by Becky Citra
Something tugged at Will’s thoughts. He scanned the ancient papers again. Words jumped out at him. Elizabeth tells me that three days have passed since Lord Linley stabbed me and destroyed the last tapestry…Morgan Moonstone passed away this night, May 13, in the year of our Lord 1604.
“Favian!” he said. “The fourth tapestry was destroyed at midnight on May 10. That’s today. It’s May 10!”
Favian held his head in his hands and groaned, “We must make sense of this!”
Will took the piece of tapestry out of his pocket. “Why do I have it?” he asked desperately. “What does it mean?”
“That scrap of tapestry has been passed down to you through generations of Moonstones,” said Favian. “You have been chosen for a reason. What is it you do best, Will?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Think, Will. Think hard. What is your gift?”
Will thought about Emma saying that everyone had a passion. “I used to write,” he said slowly.
“Then that is what you must do! Remember, a tapestry tells a story. You must write the story of the fourth tapestry and set the griffin free. It’s our only chance to save Thom.”
“But I can’t. I can’t write any more…I CAN’T! I don’t know how…my mother…”
Will’s throat closed and his eyes filled with tears.
“It’s the only way,” insisted Favian. “You must write it in the tower. The magic will be strongest there.”
Just then, the grandfather clock in the corner of the bookstore struck eleven hours.
“One hour until midnight,” said Favian. “Go now. There is still time.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
A Magic Pencil
Will raced up Black Penny Road, clutching the parcel from Mr. Barnaby. The wind had stopped. The silence that hung over the winding cobblestone streets was worse than the storm. Puddles gleamed like black oil in the lamplight and a cat’s luminous eyes shone behind a dark window. The shutters at Thom’s flat were fastened tight.
The castle was in shadow, a sleeping giant hidden in the dark. Will almost bumped into the pink van, which was parked in front of the stone entranceway. The heavy castle door creaked open and a light blinded his eyes.
“You!” a voice spat.
Mr. Cherry! The light was so bright that Will couldn’t see Mr. Cherry’s face. Will darted sideways, but Mr. Cherry grabbed his arm and swung him around.
“Let me go!” yelled Will.
“You picked an unfortunate time to come home,” hissed Mr. Cherry. “Very unfortunate.” He gripped Will tighter and dragged him into the castle.
Will fought hard, struggling to free himself, clutching the parcel to his chest.
“If there’s one thing I despise, it’s a meddling boy!” said Mr. Cherry.
“I know all about you!” said Will. He wriggled and twisted, but he couldn’t break away. “You’re a thief! You’re after the tapestries, but you’ll never find them!”
Mr. Cherry barked with laughter. “Too late. That convenient little earthquake opened up the keep. It’s still a bit of a scramble between the rocks and rubble, but it’s uncovered the front entrance. There’s plenty of room to bring the tapestries out.”
“The police are coming!” Will lied desperately. They’re at the bookstore now. I’ve just come from there!”
Mr. Cherry cursed. Will wrenched his arm free and ran through the doorway to the tower stairs. He slammed the door behind him and doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Mr. Cherry cursed again and Will heard the clank of a key turning in the wooden door. Mr. Cherry’s horrible laugh drifted through the door. It sent shivers up and down Will’s spine.
“Don’t think your wretched aunt will let you out,” the man snarled. “I’ve locked her in too!”
“The police are coming!” shouted Will. His words were met with silence. Was Mr. Cherry still standing behind the wooden door?
He stumbled up the spiral stairs. The long red candles were burning, as tall as the day he bought them. He sat on the bed and looked at the parcel. It was addressed to Master William Poppy c/o Ex Libris Bookstore, Sparrowhawk. In the top left corner it said Barnaby Book Publishers Inc. Will was afraid to open it.
He forced himself to tear off the paper. It was a book, with a handsome blue cover. The words The Magical Night were emblazoned across the top in gold letters and the author’s name Adrienna Poppy stood out boldly at the bottom.
Will opened the cover and the words jumped out at him.
For William, a writer.
He swallowed. He wasn’t a writer, not any more. Maybe he never had been. The task Favian had set him was impossible. How could he write the griffin’s story?
There was a folded piece of paper tucked inside the book. He took it out and read it.
the money?” has concerned me. We will discuss it when I arrive.
Wednesday, thought Will. That is tomorrow.
Angry voices erupted outside the tower window. With heavy legs Will went to the window to look. Mr. Cherry was hollering at a woman with long blonde hair. She turned her head. It was Mrs. Cherry!
“There’s no time! The police are coming!” shouted Mr. Cherry.
They got inside the van and roared down the road, vanishing into the night.
Did they have the tapestries? Would the nails stuck in the tires work? Will groaned. He had no idea.
And now he was locked in the tower with no way to get out.
He paced back and forth. He took one more look out the window. The Muses stood below the tower, looking up at him. He felt sick. How much time did he have left until midnight? He looked at his watch. Thirty minutes.
“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” he shouted to the Muses. “I CAN’T write!”
He pulled away from the window and at that moment, the pencil box began to glow. He opened it and took out the photograph of his grandparents and Adrienna. And then he had a tremendous shock. In the bottom of the box was a slender purple pencil covered with sparkling stars.
He could hear his mother’s gentle voice. “These are my magic pencils, William. One hundred pencils, one for each chapter.”
But now there was one more. Where had it come from? He picked it up and something tremendous happened. He felt his mother holding his hand.
His heart beating faster, Will opened his trunk and took out the writing book with the emerald cover, the book that he had been saving. He cleared a space at the table and sat down on the chair. He put the piece of tapestry on the table in front of him. Then he picked up the magic pencil and began to write.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A Magical Night
The Griffin of Darkwood Escapes
Once upon a time, there was a griffin and a boy who was a Moonstone…
Outside the castle tower, a fox barked in the forest. Granny Storm’s sparrowhawk, Prospero, swooped low across the sky, searching for its dinner. Macavity trotted down Lantern Lane, his eyes changing from purple to green. Two people in the sleeping village were awake; John Fairweather, sitting beside Thom’s bed, and Favian, pacing back and forth in the bookstore.
Inside the castle tower, the red candles burned and Will wrote and wrote.
The trees swayed back and forth and the griffin flew up out of the forest. Its eyes blazed with triumph. The boy stood at the tower window, watching. He knew it was his powerful magic that had saved the griffin. The griffin let out a tremendous shriek. It soared into the night sky...
Will continued pouring his story into the book. The clock tower in the village struck twelve times. Will wrote
The End
It wasn’t exactly a novel, but he had finished it. Will felt drained, like he had just run a marathon. The flames on the tall red candles spluttered. He jumped on the bed and opened the door to the tower roof. He pulled himself up. Moonlight flooded the sky and shimmered on the roofs of the village below and the dark forest. Everything was holding its breath.
“I did it!” shouted Will.
A piercing screech sent shivers up his spine. A huge creature rose out of the forest and flew toward the tower. The griffin!
Massive wings beat the air. They were so huge that they made their own wind, a wind that swirled around the tower and almost knocked Will over.
“It’s going to land here!” he cried, leaping back.
The griffin hovered above him, its talons extended. Its immense wings blocked the moonlight and its dark shadow fell on Will. He crouched, his heart pounding wildly. The griffin landed beside him, its claws scrabbling on the stone roof. It folded its wings back.
The creature tilted its head and gazed at Will, its eyes shining with triumph.
Will stood up slowly. The griffin lowered its belly until its broad tawny back was level with his chest. What did it want?
“Go, William. Go now,” whispered Adrienna Poppy.
Will wrapped his arms around the griffin’s neck, burying his fingers in the snowy feathers. He pulled himself onto its back and closed his eyes tightly. Together they soared into the night sky.
< • >
Will opened his eyes. He was terrified to look down in case he got dizzy. He gripped harder and sucked in a big gulp of air, taking one quick peek back at the tower. A warm feeling of strength flowed through his arms and legs and he knew he was safe.
The griffin’s cry woke the village. As it circled in the sky, people stumbled from their warm beds and into the night. They poured down the streets and filled the town square. Madeleine de Luca was there in a long black dress and so were Favian and Vespera, her beads and gypsy dress swirling in the wind, Macavity at her feet.
John Fairweather and Thom were leaning out their window. The griffin swooped lower, and Thom waved and shouted, “I’m better now! I’m better!”
The griffin circled again. All the Storms stood outside the apple barn, Granny Storm cackling with delight.
“RUFF RUFF RUFF,” barked Peaches.
Then the griffin left the village and glided over the valley. The wind blew through Will’s hair. He saw farmers and their families, standing in their fields, faces upturned to the sky.
Suddenly the night sky lit up in a kind of fireworks unlike anything he had seen before. Huge purple, yellow and green stars exploded before his eyes. Golden letters blazed overhead.
The Griffin of Darkwood Escapes.
Will and the griffin soared toward the distant rim of mountains. The griffin’s belly skimmed the jagged peaks, white with snow. Will hung on tightly, his eyes wide with wonder.
< • >
Will saw sights that night beyond his imagination– a river that flowed with all the colours of the rainbow; two stags with silver antlers, battling on a grassy hilltop; a herd of unicorns, grazing in a meadow beside a pond filled with stars; a knight on a black horse, galloping along a silver road on a quest, the moonlight gleaming on his shield.
The sky lightened, and the sun peeked over the horizon and shone on a magnificent palace with turrets and domes. The snow on the mountain peaks turned into molten gold as the griffin turned and brought Will home.
The Griffin of Darkwood landed softly at the edge of the forest beside the castle. Will slid from its back. The griffin bowed its head and he stroked its sleek feathers. Then the creature ruffled its wings and a ripple ran through its neck and shoulders. Will stepped back and looked into its dark eyes. “You’re free,” he said.
He watched, thrilled, as the griffin lifted itself with its great wings into the sky. It made one last circle above him and then soared away.
Exhausted, Will collapsed on the ground under a tree and fell fast asleep.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Fourth Tapestry
Beep! Beep!
A car horn woke Will up. For a second, he didn’t remember where he was. Then the glorious night came back to him. A thrill ran down his spine.
Beep Beep!
He scrambled to his feet and watched a black car fly up the road. A man with a crown of fluffy white hair was at the wheel. Favian sat beside him.
Mr. Barnaby!
He raced to greet them.
Mr. Barnaby and Favian stepped out of the car. Mr. Barnaby clasped Will’s hand and shook it vigorously. “My dear boy! Favian has filled me in on what has been happening. If I had only known sooner!”
Will took a big breath. “Is Thom –”
“I just spoke to John Fairweather,” said Favian. “Thom is fine. He’s weak, but he’s eating a peanut butter sandwich.”
“I’ll go and see him today,” said Will.
“A boy flying on a griffin! It’s a sight I wish I’d been here to see,” said Mr. Barnaby.
“Did you bring the books?” said Will.
“One hundred copies.” Mr. Barnaby beamed. “Delivered to Ex Libris in perfect condition!”
“They’ll sell like hotcakes,” Favian predicted.
“Now I must see this tower,” said Mr. Barnaby. He put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Adrienna would have been proud of you.”
The key to the tower door was still in the lock. Both men shuddered when Will told them how Mr. Cherry had locked him in. “The Cherrys got away,” he sighed.
“Were they driving a pink van?” said Mr. Barnaby.
“Yes!”
“Then you can put your mind at rest. I passed a pink van on the road just a few miles from the village. All the tires were flat. It was surrounded by police cars with flashing lights and sirens blaring.”
“So they were stopped,” said Favian. That’s a great relief.”
“Did they have the tapestries with them?” said Will.
“I have no idea,” said Mr. Barnaby.
As they climbed the tower stairs, Mr. Barnaby said, “Now where is that aunt of yours?”
“She’s locked in her room!” said Will.
“We’ll let her stew in her own juices a while longer,” said Mr. Barnaby.
Mr. Barnaby was impressed by the tower but he said he would leave scrambling through trap doors to young boys. “I’ll take your word for it that the view is splendid up there,” he said. “And now we have some business to discuss.” He went out to the car and returned with a briefcase, looking very important.
Will suggested the long table in the dining room for their meeting. Mr. Barnaby spread papers everywhere and talked a lot about royalties and record sales and foreign rights. Will let this sink in for a moment. Then he said, “What about Sparrowhawk Hall?”
“You own it,” said Mr. Barnaby. “I realized what had happened as soon as I got your letter. Your miserable aunt has been stealing your money. She used it to buy the castle! I blame myself for not depositing it directly in your trust account.”
“That’s okay,” said Will. He was too overjoyed to mind about anything. The castle was his! He was going to stay in Sparrowhawk with Emma and Thom.
He remembered the feeling when Emma slid her hand into his and he felt himself flush. It was something he wanted to think about more when he had time.
“And now we must attend to your aunt,” said Mr. Barnaby.
“Do we have to let her out?”
“Unfortunately, we do.”
Will found the big brass ring of keys in the little room that had belonged to the Cherrys. They took a while to unearth as everything was topsy-turvy – drawers pulled out, chairs tipped over. It was easy to see the Cherrys had left in a panic.
There were at least a hundred keys on the ring. Aunt Mauve shouted insults from inside the room while Will tried each key. On the ninety-sixth try, he was successful.
Aunt Mauve became more subdued when she sat at one end of the long dining-room table and faced Mr. Barnaby’s stern face.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” began Mr. Barnaby.
<
br /> “But…I…er...in my defense…”
“There is no defense!” thundered Mr. Barnaby. Will looked at him admiringly. He had no idea Mr. Barnaby had it in him.
Aunt Mauve turned pale.
“I think the best thing is to send you far away,” said Mr. Barnaby. “I’ve bought you tickets on a cruise. You must be ready to leave Sparrowhawk on this afternoon’s bus.”
Aunt Mauve’s eyes popped open wide with delight. But after she had scurried off to pack, Mr. Barnaby winked at Will and Favian. “The cruise leaves for Antarctica in three days. The last time I checked, it was thirty degrees below zero!”
“Serves her right!” said Will. “Will I be able to stay in the castle by myself?”
“No,” said Mr. Barnaby. “Absolutely not. But I thought I might move in with you. Because of your mother’s book, my business has expanded. I’ll be needing lots of space.”
“There’s seventy-three rooms!” said Will with a grin.
“One of the first things we'll do,” said Favian, “is get rid of that GO AWAY on the door once and for all. Everyone wants you to stay now, Will.”
“There’s one thing I still don’t get," said Will. "How did the Cherrys know about the tapestries?”
“Purvis Sneed,” said Favian. “He was a member of the search party that looked for Hannah Linley forty-five years ago. He was a gardener here at the castle. When they carried Hannah back to the castle, she was babbling about the tapestries and the secret passage. Purvis must have heard her.”
“But how did he know the Cherrys?” asked Will.
“Something rang a bell when that detective Kate Winters said the Cherrys escaped from Stonewall Prison,” said Favian. “Purvis Sneed spent some years in that prison for robbery. That’s where they must have met.”
“What will happen to them?”
“The Cherrys will be going back to prison for a long time. But I don’t imagine Purvis Sneed can be arrested for simply passing on information.”
Mr. Barnaby rifled through the papers on the table. In all the excitement, Will had forgotten about the tapestries. But now he said, “I need to see if the tapestries are still here. I’d like to go by myself.”
