Griffin of Darkwood

by Becky Citra

  Just then there was a loud rustle of feathers. A sparrowhawk, sitting on a wooden perch, blinked its golden eyes.

  “That’s Prospero,” said Granny Storm. “He has a nasty temperament, but I’m fond of him.”

  She opened a latch on a small round window and swung it open. Prospero soared across the room and flew out. “He’s after some supper,” said the old woman, shutting the window. “He’ll tap when he wants in again.”

  But Will barely heard her. He had forgotten his nervousness. He knelt in front of a low table that was covered with a purple velvet cloth. A candle flame flickered and danced on a silvery-grey glass ball on an ebony stand.

  “Is this a real crystal ball?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I touch it?”

  “Don’t be rough.”

  He placed his fingers gently on the ball. It was ice-cold. Will held his breath and stared into its depths.

  The old woman seemed to make up her mind about something. “Don’t try so hard. Let the image come to you.”

  Just when he thought nothing was going to happen, milky colours began to swirl in the ball – pale reds and yellows and blues. A face floated into view. It was a man with haunted black eyes. Will knew him right away. “It’s my grandfather, Sterling. He looks just like in my photograph.”

  “Did you say Sterling?” asked Granny Storm sharply. “It’s an unusual name. I’ve only known one Sterling and that was forty years ago.”

  “Yes, but oh, he’s disappearing. Do you think he wanted to tell me something?”

  “How much do you know about him?”

  “Not much. I don’t even know his last name. My mother said he was a writer."

  “Sterling," the tiny woman mumbled. "This boy looks just like him.”

  It was almost as if Granny Storm had known his grandfather. Will’s eyes were pulled back to the crystal ball. The colours swirled, making him feel dizzy. Sweat prickled his back.

  “It’s awfully hot in here,” he muttered.

  The ball started to spin, faster and faster. He thought his head was going to explode. In a panic, he searched for Granny Storm, but the room was full of purple mist and he couldn’t see her. Clammy fingers of mist touched his cheeks and seeped into his ears.

  He was cold now, ice-cold.

  “Help!” Will squeezed his eyes shut.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The White Envelope

  When Will dared to open his eyes, the ball had disappeared. He was in a clearing at the bottom of a steep gully. Dark trees, grey moss hanging in tatters from their limbs, crowded him on both sides. An overwhelming stench filled the air.

  A deer lay on its back, its legs splayed crookedly and one milky eye staring up at him. He gasped in horror. The deer’s stomach was torn open, and its entrails spilled onto the ground. Flies buzzed over the carcass.

  The surrounding bushes were trampled and crushed, and ferns were flattened as if a huge creature had passed through. Then Will spotted bones, hundreds of them, picked clean and tossed aside. He was in the middle of a killing ground. Something fed here. The carcass was steaming and, with a sickening lurch, he realized he had disturbed some creature in the middle of its meal.

  His eyes darted around wildly, looking for an escape. He tried to scramble up the side of the gully, reaching for a root to pull himself up. His hand slipped and a jolt of pain stabbed his knee. He grabbed a handful of ferns to stop himself from sliding back down.

  Just then, a roaring wind swept through the trees. Will looked back over his shoulder. A huge shadow dropped over him. He threw himself sideways. His head banged against something hard. Everything went black.

  < • >

  When Will opened his eyes, Granny Storm was peering down at him. A veil of purple vapour hung in the air above her.

  Will sat up and rubbed his throbbing head. “What happened?”

  “You banged your head on the table leg.”

  “I mean before that.”

  “You entered the ball. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that on their first time.”

  Will stood up slowly. His mouth was dry and his legs wobbled. He felt drained. Something warm dripped down his leg. He looked down at his right knee. There was a hole ripped in his jeans, the edges soggy with blood.

  The crystal ball was ordinary now, still and dull grey.

  “What did you see?” demanded Granny Storm.

  “I can’t talk about it.” Will thought he was going to throw up.

  “You’re as white as a sheet. The ball has that effect. We need to talk.”

  “I won’t,” said Will. “I have to go.”

  < • >

  “You went into the ball!” guessed Emma.

  “Oh, Will,” said Star. “I’ve told Granny Storm over and over –”

  “It’s okay,” said Will hoarsely. “I’m okay.”

  Emma’s brothers and sisters were staring at him. He was desperate to leave. But how was he going to make it as far as the castle? It seemed miles and miles away.

  “I’ve got to go home,” he said. “Come on, Thom.”

  “I’ll come with you guys,” said Emma.

  “You’re babysitting little Jeremy King in half an hour,” said Star.

  “Unfair!” cried Emma. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  Will barely heard her. He stumbled out of the house with a mumbled good-bye.

  Bones…blood…an enormous shadow. What exactly had he seen?

  < • >

  When Will and Thom got back to the castle, they bumped smack into Aunt Mauve, who was heading out through the stone archway, wearing her purple boots and her squirrel cape. When he saw the squirrels, Thom turned white.

  “Out of my way! I’ve no time to talk to you,” said Aunt Mauve. “I’ll miss my bus.”

  “What do you mean, bus?” said Will.

  “If you must know, I’m going back to the city. I have urgent business to take care of. I’ll be gone for two days.”

  It’s because of that long white envelope, thought Will. He was still pondering the envelope when he and Thom went inside. He headed down a dim passageway. “Follow me!” he called.

  Thom stopped dead in his tracks. “Where are we going?”

  “The Red Chamber. Aunt Mauve’s room. There’s something I have to look for.”

  Will led Thom through the maze of passageways. They passed the door to the dungeon. This time it was partly open and they could hear the sound of something smashing. “Mr. Cherry’s at it again,” said Will. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever get another chance to look around in there by ourselves. I’d give anything to find out where he hides the key.”

  “Not me,” said Thom.

  Aunt Mauve had left the Red Chamber in a tremendous hurry. Scarves, stockings, hats and shawls were draped everywhere. Will started digging through the contents of a wastepaper basket full of wadded up tissues. “Aha!” He held up a scrap of torn envelope with a colourful Russian stamp in the corner.

  The first long white envelope had come from Australia. And now Russia. Who would write to Aunt Mauve from so far away? And why?

  He turned the wastebasket upside down and spilled its contents onto the floor. Thom kept glancing up at the door as he helped sort through the tissues for the missing pieces of envelope.

  “Here’s my name," said Will, examining a torn piece of paper. “William Poppy. I knew it!”

  Soon they had a pile of white scraps. Will scooped them up and put them in his jacket pocket. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  When they passed the dungeon door, it was shut, and the key was dangling in the lock. “Yes!” cried Will. “Mr. Cherry forgot to take the key!” He grabbed it and slipped it into his other pocket. “We’ll come back later.”

  They sped up to the tower. Will spread the scraps of envelope on the floor and they went to work fitting them together.

  “It’s like a jigsaw puzzle,” said Thom.

  Will fit in the last piece. “Got it!�
��

  The envelope said Master William Poppy and was addressed to Aunt Mauve’s house in the city. Someone had written FORWARD across the top and the address of Sparrowhawk Hall. The return address in the top left corner said Oliver Barnaby, Russia.

  Will seethed. How dare Aunt Mauve steal his letters! The first white envelope that had arrived in the city must have been for him too. And what was Mr. Barnaby doing in Russia?

  “Aunt Mauve must have kept the letter that was inside,” he said. “Maybe Mr. Barnaby was writing me about my mum’s book. Now I’ll never know if it was good news or bad news!”

  “What book?” asked Thom.

  Will hesitated, then poured out the story of his mother and Mr. Barnaby and The Magical Night.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Mr. Barnaby could be anywhere by now. It sounds like he’s on a trip around the world. But one thing’s for sure! As soon as Aunt Mauve gets back, I’ll make her tell me the truth!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  An Owl called Minnie

  Will was back inside Granny Storm’s crystal ball. He felt himself falling…falling into the gully. The stench was everywhere. The deer had become a pile of bleached bones. He picked up the skull and stared into the black empty eye sockets.

  To his horror, the jaw moved. “The curse,” said the deer. “Escape while you can. Leave Sparrowhawk.”

  Will turned to run but he was encircled by a fence of bones. “You’re doomed,” chanted the bones. “You’ll never get away.”

  Will’s eyes snapped open. His heart raced. His eyes swept over the carved sparrowhawks, his mother’s pencil box…he was safe in the tower.

  He forced himself to stay awake until morning, terrified that the dream would come back. Finally, he climbed out of bed, stiff and cold, and pulled on his jeans and T-shirt. He stood on the bed and climbed through the trap door onto the roof. The village below slumbered in the early morning. He turned the other way and gazed at the forest, the trees packed so densely it was almost black. Was that where the magic ball had taken him? Was the gully of death hidden somewhere in those trees? The forest had secrets. Will knew that for sure. Emma had said that no one ever went into it because of the curse. The deer skull had warned him about a curse in his dream. Leave Sparrowhawk, it had said.

  “No,” said Will out loud. “You can’t scare me away. I won’t go!”

  A movement caught his eye. Someone was standing close to the towering oak tree with the SOLD sign. Madeleine de Luca! The sun winked on her big round glasses.

  “What are you doing?” shouted Will.

  Madeleine stared up at him and then turned and ran down the road.

  “And stay away!” yelled Will. He was finally rid of the Muses – they hadn’t been back since that day in Shadow Alley. The last thing he needed was a weird girl hanging around. He scrambled down through the trap door and set out down Black Penny Road to Thom’s. He kept a sharp eye out for Madeleine, but she had disappeared.

  Thom and Emma were in the kitchen. In the middle of the table, a tiny ball of bristly fuzz stared at Will.

  “What is it?” asked Will.

  “An owl,” said Thom.

  “Oh, wow! He’s amazing!”

  “It’s a she,” said Thom. “And she’s not a baby. She’s an elf owl. They’re the smallest owls in the world. I looked it up in our bird book.”

  The owl was no bigger than Will’s hand. She had white eyebrows and bristly feathers on her legs. “Where did you find her?”

  “I was practising making cream puffs last night.” Thom’s face fell. “It’s harder than it looks.”

  “The poetry reading’s the day after tomorrow,” said Emma.

  Thom glared at Emma. “I know that.”

  “What about the owl?” asked Will.

  “Right. I was just taking the cream puffs out of the oven when I heard this pecking sound at the window. I thought it was hail, but it went on and on and so I opened the window, and in she flew. I’ve named her Minnie because she’s so small.”

  Minnie gave three little hops past the salt shaker. She fluttered her wings and landed on Thom’s shoulder. Thom held his breath. He put his finger up and the little owl nibbled it gently with her beak. “Tu-tu-tu,” she whistled.

  “I think she’s hungry,” said Emma.

  Thom looked worried. “The book says she eats scorpions.”

  “Where do you find scorpions around here?” asked Will.

  “It’s a problem,” Thom admitted. “I hope she’ll like grasshoppers.”

  “How about some pb and j sandwiches for us?” Emma suggested. “Don’t move, Thom! I’ll make them.”

  They ate at the kitchen table. Minnie perched on Thom’s shoulder, her head swivelling back and forth.

  “She sure doesn’t act like a wild owl,” said Emma. “I think she came to your window on purpose. Somehow she knew that you understand animals.”

  “D’you think so?” asked Thom.

  “Okay, get this,” said Will. “I’ve got the dungeon key!”

  “I’m only going if Mr. Cherry’s out,” said Thom quickly.

  Minnie rode on Thom’s shoulder to the living room. He picked her up gently and set her in the jade tree, and John promised to keep an eye on her. On the way up Black Penny Road, Peaches bounded out of an alleyway, howling with joy to find them. When they arrived at the castle, they climbed the spiral stairs to Will’s tower.

  Thom went straight to the pencil box. “It’s not doing anything,” he said.

  Emma did a back bend and then peered out a window. “Mr. Cherry just left. The coast is clear.”

  Will retrieved the dungeon key from its hiding place in his trunk.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” said Thom. “I’ll wait here. I’ll be the guard in case he comes back.”

  He flopped on the bed and Peaches leapt up beside him. Will got his torch and he and Emma set off.

  “Don’t blame me if he kills you!” called Thom.

  Chapter Twenty

  A Clue in the Dungeon

  “Mr. Cherry’s smashed tons of bricks!” said Emma.

  “But he’s given up.” Will scanned the cobwebby dungeon. “He’s taken the tools away. He must be going to look somewhere else.”

  “Why?” Emma frowned. “What’s he after?”

  “That's what we have to find out.” Will took one last look around and shuddered. It was horrible to imagine the prisoners’ screams and the duke trapped in the hole in the ground.

  “Wait a sec,” said Emma. “Shine the light over there in that corner. I think I saw something.”

  Will turned the torch.

  “What’s this?” Emma bent down and picked up something on top of a pile of broken bricks. “It’s your postcard!”

  “What? Let me see.”

  Emma passed him a slightly crumpled postcard. He studied it in disbelief. It was the picture of the silver stag. He turned it over and read the inscription on the back. Stag in the Forest, 1602, Morgan Moonstone, Medieval Tapestry Collection, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

  “Mr. Cherry must have dropped it,” he said slowly.

  “I don’t get it. How did Mr. Cherry get your postcard?”

  “I don’t know.” Will felt sick at the thought of Mr. Cherry poking through his things in the tower. “I’m going back to check.”

  When they got back to the tower, Will went straight to the bag from The Winking Cat and dumped it out on the bed. Both postcards fell out.

  “Mine’s still here,” he said, filled with relief and confusion. “Mr. Cherry must have bought one too. Why would he want a picture of an old tapestry?”

  No one could think of an answer. Will stared at the matching postcards. It was an important clue, he was positive, but he had no idea what it meant.

  They spent the rest of the morning searching through empty rooms and passageways for the secret passage. Will ran out to the shed and got a hammer, and they tapped on walls and press
ed against wood panels. They discovered a library and spent a discouraging hour pulling dusty books with dull titles off the shelves and peeking behind.

  Will tried to find his way to the guard’s walk so he could show his friends the long drop off to the river below, but he got hopelessly lost.

  “Listen,” said Thom once. “Do you hear someone crying?”

  “It sounds like a boy,” said Emma.

  “The ghost!” said Will.

  They abandoned their hunt for the secret passage and looked for the ghost instead, but every time they opened a door, certain they had found him, the sobbing moved somewhere else.

  “It’s no use,” said Will finally. “We can’t find the secret passageway or the ghost!”

  They separated outside the castle. Thom set off across the rocky valley in pursuit of grasshoppers and caterpillars for Minnie. Will walked with Emma and Peaches as far as The Winking Cat and continued on his own to the bookstore. The Ex Libris sign rattled in the wind. He opened the door and went inside. At the jingle of the bell, Favian looked up from his newspaper.

  “Hey,” said Will.

  “You look like a man on a mission.”

  “I am, sort of. I need a book about griffins.”

  “Magical creatures would be a good place to start,” said Favian.

  “I’m trying to find out about something called the Griffin of Darkwood.”

  “Never heard of it. Let’s see. Maybe a book about famous magical creatures in history.”

  Favian and Will squeezed up and down the aisles while Favian mused, “Let me see. It’s around here somewhere.”

  “Did you see that?” asked Will suddenly.

  “What? Perhaps it’s with the –”

  “Gandalf! He was just there, but he’s gone now!”

  “So Gandalf’s showed up. Good eyes, Will! Ah! Here it is!” Favian pulled out a fat book with a glossy picture of a phoenix on the cover. “Why don’t you look in here first?”