ravens gliding past.
Nonna Luna wore a grave expression and was engaged in a mumbled conversation with herself.
‘What’s happening?’ the children asked in unison.
As an oracle, Nonna Luna sounded very different from the kindly grandmother they had come to know. Her accent seemed to have disappeared and she was surprisingly articulate.
‘It isn’t what has happened but what will happen that we must concern ourselves with,’ Nonna Luna said. ‘It was no coincidence that you two chanced to land in my kitchen.’
‘It wasn’t?’ In response, Nonna Luna’s eyes flew open and she looked at the children prophetically.
‘Everything happens for a reason,’ Nonna intoned. ‘I know it is my destiny to help stop Bombasta and free poor Federico from her spell. In my opinion, that clumsy ox in her feathered hat needs to be taken down a peg or two.’
The children struggled to make sense of these ramblings and wondered whether it was advisable for Nonna Luna to continue consuming the brew.
On the stove bubbled a pot of aromatic amber broth flecked with parsley. Ernest, who had skipped breakfast (ox tongue on toast), inhaled deeply.
‘That smells delicious,’ he moaned.
‘Organic chicken carcasses,’ Nonna confided. ‘Makes all the difference.’
Ernest was to be disappointed if he hoped to be offered a bowl. Instead, Nonna Luna retrieved a cat-shaped canister from a shelf, drew from it two fistfuls of alphabet noodles and tossed them rather dramatically into the pot. After a few minutes she broke an egg into a bowl, whisked it and poured it quickly into the broth. Immediately the liquid lost its clarity and turnedcloudy. As she stirred, Nonna recited a powerful invocation:
Pot of Fortune
Pot of Fate
Pot with many powers great
Shed light on the future
The past let us see
Let this alphabet noodle
Your loyal scribe be
Speak to us, oh magic broth!
The liquid on the stove began to bubble more violently and the alphabet noodles rose to the surface arranging themselves into a wobbly sentence. What is it you seek to know?
The children looked at one another in confusion. What question should they ask first? But Nonna Luna, who was clearly confident about what she was dealing with, answered on their behalf.
‘Show us what lurks within the jade citadel.’
The letters instantly sank to the bottom of the pot and something even more unfathomableoccurred. The broth that had looked so appetising only a few moments ago started to spin like water being sucked down a plughole.
Before Milli and Ernest had a chance to marvel at this, they found themselves staring at an image of the jade citadel glowing ethereally against a black sky. The children realised that the entire building must be carved from the precious stone. There was even a jade drawbridge lowered over a solid jade moat. The citadel itself was elongated and spindly, reminding them of a long and bony man. Its one window was gothic in design and filled with tiny panels of stained glass like you might find in a church. They could see that the glass formed a picture—it was of a hand, a skeletal hand with fingers like tentacles reaching for the sky. If they were not mistaken, it seemed the hand sought to hold the entire world within its grasp.
Abruptly, the image of the citadel faded. Now the children were unseen guests inside a lavish drawing room. Contessa Bombasta was standing in front of a large map mounted on one wall and tracing a route with a plump finger.When she reached her target (a mushroom icon), she savagely speared the image with a thumbtack and gave a maniacal laugh. This was more puzzling than ever. What could it mean, other than the Contessa’s determination to avoid vegetables of the fungi variety?
‘Just as I suspected,’ Nonna Luna murmured. ‘Federico has been lured into great danger. We have just witnessed the hatching of a terrible plot.’
‘What is the use of that unless we know what’s being plotted?’ Milli cried,
Nonna Luna wore a grave expression and was engaged in a mumbled conversation with herself.
‘What’s happening?’ the children asked in unison.
As an oracle, Nonna Luna sounded very different from the kindly grandmother they had come to know. Her accent seemed to have disappeared and she was surprisingly articulate.
‘It isn’t what has happened but what will happen that we must concern ourselves with,’ Nonna Luna said. ‘It was no coincidence that you two chanced to land in my kitchen.’
‘It wasn’t?’ In response, Nonna Luna’s eyes flew open and she looked at the children prophetically.
‘Everything happens for a reason,’ Nonna intoned. ‘I know it is my destiny to help stop Bombasta and free poor Federico from her spell. In my opinion, that clumsy ox in her feathered hat needs to be taken down a peg or two.’
The children struggled to make sense of these ramblings and wondered whether it was advisable for Nonna Luna to continue consuming the brew.
On the stove bubbled a pot of aromatic amber broth flecked with parsley. Ernest, who had skipped breakfast (ox tongue on toast), inhaled deeply.
‘That smells delicious,’ he moaned.
‘Organic chicken carcasses,’ Nonna confided. ‘Makes all the difference.’
Ernest was to be disappointed if he hoped to be offered a bowl. Instead, Nonna Luna retrieved a cat-shaped canister from a shelf, drew from it two fistfuls of alphabet noodles and tossed them rather dramatically into the pot. After a few minutes she broke an egg into a bowl, whisked it and poured it quickly into the broth. Immediately the liquid lost its clarity and turnedcloudy. As she stirred, Nonna recited a powerful invocation:
Pot of Fortune
Pot of Fate
Pot with many powers great
Shed light on the future
The past let us see
Let this alphabet noodle
Your loyal scribe be
Speak to us, oh magic broth!
The liquid on the stove began to bubble more violently and the alphabet noodles rose to the surface arranging themselves into a wobbly sentence. What is it you seek to know?
The children looked at one another in confusion. What question should they ask first? But Nonna Luna, who was clearly confident about what she was dealing with, answered on their behalf.
‘Show us what lurks within the jade citadel.’
The letters instantly sank to the bottom of the pot and something even more unfathomableoccurred. The broth that had looked so appetising only a few moments ago started to spin like water being sucked down a plughole.
Before Milli and Ernest had a chance to marvel at this, they found themselves staring at an image of the jade citadel glowing ethereally against a black sky. The children realised that the entire building must be carved from the precious stone. There was even a jade drawbridge lowered over a solid jade moat. The citadel itself was elongated and spindly, reminding them of a long and bony man. Its one window was gothic in design and filled with tiny panels of stained glass like you might find in a church. They could see that the glass formed a picture—it was of a hand, a skeletal hand with fingers like tentacles reaching for the sky. If they were not mistaken, it seemed the hand sought to hold the entire world within its grasp.
Abruptly, the image of the citadel faded. Now the children were unseen guests inside a lavish drawing room. Contessa Bombasta was standing in front of a large map mounted on one wall and tracing a route with a plump finger.When she reached her target (a mushroom icon), she savagely speared the image with a thumbtack and gave a maniacal laugh. This was more puzzling than ever. What could it mean, other than the Contessa’s determination to avoid vegetables of the fungi variety?
‘Just as I suspected,’ Nonna Luna murmured. ‘Federico has been lured into great danger. We have just witnessed the hatching of a terrible plot.’
‘What is the use of that unless we know what’s being plotted?’ Milli cried,
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