chapter 13

The Necklace

Twig scurried into the house.

“Well!” said his mother, coming from the kitchen, drying her paws. “How was your day?”

“I just turned in my Metal Craft project,” Twig replied. He found himself turning red at the ears. “It’s . . . pretty good.”

“Oh?” his mother exclaimed. “Funny. You never liked Metal Craft before. Now you can hardly wait to get to class. But your take-home assignments . . . I never see you working on them.”

“I . . . I do lot of them at school, in my free time. Or over at Lily’s,” Twig answered. He felt his fur ripple nervously. “I like working on them when no one is around, so I wait until after school sometimes.”

“Hmm,” said Olive. “Well, anyway, I’ve invited Beau over for dinner tonight.” She was spreading a brightly flowered cloth over the oak table, smoothing it out, and placing a vase of honeysuckle flowers in the center. “Get washed up. He’ll be here soon.”

“What are we having?” called Twig from his washbasin.

“Artichokes!” Olive called back.

That explained the delicious smells: artichokes stuffed with garlic, pine nuts, spices, and morels, and stewed pawpaws, and deep-dish elderberry pie with maple-seed custard sauce. Twig’s mouth watered.

There was a knock and then a familiar voice.

“Halloo! Your guest has arrived,” Beau hollered as he hobbled into the house, his gait stiff and slow. The kitchen glowed with the warmth of good food being prepared.

Twig smiled and greeted the elderly raccoon with a paw shake. “Hi, Beau,” he said. “Mom’s made some of your favorites.”

“Ah . . . is that elderberry pie I smell?”

“Everything’s ready!” Olive sang out from the kitchen. “Beau, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Beau said gratefully, sitting down at his place of honor on the carved bench. Olive’s steamed artichoke dish filled the air with its savory aroma, and Twig took note of the elderberry pie, still warm, waiting to be sliced, bursting with its juicy dark-purple berries.

Beau gave Twig a glance. “So, Twig,” he said, carefully spreading a checkered napkin on his lap. “Tell me about your classes. How is school going?”

“Pretty good, I guess,” Twig answered.

Beau took a large spoon and began to serve up the plump artichokes. Satiny gravy coated the chunks of morels and wild onions as he spooned a hefty portion onto Twig’s plate.

“Just pretty good?” Beau asked. “I hear it’s much better than just pretty good.”

Twig grinned.

“As I heard it, you created quite a stir with your Metal Craft assignment. Professor Amaranth saw it and told me. Your sundial was the buzz of the school.”

Olive looked at her son. “Twig? What’s all this about? You made something outstanding in Metal Craft?”

Twig blushed.

Beau continued. “Outstanding, is what I heard,” he said. “The best take-home assignment they’ve seen in years.”

“Take-home?” Olive asked. She studied Twig carefully. Twig was blowing on his food, cooling it, pretending not to notice the stares. “Twig?”

“I did the assignment . . . outside,” he explained. “I wanted . . . privacy.”

“Outside? Where?” Olive asked.

“Out in the Woods.”

Olive looked at him suspiciously. “You built a fire? You had your equipment with you? You took all your tools?”

Twig stirred his food, smiling. “I had everything I needed,” he said proudly.

Beau arched his thick eyebrows as he spoke. “Someday you’ll have to tell me the secret of your success, Twig,” he said.

Twig devoured his dinner. The artichokes were even tastier than usual.

ALTHOUGH TWIG’S CLASSROOM WORK OFTEN STILL ENDED badly—Professor Burdock called him “Woodpecker Toes” one day after he fumbled with some molten solder and burned a hole in the worktable—it was definitely improving. The delicacy of the work and his use of more complicated metal combinations became the talk of the school. All the novices and intermediates came to admire his projects. The accolades made Twig think that maybe he had a chance at becoming Twig Metal Crafter after all.

But with the accolades also came rising suspicion. Classmates whispered about the fact that Twig only truly excelled at take-home work, and that the classroom assignments were less successful. The scrutiny only made Twig more nervous under the watchful eyes of his professors.

Basil was particularly annoyed with Twig’s successes and was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. He had quickly gone from “head of the class” to “second rate” in Metal Craft, and it infuriated him to watch Twig basking in praise. He clenched his paws so tightly that he felt his claws stabbing into his pads.

A FEW DAYS LATER, TWIG HURRIED TO THE TOWER, carrying a variety of practice supplies, and then headed with Char to their hidden workplace. After welding a series of straight pins into a filigreed necklace, the two relaxed in the late-day sun.

Twig smiled, holding up the delicate silver jewelry. “I may take this home to Mom. She’d think I did it in class.” He thought about the pleasure he’d have giving it to Olive.

But there was also a guilty feeling. He hadn’t done it on his own. And he would definitely lose his chance of being Named if anyone found out about the help he’d had making it.

There was a rustling in the leaves down the slope. Twig hopped quietly onto a log. Up the hill, through the toothwort and wild ginger, came Professor Burdock.

“Oh gosh . . . what is he doing here?” whispered Twig. He tried to decide what to do next. Burdock was heading directly through the little sunlit clearing. Twig turned and jumped behind the log. He quickly pulled the dragon beside him, camouflaging him with sticks and leaves. Char sat, blinking.

Burdock padded into the clearing. Suddenly, he stopped. Twig watched as the weasel jerked his head and then looked closely at the ground. He had spotted something. Twig followed his eyes; he saw a tiny glint of silver in the leaves. The necklace.

Burdock bent to pick up the necklace, examining it carefully. He looked around, sensing someone near. His tail flicked and twitched.

“Hello?” he said. “Who’s there?”

He stood silent and motionless for a moment.

An emerald-colored bee droned into the clearing, then darted off.

Burdock paused a moment more, then, draping the necklace over his shoulder, disappeared down the narrow path.