here?’

‘Let me think. Oh yes. Before, everyone gawked at her free of charge, but now they have to pay. It’s wonderful what a little showbiz know-how can achieve with the right management.’

‘Stop it!’ She was breathing like she’d just finished the marathon, her face flushed.

‘And here,’ I continued, ‘we see a classic example of the advantages of arms over feet. Note the peculiar helplessness of the Armless Wonder here. She obviously wants to hits me, but has no arms with which to do so. The uses of the arm, we can then conclude –’

I didn’t see how it happened, but Eldreda made a movement and I hit the floor with a thud. Then she knelt on my arms, and that really hurt.

‘Ow!’ I squirmed, trying to reach up and bite her. Failing that, I spat in her face, unconsciously baring my teeth.

Eldreda smiled mirthlessly, immune to my show of fierceness. ‘It hurts, does it, hybrid?’

Colby, still rocking Frona, said, ‘I think I c-c-can hear P-p-p-pace coming.’

‘He took his time,’ Lyndon said, looking over Eldreda’s shoulder. ‘You know, hybrid, it’s just like everyone said.’

‘Hybrids are animals, with no human thoughts or feelings,’ Lionel finished.

‘He had a candle!’ I protested. ‘He was going to burn my hand if I made a noise.’

Eldreda shifted one of her knees onto my stomach and I yowled wheezily.

‘You sound like a dying cat,’ Lyndon said contemptuously.

‘And I – I suppose you’d sound like a songbird if you had a great – hulking Armless Wonder rupturing your lungs! I suppose you’d have – got help even if you were going – to get burned!’ (A tag here..."I wheezed" or "I gasped"...just my opinion though.)

‘Oh dear,’ Lionel mocked. ‘You were threatened by a candle? What a shame, what a traumatic bloody shame. You are pathetic. Couldn’t you think of someone else, someone worth more than your stinking yellow self?’

The door slammed back on its hinges, and turning my head on the floor, I saw Pace and Quennel in the doorway. Pace had his trousers on under his nightshirt, and looked completely ridiculous.

‘Get off my hybrid!’ Quennel screeched, leaping forward like Jesse Owens. He wrestled Eldreda out of the way and I scrabbled over the floor and latched onto the hem of his nightshirt, gripping the coarse white fabric like it was a lifebelt in a storm.

Pace rounded on his freaks. ‘What the blazes has been going on here? What’s the matter with Frona?’

Colby rose to his feet. ‘There was a b-b-b-b-break-in, sir. A couple of youths. They m-must have come in through the k-kitchen. They w-wanted to see the Raven.’

‘See the Raven?’

‘Yes, sir. And then they… g-g-got d-d-d-istracted.’ Colby pressed his lips together into a thin, pale line.

Pace ruffled Frona’s hair. ‘You all right, Frona?’

Frona drew a long, shuddering breath and bit her lip. She nodded.

‘Good girl.’ Pace glared around at the others. ‘And what else happened?’

Quennel tapped the top of my head, and I looked up at him, still holding onto his nightshirt. ‘Raven,’ he said deliberately. ‘What happened?’

I looked at Eldreda – still flushed and panting – and then at the twins who were glaring at everyone through half-lidded eyes. ‘They got cross ’cos I didn’t help Frona.’

There was a pause. Quennel lifted an eyebrow. ‘That’s it? They “got cross”?’ He glared at Eldreda. ‘Getting cross is no reason to try and suffocate my hybrid!’

Eldreda returned his look, but addressed Pace. ‘I think all of us are agreed, Mister Pace. We won’t have the Raven with us anymore.’

‘Oh (comma) you are agreed are you!’ Pace scoffed. ‘Well I’m not agreeing. That hybrid’s bringing this shop more business than the lot of you would ever get, and if they pay to see that freak, they’ll pay to see you as well. The Raven is staying.’

‘With respect, sir,’ Lionel said. ‘No.’

‘No? I’m your manager! You can’t just –’

‘We can, actually. We’re the ones who make the money, Mister Pace, and if we don’t go out, the show can’t go on.’

Pace’s face turned pink. ‘Are you threatening me, Lyndon?’

‘I’m Lionel, sir. No, I am not threatening you. Just bargaining. Unless the Raven goes, there’s no show.’

‘Now look here,’ began Quennel. ‘You can’t fold up everything like that just because the Raven upset you. She can be difficult, I know, but if you just give her time, she’ll get better.’

Eldreda laughed. It sounded harsh and short, more like a bark. ‘If I found a rabid dog, Mister Quennel, I would shoot it. I wouldn’t give it time, and neither would you. Your freak goes.’

Another uncomfortable silence. For the first time I noticed Morley and Mistress Addie in the doorway. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece, a strangely mundane, homely sound in the tightly strung room.

Pace blew out his breath in a huff and shrugged his shoulders. ‘We’ll talk about this more in the morning. I’ll tell the watch about the break-in, see if they picked up anyone tonight. You freaks go back to sleep. You’re tired and upset; if you sleep on it, it’ll be better in the morning.’ He turned and went out. I heard him go back to his room and close the door.

Quennel looked at the freaks: Eldreda grimly defiant, Frona still tear-damp and shaking, Colby silent but unforgiving, the twins furious and showing it.

‘We mean it, sir,’ Eldreda said.

Quennel yanked me to my feet and pushed me out, past Morley, along the corridor to his own room. My stomach seemed to be full of eels, all writhing about and tying themselves into knots.

‘When,’ Quennel whispered through clenched teeth, twisting my wrists sideways, ‘when, oh when, oh when (you should italicize the last 'when' I think - extra emphasis) will you learn?’

‘I didn’t do anything, Master! I really didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t! The others, they just didn’t like me, they don’t like hybrids and they had a candle and they were going to burn my hand and I thought she would scream, and I didn’t want to get burned and they kept on whispering so no one would hear –’

Quennel shoved me against the bed, (no comma) and fumbled to find his trousers on the floor. He unthreaded his belt. I buried my face in the patchwork quilt, the squares of material creating a mad, distorted jigsaw in front of my eyes. An embroidered daisy on red cotton. Light blue feathering across a cream background. Rough brown homespun, coarse and practical. The neat stitching binding them together; thin white thread running out and through like a spider web of sinews.

Quennel swung the belt, and I closed my eyes against the impact, taking refuge in the [s]plain[/s]darkness behind my eyelids.


---

I think this is the worst chapter yet. It was awful to write, anyway. Obviously, comments on the whole thing, please, and especially whether it was rushed, whether the whole thing worked, whether you understood it all, and what you think of all the characters now.

I didn't think it was awful at all - I actually think some of the best character development occurred in this chapter, even without Raven being her snarky self. Nice job.

Most of the stuff I bolded are just nit-picks. This really was good, even though it was hearbreaking. Looking forward to more!

I didn't see your most recent chapter until after I posted my review. I'm sorry. But I enjoyed reading it so much that I didn't want to give an in-depth critique, if you don't mind. Plus, gyr got there first, which means that there wasn't much left to do.

Quennel's accent is confusing me. One moment he's the proper gentleman, the next he's talking with a cockney-esque bite to his voice...it seems that you can't decide which one you want to use.

As for the hints about the 'shame' and the Elves' short memories...that was VERY intriguing. If I wasn't hooked before, I definitely am now.

~Sunny

Canlyniad

Jorge frowned. ‘But it’s ugly. It’s strange.’

‘Yes.’ The watch captain jingled my lead about in his hand.

‘It’s an animal.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a freak.’

‘Yes.’

‘And it’s staring at me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well I don’t like it!’ Jorge pointed his quill at the captain over his desk. ’If you want it in ’ere, you stay with it in ’ere! Or get the other bloke in, the weedy one. Make him sit with it.’

‘But he’s in a cell,’ the captain pointed out. ‘And I can’t leave it in a cell without someone to watch it.’

‘I don’t care! Get him or someone else to sit with it, but I am not going to have a hybrid sitting next to me and staring at me while I’m trying to work! Do you know how difficult it is making reports, even without a hybrid at your elbow?’

The captain admitted that he didn’t and he’d dig the weedy bloke out to sit with the hybrid while things got sorted. Was the general finished with his interview?

Jorge snorted. ‘Not likely! That Dorian man’s been coming around here for days now, trying to see if we’ve got anything ’e might like. I mean, how likely is it that we’re going to ’ave brought in a dwarf needing a home or a baby with an egg-head? Honestly. The general’s getting pretty sick of ’im by now.’

‘Mm,’ the captain said politely, and, tying my lead to the bench leg, patted my head and went out through one of the doors at the end of the hall.

I sat cross-legged on the floor and snuffled. My nose had stopped bleeding but it still hurt. Morley and Quennel had immediately been bundled off into cells the moment we arrived at the watch-house and the watch captain had taken me to this hallway where Jorge sat writing. There were three doors in this corridor – one at each end and one in the wall on the left. The captain had gone through the one at the far end, but I had no idea what lay behind the other two.

Jorge glowered at me over his desk, daring me to move. I blinked at him. After a few minutes, the watch captain came back with Morley. Morley looked pale and the graze on his face was red and raw.

‘Make sure you behave,’ he muttered out of the side of his mouth, sitting next to me on the bench.

‘By dose hurts,’ I said pitifully.

‘Well, don’t fuss about it.’

I massaged the bridge of my nose tenderly and said nothing. We sat like that for some time. Jorge shot us an occasional glare between pages. His quill made scritch-scratch noises on the paper, like a rat’s claws. I could hear voices coming from behind the door in the wall. They rose and fell; sometimes as a low, indecipherable murmur and then louder, and I would be able to catch a word here and there. I could Sense two people behind the door, but it was very faint. The door was too thick to let anything but the faintest pulses through and I was only skilled enough to Sense the barest details.

‘Where’s Master?’ I whispered.

‘In a cell.’

‘Yes, I know that,’ I said patiently. ‘Was he in the same one as you?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’ I snorted, hacked, and continued, ‘I just wondered, see, because if he’d been in the same cell as you, then you would have known how he was and then you could have told me when I asked about it, and now I wouldn’t have to ask someone else and I would know without having to –’

Jorge’s eyes were bulging. Morley nudged my shoulder so hard I almost fell over. I recovered and inched away from Morley’s knees.

The first door down the hall flew open and bounced off the wall behind. A man with frown lines deep enough to plant corn in stalked out, jamming a big plumed hat onto his head. He stalked past us and turned to yell at the man who had followed him to stand in the doorway. ‘You’ll end up regretting this, you mark my words, general.’

‘Mister Dorian,’ said the general, ‘I have given you all the help I can. It’s not my fault that we don’t have what you need. We do try and keep an eye on the freak shows, but if there isn’t anything around that suits your needs, I can’t just pull a monster for you out of my pocket.’

Dorian made an explosive noise through his nose. ‘You could have tried a little harder!’

‘You’re being unreasonable, sir. Quite frankly, you’ve been making a huge nuisance of yourself these last few days. I would appreciate it if you didn’t trouble me again.’

‘I’ll trouble you again all right! You just –’ He broke off. ‘What’s that?’ he asked in quite a different voice. I realised that he meant me.

The general shrugged. Jorge said, ‘It’s a hybrid. Captain Trent just brought it in. Its owners were trying to break into a house.’

‘A hybrid?’ Dorian just stared.

I waggled my fingers at him. ‘Hi.’

‘It talks as well!’

‘Mister Dorian,’ the general began, but Dorian wasn’t listening. He was beaming all over his face.

‘General,’ he said, ‘might I have a word?’

‘You’ve had it already.’

‘Are you the owner?’ Dorian asked Morley.

‘Uh well,’ Morley said, dithering slightly. ‘No, not really. Quennel actually found it and all, so he owns it. Yeah, Quennel owns it.’

‘Who’s Quennel?’

‘He’s, uh…’ Morley looked helplessly at the general and shrugged.

‘He’s the other man in the cells,’ Jorge said, with a kind of sour smugness. ‘There were two of ’em brought in. This man and the other one.’

‘What’s your name?’ Dorian asked Morley.

‘Morley Andro.’

‘And you’re with the hybrid as well as this Quennel?’

‘Jos Quennel. Yes, I am. We try to do a freak show with the hybrid, but we haven’t been able to find anywhere. All the freak shops are full and no one wants to share with a hybrid. That’s why we had to break in, you see. There wasn’t anywhere else to go.’

‘Poor you,’ Jorge muttered.

‘Thank you,’ I said nicely. He scowled.

‘And Mister Quennel is in one of the cells?’

‘Yeah.’

‘General,’ Dorian said. ‘Can you bring him up here?’

‘Mister Dorian, I really don’t think that –’

‘General, if you just let me speak to him, I give you my word that I’ll never trouble you again.’

The general hesitated, clearly tempted. ‘All right. Five minutes. Jorge, will you…?’

Jorge sighed, got down from his desk and disappeared through the door at the end. He was back in a few minutes and with him was a watchman prodding Quennel forward as though he were a pig being driven to market. Quennel’s wrists were still strapped together and in addition to his split lip, he had the beginnings of a beautiful black eye. He looked like half a panda.

‘Are you Mister Jos Quennel?’ Dorian asked eagerly.

‘What of it?’ Quennel growled.

‘You own this hybrid?’

‘So?’

The watchman slapped Quennel across the face and snapped, ‘Watch your tongue, idiot.’

‘How did you find this hybrid, Mister Quennel?’ Dorian asked.

Quennel said nothing, just glared at him.

‘Please, Mister Quennel,’ Dorian coaxed. ‘Did you go to Carathara and get it? Did you breed it yourself? Did someone give it to you?’

Quennel remained silent. The watchman drew back his hand and I blurted out, ‘They found me.’

Dorian blinked. Quennel’s eyes blazed with fury and he snapped, ‘Shut up freak.’

‘No no, let it speak,’ Dorian said. ‘If it can. Does it say anything else?’

I shot a glance at Quennel. He shook his head and I looked down at my hands.

‘Mister Quennel,’ Dorian said, and I could tell that his patience was wearing thin, ‘if you don’t co-operate, I will be quite happy to leave you to the tender mercies of this watchman. It is imperative that –’

‘We did find it.’ Morley was unconsciously wringing his fingers. ‘We found it and just… picked it up.’

Dorian nodded. Abandoning Quennel as a lost cause, he devoted all his attention to Morley. Go on,’ he said, sounding like an uncle about to give his favourite nephew a bar of chocolate. ‘Where did you find it? Was there a colony of them?’

‘No… It was in this little fishing village down south and east.’ Morley looked as though he were trying to unscrew his fingers from his hand. ‘Quennel and me went down there to help with the herrings… Quennel’s got family nearby and we were staying with them, ’cos it was the busy season and all.’

‘Why did you go along as well?’ Dorian asked.

‘I just did. Because Quennel was going and I was going to help him. But we got to Quennel’s village and found that they was all excited, like, ’cos they’d burnt out an elf witch and ’is familiar and ’is apprentice. Quennel and me went along the next day to have a look-see. The cottage was all burnt down and everything, and Quennel went pokin’ around in the ruins.’

I laid my hands on my knees and examined my fingernails. I remembered that day, too. Strangely, my time in that small, insignificant fishing village was never difficult to remember in the way that my time in London was. I hardly ever thought about it, but I remembered it.

Druth was the first person I met from this past. I had hated him at first. He was too different, too strange; he just couldn’t fit into my way of thinking. Only when the villagers turned on him and burned him as a witch in his own home did I realise what he had been to me. And of course then it was too late. Just my luck, I thought, picking a hangnail and listening to Morley winding up the tale like a spool of thread, making it sound far more tidy than it really was.

‘…There’d been a cellar, see, and the hybrid had gone down it during the fire. An’ Quennel found it holding a burnt dead bird. So he called me and –’

‘Wait – you say it was holding a bird?’

‘Yes, sir. A dead one. That’s partly why we – why Quennel called it the Raven, see? Even though it was probably a starling or something… Anyway, we tried to move it, but it kept on whining about a cat and a fool and it wouldn’t budge.’

Morley had been scared, said that I was evil and everyone knew that Elves were of the Devil and had the powers of air and darkness, and a hybrid was worse still. The sensible thing to do was to call the villagers and let them finish the job.

Quennel had told him not to be such a simpleton. That was superstition. Everyone knew that the Elves had been mighty helpful in the last war, even if they had backed out after Luboš. This hybrid could be useful. After all, the elf witch was dead now, so even if the hybrid had been its apprentice, it wouldn’t be able to make magic.

I had barely heard them, too busy rocking back and forth over the handful of bones and singed feathers that had once been Dubhan. His cage had hung from the ceiling near the door, and when you went in, he was the first thing you saw, bobbing on his perch and waving his long black tail up and down like a closed fan. Hamlet would sit for hours watching him through unblinking yellow-green eyes until I picked him up. Then he would rub his face against my chin and purr.

I had found Hamlet’s remains as well, but I couldn’t sit by him and mourn, just as I couldn’t bear to even find Druth’s body. I had concentrated all my grief on Dubhan until Quennel put his hand on my shoulder and tried to lift me to my feet.

‘And Quennel tried to pick it up, but it dropped the feathers and bit his hand. Quennel hit it and it scratched his face and hissed and spat, just like a cat.’

‘But you managed to move it.’ Dorian sounded weary. Morley was taking his time with the story and generally giving the impression that he was just getting comfortable.

‘Oh yes, sir, eventually. We managed to wrap it up in my coat and scarf and get it back to Quennel’s home. We hid it in a shed with the fishing nets and lobster pots, and then Quennel said about travelling ’round the country with it as a freak show, like the ones he’d seen in Selseaton. We’d didn’t have proper jobs, see, and if we did the show, we could go all over the place and a earn a fortune with it. That’s what Quennel said.’

Dorian looked over at Quennel, who was standing with his shoulders hunched, still glaring at the floor. ’Your fortune does not seem to have been forth-coming, Mister Quennel. Or am I merely looking in the wrong place?’

‘It would have been a fortune,’ Quennel growled. ‘It started off fine, once the hybrid had been trained proper and everything.’

‘We burned its hands and feet,’ said Morley, feeling Dorian’s attention slipping away. ‘Like what they do to chimney sweeps, to make the skin hard. It’s like a blister, see, and then it gets all –’

‘Thank you, Mister Andro. I think I’ve heard enough now.’

Crushed, Morley bit his lip, looking from Dorian to Quennel under his eyebrows.

Dorian rubbed his upper lip with one finger, frowning slightly. ‘So, there were no other hybrids? Just this one?’

‘Yeah.’ Quennel gave a short laugh. ‘That’s what we billed it as. The Only Hybrid In Kiona.’

‘In that case,’ Dorian said briskly, ‘I’ll buy it from you.’


---

Does the Morley/Raven narrative/flashback thing work? Too confusing?

Awesome, awesome, awesome. Sheesh. That was exciting. I love the little extra glimpses you get of Raven's personality...not just her snarkiness, but also her wildness and her loyalty. It's great. I'll give you a more in-depth review later, but right now I'm just soaking it up and waiting impatiently for more.