“It was not easy!” cawed Azulfa. “I tried everything. Nothing worked.”
Squirrel cocked an eyebrow, pleased with himself. Despite the rush they were in, he strutted over to the window, unlocked it, and let the pale yellow sunlight flood the room. Fully aware of Azulfa’s impatient eyes fixed on him, he began playing with a big blue book on his desk. Only when Azulfa was hopping from one foot to the other did he start speaking.
“I woke up early this morning. Obviously, I couldn’t wake either of you in case the Kowas heard me speak. Didn’t fancy being minced to meat pie by your criminal friends, Zulf.”
As soon as these words came out of his mouth, Squirrel regretted them. Azulfa’s eyes glinted, her feathery body tensed. “Excuse me?” she said in a harsh whisper.
“Sorr-sorry,” said Squirrel, stumbling on. “Anyway, I . . . I decided to have a go at the puzzle. When I looked at the page, I noticed this. See? Three of the words are smudged.” He opened the recipe book and pointed to a large stain on the page.
“Earlier I thought it must have been a dribble of oil or emulsion or something. But when I flipped the page over, the writing on the back was fine. Strange, huh? I mean, any liquid should have soaked through the leaf page and smudged both sides, right?”
“So, I got wondering . . . maybe someone smudged the words on purpose. Maybe the smudges are part of the solution.”
“That’s when I woke up,” piped Des.
“Yup. And good thing he did,” said Squirrel. “Des noticed that only parts of the words had faded.” He passed the recipe over to Azulfa.
Indeed, the letters “sec” of second, “la” of lavender, and “sion” of emulsion were faded.
As Azulfa studied the smudged letters, Squirrel held his breath. He was so giddy his head felt like a kernel of corn just about to pop. Finally Azulfa nodded. “You’re right. A different ink has been used to write these letters. It’s deliberate. But why?”
“Des figured it out. The part-words can be put together. So ‘sec’ plus ‘la’ plus ‘sion,’ which equals ‘seclasion.’ That sounds like a word! Now we just need to figure out what it means,” said Squirrel, bursting with excitement. “SEC-la-sion. Sec-LA-sion. Sec-la-SION.”
“It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” said Des cheerily, helping himself to a plump raisin from a bowl on Squirrel’s bedside table. He popped it into his mouth. “Hmmm . . . these are delicious. What are they?”
“We call them Raisin D’Ettys. It was my Aunt Etty’s recipe. I eat one before I go to bed every night—always have. My mom used to feed them to me,” said Squirrel. “But never mind the Raisin D’Ettys, Des. We need to find out what ‘seclasion’ means. Who can we ask? Where can we find out?”
“We’ll figure it out. But you gotta eat some of these first. Didn’t it say in the recipe that the Peppered Urchin was best followed by a Raisin D’Etty? Should’ve done that. Yummy!” said Des, shoving another raisin into his mouth. “Yummy. Raisin D’Ettys in my tummy. Raisin D’Etty . . .”
Des’s eyes bulged open like two flying saucers. Staring at a half-eaten raisin, he spluttered, “The Raison D'Être! That’s why the recipe said it should be followed by the Raisin D’Etty! It meant the Raison D'Être! That’s what we gotta do!”
“Huh?” said Squirrel, wondering if Des had gone loopy from the sugar rush. “What’re you talking about?”
“The Raison D'Être! It’s the biggest, oldest encyclopedia. It’s got everything in it. If ‘seclasion’ means anything, we’ll find it in the Raison D'Être!”
“But, Des, the Raison D'Être is very rare,” said Azulfa. “Where’ll we ever find one?”
“I’ll tell you where. At my house. We have my great-grandpa’s Raison D'Être. You know, he was a very important dog in his day. With very important books,” said Des with a wink. “Now, let’s go.”
“Excellent,” said Squirrel, bolting the window shut and throwing on his PetPost uniform. He pocketed a few candied Raisin D’Ettys and popped one into his mouth.
As he bit into the raisin, he glanced at Des and a funny thought occurred to him. The only reason he had gotten anywhere on his quest was that Des had an uncanny knack of choosing what to eat.
The sunlight glinted off Des as he hurried down the alley. He was still wearing his tuxedo from his sister’s wedding, and he was attracting a fair amount of attention. As he passed the small fish market, a few of the fisherwomen stopped to whistle.
“Late night, eh, Des?” said an old dog as she scaled her fish. “ ’Tis almost mid-morn, lad! What sorta mischief you’n up to?”
“Juneby, stayin’ up late with beautiful girls ain’t mischief! It’s just plain, catch-a-cat-spank-it-silly good sense. ’Specially if that girl’s your stunnin’ niece,” said Des.
“You rascal,” croaked the old crone. “Quit yankin’ my tail.”
“What fun’d that be? Now, toss me a bite of that delish kingfish, will ya?” said Des, strolling over to the stall.
Squirrel, who was following Des, quickly passed the market. The fisherfolk were all so busy with Des that none of them even glanced at him. The plan had worked: Squirrel had managed to enter downtown Bimmau unnoticed.
Quickly Squirrel turned onto the Prowl Promenade. He glanced back to check on Azulfa. She grimaced back at him: As she passed the market, the chattering went silent. Everyone was weary of crows—and probably more so since last night.
Squirrel plodded on until he spotted the two large rocks on the beach that Des had told him about. He slid between them and waited. Moments later, Azulfa squeezed in next to him. Squashed between the rocks, they watched Des stroll past them and duck into the carriageway of a large house.
“That’s Des’s house? It’s huge,” whispered Squirrel, his eyes round with wonder. He was so impressed by the size of the house that he did not notice that the color of the walls had faded from chalk white to dirty eggshell, or that the roof was patched with tufts of grass and straw, or that the pillars were cracking like dry skin.
Azulfa nodded. “It’s nothing much to look at now, but thirty seasons ago it was one of the grandest houses in Bimmau.”
“Wow!” said Squirrel, eager to see his friend’s home. “So what do we do now?”
“Now, Squirrel, we wait.”
The Verzas and the Visitors
The two rock slabs sizzled like frying pans in the strong morning sun, heating Squirrel’s head like an egg. Azulfa’s feathers poked his arms, but he stayed where he was. Though he was across the Promenade, he kept his eyes fixed on Des as he knocked on the door of his house.
The door swung open. It was Cheska. She looked nothing like she had the previous evening. Her orange dress was ripped. Her cheeks were streaked with mud. Her wavy hair was wire-straight.
When she saw Des, she screamed, flung her arms around him, and began to sob.
“Easy, sis,” Squirrel heard Des choke as he lumbered into the house with Cheska clinging to him. Through the window Squirrel saw Cheska whistle something, and a moment later three more honey-colored dogs in gowns mauled Des, hugging him, cuddling him, scrunching his hair. Squirrel recognized two of them as Aubry and Brioche, Des’s other sisters. The third dog, he knew, had to be their mother.
When Des had managed to shrug the ladies off, a group of men gathered around him. An elderly white-and-brown Pug in a tuxedo, with a bow tie hanging around his neck, seemed to spot Des’s hurt shoulder, and hurried over to him and began to speak. Immediately a big burly Alsatian, a blond Pointer with glasses, and Smitten helped Des into an armchair.
Squirrel saw Des grin as one sister added cushions to his chair, another poured him a cup of what looked like chunky plum cider, and his mother laid a plate of cinnamon-glazed bones in front of him.
As Squirrel watched Des’s family buzz around him like bees on a honey pot, he began to feel something he never had before. His face went tight, but his arms fell limp. His mind was empty, but his eyes began to sting. He was trying to understand this odd feelin
g of heavy emptiness when he felt a sharp twinge on his arm. Azulfa had just pinched him and was pointing to the window of Des’s house.
“Who’s that?” she whispered.
Squirrel blinked back the warm wetness in his eyes and focused on the window.
A tall Bengal cat was sauntering over to Des. The cat was a head and a half taller than anyone else in the room. His steel-gray fur framed his face, showing off the highest cheekbones Squirrel had ever seen and a jaw that looked like sculpted iron.
As the cat walked, everyone in the room watched him. Even from across the road, Squirrel could not help but stare at the tall cat whose eyes glistened like silvery moons in the morning sun.
The cat himself seemed easily aware of the effect he was having on the crowd. With a casual smile, he offered a paw to Des. Des shook it, looking very awkward. They spoke for a few moments, and Des showed the cat his wound. The tall cat untied the blue Malmali bandage and retied it properly. Then, after a few more words, he bowed to all of them, and then headed for the door.
As the door swung open, Squirrel watched the tall cat bend over and kiss Des’s mother’s paw. With a smile, the cat purred, “Mrs. Verza, please think about the Pawshine more seriously. I’ll take my leave of you now. My eyes shall be blind, till your beauty they find.” And, with that nugget of flattery, the tall cat left the Verza home.
The cat strolled out of the house, his suit rippling over his body. He twirled his cane in one hand and there was a spring in his step.
As he passed their hiding place, Squirrel felt Azulfa’s breath grow quick. “He looks . . . he looks . . . regal!” she whispered. Squirrel looked at her and saw that her clear eyes were foggy and she wore a punch-drunk smile on her face.
Squirrel burst out laughing: Azulfa had not seemed the type to be interested in any male, no matter how good-looking. Squirrel was wondering if he could risk teasing her when a whistle from the Verza house stopped him. Des was waving them over.
“Did you find out what seclasion is?” asked Squirrel, scuttling over to him.
“Haven’t had a chance yet. They’re all just so happy to see me. I guess they were pretty worried. And that muddy fish friend of Zulf’s only freaked them out more.”
“Hmmm,” said Azulfa, frowning.
“Sorry, Zulf. It’s just that my family’s not used to fish delivering them messages about me,” said Des. “Anyway, let’s go inside. After Baron Dyer left, I told my folks about last night. They want to meet both of you.”
“You told your family about last night?” Squirrel said, almost shrieking. What had Des told them? Had he told them everything? This could be terrible . . .
“Don’t fret, Squirrel,” said Des quickly. “I didn’t tell them about the song you heard. I just said that those Kowas are after you, and we don’t know why. My family wants to help. Smitten especially. He thinks it was his fault that the Kowas found you. Anyway, the whole family is waiting, so come on in. We’ll look up ‘seclasion’ in my great-grandpa’s Raison D'Être. And maybe we’ll even get a nibble of lunch.” Squirrel noticed that as Des mentioned lunch, he was careful to avoid Azulfa’s gaze.
Squirrel felt his shoulders relax as he walked toward the house. He was almost at the pillars when he realized that Azulfa was not behind him.
He turned around. The crow was standing outside, her back so straight she looked as though her feathers had been starched.
“What you waitin’ for, Zulf? Come on in! We don’t want anyone to spot us here,” said Des, waving at Azulfa so energetically his ears began to flap.
But Azulfa did not move. “I’ll wait outside.”
“What? Why?” asked Des.
“It’s best. I am a Kowa, after all,” said Azulfa, looking down.
“Don’t be as ridiculous as a ribbon-wearing rhino, Zulf!” said Des. “I’ve already told my family about you and they asked me to invite you in. You helped me. That’s all my folks care about.”
The firmness in his voice seemed to persuade Azulfa. She entered the house.
But, if Squirrel had looked at her closer, he would have seen that her eyes were welling with something—something that looked a lot like guilt.
Des led them through a brilliantly bizarre living room. Cotton pod sofas and horsehair chaises were strewn about, yellow wood tables crowded every corner, and tapestries of glossy silk draped the walls.
“It’s a bit of a mess,” said Des, looking embarrassed as he pulled a yak fur stool out of the way.
“It’s . . . it’s . . . awesome,” said Squirrel, looking at a coral sculpture that looked like the top part of a windmill and the bottom part of a tarantula.
“Thanks,” said Des with a grin. “I’ll show you everything properly some other time. Come. Meet my family first.” He led Squirrel into a courtyard.
“This is Cheska, Smitten, Brioche, Aubry, and my mom, Mello,” said Des, pointing to each of the ladies. “This is Squirrel and”—he gave Azulfa a small nudge—“this is Zulf.”
Everyone shook paws. Squirrel thought Mello stiffened a bit when she shook Azulfa’s talons. But, a moment later, she was thanking Azulfa warmly for helping her son escape. Squirrel rubbed his eyes. Maybe he was just seeing things.
Something soft touched Squirrel’s shoulder. It was Brioche. “Dear boy, you must be so tired. And so scared.” She smiled kindly.
“And to think you’ve no idea why the Kowas are after you,” said Aubry. “Cheska’s wedding . . .”
Cheska’s wedding!
A cannonball of guilt hit Squirrel squarely in the face. Wringing his paws, he turned to Cheska. “I’m so sorry, Cheska,” he said. “Your wedding was attacked ’cos of me.” Squirrel could not believe how thick he had been. He had ruined the happiest day of Cheska’s life, and now he was standing in her living room, with all her family petting him as though he were a broken butterfly. He looked down. He wanted to run straight out of the Verza house, into the ocean, and let it swallow him up.
But before he could run, Cheska took his arm. “Squirrel, this is not your fault. Not in a dragon’s dream. Those Kowas are evil. There’s no excuse for what they did.” Her voice trembled.
Smitten put his arm around his wife. He cleared his throat and looked Squirrel straight in the eye. “The whole thing was my fault, Squirrel. I organized this wedding because I wanted the world to see how much I love Cheska. I got too carried away.” He looked down. “I’m the one who insisted on inviting you so publicly, Squirrel—so anyone and everyone in Bimmau knew exactly where to find you. I insisted on having ushers. I invited the Kowas. They would never have found you so easily if it was not for me . . .”
Squirrel could not believe what he was hearing. “Sir, no! The Kowas would have found me anywhere. This is not your fault. And thank you so very much for inviting me. It was the most . . . the most . . . magical evening of my life, sir.”
“Please call me Smitten. I’m just happy you and Des are okay, Squirrel. And I will help you in any and every way that I can. I mean that.” Smitten’s deep brown eyes were bright with sincerity. “Anyway, how about some lunch now?”
“Yes, everyone’s famished! No one has been able to digest a morsel since Des disappeared,” said Aubry, ushering them into a room with just one long, wooden table and at least twenty chairs.
At the head of the table three men were locked in deep discussion.
Squirrel glanced from the females to the males. Though the ladies were almost identical, their chosen life partners could not have looked more different. There was Smitten, of course—a handsome cat who looked like a mini-tiger. Sitting down was a brown Alsatian with a scar across his left cheek. When Des introduced him as Akbar, Aubry’s husband, he smiled roguishly and his black eyes twinkled.
The dog sitting next to Akbar was a thin blond Pointer. He had even features, and the green eyes behind his spectacles were quiet and kind. This was Bobby, Brioche’s husband. At the head of the table sat an older Pug. He was Des’s father, Ricky. The soft wrinkles on
his face and his unruly tuft of hair made him look like the most pleasant being imaginable. He welcomed both Azulfa and Squirrel with big hugs and asked them to sit down.
“Thank you for helping Despatches home. I hear you’ve all had quite an adventure! Don’t worry. We won’t tell anyone,” said Ricky with an easy grin.
“We’re a big family; we’re used to keeping all sorts of doggone secrets,” added Akbar with a wink and such a deep laugh that Aubry playfully dinged him on the back of the head with the cantaloupe serving bowl she was carrying.
“Here’s lunch,” she said as she and her sisters laid the long table with dishes.
A hungry silence settled over the table as the Verza clan and their visitors dug into a meal of sweet potato and eel porridge, peanut butter and jellyfish sandwiches, and sweet and sour seahorse.
Between mouthfuls, Des asked, “By the way, what was Baron Dyer doing here?”
“Baron Dyer? Was that the tall cat with the cane?” asked Azulfa, wheezing a little.
Smitten, who was the first to finish chewing, answered, “He’s my uncle—my mother’s brother. He got the Pawshine Club to invite Mello and Ricky to become members. I’m sorry he was so pushy. He’s like that sometimes.”
“I was shocked by the invite,” said Ricky. “After what happened, I never thought the Pawshine would invite us back. The Baron must’ve twisted his tail three times to get us that invitation.”
“But why?” asked Bobby.
Aubry smirked. “Because now we’re connected with his family, and he wants us to hobnob with the princey-wincey types. Dogs can never be members of the Pedipurr, of course, but he probably figured we should at least join the Pawshine.” She stuck her nose in the air and put on a funny foo-fooey accent. “The Wagamutt’s simply unacceptable.” She bit her lip and quickly added, “No offense, Smitten!”
“You’ll have to do better to offend me, sis,” replied Smitten, chuckling.
“I wish your uncle had not put in all that effort. He should have known that it was a waste of time,” said Mello quietly. “We will not be joining the Pawshine.”
The Tale of a No-Name Squirrel Page 6