“I . . . I don’t know,” Miss Brett said, still unsure and cautious. Clearly, this was not the monster in the tunnel, but were there not always two?
“He’s not moving,” said Noah.
“Is he . . .” But Wallace didn’t want to say the word “dead.”
Full of remorse for thinking the sweet little man was Komar Romak, Faye stepped forward.
Just then, the little man groaned, as if he were in pain. Then he let out a little whimper. Faye pulled off the gag so he could breathe. She quickly untied his hands.
“Signora Fornaio.” He could barely speak. “Dove . . . where she is?”
Faye’s hand flew to her mouth to cover the sob she could not stop. Lucy burst into tears.
“No, no . . . non è possible!” he cried in a painful groan that seemed to cost him his strength. Faye untied his hands. Then the little man tried to rise, but fell back down. One hand clutched his stomach. With his other hand, he reached up.
“He can’t stand alone,” Wallace said, gulping. Was he ill? Was he hurt? Was he going to die? Wallace turned that lucky coin in his pocket.
Jasper reached to help, offering his hand. When the tiny old man’s shaking hand came up, Jasper felt his surprisingly strong grip. It was a grip so strong, in fact, that Jasper’s hand began to hurt. Unable to pull the shepherd up, he found himself being dragged down.
Suddenly, something whizzed past Jasper’s ear. The old man fell back to the ground.
“No!” screamed Faye in horror.
Jasper turned around and saw a mysterious man in black standing on the chapel’s ruined wall—it was Robin Hood. In his arms he held a bow and arrow. He loaded again and aimed the arrow at Jasper.
“No, Robin Hood, no!” cried Lucy, who ran to her brother. Jasper tried to push Lucy out of the way, but she refused to let go of him and he could not shake her loose.
“You shot the shepherd!” Jasper screamed. “He was bound and gagged! We were wrong! And now you’ve killed him!”
Bo Peep came running up through the herb garden passageway. He must not have been far behind them. He said something to the archer, who still had his bow trained on the still figure of the shepherd.
“Are you going to kill him again?!” cried Noah, ready to step between the archer and the shepherd.
Bo peep stepped over to Jasper, who could still feel the shepherd’s grip on his hand.
Bo Peep pulled his skirts back and bent at the knees next to the fallen shepherd. With a push, he turned the old man over. The shepherd’s other hand was still tight against his stomach, where they all thought he had been hurt. Bo Peep pulled the hand from the folds of rags.
In it, the old shepherd clutched a knife. It was a long, sharp knife made for one purpose—to kill.
Faye let out a loud, groaning cry. Miss Brett gasped. Lucy had been hiding in Jasper’s legs, and he held her tight so she would not look.
“He . . . he . . . he was going to kill you,” said Noah to Jasper.
“Was . . . is it him?” Miss Brett’s voice was shaky. She swallowed hard, but still could not clear her throat.
“Not him,” Robin Hood growled. “Never him.”
Bo Peep took the knife from the shepherd’s hand and placed it in his apron. He reached up to the face and pulled at the beard. It did not move, but half of the moustache fell to the ground.
Shaken, the children slowly followed Bo Peep from the chapel. The cold was not the only thing sending shivers through their bones. Each of them found the weight of the world noticeably upon them. Faye’s tears stung. Jasper put his arm around her.
As always, Miss Brett tried hard to be a calming force. But there was little she could say, even if she had been capable of speaking. So overwhelmed with the tragedies they had just witnessed, she did not know if she would say something foolish that might hurt more than it helped. She simply kept near, placing a hand on a shoulder or an arm, embracing anyone who reached out to her. Wallace and Lucy both stuck close to her, and she walked slowly to stay as close as possible to the children. Noah walked ahead, his head hanging down.
“Gajnuna!” came a cry from behind them.
Bo Peep stopped in his tracks, hiked up his skirt, and ran back to the chapel. The children and Miss Brett followed.
They found Robin Hood on the ground, blood coming from his cheek—but he was not dead.
And apparently, neither was Komar Romak. The shepherd, Mezzobaffi, or whatever he should be called, had disappeared.
“It’s not like we shouldn’t have expected it,” said Faye, handing her last bag to the wide-beret man with the triangular dark glasses and the enormous, pointy beard. He was loading their bags onto the carriages.
“Expected him to vanish?” Wallace said, adjusting his glasses.
“No, Faye’s right,” said Noah. “We should have known. Someone should have stayed with him to make sure he didn’t pull another disappearing act.”
“Maybe the giant came and got him,” Wallace suggested, adjusting his glasses.
“Or maybe he did just disappear,” said Faye, rather mysteriously.
“Maybe. After all,” said Wallace, “he’s done it before.”
“Not he,” Noah said, wagging his finger.
“Never he. They,” said Faye, rolling her eyes. “Yes, yes, we all know.” She looked in the carriage as Jasper placed Lucy onto the seat and covered her with a warm blanket.
Miss Brett came from the kitchen with a large basket of treats. This morning after their long night, she felt more numb than tired.
She had been baking since before the break of dawn. The man or house kitchen was intact. The back of the house and much of the gardens were not. One wall in the library had caved in from a blast. The upper floors were in shambles, so Miss Brett and the children had slept around the fire in the salon. After making sure the children were warm, Miss Brett had found herself wandering the halls. She had been unable to sleep, her head heavy with thoughts of what had happened and why. It was like a flood breaking through a dam, and she could not stop thinking.
She thought about the artist and wondered who had mourned him. She thought about the parents of the children and their own childhood as young inventors. She thought of the sweet Miss Bird and whether her own fate was bound to that woman’s. And she thought of the kind Signora Fornaio, who would never again appear with bundles of delights for the children.
She needed that time alone in the kitchen. She was preparing. Was she certain they would be leaving? No, but she suspected. They could no longer be here and be safe. She baked and cooked and prepared for their long journey. If it came, it would be soon.
After the children had gone to sleep, she had sat alone, watching the snow fall upon Solemano. She sat by the big bay window, by the fire, and cried for a long time. She cried for the sadness that came with the life she and the children were living. She cried for the kind and gentle woman who was only trying to help her own son. She cried for the still mysterious men in black who she saw being carried by the others—men who surely had laid down their lives for the children and for her. She cried for her failure to see a villain in shepherd’s clothing. She cried for her own sorrows. She cried for the losses she had endured in her own life. Astraea Brett had not cried for her parents in many years. But she did then.
As she packed her copy of her mother’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and her old Strand Magazine, mementos of her own childhood, she had thought of her mother bringing books to America when she’d come from England as a young woman. Miss Brett touched the pages of the book, remembering her mother’s voice. It brought the pain of her loss flooding back into her heart. And it made all other losses all the heavier to bear.
Her heart felt so weighty over the loss of Signora Fornaio. It was a loss for the whole of Solemano—for the mysterious men in black. The town would surely be in mourning for some time to come. The echo of the wailing ravens, perched on the baker’s window, could be heard into the night. Even now, the birds’ lam
ent lingered in the air.
Odd, she thought, wiping her eyes. Everyone was dressed in black now—even the children, even herself. They were dressed for mourning. The villagers, always. And the men. How does one become like that, like these people, like those men? Her thoughts went to the mysterious men in black and their sorrowful darkness. It was as if they were in perpetual mourning. She had never considered this before. Behind the strangeness of the men, was there sorrow? Had they suffered some loss? Were they showing reverence for someone or something they would forever mourn?
Wiping her eyes in the night, she’d thought of the cheer and warmth of the baker. Signora Fornaio’s heart had seemed to open to people who made a home in Solemano. Miss Brett had taken a deep breath then, looking out the window into the darkness. She had come to love this village. It had been their home.
She touched her own cheek. She felt that she had aged a hundred years and wondered if it showed on her face. Would she ever know the answers to the mysteries around her?
She had fallen into a light sleep in that chair by the fire. She woke to the chill of the first dawn and the fireless hearth.
“We go,” came a voice familiar to her ears. Bo Peep spoke softly, but Miss Brett understood.
She went to her room and packed her bags until light from the rising sun came streaming through her window. It was then she washed her face and went to the kitchen to collect the baked goods for the journey.
“All is ready,” Bo Peep said to Miss Brett, taking the hamper of biscuits from her hands.
She touched his arm. “Will you be taking us?” she asked.
Bo Peep stopped and looked back at her, their eyes meeting. He nodded, then picked up the last of the bags.
“Where is Mummy?” mumbled Lucy, groggily. She had been sleeping for an hour as the carriage wended its way through the mountains.
“Don’t worry, sweet angel. Just rest,” Miss Brett said, gently.
Lucy wiggled the sleep from her body, her eyes seeming to focus.
“Are we going to meet them?” Lucy seemed to realize where she was.
“We go to Castle of Suleyman,” Bo Peep said.
“Where is that?” asked Faye, rubbing her eyes. She must have fallen asleep as well. Jasper still had his head on her shoulder. He, too, had found some peace.
“Boy will know,” Bo Peep said in what was, for a mysterious man in black, a kind voice.
“Boy?” Faye asked.
“Ginger boy,” Bo Peep said, again in a gentle voice.
Faye turned to Noah.
“Him?” she asked.
“Me?” Noah asked. He seemed startled from his daydreaming.
“He,” Bo Peep agreed.
“I’ll know what?” Noah asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Where we’re going,” said Faye.
“How would I know?” said Noah.
“Letters,” Bo Peep said. “Post.”
Noah, in fact, did have a package of letters clutched in his hand. They were bound with a ribbon. Each and every one of them was from his mother.
“Your mother’s postcards!” cried Lucy. “They’ve come back!”
“I did wonder if they had gotten lost,” Noah said. “This set came by post carriage today or at least I received them today. Why these blighters decide to hold some of them until the last minute is a mystery to me. But maybe it isn’t their fault. This whole lot may have just arrived. You know what the post is like.”
“Well, let’s have a look, then. Have you read them?” Faye remembered each time Noah received a batch of cards from his mother. They were full of colorful stories from all over the planet. This time, they apparently contained something more.
“Not all of them. Not yet,” Noah said, though Faye raised an eyebrow, finding that hard to believe. She would have read them all the moment they arrived.
Noah pulled them from his overcoat pocket. He had savored the pleasure of just holding them in his hand. He often waited to read her letters, because finally reading them would somehow feel like a closure. Holding them unread felt like a promise.
“Well, we’re waiting,” Faye said.
Both reluctantly and with anticipation, Noah pulled the ribbon from the bundle. Lucy held out her hand, and Noah deposited the ribbon into it.
Noah looked at a couple, then cleared his throat and selected a postcard from the stack.
London, 29 November, 1903
Dearest Noah—
Off to Stockholm. My friend, Marie, and her husband will be presented the Nobel Prize, and I will sing at the reception. King Oscar has asked for a palace event. I shall stop in Paris for a new gown . . .
With fondest embraces, Mama
“I wonder what color gown she’ll be getting,” Lucy said, beaming. “And if it will have ribbons—lots and lots of ribbons.”
“Perhaps it will have flern,” said Noah.
“A gown doesn’t have flern, silly.” Then she looked thoughtful. “Does it?” Lucy looked to Jasper for an answer. Jasper, waking to the sound of Noah’s voice, shrugged.
“Why not?” Noah said. “Why can’t something learn from what it knows?”
“You mean a thing might learn from what happens to it?” asked Lucy.
Jasper considered this. It was interesting, the idea that a thing, not a person, could learn in some way. Does a lock, for example, learn to know its own key?
“There is no such thing as flern, Lucy.” Faye rolled her eyes. “And the postcard was written in November. The gown has been bought and worn by now. The Nobels are always presented the tenth of December. Go on, for goodness sake.”
Noah cleared his throat again. “Dearest darling wonderful amazing son who is more fabulous than Faye could ever—”
“Oh, I seriously doubt that,” said Faye. “Honestly, clever lad, you really are an inventor. Read the actual letter, will you?”
Noah cleared his throat again. “Very well.”
Milan, 15 December, 1903
Darling Noah—
Back to London for an extravaganza with Bertie and Lexi. Haven’t seen the Windsors since the launching of the HMS Edward VII last July. Expecting a fabulous New Year’s bash, since Bertie is the leading figure of style in the world today.
Love always from your mother
“Oh! That’s my birthday!” exclaimed Lucy, who had been sitting on the edge of her seat, curling and uncurling the ribbon. “She wrote that on my exact birthday.”
“Imagine that,” Noah said, taking another card from the pile.
New York, 15 January, 1904
Darling Boy—
I have a box of rainbow for you! The Binneys, whom I met at one of my performances at the Met, gave me a box of their newest product—coloured wax drawing sticks called crayons! The company, Crayola, is sure to get a gold medal for these unique and wonderful inventions. I will be attending the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in April (people are calling it the Saint Louis World’s Fair!), for Mannie Masqueray has insisted I be present. He has designed the most fabulous architectural structures for the extravaganza. Alice says she and Eddie have a whole collection of crayons for you that you can share with Miss Brett and the others.
Kisses and embraces,
Your Mother (still west of you, sweet boy)
“Oh, how exciting!” Lucy waved the ribbon. “I’d love colored crayons for drawing!”
“What a brilliant invention,” Miss Brett said, considering how lovely it would be for children and adults to have such a thing.
“I do hope they’ve registered a patent,” Wallace said.
“Of course you do,” Noah said.
“Read another!” cried Lucy, now fully awake and thrilled.
The next one he selected was not a postcard, but an envelope. It was addressed, by hand, to “Noah and his Friends,” but inside was a card printed in beautiful scarlet ink. Inside the card was a folded, rose-colored paper. “It’s an invitation,” Noah said with some surprise. “My mother is performing at the
Royal Opera House in Cairo.”
“Cairo?” Faye was surprised. “Cairo, Egypt?”
“Is there another?” asked Noah. “Of course, Cairo, Egypt. If there is another Cairo, my mother would not be there, for it would only prove to be an imitation—a lesser representation of Cairo in its purest form.”
“Oh, give it to me if you’re not going to read it,” demanded Faye, reaching for the invitation. “It’s for all of us.”
Noah held the invitation out of reach.
“Children, please,” Miss Brett scolded. But she, too, was eager to learn what it said.
“Sorry,” Faye said. “Dearest Noah, would you be so kind as to read the invitation?”
Noah tilted his head slightly toward Faye, then shook out the rose paper first and held the invitation in his hand. They all sat quietly as Noah read aloud:
4 February, 1904
Dearest Noah, Jasper, Faye, Wallace, Lucy, and Miss Brett:
You are most emphatically invited to the fabulous Royal Opera House in the magical city of Cairo, Egypt. In the spirit of global embrace from the April signing of the Entente Cordiale, the performance will be in celebration of the international spirit of Verdi’s fabulous operatic creation, Aida. The incomparable Ariana Canto-Sagas will perform in Cairo. The celebration will culminate in a performance this November by Emma Eames and Enrico Caruso at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City.
We shall all celebrate the newly established Maadi neighbourhood and repair to the villa of the French ambassador.
The printed invitation gave the details of the event.
“Are we going to see the pyramids?” Lucy clapped her hands and wiggled her toes.
And suddenly they were all talking at once. Was it true? Would they be going to Egypt? Miss Brett looked over the invitation. It looked like it. Cairo, Egypt. Land of the pharaohs. Land of the great pyramids. Land of wonder.
“I’m excited to see your mother perform,” Faye said. She smiled one of her heart-stopping smiles that Jasper could feel, even though it was not directed toward him.
Yes, thought Miss Brett, they’d finally get to see the wonderful Ariana Canto-Sagas performing, and at the famous Royal Opera House. What an adventure that would be.
The Ravens of Solemano or The Order of the Mysterious Men in Black Page 38
