{"product_id":"the-stolen-songbird-isbn-9781536242683","title":"The Stolen Songbird","description":"\u003cb\u003e\"The twisty plot and taut, assured writing deliver a story that immediately engages. Assured and atmospheric: a winner.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Caro finds a stolen masterpiece in her missing mother’s suitcase, she’s thrust into a thrilling art-heist caper in 1950s London.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Caro Monday’s mother disappears on one of her jaunts across the globe, Caro is forced to stay with her miserable great-aunt all the way across town. To make matters worse, Caro’s beloved rabbit, His Nibs, isn’t allowed to come with her. Of course, Caro sneaks him into her aunt’s strict household anyway. Although Caro’s wild behavior exasperates her dour aunt, she never dreamed of the trouble she finds herself in when she discovers a small painting of a thrush hidden in the lining of her suitcase—a stolen masterwork that some dangerous art thieves are desperately searching for! Catapulted into a caper with more twists and turns than the alleys of London, Caro and her friends, including budding fashion designer Horace, expert knitter Albie, and a wise “gentleman of the road”—not to mention His Nibs himself—must unravel a decades-old mystery and return the purloined picture before the thieves hunt them down. Plenty of surprises and a diverse cast of memorable characters await in this rousing art-themed adventure.1950s London comes to life in the evocative descriptions and Rioux’s utterly charming, full-page illustrations. The twisty plot and taut, assured writing deliver a story that immediately engages. Assured and atmospheric: a winner.\u003cbr\u003e—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStakes and tension ratchet ever higher across the central mystery, which is populated by an expansive, vividly rendered cast. . . . A meticulously drawn historical setting and layered depictions of the comfort of animal companionship and the benefits of free play further enliven this zesty, expertly paced caper.\u003cbr\u003e—Publishers Weekly (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe quirky characters (one of the moms is a world-famous whistler), beautiful multi-generational friendships, and beguiling mysteries will keep readers interested until the end. Emotionally deep. . . .\u003cbr\u003e—Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books\u003cb\u003eJudith Eagle\u003c\/b\u003e’s career has included stints as a stylist, fashion editor, and features writer. She now spends her mornings writing and her afternoons working in a secondary school library. She is the author of \u003ci\u003eThe Secret Starling\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Pear Affair\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Accidental \u003c\/i\u003eStowaway, all illustrated by Jo Rioux. Judith Eagle lives with her family and her cat, Stockwell, in South London. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eJo Rioux \u003c\/b\u003eis the illustrator of \u003ci\u003eThe Secret Starling\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Pear Affair\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe Accidental Stowaway\u003c\/i\u003e, all\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eby Judith Eagle\u003ci\u003e. \u003c\/i\u003eShe has illustrated young adult novels, chapter books, picture books, and graphic novels. She is the author-illustrator of the Cat’s Cradle\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eseries\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eand the illustrator of \u003ci\u003eThe Daughters of Ys \u003c\/i\u003eby M. T. Anderson. Jo Rioux lives in Ottawa.\u003cb\u003ePrologue\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e1940\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey left early, when it was still dark—before the lady who was meant to be looking after them woke up. They walked for miles and miles, through fields and woods, and along narrow twisting lanes banked by hedgerows. They didn’t have a map, and the signposts that could’ve helped them were blacked out. It was common knowledge that the enemy must be thwarted at all costs.\u003cbr\u003eAs dawn broke, they shared the hunk of bread they’d stolen from the pantry. They’d had to be quick—quick as lightning—the boy grabbing it when no one was looking, the girl hastily shoving it under her sweater. They worked as a team. They were a team, having grown up together since the girl had been orphaned, years and years earlier, and taken in by the boy’s family.\u003cbr\u003eSwallowing the last of the crumbs, they pressed on. To pass the time, they took turns whistling—they were good at whistling—and they tried to outdo each other, showing off their prowess, with wilder and wilder and more complicated tunes.\u003cbr\u003eAt last, they came to a bus stop, and a bus that took them to Tonbridge, and then a train. Arriving at Charing Cross, they turned out their pockets. Three chestnuts, two marbles, and a hard candy. But no more money.\u003cbr\u003e“We’ll have to walk,” said the girl. Neither of them minded. They would’ve walked to the ends of the earth if they had to. They were going home.\u003cbr\u003eIt was dusk now, and the scents of London filled the air: soot, cabbage, chips and vinegar—smells that followed them up St. Martin’s Lane, along Tottenham Court Road, and up again to Camden Town. Other things were familiar too: the trolleys rattling by, the carts and the cars, the shops still open for business even though some of them were boarded up.\u003cbr\u003eBut it \u003ci\u003ewasn’t \u003c\/i\u003ethe same. For a start, there were people walking about in uniform, and some of them were wearing tin hats.\u003cbr\u003e“Wardens,” said the girl authoritatively. She was knowledgeable. Read the newspapers, knew everything. “They help people find shelter when the bombs come.”\u003cbr\u003eThe air raids hadn’t seemed real when they were in the countryside, but now they could see the evidence: great gaps where buildings had crumpled in on themselves; glimpses of streets where on one side there were mounds of rubble, and on the other side houses still standing, but with all the windows blown out. In a house on one corner, a hole gaped so big, you could actually see straight inside. The wallpaper was a pretty rose print, pale pink blooms with green leaves, just like the girl had in her own bedroom.\u003cbr\u003eShe’d see it for herself soon.\u003cbr\u003eBy the time they had climbed the hill to Hampstead, their feet were dragging.\u003cbr\u003e“Nearly there,” said the boy as they skirted past the houses that faced the heath.\u003cbr\u003eIt was still warm, right at the tail end of September, and the front gardens were a mass of Michaelmas daisies and blowsy roses. The girl breathed deeply. She could already see the lamp by the gate. She remembered how its golden light glinted on the ivy and the laurel bushes. For the first time in ages, her chest relaxed.\u003cbr\u003eThey had just reached the drive when the wailing rose up. It started low and got higher and higher. It sounded eerie, like the shriek of a banshee, making the hairs on the back of the girl’s neck prickle and stand on end.\u003cbr\u003e“I think that means an air raid . . .” she said, her chest tightening again.\u003cbr\u003e“We’ll be quick,” said the boy firmly—now that he was here, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Let’s get him first and then we’ll surprise her.”\u003cbr\u003eThe boy rushed along the side of the house toward the back garden. The girl could almost feel his joyful anticipation. She waited, listening for the happy cries that would make the long arduous day worth it, but instead the sirens wailed again. She glanced up at the house, properly worried now. It was still dark.\u003cbr\u003e“He’s not here!” burst out the boy as he reappeared. “She got rid of him!”\u003cbr\u003e“She wouldn’t do that, silly. Go back and check in the shed,” said the girl. “Perhaps—”\u003cbr\u003eHigh above came a droning sound. The girl looked up and for the first time felt a sharp blade of fear.\u003cbr\u003e“Quick! We need to go in,” she shouted. They would go down to the cellar. They’d be safe there. She darted toward the house, trusting the boy to follow her. The droning was deafening now, like a swarm of bees.\u003cbr\u003eShe heard a rumbling noise, like faraway thunder, and then, much, much closer, a \u003ci\u003eswish \u003c\/i\u003eand a dull \u003ci\u003ethwump \u003c\/i\u003efollowed by a shudder. A wall of air rushed at her, lifting her up and flinging her to the ground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe lay quite still.\u003cbr\u003eEverything was choked in black: billowing clouds of smoke in her eyes and her nose and her mouth, making her cough and splutter. A shower of dust and debris rained down. Fingers of fire leaped into the sky. Cinders floated in the air.\u003cbr\u003eIt was like being caught in a terrifying dream with dancing devils and hellish furnaces and . . .\u003cbr\u003eExcept it wasn’t a dream. It was real.\u003cbr\u003eMuch later, she got to her feet. The sky had turned a dirty, bruised yellow. Her ears were ringing.\u003cbr\u003eSomething very, very bad had happened.\u003cbr\u003e“I can’t see you, where are you?” the girl called to the boy.\u003cbr\u003eBut there was no answer.","brand":"Walker Books US","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233748136165,"sku":"NP9781536242683","price":18.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781536242683.jpg?v=1767741661","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-stolen-songbird-isbn-9781536242683","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}