Griffin of Darkwood (13 page)

“What have you there?” asked Favian, peering over his shoulder. “It looks like… Great heavens! It’s Morgan Moonstone’s family tree! Ebenezer told me he was working on it, but I never believed he could do it. He used old letters and family Bibles. People often recorded the names of all their children in their Bibles. It was a huge undertaking for Ebenezer!”

They studied the paper. The name Morgan Moonstone was written boldly at the top, and the lines of names all led back to his name. Will pointed out Vespera’s name at the bottom. And then his heart thumped wildly. “Favian,” he gasped. “There’s me! See,
William
. And there’s my mother, Adrienna!”

“Good Lord!” said Favian.

In a shaky voice, Will read out loud the names connecting him to Morgan Moonstone.

“Glenville, Kincaid, Rainart, Charles, Denton, Cyrus, Hyde, Lennox, Sterling, Adrienna, William!”

“Extraordinary!” cried Favian.

“Sterling was my grandfather! I have a photograph of my grandparents. I never knew his last name was Moonstone.”

“Sterling Moonstone was a great friend of mine. Hannah, Vespera, Sterling and I played together when we were kids. And you are his grandson! I see the resemblance now. It’s your chin. But who would have ever thought such a thing? Sterling left Sparrowhawk years ago, after –”

He stopped talking and squeezed his hands together. “What an incredible coincidence that you and your aunt should move to this village.”

“It wasn’t a coincidence,” said Will. “Aunt Mauve said it was like she was under some kind of spell when she bought Sparrowhawk Hall. I think that’s true.” He stared at Favian. “What does it mean?”

“I shall have to think on it,” said Favian gravely. “But I am certain of one thing. There is a reason you have come to Sparrowhawk Hall. We just have to find out what it is.”

< • >

Will hurried straight
to Thom’s to tell him.

Thom was still in his pyjamas, Minnie perched on his shoulder. He had big dark circles under his eyes and his hair stuck up in clumps. He’d been tossing and turning most of the night, worrying about cream puffs. He listened to Will’s story with his mouth hanging open. “You're a Moonstone! YOU'RE A MOONSTONE! This is like AMAZING! Dad, did you hear what Will said?”

“I did!” John had stopped weaving while Will talked and had listened with rapt attention. "It's incredible!"

“I know.” Will could hardly believe it himself and he had seen his name right there on the paper. “Favian thinks there’s some reason I’m here.”

“Kind of like fate,” said Thom. “Very cool!”

Will and Thom ate two pb and j sandwiches each for lunch, talking through mouthfuls about everything that had happened.

“I’m going over to Emma’s to tell her,” said Will. He figured he could stay out of Granny Storm’s way.

“No point,” said Thom. “She called this morning. She’s grounded.”

“What?”

“She’s gotta help Granny Storm sort her yarns.”

“What did she do?” asked Will.

“Dunno.”

Will was surprised at how disappointed he felt. He’d been trying to picture Emma’s face when he told her the news. Would she think it was a big deal like Thom did? He hoped so.

Thom yawned hugely. “I won’t be able to help you look for the secret passage today. I’m going back to bed.”

“All day?”

“Maybe.”

Will sighed. “I’ll see you later.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

A Broken Promise

Will spent part of the day reading
books at
Ex Libris
, with frequent breaks to pore over the family tree, and part of the day at Vespera’s cottage. Vespera’s nerves were a little rattled because of the poetry reading the next day. “Cooking will be a good distraction,” she said. “How about some peanut butter pancakes for supper?”

“Peanut butter?” said Will, his heart sinking.

Vespera winked. “Blueberry, then, with lots of syrup and bacon.”

By nighttime, Will’s head was buzzing and it was impossible to go to sleep. He was a descendant of Morgan Moonstone, the magic tapestry weaver! He said the words out loud and a delicious chill ran down his spine. It was like something out of one of his beloved fantasy books! If only he could tell his mother!

At midnight, the four red candles burst into flame. He was getting used to strange things, but this made him jump. The shadows from the flickering flames danced across the carved stone birds. He sat up on the edge of the bed, thinking. At last he blew out the candles and crawled back under his blanket, finally drifting into a restless sleep. When he woke up, he looked at his watch. Ten o'clock! He couldn’t believe how late he'd slept.

Will threw on his clothes and scrambled down the spiral staircase. Today was a perfect day! Vespera Moonstone was having her poetry reading tonight. And he, Will Poppy, was a Moonstone! All his fears and worries seemed to have slipped away in the night.

In his excitement, he crashed into Aunt Mauve, who was coming through the stone archway with a bag of shopping.

“You’re back from the city!” said Will.

“Of course, I’m back. I arrived late last night. It’s about time you got up. There are mice in this dreadful castle. They’ve tipped over my wastebasket and there are tissues everywhere. That useless Mr. Cherry is nowhere about. I’ve had to walk all the way to the village for mousetraps.”

“Give me my letter,” said Will.

An enormous sneeze exploded from Aunt Mauve. “I’ve got a horrible cold. It’s this icebox of a castle.
Ah-choo!
The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

“My letter from Mr. Barnaby.”

“Whatever are you talking about? I saw your precious Mr. Barnaby in the city yesterday.”

“You can’t have. He’s on a world tour.”

Aunt Mauve snorted. “Where did you get that idea? He’s in the city and he has no intention of publishing your mother’s book.”

“You’re lying.”

“He told me so himself. Ah-choo!”

Will ducked and took off at a run. How could he have thought it was such a perfect day? He despised Aunt Mauve.
Despised
her. And he hated Mr. Barnaby too.
That’s
what the letter had been about. Mr. Barnaby had changed his mind. He wasn’t going to publish
The Magical Night
.

Will ran down Black Penny Road. When he got to the shops, he had to dodge throngs of people carrying bags, some in a hurry and some stopping to gaze in interest at the ancient buildings. Shop doors stood open, and in the street tapestries were displayed on racks or hung on stone walls like exotic butterflies. Why were there so many people? What was going on?

On Thom’s front door was a sign that said
Please come up. Tapestries for sale.

John’s tapestry was hanging on a wall inside the flat and several smaller ones were draped over the backs of chairs. John was in a navy blue suit and his curly hair was slicked back.

“What's happening?” asked Will.

“The tour buses are here,” John told him.

“Get in here, Will!” yelled Thom from the kitchen.

Flour was strewn from one end of the kitchen to the other. Spilled milk dripped onto the floor and Minnie was pecking at a pile of broken eggshells.

“I think I’ve got it perfect this time,” said Thom, hopping back and forth in front of the oven. He raced over to his
Mastering the Art of French Cooking
and read, “The puffs are done when they have doubled in size, are golden brown and firm and crusty to the touch.”

He ran back to the oven and peered through the glass oven door. “They’ve gotten SMALLER!” he cried. “They’ve…COLLAPSED!”

Will ate six anyway, with jam, but Thom refused to touch them. “The poetry reading is tonight!” he cried. “What am I going to do?”

“Have you been outside?” asked Will. “Have you seen all the people?”

Thom groaned. “You’re making me feel worse. They’ll probably all come to the poetry reading. It’s the tour buses. They’re down in the square. They’re the first ones. They'll come every week now." Thom rubbed his floury hands through his hair.
“Dad’s coming downstairs tonight. For the poetry reading. Emma’s dad is coming to get him.”

Minnie flew over to the table and Thom fed her a scrap of cream puff. Will licked the jam off his fingers and poured out the story of Mr. Barnaby and his broken promise.

“That’s so unfair! I thought Mr. Barnaby was your friend,” said Thom, forgetting for a moment about his cream-puff disaster.

“So did I.”

“You can’t give up. Why don’t you ask Favian? He knows a lot about books. He’ll know what to do.”

“Great idea!” said Will. “Let’s go and I’ll help you make some more cream puffs later.”

They left straightaway for
Ex Libris
.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dear Mr. Barnaby

Five long buses were parked
at the end of the square. Tourists milled everywhere, wandering in and out of shops, licking ice-cream cones and taking photos.

Favian was dusting shelves in the bookstore. His eyes glowed with excitement. “I’ve made tremendous sales all morning. There’s a lull right now. I’m hoping some tourists will stay for Vespera’s reading tonight. We’re having warm apple cider and your cream puffs, Thom. We're going to serve them with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce.”

Thom groaned.

Favian put down his duster and listened while Will told him about Mr. Barnaby and
The Magical Night
.

“You must write a letter to this Mr. Barnaby,” he said. “It’s the only thing to do.”

“What would I say?”

“Take the positive approach. Tell him the
Ex Libris
bookstore would like one hundred copies! That’s sure to make him think.”

One hundred copies! “Are you serious?”, said will.

“Absolutely. ASAP. That’s just for a start. I have total faith in your mother’s book.”

Favian burrowed into his desk and produced a sheet of thick cream-coloured writing paper. “Be courteous but firm,” he advised. “You can do it. You’re the writer.”

Favian continued with his dusting and Thom read books while Will composed his letter. After much sighing and lip chewing, he was ready to read it out loud.

Dear Mr. Barnaby.

I am writing to you regarding my mother Adrienna Poppy’s book The Magical Night.

Mr. Favian Longstaff, a successful bookseller, would like to place an order of ONE HUNDRED copies. I told him that you said that The Magical Night will be a best seller. He promises to order more copies in the future. He asked me to tell you that he would like to receive the copies AS SOON AS POSSIBLE as he has many eagerly waiting customers.

Yours truly,

William Poppy

P.S. What happened to the money?

P.P. S. My mother and I believed in you.

When Will got to the end, Thom said, “Perfect! You are a good writer. I wouldn’t have known what to say.”

“It’s just a letter,” said Will. “It’s not like real writing.”

“It needs an envelope and a stamp.” Favian rifled through a few more drawers, humming. “Here we go.”

Will wrote Barnaby Book Publishers Inc. and the address on the front of the envelope.

“I’m going to the post office at noon,” said Favian. “I’ll put it in the post box for you.”

Favian sounded so optimistic that Will cheered up. He and Thom left the bookstore and headed to
The Winking Cat.

“Here comes Peaches,” said Will, watching the dog, his mouth full of frothy pink lace, trot up the road. When they opened the shop door, Peaches slipped in behind them.

Emma was at the counter, busy wrapping a large turquoise stone in tissue paper. She glanced up and frowned. “Now what?” She pried open her dog’s mouth and pulled out the pink lace and held it up. “It’s a BRA!”

“Emma!” said Thom.

“Well, it is,” said Emma.

“Maybe it’s Star’s?” said Will.

“No way,” said Emma, stuffing it in a drawer. “He's
raiding clotheslines again! I can’t exactly go around ask
ing people if they’ve lost a bra.”

Her face brightened. “Thom told me you’re a Moonstone! That means that you’ll stay in Sparrowhawk!”

Had she been worrying that he would leave? Will felt his cheeks turn hot.

“It’s amazing! It’s the
best
news ever!”

“Not everyone’s going to think so,” said Will. He still felt sick when he thought of the words GO AWAY on the castle door.

“Phooey to them!” Emma rang up a purchase of purple candles for a big woman in a flowered dress.

“Do you have to work here all day?” said Thom. “Will’s going to help me with the cream puffs. You could help too.”

“Can’t. I’m still officially grounded.”

“What exactly did you do?” said Will.