No, it wasn’t her real question. But now, here, in the light of day, Begonia’s real question seemed so petty, so foolish. She felt ashamed. “I don’t even know how to start.”
“Start smack in the middle,” Grandmother Spirit advised, “and flounder around in circles for a while. That’s what I do. Your meaning will tumble out eventually.”
“All right.” She took a deep breath. “It’s just … back home, I always had to do everything. Well, almost everything. My sister, Peony, gets away with doing nothing. Practically nothing.” She looked up to see if Grandmother Spirit was angry at her for this. It was true! Well, mostly true. “The reason I was the one who went after Alfalfa,” she explained, “is the same reason I do everything else at home. Because I can. Because I will. Because I can be counted on.”
Grandmother Spirit nodded. “Those are wonderful things, child.”
Begonia frowned. “I’m not so sure. It seems to me that the reward for being a good girl is that you get asked to do everything for everyone else. And the people who do nothing are rewarded by having less expected of them. They get to make paper dolls with Mumsy while ‘trustworthy Begonia’ does everything.” She glanced sidelong at Grandmother Spirit. “Well, mostly everything.”
The mustard-maker’s aged eyes watched her closely. “I’m still waiting for the question.”
Begonia sighed.
“Is that why you chose me, too?” she said. “Did you send Alfalfa after the emperor’s ostrich because trustworthy Begonia was the one who’d go? Will that person always have to be me?” Her eyes grew wet, and she rubbed them angrily on her sleeve. “Always the reliable one, getting kicked into the spilled milk, and shoveling out the cow poo, and getting lost, and being chased by panthers, while others get the things I want?” She sniffled miserably. “Paper dolls and hair ribbons and storytime by the fire?”
There. She’d said it all. There was nothing left except to be embarrassed and tired. “I don’t really want paper dolls and hair ribbons. Not even. I just … you know what I mean.”
She glanced back to see if there was any danger of Mumsy or Key overhearing her, but they were even farther back.
Reluctantly, she looked into Grandmother Spirit’s eyes. Instead of judgment or criticism there, she saw only kindness.
“I do know what you mean,” said Grandmother Spirit. “Some things are just unfair. There’s no getting around it.”
Begonia nodded and wiped her eyes again. Of course. She knew that. The unfairness of life had made itself clear to her years and years ago.
“Know this, my girl: the things you’re doing now, at this marvelous age in your life, aren’t going to waste. All your reliable, responsible choices are building a brain, a heart, and a pair of hands ready to tackle anything life sends your way.” Grandmother Spirit cradled Begonia’s cheeks in her own soft, wrinkled hands. “The world will be so lucky to have your brain, heart, and hands in it.”
Grandmother Spirit’s face went blurry as tears swam in Begonia’s eyes. Grandmother Spirit took the tail of the pink scarf she’d given her and gently dabbed the corners of her eyes with it.
“But also know this: the joyful things in life, the paper dolls and hair ribbons and absolutely the stories by the fire, are also choices that are open to you. You could choose them more often, my dear, and the important work would still get done.”
Begonia wrapped her arms around Grandmother Spirit’s neck without thinking. Only as she felt her warm embrace did she remember that this was a venerable ancestor. For all she knew, this might be an act of blasphemy. But if it was, Grandmother Spirit didn’t seem to mind.
They walked farther down the road. “I think you’ll find,” Grandmother Spirit went on, “that Peony has been learning several new things about herself while you’ve been away. First, how much she misses you. But second, she’s learning how much more she can do than she knew she could.” She smiled. “I should warn you. She’s forming very strong opinions about chicken care. And she’s already planted some of your seedlings.”
“What?”
Grandmother Spirit shrugged. “What can you do? Some of her opinions, I should tell you, are quite sound. You should listen to her.”
Begonia wrinkled her nose. Then she laughed. Behind them, she saw Mumsy and Key catching up to them.
“They can’t see me right now, dearie,” Grandmother Spirit said. “This little talk is just for us. But I need to go. Your mother has missed you so, and I shouldn’t steal all your time with her.”
“It’s not stealing.” Begonia winked. “It’s borrowing.”
Grandmother Spirit’s face crinkled like a dried apple. “A girl in a million.”
“Don’t go,” Begonia said. “Please.”
Grandmother Spirit gave Begonia a peck on the cheek. “I’m never far. And that pot of mustard, you’ll find, will last you a good long time. Good for your health. Good for all sorts of things. Even works as glue in a pinch.”
Begonia saw her mother approaching, and ridiculous Key, and she smiled. She had her Mumsy back at last and had found a new friend to keep.
But Grandmother Spirit … would she ever see her again? She wished she could give her a gift in return.
She unraveled the pink scarf from around her neck. “Would you like this back?”
“Keep it,” the ancestor spirit said as she faded out of sight, “to remember me by.”
EPILOGUE: AN OSTRICH MEETS A POSTRICH
Morning, in the palace pleasure gardens. One week later.
Lightfoot the ostrich sauntered around the lawn. Over on a shady knoll, Alfalfa mooed at him winsomely. She’d found a succulent patch of clover, but would come visit him presently. Meanwhile, a peacock strutted by, some distance away, fanning out his tail to a bored female, but the ostrich didn’t mind him. Yards away, in the stream that burbled through the gardens, pairs of ducks and pelicans splashed and fished in the shallows. A stork flapped his way to a topmost tower, while an eagle screamed overhead, then swooped down to snatch a morsel of meat from the Keeper of the Imperial Aviary’s gloved hand.
Lightfoot wasn’t interested in these avian doings. He patrolled the grounds outside a long window. Inside, his man-chick stood looking over maps and papers with an old man with skinny limbs and a round belly. Rather like an ostrich, in fact. Lightfoot had decided to accept this older human. His man-chick seemed to like him, and he posed no apparent danger.
Across the lawns, near the gate in the high wall, a sound caught Lightfoot’s ear. He stalked over to investigate. One never knew what might be a hidden threat to his man-chick. A jackal! A cobra! Ceaseless vigilance was the ostrich’s only plan.
It was a tinkling sound. Lightfoot’s head cocked to one side. Cobras didn’t tinkle. At least, he was fairly sure they didn’t.
The Keeper of the Imperial Aviary, too, had heard the noise and gone to the gate to investigate. He opened it, and a man stepped through, with a bit of rope clutched in one hand.
The man wore an earring that shone like a beetle’s shell. His bald dome of a head reminded Lightfoot of an ostrich egg.
“Good morning,” the man told the Keeper of the Imperial Aviary. “I’m a Seller of Many Things from the village of Two Windmills. A local farmer caught a bird and brought it to me. He figured I would know exactly whom to sell it to.”
“Bird?” asked the keeper. “What kind of a bird?”
The egg-headed man gave his rope a tug. “Come on, then.”
A male ostrich somewhat older than Lightfoot stepped reluctantly through the gates and blinked in the sunlight. A little bell hung around his neck.
At the sight of the big bird, the keeper’s eagle screeched. All the downy feathers on Lightfoot’s neck stood on end. A threat! A rival! For his cow? For his man-chick? We do not like this bad ostrich!
But the keeper whistled. “What a beauty!”
“Do you think the emperor will want him?” asked the Seller of Many Things.
“I know he will,” answ
ered the birdman. “He’s uncommonly fond of ostriches. And he plans to open up the aviary, and all the menagerie, to the public, so I know he’ll be glad to have another big bird to show the children.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins. “I’ll give you fifteen silver buckles for him.”
The egg-man nodded. “Sold. He’s all yours.”
“I can’t imagine how a loose ostrich could be roaming the countryside of Camellion, though,” said the Keeper of the Imperial Aviary. “Nobody else keeps them but the emperor.”
“I thought of selling him to that traveling carnival,” said the salesman, “but they seem to have scattered and closed up shop. Did you ever lose an ostrich?”
“Only briefly. He’s back now. Aren’t you, Lightfoot? Come on, meet your new friend. Don’t be shy.”
But Lightfoot wasn’t so easily fooled. He ballooned out his neck and hooted a low honk of warning to the bad ostrich.
“Don’t be testy, Lightfoot,” scolded the keeper. “Come along, new fellow. Wait till my master sees you!”
The man with the shiny egg for a head took his leave. The keeper led the new bird onto the grounds and shut the gate. Then he took the new ostrich to the aviary, followed at every step by a suspicious Lightfoot, and offered him food and water. The new ostrich had an odd gait to his walk, as though he wasn’t used to having such long legs. His head bobbed side to side as if his neck was something he was still getting used to. All the more reason, Lightfoot felt, not to trust him. Something about him just wasn’t right.
The new bird was more interested in the palace than in breakfast. He left the aviary and waddled over to the palace window where Lightfoot’s man-chick studied papers on a table and stroked an orange kitten. The curious bird pecked the window with his beak.
That was enough for Lightfoot. He spread his wings and charged the bad bird. The bad bird fled back to the safety of the aviary and stood quivering behind its keeper.
“Come now, Lightfoot, make friends,” the keeper said soothingly. “There’s plenty of room here. Show him around, introduce him to the peacocks. Don’t be jealous. There’s no reason you can’t both be the emperor’s ostrich.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I set out to write for young readers, dreaming of holding a book with my name on the spine, I had no idea that the real payoff would be the chance to teach schoolchildren what reading and writing mean to me. It’s been my delight to help students see that anyone can conjure up an idea, fling it down on paper, and roll around in it for a while, grammar rules be hanged! Seeing students who feel thwarted by writing’s technicalities discover the power that comes when nobody can tell you that your imagination is wrong is reason enough to keep on tapping at my own keyboard.
Margaret Lazenby, Karen Duff, and Sara Apke were the first to invite me to present to students, and I’ll be forever grateful. Sara asked me to develop not just an assembly but a classroom workshop. It was during a workshop at her school that the idea for this book was born.
Larissa Theule and Catherine Linka, my weekly writing buddies, kept me sane and on track during the chaotic season of this book’s incubation. It was Catherine, inviting me to give an audacious presentation on how writers can get themselves “Unstuck,” who handed me the tools I needed to steer this manuscript through its forest of panthers. My agent, Alyssa Henkin, deserves a Good Humor medal for supporting every wacky idea I toss her way, and my editor, Katherine Jacobs, cheerfully came along on this ostrich chase. Special thanks also to Noa Wheeler and to Elizabeth H. Clark.
Carrie Salisbury and Ginger Johnson made sure I was fed, body and spirit. My discerning early readers, Deborah Kovacs, Ammi-Joan Paquette, Nancy Werlin, and my dashing son Daniel, laughed in all the right places. My Phil did the same. Like Song, I knew from day one that he was the woodcutter for me and would be a splendid holder of babies. No love charm required.
ALSO BY JULIE BERRY
The Scandalous Sisterhood of Prickwillow Place
Secondhand Charm
The Amaranth Enchantment
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julie Berry, the author of The Scandalous Sisterhood of Prickwillow Place, has never solved a murder or attended boarding school. Her manners are decidedly improper. But she is part of a scandalous sisterhood. She’s the youngest of seven children, six of whom are girls, and if they’d ever had a chance to conceal a corpse and run a school, they’d have jumped on it. Today she lives in eastern Massachusetts with her husband and their four sons and two cats. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
1. Of Cats and Milk, and Royal Rudeness
2. What a Peacock Might Have Heard
3. Intervening, and a Peculiar Pair
4. A Milkmaid, and Her Wandering Cow
5. Curious Encounters, and Dubious Gifts
6. A Finder of Lost Things, and a Baffling Map
7. Emptiness, and Palace Plotting
8. A Choosy Cat, and a Horrid Beast
9. A Nighttime Knock, and a Mother’s Dilemma
10. A Rude Encounter, and Nocturnal Terrors
11. What a Pelican Ought to Have Realized
12. Mounting Peril, and Unlikely Help
13. More Dark Deeds on That Fateful Night
14. A Strange Romance, and a Cow-Coaxing Compromise
15. An Anxious Traveler, and Her Hurried Journey
16. More Bickering, and a Bird-Back Boost
17. Another Strange Romance, and Its Tragic Interruption
18. A Carnival Man, and a Treacherous Plan
19. One Bad Business, and Then Another
20. What a Nesting Duck Might Have Seen
21. Dungeons, and Unlikely Friends
22. Meetings, but Not the Wished-for Kind
23. Disbelief, and a Daring Proposition
24. Lotus City, and Tackling Injustice
25. Where a Cow Leads, and a Mother’s Plea
26. New Allies, and a Rescuer of Imprisoned Persons
27. That Which Terrified a Stork
28. Whispered Conversations, and an Underground Commotion
29. Disbelief Once More, and a Surprise Encounter
30. Reunions, Some of Which Are Welcome
31. Too Many Emperors, and a Lemon Custard
32. Squabbling Visitors, and Matters Involving Names
33. A Comic Performance, and a Farewell to the Carnival
34. One More Journey, and Parting Gifts
Epilogue: An Ostrich Meets a Postrich
Acknowledgments
Also by Julie Berry
About the Author
Copyright
Text copyright © 2017 by Julie Berry
Published by Roaring Brook Press
Roaring Brook Press is a division of Holtzbrinck Publishing Holdings Limited Partnership
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
mackids.com
All rights reserved
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Berry, Julie, 1974– author.
Title: The emperor’s ostrich / Julie Berry.
Description: First edition. | New York: Roaring Brook Press, 2017. | Summary: “Young dairymaid Begonia has lost her cow, Alfalfa. So she has set off on a search across the countryside even though she has nothing but a magical map to guide her. Meanwhile, the Emperor has gone missing from the royal palace in a most mysterious manner. Was it murder? Was it magic? It will take all of Begonia’s wits to save the empire and get Alfalfa
home safely”— Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016038250 (print) | LCCN 2017009478 (ebook) | ISBN 9781596439580 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781596439597 (Ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Action & Adventure / General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Fairy Tales & Folklore / General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Humorous Stories.
Classification: LCC PZ7.B461747 Em 2017 (print) | LCC PZ7.B461747 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016038250
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by e-mail at
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Map art by Jennifer Thermes
First hardcover edition, 2017
eBook edition, July 2017
Julie Berry, The Emperor's Ostrich
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