by Becky Citra
Will sat on the dusty floor and thumbed through the book. There were no pictures, and the type was tiny. An extensive index at the back didn’t even include griffins. For the next hour, he skimmed through the tables of contents and indexes of dozens of books. He found lots of illustrations of griffins. The best was a griffin standing on top of a cliff, its huge wings stretched to the sky.
His eyes drifted over the shelves. A small scrap of paper was tucked between two books. He pulled it out. Someone had written on it in big block letters:
THE GRIFFIN OF DARKWOOD???
Somebody else wanted to know about the Griffin of Darkwood? But who?
Will hurried to the front of the shop.
“D–a–n–d–a. No! It doesn’t work!” Favian looked up from his paper full of scribbled letters. “Find what you were looking for?”
“No."
“Madeleine De Luca’s been looking at books about magical creatures too. She’s been in and out of the shop for a week.”
Madeleine De Luca! Could she have left the paper?
“I need to ask her something,” Will said, “but I don’t know where she lives.”
“Number 40 Silk Alley. She lives in the back of Carta da Lettere. It’s a stationery shop.”
“I’ll go right now! See ya later.’
“You bet,” said Favian.
Chapter Twenty-One
Madeleine De Luca
Carta da Lettere was tucked away at one end of Silk Alley, a narrow street behind the square. The shop window was dark and a sign that said SORRY WE’RE CLOSED hung on the glass door.
Will pressed his face against the glass. A dim pinkish light glowed from a tall Tiffany lamp. A shadow moved across the back of the shop. He knocked on the door. He was sure that someone was standing there, frozen in the darkness. He knocked a second time, harder.
The shadow moved again and the door opened a crack. Madeleine de Luca’s white face and round glasses peered out at him. “Can’t you read? Go away!”
“Please. Just let me in for a minute.”
“My parents aren’t here. I said go away.”
“Don’t shut the door!”
Fear flashed across Madeleine’s face.
“The Griffin of Darkwood. Does that mean anything to you?” asked Will.
Madeleine gasped. She opened the door just wide enough for Will to slip in.
“We’ll go in the back,” she whispered. She led Will through the dimly lit shop, past a display of old-fashioned glass ink bottles and quill pens in brass stands. They went into a little room behind the shop. It was stifling hot and crammed with spindly furniture. Madeleine twisted a strand of her long red hair. “What do you want?”
Will took the scrap of paper out of his pocket. “I think you wrote this and left it in the bookstore.”
“What if I did? Is that a crime?”
“Someone gave me a piece of old tapestry. It says ‘The Griffin of Darkwood’ on it. I think it was my grandfather’s.”
Madeleine’s mouth fell open. “Have you got any more pieces of the tapestry?”
“No. If you could tell me anything about the Griffin of Darkwood, it might help.”
“You better come with me.”
Her bedroom had a narrow bed with a black bedspread, black curtains, a round table spread with cards and a poster on the wall of a man dressed in black, riding a black horse. Seriously spooky, thought Will.
“It’s in the cards,” said Madeleine.
Will stepped over to the table. Cards were laid out on the table in three rows and other cards were stacked to one side. On the front of each card there was a detailed coloured picture and a title. Will forgot about Madeleine. He was drawn into the cards with their beautiful pictures. He read some of the names out loud, “Nine of Swords, Two of Wands, Queen of Pentacles, The Fool, Wheel of Fortune, the Joker, the Magician, Death.” The picture on the Death card was a silver skull over a shield and a black flag with a strange white flower on it.
“What kind of cards are these?” said Will.
“Tarot cards.” Madeleine chewed on her fingernail. All her nails were bitten to the quick and her cuticles were red. “I got them at The Winking Cat.”
“What are they for?”
“Divination. Predicting the future.” She spoke quickly now. “There are seventy-eight of them. They can guide your life. I don’t do anything without checking first with my cards.”
Will was starting to wish he hadn’t come. He had never met anyone like Madeleine before. What did the tarot cards have to do with The Griffin of Darkwood?
“You lay down what’s called a spread,” said Madeleine. “Five or seven cards at a time. You make a pattern. And then you turn them over and read the meaning.”
She grabbed Will’s arm, her fingers digging in sharply. Her words came in short bursts. “A card with The Griffin of Darkwood on it…it kept coming back…I told it to go away but it wouldn’t!"
“I don’t get it.” Will yanked his arm away.
“I put eleven cards on the table. It’s called the Celtic Cross. And when I turned the cards over, it was there. A card with a huge griffin on it and the words The Griffin of Darkwood! I’d never seen that card before.”
She’s scared out of her wits, thought Will.
“The card was so powerful. It engulfed every other card with its force. I thought I was going to faint. You can’t imagine it if you haven’t felt it yourself.”
Will swallowed. “What did you do?”
“I tried again. The griffin card kept coming back. Finally, I tore it up. I lit a candle and burned all the pieces when the moon was shining. Then I buried the ashes. I’m convinced the card was trying to give me a message. I’ve been so worried I haven’t been able to sleep.”
She took a big shuddering breath. “It ruined the cards for me. I didn’t even want to look at them for awhile. But that’s not all. Something else happened.”
“What?”
“On the same night that I burned the card, I asked my Ouija board for help. It spelled out a name. It was your name. Will Poppy. I didn’t know who you were.”
Will went cold with shock.
“Then I saw you at the bookstore, and I asked Favian who you were. Don’t you see? You were fated to come here. The Griffin of Darkwood has a message for you. It tried to tell me through my tarot cards.”
“I don’t know what you mean."
“It’s some kind of prophesy. We could ask the Ouija board. Right now. It won’t take long.”
“Forget it! I’m leaving.”
“Please.”
“No!”
“All right.” Madeleine didn’t say anything as they walked back through the shop to the front door.
“I’m going to keep looking in the books at the bookstore for The Griffin of Darkwood,” said Will. “Someone must know something about it.”
Madeleine shrugged. “I’ve finished reading most of those books. I’ve been going every day. There’s nothing in them about The Griffin of Darkwood. But you can suit yourself.”
With that, she shut the shop door firmly.
Feeling like he had escaped, Will sucked in gulps of the fresh cool air. He hurried back along Silk Alley toward the square and then up Black Penny Road. Something flew up the street and landed on the windowsill of Thom Fairweather’s flat. It was the tiny elf owl, Minnie, with a spider dangling from her beak.
Thom opened the window and the owl glided inside. He saw Will and shouted, “Bad news! I’ve burnt the cream puffs!” He shut the window and disappeared.
When Will got to the top of the hill, he stopped and stared at the ancient stone castle. The ruins of the huge keep loomed like a silent guard. The Griffin of Darkwood. It was somewhere close by, Will was convinced.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A Family Tree
In the morning, Will took all his books back to Ex Libris and exchanged them for new ones. Favian was slitting the tape on a huge cardboard box that sat on the floor.
“A new book order?” said Will.
“Old books. Ebenezer Moonstone died last week. He was a hundred and eight! He had a collection of rare books and his grandson has packed them up and sent them to me. You can help me unpack if you like.”
“Moonstone,” said Will. “One of the magic weaver’s descendants?”
“Yes, and a history buff like me. I’ve admired his collection for years.”
Favian peeled back the flaps and a musty smell rose out of the box. They took turns lifting out books, exclaiming over the richly coloured leather covers embossed with gold letters. Soon, they were each absorbed in a book, Will’s about medieval knights and Favian’s a history of local folklore.
It was lunchtime before they stopped reading. Will poked his head deep into the box to make sure they hadn’t missed a book. “There’s something at the bottom.”
He lifted out a sheet of paper. It was covered in a spiderweb of black lines and names, written in tiny letters. Will spread the paper flat on the desk. “Look! Here’s Vespera’s name!”
“What have you there?” asked Favian, peering over his shoulder. “It looks like… Great heavens! It’s Morgan Moonstone’s family tree! Ebenezer told me he was working on it, but I never believed he could do it. He used old letters and family Bibles. People often recorded the names of all their children in their Bibles. It was a huge undertaking for Ebenezer!”
They studied the paper. The name Morgan Moonstone was written boldly at the top, and the lines of names all led back to his name. Will pointed out Vespera’s name at the bottom. And then his heart thumped wildly. “Favian,” he gasped. “There’s me! See, William. And there’s my mother, Adrienna!”
“Good Lord!” said Favian.
In a shaky voice, Will read out loud the names connecting him to Morgan Moonstone.
“Glenville, Kincaid, Rainart, Charles, Denton, Cyrus, Hyde, Lennox, Sterling, Adrienna, William!”
“Extraordinary!” cried Favian.
“Sterling was my grandfather! I have a photograph of my grandparents. I never knew his last name was Moonstone.”
“Sterling Moonstone was a great friend of mine. Hannah, Vespera, Sterling and I played together when we were kids. And you are his grandson! I see the resemblance now. It’s your chin. But who would have ever thought such a thing? Sterling left Sparrowhawk years ago, after –”
He stopped talking and squeezed his hands together. “What an incredible coincidence that you and your aunt should move to this village.”
“It wasn’t a coincidence,” said Will. “Aunt Mauve said it was like she was under some kind of spell when she bought Sparrowhawk Hall. I think that’s true.” He stared at Favian. “What does it mean?”
“I shall have to think on it,” said Favian gravely. “But I am certain of one thing. There is a reason you have come to Sparrowhawk Hall. We just have to find out what it is.”
< • >
Will hurried straight to Thom’s to tell him.
Thom was still in his pyjamas, Minnie perched on his shoulder. He had big dark circles under his eyes and his hair stuck up in clumps. He’d been tossing and turning most of the night, worrying about cream puffs. He listened to Will’s story with his mouth hanging open. “You're a Moonstone! YOU'RE A MOONSTONE! This is like AMAZING! Dad, did you hear what Will said?”
“I did!” John had stopped weaving while Will talked and had listened with rapt attention. "It's incredible!"
“I know.” Will could hardly believe it himself and he had seen his name right there on the paper. “Favian thinks there’s some reason I’m here.”
“Kind of like fate,” said Thom. “Very cool!”
Will and Thom ate two pb and j sandwiches each for lunch, talking through mouthfuls about everything that had happened.
“I’m going over to Emma’s to tell her,” said Will. He figured he could stay out of Granny Storm’s way.
“No point,” said Thom. “She called this morning. She’s grounded.”
“What?”
“She’s gotta help Granny Storm sort her yarns.”
“What did she do?” asked Will.
“Dunno.”
Will was surprised at how disappointed he felt. He’d been trying to picture Emma’s face when he told her the news. Would she think it was a big deal like Thom did? He hoped so.
Thom yawned hugely. “I won’t be able to help you look for the secret passage today. I’m going back to bed.”
“All day?”
“Maybe.”
Will sighed. “I’ll see you later.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
A Broken Promise
Will spent part of the day reading books at Ex Libris, with frequent breaks to pore over the family tree, and part of the day at Vespera’s cottage. Vespera’s nerves were a little rattled because of the poetry reading the next day. “Cooking will be a good distraction,” she said. “How about some peanut butter pancakes for supper?”
“Peanut butter?” said Will, his heart sinking.
Vespera winked. “Blueberry, then, with lots of syrup and bacon.”
By nighttime, Will’s head was buzzing and it was impossible to go to sleep. He was a descendant of Morgan Moonstone, the magic tapestry weaver! He said the words out loud and a delicious chill ran down his spine. It was like something out of one of his beloved fantasy books! If only he could tell his mother!
At midnight, the four red candles burst into flame. He was getting used to strange things, but this made him jump. The shadows from the flickering flames danced across the carved stone birds. He sat up on the edge of the bed, thinking. At last he blew out the candles and crawled back under his blanket, finally drifting into a restless sleep. When he woke up, he looked at his watch. Ten o'clock! He couldn’t believe how late he'd slept.
Will threw on his clothes and scrambled down the spiral staircase. Today was a perfect day! Vespera Moonstone was having her poetry reading tonight. And he, Will Poppy, was a Moonstone! All his fears and worries seemed to have slipped away in the night.
In his excitement, he crashed into Aunt Mauve, who was coming through the stone archway with a bag of shopping.
“You’re back from the city!” said Will.
“Of course, I’m back. I arrived late last night. It’s about time you got up. There are mice in this dreadful castle. They’ve tipped over my wastebasket and there are tissues everywhere. That useless Mr. Cherry is nowhere about. I’ve had to walk all the way to the village for mousetraps.”
“Give me my letter,” said Will.
An enormous sneeze exploded from Aunt Mauve. “I’ve got a horrible cold. It’s this icebox of a castle. Ah-choo! The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”
“My letter from Mr. Barnaby.”
“Whatever are you talking about? I saw your precious Mr. Barnaby in the city yesterday.”
“You can’t have. He’s on a world tour.”
Aunt Mauve snorted. “Where did you get that idea? He’s in the city and he has no intention of publishing your mother’s book.”
“You’re lying.”
“He told me so himself. Ah-choo!”
Will ducked and took off at a run. How could he have thought it was such a perfect day? He despised Aunt Mauve. Despised her. And he hated Mr. Barnaby too. That’s what the letter had been about. Mr. Barnaby had changed his mind. He wasn’t going to publish The Magical Night.
Will ran down Black Penny Road. When he got to the shops, he had to dodge throngs of people carrying bags, some in a hurry and some stopping to gaze in interest at the ancient buildings. Shop doors stood open, and in the street tapestries were displayed on racks or hung on stone walls like exotic butterflies. Why were there so many people? What was going on?
On Thom’s front door was a sign that said Please come up. Tapestries for sale.
John’s tapestry was hanging on a wall inside the flat and several smaller ones were draped over the backs of chairs. John was in a navy blue suit and his cu
rly hair was slicked back.
“What's happening?” asked Will.
“The tour buses are here,” John told him.
“Get in here, Will!” yelled Thom from the kitchen.
Flour was strewn from one end of the kitchen to the other. Spilled milk dripped onto the floor and Minnie was pecking at a pile of broken eggshells.
“I think I’ve got it perfect this time,” said Thom, hopping back and forth in front of the oven. He raced over to his Mastering the Art of French Cooking and read, “The puffs are done when they have doubled in size, are golden brown and firm and crusty to the touch.”
He ran back to the oven and peered through the glass oven door. “They’ve gotten SMALLER!” he cried. “They’ve…COLLAPSED!”
Will ate six anyway, with jam, but Thom refused to touch them. “The poetry reading is tonight!” he cried. “What am I going to do?”
“Have you been outside?” asked Will. “Have you seen all the people?”
Thom groaned. “You’re making me feel worse. They’ll probably all come to the poetry reading. It’s the tour buses. They’re down in the square. They’re the first ones. They'll come every week now." Thom rubbed his floury hands through his hair. “Dad’s coming downstairs tonight. For the poetry reading. Emma’s dad is coming to get him.”
Minnie flew over to the table and Thom fed her a scrap of cream puff. Will licked the jam off his fingers and poured out the story of Mr. Barnaby and his broken promise.
“That’s so unfair! I thought Mr. Barnaby was your friend,” said Thom, forgetting for a moment about his cream-puff disaster.
“So did I.”
“You can’t give up. Why don’t you ask Favian? He knows a lot about books. He’ll know what to do.”
“Great idea!” said Will. “Let’s go and I’ll help you make some more cream puffs later.”
They left straightaway for Ex Libris.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dear Mr. Barnaby
Five long buses were parked at the end of the square. Tourists milled everywhere, wandering in and out of shops, licking ice-cream cones and taking photos.
