by George Hagen
Gabriel swallowed, feeling only dread at the sight of it. He remembered the verse’s description. Forged … with malice and invention. He didn’t trust its merciless gleam. But he reminded himself that he only needed it to help his father, and cheered by this thought, he felt his courage restored. He turned to the owls; they regarded him with shrewd, inscrutable stares, flexing their daggerlike talons to remind him that this quest wasn’t over yet.
Gabriel’s knees began to shake. Without thinking, he clutched the staff more firmly, and to his surprise, the wood replied with a strong, reassuring warmth that spread from his fingers up the length of his arm.
The torc’s effect on Septimus was different; his eyes took on a hungry, covetous stare. Its dark magic seemed to beckon to him. Eager to touch it, he clambered over the low wall that separated visitors from the owl habitat.
The reaction of the owls was swift. They clustered together on the tree limb, covering the necklace with their claws.
Septimus frowned. “Move over, big fellow!” he said harshly, batting an owl with one hand.
The owl’s gaze settled on Septimus with cold scrutiny. Then it leaned down to him, as if to whisper tenderly.
“Ow!” cried Septimus, putting a hand to his ear. Blood dribbled between his fingers. “How dare you bite me?”
The owl shrugged; in a velvety-smooth voice it replied, “How dare you take what is not yours?”
“Not mine?” sputtered Septimus. “I happen to be a very close friend of Adam Finley’s!”
“Then where is the staff?” the second owl said.
So that’s why the Romany Geese gave you the staff, said Paladin excitedly.
Septimus appeared to realize this, too, for a shrewd smile appeared on his face. He turned to Gabriel.
“My good lad,” he said. “Come join us! Don’t be shy!”
Gabriel turned to the owls. “May I enter?” he said.
“Step forward, Son of Finley,” replied the first owl.
“You are welcome,” added the second, with a haughty glance at Septimus.
As Gabriel climbed over the wall, their scrutiny was so intense that he felt as if they were peering into his heart.
The third owl spoke: “Young fellow, we admired your father. It saddens us that he has been taken.” The owl eyed Septimus doubtfully. “Finley was unusual among men—honest, forthright, and kind.”
“And he knew a good riddle,” added the second owl. “Do you know any riddles?”
“Lots,” said Gabriel.
“Of course, we owls prefer puns,” added the third owl. “Do you know what a pun is?”
“Sure,” said Gabriel. “A joke that uses two meanings of a word.”
“Proceed!” said the first.
All the owls leaned forward, eager to hear.
Go ahead! Tell a pun! said Paladin.
“Okay,” said Gabriel. “Why is there always something to eat in the desert?”
“Why?” asked the first owl, followed by a chorus of other owls, all repeating “Why?” This tempted Gabriel to smile, since owls are known for saying who, not why.
“Because of the sandwiches there,” said Gabriel.
“Sandwiches?”
“The sand which is there …,” he explained.
There was a silence. Then one owl coughed, followed by another, followed by a third. The entire chamber seemed overcome with coughing. Gabriel began to wonder if his pun had made the owls ill.
No, that’s owl laughter, explained Paladin.
Indeed, the three owls perched before him were now doubled over, wheezing and coughing like old men. In the back of the room, little owls were bobbing up and down in hysterics; one owl completely lost his balance and swung upside down on his perch.
“Sandwiches?” Septimus muttered. “What’s so funny about sandwiches?”
When the three owls had recovered, the oldest blinked approvingly at Gabriel.
“Very good, Son of Finley. The torc is yours.”
In that instant, there was a loud CRACK!
The tree limb snapped exactly where the torc had been wrapped around it, and clattered to the ground. The owls took to the air in a disorganized flurry and settled onto more secure perches.
Septimus uttered a cry. “But where is—”
He didn’t finish his sentence because a blindingly brilliant light enveloped the room—so cold, bracing, and unpleasant that the owls blinked, shielding themselves with their wings and uttering woeful hoots and moans. As Gabriel clamped a hand over his eyes, he felt a jolt from the staff, as if it had been struck by a charge of electricity.
Slowly, the light began to fade and Gabriel felt the staff become considerably heavier. He took his hand from his eyes and saw that the torc was now wrapped around the upper end of the staff; the eyes of its two raven heads still glowed white-hot, like iron fresh out of a forge. They quickly faded to dull metal, then, in mere seconds, became tarnished and barely distinguishable from the wood. Gabriel guessed the staff had a neutralizing effect on the torc, damping its extraordinary power.
Septimus uttered a disappointed sigh. “Such a shame.”
“You have been warned of the torc’s devilish power?” asked the second owl.
“Yes,” said Gabriel. “But I don’t quite understand why they go together—”
“Both staff and torc will assist you in finding your father,” explained the third. “That is your next quest.”
“But I thought the torc harms anyone who uses it,” said Gabriel.
“Quite true, which is why Baldasarre set tasks that could be completed only by someone brave in spirit …”
“Warm of heart,” added the second owl.
“And selfless, most of all,” added the third. “Its black magic will do you the least harm; while in the hands of another, it will be disobedient and ruthless! Keep it upon the staff at all times!”
“I understand,” said Gabriel.
“One more thing, young Finley,” said the first owl. “Tell the ravens we owls are not as bloodthirsty as they believe. We take care of our kin, as others do. We hunt for a purpose, not for pleasure.”
What about the one that hunted me last night? murmured Paladin.
Gabriel said, “Excuse me, but my amicus, Paladin, was almost eaten by a great horned owl just a few hours ago!”
“That is not so. We share the same enemies,” said the third owl. “That owl was Caruso. He tried to help your friend by escorting him, but the young raven misunderstood his good intentions.”
Paladin felt too indignant to contain himself. He jumped free of Gabriel.
“A likely story!” he snapped, his neck feathers rising in fury.
At once, the owls leaned forward, poised to attack, but the first owl turned his head completely around, addressing an owl in the very darkest part of the exhibit.
“Caruso? Please answer for yourself!”
A plump, scruffy horned owl hopped out of the shadows to face Paladin. The young raven immediately began bobbing and weaving, as if preparing for a fight.
“Grandson of Baldasarre! A chick off the old block!” quipped Caruso.
“You mean a chip,” corrected Paladin.
“I was punning,” the owl explained. “Young Finley’s father once saved my life, so I was obliged to do a tit-for-tat, one-tern-deserves-another, robin-the-rich-to-help-the-poor sort of thing.” Caruso paused to burp. “Young Paladin, do you remember the three valravens chasing you that night?”
“Yes,” admitted Paladin.
“Well, I’ve never been fond of fast food, but they were three very happy meals!”
Several owls began coughing in amusement.
Paladin immediately forgot his anger. In gratitude, he extended one foot, dipping his head in a raven bow. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” whispered Caruso. “And I sincerely mean that! Don’t want sparrows knowing that my hoot is worse than my bite, do I? If word gets out that I spared the life of a raven, I’ll
be the laughingstock of the flock.”
“I promise,” said the young raven.
All this time, Septimus had been rocking impatiently. He put a hand upon Gabriel’s shoulder. “Come, lad,” he said. “The zoo staffers will be making their rounds soon. We’d best be on our way.”
“Thank you,” said Gabriel to the owls.
“Son of Finley may always count on our aid!” they replied, and tipped their heads in unison.
The Torc and the Staff
A boy and a man, each with a raven on his shoulder, hurried along the zoo’s paths. Eventually they came to one of the turnstile gates. After they passed through and found themselves on a tree-lined boulevard, Septimus turned to Gabriel, patting him on the back.
“You handled yourself brilliantly, lad. Now, let’s have a look at this torc, eh?”
Before Gabriel could protest, the man snatched the staff and ripped the torc from it.
That very second, the torc began to glow unpleasantly—an eerie blue glow that made Septimus look craven and hungry.
“Septimus,” Gabriel cried. “The owls warned me to keep—”
“Gasbags!” he interrupted. “Never heard such blather in all my years.” He turned the necklace in his hand. It glowed stronger, brighter. His fingers tightened around it.
“Not just the owls,” persisted Gabriel. “The geese also—”
“Geese are full of do’s and don’ts. Pay them no mind!”
He’s not listening, said Paladin to Gabriel. I’ll bet he’s already under some kind of awful spell from that thing.
Indeed, Gabriel wondered if he was hearing the torc itself talk, for the man’s face was changing from one wretched expression to another, almost as if he were a puppet.
Gabriel tried to reason with him again. “Septimus, please listen! The verses warned that for every wish the torc grants, it takes something in return, something precious!”
“Enough!” roared Septimus in a high, unfamiliar voice.
In the same instant, the torc flashed, and Gabriel found himself on the ground, breathless, with a heavy pain in his chest.
Paladin nudged his cheek gently with his beak. Are you all right, Gabriel?
“Something hit me!” he gasped.
Septimus rubbed his eyes, as if coming out of a trance. “It wasn’t me,” he said indignantly. “All I did was wish that you would be quiet.”
Crawfin alighted near Gabriel. “Remarkable,” observed the bird. “It granted Septimus’s wish!”
Gabriel scrambled to his feet. “Hey,” he said. “Put it back on the staff before you make another—”
“I’ve got a better idea,” interrupted Septimus. “You keep the staff, I’ll keep the torc!” Throwing the staff into the thick underbrush, he slipped the torc around his neck, where it glowed blue against his skin.
“Wait!” cried Gabriel.
Septimus made a quick flourish with his hand and vanished. The white raven uttered a triumphant caw! and flew up over the treetops.
“Let’s go after them!” said Paladin.
Gabriel jumped, but once they were in the sky, they saw no sign of the white raven. They had no idea whether he had gone home or had perhaps headed to the place called Aviopolis, or someplace else altogether. It seemed wiser to retrieve the staff from the bushes.
Gabriel pressed his way through sharp brambles, his hands pricked and bleeding, until he found the gnarled piece of wood.
Defeated and sad, Gabriel turned for home, wondering how he could have lost the torc so easily after solving so many riddles and risking so many dangers. It was a catastrophe.
Will we ever see them again? Paladin wondered.
Gabriel had no answer for his friend. The owls had told him that being brave, warm of heart, and selfless would protect him from the torc’s black magic, but it hadn’t helped him against Septimus. He felt so foolish for trusting him. Most of all, he was disappointed at being no closer to finding his father. It seemed that with every step forward, he slipped backward again.
Bleakly, Gabriel gazed up at the horizon where Crawfin had disappeared. A breeze shook the nearby trees, and the whisper of leaves filled his ears. Were they mocking him or was it just a careless wind?
Gabriel tried to shake off the ache in his heart by picking up his stride. Paladin swayed on his shoulder but held on tight, sharing his despair.
The Mausoleum
It was still morning when the disheartened pair arrived home. Trudy had taken Pamela to school, so Aunt Jaz made breakfast for Gabriel while he told her the whole adventure. After describing how Septimus and Crawfin flew away with the torc, he rested his head in his hands in frustration.
“I failed, Aunt Jaz.”
“Nonsense!” she said. “You and Paladin not only rescued Pamela, you found the druid stone, returned it to its owners, then got the staff and the torc.”
“But we lost it.”
“We still have the staff,” Paladin reminded him.
“Yes,” said Gabriel. “But the whole point was to help my father. I should never have believed Septimus.”
“You had no choice,” replied his aunt.
“I’ll never make that mistake again.”
“Gabriel!” his aunt replied with astonishment. “I hope that if you ever have to choose between trust and selfishness, you’ll make the same mistake. We all get second chances. Septimus will be back. Mark my words.”
Gabriel was unsure if Aunt Jaz knew something she wasn’t telling him, or if she was just being hopeful.
Gabriel got to school in the middle of math class. Abby could tell that he had important news, but she had to wait until they could talk in a secluded corner of the library during study hall.
When he explained, she was most disappointed to have missed the adventure. “Oh, I wish you had let me come,” she whispered. “Who knew owls love puns? I wonder if that goes for other birds. I bet woodpeckers prefer knock-knock jokes. Maybe larks like limericks and puffins prefer palindromes!”
“Yeah, Abby, but it’s gone.”
“Well, the owls said it was disobedient and ruthless. Maybe it will try to escape from Septimus and come back to you.”
“One thing the owls said was really confusing,” said Gabriel.
“What?”
“They said that they have the same enemy as us.”
“Hmm. Valravens, maybe?” said Abby. “Or Corax. Oh! Remember when we saw him talking to your father in that weird postcard? He said, ‘Your warm, sunlit world is my next domain, and I need the torc to rule it.’ The owls must have been talking about him.”
“Scary,” said Gabriel. “Corax has to be stopped, which means we have to get my dad out of that prison in Aviopolis as soon as we can.…”
Abby’s eyes shined when Gabriel said we.
“The question,” Gabriel continued, “is how to get there?”
Rubbing her glasses furiously with the hem of her skirt, Abby gasped. “I’ve got it!” she said. “Ask the writing desk!”
On Saturday, with Trudy out shopping, Gabriel, Abby, and Pamela lured the writing desk into Pamela’s bedroom with another jig. Pamela played three measures on her violin and the desk crept timidly up the staircase wearing a beret and a woolen vest. Immediately it jumped into a vigorous step dance. After the third slip jig, it collapsed in exhaustion and offered its keyhole without a fuss.
“How can I get to the place where my father is prisoner?” asked Gabriel.
Another postcard appeared in the middle compartment. On it was a photograph of a small marble building standing among gravestones.
“What’s that?”
Abby’s smile faded. “It looks like a mausoleum.”
“What’s a mausoleum?” asked Pamela.
“A monument with coffins of all the members of a family inside. Cemeteries have lots of them.”
An awful thought struck Gabriel. “Is the desk telling us my father’s dead?”
The three were silent. Gabriel sat down, staring grimly at
the postcard.
After a moment, Pamela spoke. “No way. I don’t believe it for a minute. That can’t be what it means.”
“Why not?”
Abby’s eyes lit up. “Because you asked how to get to the place where he was being kept prisoner. That’s an entirely different question.”
“A mausoleum,” said Gabriel, “that leads to Aviopolis?”
Somes Grindle
Gabriel Finley wasn’t scared of him anymore, and this bothered Somes Grindle.
When he poked Gabriel from behind, Gabriel didn’t tremble. When he asked for homework answers, Gabriel ignored him. Something had changed, something secret and important.
Somes felt envious of Gabriel these days and wished he knew Gabriel’s secret because he wished for more courage himself. He was sick of being picked on by his father.
Mr. Grindle worked for the Quinn Bakery, whose motto was Love in a Loaf, with a picture of a big red heart on a loaf of bread. It was on the T-shirt he wore each night at the bakery. Somes didn’t understand how his father could have a furious temper wearing such a motto. His father’s best friend, Arturo, worked in the bakery with him; Arturo was as friendly and calm as anyone could be. Love in a Loaf made sense on Arturo’s shirt.
Arturo once told Somes that his father was a much happier man when he was married, but that was a long time ago. Somes couldn’t remember his mother. She had married again and had little children of her own somewhere in Florida.
When Somes stepped out of school, he saw the bakery van and decided to take a long walk instead of going home.
He rambled south for ten blocks, then east along the freeway embankment, then up the ramp to the cemetery, his hideaway.
He studied the names on the tombstones along the empty paths and wondered about the people who had lived a hundred years ago. He liked the statues of angels, the monuments, and the mausoleums. They seemed such happy little places with their stained-glass windows and tidy interiors. One mausoleum had letters carved on the outside that read ELKIN, and inside were the names of a family: DAVID, JUDY, JANE, and JEFFREY. He imagined that if things got really bad, he could always hide out with the Elkins for company. He wasn’t scared of tombs. He didn’t believe in ghosts. When you live with someone who shouts and gets angry about nothing at all, a mausoleum seems the most peaceful place in the world.