Free License to Quill by Jacopo della Quercia

noted, as he focused on the buildings by Westminster Abbey. To his right, Shakespeare surveyed the setting sun behind the countless spires sticking out of the walled city. More than two hundred thousand Londoners fell under his eyes. Farmlands, windmills, and country homes dotted the pastoral landscape in the distance. It was a spellbinding viewpoint for reexamining the world where he lived.
    And then there were the ravens.…
    One by one, two by two, wave by wave, a vast conspiracy of black ravens descended upon the Tower of London. The bard had never seen so many of the huge birds in his life. They appeared as long as his legs and had wingspans as wide as his arms. The ravens formed a swirling black cloud that completely blanketed the castle’s battlements. As they swooped down to perch on the roof top, every one of their onyx eyes and sharp beaks honed in on the bard at its center.
    â€œYou have been busy.…” Shakespeare remarked to the scientist.
    â€œMore than you can imagine.” Bacon walked up to the playwright amidst a crescendo of croaks from the birds. “Hold out your hands.” The bard set down his buckets and outstretched his fingers as if playing a clavichord. Bacon turned the playwright’s palms upward and stacked them high with meat. As Shakespeare’s hands became laden with entrails, he could not help but glance nervously at the ravens around him. There was a violence in their voices that the bard found disquieting, but once Bacon stepped away from the playwright, their tones changed completely. Most of the ravens fell silent, some turned their heads, and a few even called out to the birds around them. It was almost as if they were discussing the playwright with a communal curiosity.
    â€œWhat is this?” Shakespeare asked. “Why have you brought me here?”
    â€œNeed I repeat myself, master bard?” asked Bacon as he set down his buckets.
    â€œYou never mentioned this part. Whatever part it may be.” The bard winced at the carrion in his hands. “What are you trying to do? Feed me to them?”
    â€œAs I explained, master bard, this is their training.” Bacon removed a wooden flute from his belt. “Don’t move.”
    Shakespeare turned his head to the scientist in near-panic. “What are you doing!”
    The wizard raised the wooden flute to his mouth. “It’s a secret to everybody.”
    The flute whistled.
    The ravens froze.
    There was silence and stillness. And then, flapping.
    The bard shut his eyes.
    The ravens washed over Shakespeare, engulfing the playwright in a frenzied swarm of black feathers. The bard could no longer see London. He could no longer see daylight. He could no longer hear anything other than the whirlwind of screaming ravens surroundering him. The bard peeked through one eye to see the birds tearing the entrails in his hands to ribbons. Some of them perched on his wrists as they ate, weighing them down. Others flew onto his shoulders. One even tugged on his beard as if to make sure it was real. One after another, the ravens studied Shakespeare’s face as the bard stared in shock at the blood-covered beaks.
    â€œNo matter where you go,” said Bacon, stepping into the storm, “you will never be alone. You will always be followed, and you will always be guarded. These ravens will watch over you with all-seeing eyes. All their relations and offspring will be told who you are. Ravens from every corner of Britain will know you by your face; even those who have never seen it themselves. As long as you are friendly to them, these ravens will protect you with their lives. They are your secret weapon. They are your patron saint. They are your guardian angel.”
    â€œRemarkable,” Shakespeare observed as several ravens broke away, carrying news of the bard’s into the horizon. “Just remarkable.”
    â€œNo, they’re not,” the mad wizard corrected. “They