by George Hagen
“De nada,” she replied. “Call me Abby. Abigail sounds so old and normal.” She grimaced at the last word.
“Abby,” he repeated. “Okay.”
Abby narrowed her eyes at him.
“Quick, what’s the longest, thinnest cat in the world?” she asked.
“I—I don’t know anything about cats.”
“That’s okay. It’s a riddle. I just made it up.”
Gabriel gaped at her. “You like riddles?”
“Of course. Now hurry up,” she said impatiently.
“Okay, longest, thinnest cat …” Gabriel set to work, thinking about names for cats, and crossed them with names for long, thin things. “I’ve got it,” he laughed. “A polecat!”
“That was too easy,” she said.
“Try this,” he replied. “What goes up and down the stairs but never moves?”
Her expression became very thoughtful. “Up and down the stairs … I know what it is. It’s a banister! How many sides does an egg have?”
“Two,” replied Gabriel. “Inside and outside!”
They went back and forth, telling riddles for several minutes until it became obvious that they had something remarkable in common. Both of them began to laugh as they challenged each other.
“Do you know my favorite riddle of all time?” asked Abby.
“ ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’ ”
“Oh, that’s from Alice in Wonderland,” Gabriel remembered. “But there’s no answer to it, I think.”
“Well, I’ve made up my own answers.” She had a mischievous look in her eye.
“Really?” he replied, impressed.
“First, they both produce notes. Although,” she admitted, “a raven’s are rather hoarse and out of tune.” She ticked off other possibilities. “Both of them have quills.” She made a motion as if she were writing with a feather. “And they both have bills, though a raven’s bill can’t be paid.”
A thought popped into Gabriel’s mind. “Hey, have you ever heard of a writing desk that could move by itself from room to room?”
The minute he said this, he expected Abby to look at him as if he were crazy; instead, she removed her glasses, breathed on them, then polished the lenses with her shirt hem. “Well, if you’ve got one, I’d love to see it.”
Gabriel grinned.
Abby dug into her pocket and produced a handful of brown sweets wrapped in wax paper. “Want a caramel?” She held one out. “My sister, Viv, makes them. She loves candy. She wants to make candy for a living, like Willy Wonka in that book!”
Gabriel took one and popped it into his mouth. It had a soft, buttery flavor and melted gently on his tongue. “Do you think anyone makes a living out of riddles?” he asked.
“Oh, I hope so,” said Abby anxiously. “It’s the only thing I can do well.”
“Really? Me too!” he admitted. “Sometimes I think it must be for a special reason, but that’s crazy, because why would anybody need to be good at riddles?”
All at once, Gabriel decided to tell Abby about his father’s disappearance. He expected her to react like Pamela, who didn’t think much of it, but Abby’s eyes lit up. “He vanished?” she marveled. “That’s incredible! Tell me everything!”
So Gabriel explained about his father’s notebook, Corax, the key, and the elusive writing desk. Abby listened very intently, her eyes wide, interrupting sometimes to ask a question. Before long, the sun settled below the rooftops, and the children were whispering in the twilight when a shrill voice called from inside the house.
“Gabriel, are you finished with your homework?”
“I have to go,” Gabriel said to Abby. “We’re having fish stew tonight.”
Abby wrinkled her nose with sympathy. “Here!” she said, emptying a fistful of caramels into his hand. Gabriel stuffed the candies into his pocket and waved as she skipped across the street in her mismatched shoes.
Trudy Baskin’s dinner had to be eaten. Aunt Jaz gave Gabriel a look across the table that made that very clear. He followed Pamela’s example, taking little nibbles and spreading his food around the plate to make it look less full.
Finally, he excused himself to empty his plate in the kitchen. Pamela followed him. They shared a smile as they tipped their food into the trash can.
“Want a caramel?” he whispered.
“What’s that?”
Gabriel pulled one of the sweets rolled in wax paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Just put this in your mouth, and don’t tell your mother.”
Cautiously, Pamela unwrapped the paper and slipped the caramel between her lips.
Gabriel watched her eyes slowly widen. She’d obviously never tasted anything so wonderful before in her life. When she asked him if he had more, he dropped six of them into her hand.
Corax Is Plotting
In a tree outside the Finley house, the baby raven huddled in a nest rebuilt of sticks, string, linen, and fluff. He had poked a spyhole in the nest’s lining to watch a boy named Gabriel emerge from his house every morning and walk to school. Paladin guessed this was Adam Finley’s son. He had seen him threatened by a bigger boy and immediately felt concern for him. He wondered if he might even almost understand what the boy was thinking.
Paladin’s beak was more ravenlike now. Its curved tip resembled his mother’s. His feathered coat was as dark and shiny as coal. He wished he could fly, but his wings were still small and weak. This worried him because there were more valravens around. The sparrows and finches often traded gossip about them. When he told his mother what he heard them saying, she warned Paladin not to listen to little birds.
“Anything a sparrow or a finch says is probably nonsense,” she said. “They will say whatever will make themselves feel important. Then there are the pigeons, also notorious liars, but they only talk about money.”
“What’s money?” asked Paladin.
“The scraps of metal and paper that people exchange with one another. Haven’t you ever wondered why pigeons are constantly staring at the ground?”
“I thought they were looking for food.”
“Oh, there’s plenty to eat on a city street,” his mother said. “Pigeons hoard money. That’s why they’re always pecking between the cracks in the sidewalks. They gather coins and stack them where they roost, then boast about how much they have.”
“But why?”
Paladin’s mother shook her head. “It makes no sense; pigeons are dull, witless creatures.”
Endora flew off to find more food, but she was gone longer than usual. Paladin became scared and poked his head up to look for her. A small brown finch named Twit landed on a branch above his nest.
“We’re done for! Finished! Doomed!” she cried.
“Why?” asked Paladin.
The finch looked down at Paladin. “Valravens. Calamity! Corax!”
Paladin became alert. “Who?” he said. “Who is Corax?”
Always delighted to share gossip, the finch proceeded to explain. “Corax is the leader of the valravens,” she said. “Part human and part raven. A demon!”
Trembling, Paladin wanted to know more. “Have you seen him?” he asked.
“Oh”—the finch puffed up her chest—“seen him? Oh—hundreds of times!”
“What does he look like?”
“Bigger than a buzzard, louder than a lark, meaner than a merlin,” bluffed the bird.
“Where did you see him?” asked Paladin. “Near here?”
Twit glanced around. “He lives under the ground in a scary place called Aviopolis. Miles down under. Last place I’d ever go!”
Paladin cocked his head, confused. “If it’s the last place you’d ever go, how did you see him hundreds of times?”
A finch’s brain is so small that it can’t remember all the lies it tells. She ignored the question and continued to spin more incredible stories for the young raven; but we shall move on to one piece of information that was true. This came at the end of the conversa
tion, when Twit grew tired, and her imagination ran out.
“I hear from my friends that Corax is plotting his return to the land above. He’s captured the torc’s last owner, but not the torc. When he wraps his talons around that, he could wish for …” The bird blinked her foolish little eyes. “All the worms he could ever want! Or a cage for every cat in the world! It’s black magic, you know.”
At this moment, a shadow swooped overhead; the finch uttered a frantic cry and took off.
Endora landed, holding a peach slice in her beak.
“Oh, Mother!” said Paladin, eager to share his news. “Twit told me about that valraven, Corax. He’s plotting his return from Aviopolis.”
If there was any proof needed that the finch was speaking the truth, it lay in Endora’s expression. “Yes, my darling,” she replied. “It is why I guard you so carefully. If he found you …”
Trembling, the young raven replied, “I’d be done for? Finished? Doomed?”
Endora smiled, recognizing the wild remarks of a finch. But then her expression turned serious. “Remember, Paladin, you’re a raven, not a finch. Your grandfather was brave and cunning and hid the torc so well that no valraven has found it. You will follow in his path.”
“Me? But I can’t even fly!”
“It’s almost time for you to learn,” his mother replied.
The Telltale Caramel
The next day at school, Gabriel watched Somes try to explain the difference between Paraguay and Argentina. Unfortunately, everything Abby had told him had become jumbled in his head.
“One’s a hat, the other’s a coat,” Somes explained.
“One’s a hat?” repeated Ms. Cumacho, her eyes narrowing. “Somes, exactly what do you mean?”
“I m-mean, one’s a hat on the other,” stammered Somes. “Argentina’s a long coat and its capital begins with a ‘B,’ or is it an ‘A’? I’m not sure. But they’re very different.”
“Hats? Coats?” The teacher put a mark in her grade book and shook her head. “You need to dig into that textbook and stop giving me silly answers, do you understand, young man?”
The boy’s eyes surveyed the classroom, looking for someone to blame for his disgrace. They rested on Gabriel.
Later, as Gabriel headed down the corridor, he felt Somes’s enormous fist thump against his back.
“Look, I didn’t tell you what to say!” protested Gabriel.
“But if you had given me the right answers, I wouldn’t be in trouble!” thundered Somes, pressing Gabriel against the lockers so hard that he knocked the air out of the smaller boy’s lungs.
“If you did your own work,” Gabriel gasped, “you wouldn’t be in trouble.”
“After school you’re going to help me!” Somes said. “You’ll tell me everything I need to know, or—” Just then, the bell rang, and Somes had to release Gabriel.
When the teacher dismissed the class that afternoon, Somes was on his feet before Gabriel had even thrown his books together.
“Somes, you want some taffy?” said a voice. “My sister Viv made a ton of it!”
Somes’s eyes turned to Abby, who beckoned to him with a paper bag stuffed with the salty candies. Abby looked at Gabriel and silently mouthed the word run!
“Here, Somes,” she said. “I’ve got three flavors.…”
As Gabriel sprinted home, he thought about Abby’s ploy. She was so cunning—the perfect person to help him catch the writing desk.
He slowed down at the steps to his house, and all of a sudden, he felt as if he was being watched. The feeling wasn’t scary; it was warm and comforting. Gabriel looked up at the nearby oak tree, to the nest on the high branch, and saw the small head of a raven chick. Their eyes met briefly. Gabriel smiled, feeling a strange hint of kinship.
Trouble was waiting for Gabriel when he stepped into the kitchen.
“Ah, there he is!” said a furious voice.
Trudy Baskin stood beside a pot on the ancient stove (which made loud knocks of protest). Judging from the colors bubbling around the lid, the evening’s dinner was a brown sweater. There was no sign of Aunt Jaz; Gabriel remembered that she had an event at school that evening. Pamela faced her mother, looking scared.
“Mom, can I just explain?” she began.
“Now, dear, I’m sure you had nothing to do with this!” Trudy said softly, her fierce stare directed at Gabriel. “It isn’t the sort of thing you would ever do by yourself. You go up and practice the violin while we sort out this foolishness.”
“Mom,” Pamela pleaded. “It’s not his fault!”
“Go practice,” snapped her mother.
Shooting Gabriel an apologetic glance, Pamela picked up her violin case and hurried up the stairs.
“Have you seen this before? I found it in my daughter’s coat pocket!”
Trudy held a small object between her trembling thumb and forefinger—as if it might suddenly explode.
“Oh! That’s just a caramel,” said Gabriel.
“I know very well what it is,” she snapped. “It’s also a dentist’s best friend. A few of these and Pamela’s beautiful teeth will be ruined. Utterly ruined, thanks to you!”
“Every kid should know what a caramel tastes like,” Gabriel replied.
“Every kid?” sputtered Trudy. “Don’t you dare give my daughter these horrible things to eat again. Do you understand me? I’ve kept her healthy since the day she was born!”
By this time she was shouting and red-faced. Gabriel had backed away, his knees buckling.
“Go to your room and don’t come down until I call you for dinner!” she said.
Gabriel glared at the bubbling pot. “No thanks,” he replied. “I’ll just go straight to bed.”
Lying there, Gabriel could hear his stomach rumbling with hunger. Still, he was determined not to go back downstairs.
About twenty minutes later, he heard footsteps, and his aunt’s silhouette appeared at the doorway. She was still wearing her coat and held a shopping bag in one hand.
“Good heavens!” she said. “What on earth happened in this house tonight? I came home and Trudy was in the most furious temper. She says you poisoned Pamela?”
“It was a caramel,” he replied.
Aunt Jaz gave a half laugh and sighed. “Oh, how ridiculous.”
She reached into the bag and produced a small white carton of chicken lo mein and a pair of chopsticks.
“Hungry?”
“Starving,” he replied.
“Eat,” she said.
Gabriel sat up and began gobbling golden lumps of chicken and snow peas from the carton. When he was full, he cast a thoughtful look at his aunt.
“She liked your brother Corax, didn’t she?”
Aunt Jaz nodded. “Oh, yes, she fell head over heels for him.”
“She doesn’t like me.”
Aunt Jaz sighed. “It’s because of your father, Gabriel. Corax was very jealous when his brother was born. He felt ignored by our parents. Trudy took his side. When he left, she was sure it was because of Adam. She didn’t know about ravens, or any of that business.”
“So, how long does she have to stay?”
“Oh, I think it will be many months. I could never turn her out. They have no home.”
Gabriel nodded glumly. “Thanks for dinner.”
After his aunt wished him a good night, Gabriel’s thoughts returned to the writing desk. How could he possibly catch this piece of furniture if it insisted on hiding in Trudy Baskin’s bedroom?
How to Capture a Writing Desk
“What an amazing house!” Abby said as she looked around Gabriel’s hallway. She patted the gargoyle carved on the front of a dresser and made a monkey face at a big oval mirror.
“Wait until you see the desk,” whispered Gabriel. “It has legs like a bird’s talons.”
“Do you really think it runs around?” said Abby. “I’m just wondering how to catch it, you know?”
“We could tackle it,” Gabriel sugges
ted.
“Maybe lassoing it with rope would be better,” Abby replied.
Pleased to have Abby’s help, Gabriel asked her to wait in the hall while he tiptoed down to the kitchen to see if Trudy was there. When he saw no sign of her, he remembered that she always went to Pamela’s Wednesday violin lesson. This meant that they had at least an hour to track down the desk. He took a clothesline from the basement and returned to the landing.
“We’ll trip its legs with this,” he said.
Abby frowned. “I thought you said it had wings, too.”
“Yeah, but they’re shrimpy—too small to fly.”
“Excellent,” said Abby. “So, last time it was in the study?”
Gabriel led her toward the study door. “Maybe we can surprise it,” he whispered.
As they entered, Abby gasped at the painting of Corax. “Wow! How can she sleep with that gross picture staring at her all night?”
“She called him handsome,” said Gabriel.
“No way!”
An ironing board stood in the center of the room, skirts were draped on the furniture, underwear was stacked in a pile on the armchair, and socks fringed the laundry basket. They were startled by Trudy’s nightgown, which hung in the corner. In spite of its rose pattern and lacy collar, its attitude seemed hostile, as if it wanted to shoo them off.
“Well, I don’t see the desk,” whispered Gabriel. “Let’s start on the top floor and work our way down. One of us will search while the other watches the hall in case it—”
“Runs away?” giggled Abby.
They tiptoed upstairs and Abby readied herself in the hall while Gabriel searched.
“Nothing,” he told Abby when he came out of the last bedroom.
Confused, they went down the stairs.
“Let’s check the study again,” suggested Abby.
There was still no sign of the writing desk. But something had changed.
“Gabriel,” whispered Abby. “That nightgown with the roses. It’s missing.”
She removed her glasses and polished the lenses, something she always did when she was thinking. Suddenly, she smacked her forehead with her hand. “I know. It disguised itself!”