The attack was fast, but Corvus was faster. Before Renard's arm could complete its downward swing, a black-and-silver streak of feathers and talons exploded through the open belfry window! CRRAAAA-AWK!
Corvus struck Renard full in the face, his sharp talons gripping the man's leather collar while his heavy silver-notched beak slammed twice against Renard's forehead!
"AAAGH! Get it off me! Get it off!" Renard shrieked, dropping the heavy wrench to protect his eyes from the furious storm of wings and claws!
Julian didn't hesitate. He dived forward, tackled Renard around the waist, and brought both of them crashing down onto the timber floorboards! The dark-lantern rolled across the floor, its glass lens shattering against a brass gear drum, sending a small pool of burning lamp oil spilling toward the grease rags on the workbench!
FIRE! Corvus disengaged from Renard instantly, soaring up to the belfry rafters as the flames caught the dry cotton rags! Renard, bleeding from three shallow scratches on his forehead and completely panicked by the sudden blaze, kicked himself free from Julian's grip, scrambled out the belfry window onto the slate roof, and fled down the rain gutter pipe toward the docks below!
"Julian!" Corvus screamed—the bird's vocal cords mimicking the human name he had heard Master Vance shout a hundred times in the belfry! "JULIAN! FIRE!"
Julian scrambled to his feet. The workbench was ablaze, the flames licking dangerously close to the main timber support beams of the Market Clock. There was no water bucket in the belfry.
"The salt basin!" Julian realized.
Directly beneath the belfry floor was the open hatch leading to the sea-water cooling tank used by the Customs House fish inspectors. Julian grabbed the heavy canvas wool blanket from the watchman's cot, soaked it in the small drinking pitcher on the shelf, and smothered the workbench fire with three hard, suffocating strikes! Smoke billowed through the room, thick and acrid, but the flames died.
Julian collapsed against the gear frame, coughing, his face covered in soot. Corvus dropped down onto his shoulder, pressing his warm, feathered head gently against Julian's cheek, emitting a soft, vibrating throat-rumble of comfort.
"We saved the Market Clock," Julian gasped, breathing through his sleeve. "It's still running."
Tick... clack. Tick... clack.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the three pieces of evidence: the file fragment, the grease brush, and the monogrammed scarf.
"Now," Julian said, his voice steadying, "we take this to Master Vance before the sun comes up."
The silence that settled over the belfry after Renard's flight was broken only by the steady, uninterrupted ticking of the Market Clock's movement and the hiss of the rain against the open window louvers. Julian leaned against the heavy oak workbench, wiping cold sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, his eyes fixed on the charred section of timber where the lamp oil had caught.
Corvus hopped down from the rafter beam, landed on the workbench, and pushed a small brass screw toward Julian with his beak—a characteristic gesture of restoration, as if offering a tiny building block to repair the damage. Julian picked up the screw and managed a faint, tired laugh. "We're going to need more than one screw to fix this night, Corvus," he said softly.
"But it's a good start."
Renard's boots clattered loudly against the wet slate tiles of the Customs House roof as he fled toward the harbor wall, his dark-lantern discarded and his equipment satchel bouncing against his side. Down on the belfry floor, Julian finished stamping out the last ember on the watchman's blanket, the acrid smoke slowly clearing through the open window louvers.
Corvus landed beside the charred workbench, reached down with his beak, and retrieved a small brass gear tooth that had fallen from Renard's satchel during the struggle.
He hopped over to Julian and deposited the tooth into the boy's open palm. "Another piece of evidence," Julian said, looking at the gear.
"Stolen from Master Vance's store room."
Julian carefully wrapped the stolen gear tooth and the grease brush in a clean cotton handkerchief, tucking the bundle securely into his inner coat pocket alongside the file fragment and Renard's monogrammed scarf. The damp sea-mist was beginning to lift from the harbor basin, revealing the gray silhouettes of the fishing sloops tied up along the quay.
High above the Customs House roof, Corvus circled twice in the pale pre-dawn light, his sharp eyes monitoring the surrounding alleyways to make sure Renard hadn't doubled back with harbor watchmen.
Satisfied that the coast was clear, the raven dropped down to the ladder top, giving Julian a low, double-click signal that meant time to move. They had all the physical proof required to clear Julian's name and convict Renard of deliberate sabotage.