The Ravens of Solemano or The Order of the Mysterious Men in Black

by Eden Unger Bowditch

  “Jasper.” Faye spoke in almost a whisper. In the light of the electric torch, Jasper could see fear in her face,

  “What is it?” he asked, as she stared behind him.

  “I think . . .” She gulped. “I think I know what happened to the artist.”

  Faye pointed behind Jasper. He turned, lifting the electric torch to shed more light. There, on the stone ground, was the crumpled skeleton of what must once have been the great artist—the sculptor-magician, who had disappeared so long ago,

  The snow did not let up. It fell harder through the night and, in the morning, the doors of the house were impossible to open, blocked by great drifts of snow. Faye opened her window to breathe in the snow-filled air of the early morning. After the whole experience in the beast garden, she treasured every crisp, cold breath. Finding the skeleton of the artist had been a shock. And afterward, when she and Jasper looked around, they had found the bones of other animals, including the skeleton of a wild boar and the carcass of a raven. Whoever had built the secret door had not considered the possibility that it might claim innocent victims. Or, perhaps, they had.

  As Faye breathed in the cold, the whole village was silent. Even the birds had gone quiet. The sun was obscured, so the light was not very strong. The snow was still falling hard, and everything, everywhere, was white. Faye smiled to herself at the thought of the mysterious men in black covered in white snow. Would they now be the mysterious men in white? Or would the snow melt right off them? Surely, Signora Fornaio’s ovens would keep the snow melted on her window and fill the chilly air with sweet, warm smells in the morning. Faye thought, for a moment, of the little old shepherd, and she hoped he was safe and warm somewhere. Signora Fornaio would have seen to it.

  With a strong gust, the wind sent a waft of snow and a brutal chill into the room. Faye leaned back in and shook the snow from her hair, then quickly closed the window. She shivered. Going to her wardrobe, she pulled out her warmest jumper and put it on over her nightdress. To that, she added two pairs of stockings and a woolly hat before she left her room,

  “I don’t think we’re going far today,” Wallace said when Faye came into the dining room. The others were already watching the snow fall. The fires were lit in the two largest fireplaces, in the dining room and sitting room, and a brazier was lit in the foyer. The whole first floor felt warm and cozy

  “A day inside would be good for everyone,” said Miss Brett.

  Faye’s face fell. It was thrilling, all this snow.

  “We can work on lessons and read,” Miss Brett added quickly. “I will read. It will be nice by the fire.”

  “If the snow stops gushing, can we see all the powder it’s left us?” asked Lucy, looking longingly out the window. “I so want to make snow people and snow angels and snow lumps.”

  “Snow lumps?” Noah looked up from the stack of magnets he had been piling carefully atop one another

  “Yes, lumps made of snow,” Lucy said.

  “Hmmm,” said Noah, lifting an eyebrow. “I probably could have guessed that, given enough time.”

  But the snow did not let up. It snowed hard through the next afternoon, and the one after.

  “What if it was all sugared icing?” Lucy said several times a day.

  By midday following, the sun finally came out. The whole of the valley was truly a winter wonderland.

  “Oh, please, can we go outside?” said Lucy. The children all nodded. All except Wallace, that is, who was not quite sure about the idea.

  “Well, I did want to go down to the bakery and see how Signora Fornaio is doing,” said Miss Brett. “But I don’t see how we’re going to make it with all this snow.”

  “I know!” called Noah from the cupboard under the stairs. He held up a pair of snowshoes he had found among the other things stored there.

  There were four pairs of snowshoes. Wallace opted to stay and read. He had found a book on Sir Isaac Newton that he did not want to put down. The others all set out to the village. Lucy sat on Jasper’s shoulders, which made him feel as if he were going to become hunched forever.

  What normally took about seven minutes took the explorers nearly half an hour. Hats were blown off and had to be retrieved. Shoes slipped off, which led to stumbles, and more stumbles. They all had to dig Lucy out of the snow when she plunged headfirst off Jasper’s shoulders, after Noah accidentally slipped and tripped Jasper, knocking him into Faye. Jasper had, in fact, only just gotten Lucy back up onto his shoulders. She had been slipping lower and lower down his back until her feet were dragging along the ground. Miss Brett had offered to take Lucy, but Jasper insisted that he carry his sister.

  When they finally got to the road from the manor house, they found more of a path to follow into town. Someone had been riding horses through the village, but the path was very narrow and difficult to navigate.

  “We need to invent something to clear these roads,” Jasper said, trying not to tip over in his snowshoes.

  “They have those rotary plows on trains,” said Noah. “I’ve seen them in Canada.”

  “If we can apply the technology to a carriage,” said Faye, “and make a road plow—”

  “Well,” said Miss Brett, trying desperately to hold up her skirt, which had become intensely heavy with all the icy frost attaching itself to her hems, “for now, let’s just manage to keep from falling in a snowdrift.”

  With many a misstep, they managed to get to the main road through the village. From there, they could smell the bakery and the delicious treats that waited inside. Outside the shop was a large horse with a small sleigh. The horse had the end of a focaccia in its mouth. One of the ravens stood beneath, catching crumbs in its beak. Lucy greeted both the horse and the raven. Shaking off their snowy clothes, the five visitors entered the bakery.

  “Buongiorno, Signora Fornaio,” said Miss Brett. “Quello che un giorno di neve!” She had just taught herself the Italian word for snow, neve, and was excited to use it,

  “Merhba! Benvenutti!” cried Signora Fornaio. “And your Italian is growing, Signorina.”

  “Grazie, Signora, e il sopracciglio profumo delizioso.” Miss Brett smiled. But Signora Fornaio burst into laughter. “Oh, dear, was that not right?”

  “I do not know,” said Signora Fornaio, through tears of laughter. “You tell me my eyebrow smells delicious.” Signora Fornaio had to wipe her eyes. “We are so glad you come!” From out of the kitchen came another small, round woman the children and Miss Brett recognized as the cheese-seller. She carried two large bundles, then went back into the kitchen for one more. Jasper and Noah quickly took the bundles and followed the cheese-seller to the door. They helped her load the bundles onto her cart.

  “Well, that is a big load of treats,” said Lucy. “Someone must be very hungry.”

  “Signora Maggio brings Christmas caggionetti to her sons,” Signora Fornaio said.

  “Her sons?” Faye wondered, as they all did, if her sons were mysterious men in black living in the village.

  “Yes. Two boys lives in Rome,” said Signora Fornaio. “Two are fratelli in Malta, fratellii nero. She brings the bundles for the sons to bring their brothers.” She, the children, and Miss Brett followed Signora Maggio outside.

  “Signora Fornaio makes the best caggionetti in all of Abruzzo,” said Signora Maggio as she climbed into her sleigh. “From when they are babies, they love her.”

  “You will check with the post carriage for the package from my son?” Signora Fornaio asked.

  “Of course, amica, I will get your package. It is not yet Christmas, though.” The cheese-seller put her hand on Noah’s shoulder to hoist herself up.

  “Sometimes it comes early,” Signora Fornaio said with doubt in her voice. “That big white carriage always comes through weather.”

  “Of course, my friend. For the wonderful pleasure you bring my sons, I would do anything. Paci lid-dinja.” The sleigh took off.

  “I would be happy for news from America,” Signora Fornai
o said. “My son is there for almost one and a half year, and he writes me every few weeks. Still, it is long.” She pulled a small handkerchief from her pocket and showed Miss Brett. “It is from a very important company in America, in New York City, made with real American cotton. The American cotton is so better, it is said. And you see here. There is an ‘F’ embroidered.”

  “For ‘Fornaio,’” said Miss Brett.

  Signora Fornaio blushed. “For Favilla, my name, or, onestamente, what my husband always called me.”

  “Is your son one of . . . them?” asked Noah.

  “The fratelli in nero?” she asked with some surprise. “Of course he is not. But we have all lived together for so many generations, it is long forgotten that they are not like others. Many stories are told of the fratelli in nero—many stories of the heroes and villains. Si, si, you will hear stories.” She laughed, her whole face glowing with warmth and kindness.

  “What did she say?” asked Lucy of Signora Maggio. “Paci lid-dinja. That wasn’t Italian.” While Lucy did not speak much Italian, she did always remember what she had learned. And she was acutely adept at recognizing accents and the sounds of words,

  “‘Paci lid-dinja,’ we say here,” Signora Fornaio said. “It means, ‘Peace to the world.’ We have always said that here.”

  “In what language?” asked Lucy.

  “Maltese.” Signora Fornaio smiled.

  “Maltese? Why Maltese?” asked Noah. “It isn’t the native tongue anywhere in Italy that I know.”

  “It is tradition, for hundreds of years. Like ‘Sahha!’”

  “That’s not Italian?” Noah had been so pleased he had learned a word in Italian.

  Signora Fornaio shook her head and laughed.

  “But why Maltese?” Noah asked again. “I still don’t—”

  “Oh, yes!” said Lucy. “It’s—you remember! Malta! How amazing, it’s like the boat—”

  Lucy was cut short by a noise from behind the counter. Another large bundle emerged from the kitchen, followed by none other than the shepherd. He was so tiny, the big bundle hid him from view.

  “There you are, il mio amico!” Signora Fornaio said. “I thought you fall asleep in the kitchen.”

  “I do for bambini,” said the shepherd. “The canella, cinnamon, and the sugar caggionetti, with the cioccolato and nocciole, hazelnuts, too.”

  Miss Brett gladly took the bundle. It smelled divine—the chocolate, cinnamon, and, though he hadn’t mentioned them, almonds. “We were worried about you, Mr. Mezzobassi,” Miss Brett said. “It has been so cold, tempo molto freddo, and so much snow.”

  “Ah, il pastore,” Signora Fornaio said to the shepherd. “You almost froze, congelato, but I saw you. Il shepherd has slept in my kitchens, and helps me bake the many Christmas goods.”

  “That is so nice.” Faye somehow felt much happier knowing the little old shepherd had a place to be. To Faye, he seemed all alone, and so did Signora Fornaio. “We’re glad you both have company,” It reminded her of her own loneliness back in India—her own desire to have at least one friend.

  “And there are just two weeks before Natale—Christmas,” Signora Fornaio said. “But only a few days before something else very special.” With that, she looked at Lucy Lucy looked up, beaming.

  Jasper’s heart sank. “It’s your birthday, Lucy!” he said. “Fifteen December! Little Lucy will be seven.” With everything else going on, he had forgotten.

  “Oh, Signora, I’d really love to have a lovely birthday cake and some other delicious treats.” Lucy clapped her hands together, her eyes as big as saucers.

  “Well, we will bake you one,” said the baker. “The most delicious birthday cake in the world.”

  On the way back to the house, Noah offered to take the bundle from Miss Brett. She gave it to him, but with an eye of suspicion, and warned him about sneaking nibbles. Noah looked guilty and knew he’d never get away with it. Distracted from the smells of chocolate and almonds, he told them about Christmas in Vienna.

  “We had an advent wreath on the door, and we added a candle for every night up to Christmas. It was wonderful to have something every night—like ticking off days on a calendar, I mean. When I was small, that sort of thing was important. Vienna was amazing during Christmas—the best food of anywhere.”

  “Jasper always made Hortensia wait until after my birthday to put up decorations for Christmas,” said Lucy, smiling at her brother. “That way I had my own special day that wasn’t squashed into a day before Christmas.”

  “Bad luck having a birthday next to Noel,” said Noah.

  “Actually it’s rather good luck,” said Jasper. He smiled at his sister, and she hugged him and clung to his arm.

  “Well, that shouldn’t keep us from collecting pine twigs to make a wreath,” said Noah, who picked up a perfectly bendy branch from a pine tree. “We can put it up after Lucy’s birthday.”

  Lucy clapped her hands and smiled up at Noah. He bowed deeply, then put down the bundle to help Lucy climb onto his back. He galloped all the way back home.

  “Why did you ask about the words?” said Jasper as they sat warming at the hearth while Miss Brett fetched the hot chocolate from the kitchen. He handed Faye another twig he had cleaned of dead pine needles,

  “Because I knew it. ‘Paci,’” said Lucy. “You all know it.” She passed Noah a little bow she had made from a piece of red ribbon,

  “What do you mean, we all know it?” asked Faye, handing Noah the braid of twigs she had made from those Jasper gave her. She turned back toward the fire to warm her hands again. Somehow, she was still chilled from outside. It did not make her happy that her constitution kept her from fully adjusting to the cold,

  “Peace,” said Lucy. “Like on the boat.”

  Everyone exchanged glances. Then a slouching Wallace sat up from the floor. His face said “Eureka!” and he adjusted his glasses with enthusiasm. “During the flag ceremony on the ship,” he quickly said. “Lucy’s right. They said the word ‘paci.’”

  “And you remember that?” Faye said, doubtful.

  “Yes, I do,” said Wallace. “It made me think of my pocket, and . . .” He trailed off. What he meant was that he thought of his pocket and the coin that lived there.

  Miss Brett came into the room from the kitchen. In her hands was an empty plate waiting to be filled. “Noah, where is the bundle from Signor Mezzobassi?”

  Noah’s heart sank. “I—I must have left it in on the ground when I picked up Lucy, or when we started collecting twigs for the advent wreath. We were climbing up the snow bank by the road and I put it down to . . . I’m so sorry.”

  Miss Brett didn’t want to scold him. She could see his pained expression. Noah suffered at the thought of food anywhere other than his stomach. “Well, not to worry,” she said. “I’ll get some buns from the kitchen for tea.” She took the tray to fill in the kitchen.

  “Oh, how sad,” said Lucy. “And Signor Mezzobaffi made them just for us. Can’t we get them? Can’t we run back and see?”

  But the snow had begun anew, and with a vengeance. It was like a sheet of white outside the door. They could look for hours and never find where on the journey the bundle could be, for it surely was under the snow by now. And, more of a concern, it was getting late.

  “Sorry, sweet angel,” Miss Brett said. “It is almost dark and much too snowy. We can have a look tomorrow.”

  Lucy humphed with her chin in her hands.

  Soon, Miss Brett returned with a tray of cups and the lovely basket of biscotti and sugared buns she had baked the night before.

  “Sahha!” she cheered to their health, smiling broadly at Noah as he reached for a bun. She looked at the wreath that was now adorned with ribbons, pine cones, and braids of pine. “The wreath is beautiful, Noah. You all made such a lovely addition for Christmas.”

  “We’ll need candles,” said Noah between bites. But before he could get another bite in, he yawned an enormous yawn, then shook his he
ad as if to shake off his sleepiness.

  “I’ll look in the kitchen for some small Christmas candles. There must be some around.”

  Miss Brett looked at the other faces around her. Lucy’s eyes were drooping. Wallace was turning his coin in his fingers and seemed deep in thought. Jasper tried to stifle a yawn but failed. Faye pretended to stretch, but she was herself yawning.

  “Okay, everyone. While the men make our supper, I thought I’d read to you the story of Sleeping Beauty.” She could tell the children were set to relax. This was an excellent time to get in some reading.

  “Does it have swordfights and dashing escapes?” asked Noah.

  “Well, perhaps a bit,” said Miss Brett.

  “And heroic conquests and daring heroes?” he added.

  “Well, in time, yes, heroes triumph,” offered Miss Brett.

  “Well, good, because I really am tired of losing and hiding and running away. I want to hear about heroes defeating evil.” Noah stretched out on the sofa, his arms beneath his head as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “I actually agree, Noah,” said Faye. “I could use some triumphs, too. No heroes running away.”

  “I don’t want to run away. I want to stay here and wait for Mummy and Daddy,” said Lucy. She looked at Jasper, who tried to smile and nod. Then Jasper looked at Miss Brett, who had a worried, sad look about her.

  “Will Mummy and Daddy be with us for Christmas?” Lucy asked Miss Brett.

  Noah slipped a bit, his feet falling from the armrest. He hadn’t been thinking about his parents and Christmas. He recovered quickly, though, looking to Miss Brett for an answer.

  “You think they will?” he asked, hopefully.

  Wallace looked up from his book. He could feel his heart jump at the idea,

  “Stop! I don’t want a false promise,” Faye said. “And Miss Brett can’t promise anything. She’s in the same situation as we are.”

  Miss Brett didn’t say a word. She agreed with Faye—no false promises, and no guessing games. Instead, she cleared her throat and picked up a lovely large volume. They all gathered closely. She knew the story of Sleeping Beauty by heart. This was a good thing, too, for the book, Il Pentamerone, was written in Italian. And she recognized the name Talia, given to the princess.