“What? You're only a towel!” Finch was stunnedâand disappointed. But most of all he felt angry. The cape, or towel, or whatever it was, had fooled him. It had lied.
I am sorry, but it is true. Day after day, I hung beside the washbasin in a corner of the workroom and observed great capes come to life. Some could fly, and some could make themselves and their wearers invisible. Others could make a person as large as a house, or as tiny as a mouse. There were capes that could control the weather, and a few that could go time-traveling. But the ones I most admired were the Thinking Capes. They were wise and clever. Thinking all day seemed to make them content. I longed to be one of them.
“You can think,” Finch said. He couldn't keep the scorn out of his voice. “You made up all those stories.”
By listening to spells that were meant for the others, I learned whatever I could. But it was stolen knowledge. Not one of the weavers suspected I was absorbing anything but the water from his hands. Then the day came when the cape makers' magic field would no longer grow a single cotton plant. No one knew why, not even the Thinking Capes. Without the special cloth, the cape makers' shop was forced to close. One of the weavers took me home, where I could still be useful, and as you see, magic cotton never wears out. Generation after generation used me as a towel until one day I was passed to the family with whom you found me.
“What about the merchant who cut off your golden strings? I guess you made that up, too?” Finch murmured. Rain had begun to fall. It dripped off the leaves and onto his hair and skin, but he didn't even notice.
I am sorry to say I invented it all. I never belonged to a merchant. I never advised anyone of anything. I never had strings until the woman who had the garage sale decided to make me into a costume for her son. After that child rejected me, I thought I was finished. I wasn't even a towel any longer. I was totally useless. Then you came along.
Fin could still recall the exact moment he'd spotted the cape on a table among old hats, umbrellas, and ladies' purses. It had looked as real as if a superhero had just taken it off. He'd never felt so desperate to have something before. “I told my mom you were the only thing I wanted for my birthday,” he said.
I remember, Master. You played with me as if I were truly a magic cape. It made me think, Why not? So I dared to try and change my fate. But I knew I would have to be patientâto wait for the right time. My opportunity finally came when you and your friends decided to be superheroes. I felt you might accept meâand you did. The last few weeks have been the happiest time of my existence.
Finch ran a hand through his wet hair. He suddenly felt chilled. “Then why did you stop talking to me after Bud cut off your strings?” he murmured.
You gave me a chance to be something important. You believed in me. But I was not very good at thinking. I was not like the wise capes I had known. I grew afraid my advice would put you in danger. That is why I thought it would be best if I disappeared. I have been trying to remember the spell that would put me to sleep forever.
“You shouldn't have given up like that!” Finch exclaimed over the noisy patter of rain on leaves. “It isn't right! You should've kept trying.” But instead of anger, he felt something else inside. It was as if a soft green thread connecting his heart to the cape were being tugged.
Finch rubbed an arm across his face. When he looked up, he was smiling a little. “I didn't think your advice was so bad. I'm not really a superhero, either.”
On the contrary, Master, look what you have accomplished. Your sister is happier now. Your teacher is making a lot of new friends. You saved the hermit crabs.
“But I didn't have to be a superhero to do those things,” Fin objected.
Perchance not. But you also saved me. That required more than courage and determinationâit needed an extraordinary heart.
As if it agreed, Fin's heart beat a little quicker. “But I'm still a beginner. We all are,” he said firmly. He gazed at the sky. The rain shower was passing already. “Look, the guys and I are learning how to be superheroes. And you're like a thinking-cape-in-training. But together we're a great team. That's the real secret to the Society of Secret Superheroes.”
Indeed it is.
“Then you'll keep thinking?”
Gladly.
With the end of the cape, Finch dabbed the rain from the plastic covering on
Tales from the Arabian Nights
. He was looking forward to finishing “The Second Voyage of Sinbad the Sailor” later. For now, though, there was something he needed to do right away.
“Come on,” he said as he wrapped his arms around the tree trunk. “We've got to climb down and call the guys. It's time to start thinking about our next mission.”
Yes, Master Finch!