Raveneece set her tray down on the table. “What’s your hurry? Don’t you like it here? I decorated it myself.”
I gazed at the bare dirt walls. “Do you l-live here?”
“My sisters and I dig traps—I mean, homes—wherever we need to be. It’s a talent of ours.”
“So all your, um, homes are underground?”
“Certainly. There’s so much more room to expand down here. Who needs the sky when you can look up at a lovely dirt roof?” She began to recite in a creaky voice:
“The cleverest sister lived in a cave
And not in a dirty old shoe.
She hated the sight of the stars and the moon
So only a dirt roof would suffice!”
Raveneece tapped her foot, as if she were waiting for a compliment. “Well, what do you think?” she asked finally.
I swallowed. “It’s a very nice poem. But didn’t you mean to say, ‘only a dirt roof would do?’”
“Why?”
“Because do makes the poem rhyme.” Slowly I began to recite:
“The cleverest sister lived in a cave
And not in a dirty old shoe.
She hated the sight of the stars and the moon
So only a dirt roof would do!”
Raveneece scowled at me. “Who told you I wanted it to rhyme?”
“No one. Sorry.” I glanced at the ladder. If I pushed her out of the way, I might be able to climb fast enough to get out before she caught me.
As if she could read my mind, Raveneece grabbed a rickety rung. “You like my handiwork? You’ll have plenty of time to examine it later. Now put that goose back in the cage and let’s have a snack.”
“Can’t I hold her? She seems sick. Has she had any food or water?”
“Hmm . . . let me think.” Raveneece put a finger to her lips. “NO, NO, AND NO!” She snatched Destiny and shoved her back into the cage, leering over her shoulder. “If it will make you feel better, I can give her some company.” She snapped her fingers. “Sweet Tooth—get over here!”
The fox slunk up beside the table. Its bright yellow eyes were fixed on Destiny.
“No, please!” I cried. “Don’t!”
“Then have a seat.”
I pulled out a chair.
“That’s right. Mind your Auntie Raveneece and everything will be fine.”
“You’re not my aunt!”
“Of course I am. We’re part of the same family.”
I shook my head. “Aunt Doris told me you’re descended from the Sinister Sisters.”
“Every family has its differences, brat. But we’re related whether you like it or not. Just think—you and I could be the ones who make peace. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Raveneece reached out to pat my head. When I jerked away, her lips curled in an awful snarl. “Aunt Doris is a liar. My sisters and I aren’t sinister—we’re the ones who’ve been wronged. Cheated by our own relatives, the Goose Ladies. When you hear the entire story, you’ll understand.”
I tried to smile. “Okay, maybe some other time, Aunt Raveneece. But now, I’d better go home or my parents will be worried.”
“You can go home after you’ve helped me. Now, eat! We have a lot of work to do.”
I looked at the gray, ashy cookies. “What’s in them?”
“Just the usual.” She reached under her nest hat to scratch her head.
“Eggs from the birdies, honey from the bees
Spiders’ legs and crickets’ knees
Mix with flour, stir in soil.
Leave ’em in the oven till, um, till the worms all bake.”
Not bake—broil, I thought. Leave them in the oven till the worms all broil.
But this time I didn’t tell her.
“No thanks,” I said. “I might be allergic to them. I’ve never eaten dirt or bugs.”
“That’s because your family can buy plenty of flour, brat. White, wheat, whatever! But my family doesn’t have that luxury. And do you know why?”
I shook my head no.
“Because our own flesh-and-blood sisters, the Goose Ladies, refuse to share their good fortune. Only they can bake wishing cakes. Only they decide who gets them. If they’d let my sisters and I sell a few, we could afford nice things, too. But those miserable misers have never given us a single cake.”
I looked down at my lap. “Goose Ladies don’t sell wishing cakes. They give them away randomly. They do it to help keep hope alive.”
“Pfoo! They’re just a bunch of foolish do-gooders. My sisters and I are businesswomen. We’re planning to go into the cake-selling business as soon as we recover our birthright. And you are going to help us!”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Ye Olde Missing Ingredient
Raveneece’s underground “home” was as dark as a bat cave. It had no windows. The hole I’d come down the ladder through was too small and too high up to see the moon or the stars. I had no idea how long I’d been down here or if a single ray of light would reach us once the sun rose.
I felt like putting my head down on Raveneece’s table and bawling. I didn’t know how to bake a wishing cake, even if I wanted to. “You’ve made a mistake,” I told her. “I don’t know anything about baking.”
She stared down her nose at me. “I’m not interested in your culinary skills, brat. It’s rhyming I’m after. Why else would I keep you?”
“But anyone can rhyme,” I whispered.
Raveneece’s eyes got so narrow, they practically disappeared into her face. “Unless someone steals their gift!” she growled.
It took me a moment to understand. “Do you mean Mother Goose? Why would she do that?”
“I told you she was selfish! She didn’t even think of what would happen to her poor sisters after she disappeared from town. She just left those girls with no means of supporting themselves. But did they give up and starve?” Raveneece looked at me as if she expected an answer.
“I—I guess not,” I said, hoping it was what she wanted to hear.
“Of course not! Greenteeth, Nettlehair, Ninetoes, and Fishbreath were resourceful girls! They decided to write their own book of rhymes—and not another volume of vomitous verse for infants, either.” She sat up proudly. “The book they produced was more practical—Sister Goose’s Cautionary Verse for Brats.”
“We have a copy of that book at home,” I said, careful to keep my voice steady.
“Then you know what good rhymes the sisters wrote. Much better than Mother Goose’s goo-goo, ga-ga, choo-choo stuff! Tell me your favorite.”
“I didn’t finish reading them,” I admitted. “They scared me.”
Raveneece smirked. “That’s because they were supposed to! Greenteeth, Nettlehair, Ninetoes, and Fishbreath wanted to write a book that would teach children everywhere the consequences of not obeying their elders. One reading and the little brats would become cheerful servants, working day and night to avoid the punishments described in those rhymes.” She pointed a crooked finger at me. “But do you think the world appreciated what a wonderful gift it had been given?”
“No?”
“No!” Raveneece slammed the table with a fist. Two cookies bounced off the plate and landed on the floor near the fox. Sweet Tooth sniffed them and backed away with her tail between her legs.
“The few books they did sell got passed around town. Everyone who read them—the ones who could read—began having nightmares.” Raveneece broke into a grin that showed all her greenish teeth, and she rubbed her hands together. “The sorriest folks were the foolish, weak-hearted parents who’d read the book to their children. As word spread, the sisters never sold another copy.” Raveneece sent me a sly look. “Now, what would you do if you were them?”
“Um, maybe I’d forget about poetry and try to earn money babysitting or something.”
Raveneece sighed and shook her head. “Wrong! They decided to bake wishing cakes! They’d spent years watching their older sister do it, and now it was their turn. Oh, they knew it would be more
work than book writing, but they wouldn’t be foolish like their do-gooder sister. They were out to earn money and fame.” Raveneece leaned across the rickety table, so her face was closer to mine. Her breath smelled like dead mouse. I edged my chair back and pretended I was stretching.
“Greenteeth, Nettlehair, Ninetoes, and Fishbreath called their bakeshop Mother Goose & Sisters,” continued Raveneece. “They knew the name alone would have people lining up to buy their wishing cakes. Of course, it was the least the old lady owed them.”
“But selling wishing cakes would have spoiled her mission to spread hope,” I said. “It wouldn’t have been fair.”
“Fair, shmair! Was it fair that when the old goody-goody learned of their plans, she used one of her own wishing cakes to destroy the rhyming ability of her sisters and their descendants forever after?”
“Oh-h-h! So that’s why you can’t rhyme,” I said. Quickly I put my hand over my mouth.
Raveneece took a cookie off the plate and examined it. “You think it’s funny?”
“No. But I—”
Suddenly Raveneece flung the cookie across the table. It hit me in the cheek like a slap.
I put my hand to my face, but I didn’t let myself cry. Sweet Tooth had been curled up under the ladder, but at the sound of that slap she lifted her head and watched me. I sat stony-faced as Raveneece poured our tea.
“Let’s toast, brat,” she said, lifting her cup. “Starting tonight, what Mother Goose stole from us will be returned by you—her direct descendant. You’re going to teach me to rhyme. Oh, it really is such delicious revenge!”
I swallowed the burning lump in my throat. “If I do, will you let me and Dessie go home?”
“Oh, I’ll let you go home, all right. Once I’ve learned the secret to rhyming, I won’t need you or your goose.” She glanced at Dessie. “Though I doubt that bird will be fit for more than roast goose pie. She doesn’t look as if she’ll live through the night.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Ye Olde Lesson
“Sweet Tooth! Watch the brat!” yelled Raveneece as she disappeared down the tunnel for pencils and paper. But it wasn’t really necessary—I wasn’t going anywhere without my gosling.
Would it be possible to teach Raveneece to rhyme? Weren’t all the descendants of the Sinister Sisters under a wishing cake spell? Raveneece seemed to believe I had the power to break the spell—maybe because I was a direct descendant of Mother Goose. To save Destiny and myself, I would have to try.
In a moment Raveneece was back with a few crumpled sheets of paper and some pencil stubs. “Here. Now let’s get started.” She threw the supplies on the table.
I took a deep breath. “Okay. I think we should start with word families. This one is called AT.”
“Never heard of them,” grumbled Raveneece. “Are they part of the secret of rhyming?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, as I wrote a list:
AT
cat
bat
pat
mat
rat
hat
sat
“These words sound alike,” I explained. “You can use them to make a simple rhyme. Try this one:
“The cat sat on the . . . ?”
“Couch,” said Raveneece.
“No, you have to pick a word from the list. Try again.”
“Cat.” Raveneece crossed her arms over her chest.
“The cat sat on the cat?”
“Sometimes they do!” she snapped.
I sucked in my bottom lip. “Um, let’s do a different one. This is the IG family.” I turned the paper over and wrote:
IG
pig
big
dig
fig
wig
“Okay,” I said. “The pig is . . . ?”
Raveneece tapped her nails against the table while she thought. She looked up at the ceiling, where I could see a bat roosting in a rocky crevice. “Pink!” she said finally. She searched my face with her sunken eyes.
“Um, close,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t get mad. “But to make a rhyme, you should pick a word from the list.”
She pouted like a toddler. A really ugly one.
“Come on, take another look.” I pushed the list under her nose. “The pig is . . . ”
“Wig?”
“The pig is wig,” I repeated. “Well, it does rhyme.”
Raveneece adjusted her nest hat. “See? I’m a fast learner.” She tapped her pencil on the table. “Come on. What’s next?”
I thought for a moment. “Since you’re doing so well, let’s move on to a three-letter rhyming family—the AKEs. This group includes one of your favorite subjects.”
She watched closely as I wrote the next list.
AKE
snake
bake
lake
cake
wake
“Okay, here we go,” I said. “I want to bake a wishing . . . ?”
Raveneece frowned as she looked at the list. “This one is hard.”
“Try each word out before you choose. Take your time.”
“I want to bake a wishing well?”
“Um, good try, but it doesn’t rhyme. You need to pick a word from the list, remember?” I tapped the paper.
“What was the question again?”
Tears crept into the corners of my eyes. It was starting to seem like I might never get out of this dark, ugly place. I thought about what Ms. Tomassini might do. “Let’s look at the list together,” I suggested. I put my finger down next to the word cake, hoping she would take the hint. “I want . . . to bake . . . a wishing . . . ?”
“S-s-snake!” said Raveneece. “I want to bake a wishing snake.”
“Uh, well, that’s . . . pretty good.” I pushed back my chair and stood up. “I think you’re catching on. I’d like to go home now. I’m really tired.”
Raveneece clucked her tongue. “I’ll be the one to decide when we’re done, you lazy brat. Now sit down and let’s keep going.”
I sat down and faked a big yawn.
“All right, brat—you can go to sleep. Here.”
“But I have to go home or my parents will go crazy with worry. I’ll come back here tomorrow after school. I’ll bring you some flour, too.”
“You’ll go home. Someday. But first you’re going to help me bake some wishing cakes. It should go faster now that I can rhyme, too. After we’ve made a hundred or so, I might consider letting you visit your family.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Ye Olde Cracked Aunt
Raveneece carried the candle and the tea tray to the entrance of the long, dark tunnel. “Follow me. I’ve filled a ditch with sticks and leaves just for you. You might get some termites in your hair, but you can comb them out in the morning.”
I gripped the edge of the table. “I won’t be able to sleep without Destiny. And if I don’t sleep, my brain will be too muzzy to do any more rhyming. Please let me take her along.”
Raveneece hesitated. “Oh, all right,” she finally said. “You can have your goose.” She set the tray down and stomped over to the cage. I held my breath, wondering if she’d notice that the key was gone, but she didn’t seem to remember it.
“No goosey snack for you yet, Sweet Tooth,” Raveneece said, shooing the fox away. “The brat needs her bird to sleep.” With one hard yank, she pulled Des out.
“Please be gentle,” I pleaded.
Raveneece lifted Destiny and shook her. “What’s the matter, goosey? Wake up!”
Slowly Destiny raised her head and looked around. She seemed dazed, and I wondered if she would ever be the same perky little goose again. Then, without warning, she lunged forward and bit down hard on Raveneece’s nose.
“Oh! Ooh! Ouch! Owwwwch!! GET HER OFFFF!!!” Raveneece shrieked. She was struggling to pull Destiny away, but Des had her beak clamped tight as the vise in Dad’s workshop.
I kept my arms at my sides, fists clenched. “Promis
e to let us go and I’ll make her stop!”
Instead, Raveneece dug her fingers deeper into Destiny’s feathers. Des fought back harder, too, beating her wings madly as she struggled to get free.
Then, as Raveneece staggered back, I saw Sweet Tooth slink around behind her and stretch out on the ground. With her next step back, Raveneece tripped over her. Shrieking, she went down on her backside—and Destiny slipped out of her grasp.
Sweet Tooth was on our side!
I scooped Des up and began climbing the wobbly ladder. Halfway up, I glanced over my shoulder. Raveneece must have had the breath knocked out of her, because she was sitting on the dirt floor. I was almost to the top when the ladder began to sway wildly. I looked down and saw Raveneece standing there. “Come back here or I’ll shake you off, brat. It’s a long fall down.”
“Fly, Des!” I screamed, tossing her up toward the sky. I wasn’t even sure she could fly that far, but she flapped her wings and made it through the opening.
For a moment my heart lifted. Then I looked back down. Raveneece was holding a broom. The handle was made from a branch, and instead of straw at its end there were a bunch of long, white feathers.
Raveneece smirked and swung the broom at the ladder. She struck it so hard my entire body vibrated. One more hit and I was sure the rickety contraption would splinter.
“You’ll pay for letting that goose loose!” she shrieked.
I was about to fall and break into a zillion pieces, but all I could think about was that she’d finally made a rhyme. Too bad she didn’t know it.
“Climb back down here or I’ll make sure you come crashing down! And when you do, you’ll never escape. I’ll have you making cakes for me until every drop of your power is gone.”
I stepped down a rung.
“That’s a smart brat. Come back and I’ll teach you how wishing cakes can bring you wealth and power. Just imagine—that little brother of yours can have whatever he wants—his own candy store or a pony. Your family will thank you for it.”
“He’d love a pony,” I said, stepping down again. In my head, I was gathering the courage to trust myself. I was going to have to be braver than braver than brave.
The Secret Destiny of Pixie Piper Page 15