“Trust a Kowa? Bah!” growled Des.
“What other choice do you have?” asked the crow, pausing just long enough for her words to seep into both Des’s and Squirrel’s brains. “I realize I haven’t introduced myself—I’m Azulfa.”
Squirrel raised his arm to take hers; it had never felt heavier. “I’m Squirrel.” As he shook her hand, he realized he had no way out. He just stood there—paw-in-claw with the Kowa, rooted in her wooden lair.
Azulfa turned to Des. “And . . . you are?”
“Des,” came the grudging reply.
“Nice to meet you, Des. You too, Squirrel. Now rest—I’ll brew you two some Algae Ale. It’ll calm you down,” said Azulfa, moving toward the stove.
“So we’re giving this murderess a chance?” whispered Des to Squirrel.
Squirrel tried to swallow the tightness in his throat. He leaned toward Des and said in his ear, “We don’t have a choice. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and we can’t escape . . .”
“And, don’t forget, I saved you at the wedding. That should count for something,” said the crow. She ignored Des’s and Squirrel’s shocked expressions. “Surprised that I could hear you? I have ultrasonic hearing; I can hear everything near me.”
When neither Des nor Squirrel spoke, Azulfa continued, “I’ll prove myself in time. But, for now, let’s start with what happened to you at the wedding, Squirrel. You seemed to be having a convulsion just before the attack.”
The words that had rung in his head before the attack swept every other thought to the corner of Squirrel’s skull. He wanted to talk about what he had heard; he needed to understand what it meant. So Squirrel made a snap decision: He would trust Azulfa. At least for now.
A Starting Point
Squirrel stared at Des and Azulfa. They stared back. He had just told them about the song he had heard at the wedding, and both the crow and the dog looked as confused as he felt.
Finally Azulfa asked, “What kind of voice was it?”
“A woman’s.” He gulped. “I think it was my mom.”
Azulfa nodded. “I guessed as much. The voice called you ‘my son’ three times.”
Des looked hopeful. “If it’s your mom, the message must be a good thing! She wants you to find something . . .”
Azulfa frowned. Pacing the room, she repeated the words Squirrel had told her. “You’re wed, my son, now you’ll see; All you were and what you could be: Under soil, above a tree; You’re tightly bound, yet wholly free.”
Azulfa cocked an eyebrow at Squirrel. “Does this mean anything to you?”
Squirrel felt his cheeks flush. “No.”
Azulfa’s frown deepened. “But why would she say, You’re wed? You’re just about thirteen seasons old. You’re still a kid!”
Squirrel stole a glance at Des, wondering if his new friend had the same smidgen of doubt that he had. But Des’s face was as blank as before. So Squirrel decided not to say anything. “No idea,” he mumbled.
“How about the rest?” said Azulfa. “You remember the next few lines, right?” Her words were quick, almost urgent.
“ ’Course I remember,” said Squirrel, a bit more defensively than he had meant to. The truth was, even he was surprised by how well he remembered the verse. Though he had heard it just once, each line, each word, burned clearly in his mind—as clearly as the S branded into his arm. “The next lines were: Find, my son, a gift from me; A puzzle as a recipe; Solve it, and start your journey; That leads to long-lost Brittle’s Key.”
“So this whole thing is about some Brittle’s Key? Any clue what that could be, mate?” asked Des.
Battling the hurricane swirling in his mind, Squirrel said, “No idea.” He knew he sounded like a brainless parakeet, but he did not know what else to say.
“No matter, mate. We’ll figure it out soon ’nuf,” said Des.
“But how about the part that says, A gift from me; A puzzle as a recipe—any of that? This part seems to have some direction,” said Azulfa, her voice drumming against Squirrel’s skull like a hungry woodpecker knocking against a tree.
Squirrel stared at the floor, holding his head. His brain felt raw—as though little bits of it were ripping open.
Then—deep inside—he felt the click.
“I know! I know where I’m supposed to start!” The words came out before he realized what he was saying. “We need to go to my tree cottage. Can we?”
“If we must. We could fly like we flew here. But we must go now. The Kowas don’t know where you live yet. When we were told to kidnap you, we were just given a sketch of you. But they’ll find your address soon.” She looked out the window into the night sky. “They’ll be camped around your cottage by the time the wind changes.”
“Who first spotted Squirrel at the wedding? Was it you?” Des asked, jabbing Azulfa as though she were a stuffed toy.
For a blink of a moment, Squirrel saw Azulfa’s jaw tense and he was sure that she was about to swat Des’s paw with her wing. But, instead, she shook her head and said, “It was the usher who rowed Squirrel to the wedding. He’s the Kowa boss. He recognized Squirrel and told the rest of us who to watch out for.” Turning to Squirrel, she said, “You’re lucky you had that hat. It was a great disguise . . .”
But Squirrel was not listening. Fear gripped his brain as he realized what he had done. “We must leave. Now!” With one arm he grabbed Des, and with the other Azulfa, trying to drag them out of the room. They did not budge.
“What happened?” asked Des.
“I think . . . I think I mentioned that I live in Wickory Wood in front of the usher,” Squirrel mumbled, wishing he had not been such a blabbermouth.
Azulfa went still. “Did you mention your exact address?”
Squirrel thought back to his conversation with Lady Blouse. “No.”
“So we still have an advantage,” she said. “If we go now, we can still get there first.”
“Then what’re we waiting for? Don’t know ’bout you, but I don’t fancy bumping into any more Kowas,” said Des, rubbing his wounded shoulder. “With my luck I’ll end up as their pre-supper snack.”
Azulfa stared at Des, her face serious. “Kowas don’t eat dogs, Des. Squirrels, yes. Dogs, no. But you’re right. We should leave.” She stretched her wings. “Squirrel, keep that hat on your head. We need to keep you as much disguised as possible. Good. Now tie the petals around your waists tightly. You’re in for a bumpy ride.”
Azulfa stuck to the shadows. Whenever she heard a sound, she darted into the thickest shrubbery she could find. Much to Squirrel’s dismay, many of these were full of thorns.
“Those bushes were downright brutal, huh?” said Squirrel after they had landed in Wickory Wood. He plucked a thorn from his thigh. “Ouch! These really hurt.”
Des grumbled in agreement as he tweezed a spike out of his own tail. But Azulfa was too distracted to care.
“Hurry up! We have no time for thorns now,” she whispered. “I think I can hear wings. It may be the Kowas.” Sure enough, two black birds flitted into view, and began circling the clump of trees.
Forgetting the thorns, Squirrel darted to the entrance of a wide ash tree with the number 24 carved into it, his heart beating like a wildebeest’s. He felt Des and Azulfa right behind him. Shaking, he slid his left claw into the keyhole. It clicked open.
Squirrel opened the old wooden door, and the three of them slipped into his cottage as quickly and as quietly as the moonlight slipped through the windows.
Once inside, Squirrel locked the door and bolted the windows. He tried to light the sunflower oil lamp, but he was shaking too much.
“Mate, you look like you’re caught in an earthquake. Here, give those to me,” said Des, taking the small flints from Squirrel and lighting the lamp.
As the warm, orange glow filled the room, Squirrel felt his heart slow down and his breath begin to steady. He had had more excitement since sundown than he had had in his whole life. He looked around his cozy
living room, breathing in its familiar, lived-in scent. The sheepskin rugs, the reed armchairs, the nutshell coffee table, the crooked pollen paintings—they all looked wonderfully normal. Even the dizzying spiral staircase, which led both upstairs and downstairs, was a welcome sight today. He was home.
“Don’t relax yet, Squirrel. We should check the rest of the cottage,” said Azulfa, giving Squirrel a stern look. “I’ll check upstairs.”
Before Squirrel could say anything, Azulfa flew up the stairs.
“All clear,” she said as she stalked back down. “We just need to check downstairs.”
“Let’s all go,” said Squirrel. “The thing I want you to see is downstairs.”
“All right, but shhhh!” said Azulfa, blowing out the lantern. “Remember, all Kowas have supersonic hearing.”
“Sorry,” whispered Squirrel as he tiptoed down the stairs into a room bathed in darkness. Azulfa pulled a feather from under her wing and struck it against her beak. A small blue flame lit the tip, bringing the room into view.
The chamber was like it always was: part kitchen, part dungeon. The stove stood in a corner, as it always did, surrounded by rock shelves stacked with pebbled pots and pans and clay plates. An old wooden candelabra dangled, as it always had, from the ceiling. The heavy wooden shutters on the windows were tightly locked, as they always were.
Squirrel sighed with relief and hoisted himself onto a high bamboo chair at a stone table. On the table was a massive scooped watermelon full of nuts and fruit. A red leather book with frayed edges lay next to it. Squirrel opened the book to the first page and showed it to Des and Azulfa, who had lit the candles in the candelabra.
The page was completely blank except for four words scrawled at the bottom of the page. They read: A Gift from Me.
Squirrel felt his heart flutter with excitement. “It’s my mom’s old recipe book. I was just using it to make Pretty Piths to give Cheska and Smitten,” he said. “But this book must be what the rhyme meant, right? Find, my son, a gift from me; A puzzle as a recipe. I have to find a puzzle in here somewhere.”
“So what’re we waitin’ for? A flyin’ reindeer?” said Des, jumping into the seat next to him. “Open the book, mate. Let’s find this puzzle.”
Squirrel grinned back at Des, thankful for his company. He began flipping the pages eagerly, looking through recipe after recipe scribbled in his mother’s hand. But there was no puzzle. Squirrel started over. This time, he read each page carefully. But again, he found nothing. He read it once more. No luck.
Squirrel’s forehead began to sweat with frustration. This so-called “gift” was nothing more than a recipe book full of nuts and jams and sweets and hams. He was about to shut the book when a loud rumble shook his entire body.
“I’m starving! Looking at all these recipes has got my stomach churning like an empty blender,” he said.
Des grabbed Squirrel’s paw and jumped out of his seat. “Thank friggin’ frog’s legs! I’ve been hungry for ages . . . just didn’t know how to tell you.”
“I’ll whip up something quickly,” said Squirrel, happy to take a break from hunting for nonexistent puzzles. “What do you want?”
“I’ll choose somethin’!” said Des. “In the meantime, here’s something to whet our appetite.”
As he spoke, Des reached into his tuxedo’s cummerbund. When his paw emerged, it held two cups of what looked like whipped brown caramel. Though they were no longer fluffy, the contents of the brown spongy cups were unmistakable. They were the scrumptious bark-nut soufflés from Smitten and Cheska’s wedding.
Without a word, Squirrel popped the whole soufflé into his mouth and gave in to its crumbly goodness. He forgot everything except for the tingle of the sweet, cinnamony froth on his tongue.
“How can you eat at a time like this? We need to solve this puzzle. I don’t think you understand how important it is!” whispered Azulfa, but Squirrel’s and Des’s hungry bellies had gotten the better of them. Ignoring Azulfa, they savored every last morsel of their creamy treats, and then began flipping through the recipe book for the perfect, hit-the-spot meal. Eventually Des found it—a dish that was sublimely sweet and spicy, one of Squirrel’s all-time favorites.
As Des chopped the ingredients, Squirrel heated a large wok. Before Azulfa could properly protest, the two had stewed meat, vegetables, and spices together, so that a tangy aroma wafted through the kitchen. Squirrel grinned. This was definitely more fun than searching for the puzzle.
Finally Azulfa flew to the stove and blew out the fire in one breath. “We can’t attract attention to ourselves,” she said. “Please understand—they’re here for you, Squirrel. They will take you and destroy your cottage. You must be careful or we’ll lose everything.”
“Sorry, Zulf,” said Squirrel.
“Just be careful. Anyway, what did you make yourselves?” she asked, trying to sound interested.
“It smells fantastic,” drooled Des, helping himself to the stew. “It’s chopped spicy sea urchin with zucchini in a sweet lavender sauce. Yummm,” he said, his mouth full of food.
Squirrel nodded. “It’s called Peppered Urchin with Zesty Zucchini in Lavender Emulsion.”
Suddenly Azulfa snapped to attention. “Squirrel, give me the book,” she said so tensely that Squirrel handed it over without asking a single question. He swallowed the bite he was chewing and watched the crow as she read the page over and over again. Her wings began to flap like an overcharged fan.
“Boys, we’ve found . . .” But before Azulfa could go on, a loud rap shook the floor above them. Immediately Azulfa blew out the candelabra and the room went dark, except for the small blue flame on her feather. She gestured to Squirrel and Des to be absolutely quiet.
The scratchy and screechy voices they had heard at the wedding rang through the silent stone kitchen. The voices were coming from upstairs, right outside the cottage.
“The door won’t open,” screeched the lady crow. “It’s a special lock.”
“They ain’t in here anywaysh,” said Scratchy. “I’ve been on the lookout.”
“We’re waitin’ here either way, just in case. We’ll hear ’em if they’re inside. Let’s hover around. Can’t be riskin’ that they slip in under us,” said Screechy.
“Shtop tellin’ me what to do, you bosshy ’itch.”
“I’m gonna listen to the boss, but you do what you like.”
Inside the cottage, Azulfa was helping Squirrel and Des climb the stairs silently, using the commotion outside and the carpeted staircase to muffle their footsteps. Once in Squirrel’s bedroom, Azulfa lit a candle.
In the blue light, Squirrel’s four-poster bed looked like a cocoon of fluff, fur, and fabric. A tall grandfather sundial winked mysteriously from the wall, and a desk squatted lazily under a nook full of books bound in different colors—red, blue, violet, black.
Azulfa walked up to the desk, found a blank piece of mothwing paper, pulled a quill from under her wing, and scribbled something. She passed the note to Des and Squirrel. It read, “We must not speak. Try to get some rest.”
Squirrel took the quill from Azulfa and wrote, “How long will they be outside?”
“Till dawn.”
This time, Des grabbed the paper. “But, what were you saying earlier? What did you find?”
Azulfa’s lips curled into a sliver of a smile. “What we were looking for,” she wrote. Silently she opened the recipe book and flipped till she found a page. It was the recipe for the meal Squirrel and Des had so happily cooked and consumed. She circled the first letter of each of the key words in the recipe title.
The circled letters were: P-U-Z-Z-L-E.
A Fresh Set of Eyes
The puzzle made no sense to Squirrel. He glanced at Azulfa; her eyes burned blue in the light. Squirrel sighed and forced himself to read the words again.
He massaged his forehead. His brain felt like an iron block, his eyes like lumps of gravel. I must sleep, he thought, looking at the soft, yie
lding bed. Des was sprawled on it, his snores muffled by plump fur pillows. Squirrel pushed Des to the side and collapsed next to him.
Squirrel was about to doze off when he felt the bed sink. He blinked sleepily. Azulfa had scrambled into the bed next to him, closed her eyes, and immediately fallen into a deep sleep. He groaned as he found himself squashed between her thick wings and Des’s thick limbs.
I’ll never fall asleep like this, he thought, his eyelids fluttering. But, a moment later, he was dreaming of berry pies and bark-nut soufflé and barley ale. The puzzle would have to wait till the morning.
Tucked into the fluffy bed, Azulfa looked as out of place as a hippo stuck to an elm tree.
Wake up, thought Squirrel as he watched the crow twitch awkwardly in her sleep. He began to hop around the room like a jitterbug and gestured to Des to do the same. The pattering of their feet and the pounding of their hearts worked—Azulfa’s ears pricked up. She opened her eyes. Success.
Before she could even sit up, Squirrel shoved a note in her face.
The note read: Is it safe to talk? Are the Kowas gone? His fur was raw with excitement. Sweat squelched between his toes.
Azulfa lay in bed, blinking at the note. Squirrel felt bad about waking her, but they had no time for sleep right now. He was about to nudge her again, but before he could, the crow yawned, somersaulted out of bed, spread her wings, and floated up to the mustached grandfather sundial. It was just past dawn.
“We can speak. The Kowas meet twice every day, at dawn and at dusk, so they should be gone for a while,” said Azulfa with a frown. “This would have been the perfect time to get out of Wickory Wood. But we haven’t solved the puzzle yet.”
Squirrel smiled. He looked at Des. The dog’s cheeks were blown up like a balloon. And, like a balloon letting out a stream of air, Des gushed, “Puzzle. Solved. We solved it. We solved the puzzle!”
Azulfa’s eyes darted from Des to Squirrel, who felt himself grinning widely. “It’s true, Zulf. We figured it out! Actually, it was quite easy . . .”
The Tale of a No-Name Squirrel Page 5