Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle (9 page)

“I remember your father being very nosy, too,” she said. “Always crawling about, getting into things when he was a baby.”

Gabriel thought for a moment. “Isn't that what babies
do
? Crawl around, I mean.”

“His older brother was so smart, so elegant.” A misty look
appeared in Trudy Baskin's eyes as she said this, and her voice softened. “Such a pity he ran away from home. I was the only one who really understood him.”

Gabriel felt a cold shiver. He remembered Aunt Jaz saying she had a childhood friend who had had a big crush on Corax. Was it Trudy Baskin? He tried to imagine the gray-haired woman as an eight-year-old girl, but it was difficult. Mrs. Baskin looked as if she had been old forever.

“That must have been a
very
long time ago,” he said.

Trudy's smile vanished. “Don't you have homework to do?” she snapped.

Gabriel trudged up to his bedroom, deciding that he would continue his search if Trudy went out shopping.

An hour later, he heard the front door shut. Immediately, Gabriel began looking for keyholes in the spare bedroom beside Pamela's. It was small, with a four-poster bed, a blanket trunk, and a bureau with glittering crystal knobs. There was also a desk in the darkest corner. The bureau's keyholes were too small, so Gabriel moved on to the trunk. As he pressed the key into its lock, he heard a thump. Looking up, he saw no one. Almost as soon as his eyes dropped, however, he was aware of a shadow on the carpet.

Perhaps it was a squirrel crossing the skylight. Gabriel wiggled the key, but it was obviously the wrong shape for the trunk.

He continued around the room, settling on the end table. He tried this lock, but it was too small. He turned to the
last item—the writing desk—but the dark corner was empty. This puzzled him.

Since Pamela attended a music school in Manhattan, and wouldn't be back for another hour, Gabriel decided to try her room. There was a captain's bed with three drawers, and a simple mahogany dresser. Oddly, the missing desk was
here
, sitting in the corner near the window.

Beginning with the captain's bed, he tried the key in each drawer, but the locks were much too large. He tried the dresser, but the locks were too small. He turned to the desk.

It was missing.

Gabriel surveyed the room. There was no sign of the desk anywhere. Had he imagined it?

Then he heard footsteps on the stairs. Stepping out of Pamela's room, Gabriel peered through the balusters at the landing below. He saw nothing unusual. Nothing, except for the same desk standing against the wall.

Gabriel stared at it for a few moments. It was old and black, with a drop lid that appeared to be locked; small wings were carved into the sides; and the two front legs were shaped like the talons of a bird. Suddenly, one of the legs twitched slightly and scratched the other one.

Gabriel hurried downstairs, but when he reached the landing he found nothing but a shiny brass wastebasket.

The desk had disappeared.

Gabriel tried to make sense of this puzzle. Had the desk moved?
How
could a desk move? Why would it move? Was
it going from room to room to escape being discovered? He fingered the key around his neck thoughtfully.

A bathroom faced the staircase; there wasn't space for a desk there. Aunt Jaz's bedroom came next, a room Gabriel knew very well. He peered inside. Everything was as it should be: a double bed, a rolltop desk, a dresser, and a closet. He didn't need to check the locks—none of them had keyholes. Anyway, he had a hunch now—a very strong hunch—that the key belonged to that black desk.

He proceeded to the study, which was now Trudy's bedroom. The door was shut, but he opened it just a crack and peered in.

The bizarre portrait stared grimly back at him. Beneath it stood the black wooden writing desk.

“Gabriel?” said a voice. “What are you doing?”

Trudy Baskin was at the bottom of the staircase, holding a shopping bag full of groceries.

“Um. Nothing,” he said.

“Why are you in my room?”

“Oh, I just … Nothing, really.”

He hurried out and trudged back upstairs to his bedroom to finish his homework. One thing was clear, though. He would be back.

“Trudy, dear?” said Aunt Jaz the next morning. “Is there any salt or sugar in these pancakes?”

“Not a speck!” replied Trudy. “I'm testing a salt-free, sugar-free cookbook. Aren't they delicious?”

“Well,” said Aunt Jaz, after a taste. “They certainly are salt-free and sugar-free.”

“No salt, no sugar, and
very
good for you!” said Trudy triumphantly. “These are healthier than any pancake you've had in your life.”

“And they're disgusting,” murmured Gabriel to himself.

Aunt Jaz went to the fridge.

“What are you looking for?” asked Trudy.

“Just wondering where the maple syrup is,” replied Aunt Jaz.

“Oh, I cleaned your fridge for you,” said Trudy. “I threw out lots of things. The syrup went with everything else.”

“You threw it
out
?” said Aunt Jaz, her penciled eyebrows quivering at the top of her forehead. “All of it?”

“And the sugar, the honey, and the salt. They're all terribly unhealthy, dear. You'll get used to it! Look at Pamela. She never even asks for salt or sugar anymore.”

Pamela was eating her pancakes the way a reluctant patient takes medicine—in small bites, chewing vigorously to make it seem as if she were eating a lot.

Gabriel wondered if there was any mu shu pork left.

Aunt Jaz must have been thinking the same thing, because she asked Trudy what happened to the Chinese food cartons in the fridge.

“Tossed in the trash,” Trudy replied smugly.

Later, Gabriel asked Pamela how she felt about not having sugar or salt.

“You can't miss what you've never had,” she replied.

It seemed to Gabriel that the least he could do was introduce Pamela to ice cream, chocolate bars, and pretzels.

The next day, Gabriel returned from school to find Trudy in the kitchen stirring a bubbling gray mixture that smelled like sweaty socks. Gabriel felt a pang of concern that this might be dinner.

“Hmm. What's this?” he asked, keeping his fingers crossed that Trudy was just boiling her laundry on the stove.

“Bouillabaisse,” she replied. “It's a French dish.”

“Bouillabaisse?” he repeated. “Is that French for
socks
?”

“No,” she snapped. “Fish soup. We're having it for dinner.”

As Gabriel retreated upstairs, it occurred to him that with Trudy busy in the kitchen, this was an ideal time to have a look at that desk. He peered into the study, but the place beneath the portrait was vacant.

“Gabriel, you need to start your homework,” cried Trudy from downstairs.

“I'm … I'm going to do it on the stoop,” he explained, quickly stepping out of the study.

Outside, Gabriel began sifting through the papers stuffed in his notebook, when he heard footsteps. It was Somes. A purposeful look appeared on the big boy's face.

“Hey!” he said. “You're going to help me prepare my geography report!”

Gabriel regarded Somes warily. “How'd you find out where I live?”

“The class directory, of course,” the boy replied with a grin.

“No, Somes, I have my own report to do,” said Gabriel. “Ask somebody else.”

Somes ignored this remark, taking Gabriel's notebook out of his hands and replacing it with his own geography book. “Concentrate. I have to compare and contrast Paraguay and Argentina.”

“Did you hear me, Somes?” Gabriel replied, raising his voice. “I said no.”

“Well, I can't do it,” insisted Somes, this time in a pleading tone. “Reading drives me crazy. I can't make sense of what I'm looking at!”

“So look at a map,” Gabriel replied, taking back his notebook.

Somes threw Gabriel's notebook off the stoop so that the papers scattered in the breeze. Then he flung his arm around Gabriel's neck and tightened his grip.

“What's the difference between Paraguay and Argentina? Tell me,” said Somes through gritted teeth.

“Get off!” shouted Gabriel helplessly.

At that moment, a girl's voice rang out.

“I'll tell you the difference.”

Abigail Chastain was standing at the bottom of the stoop. She was a blizzard of color—hair in an orange band, three colorful bandannas around her neck, one yellow sneaker, one purple.

“But first you have to let him go,” she said.

Somes immediately lowered his arm.

“Okay,” she said. “For starters, they're both South American countries below the equator.”

“Below the equator,” repeated Somes.

“One is landlocked, one is not. Now, Paraguay is like the hat on the head of Argentina, can you remember that?” she said.

“I think so,” said Somes. “A hat.”

“While Argentina has a long, long coast.”

“A long, long coat?” said Somes.

“Coast,”
Abigail replied.

“Coast,” repeated Somes.

“Now, this is the tricky part. The capital city of Paraguay begins with an ‘A'—Asunción. But the capital of Argentina begins with ‘B'—Buenos Aires.”

This seemed to please Somes. He repeated the words to himself, then paused. “A hat and a coat, and A and B.”

“That's it,” said Abigail. “Now, Argentina's natural resources are …”

“That's enough.” Somes winced, as if more information might burst his brain. Taking back his book, he walked off, shooting Gabriel one last glance.

Although he wasn't too pleased to have been rescued by someone so small, Gabriel felt he owed her some gratitude. “Thank you, Abigail,” he said, gathering his scattered papers.

“De nada,”
she replied. “Call me Abby. Abigail sounds so old and
normal.
” She grimaced at the last word.

“Abby,” he repeated. “Okay.”

Abby narrowed her eyes at him.

“Quick, what's the longest, thinnest cat in the world?” she asked.

“I—I don't know anything about cats.”

“That's okay. It's a riddle. I just made it up.”

Gabriel gaped at her. “You like riddles?”

“Of course. Now hurry up,” she said impatiently.

“Okay, longest, thinnest cat …” Gabriel set to work, thinking about names for cats, and crossed them with names for long, thin things. “I've got it,” he laughed. “A polecat!”

“That was too easy,” she said.

“Try this,” he replied. “What goes up and down the stairs but never moves?”

Her expression became very thoughtful. “Up and down the stairs … I know what it is. It's a
banister
! How many sides does an egg have?”

“Two,” replied Gabriel. “Inside and outside!”

They went back and forth, telling riddles for several minutes until it became obvious that they had something remarkable in common. Both of them began to laugh as they challenged each other.

“Do you know my favorite riddle of all time?” asked Abby.

“ ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?' ”

“Oh, that's from
Alice in Wonderland
,” Gabriel remembered. “But there's no answer to it, I think.”

“Well, I've made up my own answers.” She had a mischievous look in her eye.

“Really?” he replied, impressed.

“First, they both produce notes. Although,” she admitted, “a raven's are rather hoarse and out of tune.” She ticked off other possibilities. “Both of them have
quills.
” She made a motion as if she were writing with a feather. “And they both have
bills
, though a raven's bill can't be paid.”

A thought popped into Gabriel's mind. “Hey, have you ever heard of a writing desk that could move by itself from room to room?”

The minute he said this, he expected Abby to look at him as if he were crazy; instead, she removed her glasses, breathed on them, then polished the lenses with her shirt hem. “Well, if you've got one, I'd love to see it.”

Gabriel grinned.

Abby dug into her pocket and produced a handful of brown sweets wrapped in wax paper. “Want a caramel?” She held one out. “My sister, Viv, makes them. She loves candy. She wants to make candy for a living, like Willy Wonka in that book!”

Gabriel took one and popped it into his mouth. It had a
soft, buttery flavor and melted gently on his tongue. “Do you think anyone makes a living out of riddles?” he asked.

“Oh, I hope so,” said Abby anxiously. “It's the only thing I can do well.”

“Really? Me too!” he admitted. “Sometimes I think it must be for a special reason, but that's crazy, because why would anybody
need
to be good at riddles?”

All at once, Gabriel decided to tell Abby about his father's disappearance. He expected her to react like Pamela, who didn't think much of it, but Abby's eyes lit up. “He
vanished
?” she marveled. “That's incredible! Tell me everything!”

So Gabriel explained about his father's notebook, Corax, the key, and the elusive writing desk. Abby listened very intently, her eyes wide, interrupting sometimes to ask a question. Before long, the sun settled below the rooftops, and the children were whispering in the twilight when a shrill voice called from inside the house.

“Gabriel, are you finished with your homework?”

“I have to go,” Gabriel said to Abby. “We're having fish stew tonight.”

Abby wrinkled her nose with sympathy. “Here!” she said, emptying a fistful of caramels into his hand. Gabriel stuffed the candies into his pocket and waved as she skipped across the street in her mismatched shoes.