Hatched Page 6

  Underneath it I found a stack of paintings.

  Paintings of gnomes.

  These weren’t paintings of those little garden statues, though. These were realistic paintings, with the gnomes sitting in cozy homes, or talking to rabbits, or playing games. One showed a whole family of gnomes riding on a raccoon.

  I added one of the pictures to my stack of puzzles and took it down to show Bibi. She looked startled and a little uncomfortable when she saw it.

  “That was done by your great-uncle Lukas,” she said.

  She sounded flustered. When I asked why, she said, “Well, he shouldn’t have painted them.”

  Which I thought was a very odd answer.

  “How come no one ever mentioned this uncle to me before?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’s been gone for years, dear. Now come with me. We need to go outside and check the garden to see if last night’s storm did any damage. It was a real toad strangler.”

  Clearly she was trying to change the subject.

  WHY??

  From the Notebook of

  Abelard Chronicus

  June 30

  We have landed in just the place I was hoping for! The storm was helpful in that regard, as it gave me a good reason to direct Gerald toward the Riddlehoover farm.

  On the other hand, the attack by the human planes was unnerving. I had not been anticipating that!

  Of course, the only reason I knew what those things were was because of my “forbidden” research, which has led me to understand far more about the human world than I really wanted to. But without that research, Gerald and I might have died last night. So, I wave my beard at “forbidden” research. It is an idea for small hearts and tight digestive systems!

  On the plus side, every fiber of my being is whispering that what I have come here in search of, what I have been after all these years, is close by.

  I have to be right. I HAVE TO BE! Otherwise all my research, all the years of scorn, not to mention the shameful way I have used Gerald…all of that will be for nothing.

  Feh.

  My “feelings” are slender threads to put my trust in. Better to rely on the books, the research, the interpretation, the reading between the lines, the leaps of instinct driven by fact and discovery. We are not far from my goal, and I am close to finding that which was lost to me.

  I would bet my life on it.

  For that matter, I have bet my life on it.

  And maybe Gerald’s as well.

  The griffling is asleep now, a well-earned rest. I know the flight toward and through the stone wall was emotionally exhausting for him. Why didn’t I have the courage to be honest with him about that? Given how many other rules and laws I am breaking, you would think I could have broken that one, too.

  I guess there is truth in the saying that old habits die hard. My habit of secrecy still shapes my behavior.

  One more reason to feel ashamed.

  Tuesday, June 30 (continued)

  After my cry of despair Master Abelard came strolling across the wooden floor as if nothing at all had happened. But his words were harsh on my heart. Looking up at me, he said, “Gerald, you must stop reacting to every moment of worry as if it were the greatest terror you have ever experienced. I am right here. I woke up early. I did some exploring. I found some fascinating things.”

  “Like what?” I replied, hoping a sign of interest would reduce some of the way I had humiliated myself.

  But all he said was “I prefer not to discuss that now. The most pressing issue at the moment is how to feed you.”

  He was right about that. My stomach was empty and I needed to hunt. But how could I do that? It was broad daylight and we were in the human world. I could not allow myself to be seen! Happily, his words gave me hope.

  “You know a place where I can get food right now?” I asked eagerly.

  Master A shook his head. “No. You’re going to have to wait until nightfall. I just mean we need to think about the best way for you to leave the barn without being seen when the time comes.”

  “I can’t wait until night!” I replied, trying not to whine. “I am hungry now!”

  Not only was I hungry, I was annoyed. That’s because I hadn’t been thinking about how hungry I was until Master A mentioned the topic.

  I also felt stupid, because back when I decided to run away I hadn’t even thought about the matter of eating.

  Still, given the terrain we flew over last night, it shouldn’t be a problem. The area is just right for my favorite foods, fish and bunnies.

  Bunnies especially. They are tasty-good balls of furry yumbo!

  Especially the pink ones.

  Here is today’s poem:

  Bunnies are yummy,

  Bunnies are great.

  I wish that I had some

  Right now on my plate.

  Phooey. The rhymes are good, but since griffins don’t use plates, it doesn’t quite make sense.

  Poems should make sense, right?

  I was pulled from thoughts of plates, food, and poems by Master A snapping, “If you hadn’t slept so late, we could have gotten out of this barn while it was still dark.” He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, then said, “I’m sorry, Gerald. That was unfair. You flew a mighty flight last night. It’s just that I am on edge right now.”

  That is one of the things I love about my teacher. He is willing to admit when he has been unnecessarily harsh.

  That still didn’t solve the problem of me being hungry.

  Or the problem that the only possible meal anywhere near me at that moment was Master A himself.

  It always disturbs me when I am so hungry I begin thinking about the fact that I could swallow him with a single bite.

  I began counting pieces of straw to distract myself.

  From the Notebook of

  Abelard Chronicus

  June 30 (later)

  It was never my intent to become a babysitter for a griffling. However, that seems to be my situation right now and I need to do it well, since Gerald is large and hungry, and I am small and edible.

  I am torn between caring for my charge and charging off to follow my own mission.

  Were it not for my wretched conscience, I would have been long gone by now.

  Would that I could be the scoundrel I like to imagine myself to be!

  I blame my inability to be properly ruthless on my mother.

  Tuesday, June 30 (early evening)

  I’m so hungry that I could eat a dragon’s butt, scales and all!

  If I do not get something to eat soon I fear Master A will be in trouble.

  Gaaah! How can I even think such a thing?

  I am no mere beast!

  I am a griffin, proud and fierce!

  But I hunger….

  From the Notebook of

  Abelard Chronicus

  June 30 (evening)

  Darkness arrived just in time and I was able to direct Gerald to the woods, where he could hunt. I am not sure how much longer he could have restrained his appetite.

  Now that he is gone, I can leave to pursue my own quest.

  I plan to be back before morning, of course.

  It would not be good to leave the griffling on his own.

  From Brad’s Real Journal

  7/1

  By the Great Googly Pasta Monster, I swear I am as fascinated by Bibi’s barn as I am by her attic.

  Unfortunately, the place also creeps me out. It’s so old and rickety that when I’m in there I get the feeling the whole thing might collapse on my head at any moment.

  That’s not just my “overactive imagination” (thank you, school shrink) at work. I’ve seen collapsed barns while Bibi and I have driven around on errands. They make me shudder.

  And then, of course, there’s what happened to Dad…

  Despite these things, the barn still fascinates me. Or maybe it’s because of them? (Again, thank you, school shrink.) Well, all that aside, I love the
abandoned farm equipment (fun to climb on!). I love the tool bench. I love that at the back of the ground floor a ladder leads to the loft—two lofts, actually. The lower loft is empty, the upper loft still has some straw and (even better) a storage area with a collection of stuff almost as cool as what’s in Bibi’s attic.

  I guess my antecedents had too much junk to keep in one place.

  Mmmmmm—I smell bacon! (Bibi feeds me much better than Mom does.) Need to finish this up so I can go down to breakfast. But later today I plan to check out the barn.

  By “later” I mean sometime around noon, when the sun is high and bright and I am less likely to run into something that might, as Bibi likes to say, “go bump in the night.”

  Actually she has a whole poem about things that go bump in the night. She says it came from Scotland, where I guess we had two or three ancestors about a billion years ago. Sometimes I ask her to say the poem to me just before I go to bed. She gets a gleam in her eye, puts on a Scottish accent, and recites:

  From ghoulies and ghosties

  And long-leggedy beasties

  And things that go bump in the night,

  Good Lord, deliver us!

  Of course, I don’t really think there’s anything crazy-weird out in the barn.

  Not really.

  Seriously, not really!

  Even so, I’m not going out there until sometime around noon.

  In other news, Bibi’s friend Herb is coming for dinner tonight. That’s all right. I like him well enough, despite his corny jokes.

  Or maybe because of them.

  I just wish he wouldn’t try to talk to me about Dad.

  Letter and photo from Bradley Ashango’s desk drawer

  Brad—

  Hey, son! How you doing? I’m okay, except for the fact that I miss you and your mom so much. The work here is going well. I feel like I’m really doing some good for these folks.

  And here’s some other good news: I should be home at the end of July! We’ll have some times then, eh, my lad? For one thing, we can get back to that book we’ve been working on. I can’t wait to see what we cook up next for our poor hero!

  Hope the heat isn’t getting to you—I know what summer in the city can be like.

  Love always to you and your mom,

  Dad

  PS: I’m enclosing a picture of me. One of my buddies at the clinic took this. He actually has an old-fashioned camera that uses film!

  Wednesday, July 1

  Last night I hunted, and I fed, and that was good.

  The fact that bunnies exist in both the Enchanted Realm and the human world is proof that the Great Griffin loves us!

  When I returned from my hunt, Master Abelard was not in the barn.

  I did not worry….I assumed he had gone out to forage himself. Remembering how he had chastised me when I panicked the first time I thought he was gone, I told myself that all was well.

  Tired from the work of hunting, I slept.

  To my horror, when I woke this morning he still was not here!

  New panic rose within me.

  I tried to fight it back, but I am lost without him.

  Where can he be?

  Has some dread catastrophe befallen him?

  What will I do without his guidance?

  I am a griffin alone, a stranded soul, a stranger in a strange land!

  I wonder if my family is thinking about me now. Do they miss me? Worry about me? Or are they just glad that I’m gone?

  I wish I had a little bird that could tell me, that could watch them and report back.

  Wait! I just heard something.

  Must stop writing…I need to be ready for anything.

  From Brad’s Real Journal

  OMG!

  OMG OMG OMG!

  OMG!

  Wednesday, July 1 (continued)

  I have been seen.

  I have been seen!!!

  I have violated—no, shattered!—the Great Code of the Griffins.

  I am a horrible griffin.

  I despair.

  By Marta Joosten

  Last night one of the Up Above patrols came across a gnome, wounded and insensible, lying half-hidden beneath a fallen fern. Had he not emitted a moan as they were passing by, the patrol might not have discovered him at all. (The consequences should a human have found him are too horrifying to contemplate.)

  It turned out to be the well-known alarmist Eduard Chronicus. The patrol carried him back underground with them, and he is now resting in the Level One hospital.

  Attempts to question him about what happened have been put off until he has had time to recover.

  From art on file

  From Brad’s Real Journal

  7/1

  I am not crazy.

  Seriously, I do not think I am crazy.

  Except maybe I am.

  Because I just saw a griffin in the barn.

  I mean, gnomes are one thing. But a freaking GRIFFIN?!

  This CANNOT be real.

  But what if it is?!?!

  Wednesday, July 1 (later)

  My heart is fluttering like a startled bird. That is not entirely weird—I am part bird after all. But that bird part is all eagle, and I should not be affrighted by a mere human. Well, I wasn’t really frightened by the human itself. It’s having been seen that is causing me to panic.

  Here is what happened. When I heard that sound, I set aside my diary and moved into pounce stance, ready to fight if need be. Gazing ahead with an eagle eye, I saw the face of a human peering at me from the stairs that lead to this part of the loft. It was a boy, I think (I have no experience with humans, so it is hard to be sure). When our eyes met he let out a gasp, then scrambled down and away.

  Oh, I am a bad, bad griffin to have let myself be seen!

  I am surprised I have not already been blasted by a bolt of sacred lightning.

  And what should I do now? Fly back to the Enchanted Realm? Great Izzikiah! I suddenly realize I do not even know how to do that! I had counted on Master A to help me when (if ever) it was time to return.

  Even if I did know how, I couldn’t go without him. I am not such a bad griffin that I would abandon my teacher.

  But what has happened to him?

  What if he is sick, or injured, or even (the feather trembles in my talons as I write this)…dead?

  I don’t know what to do!

  From the Notebook of

  Abelard Chronicus

  July 1

  I have achieved my goal! However, I have done it in a most backward way. Instead of finding an entrance to Batavia, I was carried here while unconscious.

  Here is what happened. I was at the edge of the forest, searching for some sign of the city, when I was snatched up by an owl!

  I should have been watching for owls, but years of living in the Enchanted Realm, where we have a pact of peace with them, had made me incautious. During that heart-stopping moment when I was snatched from the ground, I cursed myself for the carelessness that I knew could cost me my life. I also knew that I had to act fast or end up as nothing more than an owl pellet!

  Fortunately, my captor had made an awkward grab and I had one arm free. Drawing my knife, I stabbed at his foot. I knew if he let me go, the plunge to earth might kill me. But to remain in his clutches was certain death, whereas I am small enough and light enough that there was at least a chance I could survive the fall.

  Three quick jabs was all it took. The bird screeched in rage but opened his talons.

  I plummeted downward, bounced off a branch, then another, then another…and that’s the last thing I remember until I woke here in New Batavia, as it’s now called. So my calculations and research were right. If only I could tell Henrik!

  I am in a hospital of some sort. My head hurts, my left arm is in a sling, and I have a serious puncture wound in my side from one of the owl’s talons.

  If not for the quality of gnomic medicine, I might not have made it through the night!

  I am b
eing treated well, but they have mistaken me for someone else…a fact that fills me with both joy and dread. Joy because it means the one I seek is known here. Dread because he himself must be missing. Otherwise why would they think I am him?

  Someone is coming. Will write more later.

  From Brad’s Real Journal

  7/1 (continued)

  I’m feeling calmer now, so I think I can manage to write down what happened a little while ago…even though it’s as weird as deep-fried cauliflower in peanut butter sauce. (Which my mother actually tried to feed me one night!)

  Deep breath. Okay, here goes. As I had planned, I went out to the barn after lunch. The sky was bright and clear, so it seemed about as safe as it could ever be…after all, nothing can go “bump in the night” when it’s the middle of the day! To be honest, I didn’t really think there was anything out there anyway. Mostly I wanted to examine the place as a possible spot to hang out. Assuming I can find someone around here to be friends with, it might make a good clubhouse.

  I started by poking around on the ground floor. I climbed on the old tractor (which I am hoping Bibi will teach me to drive this year). Then I studied the circular saw blades that hang on the wall; they would be great for that horror vid I want to do someday, the one Dad and I wrote some scenes for.

  Next I did what I always do and put my finger in the vise bolted to the old workbench. I know that sounds kind of stupid, but I like to pretend it’s a medieval torture device and I want to see how much I can endure. I would love to think that if the evil minions of the king used it on me, I could keep from blurting out the vital secret that was key to the rebellion. Unfortunately, as soon as I actually start to tighten the vise, I know if someone did this to me for real I would crack faster than a walnut hit by a sledgehammer. Secrets would come flying out of my mouth like bats from a cave at twilight!