“No!” came a shout from the orchard. A man dressed in a long black frock was carrying wood across the orchard,
“No what?” said Noah.
“No kreaturi,” he demanded.
Faye wasn’t sure she heard. “What are you—”
“No look! Stay out!” he called as he carried his wood out of the orchard and out of sight,
Having no idea what the man was referring to, the children shrugged.
“I suppose he didn’t want us to follow him,” said Wallace.
The fourth tier held the orchard. It was filled with gnarled and ancient olive trees, overgrown and intertwining. Soon, the children were climbing the twisted trees and running in and out of the tunnels and over the bridges. They found that the tunnels often intersected or led from one tier to the next, or back up to the house, or to a dead end, leading nowhere, or off into total darkness. The darkness was a bit worrisome, so the children tended to stick to places where they could see exits. They ran after each other and hid amazingly well. Lucy fell into a small, dried-out pond that was mostly moss and dirt, and when she reached under, she fished out an old coin. Lucy wiped it off and found the date: 1705.
“It’s old,” she said, handing it to Jasper.
“Perhaps not old for this garden,” said Wallace, adjusting his glasses.
“Let’s go down to the village,” Miss Brett said after Noah, brushing against the wall of a tunnel, nearly collapsed the whole thing upon itself. “We don’t have long before it’s dark, and I’d love to have a look around.”
So they walked down into the village. The walk was lovely. The ancient streets were made of stone, and the buildings were ornate and elegant, like buildings from a storybook. But the streets were nearly empty. Occasionally, a little old lady in a black skirt or a man wearing a black bonnet or a furry cap would hurry down the street, nodding at the children and their teacher,
“Benvenuti! Tutti, tutti!” called Signora Fornaio. “Come, I am here.” Their noses, however, were already leading them toward her shop. She stood with a dish of milk that she now placed down outside her door. Two ravens hopped between her legs and began to lap at the dish. Down from the window ledge came another raven, who joined the others.
Inside the shop was a world of delights. Signora Fornaio offered them bombe alla crema and zeppole, which were fluffy soft pastries sprinkled with sugar on the outside and sweet cream filling on the inside. She had boconotto, biscuits made with almonds and chocolate; and chewy pasticiotti, like meringues with almond butter. She also had cinnamon biscotti with chocolate and nuts and honey.
“You are liking the gardens, eh?” The baker chuckled. “Si, si, such gardens. What are you thinking of il giardino delle bestie?”
“Of course, il giardino delle bestie,” said Lucy. “I bet that’s what it said in the stone in the garden when it used to say something. It’s the garden with the lovely creatures, surely.”
“I do believe you’re right, Lucy,” said Noah. “It’s a very odd garden, isn’t it?”
“Yes, very strange and very old. And very mysterious, yes?” The baker tapped the side of her nose,
“In what way mysterious?” asked Jasper.
“It’s certainly a mystery as to why they’d put all those odd animal statues there,” said Faye.
“Indeed,” said the baker, but then she leaned closer and spoke softer. “But the mystery is the eyes.”
Lucy’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Wallace’s were closed. A story about eyes? he thought. It sounded like a scary story. The others leaned closer to hear what Signora Fornaio had to say
“It is said that the garden was built three hundred years ago on the ground of the old palazzo. There were much older statues in the garden, but they were removing them, leaving some of their pedestals for the new creations. It is said that the old barone shot all of the ravens and killed the wisdom, for ravens are the keepers of wisdom, They never forget. Then his house burned to the ground.
“The garden beasts,” she continued, “were sculpted by a famous artist, young and very, very handsome, so that kings and queens loved him. He made the many beasts.”
The children and their teacher were silent, leaning in toward the baker as if she were sharing a secret,
“It is said,” said the baker, “that the handsome young artist was also a magician, but not the silliness with the hat. He does the real magic and studies the occulto.”
“Occulto?” said Wallace with a gulp.
“Yes, the dark magic of the ages,” said the baker. “And the beasts, it is strange how they are all facing not one another but always looking at you, no?”
The children nodded.
“Well, there is the reason for this.” The baker beckoned them nearer. Their heads were almost touching as they moved in closer. “It is said that there is one place in the whole garden where there is not one pair of eyes upon you. Only one place where no creatures look upon you. If you ever find this spot, you will disappear.”
At this point, the children were so close their heads were pressed against one another. Except for the odd gulp, there was silence.
“Well,” said Miss Brett, clearing her throat, pulling back the stray hairs that had fallen out from beneath her hat, and patting the children out of their stupor, “that is quite a story, Signora Fornaio.”
“No, signorina, not a story. Beware. It is that the artista, he who is also the mago, the magician—it is he who disappeared when the garden was complete.”
As the children and Miss Brett were leaving, Signora Fornaio filled their pockets with caggionetti and other delights. “I will save a few for my little friend, the shepherd,” she said. And then she said his name, which sounded funny to the children. Signora Fornaio’s accent was difficult enough even when they knew the words she was saying.
“Bezzomaffi?” Noah said, crossing his eyes.
“Mezzobassili?” asked Miss Brett.
“Mezzobaffi,” said Lucy decisively. The others looked at her. Was she right?
Signora Fornaio smiled, placing some treats aside in a small basket.
As they watched, a tiny old man carrying a shepherd’s staff came slowly up the road.
“That must be the shepherd,” Jasper whispered to his sister. But Lucy was looking up at the sky. Above the shepherd, two ravens soared, chattering mournfully.
“Bene, bene. I was worried you might have been hurt,” said Signora Fornaio as he approached.
“Tutti bene, Signora.” The shepherd waved jovially, though it was clear he was a frail old man.
“I worry for him,” said Signora Fornaio to the children. “His brother died last spring. So sad—such a good man. He loved the birds like they were part of his own flock. Now the poor man is alone with his sheep, always having to climb over the Forca di Penne passage every winter. I don’t know what would have happened if I had not brought him in from the storm last month. He was shivering to the bone, povero vecchio.”
The shepherd greeted everyone as if they were old friends. His beard came down to his knees, and his feet were wrapped in rags. In fact, he was entirely wrapped in rags. The ravens alighted on the vines that clung to the ancient wall. They made the sound of falling stones.
“They’re sad,” said Lucy, looking at the birds. They were sad for the shepherd. Of this, she was certain,
“Pervoi, vecchio,” Signora Fornaio said, handing him the treats. “Aspetta un secondo.” She held his arm, begging him to wait a second, then rushed into the back room. She brought out a cloak—a warm, woolen cloak. “This belonged to my beloved husband,” she said. “It kept him warm for many winters, grazia di dio. No,” she said as the shepherd began to refuse, “I have another that I save for my son. This one is too small for the boy. It should keep another kind soul warm this cold winter.” She placed it on the shoulders of the old shepherd.
He looked a bit nervous, then nodded. “Grazia, molto grazia,” he said. Then, taking his treats and his new cloak, he shuffled down t
he street and disappeared around the corner. The birds cried out and followed the old man down the road. The children watched this strange departure.
Leaving the bakery and extending their walk, Miss Brett and the children continued down through the village.
The shepherd must have taken his sheep over the hill to the other side of the village, because they did not run into the little man again. They did, however, watch the men in the field, and those harvesting the grapes and olives. They came upon an ancient chapel, too. It was in ruins, the roof caved in and the walls crumbling. It seemed to be one of the oldest structures in the village.
“Better not step inside,” said Miss Brett, concerned that what was left of the roof was unstable and could fall down upon them. That said, she did notice that someone had been stomping around in there. While the grass had grown through the floor, the path going into the chapel was well worn. She and the children could easily see inside.
Miss Brett could not help also noticing the still beautiful frescoes painted on the chapel’s ruined walls. Along its inside were scenes with angels, and scenes she thought could be of a garden, with, of course, ravens.
Through the alcove she could see, when she squinted, a scene that looked like monks together in battle. It seemed so strange, she thought, monks in black robes fighting with swords, along with some kind of dragon. She decided she must not be seeing the drawing correctly. Still, hanging behind those monks was a banner and it looked like the symbol on the flag from the ship.
As the final light of dusk began to fade, the children and Miss Brett headed back up to the manor house.
“What are they doing out there?” asked Faye as she waited for tea, standing by the big window facing the gardens, She was looking down at the olive grove,
“They’ve been at it all morning,” said Lucy, coming over to join her at the window,
“They’re harvesting,” said Miss Brett, bringing in the tea tray. “Come help me lay the table, girls. We’re on our own this morning.”
“On our own?” asked Faye. “What do you mean?”
“All the men in black are helping harvest,” said Miss Brett, laying the tea on the table and carrying the tray back to the kitchen. She passed Lucy the napkins and Faye the plates and silver. “They need everyone to help since the cold is setting in early.”
“I want to help!” cried Lucy. “I want to pick the olives!”
“I think it’s hard work,” said Miss Brett. “Not that you couldn’t do it, Lucy, but they need to have big, strong men who can reach the branches.
“All the men are out there?” asked Jasper, taking the tray of glasses as Miss Brett went to fetch the water pitcher, “Every last one of them, apparently,” Miss Brett said, carrying the pitcher to the table.
“Every last one of them?” Faye asked, slowing as she laid the spoons next to the tea cups. She looked over at Jasper, who had been thinking the same thing, though without the purely devilish grin that Faye sent in his direction.
“You are thinking of something,” Noah whispered out of the corner of his mouth, placing the knives on the left side of the plates as Faye followed and, without comment, placed them correctly to the right.
“Of course I’m thinking of something, you dolt,” growled Faye, grabbing the remaining knives from Noah’s hand. “You think I don’t think?”
“You know what I mean.” Noah rolled his eyes, then waited until Miss Brett returned to the kitchen. “Jasper,” he said, “what are you planning here behind our backs?”
“What’s behind our backs?” asked Wallace as he and Lucy came in, carrying biscuits and jams.
“Look, you lot,” Faye whispered with intent, “do not say anything. We’ll talk after breakfast.”
“We’re not thinking of doing anything naughty, are we?” asked Lucy. “I really don’t want to do naughty things today. I want to see the olive harvest.”
“Naughty things?” asked Miss Brett, entering the room with a tray of the most scrumptious iced cinnamon buns.
“Oh, silly Lucy,” said Faye with a laugh, “Noah is always naughty, but he will wait for his tea and not be naughty today.”
“I . . .” But Noah could not argue. His teacup was already in his hand.
“If you bundle up warm, you can go to the olive grove and watch,” said Miss Brett. “I’m so glad you’re interested, Faye.”
“Oh, we all are,” said Faye, smiling a bit too sweetly for Miss Brett fully to believe. “We’ll be sure to use the warmest gloves and hats and mufflers.”
“Lovely.” Miss Brett smiled back at her. “I’ll get my own warm things on and—”
“Oh, you needn’t bother coming out in the cold,” said Faye. “We’ll only be watching the harvest.”
“Hmmm,” said Miss Brett.
“Oh, do come with us, Miss Brett!” Lucy insisted.
“Lucy,” scolded Faye under her breath.
“Well, Faye, I think I will join you.” Miss Brett put down her tea cup and straightened her apron. “I think I’ll come down as soon as I put the bread in the oven.”
“Lovely,” said Faye, throwing a glance at Jasper.
Noah pasted a falsely innocent look on his face while Jasper avoided her eyes. Yes, thought Miss Brett, they are up to something.
“What are we going to do now?” asked Noah, under his breath as they pulled the cold weather clothes from the closet in the foyer.
“I’m trying to think,” Faye muttered. “We’ve got to be clever.”
“You really think we’re going to be able to do it?” asked Noah, hunting through the pile of mufflers to find the orange one he favored.
“Look,” Jasper said, pulling on a boot, “all the men in black will be at the harvest. We can look around. It’s not like we’ll disturb anything. We’re just going to look for our missing notes— and maybe some clues about all of this.”
“There is something we’re missing—something we need to know that they’re not telling us,” said Faye. “Maybe something we can use to fight Komar Romak.” She would surely have tried to search the men’s rooms before on the ship, but it had been impossible to know when all the men would be gone.
But now, for the first time, the children had a chance to learn for themselves where they could find their parents, what their parents were doing, and why they were all here. With Miss Brett joining them, though, it would be tricky
Outside, the blowing wind made the chilly air chillier, though between gusts of wind, it wasn’t really so cold. Just the same, Lucy rubbed her nose, insisting the tip was going numb. She waved at a ruffled raven sitting on an olive tree branch. The children and Miss Brett found a comfortable vantage point and sat on the stone wall together. The men were busy at work as Faye tried to think of a way to rid themselves of Miss Brett. After several minutes, it came to her.
“Miss Brett,” Faye said, acting as if she’d suddenly remembered, “are you sure it’s safe to leave the bread alone in the house?”
“What do you mean, Faye?” asked Miss Brett, now wondering herself.
“Just that we don’t want it to burn, and we are a bit far.” Faye again gave Miss Brett that overly sweet smile.
“Well,” considered Miss Brett. Up to something or not, Faye was right. “I suppose I should head back up. Just be mindful of Lucy and Wallace,” she said, climbing down from the wall. “And mind yourselves, too. Don’t get yourselves into trouble.”
As soon as Miss Brett was safely back in the house, the five of them trudged down to Signora Fornaio’s bakery to find out where, in fact, the men in black lived.
“I want to see the olives!” Lucy said.
“No one’s stopping you,” Faye said.
Lucy squinched her face and followed quietly. She didn’t want to be left out.
When they got to the bakery, Lucy’s face brightened. Signora Fornaio welcomed them, offering them each a brioche warm from the oven.
“Come have some chocolate,” she said, pulling five mugs from the shelf
and filling them with hot chocolate. She was mixing some vanilla into the whipped cream when Lucy, looking out at a pair of ravens eating from the dish, asked, “Why are the ravens here?”
“They’ve probably always been here,” said Faye, eager to get to the more important questions.
“Only since three hundred, more close to three hundred fifty years, but before, maybe one hundred years before, they used to be many,” said the baker, handing out the foaming mugs. “They come from Matthias Corvinus, the Raven King.”
“Raven King?” asked Jasper, taking his mug gratefully after handing one to Faye and one to Lucy
“He was a grand philosopher and lover of learning,” said Signora Fornaio, “and he lives about 450 years ago. He had many books—you have some of these books in your house, I believe.”
The children exchanged quick glances. Some of the books had belonged to royalty?
“He was known as the Raven King, and so, when some of his library was given to a nobleman in Napoli, family of his wife, they kept ravens at their palazzo.
“But then le Due Metà del Male killed birds and burned many of the books.”
“Who?” Jasper was riveted.
“We say the Two Halves of Evil—a force you must not consider, because it is so terrible.” Signora Fornaio pulled beads from her pocket and kissed them, mumbling a silent prayer. “But not even fifty years later, when the village of Solemano came to be known and the fortress built around it, they bring, too, the tradition of ravens.”
“Do the ravens protect the village from evil?” asked Lucy. “The two halves of evil?”
“It is said that the black birds, i corvi, are the guardians,” the baker said, walking to the window. She opened it and tossed out pieces of brioche to a waiting bird. “Ah, bella, my little corvino is truly my guardian, yes?” The bird chattered back as if to answer.
“Why did the library come here?” asked Wallace. If there was a raven king somewhere, why keep the library in this tiny village?
The Ravens of Solemano or The Order of the Mysterious Men in Black Page 18
