The Ravens of Solemano or The Order of the Mysterious Men in Black

by Eden Unger Bowditch

“She said it was in a special place,” said Miss Brett, her mind settling back to the words of Signora Fornaio. “Posto—that means place, and she said ‘special.’”

  “Hold your hats—wait just a minute here,” said Noah. The journal he held had a date on the front page. It said, “Vienna, Early Spring (but too late), 1827.” He picked up a journal farther up the row. It said, “Paris 1790.”

  “Seventeen-ninety,” he said aloud.

  “The year that the first patents were issued in the United States of America,” Wallace said. He had a vast knowledge of patents.

  “And things were going on in France, too,” Jasper said.

  Miss Brett said, “That would be the French Revo—”

  “I think—” Faye said suddenly, but whatever caused the look of amazement on her face clearly kept her tongue from working. Frantically, she searched through the papers on the nearby shelves. She then went back to look at the journals. “I . . . I don’t believe—”

  “What is it, Faye?” said Miss Brett, who came out from where she was searching. “What have you discovered?”

  “It’s them,” said Lucy, knowingly. “I mean, us.” She held a journal she handed to Jasper, which he read in silence.

  “These bound journals, or pages,” said Faye, “are like Lucy’s journal. And if I’m seeing it right, they seem to come in installments, about every thirty years or so.”

  “The journals are all written by children,” added Wallace, perusing the pages, “or very young people, at least.”

  “And they’re written, in part, by the geniuses we know,” continued Faye. “Some we don’t know, but some of these writers are famous geniuses who were children when they wrote them.”

  Wallace adjusted. “The notes here on Edward and Richard from 1483 are connected to someone’s notes on the parachute . . .”

  “That would be Leonardo da Vinci, most likely,” said Noah.

  “. . . and then 1545,” Wallace continued, “the year of the sinking of the Mary Rose—I remember that from history lessons with you, Miss Brett—and 1573, a huge year of battles and wars. And then, here, ‘Edinburgh, Late Autumn, 1738.’ Look!” Wallace handed the journal to Miss Brett.

  Miss Brett looked at the paper. “That’s an interesting diagram, but I’m not sure I—”

  “Goodness! Look,” said Faye. She took Lucy’s journal from Jasper. Its date was 1790. On the cover of the journal, it said, “Le Livre de la Guilde des Jeunes Inventeurs.” On a journal that said “Amsterdam, Mid-Summer, 1740,” it said, “De Jonge Uitvinders Guild.” On the journal from 1827, it said, “Aus der Gilde der Junge Erfinder.” And on the page from 1872, it said, “La Gilda per Giovani Inventori.”

  “I know,” said Jasper, looking at Faye in wonder. And there, on the top page of the journal from 1738, the one Faye had handed to Miss Brett, it said clearly, in English, “From the Pages of the Young Inventors Guild.”

  “These are the dates we know, from the green Young Inventors Guild journal—Naples in 1872, Amsterdam in the mid-summer of 1740, Edinburgh in the late autumn of 1738. These notes were kept in our journal, weren’t they, Lucy?” Faye could not believe what she was seeing.

  “Yes, these are the notes we found ourselves,” said Lucy.

  “Could it be that these notes, taken from that journal, have been protected by the mysterious men in black for hundreds of years?” Jasper asked, looking at the others.

  “Those fellows protect it all?” Noah asked.

  Could it be?

  Jasper felt it was all at the tip of his mind. “Think about monasteries, about how they always kept their records,” he said. “Think about the chronicles we’ve seen and read.” Jasper was thinking of the books he had found most interesting in the library at the manor house—The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, a history of ancient England, and the book on the venerable Bede, the monk historian. Then there was the one on the Bayeux Tapestry, created in France in the 1070s, which depicted the events leading up to the Norman Invasion of 1066 and the Battle of Hastings.

  These were details of history that would have been lost without scribes keeping them safe. Protecting history, protecting information, was what they did. And it wasn’t just the stories of kings and wars and big events that were intriguing. Daily records of the weather, food, and farming were kept, as were accounts of major wars and battles—kept by monasteries in Britain from before 1066. Some of these records were still being kept. You could pull out a page and learn what someone did on a given day. Sometimes they detailed monastic rituals and the power of silence. These mysterious men in black were men of few words and strange rituals. They were an order of brothers. And, it seemed, they were keepers of history.

  “The cataloging and the care of records . . .” said Jasper. “I think what those men are . . .” But he hesitated.

  “What do you mean?” said Noah. The mysterious men in black were clearly more than archivists.

  “I think they have all these records—all these papers, diagrams, inventions—for a reason. They’re keeping them safe, like an order—like some regiment of guards. And they’ve been doing so for a very long time. Whatever brought the mysterious men in black together, it must have been a long time ago. They seem to be guarding this place and, who knows? Maybe a lot more. Maybe secrets we can’t imagine.”

  “It must be true,” Miss Brett said, almost falling into a chair that was, luckily, right behind her.

  Yes, Jasper thought, it was right to leave the box here, in this room, somewhere. But he knew there was something missing from this story—some bit of information that would be the key to understanding. But understanding what?

  “Did anyone else notice that the shelves go back in time, the farther from the door?” Wallace was looking at the shelf next to him, then the one next to that, slowly stepping back, checking that this was true.

  Faye gave Miss Brett the paper she had been holding and ran up the rows, looking frantically through the shelves and coming to the last shelf, the one closest to the door. Then she jumped up and down as if she were Lucy

  “Our notes!” she cried. “Here are the notes we kept back in America!”

  “Of course,” said Lucy unsurprised. “I told you they were safe.”

  The others hurried over and, sure enough, there were the drawings of Noah’s engine, Jasper’s propeller, and the other diagrams they had made.

  “What does this mean?” asked Wallace, holding papers in his hand. “What does any of this mean?”

  Miss Brett looked at the shelf, and there saw another box: a small box sealed with a pink ribbon. Somehow, when she saw it, she knew exactly what was in it. While the children looked through the Young Inventors Guild pages, Miss Brett took the box and discreetly opened it, turning away from the children. Yes, she was right—it was her diary.

  A series of emotions flooded in, each knocking the other aside, She felt angry, triumphant, worried, embarrassed, angry again, and then guilty. The men in black had taken this from her and put it here, in good faith and for safekeeping,

  Miss Brett knew what she had to do. She had to do as she was asked by her dying friend. They must leave everything here,

  “What should we do, Miss Brett?” said Wallace, feeling anxious.

  “Well . . . I think we need to put the papers carefully back where they were,” Miss Brett said. She put her diary back in the box, retied the ribbon, and put it back on the shelf.

  “I want to take the journal,” Faye said, glaring as if to dare anyone to say otherwise.

  “Faye,” said Jasper, “I think it should stay.”

  Faye stepped back. She felt a sting of betrayal. “You do, do you? And why is that?”

  “Because this is the room where it has been safe,” he said. “If there is any place that is safe, it must be here. And we must believe it, because Komar Romak is here in Solemano. We’re running for our lives again, and we can’t risk bringing anything from here out into danger.”

  “Jasper, I don’t believe you,” s
aid Faye, wounded—partly because he didn’t back her up, but mostly because she knew he was right.

  “Believe me, Faye,” he said, gently. “You must believe me.”

  “We need to have it with us. It belongs to us. We’ve got to be able to get this door—!” Faye pushed against the door, but it did not move.

  Jasper shook his head. “Put the journal back, Faye.”

  Faye didn’t.

  “Just put it back on its shelf,” Jasper said. “It clearly belongs here, with the other work.”

  “But Antonio’s box! That wasn’t safe!” said Faye.

  “Signora Fornaio must have had the key. Maybe she came to clean or something, and Antonio must have tricked her.” Jasper reached out to Faye.

  “Sweet angel,” Miss Brett said. “Put the notes back. I am sure we can ask to see them.”

  Faye opened her mouth to argue, but she knew they were right. Contrary to her nature, Faye did as she was asked.

  “We cannot leave with anything from this room,” Jasper said. “We have to find—”

  “It’s here!” Wallace called from the other side of the room.

  Rushing over to him, they saw a small, square, opened wooden crate. In it was a wooden box, unpainted, but lined with blue velvet, The box was very old, and had markings where its contents had rubbed away the blue velvet lining it,

  There was an impression in the velvet—the outlined shape of the box in Jasper’s hand. This was where Antonio had found the box. It was from here that he stole it and started all of the terrible events that followed,

  “It was cruel to deceive his mother,” Noah said, thinking of Antonio.

  “We don’t know exactly what happened,” said Wallace, not wanting to think about a son betraying his mother

  “She trusted her boy,” Jasper said, “and the brothers in black trusted her. It must have broken her heart to know she had unwittingly betrayed them.”

  “She trusted too much.” Faye hid the tears welling again in her eyes again. “She trusted that blasted shepherd.”

  “So did we,” Miss Brett said.

  “We were fools not to notice,” said Noah. “He always seemed to slip away or suddenly appear. No wonder. And we didn’t think it strange he never had a single sheep?” Noah thumped his forehead. “What brilliant children we are, eh?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jasper said, taking the box and putting it in its place. “We’ve done as Signora Fornaio asked.”

  “Enough. Let’s get out of here,” said Faye, heading for the door.

  She pushed the door, but it did not move. She continued to push. “We must get out.”

  “We don’t know how,” said Jasper, joining her. The door was as solid as a wall.

  “It’s got to open somehow!” yelled Faye, pounding her fists against it in frustration.

  And then it opened.

  There, on the other side of the door, stood a very ruffled Bo Peep. They all blinked at one another. Then Miss Brett noticed the arm.

  “You’re injured!” cried Miss Brett. His arm was bleeding and his hand sliced deep.

  “Must go,” he groaned. Holding up his skirt with his good hand, he turned, limping slightly

  “Is he out there?” asked Faye.

  “Not he,” said Bo Peep, not turning around.

  “Yes, yes, we know he’s a they and whatever. Is Komar Romak out there?” Faye reached out to stop Bo Peep, but he kept walking down the long corridor.

  As Jasper followed the others through the door, he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. Wallace’s coin. Antonio’s orb—he had said it himself. The coin was a key, wasn’t it? And the orb? It was an element, a catalyst, something that caused a reaction. A key. An element. He ran it through his head as they went down the hallway: Three are the wings, one is the key, one is the element . . .

  They made it to the main room and ran to the big door. They pushed, but discovered that the door would not move.

  “Okay, Bo Peep, open it,” Faye said, panting.

  “No,” said Bo Peep.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” demanded Faye.

  “Danger,” said Bo Peep. “No go room. Stay.” And he ran off down a hallway, shutting a gate behind him.

  “Are we trapped in here?” Wallace asked, adjusting his glasses.

  Lucy grabbed Jasper’s hand and began to chew her bracelet. Jasper reached out and touched the door

  Suddenly, without warning, there was a loud thump. They all jumped back. It came from the door

  “Get back here, Bo Peep!” yelled Faye. There was no answer. Faye ran toward the corridor he had disappeared into, but found the locked gate blocking her way. She shook the gate. “He’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Wallace gulped.

  “What did he do?” Faye asked. “Did he make that sound?”

  “No,” said Jasper. “I don’t think it was him—” There came another booming thump. Jasper moved farther away from the door.

  The thump definitely came from the other side. But those doors were so thick, surely nothing short of an explosion could have passed through with even the slightest of sounds,

  Again, a boom, as if someone was trying to ram the door. The door didn’t move, not even the slightest—but for how long would it be safe?

  “Is it Komar Romak?” cried Lucy, squeezing her brother’s hand.

  “No, I . . .” But Jasper couldn’t lie to her. Yes, he thought. It has to be Komar Romak.

  “We have to get out of here some other way,” Noah whispered.

  “But Mr. Bo Peep told us to stay!” cried Lucy.

  “Someone wasn’t trying to knock the door down then!” said Faye. “We have got to get out of here.”

  “But how?” Wallace looked around, terrified. “How did Mr. Bo Peep get out?”

  Jasper realized: the stairwells. But looking at the halls, he could see all of the gates were now closed. Jasper looked back to the hallway. Could he run back and get the key? Antonio’s orb was the only hope.

  “How would you get back into the room?” asked Faye, who could see Jasper’s thoughts written on his face.

  “Try the magnet!” shouted Jasper to Wallace. Then, softer: “Please, Wallace.”

  Wallace removed his little magnetic sphere from his pocket and rolled it toward the iron bars. Nothing. He moved it a bit closer. Still nothing. Wallace stood up and brought the magnet to the gate.

  Then he could feel it. With it tugging at his hand, Wallace placed the little magnetic sphere on the floor. It began rolling—all the way to the passageway at the right of the hearth. With a small clang, it hit the gate. But there it sat.

  Wallace looked up anxiously at the others. He tried to coax the magnetic sphere up, but it stuck—hard. Wallace turned his coin in his pocket, over and over. It felt warm against his hand.

  Then he had an idea. He took the coin from his pocket and placed it against the iron panel on the gate. Then he moved the sphere along the astragal. He gave it a push and it rolled up.

  They all watched. But the sphere soon slowed down, and then it stopped, sitting still in a groove in the bar.

  “No,” said Faye, feeling defeated as the banging from without grew louder.

  But Wallace scanned the wall and the iron gate. It had to be there, he thought to himself. Yes, it must. Feeling around, he began to grow doubtful, until he touched a round carving on the actual metal gate itself. Remembering his electric torch, he shined it on the carving. Yes, he was right. He felt it in his bones. He placed the coin in the carving. Then he removed the bismuth alloy pellet from his pocket and pushed the bismuth against the magnet, as if he were sweeping it up the door. With a forceful brush of his hand, the bismuth repelled the magnetic sphere, which slid up and looped around the gate, then rolled into a hole where a lock might have been—right below his coin. Then the coin itself began to turn.

  There was a click, and the gate was open.

  Then—another boom! Only this one was louder.

  “Let’
s go!” cried Miss Brett, picking up Lucy and grabbing Wallace’s hand. “Now!” The others followed. They ran to the doors that led to the stairway.

  “It’s that door.” Lucy pointed to the door Faye had opened.

  Faye passed Jasper her torch and her carpet bag and pushed with both hands. She grabbed the knob, and though it was hard to turn, she managed to open the door. But this time there were no stairs on the other side.

  It was a room, and it was huge, its ceilings high, and once the torches were all switched on and focused, they knew immediately what they were seeing. Miss Brett put down Lucy, searching the walls of the room for another door.

  “That’s impossible,” said Noah, standing with his mouth wide open.

  “Since when is anything around us possible?” said Faye. “But it happens, doesn’t it?”

  “It was the right door!” cried Lucy. “I know it! I remember!”

  “What is this place?” asked Miss Brett.

  “It’s . . . it’s a giant laboratory.” Faye looked at the rows of burettes and test tubes, the cauldrons and the basins, the mortars and pestles, and . . . and some things even she could not name.

  “The stairs turned into a laboratory.” Lucy sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. We all make mistakes,” said Noah.

  “But it’s not a mistake,” insisted Lucy. Then she bent over and picked up a gold and red ribbon that had fallen into a corner on the floor. She recognized it instantly. “This is Mummy’s,” she said, looking at the others for answers.

  “I don’t see a way out.” Miss Brett saw only stone walls.

  “Why would this be here?” Jasper asked no one in particular, looking at the ribbon in Lucy’s hand.

  “This must have been their lab,” said Noah. “Don’t you think?”

  “Likely,” said Jasper. He put Faye’s torch and bag on the table, running his hand along the row of test tubes,

  “You’d think they could have told us,” Wallace muttered. He was hurt. His father had been so close. All of them had. But no one had let the children know.

  “Who cares now?” said Faye, stifling the mix of anger and fear she felt. “We’ve got to find another way out.”