Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock (Children of the Red King, Book 7) (10 page)

"Satisfied, Charlie?" called Mrs. Kettle.

"Yes." Charlie was about to step back when he saw a glint in the troll's left eye. Was that a blink? Mesmerized by the blink, and terrified of what it might mean, Charlie felt behind him for the door.

He was too late. There was an earsplitting crack as the troll broke free of the wall and came flying at Charlie. He ducked, with a scream, and Oddthumb sailed through the open door and into the shop.

His whole body shaking with terror, Charlie forced himself to follow the troll. He saw it making straight for Mrs. Kettle. The blacksmith didn't stand a chance. Oddthumb slammed into her head, and she sank to the floor with a groan.

Not satisfied with this, the troll began to crash against the furniture, sending kettles tumbling to the floor. Billy crawled under a table, his arms folded tight over his bent head. "No, no, no," he moaned.

"Shhh!" whispered Charlie, creeping toward Billy.

The silence that followed his whisper was so complete Charlie could almost feel the troll thinking. What would he do next? Could he see them? Could a stone troll hear or smell? And where was he now? Charlie held his breath.

A violent crash gave away the troll's whereabouts. He had gone through the doorway into the store, and now he proceeded to crush, dent, break, and shatter every kettle in the place. The sound of iron and copper, steel, enamel, and even clay breaking apart was like nothing Charlie could ever have imagined. He wondered if the wounded blacksmith could hear the terrible destruction of her beloved kettles, and if her breaking heart might be part of the dreadful and tragic noise.

When he's broken everything he can see, he'll come back for us,
thought Charlie. He quickly crawled beneath the table where Billy was hiding. "Our only chance is to get to the workshop and lock ourselves in," he whispered. "But we'll have to take Mrs. Kettle with us.

Quick, Billy! We'd better move now while he's still busy in the store."

But Billy wouldn't move. He remained in his tightly curled huddle. Not a sound escaped him.

"Billy!" Charlie shook a clenched arm.

"Mmmm!" moaned Billy.

"Billy, we must..."

But Charlie never finished his sentence. Above the troll's noise, he distinctly heard the loud squeak of the store door. Someone was coming in.

There was a heavy thump, as though the troll had landed from a great height. And then silence.

CHAPTER 9

PURR SPELLS

T he noise made by the troll could be heard from one end of Piminy Street to the other. Yet none of the residents had appeared at their doors.
Aren't they curious?
Tancred wondered. As he approached the Kettle Shop, the noise increased. He looked through the window and saw a gray lumpen thing slamming ferociously into piles of ancient kettles. The speed of the creature's lethal work filled Tancred with an overpowering rage. He marched into the store and the troll whizzed around to face him.

From the corner of his eye Tancred saw a movement in the room beyond the door, but his gaze remained fixed on the troll. A burst of fury from the creature almost took Tancred's breath away. Using his own rage, he summoned up the wind that was always at his fingertips. Thunder rolled across the roof and a streak of lightning lit the troll's ugly features. And then came the wind. The strength of his own power surprised Tancred. It seemed to come from a deeper place within him, a power that coursed through his body, almost as though it were drawn toward the vile creature before him. The troll's hatred was palpable, its desire for his destruction intense, for it knew that it had met a strength equal to its own.

Tancred's storm swept around the troll, sending broken kettles flying to the back of the shop. Not content, the storm boy stepped up the force of his tempest until the troll became the only thing that he could see between the curtains of his hair, caught in the wind that howled around them. And in this narrow frame the stone figure began to change. His breastplate took on the look of dull metal, his pants a straw color, his face an unhealthy sepia, and his eyes a gleaming steel gray. As Tancred fought to keep his gaze on this terrifying transformation, the image of a helmet appeared on the troll's bald head, and the hand, with a huge deformed thumb, reached for the knife wedged into his belt.

Tancred filled the wind with bolts of ice, and the hand stopped where it was. Seconds passed. The boy and the troll were now locked in an invisible battle. When Tancred felt the troll's strength weakening, he seized his chance and aimed a rod of energy, hard as iron, straight at the troll's heart.

The troll rocked, its gray eyes flashed, and it fell to the floor. For a moment, nothing moved. The storm died to a light breeze and a curious silence filled the kettle shop. After the uproar, it was almost painful. Tancred moved cautiously toward the fallen troll. It appeared to be lifeless, drained of color.

"Tancred!" Charlie peered through the doorway. "You've finished him off!"

"Can't be sure." Tancred stepped over the broken kettles. And then he saw Mrs. Kettle, lying in the shadows. "Oh, no! Is she dead?"

"No, I can hear her breathing," Charlie said quickly.

As Tancred reached the doorway, a sound made him turn. Charlie, following his gaze, saw the troll rock back onto its feet and shoot straight through the window. It was only then that they became aware of the small boy creeping along beside the wall.

"Hey!" shouted Tancred.

Eric Shellhorn darted him a look of smug satisfaction, reached for the door, and ran out.

"He'll go to the Stone Shop," said Charlie.

"Better wait for reinforcements before we go there," muttered Tancred. He went and knelt beside Mrs. Kettle. "I'll phone for an ambulance."

"Mrs. Kettle was afraid that something would happen to her," said Charlie. "It made me think of the stone troll. But I never saw Eric come in."

Tancred pulled out his newest cell phone. It was sleek and silver with a turquoise keyboard. He was just beginning to dial a number when his hand was caught in an iron grip and his phone snatched away.

"NO!" commanded the blacksmith.

"Mrs. Kettle! You're... you're ..." Charlie dropped to his knees beside her.

"Conscious," she said. "Barely."

"I'm sorry. I seem to have made a horrible mess." Tancred looked at the wreckage surrounding them. "I was trying to blast that awful thing out of existence."

"You saved the day, Tancred Torsson." Mrs. Kettle patted his hand. "It could have been a lot worse."

"You need to see a doctor." Tancred reached for his phone. "Please, Mrs. Kettle, let me call someone."

"No." She clutched the phone to her chest and sat up.

"That troll gave you an awful bash," Charlie remarked, staring at the purple lump on her forehead.

Mrs. Kettle tapped it with her fist. "Ouch! I'll live. But look, no ambulance, no police."

"But... ," Charlie began.

"No arguments. How would I explain? A stone troll banged me on the head and wrecked my store.

The police couldn't deal with that sort of information, could they?"

Mrs. Kettle had a point. But her shop was destroyed, her window was broken, and when she rose, unsteadily, to her feet, Charlie noticed that she had to support herself against a table. They couldn't possibly leave her in this state.

"We'll sort out the kettles for you; they're not all broken." Charlie lifted a big iron kettle onto its stand.

"Don't you worry, Charlie. I'm not without friends. They'll be here soon, if I'm not mistaken." She tapped some numbers into Tancred's phone and handed it back to him. "Put that away, storm boy, and let's have no more talk of doctors and police. Now then." She bent over, with a small grunt, and looked under the table. "You can come out now, Billy Raven. It's all over."

Billy crawled out with Rembrandt's head peeking above his collar. "I wanted to make sure it had gone." He stood up and, pulling his rat out of his sweater, began to pet his head. "Rembrandt was more scared than me," he said. "Did you finish it off, Tanc? That stone thing?"

""Fraid not. It's on the loose somewhere, and Eric Shellhorn's not far behind it. Together they're lethal."

Mrs. Kettle insisted that the boys leave her and her friends to put the shop back in order. "My friends will be here soon," she said, "but I'd like to know where that troll has gone. Don't put yourselves in danger, my dears. Make sure Eric's not with it. Just let me know what you find out."

"I'll update you tonight, Mrs. K.!" Tancred waved his phone. "What's your number?"

"I don't have one of those flashy things. Just come by." Mrs. Kettle ushered them out and closed the door.

"The fish shop next," Tancred announced, as they walked down the street.

"What d'you want to go there for?" asked Billy. "I wish we could get out of this street."

"I was coming to the fish shop when I heard the ruckus at Mrs. Kettle's place," said Tancred. "I've decided to give Dagbert his sea urchin."

"Swap it for Claerwen? Thanks, Tancred! But are you sure?" asked Charlie. "What made you change your mind?"

Tancred shrugged. "You need that moth, Charlie. And the sea urchin, well, we'll have to rely on our own talents to get the better of Dagbert."

When they reached the fish shop, Tancred tried the door. It was locked, as usual. He pressed a rusty doorbell, and they heard a long, mournful ring echo through the building. Tancred pressed again. Nothing. The bell appeared to have given its last ring.

"Dagbert!" Charlie called up to the window. "Are you there?"

No reply.

They waited another five minutes before moving on. They passed a candle shop and a picture framer's, and then they were standing outside the Stone Shop.

Charlie's instinct was to run. Billy did. He ran until he was at the end of the road, and there he waited, one hand resting on the rat in his pocket, the other nervously twisting his hair.

"What d'you think?" said Tancred, looking into the dark store.

"What d'you mean, what do I think?" asked Charlie.

"I mean, should we go in?"

"You're joking!" Charlie realized he sounded hysterical. He tried to calm down. "I don't think it's a good idea right now, Tanc. If Eric's in there, he could set the whole place off."

Tancred stood away from the window. "You're right. Hmmm. We'll have to think this through."

But where could they go to think things through? Their usual meeting place was closed, Grandma Bone would be on the prowl at number nine, and Tancred lived miles away in the hills.

"My judgment's a bit off," Tancred murmured. "I feel weird after all that stuff with the troll."

"Sorry, Tanc!" Charlie fell into step beside Tancred as he walked down the street. "How did you get here today?"

"Gabriel's mom. She dropped me off on High Street. She and Gabriel have gone to see Mrs. Onimous."

"Hey, let's go to the Pets' Cafe, anyway," Charlie suggested. "Even if it's closed to customers, they might let us in. We're friends."

Fifteen minutes later they were standing on Frog Street and looking into the Pets' Cafe. Chairs were piled onto tables, a white sheet covered the counter, and not one light showed in the lamps that made the cafe such a colorful and cozy place. It looked absolutely and utterly closed. Even the tails, whiskers, wings, and claws that decorated the sign above the door didn't look as bouncy as they had before. In fact, the whole place seemed to be receding back into the huge ancient wall behind it.

"Mrs. Silk parked around the corner," said Tancred. "But I know she was coming here."

Charlie rang the bell.

A light appeared behind the counter as a door was opened. Mrs. Silk appeared. She hesitated, saw the boys outside the window, and came to open the door.

"How's Mrs. Onimous?" asked Charlie in a reverentially hushed voice.

"Come and see!" Mrs. Silk looked surprisingly cheerful. Her blue eyes were twinkling and she had tied back her brown curls in a festive-looking ribbon.

The boys followed Mrs. Silk around the counter, through the bead curtain that hung in front of the doorway, and into the cozy kitchen. Gabriel was cutting some bread for Mrs. Onimous, who had her arm in a sling, and there, sitting in an armchair by the stove, was Mr. Onimous.

Charlie could hardly believe it. Such intense relief flooded through him, he couldn't speak. Nor could anyone else. They just let themselves be taken over by the widest, longest, happiest of smiles.

A large white bandage covered Mr. Onimous's furry head, there was a butterfly bandage on his nose, and he had a black eye, but his broad smile revealed more of his small, sharp teeth than any of them had ever seen.

Charlie ran over to the little man. "M... Mr.... Mr. Onimous," he stuttered.

Mr. Onimous took Charlie's hand in his clawlike fingers. "There, there, Charlie. You look quite upset and, as you see, I'm right as rain."

"We thought you were dead," Billy blurted out. "How did you get better, Mr. Onimous?"

"Ah, how indeed. I had visitors, Billy." Mr. Onimous put his head to one side and chuckled.

"Visitors?" Billy was still puzzled. "What sort of visitors?"

"Furry ones!" Mrs. Onimous declared in a voice that said Billy should have known very well what sort of visitors had cured her husband.

Mr. Onimous laughed out loud, and from beneath his chair there appeared three sleepy-looking cats.

"The Flames!" Tancred exclaimed, sinking into a chair beside Mrs. Onimous.

"The Flames!" Charlie dropped to his knees and began to stroke the three bright cats.

Billy hesitated before settling himself on the other side of Mrs. Onimous. "Rembrandt's had a bad experience," he told her. "He might not want to play with the Flames just yet."

"Why, Billy, they wouldn't hurt him," she said.

"All the same." Billy gently touched his pocket and Rembrandt sighed in his sleep.

Gabriel poured tea for everyone, and while Mrs. Silk drew trays of hot cakes from the oven, Mr. Onimous proceeded to tell the story of his miraculous recovery.

"I was lying in this hospital ward, middle of the night, patients snuffling and sighing all around me. I didn't care. I thought I was done for. Almost gone.

And worst of all was the feeling that someone wanted me gone. And then, through the grunts and groans and heavy breathings, I hear this sound.
Patter, patter,
light as fairy dust. Closer and closer, and then came the purrs; gentle, soft purrs, warm and lovely. And I began to think,
I'm not gone. Not gone at all. In fact, I'm very much and altogether here. And what's more, I've got a job to do.
As soon as that thought entered my poor old head, I felt one of the cats leap onto my bed, then another, and another. And then Aries brought his copper-colored face right up close to mine, and he purred. And orange Leo rubbed his cheek against my arm and purred, and Sagittarius nipped my toes and kneaded my feet and purred.

"I tell you, those purrs went deep into my heart, boys. When the Flames heard my merry heartbeat and saw my eager open eyes, they jumped from the bed and waked away, as quiet and graceful as they'd come. And no one saw them, not a soul. I asked the night nurse in the morning. "Cats, Mr. Onimous," she said.

There were no cats in this hospital, I can tell you. You were dreaming," she said, 'and now you've made a miraculous recovery."" Mr. Onimous smiled at everyone. "What d'you think of that?"

Charlie wasn't really surprised. He'd seen the Flames bring someone back to life before. He'd also seen them nearly kill someone.

"Mr. Onimous, I think it's great," said Tancred. "But we need to find out who did this to you."

"And we need to get your cafe open again," Gabriel said forcibly.

Without lifting his hand from Leo's orange coat, Charlie said, "We've got something to tell you, too, Mr. Onimous."

Tancred said quickly, "Maybe not today."

Mr. Onimous looked offended. "If there's something I should know, it had better be now," he said. "So, come on, Charlie, spill the beans."

Mrs. Silk insisted they all have a snack first. "I've cooked so much," she said, handing out some plates.

"Most of it's for the animals, what with everything that's been happening. I forgot the cafe was closed. It's all good stuff, though, anyone can eat it."

"Which is best for rats?" asked Billy.

Mrs. Silk pointed to some thin pinkish sticks, and Billy took a handful.