the pie. Then he stuck the pie under the broiler until the sugar turned a lovely brown. John produced a small bottle of something he called cognac. Thom poured the cognac over the pie. “Matches!” he said dramatically.
Emma handed him a box of matches. “Is there a fire extinguisher around here?” she asked.
“Very funny,” said Thom.
“Stand back!” said John.
Thom lit the match and held it to the pie, which instantly burst into flames.
“CHERRY TART FLAMBÉ!” yelled Thom.
For a few breathtaking seconds, the flames shot up over their heads.
“Look out!” shrieked Emma.
Will thought the whole pie was going to burn up, but then, just as suddenly, the flames died down. Thom’s breath came out in a whoosh. “It worked!” he cried. He did a little dance around the kitchen. “I am good. I am soooo good!”
They sat at the table and Thom dished it out with a giant spoon. Emma declared it was one of Thom’s best desserts yet.
“Hooo-whooo-hoooo,” howled a voice from the street below.
“I’ll let him in!” said Thom. He raced downstairs. Peaches bounded up ahead of him, a brown boot clamped firmly in his mouth.
“I can’t get it away,” panted Thom.
“It’s old Mr. Branson’s,” said Emma. “That’s the third time this week.”
“Does he take things a lot?” said Will.
Emma nodded. “He’s a retriever. Last week it was Mrs. Thompson’s tablecloth and the Howard twins’ baseball mitts.”
Peaches dropped the boot and Emma grabbed it. “It’s a full-time job taking everything back,” she grumbled.
Will looked at John Fairweather. “Morgan Moonstone,” he reminded him. “You were going to tell me about him.”
“ Right," said John. “Where should I begin? Over four hundred years ago a tapestry weaver came to Sparrowhawk Village. His name was Morgan Moonstone. He travelled with his wife and infant son.”
“He wove magic tapestries!” said Thom.
“Is that true?” said Will. “Were they really magic?”
“Lots of people in this village believe it,” said John. “They say that the tapestries could make things happen. You see, a tapestry tells a story. If a lord was planning a tournament, he would ask Morgan Moonstone to weave a magic tapestry showing his favourite knight winning, and then that knight would win!”
“Everybody would want a magic tapestry,” said Will.
Would a magic tapestry have saved his mother? Would it make Mr. Barnaby publish The Magical Night?
CRAAASH! Emma and her chair toppled to the floor. Peaches leapt on top of her and washed her face with his slobbery pink tongue. “Hey! Get away!” said Emma picking herself up.
“I keep telling you not to tip back like that. Chairs are meant to stay on all four feet,” said John. “We call Emma our jumping bean. Now, to get back to our story. Morgan Moonstone’s tapestries are extremely valuable and today they’re in museums all over the world. Like the ones in your postcards.”
“Sparrowhawk is famous for its weaving,” said Thom.
“You wait, any day now the first tour buses will arrive full of people looking for tapestries,” said John. “Most of our best weavers are Moonstones, but even though their tapestries are splendid, they’re not magic.”
“You’re a great weaver, too, Dad,” said Thom, “and you’re a Fairweather.”
“And that’s enough chatter for me or I’ll never finish this tapestry.” John wheeled his chair back to his loom.
“When are we going to look for the secret passageway?” asked Emma.
“What?” said Will. He was still thinking about magic tapestries.
“The secret passageway. Remember?”
“Right. I think I found the dungeon. I bought a torch so we can explore.”
“Maybe we should clean up the kitchen first,” said Thom quickly.
“I’ll look after that,” called out John.
“Chicken,” taunted Emma.
Thom flushed. “I am not!”
“Then what are we waiting for?” said Emma.
Chapter Twelve
The Dungeon
Thom and Emma waited
Emma handed him a box of matches. “Is there a fire extinguisher around here?” she asked.
“Very funny,” said Thom.
“Stand back!” said John.
Thom lit the match and held it to the pie, which instantly burst into flames.
“CHERRY TART FLAMBÉ!” yelled Thom.
For a few breathtaking seconds, the flames shot up over their heads.
“Look out!” shrieked Emma.
Will thought the whole pie was going to burn up, but then, just as suddenly, the flames died down. Thom’s breath came out in a whoosh. “It worked!” he cried. He did a little dance around the kitchen. “I am good. I am soooo good!”
They sat at the table and Thom dished it out with a giant spoon. Emma declared it was one of Thom’s best desserts yet.
“Hooo-whooo-hoooo,” howled a voice from the street below.
“I’ll let him in!” said Thom. He raced downstairs. Peaches bounded up ahead of him, a brown boot clamped firmly in his mouth.
“I can’t get it away,” panted Thom.
“It’s old Mr. Branson’s,” said Emma. “That’s the third time this week.”
“Does he take things a lot?” said Will.
Emma nodded. “He’s a retriever. Last week it was Mrs. Thompson’s tablecloth and the Howard twins’ baseball mitts.”
Peaches dropped the boot and Emma grabbed it. “It’s a full-time job taking everything back,” she grumbled.
Will looked at John Fairweather. “Morgan Moonstone,” he reminded him. “You were going to tell me about him.”
“ Right," said John. “Where should I begin? Over four hundred years ago a tapestry weaver came to Sparrowhawk Village. His name was Morgan Moonstone. He travelled with his wife and infant son.”
“He wove magic tapestries!” said Thom.
“Is that true?” said Will. “Were they really magic?”
“Lots of people in this village believe it,” said John. “They say that the tapestries could make things happen. You see, a tapestry tells a story. If a lord was planning a tournament, he would ask Morgan Moonstone to weave a magic tapestry showing his favourite knight winning, and then that knight would win!”
“Everybody would want a magic tapestry,” said Will.
Would a magic tapestry have saved his mother? Would it make Mr. Barnaby publish The Magical Night?
CRAAASH! Emma and her chair toppled to the floor. Peaches leapt on top of her and washed her face with his slobbery pink tongue. “Hey! Get away!” said Emma picking herself up.
“I keep telling you not to tip back like that. Chairs are meant to stay on all four feet,” said John. “We call Emma our jumping bean. Now, to get back to our story. Morgan Moonstone’s tapestries are extremely valuable and today they’re in museums all over the world. Like the ones in your postcards.”
“Sparrowhawk is famous for its weaving,” said Thom.
“You wait, any day now the first tour buses will arrive full of people looking for tapestries,” said John. “Most of our best weavers are Moonstones, but even though their tapestries are splendid, they’re not magic.”
“You’re a great weaver, too, Dad,” said Thom, “and you’re a Fairweather.”
“And that’s enough chatter for me or I’ll never finish this tapestry.” John wheeled his chair back to his loom.
“When are we going to look for the secret passageway?” asked Emma.
“What?” said Will. He was still thinking about magic tapestries.
“The secret passageway. Remember?”
“Right. I think I found the dungeon. I bought a torch so we can explore.”
“Maybe we should clean up the kitchen first,” said Thom quickly.
“I’ll look after that,” called out John.
“Chicken,” taunted Emma.
Thom flushed. “I am not!”
“Then what are we waiting for?” said Emma.
Chapter Twelve
The Dungeon
Thom and Emma waited
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