Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle (27 page)

S
eptimus wanted to set out for Aviopolis as soon as possible. This pleased Gabriel, so they agreed to meet the next evening at the cemetery.

Gabriel and Paladin flew home discussing the plan.

Are you sure we can trust him?

Not really
, replied Gabriel.
There's no way I'll let him have the staff.

In the morning, Gabriel explained the plan to Pamela; on the walk to school, he told Abigail; and he slipped a note to Somes during math.

At dinner, Gabriel and Pamela ate great helpings of Trudy's eggplant ragout, a purple and black broth that smelled like skunk cabbage, knowing they would need plenty of energy for the evening's adventure.

Gabriel stepped out of the house first, with Paladin on his shoulder and staff in hand. Pamela appeared a moment later, holding her violin case.

“Do you really want to bring something that valuable?” said Gabriel.

“Mother thinks I'm practicing,” Pamela explained. “Besides, if it works on writing desks, it might work on other things.”

Gabriel nodded. “I never would have thought of that.”

Abby raced across the street wearing rubber boots (one yellow, one purple), four cardigans, and a heavily stocked backpack slung over her shoulder.

“Where's Somes?” she asked.

“Meeting us at the cemetery,” Gabriel explained.

They set off along wet Brooklyn streets, past dark storefronts, dimly lit restaurants, and bright bodegas with neon lights glowing in the gathering fog, toward the cemetery that rose on a hill overlooking New York Bay. Aside from the mournful echo of a ship's horn, the city was quiet. Gabriel imagined most people were nestled warmly in their armchairs or curled up in bed, unconcerned about a world far beneath the earth ruled by a villainous half man, half raven.

He was excited at the prospect of rescuing his father, but terribly anxious, too. If they got lost, who would know where to find them? Who would look so far under the ground, or even imagine a city populated by birds, dominated by the Lord of Air and Darkness?

The moon was just a fuzzy smear behind the clouds as they entered the cemetery gate. After searching, they found the Finley mausoleum and waited for Somes. The wind began to blow unkindly, chilling their ears and biting at their cheeks. When a security guard drove by, flashing his searchlight, the children scattered to keep out of sight.

As Somes prepared to leave the house, Mr. Grindle arrived with a pizza box. He squinted at the boy's glasses. “Where'd you get those?”

“A nice lady gave them to me,” Somes replied, adjusting them. “She checked my eyes and said I needed them for reading.”

“A nice lady, huh?” His father sniffed. “Well, glasses can't make a dumb kid smart.”

Somes frowned. “I can see better. I can read better.”

Unimpressed, his father put down the pizza box. “Sit. I brought dinner.”

Somes hesitated. He was very hungry, but he had to go.

“Are you late for a train?” snapped Mr. Grindle. “Sit.”

His stomach was growling, so Somes took a seat. He wolfed down a slice and was halfway through a second when his father spoke.

“Now,” said Mr. Grindle. “Suppose you tell me where you were going?”

“Cemetery,” said Somes.

“Cemetery? Why?”

Somes shrugged. “It's safe there.”

Suddenly, Mr. Grindle's hand flew out and slapped Somes on the cheek, sending his glasses flying across the floor. Somes picked them up tenderly. “You almost broke them!” he cried.

“I told you, glasses can't make a dumb kid smart.”

“I'm not dumb,” Somes replied, putting the glasses on.

His father raised his arm to slap him again; but this time, Somes was ready. He raised his hand, catching his father's wrist, and he twisted it. The man let out a cry and fell off his seat.

“I'm not dumb!” Somes said angrily.

With a fresh slice of warm pizza cradled in his hand, Somes ran out of the house—and he didn't stop running until his father's shouts had faded in the soft rumble of evening traffic.

When Somes arrived at the cemetery, a low-hanging mist encircled the gravestones. He listened for voices, but all sounds were muffled here. He wondered if the dead kept things nice and quiet. Had his friends forgotten about him? Even though he had eaten, Somes felt a lonely ache in his chest. He tossed away the last crust of pizza and leaned against the Finley mausoleum.

Moments later, Gabriel arrived with Paladin on his shoulder, Abby and Pamela by his side. He saw Somes, then noticed three dark birds alight above him on the roof of the mausoleum.

“Somes! Step over here, carefully,” said Gabriel.

Paladin addressed the birds. “Tie me up and I'll walk all day. Loosen me and I'll sit still. What am I?”

The birds didn't answer.

“I am a pair of sneakers!” said Paladin. When the birds didn't laugh, he nodded at Gabriel.
Definitely valravens.

The ghouls stared from Paladin to Gabriel, pining for a time when they had their own human companions. This feeling passed quickly. Their eyes burned a sicklier yellow and their bitterness reappeared.

“Son of Finley!” said the first valraven. “The Lord of Air and Darkness wants the torc.”

“I don't have it,” replied Gabriel.

“Deliver it—or die!” added the second.

Gabriel felt a sudden tremor come from the staff in his hand. The ancient wood grew warm; its heat jumped to his fingertips and traveled up his arm into his shoulders. Quivering, the staff began to turn, its tip pointing at the birds.

Out came a loud
pop!

The first valraven disappeared, leaving only a cloud of black feathers fluttering down.

“Cool,” said Gabriel, staring at the staff. “This is what the Romany Geese said it would do.” He turned the staff toward the remaining phantoms.

Pop! Pop!
Two more clouds of feathers.

“How does it do that?” Somes looked at Gabriel with amazement.

“I have no idea,” said Gabriel.

“Look out!” exclaimed Paladin.

There was a cry from the mist. A man in a long coat came
running, waving his arms wildly. Two valravens pursued him, their yellow eyes piercing the fog.

“Septimus!” said Pamela.

Gabriel raised the staff and pointed it at one of the valravens. There was another abrupt
pop!
and the valraven vanished, leaving a few bones and feathers scattered on the ground. Gabriel pointed the staff at the next valraven and it disappeared just as swiftly.

“Ha ha! You wretches! That'll teach you!” Septimus shook his fist triumphantly. Facing Gabriel, his gaze turned cunning. “Well done, lad. Now, let's have a look at that marvelous thing, eh?”

Gabriel pulled the staff to his chest. “I don't think so.”

“Dear boy …” Septimus's expression shifted quickly to disappointment. “You still don't trust me?”

“I trusted you
once
,” Gabriel reminded him.

The man's shoulders dropped; he searched the group for a sympathetic face, but there wasn't one.

Meanwhile, Somes had also been admiring the staff. “Can I hold it, Gabriel?” he asked.

“Sorry, Somes,” said Gabriel. “But I think I'd better keep it for now.”

The big boy frowned, embarrassed to be treated just like Septimus in front of the others. Septimus noticed this immediately and offered his hand.

“We haven't met. I'm Septimus Geiger.”

Somes shook his hand and gave his name. Septimus smiled, filing away the information. Suddenly, his hand was grabbed by Abby and given a vigorous shake.

“We haven't met either,” she said. “I'm Abby Chastain. I know all about you! And you've already met Pamela.”

At the mention of Pamela, Septimus's smile faded. “Charmed,” he muttered.

“So,” said Abby, turning to the mausoleum. “How do we get in?”

The gate was made of tarnished bronze. The circular hole in the very center was the right size for a raven. It was wrought in braided metal, with two raven heads meeting at the bottom, just like the torc. Paladin perched upon it and looked to see if there was a lock on the inside but didn't find anything. They all took turns trying to turn the handle, but it wouldn't budge.

“Why put a gate here that doesn't open?” Gabriel wondered.

“It's clearly not an entrance for humans,” said Septimus.

“How did you get through when you escaped?” asked Abby.

“I merged with Crawfin and entered through the hole. Valravens can come and go—that's what it's for. If you look carefully at the gate, there are symbols.” He pointed to a symbol of a tower. “Here, you see the citadel of Aviopolis.”

“What's a citadel?” asked Pamela.

“An inescapable fortress,” said Septimus. “It was there that Adam Finley and I were imprisoned by Corax.”

Abby looked at Septimus. “If it's
inescapable
, how did you escape?”

Septimus rubbed his hands nervously. “It's complicated.”

“Even better. Try me,” persisted Abby.

Septimus frowned. “Well, I made a pledge.”

“What kind of pledge?”

The man sighed. “A pledge that I would find the torc … and bring it to Corax.”

“What?” cried Gabriel with disgust. “
That
was your pledge? To help him? How could you do that, Septimus?” Disheartened, the boy shook his head. “You called yourself a friend of my father's.”

Septimus squirmed. “Look, no matter what I
said
, all along my plan was to rescue my good friend Adam Finley! Cross my heart!”

“Except that when you had the torc, you didn't rescue him,” charged Gabriel. “You went to the finest restaurant in town, remember?”

“You can't imagine its awful power!” said Septimus, clawing at the torc that festered under his skin. “Surely one can make mistakes and be forgiven?” He gazed imploringly at the children, but they turned back to the gate.

“If it doesn't have a keyhole, there must be a trick to it,” said Abby.

All this time, Somes had been staring at the gate handle. “There are words,” he said, adjusting his glasses to look closer.

“Here!” Abby removed a flashlight from her backpack, focusing the beam to reveal four lines etched in the metal:

“
Swear thy loyalty?
I'm not going to do that,” said Gabriel.

“There's no other way in, dear boy!” sputtered Septimus. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Look, you don't have to mean it. If you just say it, the gate will probably open.”

“Yes, but a
binding oath
means a promise,” said Abby.

“I can't believe the fuss you're making,” said Septimus. “Why, I've made promises my whole life that I didn't—”

“We know that,” interrupted Gabriel.

“Look at it this way,” the man replied. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me. Here, I'll go first.”

Winking at the children, Septimus grabbed the handle and spoke into the hole. “I, Septimus Geiger, traveler and seeker of fine curiosities, hereby pledge loyalty to Corax, Lord of Air and Darkness!”

Those last words echoed unnaturally, as if his pledge
extended far beyond the door, down into the depths of Aviopolis.

Moments later, a sound came back, deep and ominous like a thunderclap, the handle turned, and the gate slowly creaked open.

Septimus laughed, and with a jolly grin, stepped inside.

The gate immediately began closing. Just in time, Somes grabbed a stone and wedged it into the opening. “Gabriel,” he whispered, “use the staff!”

Gabriel jammed the staff into the gap and pried the gate open a bit more. The staff quivered violently and he felt its familiar warmth spread into his fingers and arms. It appeared to be fighting the very magic that commanded the gate.

“Everybody in!” said Gabriel, and the children hurried into the little building. Then Gabriel drew out the staff and the gate slammed shut with a bang, pulverizing the stone into dust.

Ahead lay a staircase that wound down in a seemingly endless spiral. The right side had no railing, just darkness. The children took their first steps clinging to a stone wall on the left side while trying to imagine, deep below, a city of birds—a city called Aviopolis.

Somes and Septimus