“It’s old script,” said Faye. “They didn’t have particular spelling then.”
“I know,” said Lucy, “I was just saying.”
“It’s an odd collection,” said Wallace, “but not very—”
“What is this stuff?” asked Faye, flipping thrugh the pages, “A confession, a love letter, and our lullaby? What is this mess of writing?”
“One thing I recognize,” said Jasper, picking up one of the pages, “ whatever it is…‘something so very, very powerful, you are safer not to know.’ Sound familiar?”
“It can’t…can’t be the same thing…whatever our parents are doing?” Wallace stared at the page. It made no sense.
“Who knows?” said Faye raising her arms in frustration, “We don’t know whatever it is, do we?”
“But we know our poem,” said Lucy. “Even with the bad spelling.”
Faye took the page from the little girl.
“What are the letters on the bottom of the page?” Faye pointed to the post script.
“Maybe it’s the poet’s name,” suggested Lucy.
“His name was Mdxiij?” asked Noah, speaking for the first time.
Everyone looked up. There was no sign of humor on Noah’s face. He was just asking the question.
“Maybe it’s a pet name,” Lucy suggested to no one’s agreement.
Suddenly, Wallace clapped his hands in a very Lucy-like manner. “It’s a year,” he said. “It’s the Elizabethan way of writing numbers. The letters are lowercase Roman numerals. And they often use a ‘j’ for an ‘I’ at the end of the number.”
“1563?” Jasper now held the parchment with greater care. “It’s as if the writer was trying to decide what language to use or how to spell the words. It’s like old English and then very old English.” The manuscript suddenly felt much older and more fragile than before. Jasper gently picked up another beneath it. It was in French, even though that was strange.
It was early modern French, before Molière. But Jasper recognized “l’Oiseau rond et bizarre”—strange bird round—which was scratched out and rewritten several times, each slightly different in spelling and style. He saw words he could not read in a script he did not know: and and παράξενο γύρο των πτηνών.
Jasper’s hand shook slightly. Even though they had seen papers with the poem on it back in Solemano, something struck him here. These were the pages upon which the poem had been written… or was being written…by the poet who created the strange round bird. Jasper looked up at the others.
“This poem…it’s so clear…it holds some kind of secret,” he said. “Why did the poet write it? And why is it in different languages, over and over?” And why had they not considered this before? They all knew the poem. “It must be a clue to…something.”
“Do you think it’s the poet with whom the brothers want to have peace?” asked Lucy.
Faye looked at the papers Jasper held.
“It’s describing something, I think,” she said, “Or making a riddle, both telling a secret and hiding it. Something he didn’t want understood but something he wanted…what? Something he wanted to remember?”
“Or wanted someone to remember,” Jasper suggested.
“It’s about the pieces.” Wallace was excited. He had thought about this back in Solemano when his coin did strange things. “I think it has something to do with your bracelets and my coin. There is something about them that all fits together.”
Noah was fiddling with the box that Faye had given him. There was a loud click as he opened it. Inside, however, there was nothing but a thick lead lining. It was clear to them all that something went inside, something that needed protection from the outside world. Or, perhaps, it was this box that needed to protect the outside world from it.
“Look, another poem,” said Lucy, handing the parchment to Jasper. “It was folded in the box.”
Jasper looked closely at the writing on the page.
‘They stand together/their will and faith the only wall/the double devil lurking ever near/the world around them/never knowing that it leans/upon their black sleeves.’
“It’s the men in black!” cried Lucy. “They have black sleeves!”
“It does seem to be,” said Jasper, perusing the page. “What do you think, Noah?”
Noah felt an odd numbness. The others were huddled around the boxes, picking up the scrolls, reading the poems, wondering aloud what it all meant and why they were here. This was what they all had been waiting for—clues and answers. Now, with the poem and the poet, they were getting close. And perhaps they were close to the moment of truth when their parents would explain everything. Moving towards their second strange year together, they had all been dreaming that their parents or someone would explain. But now, for Noah, it was different.
“I don’t care,” Noah whispered.
“What?” Jasper looked at his friend.
“I don’t care anymore,” Noah said louder, his voice cracking. And he didn’t care. What did any of this matter? There had been a thrill, trying to solve a mystery and to discover why this was all happening, even in the midst of fear. That was before. Now everything was different. His mother was gone. She had been kidnapped by Komar Romak. No one wanted to say it yet, but Noah knew. And all this mystery, all the secrets, all the danger and excitement and confusion and fear…all of it was meaningless. He just wanted his mother to be safe and with him.
Lucy heard it first, the sound of footsteps through the crack in the doors to the room. They quickly put everything back in the box and returned it to the shelf. The great doors to the room opened and four of the young brothers in robes entered. With them were the adults, Nikola Tesla, and their parents—everyone except Ariana. Wallace looked at his father. Only Wallace acknowledged that his own mother, too, was absent.
“Children,” started Dr. Banneker, “it has been very distressing.”
“Do you think so?” mocked Noah, speaking quietly, almost to himself.
Miss Brett refrained from reminding him to mind his manners. “Noah, you must feel …” But Faye’s mother faltered. “I…we’re so sorry.”
Noah’s father went to his son. Noah turned on his father, ready to demand action, to insult his father and the other scientists, to curse and shout and rail and rage. But he didn’t. Noah reached out and his father fell onto his son’s shoulder in sobs.
Dr. Tobias Modest held his pipe in his hand, unlit. “We will do everything—”
“Haven’t you all done enough?” Noah wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “What is all of this? Dragging your children around the world, never telling us anything, exposing us to danger, and now …” He swallowed hard, fighting for the strength to say it. “… now my mother has been taken. My mother who has nothing to do with your…whatever it is!”
The parents all looked stricken. They averted their eyes from Noah and glanced at each other, going from face to face. Noah saw only guilt on each face. Jasper, however, noticed something else. He could see deep and utter pain tearing them all apart. Jasper did not move. He didn’t want to place a useless hand on Noah’s shoulder, as if that would be a comfort. He felt it would be insulting. So he stood still.
Miss Brett, however, knew what was needed. She reached for the two Canto-Sagas men and helped them up, walking with them to the stairs.
“I think a little rest is in order,” she said gently. “Perhaps a bath to help clear your heads. We all need to be strong and ready for action.”
Noah just nodded, tears streaming down his face. His father was beyond speaking. Both followed without an argument. Neither seemed ready for anything.
CHAPTER SIX
PROMISED PIECES
OR
A CHRONOLOGY OF EVENTS
In the dining hall, everyone hushed. They sat and waited quietly and patiently for Noah to take his seat next to his father. Without speaking, they began to eat, if you can call it eating, the minimal half-bites and shuffling forks clinking
against plates of food. Throughout dinner, no one demanded anything of Noah. They did not ask questions or try to engage him in chatter.
Noah, in turn, did not say a word. Inside his head, he was pacing back and forth, trying desperately to form a plan of action. He did not care about the history of the mysterious men in black. He did not care about the secret of the strange round bird. He did not care about the person who wrote the poem or what it might really mean. He cared only about one thing—rescuing his mother.
As nearly uneaten plates of food were cleared from the table, the parents and Nikola Tesla excused themselves.
“Where are you going?” Faye put her hand on her father’s as he stood with the others.
“We have work to attend to, my little marmelo,” said Dr. Vigyanveta, patting Faye’s hand with his other.
“You’re going to fiddle in your laboratory now?” Faye stood, feeling as if she should block him from leaving.
Jasper looked at his father, who had yet to stand. “You plan to work now?”
“My son,” said Dr. Modest, “we have no choice.”
Dr. Tobias Modest put his hand on Dr. Canto-Sagas’s shoulder. Noah’s father was the only parent to remain in his seat. Now he stood, resolute, his chin raised. “I am going to search for Ariana,” he proclaimed, “I…I simply cannot face…I cannot continue…I want to—”
“Clarence,” Dr. Tobias Modest said firmly, “you know that is not possible.”
Jasper stood. “You are going to stop Noah’s father from—”
“We have no choice,” Dr. Banneker said, his voice booming.
Dr. Tobias Modest now stood beside Dr. Canto-Sagas who, head bowed, followed the other parents. As Jasper’s father spoke, there was a hint of sadness in his voice, masked by fierce determination. “As we have said, we have no choice.”
“Of course you have a choice,” Faye said, now looking from each mother to each father and back. “You’ve always had a choice.”
“I’m afraid that is not so, Miss Vigyanveta,” said Mr. Bell, who now stood in the archway. “You must understand that there is no choice. You will understand. But for now, our attentions are not turned from Ariana, but must remain focused on a greater fear as well. These things are not separate, but all one struggle. Time as such is not gentle in its means. Nothing we face now can wait.” He nodded as the parents, clearly reluctant, left the dining hall.
The children and Miss Brett stayed with Noah. He clenched his fist around a fork he still held in his hand.
“I am sure they have no choice, Noah,” said Miss Brett. “You could see that in their faces. Whatever they are doing is…is important. Not more important, but something worrisome that cannot wait. Perhaps it is connected to everything else.” She could feel the failure of her words to soothe.
“If our parents cannot find the time, we can start working on finding your mother,” said Faye. “Getting her back will be our job.”
Noah nodded. Yes. Perhaps, thought Noah, Miss Brett is right. Everything relates to everything else. And now, they know something. Perhaps the poem and the poet are something to consider after all. Maybe any information about this is important. The parents will be no help. But that will not stop me. I and the others of the Young Inventors Guild, alone, must put a plan together to find Ariana. But we need something—somewhere to look, a clue.
Noah went over things in his head. There had to be an order to things. He no longer cared about the secrets themselves, only how they would lead him to his mother. All these pieces somehow went together. Noah had to admit that he believed Mr. Bell. Whatever was happening was bigger than this one kidnapping, bigger than any one thing. There was a story, and each piece fit together. He needed all the pieces before he could find his mother.
“I think,” he said so quietly everyone suddenly stopped mid-bite to listen. “I think we need to get our order straight.”
He looked at his friends. “We need to build a chronology of events.” Noah was clear about it now. What happened to lead them to have this enemy? Why were they fighting Komar Romak? Why were the children and their parents in the middle? What were the parents and the brothers hiding or protecting?
“Noah is right,” said Wallace, “and once we know which pieces belong and where they go in the puzzle, we will be on our way to finding Noah’s mother.”
Once again, the children marched towards Mr. Bell’s office. This time, there was no pleasure in their task.
Standing at the door of the office was a brother in a feathered cap and poofy trousers.
“We demand information now,” growled Noah. “We want to see Mr. Bell’s archives, his notes, and whatever else might lead us to my mother. Immediately.” Even Faye flinched at the harshness in his voice. She had never heard Noah sound so fierce.
“You—” began the brother, but Noah stopped him.
“We cannot find my mother without information. We have a right to know and we must know now. We demand to know about Komar Romak. Why is he after us?”
“Or is he after us?” asked Wallace quietly.
Noah turned as if slapped. Was Komar Romak after them? He pushed through the door and faced Mr. Bell.
“What is the truth about our parents? What is happening? Why is my mother …” Noah’s voice caught in his throat.
Jasper could only imagine where Noah’s mind was wandering and how dark it was there. Jasper opened his mouth. He then realized he didn’t know what to say.
Noah rubbed his eyes, pressing hard against his eyelids. He blinked his eyes open. His voice cracked when he spoke. “We need to find my mother.”
Mr. Bell nodded and looked deeply into Noah’s worried eyes. “Yes, Master Canto-Sagas, we do.”
“What…what are you doing about it?” Noah’s mouth was dry. He wanted to rub his eyes again, but he didn’t.
Mr. Bell peered over his glasses. Several seconds passed before he spoke. “We are doing what we can, but that is not the question, is it?”
Noah went suddenly pale. No, it had not been the question.
“You want to know why your mother was taken and if this has anything to do with…other things.” Mr. Bell looked over his glasses again. “Is that not right, Master Canto-Sagas?”
Noah couldn’t speak. Tears had become trapped in the well of his eyes and he did not want to move his head for fear of freeing them. He wanted to scream and he wanted to hide. He wanted to know everything and then didn’t care. He looked at Mr. Bell and begged silently without moving his head. But Mr. Bell understood and nodded himself.
“I am not at liberty to answer everything I’d wish to …” Mr. Bell put a finger up and threw an eye quickly over at Faye, who shut her open mouth at his glance, “…yet. But I can tell you this: Forces are at work, my friends, and you would do well by searching wide. An evil that hunts is also an evil that hides. There are ways this evil may come to demand choices that drag you into its own. Beware, Master Canto-Sagas, and know you are not alone.”
Faye groaned. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?” She was red in the face. “Have you just decided to speak in riddles again?”
Miss Brett gasped. “Faye, please do not be rude to—”
“Alas, Astraea, Miss Vigyanveta is not faulty in her logic.” Mr. Bell shook his head. “I want to warn you all that there are real and present dangers, monsters, fiends. Komar Romak, not a force to be—”
“Where is she?” cried Noah. “Why was she taken? Why her? Why not…someone else?”
Mr. Bell looked into Noah’s eyes. He seemed to know that Noah was going to ask why he, Noah, had not been taken instead of his mother. Mr. Bell nodded, “Why not you, Mr. Canto-Sagas? You believe yourself culpable? Science is not the enemy.”
Noah could almost feel Mr. Bell in his head.
“We all face more fear and danger, now, with our dear Ariana taken from us.” Mr. Bell raised his eyebrows and nodded before Noah could object to the shared grief. “Our dear Ariana. She shall not be so used by our oath of
loyalty and action against us.”
“You can’t know my mother,” Noah insisted, unsure if he was relieved, offended, or simply confused.
“Can’t I, Master Canto-Sagas?” Mr. Bell tilted his head slightly to one side and looked at Noah with his left eye.
“Well, how could you? She’s not a part of this. She’s not like the others,” Noah stammered. “I mean, she’s not like one of the other parents.”
“Is she not?” Mr. Bell tilted his head to the other side and now looked at Noah with his right eye.
“No, she is not!” His mother was Ariana Canto-Sagas. She was an artist. She was not a scientist.
“Your mother is many things and you should never underestimate her capacity,” Mr. Bell said.
Noah leaned towards Mr. Bell. “What is that supposed to—”
“I am simply saying—”
“You’re not saying anything simply.” Faye’s voice was coarse and Jasper winced. Mr. Bell, however, just smiled. “Look,” Faye pleaded, “we need to know what is happening.”
“And these things,” Wallace flipped his coin in his fingers, “we know that my coin and the other—”
“I don’t care about the coin and I don’t care about the other things,” cried Noah. “I want to save my mother and I want to know how to do it.”
“Our journeys lead in the same direction, Master Canto-Sagas,” Mr. Bell said. “We do not need to look far to sniff trouble.”
“Then we should be out there.” Faye’s voice rose. “We must all be out there, ‘sniffing’ out trouble.”
And at that very moment, Noah knew the weapon he would need to lead the hunt.
“I want Ralph,” he demanded, standing up and pounding his fist on the table.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A DOG AND HIS BOY
OR
FAYE SCRATCHES OUT CLUES
Ralph had been Noah’s best friend forever. Having friends had been rare for the children of the Young Inventors Guild. In fact, Noah was the only one who had ever really had a friend before. They could all count themselves among friends now, but Ralph was the only friend from life before. Of course, Ralph was a dog, but that was beside the point.
The Strange Round Bird: Or the Poet, the King, and the Mysterious Men in Black Page 7