Gabriel Finley and the Raven’s Riddle (10 page)

Trudy Baskin's dinner had to be eaten. Aunt Jaz gave Gabriel a look across the table that made that very clear. He followed Pamela's example, taking little nibbles and spreading his food around the plate to make it look less full.

Finally, he excused himself to empty his plate in the kitchen. Pamela followed him. They shared a smile as they tipped their food into the trash can.

“Want a caramel?” he whispered.

“What's that?”

Gabriel pulled one of the sweets rolled in wax paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Just put this in your mouth, and don't tell your mother.”

Cautiously, Pamela unwrapped the paper and slipped the caramel between her lips.

Gabriel watched her eyes slowly widen. She'd obviously never tasted anything so wonderful before in her life. When she asked him if he had more, he dropped six of them into her hand.

Corax Is Plotting

I
n a tree outside the Finley house, the baby raven huddled in a nest rebuilt of sticks, string, linen, and fluff. He had poked a spyhole in the nest's lining to watch a boy named Gabriel emerge from his house every morning and walk to school. Paladin guessed this was Adam Finley's son. He had seen him threatened by a bigger boy and immediately felt concern for him. He wondered if he might even
almost
understand what the boy was thinking.

Paladin's beak was more ravenlike now. Its curved tip resembled his mother's. His feathered coat was as dark and shiny as coal. He wished he could fly, but his wings were still small and weak. This worried him because there were more valravens around. The sparrows and finches often traded gossip about them. When he told his mother what he heard them saying, she warned Paladin not to listen to little birds.

“
Anything
a sparrow or a finch says is probably nonsense,” she said. “They will say whatever will make themselves feel important. Then there are the pigeons, also notorious liars, but they only talk about money.”

“What's money?” asked Paladin.

“The scraps of metal and paper that people exchange with one another. Haven't you ever wondered why pigeons are constantly staring at the ground?”

“I thought they were looking for food.”

“Oh, there's plenty to eat on a city street,” his mother said. “Pigeons hoard money. That's why they're always pecking between the cracks in the sidewalks. They gather coins and stack them where they roost, then boast about how much they have.”

“But why?”

Paladin's mother shook her head. “It makes no sense; pigeons are dull, witless creatures.”

Endora flew off to find more food, but she was gone longer than usual. Paladin became scared and poked his head up to look for her. A small brown finch named Twit landed on a branch above his nest.

“We're done for! Finished! Doomed!” she cried.

“Why?” asked Paladin.

The finch looked down at Paladin. “Valravens. Calamity! Corax!”

Paladin became alert. “Who?” he said. “Who is
Corax
?”

Always delighted to share gossip, the finch proceeded to explain. “Corax is the leader of the valravens,” she said. “Part human and part raven. A demon!”

Trembling, Paladin wanted to know more. “Have
you
seen him?” he asked.

“Oh”—the finch puffed up her chest—“seen him? Oh—
hundreds
of times!”

“What does he look like?”

“Bigger than a buzzard, louder than a lark, meaner than a merlin,” bluffed the bird.

“Where did you see him?” asked Paladin. “Near here?”

Twit glanced around. “He lives under the ground in a scary place called Aviopolis. Miles down under. Last place I'd ever go!”

Paladin cocked his head, confused. “If it's the last place you'd ever go, how did you see him hundreds of times?”

A finch's brain is so small that it can't remember all the lies it tells. She ignored the question and continued to spin more incredible stories for the young raven; but we shall move on to one piece of information that was true. This came at the end of the conversation, when Twit grew tired, and her imagination ran out.

“I hear from my friends that Corax is plotting his return to the land above. He's captured the torc's last owner, but not the torc. When he wraps his talons around
that
, he could wish for …” The bird blinked her foolish little eyes. “All the worms he could ever want! Or a cage for every cat in the world! It's black magic, you know.”

At this moment, a shadow swooped overhead; the finch uttered a frantic cry and took off.

Endora landed, holding a peach slice in her beak.

“Oh, Mother!” said Paladin, eager to share his news. “Twit
told me about that valraven, Corax. He's plotting his return from Aviopolis.”

If there was any proof needed that the finch was speaking the truth, it lay in Endora's expression. “Yes, my darling,” she replied. “It is why I guard you so carefully. If he found you …”

Trembling, the young raven replied, “I'd be done for? Finished? Doomed?”

Endora smiled, recognizing the wild remarks of a finch. But then her expression turned serious. “Remember, Paladin, you're a raven, not a finch. Your grandfather was brave and cunning and hid the torc so well that no valraven has found it. You will follow in his path.”

“Me? But I can't even fly!”

“It's almost time for you to learn,” his mother replied.

The Telltale Caramel

T
he next day at school, Gabriel watched Somes try to explain the difference between Paraguay and Argentina. Unfortunately, everything Abby had told him had become jumbled in his head.

“One's a hat, the other's a coat,” Somes explained.

“One's a
hat
?” repeated Ms. Cumacho, her eyes narrowing. “Somes, exactly what do you mean?”

“I m-mean, one's a hat on the other,” stammered Somes. “Argentina's a long coat and its capital begins with a ‘B,' or is it an ‘A'? I'm not sure. But they're very different.”

“Hats? Coats?” The teacher put a mark in her grade book and shook her head. “You need to dig into that textbook and stop giving me silly answers, do you understand, young man?”

The boy's eyes surveyed the classroom, looking for someone to blame for his disgrace. They rested on Gabriel.

Later, as Gabriel headed down the corridor, he felt Somes's enormous fist thump against his back.

“Look, I didn't tell you what to say!” protested Gabriel.

“But if you had given me the right answers, I wouldn't be
in trouble!” thundered Somes, pressing Gabriel against the lockers so hard that he knocked the air out of the smaller boy's lungs.

“If you did your own work,” Gabriel gasped, “you wouldn't be in trouble.”

“After school you're going to help me!” Somes said. “You'll tell me everything I need to know, or—” Just then, the bell rang, and Somes had to release Gabriel.

When the teacher dismissed the class that afternoon, Somes was on his feet before Gabriel had even thrown his books together.

“Somes, you want some taffy?” said a voice. “My sister Viv made a ton of it!”

Somes's eyes turned to Abby, who beckoned to him with a paper bag stuffed with the salty candies. Abby looked at Gabriel and silently mouthed the word run!

“Here, Somes,” she said. “I've got three flavors.…”

As Gabriel sprinted home, he thought about Abby's ploy. She was so cunning—the perfect person to help him catch the writing desk.

He slowed down at the steps to his house, and all of a sudden, he felt as if he was being watched. The feeling wasn't scary; it was warm and comforting. Gabriel looked up at the nearby oak tree, to the nest on the high branch, and saw the small head of a raven chick. Their eyes met briefly. Gabriel smiled, feeling a strange hint of kinship.

Trouble was waiting for Gabriel when he stepped into the kitchen.

“Ah, there he is!” said a furious voice.

Trudy Baskin stood beside a pot on the ancient stove (which made loud knocks of protest). Judging from the colors bubbling around the lid, the evening's dinner was a brown sweater. There was no sign of Aunt Jaz; Gabriel remembered that she had an event at school that evening. Pamela faced her mother, looking scared.

“Mom, can I just explain?” she began.

“Now, dear, I'm sure
you
had nothing to do with this!” Trudy said softly, her fierce stare directed at Gabriel. “It isn't the sort of thing you would
ever
do by yourself. You go up and practice the violin while we sort out this foolishness.”

“Mom,” Pamela pleaded. “It's not his fault!”

“Go practice,” snapped her mother.

Shooting Gabriel an apologetic glance, Pamela picked up her violin case and hurried up the stairs.

“Have you seen this before? I found it in my daughter's coat pocket!”