The Strange Round Bird: Or the Poet, the King, and the Mysterious Men in Black

by Eden Unger Bowditch

  With books strewn across the floor, Wallace pointed to a section of text from a collection of translated speeches. “This comes from a public address Suleiman gave. This must be from his speech after the execution of his son. ‘We fall victim to evil in our midst.’ Is he implying that his own son was evil?”

  “Or perhaps suggesting that someone else was evil,” suggested Faye.

  “It looks like he is describing the same thing here, in this text,” said Wallace, comparing another translated segment he found in another book.

  “Or attempting to hide his description,” said Faye, comparing the two pieces of writing. “He writes quite well for a king, if he wrote it himself. Many kings of the past could not even read. He is saying here that the greatest power is the power to both destroy and create. But here, listen, he says, ‘… bringing to life the wheels of this creature, the wings folding around to protect the earth are those which unfold the darkness.’ It’s as if there’s a thing, an actual specific thing, at the heart of all this. Do you think he might mean something other than a general sadness for the loss or betrayal of his son? I can’t help feeling like something happened, and its something big.”

  “Who is Il Magna?” asked Lucy, her nose in another book. “See, it’s trying to be a picture, but the calligraphy here spells—”

  “No!” cried a brother wearing a large floppy hat with a great black feather, poofy trousers, and pointed shoes. His hat and trousers flapped as he ran over to Lucy and grabbed the book from her hands. The seriousness with which he attempted scorn was lessened by his silly hat, now slightly askew on his head.

  “’No?” asked Faye, trying to pry the book back out of the brother’s hands. In the tug-of-war, Faye was losing, but she caught a quick look at the familiar symbol—the turgha of Suleiman.

  “He does not want you opening wounds and making them bleed anew,” said Mr. Bell, who had come into the room without notice.

  “And what, pray tell, does that mean?” asked Faye. “We are here to find out answers. Who or what is Il Magna? Sounds like some Spanish prince or Italian—”

  “All things in turn. This will come later,” said Mr. Bell, curtly.

  “Well, we want it to come now,” insisted Faye, trying again to wrench the book from the brother’s hands.

  “No one should have to carry the end of the world on his shoulder, Mistress Faye,” said Mr. Bell. “Until the time you must, let it be.”

  This stopped Faye cold. Mr. Bell merely nodded and left the room with the brother, carrying the book. Faye and the other children stood, silent, until the two mysterious men in black turned the corner of the corridor.

  “The end of the world?” Faye’s fingers fell from the book.

  “I didn’t do it,” Lucy insisted.

  “No one did it, but it has something to do with what we found.” Wallace could see the worry on Mr. Bell’s face.

  “Do you think Il Magna has something to do with this?” asked Jasper. “I mean, with Noah’s mother? And with why we’re here?”

  “It’s all so awful. We just find more to make us wonder about more things instead of finding out what is happening!” said Lucy, who was close to tears. She felt hurt that the brother and Mr. Bell had taken her book from her.

  “Lucy is right,” said Wallace. “We don’t seem to be getting any closer. Il Magna, if that’s what the writing said, might have nothing to do with anything.”

  “Fine.” Faye was frustrated, her cheeks hot and red. “Let them take the book. We can still put things together. Let’s go over what we know.”

  She turned to the list they had made, still on the blackboard.

  FACTS ABOUT ARIANA IN CAIRO

  1. ARRIVAL

  ARIANA ARRIVES IN ALEXANDRIA.

  WHERE DID SHE GO? TO HER FRIEND’S ESTATE.

  WHO DID SHE SEE? THE PASHA AND HIS WIFE.

  WHO KNEW SHE HAD ARRIVED? THE OPERA COMPANY? MR. BELL?

  2. ACCOMMODATIONS

  WHEN SHE ARRIVES IN CAIRO, SHE STAYS AT THE SHEPHEARD’S HOTEL.

  3. FIRST EVENING

  WITH WHOM DID SHE DINE? NICOLAY NICOLAY

  DID SHE STAY IN HER SUITE AT SHEPHEARD’S? NOTE FROM

  NN RECEIVED, SO YES.

  4. THE FOLLOWING DAYS

  REHEARSAL AT THE OPERA HOUSE. THERE AT LEAST FOR

  FITTINGS AND FOR SOME REHEARSAL.

  WHERE DID SHE GO AFTER? (DO NOT KNOW YET)

  WITH WHOM DID SHE VISIT? (DO NOT KNOW YET)

  WHO CAME TO THE HOTEL TO SEE HER? (DO NOT KNOW YET)

  5. THE SECOND WEEK

  DID SHE STAY IN CAIRO? YES, BUT SENDS THINGS ON TO GIZA,

  TO THE MENA HOUSE.

  6. NIGHT OF THE PERFORMANCE

  “Now we need to add some of the things we’ve learned,” said Faye, writing on the board.

  Where is Ariana????

  Who took her? Komar Romak

  Why did they take her? For something the parents have or know—something old and dangerous

  How can we find her? We must find the lair of Komar Romak. We must find what THE THING is that Komar Romak wants. We must form a plan of action.

  Who can help us? Mr. Bell? Sir Edward Romer? Il Magna? Suleiman, the Magnificent? Muhabi, the poet? WHO ELSE????

  “That is the question, isn’t it?” said Jasper. “Who else will help us?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NOAH AT THE PALACE

  OR

  WHAT THE LOCKES HAD IN THE SAFE

  Noah’s pallor was greenish-white and he was feeling rather ill in the stomach when the horse came to a stop in front of The Mena House. It was only a short ride, but the rearing horse and the roaring rider had given quite a shock to Noah’s system. Turning around, Noah caught sight of the brother in black, pulling the carriage over behind a tree by the entrance.

  “Cor, look at that beauty,” cried Pamina, hopping off the horse. She stopped in her tracks in front of a brilliantly shiny and sleek race car parked right on the lawn of the Mena House gardens. “Old Hugh must be here. He’s quite the racer. Planning to open a permanent racecourse at his estate in Surrey. I’d like to race one of those motorcars.”

  Pamina didn’t notice that Noah was sliding slowly off the back end of her horse. The horse gave a snort and Noah slid faster.

  “Thank you for the ride,” said Noah, knees knocking as he tried to stand. With feet firmly on the ground, and stepping aside to avoid the horse’s hooves, he was quickly recovering.

  “My pleasure, Noah,” said Pamina, jumping back onto her horse with ease. She waved, reared, and rode off. Noah stood there, smiling. Pamina had called him “Noah” instead of “Jimmy,” which was music to the boy’s rather red and hot ears.

  “Itfaddil!” cried a booming voice for the third time.

  Noah shook his head and realized the man from the hotel was welcoming him. “Uh, yes, thank you. I…my mother was to stay here and I need to speak to the concierge.”

  The man bowed and gestured the way up the grand stairs into the elegant foyer of the hotel. It was a palace. It had been the pasha’s hunting lodge, officially the khedivial hunting palace, but had been bought and turned into a hotel by the Locke Kings.

  Noah was led up to the front porch, where several well-dressed people were sipping tea and quietly chatting. Noah quickly caught sight of a rather scruffy pair.

  “Fantastic rendition, Hilda!” Noah heard a man’s voice exclaim.

  A gray-bearded man and a younger woman sat at a corner table. Both looked rather dusty, and the woman was wearing regular trousers, as opposed to riding gear. Before Pamina, Noah had never seen a woman dressed like that before. Perhaps it’s something about Cairo, he wondered.

  The two scruffy people were looking at a book of drawings. Noah could see that one of the book’s drawings was of an Egyptian tomb. These pictures are amazing, he thought—the drawings and the people.

  “Like what you see, boy?” asked the bearded man.

  Noah realized he had rudely moved so
close that he was now between the man and the woman.

  “Yes, sir,” he answered. “Your artwork is remarkable.”

  A young Arab dressed in ragged clothes came towards the table. Noah tried to move aside so he could pass, but the boy, not much older than Noah, stepped right up to the Petries.

  “Notice anything about the drawings?” the young man asked in perfect English, pointing to the Egyptian art.

  Noah was surprised to hear such a question coming from this beggar, but he looked down through the pages as Hilda Petrie turned them slowly. And, yes, Noah did notice something odd. All the sketches, drawings, and images from ancient Egypt showed a side view of the people—the pharaohs and their servants.

  “Is everyone in profile?” asked Noah.

  “Almost all of them,” said the woman. She flipped the pages to one drawing. It was something of a war scene. At the center was one figure facing front. A chill ran up Noah’s spine.

  The young man pointed to the figure at the center of the sketch. “This picture is an odd one. We see the man from the front, but he has only half of a moustache.”

  The woman said, “We’ve seen very few of these. For some reason, the frontal face depiction is very rare. And, even stranger, it always depicts an enemy. This one is really unique. We don’t know what to make of the moustache in this one. Perhaps it is an unfinished piece. Or perhaps time has wiped it off.”

  “I don’t think any amount of time could wipe it off,” said Noah.

  “Sorry?” said the woman, smiling. “What was that?”

  “Only that I do love your work,” said Noah, offering a little bow.

  “Thank you, young man,” said the woman. “I’m Hilda Petrie. This is my husband, Flinders.”

  Noah stood dumbstruck. His brain worked faster than his mouth could. He was suddenly caught in the connection between the names of the two scruffy Egyptologists and the Petrie mentioned in the book he had found on Mr. Bell’s desk.

  Noah reached into his brain for a little Lucy inspiration and blurted out: “Preliminary Notice of Some Facts (Heretofore Unperceived) Which Will Be Shewn to Aggregate Into Certain Cosmic and Metric Systems in the Great Pyramid When Taken With Other Facts to be Subsequently Considered…You, sir, are W.M. Flinders Petrie.”

  The man graciously reached out his hand. “One and the same, young man. Very impressive. And you are …?”

  “Noah…Noah Canto-Sagas,” Noah said.

  “Well, it’s Ariana’s boy,” a woman’s deep voice boomed from across the veranda. Noah turned to see a rather shapely woman in wide trousers and a broad hat walking over. She reached her hand towards Noah as his hand left the grasp of Flinders Petrie. “I’m Amelia Peabody Emerson. This is my …” She looked with some motherly disgust at the teenaged boy dressed like a beggar. “This is my son, Ramses, who was just off for a wash.”

  Ramses gave a sheepish smile to Noah and headed into the hotel.

  Mrs. Emerson nodded, “And this is …”

  The man she was about to introduce was no longer at her side. He had moved over to view the drawings of Hilda Petrie. Mrs. Emerson turned to Noah. “That is my husband, Radcliff Emerson. We are colleagues of Flinders and Hildie Petrie.”

  “I know your names, too,” Noah said. “You work on ancient Egyptian manuscripts and heiroglyphics.” Noah knew of this elite collection of Egyptologists.

  “Yes, we do,” said Amelia, trying unsuccessfully to get her husband’s attention.

  “I’ve got some papers I’m looking through,” said Noah, “They are pages that Sir Edward Romer has been—”

  “Lovely man, Sir Edward,” said Mrs. Emerson. “And quite a spark of a niece he’s got.”

  Noah blushed.

  “I see you’ve met her.” Mrs. Emerson had a gleam in her eye.

  Noah blushed even more deeply and nodded. “We’re looking at a poem by Muhabi, trying to see if there’s a way to map the—”

  “Muhabi’s map poem?” asked Hilda Petrie, looking up from her sketches. “Not our era. Find Corlyss Swayne, young man. Corlyss Swayne is the finest …” She trailed off, distracted by her husband, who was pointing to something in one of her sketches.

  Noah made his excuses to no one, because no one was listening, and followed the patient and ever-waiting attendant through the entrance into the hotel. Even the Petries, and likely the Emersons, know of Corlyss Swayne, Noah thought. He was now all the more determined.

  At the front desk, Noah observed some of the most aristocratic guests any hotel might welcome, including ladies in furs that would have sent Lucy to tears. These were not mere furs, but whole foxes hanging limp from shoulders, and little mink and ermine collars with tails wrapped too tightly around the double chins of enormous women with tiny dogs, dressed in matching couture. A crowd had gathered to the right of the reception desk. At the center was a very chic couple with a large, scruffy white dog.

  “They are the owners,” said the attendant as he motioned Noah to the reception desk. Noah pushed through the crowd. He squeezed through until he was right next to the couple.

  “Excuse me, Madame. I am Noah Canto-Sagas and—”

  In a blink, Noah found himself whisked away from the crowd and into the arms of Ethel Locke King. From her hiding place behind a great golden wall at the side of the concierge’s desk, she motioned for her husband. To the dismay of Radcliff Emerson, Locke King shouted, “Look, the famous Radcliff Emerson has returned from discovering a new tomb!” upon which the bulk of the crowd hurried towards the Emersons, who sent dirty looks towards the Locke Kings as the latter couple slid out of sight with Noah.

  “Baron Rodakowsky,” called Ethel Lock-King to the hotel manager. “Do introduce our guests.”

  “Madame and sir, I—” Noah was stifled by a “shhh” from Ethel Locke King. She pulled a lever which opened a door on the wall behind the desk. They slipped through the secret passage that led up and then exited on the first floor above the lobby. Hurrying across the hall, they entered a small but ornately furnished office, where Noah was offered a chair.

  “It’s safe here. Now we can speak,” Ethel Locke King said. “I’m sorry for that abrupt departure, but truly I am worried.”

  “So you know about the kidnapping?” Noah was surprised the news had been made public.

  “Kidnapping?” Ethel Locke King’s hand went to her heart.

  “I thought that was why you were hiding me,” said Noah. “I mean hiding me away in …” He realized he was not at all sure where he was.

  “We were merely following her request,” Ethel said in a weakened voice. “Your mother said you might be coming. We had thought it strange, but we promised. She said if you arrived on your own…if there was any problem with the performance…she… she said her son would arrive and should be allowed, in secret, to go to her room.” Ethel reached under the desk, her hand slightly shaking, and pressed a button that opened a secret drawer in the bookcase. “She was so serious, so determined, only we had no idea …”

  Ethel reached into the drawer. “We are so rarely in Cairo anymore. We sent word we would come to see her and she said she had something important to give us. It was so unlike her. She said I was to be sure you and only you received this. We had never seen her without it. But this time, she seemed anxious about something. She tried to make light of it. After all, she is Ariana and said it was only her whim—nothing serious. And, of course, if all was fine the night of the opera, she explained, she would come to collect it herself.”

  But all had not been fine the night of the opera.

  “Goodness, your father… ” began Ethel, “Is he here? He must be mortified.”

  “He’s fallen ill,” said Noah, his voice cracking, “We just do not know …”

  Ethel put a hand on Noah’s arm. Both parents in danger. The poor boy is all alone.

  Hugh sank heavily into another chair. “The word that has reached the public is that she lost her voice. There has been nothing in the newspaper indicating foul pl
ay.” Ethel reached over and pressed a button inside the drawer that caused a book to tilt as if knocked out of line on the shelf. Hugh pulled the book farther and a small drawer flipped open at the base of the cherub statue. Hugh nodded to Noah, who reached into the drawer.

  Noah removed a velvet box from the drawer. Ethel shifted to hold her husband’s hand. “What happened? What are the demands?” She was dabbing at the corners of her eyes and her lip was quivering.

  Noah blinked, looking at the box. “There…there haven’t been any…demands…not that I know of.” He realized he did not know. His face felt hot. What if demands had come?

  Absently, he looked back at the velvet box. With a nod from the Locke Kings, Noah opened it. With a gasp, he almost dropped the box and its contents. No, he thought. It couldn’t be. “Her necklace?” he stuttered. “Why…why would she leave it here? She never takes it off. Never.”

  Ethel shook her head.

  “It’s not possible. I’ve never seen her without it,” Noah said, looking more closely to be sure he was seeing the necklace he knew so well.

  “Neither have we,” said Hugh.

  “Is…is there anything else?” asked Noah, not knowing what else to say.

  Ethel stood up and looked in the drawer where the necklace had been hidden. It was empty. Ethel shook her head. “She said you would know where to take it, where it would be safe.”

  Faye stared as the light from the castle window swept across the slate board. The list was still a poor path to Ariana, thought Jasper. As they read the list over and over, Jasper felt the need to do something productive. Earlier, he had been sketching some ideas and had invented a small mechanism for the lemonade seller. It could be screwed into the gourde and allow for a variety of sweetness levels. The poor seller would soon be a success. Jasper was sure. He put it aside and adjusted his microscope.

  Faye was looking out one of the tall narrow windows, one of several in the room. The sun was beginning to move lower in the sky. It was past midday and still no word from Noah. Even using secret paths and secret passageways, Giza was still a couple of hours from the castle. Faye shivered, even though there was little chill in the air. Noah had to be home before dark. He simply had to be.