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Paavo’s cap. Maybe the kraken was onto Paavo through me, and was trying to grab him now by grabbing at music, the kind of music Paavo played. Maybe the next thing connected with me that would disappear would be Paavo himself. Then I’d be out there alone with this secret that I barely understood and nobody to help, even if they knew how to.
    Some things happened in school the next day, but I have no memory of what they were. The only thing I was interested in was looking up “kraken” in the library. The dictionary said the word is from a Norwegian dialect and that it means “fabulous Scandinavian sea monster.”
    Great. Norwegian fairy tales. But Paavo hadn’t sounded like a Scandinavian to me.
    He was from someplace a lot farther away than that. He knew my grandmother and he came from Sorcery Hall.
    As soon as I got out of social studies class I grabbed my books and stuff and ran for the park. I looked around to see if Joel was lurking someplace, didn’t see him, and was glad. I did not want him sticking his nose into whatever this was that I had to do with Paavo.
    On the terrace at the east end of the lake, Paavo was playing. There was a crowd, not big but respectable. I thought the music sounded good, very rich and strong.
    And there was Joel, sitting on the side wall with his chin on his hands. I went over to him.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” I said. “Nobody invited you along!”
    Joel glared. “Be quiet, I’m listening!”
    The music wound up with a singing flourish, and the people applauded and stood around for a little bit. A man shook Paavo’s hand, started talking to him, and handed him some cash. So I guess it really was good music. I felt proud because Paavo was my friend.
    He came toward us, holding his violin by the neck with the same hand he held the bow in: so practiced and casual-looking.
    â€œHi,” I said, ignoring the fact that Joel was sitting there.
    â€œHello,” said Paavo.
    â€œMy name’s Joel,” said Joel, before I could say another word. Paavo nodded. Joel said, “Can I ask who you studied with?”
    â€œA lot of people, here and there,” Paavo said. From anybody else it would have been a vague answer, but there was nothing vague about him. His gray eyes were sharp and steady on Joel the way they’d been steady on me the day before. “What about you?”
    Joel turned pink and put his hand up to his neck where he was wearing another scarf today, a red one. “I don’t,” he said. “I’m not a string player.”
    â€œThen what?” Paavo said.
    Turning as red as his scarf now, Joel mumbled, “Lead guitar in a group, that’s all. It’s just a hobby.”
    â€œYou do your own compositions?” Paavo said. He dug around in his pockets. I thought, he’s going to pull out his cigarettes and offer one to Joel and the two of them will stand around smoking and talking music together and I’m going to cry. I couldn’t say a word. I was thinking about just walking away, since nobody seemed to be interested in my being there.
    Joel said, “A couple of the other guys are strong on composition. I just play, man.”
    Paavo nodded. What he brought out of his pocket was a lump of chalk. “Okay, you ready?”
    He was talking to me. Feeling ignored and not ready to help out, I said, “Uh, what for?”
    â€œTo find Jagiello. Joel, can you get up there on that marble block where the statue used to stand?”
    â€œSure,” Joel said. I had been hoping that he would ask a question, get an answer that wouldn’t make any sense to him, and take off, or better yet, be sent off by Paavo. But Joel was smart. He didn’t ask anything, he just started showing off. He tried to chin himself up onto Jagiello’s plinth.
    It was too high. Joel got red in the face and grunted, trying to pull himself up there.
    Paavo put his violin down