CHAPTER TEN

I am sorry about the shooting,” Mr. Mendizabal said as he led them through the woods, away from the plane. He walked like an aging military commando.

“Oh yeah,” Elliot replied. “No problem. Anytime.”

“You must be very careful trespassing in the lands of the Euskaldunak. We don’t take kindly to it. Just ask the Romans.” The grizzled man with the black beret chuckled and hefted his rifle over his shoulder. “But, personally, I have never seen so many trespassers as these days!”

“Trespassers?” the professor asked. “Here?”

“Yes! People are snooping around my property, day and night. Mysterious vehicles drive up the mountain and then, when they catch sight of me, turn around and drive back down. And then my dear herensuge goes missing!” The tough Euskaldun sniffled hard and cleared his throat. Uchenna wondered if he was crying. She’d never seen a man cry while carrying a rifle.

“But what is this?” Mr. Mendizabal suddenly asked, gesturing at Jersey.

The professor told his friend all about Jersey—his flying and his ability to turn invisible in shadows in particular—as they made their way up the mountain. Finally, they came in view of a large farmhouse. “Welcome,” said Mr. Mendizabal, “to my baserri, my home. It is called mendizabal, which means ‘house that is close to the wide mountains.’” He gestured at the peaks all around them.

“I thought your name was Mendizabal,” said Uchenna.

Elliot said, “The Euskaldunak take their names from their family homes. Isn’t that right, sir?”

“Indeed it is,” agreed Mr. Mendizabal. “This is our ancestral home, and so this is what we are called.”

From the outside, Mr. Mendizabal’s baserri was a strange-looking place, like someone had stapled together a bunch of unrelated buildings from totally different time periods. The ground floor was made entirely of stone, and above it was another level made from wooden beams joined with plaster. Above that was a high, sloped roof covered in red tiles. There was a rusty yellow pickup truck parked outside.

Mr. Mendizabal led them through the front door into a spare living room, decorated with wood and sheepskins. The air was thick with the scent of baking bread and grilling fish. “Are you hungry?” Mr. Mendizabal asked. “I have made pintxos!”

“PEEN-chohs! My favorite!” exclaimed the professor.

Mr. Mendizabal led them to a large wooden table in his kitchen and invited them to sit. On the table was a platter of tiny slices of bread, some piled high with bits of sausage, some with grilled fish, and some with roasted peppers. They were held together with toothpicks.

Professor Fauna and Uchenna dug in, making sure to try every kind of pintxo on the platter. Jersey liked the fish ones, but didn’t bother with the bread part.

Elliot spread a napkin on his lap and eyed the pintxos nervously. “What’s on these noodles?” he asked as he tentatively helped himself to a bowl of stringy white things flecked with chunks of red and white.

“Ah, that is a local delicacy called txitxardin.” It sounded like CHEE-char-deen. “I cook them in olive oil and garlic, with a bit of hot pepper.”

“Mmm!” Elliot said, scooping them into his mouth. “Good!”

“Yes, they are. But they are not noodles. They are baby eels.”

Elliot, his mouth full, stopped chewing. His eyes bulged. Uchenna laughed. A moment later, when no one was looking, he managed to take the eels out of his mouth and deposit them in his napkin.

Jersey crawled down into Elliot’s lap and ate the half-chewed eels. Elliot tried not to throw up.