MM01. The Order of the Owls

by Elisa Puricelli Guerra

  “Don’t cry, honey!” exclaimed Mrs. Greatbore. “We’re all together again, and we love you so much! Arthur, say something!”

  “Um . . . there, there,” muttered Arthur, giving Minerva a pat on the shoulder. “We’re . . . ahem . . . all together again.”

  Minerva was anything but touched by the reunion. She was doing her very best not to burst out laughing. “Would you like to see the house?” she asked. “Sorry, but there’s water dripping everywhere. There are great big holes in the roof, you know. We’re just lucky that the whole thing doesn’t fall down on top of us.”

  They went into the huge, dark hallway, where the only light came from outside. On the left was a suit of armor, although it was missing a leg and an arm. Horrible stuffed animal heads hung all over the walls, with their shiny glass eyes peering at their every move.

  They then followed another shadowy corridor with several doors on both sides. The Greatbores looked all around them with greedy expressions. “How many rooms are there, my little one?” asked Daphne Greatbore.

  “Fifty-five,” answered Minerva. “Not counting the attic and basement.” The Greatbores exchanged a look.

  Meanwhile, thick black smoke continued to pour out from kitchen number two. The old wooden floor creaked in protest under their every step: eeek, eeek, eeek! Long, silky cobwebs hung from the ceiling, moving gracefully in the drafty house. Spiders were welcome guests at Lizard Manor. And they came in all shapes and sizes.

  “Is this the living room?” asked Daphne. Without waiting for an answer, she opened a door. The second she did, a huge fox knocked her clean off her feet. The beautiful, tawny animal was immediately followed by four little foxes and then another big one.

  “Oops! I forgot to get them out!” exclaimed Minerva. The visitors had distracted her.

  “Arthur!” cried Mrs. Greatbore, as she grabbed onto her husband to drag herself up. “We’re being attacked by foxes!”

  Minerva was about to say that it was only Ginger, Cinnamon, and their babies, and that they lived in living room number three because the sofa was so comfy. But . . . perhaps this was the chance she was waiting for.

  As loudly as she could, Minerva screamed out, “Look out! They’re wild foxes! They’re really, really dangerous!”

  “Arthur!” Daphne cried. “Get me out of here! Foxes have rabies!”

  Arthur hoisted up his wife under her arms and led her back to the front door, waving his umbrella wildly in front of him to ward off any fox attacks.

  Once they’d made it outside, Daphne, who was as pale as a ghost, recovered a little. “I feel much be—” she began, but the words died on her lips. She put her hands over her head and screamed, “Arthur! They’re attacking us from the sky!”

  Minerva looked up. Two huge snowy owls were swooping down toward them. And they really were terrifying: as silent and solemn as ghosts.

  Arthur started waving his umbrella in the air to protect his wife. But the owls, who thought this strange human was just playing a game, started swooping all around them faster and faster.

  “Woot! Woot!”

  “Woot! Woot!”

  “Run to the car, Daphne!” Arthur cried, waving his umbrella around and trying to shield his wife with his body. He pushed her through the driver’s door and scrambled in behind her. He started the engine, just as even more owls were coming to join in the fun.

  Now that she was safely in the car, Daphne began to breathe more easily. She wound down the window (just a little) and called out to Minerva, “Darling, we’ve written to a lawyer at the Department of Child Welfare. They’ll be here in a week to decide whether you can come and live with us. In the meantime, we should get to know each other better.” She paused. “Um . . . can you recommend a good hotel near here? We don’t want to disturb Mrs. Flopps. . . . We’ll be back later when she’s . . . um . . . finished painting.”

  Minerva frowned. It was going to be a tough job stopping these two from wanting to be her parents! All the other impostors had hotfooted it out of Lizard Manor after their first visit, but the Greatbores seemed very determined. She was going to have to come up with something clever to get rid of them.

  For the moment, though, she simply smiled and said, “The best hotel in Pembrose is the Fishbone Inn.”

  To tell the truth, there was only one hotel in the village, and it only had one room. And it was horrible. You could eat there, too (fish only), but that wasn’t a good idea unless you liked getting diarrhea.

  “Try Timothy’s fish stew,” Minerva said in an angelic tone. “It’s delicious!”

  “Thank you, darling!” chirped Daphne. “We most definitely will! See you soon, my little Minerva!” She waved a white lace handkerchief out the window as the car creaked and screeched off down the hill.

  Minerva just stared at them, frowning as they drove away. Anyone who knew her would have seen that she was already hatching a cunning plan.

  Under the letter M in The Universal Encyclopedia, it said that Minerva was a warrior goddess. She had been born ready-made, complete with a shield and shining armor, after Jupiter had suffered a terrible headache. Minerva loved this story. She’d also been born ready-made, but inside a travel bag. Plus, the goddess’s symbol was an owl, and Lizard Manor was full of them.

  Maybe it was all just a coincidence. But Minerva had never felt so much like a warrior as she did right then. And as she waved goodbye to the Greatbores, she thought to herself, You’ve got no idea what’s in store for you! I’ll be rid of you in no time!

  As she went back inside, the wind slammed the front door shut behind her, as if to underscore the terrible fate that awaited Arthur and Daphne.

  Minerva thought things over as she ran upstairs. Portraits with worm-eaten frames covered the walls. With their green eyes, tiny ears, and snooty noses, their faces looked as old as the world itself. They stared at her grimly, their eyebrows raised in disapproval.

  Minerva’s eyebrows were raised, too, as she tried to come up with some plan to get rid of Arthur and Daphne.

  Back in her bedroom, the water continued to plip-plop into the containers around the room, all of them now filled to the brim. Minerva took no notice and opened the old wardrobe that stank of mothballs. She scanned her clothes, unsure about what to wear. Nothing looked good. She closed the door and went to the room across the hall. She thought she remembered seeing something there that would be just right. She opened an old trunk and began rummaging through some beautiful dresses, shawls, gloves, and hats.

  “There it is!” she cried, pulling out a dress that was a little short but warm enough. It was pleated and in a shade of green that would highlight her eyes.

  Minerva hadn’t bought a dress or a pair of shoes in her entire life. She’d found everything she needed in the closets and old trunks of the thirty-one bedrooms of Lizard Manor. There were lots of trunks in the attic, too — so many that Minerva still hadn’t looked through all of them.

  The clothes had all been packed carefully, with sheets of tissue paper between each piece so they wouldn’t be ruined. They used to belong to the generations of people who’d lived in Lizard Manor. Minerva could find clothes for every size and every age. She loved trying them all on in different combinations.

  Minerva put on the dress, her favorite rubber boots, and, for the finishing touch, a waterproof coat. She looked at herself in the big oval mirror near the door. Perfect. She was now ready for any weather.

  “Oh, no!” she suddenly cried. “Something vital is missing!”

  She went back to her room, reached under the pillow she never used, and pulled out her trusty slingshot. The goddess Minerva might have had a real sword, but slingshots were pretty good, too. She’d made it herself, using a stick she’d found in the garden and one of the strong rubber bands that Mrs. Flopps used to stop some particularly run-down window shutters from falling off. She’d become an expert markswoman, able to hit targets dozens of yards away.

  Now Minerva was ready. She went down the sta
irs and headed for the back door. She was going into the village to buy a birthday cake for her party. But she’d have to be quick so she’d still have time for her homework. (Minerva didn’t go to school in Pembrose, because Mrs. Flopps didn’t trust public education. She taught Minerva herself.)

  Minerva struggled to make her way across the potholed lawn. The wind seemed to want to blow her away. Mrs. Flopps was propped on a stool almost on the edge of the cliff, staring at a blank canvas. She was wearing a tartan cape that hung down to her feet and a hat that flopped down on one side of her head.

  Mrs. Flopps was overweight, but Minerva didn’t care. She loved her with all her heart. But what she loved the most about her was that Mrs. Flopps had never tried to take the place of her parents. The woman was as sure as Minerva was that one day they’d come back.

  When she’d arrived in Cornwall, Mrs. Flopps had been enchanted by the turquoise sea and the emerald green fields. No matter what the weather was like, she spent every day outdoors painting, only coming back inside for afternoon tea. She said that to make up for living the first half of her life in Talgarth Road, with all its horrible smells, she’d have to spend the second half breathing in the healthy sea air.

  Minerva waved to her and shouted, “I’m going down to the village to buy a birthday cake!”

  Mrs. Flopps replied with a shake of her paintbrush.

  Minerva splashed across the lawn in her rubber boots. The house was surrounded by a huge garden, which was the kingdom of rabbits and moles. In spring and summer, it was covered by a carpet of orange and pink flowers. Then, in the evening, the flowers were replaced by dozens of fireflies.

  All that was left of the front gate were two concrete columns crowned by two stone lizards. Even they had mostly crumbled, but you could still see their flicking tongues.

  Minerva, still struggling against the wind, which really seemed to have it in for her, stopped for a moment. She was in a hurry, so why not take the shortcut to the village? It would be much faster, but . . .

  That “but” was as big as the house. Minerva reached into her coat pocket. As soon as she touched her trusty slingshot, she felt much safer. She decided to risk it. Maybe in this bad weather, she wouldn’t even need it. “Minerva Mint isn’t afraid of anyone or anything!” She stuck her chin up, threw her chest out, and off she went.

  She’d only gone a hundred yards or so when she heard a suspicious sound. A kind of grrrrrr-grrrrrr. She stopped and listened. The path wound its way through a grove. The sound had probably been nothing but the wind in the trees. She kept walking, now listening to every little sound.

  There it was again: grrrrrr-grrrrrr!

  “Trees don’t growl,” she said. Minerva looked around, her hand going back into her pocket and grabbing the slingshot.

  Suddenly there was the sound of running feet.

  “Pooh! I can’t see a thing from here!” she snorted. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. She’d have to climb a tree. But that was no problem for Minerva, who’d been climbing trees more or less since she’d learned to walk.

  In fact, she’d learned to do a lot of things at a very early age. She could swim like a fish and sail a boat like a sailor. She could chop wood for the stoves and had a real gift for taking care of animals. She even knew how to tie a splint on a broken leg.

  Since Minerva was so small and light, she scurried up a beech tree as nimbly as a squirrel and peered down. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed.

  Her worst fears had come true: William the Conqueror was coming straight at her!

  Hang on . . . she thought. He’s not after me. He’s hunting something.

  William’s latest prey turned out to be a big hare, which was running like lightning to escape. Coming up behind it and William was the equally evil Gilbert O’Sullivan. He was running at breakneck speed.

  “I’m in big trouble!” Minerva gasped.

  The problem with the shortcut was that it went right through the home turf of Gilbert’s gang. If he saw her, she’d be done for. On the other hand, if she didn’t try to save the hare, it would be done for. William the Conqueror never let his victims escape.

  Gilbert O’Sullivan was the evilest kid in all of northern Cornwall. But he was also smart. He’d formed a gang with Damian Partridge and Lucas Dixon, and Minerva was right in the middle of their territory. In fact, their territory more or less ran right around Lizard Manor. So it was more or less impossible to avoid running into the gang, especially William the Conqueror, Gilbert’s vicious dog. Minerva had been at war with them all for longer than she could remember!

  She watched her enemies as she hid up among the leaves. The hare was fast, but William was relentless and he’d soon catch it.

  Minerva took the slingshot out of her pocket along with an acorn. (She always carried a couple, just in case.) She looked around until she found what she was looking for: a nice big wasp nest hanging off a branch right in the dog’s path! She took aim and hit it at just the right moment. The nest fell right on William the Conqueror’s big, wobbly butt. He let out a howl and immediately turned tail to escape the cloud of angry wasps.

  “Yes!” exclaimed Minerva as the hare disappeared into the undergrowth.

  But Gilbert had seen it all. He was tall for eleven, with brown hair that was almost as curly as Minerva’s. He put his hands on his hips and looked up at her. “I can see you, Minerva Mint!” he shouted angrily. “You’re going to pay for this!”

  Minerva didn’t care. She looked out through the leaves and smiled. “Hi, Gilbert O’Sullivan! If I were you, I’d be more worried about my ugly dog. Those wasps looked really fast and really angry!”

  Gilbert hesitated for a moment and then gazed in the direction in which William the Conqueror had disappeared.

  Minerva took her chance. She dropped down to the ground and ran. By the time Gilbert had turned back around, she was a safe distance away. “You’ll pay for this!” the boy threatened.

  But poor William the Conqueror was now yelping pitifully in the distance. “Listen to that,” cried Minerva. “Go and look after your dog. You’re his owner. You don’t want him to end up with a swollen butt!”

  Gilbert might have been evil, but he loved William the Conqueror. He sped off in the direction of the yelping. “This doesn’t end here, Minerva Mint!” he shouted over his shoulder with a dark look. “You’re going to regret this!”

  Minerva was sure of it, but she’d worry about that when it happened. For now, she had a birthday cake to buy!

  The guidebooks described Pembrose as a “delightful little fishing village.” It was nestled at the end of a cove between cliffs that towered over the sea. Its narrow streets, with granite cottages painted white, led down to the harbor, where there was a pebble beach strewn with fishing nets, ropes, and lobster pots. Fishing boats bobbed in the water, and a fish market was held on the quay.

  The guides also said that Pembrose had been founded by smugglers. And the village was so well hidden, that could have been true.

  In such a small place, everybody knew everybody else, as well as their business. Gossip was everyone’s favorite hobby. But the villagers also enjoyed the fall and spring fairs, and the competitions for Village of the Year, the Most Beautiful Garden, the Best Cake, and the Biggest Cod.

  Another thing the people loved to do was to tell stories about the Great Storm of 1927, the Big Freeze of 1964, the Great Blackout of 1987, and other milestones in the village.

  The main street was called Plum Tree Avenue, and at that moment Minerva was charging along it. As she passed the Fishbone Inn, she saw the Greatbores’ red car out front. There was a mountain of suitcases piled up in front of the door. Timothy, the kindly, bespectacled owner, was staring at them, shaking his head.

  Minerva could hear Daphne’s screeching voice from inside. “Arthur, hurry up with the suitcases! I can’t wait to get into a hot bath and wash the smell of fox off me!”

  Minerva just kept walking, a big grin on her face. The hotel didn’t have ho
t water. She imagined how angry Daphne would be when she found out.

  At the general store she bought a scrumptious-looking cake. It was a “ginger and papaya exotic delight.” Minerva’s mouth began watering the moment she saw it. It was so big, though, that when she carried the box, it was hard to see where she was going. Her rubber boots soon collided into a pair of patent leather shoes.

  She put down the cake to see a blond girl with rosy cheeks and an expensive-looking raincoat over her school uniform. She was panting as if she’d been running.

  “Stop her!” someone shouted from behind. “Stop, thief! Stop, thief!”

  The girl dived behind a bush. But before disappearing, she held a finger up to her lips.

  Just then, old Miss Lavender ran up, very out of breath. “Where is she?!” she yelled. “Where did that little thief get to?”

  “She went that way,” Minerva said, pointing in the wrong direction. “But she was fast. You’ll never catch her.”

  “Oh, no! What will I do now?!” Miss Lavender moaned. “She took Napoleon!” The old woman waved a note in front of Minerva. “I found this in his cage. The kidnapper left it there!” she sobbed. “It’s very threatening. But I’ve got to admit, it’s beautifully written.”

  “What does it say?” asked Minerva.

  “That I’ll never see Napoleon again unless I promise to take him on a vacation to Brazil,” sighed Miss Lavender. “But I don’t want to go to Brazil! It’s too far away! I want to stay in Pembrose!”

  “Um,” said Minerva. “Perhaps you could explain that to the . . . kidnapper. Maybe she’ll understand.”

  “Poor me! Poor, poor me!”

  Miss Lavender was a retired teacher who still tutored some of the local kids. Napoleon, her Brazilian parrot, was famous in the village for the rude things he’d say.

  The old woman glanced nervously at Minerva. She was so upset that she hadn’t even noticed that she was talking to the girl who lived up on the cliff. “Woe is me!” she continued to moan as she unhappily walked back home.