In the harbour by the river lived Tom and the rook Dragon. The boy was mending the net on the balcony and the bird was counting knots. They learned simple tricks and whistling signs together. The tarpon liked stolen glitter, the tom liked quiet mornings. That evening the river smelled of algae and the sky was milky. A silence loomed over the rooftops, as if the city had held its breath. Tar fell onto the railing and dropped a small metal ring. The ring bore a paw carved into a thin sheet of metal. The bird nudged it with its beak, once, twice, and hissed. - 'Let's go,' said Tom, though his heart beat anxiously. A lame female Flea came out of the yard and wagged her tail. Cats jumped off the fences, as if waiting for his step. A tawny owl sat above a lamp post and blinked its round, honey-coloured eyes. The column of animals moved through the market, towards the old mill. The mill had stood empty for years, but the wheel still creaked. Tom squeezed the ring in his hand, feeling the cold of the metal. The dragon flew up to the door and knocked three times with its beak. A whisper came from inside, but it was not a human voice. The boards moved, as if someone was pushing them with a paw from inside. The flea wailed quietly and the market was suddenly plunged into darkness. - Tom... - rang out from the darkness, like an echo without an echo. The door gave way and he saw dozens of eyes just blinking. And the Tar spread its wings as if it was going to cover him. Someone extended a long, silver whistle on a leather thong.