The carriage slowed even more as it passed through the gates. Next to the archway were stone houses built on either side of the entry. These houses were built right into the wall. Castle guards must have lived in those houses back in ancient times, thought Jasper. There was a strong sense of the past—a feeling that, somehow, little had changed here in hundreds of years.
“Look!” cried Lucy with a gasp. “It’s a mysterious lady in black!”
Indeed, there was a woman in a black dress standing in a very small, square yard. She was surrounded by clucking chickens and held up an apron full of eggs. She smiled as the carriage ambled past her house. Miss Brett smiled back at her and marveled at the timeless sight. The woman could have stepped out of a painting from the Middle Ages. The woman’s squinting, smiling eyes and crinkled nose, the black kerchief in her hair, and her thick, black, leather boots all brought to mind a peasant farmer from ages past— or, really, any age at all.
Two doors down, another woman was hanging up the wash. She, too, was dressed in a black peasant dress, with her hair in two long braids, pulled back in a black scarf. A woman in black dungarees was peeling potatoes next door to that house. All the women either waved or smiled and nodded as the carriage full of young inventors trundled slowly into town. The children waved and smiled back, Lucy the most enthusiastic.
Everyone was so friendly. There was a candlemaker, dipping long rows of strings into steaming vats of wax. They could see her work through her opened windows. It must have been very warm in that shop to keep the windows open on such a chilly morning. There was a shoemaker, hammering away in his own shop. He was, most certainly, yet another mysterious man in black, for he was dressed like a big black elf with star-shaped glasses clinging to the end of his long nose.
Next, they saw a butcher in a black apron, and then, a blacksmith. The blacksmith was outside, hammering at his anvil. The fire was blazing next to him as he stood and worked. The blacksmith wore a jerkin over a black tunic, like those worn in the Middle Ages, and had very large black protective glasses covering half his face and a balaclava over his neck up to his nose.
A small plump woman in a black skirt and white apron appeared in a doorway around the corner. She carried a saucer of milk that she placed on the ground next to the little bench. Lucy looked around for the kitties and was surprised when two rather well-fed ravens came and drank from the saucer like a pair of house cats, Smiling down at them, the woman stepped into the street, grabbed the corner of her apron, and shook hard. A plume of white billowed from her apron, and as it settled, they could see that her dress had not been black and white, but simply black. She had been covered in flour
The scent of baking bread hit all the children before the woman waddled back into the bakery. In a few seconds, she appeared again with her hands full. She waved to the carriage as she handed a loaf of bread and some buns to an old shepherd near the potted cypress outside the bakery door. Smiling at his bounty, the shepherd, too, waved,
A few other women either opened shutters or stepped from shops and greeted the carriage as it drove slowly through town. At Miss Brett’s urging, Faye joined the other children as they waved back, passing through the village and up a winding center road.
As they traveled, they noticed a single stone wall, not as grand as the city wall but still much higher than the low stone walls that separated land between farmers. There were stones missing and vines growing over much of it. This wall ran from just above the town center up and along the path up the hill. It seemed to be the wall around the castle, or manor house, of the village,
“This must be a very grand place indeed,” said Faye. “Did you notice the terraced garden?” Through small gaps in the wall, they could glimpse an enormous garden inside,
“Oh, I love grand places,” said Lucy, her nose pressed against the window.
The carriage turned off the main road and headed through a tree-lined drive, though it was quite overgrown. They came to a very majestic gate that rose high above the stone wall, beautifully and ornately welded with iron swans and swirls and flowers. The doors of the gate began to part, opened by a man wearing a long black feather in a handsome black hat, like that of a musketeer
The path beyond led through the terraced garden, over two bridges—one above the olive orchard and one below it—and around a small pond. There, at the crest of the hill, surrounded by the gardens and orchards, was a great manor house, a palazzo, made of stone and marble. It clearly had been a grand manor, but as they came nearer, they could see that it had last been cared for a long time ago. The slate roof looked worn and green with mold and lichen. It was partially crumbled, and great chunks were missing from several gables. The elegant stained glass and leaded glass windows were filthy, and some were cracked. On the top floor of the towers were windows without any glass at all.
“Aaaow!” came a cry. Looking up, Jasper was the first to see the bird.
“It’s rather disturbing, that cry,” said Noah, shivering as Miss Brett had. Something about the old rotting manor house and the raven at the foregate and on the tower ledge made him feel a creep running up his neck.
The path that led right up around the side of this great house was overgrown with weeds, with a tree fallen across the paving stones. In some earlier time, it had been left to rot where it had fallen. But there was a stand of maples on the far side, and the red and golden leaves were beautiful on the branches. There were a few edelweiss still clinging to their stalks near the stepping stones. A huge oak stood in the circular lawn in the front of the house.
As the carriage came closer, the children could all see the elegant details. There were bas-reliefs, sculptures, coming out of marble panels spaced around the sidewalls of the manor. In the front garden, and as far as they could see along the side and into the back, there were statues and fountains, pergolas and gazebos. The statues looked as if they came from ancient Rome. It all seemed so sadly uncared for.
It must have been beautiful, Faye thought. It reminded her of her home in Delhi, only this place had been forgotten. Once, long ago, there must have been smoke coming from the chimneys and families playing in the garden. And those gardens, well, they could have been as beautiful as those at her estate. But, alas, no longer. There were dead trees and branches scattered around, outside, and on top of the wall. There were trees that might have been hit by lightning or simply fallen dead with age. In some places, there were trees growing out of those long-ago fallen trees, new life springing from old.
“Look,” Jasper said, pointing at some engravings on wide marble steps leading up to the enormous front door. “Those are like the engravings in the cave.” On the stairs, they could see ancient script and Roman numerals.
“That isn’t Roman, though,” said Lucy. “That looks like another language completely. Like by the sign for Solemano.”
Beautiful calligraphy graced the base of a sculpture at the second level of the stairs. The sculpture seemed to have been destroyed, but the base was there, and the calligraphy was elegant, almost art rather than letters. There were also beautiful images of animals and birds—mostly birds, Jasper noted.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the grand entrance. The front faced a taller wall, which was covered in ivy and moss. The huge doors had stone lions guarding either side. This could not possibly be where we’re staying, Miss Brett thought. But Jasper stepped out of the carriage, followed by Noah, both curious about the carvings. Miss Brett, Wallace, and Lucy just looked out of the window, staring up at the huge house.
“Don’t go far, children!” Miss Brett called from the carriage. “We’re likely to be off in a moment.” As she gazed at these ancient ruins, she thought it was like looking at a living museum. She understood the desire to explore.
Faye wanted to see the gardens before they headed off to their new home. She stepped out of the carriage and walked across to the back veranda. Down from the terraced gardens were more than one hundred olive trees, gnarled and ancient, laden wi
th olives. The steps themselves were cracked, broken as if from years of disuse. But there was an herb garden that, for some unknown reason, seemed to have been well tended.
Faye walked back to find Jasper staring up at the house. She looked up, too, and figured out where he was looking, but not what it was. Jasper was staring at a strange curved, metal tube that seemed to be attached to the old chimneys. What it was doing or, more likely what it once did was not apparent. There were six or seven ornate curving copper vents of some kind.
There were also a few wind vanes attached to gears and copper piping that seemed to curve back into the wall. The vanes turned the gears, but Jasper could not figure out what this system of vanes and gears did. It was beautiful, he thought, in a strange and ancient way. When the copper was shiny and not dimmed by the verdigris, it must have been striking. The contraption certainly had been there a long time. As Jasper stared, he thought he could see waves of heat coming from the copper
“Why are we stopping here so long, Miss Brett?” asked Lucy. “Shouldn’t we be off to our home?”
“Perhaps they have the key to our house,” said Miss Brett as she ran her fingers through Lucy’s hair and smiled. Of course, the smile hid the fact that she had no idea and feared the worst,
Lucy looked up at the broken windows on the top floor. She clung to Miss Brett, chilled at the sight of open windows in this cold,
“Well, I’m sure we’ll find out,” said Wallace, trying to fit a smile upon his own face.
As if on cue, the great door opened, and a man in an outsized black beret, a black smock, and very floppy black shoes came out of the house, closing the door behind him. He bowed, comically, and opened the carriage door
“Are we stopping here for something?” Miss Brett asked the man, remaining in the warmth of the carriage,
“You come,” the man said.
“Come where?” Miss Brett said.
“Come,” the man answered.
“Where will we be living, the children and myself?”
“This is the home,” the man said, gesturing toward the ruin.
“I don’t see how this is appropriate,” Miss Brett said with false calm.
“Oh, Miss Brett!” cried Lucy, pointing to the broken windows. “It will be terribly cold in there. Please don’t let us stay in the floors above.”
The man gestured again and took Miss Brett’s arm. Not wanting to alarm the children, Miss Brett did not do what her instincts were begging her to do—pull her arm away and run with the children. Unlike their stay at Sole Manner Farm, here it would soon be winter, and a giant ruin of a house in winter was no place for children. She took a deep breath.
“I’m sure there is a . . . a plan for us,” Miss Brett said, lamely. She was, in fact, sure there was a plan. What that plan could possibly be, and whether or not she’d find it suitable, was a different story.
Miss Brett, Wallace, and Lucy descended.
There was an eerie feel to the place. Miss Brett drew in another deep breath. The air smelled sweet and fresh, with the essence of figs and a slight, pleasant odor of hay and horses. She thought of her childhood and visiting the countryside with her parents. Looking around, she soaked in all that surrounded her—the beautiful valley, the gardens, the history. Except for the fact that she and the children were supposed to live in a drafty, leaky old ruin, this place could be heaven.
“Jasper, Faye, Noah!” she called. “It appears that this will be our new home.”
Faye turned toward her teacher. Standing out at the edge of the top tier of the garden, she briefly thought she had heard Miss Brett say they were to live in this rubble. She hurried over to find out what was actually said. She found Jasper and Noah standing next to Miss Brett with their mouths agape.
Faye was adamant once she realized she had heard correctly. “They’re mad if they think I will live here.”
The man in the beret now ascended the steps, carrying, on his shoulder, all six of their bags, piled higher than he was tall. He pulled from his pocket a key ring with what looked to be twenty keys and began unlocking the many locks placed on and around the door
“Why did he lock it if he was going right back inside?” Noah whispered to Jasper
Jasper shrugged. Had he ever understood the mysterious men in black?
Miss Brett and the children waited patiently. With the bags still balanced on his shoulder, the man now climbed up to the side window and used another key in a lock hidden in a secret compartment above the sill. He then turned the handle of the latch, and a stone by the shutters moved to reveal another lock that required another key.
“He cannot be serious,” said Faye under her breath. “We could be here all night.”
“Oh, I don’t want to stand here all night,” whined Lucy. “It will get so chilly and we’ll get so hungry.” She rubbed her tummy and made a sad face for Miss Brett. But then Lucy looked down the road, and her hand flew to her mouth in joyous surprise.
“Merhba! Benvenuti!” came a voice in the direction Lucy was looking. The others turned to find the baker, rotund but diminutive in stature, her hair in a flustered bun falling out from beneath a dark scarf. The woman’s apron was filled with baskets promising delicious treats,
“Hello,” Miss Brett said to the woman, who was now red-faced and perspiring from the effort of waddling up the steep, sloping road to the palazzo. “Please, let me help you with those.”
The woman shook her head, kissing the teacher’s outstretched hand rather than allowing it to take any of the baskets from her. “We had heard there would be an arrival,” the baker said in very good English, though with a strong, distinct Italian accent.
“Really?” Miss Brett was surprised. People from the town had expected them?
“Si, yes, we have heard. We hear of the ship and the train and how you are to come. I have made sure that there is bread and biscotti for you in the palazzo.” She smiled, then began to hand out iced buns to the children and Miss Brett.
“Sahha!” she said.
They all nibbled away at what was surely one of the most delicious treats any of them could imagine. They were famished.
“Rosie used to make the most delicious biscuits,” Lucy said, suddenly thinking of the nanny they had left behind in America. Rosie had been the first to take care of Lucy and Jasper when they had found themselves in that house in Dayton. In fact, each of the children, suddenly without parents, had found a nanny—Daisy for Wallace, Myrtle for Noah, and Camelia for Faye—to care for them in the houses prepared for their arrival. They spent the weekends in those houses, away from Miss Brett and Sole Manner Farm. The houses were all joined together by a big backyard where they would have picnics and conduct science experiments. Rosie had made Jasper and Lucy’s house a home, at a time when the children had been so worried about their parents.
Lucy’s face fell. These new treats from the baker made Lucy wonder if they’d ever see those nannies again—or their parents. But the baker patted her head and squeezed her cheeks, which made her blush, distracted from her sad thoughts.
A shadow passed over Miss Brett’s shoulder as a tall man in black silk pajamas and a back turban, high black wading boots, and a dark pince-nez emerged, pushing a wheelbarrow full of potatoes up from the field. The baker smiled and said something to him in Italian. Miss Brett was suddenly taken aback as it dawned on her that this strange man was in full sight of the baker. Their driver had been in full sight of everyone in the town. And there, in the field, the mysterious men in black worked like so many farmers. They were so many farmers.
It was then that Miss Brett realized the mysterious men in black were mysterious only to the children and her. None of the parents ever commented on their strangeness. None of the villagers seemed to think anything of these very odd fellows.
The baker, having finished handing out sweet buns, stopped the man in black pajamas as he tried to pass.
“You can’t work in the field all day without a treat,” she said, handing t
he man a bun. He stopped, took it from her, and swallowed it in one bite, then gave a short bow. The baker patted him on the head, then placed the basket with the rest of the treats in the wheelbarrow. “Bring these for the others, and be sure that you are drinking enough water. The air may be cool, but the sun is hot today. Sahha!”
“Grazzi hafna, Fornaio, also from the others,” the pajama man said in a low, gruff voice. Even his Italian seemed to have a strange accent to it. He continued his task, to the nonplussed silence of the children and Miss Brett. The man scooped up the potatoes in his arms and dropped them on the front steps of the manor house.
The pajama man then turned and pushed the barrow back down toward the village,
The baker turned to Miss Brett and the children. “I am Signora Fornaio, dear ones,” she said. “I am the baker.” Then she shouted something and blew a kiss to the pajama man.
“You . . . you . . .” Miss Brett began after several seconds.
“You know those fellows?” Noah said. “They aren’t strange to you?”
The baker looked at them and cocked her head to one side. “Know who?”
“The men in black,” said Wallace.
“I fratelli in nero.” She smiled.
“I fratelli in nero?” asked Lucy. “What does ‘nero’ mean?”
“Black, yes?” the baker said.
“Nero,” Lucy said to herself.
“And you know them?” asked Faye.
“But of course I know them. As my mother, her mother, and all of my family have always known them. As everyone, tutti, here in Solemano.”
Again, Miss Brett and the children stood in stunned silence. A whole village—generations of a village—knew the men in black? Spoke with them? Greeted them? Fed them sweet buns and biscotti?
“So . . .” said Noah, who had so many questions he just picked the first one he could think of. “Is this where they are all from? Are they Italian?” It would explain the strange accents, though the language didn’t sound Italian.
The baker laughed. “You are the funny,” she said. “Italiani, I think not.”
The Ravens of Solemano or The Order of the Mysterious Men in Black Page 16
