chapter 17

Basil

Twig decided to create one final masterpiece. It wasn’t for school; it wasn’t for credit. It was for fun.

And when he was finished, it was spectacular: a wind catcher. It wasn’t anything useful, yet it was amazing. It whirred and chimed and clicked, but it didn’t have any purpose except to catch the breeze. It was made from dozens of the parts and pieces that had littered Twig’s bedroom. And it glittered and glowed under the burnished handiwork of Char’s flame.

Twig gave a few spots a final polish. He stepped back, admiring the brass-and-copper piece, and his foot landed on Char’s tail. The dragon flinched slightly, but otherwise didn’t move.

“Sorry, Char,” Twig said absently, and then stopped. “Char . . . you okay?”

Char was noticeably thinner than he had been several weeks earlier. His emerald-green scales were now gray and dull. They didn’t ripple with excitement. Twig noticed that even Char’s eyes were funny. Filmy and lackluster, they were not the shiny gold they had been.

“We’ll have some fun today, Char!” Twig said brightly. For a second he wondered if his cheery tone was for Char or for himself. He knew Char didn’t belong inside the old tower.

“You’ll be okay, Char. You just need some rest,” said Twig.

The dragon lifted his head and blinked.

TWIG HURRIED BACK ALONG THE PATH, UNDER THE MAYAPPLES, carrying a sack full of spicebush berries. His mother would be making a spicebush berry cake this evening, Twig thought, or maybe spice acorn pudding. His mouth began to water.

“Where are you going so fast?” came a voice from directly up the path, and Basil appeared, blocking his way.

Twig tried to scoot by. “I’ve got no time for you, Basil.”

“Oh yeah?” Basil replied. He reached into Twig’s bag uninvited, pulled out a ripe berry, and began to munch. “You better make some time for me, ’cause I’ve got an important message for you.”

Twig looked doubtful. “Important message? From?”

“From Professor Filbert. He’s at school. I think he wants to tell you how good you’re doing in class or something stupid like that. He said to make sure I found you, and to make sure you come see him.”

Twig squinted at Basil suspiciously. “Why’d he ask me to come to him? Why can’t he just see me tomorrow at school?”

“How should I know?” Basil replied, sounding annoyed.

Basil scampered off but stopped just past a bend in the path to look back at Twig. Twig was still pondering what to do. In a moment, with a glance at the pathway home, he started off down the forked trail, down to the school.

TWIG GOT TO THE SCHOOL AND SCAMPERED TO THE Electricity Lab. Professor Filbert was at his desk, a tall, elderly rabbit, missing patches of brown fur here and there from electrical burns. He pushed his spectacles up on his nose as he peered through them at Twig.

“Ah!” he chirruped. “Just in time.” He fumbled with stacks of papers on his desk. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind helping me, would you, Twig, my boy? Hard to manage, you see. Lots of homework papers to grade tonight. Thank you so much.”

“Uh, well, you see . . . ,” Twig began. But the professor had already dumped the large pile of homework into Twig’s arms and was absentmindedly hopping out of the classroom.

“Keep up, my boy!” Professor Filbert called back to Twig, who scurried after him, trying to keep the stack of papers in his arms. They took a circuitous route to the professor’s burrow, a cozy but tangled labyrinth of tunnels beneath an old, rusty wheelbarrow.

“You can set the papers there, my boy. Excellent! Thank you so much! Could never have made it home by myself. Lucky you came along!” he squeaked. “Now, how about a cup of blackberry tea as a thank-you?”

Twig had the sinking realization that coming to see Professor Filbert was just a ruse that Basil had concocted. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to find out, and find out immediately.

“Uh, no thank you, sir,” he said. “I have to get home right away. Uh . . . my mom ordered me to.”

“Well, can’t disobey a mother’s orders, eh?” the old rabbit chuckled. “Off you go. Be quick. Can’t thank you enough.”

Twig darted off to the tower, his heart pounding. Basil suspected something. And if he found out about Char, so would Burdock. He hated to think of what they might do to Char.

He raced faster.

TWIG GOT TO THE CLOCK TOWER. HE SAW BASIL SURVEYING the scene, and then, creeping alongside the clock, peeking into cracks. He started to push open the door.

“Basil!” Twig yelled out. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m going to find out what your big secret is,” he said. “Everybody knows your projects were done by someone else, and I’m going to find out who. All I had to do was follow Lily. Easy as pie.”

Just then Lily poked her head out the tower door. “Go away, Basil!” she squeaked, pushing at Basil. She yanked on his whiskers. “Don’t come in here!” Twig pulled on his tail.

“Ouch! Let go, you maniacs!” he yelled back, shoving past Lily. His eyes grew large as they became accustomed to the dark of the tower’s interior. In the dim light he could just make out what he thought was a pile of dead leaves, but it moved.

“Hello?” he said nervously. His fur stood on end as the shape quivered, and then two wings started to flutter.

“H-hey . . . ,” he stuttered. He heard a popping sound. Then came a small flash of light as Char burped a warning flame, lighting the corner.

“Whoa!” Basil shrieked, eyes wide as he saw Char. He scrambled backward, falling through the door and out into the leaves outside. Twig slammed the door shut with a bang.

“What was that?” Basil exclaimed, panting heavily.

“I told you not to go in there!” Lily squeaked harshly.

“Now you know, Basil,” fumed Twig. “You can’t say anything to anybody. You can’t!”

Basil was still shaking but was beginning to put two and two together. Suddenly he smiled. “It’s all making sense now,” he said. “Sure! Twig wasn’t so hot at Metal Craft before . . . but now he is.” He slapped his paws together. “Wait until Uncle Burdock hears about this!” he said, and darted off into the weeds.

“What? No, Basil!” Twig called out after him. “You can’t tell a soul!”

But Basil had disappeared into the greens of the forest floor, heading to his uncle Burdock’s house.