Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock (Children of the Red King, Book 7) (8 page)

"And Manfred will tell Fairy Tilpin about me, won't he?" Dorcas went on. "She'll be so pleased."

"YES!" Dagbert gave the door a backward kick and it slammed in Dorcas's face.

Students seldom went to the west wing. It was home to the Bloor family, and they didn't like staff or children intruding. At the far end of the hall, a dim light could be seen in the room at the base of the music tower. Dagbert made his way toward the light.

The walls on either side of him gave off the damp, earthy smell of old brick, and moss grew in the cracked slate floor.

Halfway down the passage, a bookcase stood in a small recess. Holding the jar tight against his body with his left hand, Dagbert used his right to remove two books from a shelf. He knocked on the bare wood behind them.

"Who is it?" called a voice.

"Dagbert, sir. I've got something to show you."

"Oh, yes," said Manfred in a bored voice.

"A moth."

"A moth?" Manfred sounded more interested now. "You'd better come in."

The bookcase swung back, revealing a small study. Manfred Bloor was sitting behind a desk where green bottles, earthenware jars, rusty tins, and wads of yellowing papers had been set out in groups.

"I hope it's THE moth, Dagbert Endless." Manfred beckoned Dagbert over. "I'm extremely busy, as you can see."

"It is the right moth, sir." Dagbert turned the jar over in his hands and laid it upside down before Manfred. Now the moth's wings were barely distinguishable from the white muslin beneath her.

Manfred peered through the thick glass. "You're sure?"

"See the silver on its wings? I know it's Charlie's. I caught it in the hallway of portraits. Thought it was so clever lying on a bunch of painted white lilies. Thought it wouldn't be seen." Dagbert wrinkled his nose. "Funny-looking person in that portrait."

Manfred gave him an icy look. "The person in that portrait was my great-great-great-grandmother, Donatella, a very brave woman. She was accidentally electrocuted in an experiment."

"Sorry," said Dagbert.

"Did anyone help you to do this?" Manfred tapped the jar.

"No, sir." Dagbert felt Manfred's black eyes boring into his, and he had to steady himself against the desk. "That is - only Dorcas. She made the poisoned net."

"That girl has extraordinary talent," Manfred said with satisfaction. "You can go now, Dagbert." He stood up and pointed to the door.

"About the moth," said Dagbert. "I know you want it so Charlie Bone can't travel safely, but I didn't catch it just for that."

"No?" Manfred looked at the trapped moth.

"No, I want to bargain with it. Tancred Torsson stole my sea urchin, and without it I can't... can't..."

"Drown people?" Manfred suggested.

"Not exactly." Dagbert frowned. "I'm just not myself without all my sea-gold creatures."

"Oh, I can deal with Tancred Torsson," said Manfred. "Don't worry, I'll return the moth when I've studied it a little. But make sure Charlie Bone never gets it." He waved a hand at Dagbert. "Now, off you go, and keep an eye on Charlie."

Charlie was standing in the bathroom, feeling very queasy. He wondered if someone had poisoned him. He clung to the sink while the room spun around him. First one way, then the other.

"You OK, Charlie?"

A voice broke through the buzz in Charlie's head. He turned painfully and saw Fidelio standing by the bathroom door.

"I feel a bit funny," said Charlie. He staggered through the door and Fidelio helped him to his bed.

Dagbert Endless came in and stood staring down at Charlie. "Not feeling well?" he asked.

Charlie looked away from Dagbert's startling sea-colored eyes. He felt his strength leaving him. He was so weak he could barely lift his arm. Vague forms moved through the mist that clouded his vision, and he heard Fidelio say, "Matron, Charlie's sick."

The matron's words came booming close to his ear, a deep, indistinct, underwater sound. "Faking it, are you, Charlie? There's nothing a good night's sleep won't cure."

The light went out. Charlie lay in the darkness while familiar images tumbled into his head: a knight in a green cloak, a stone troll, and a furious gray sea. But the leopards were absent and so was the knight with red feathers streaming from his silver helmet. And all that remained of the boat was the tip of its mast, sinking slowly into a heaving sea. And then Charlie saw Claerwen, lying in a glass tomb, while the silver sparkle drained from her white wings. With all that remained of his strength, Charlie raised himself onto his elbows and cried, "CLAERWEN!"

Every sleeping boy in the dormitory was now wide awake. Others, who had not yet fallen asleep, began to shout out.

"Shut up!"

"What's he going on about?"

"He's off his rocker!"

One of the first years sniveled, "What's the matter with him?" Someone else burst into tears.

"Calm down, everyone," said Fidelio.

"Charlie's just had a nightmare. It can happen to anyone. Are you OK now, Charlie?"

Charlie sat up. The buzzing in his head had gone. The dizziness had passed. He felt almost like his old self again. "Yes, I'm OK, thanks. I feel great, actually."

Manfred Bloor had put away his great-great-greatgrandfather's tins of desiccated snails, his bottles of aspen oil and monkey tears, his jars of seaweed and nightshade, and the sheaves of yellowing paper covered in beautiful looping script. Manfred had hoped they might be put to use sealing the crack in the Mirror of Amoret, but there was nothing in Bertram Bloor's notes about the fixing of mirrors. He was more concerned with creation, with resurrection and revival.

Manfred locked the door of his ancestor's carved oak cabinet and slipped the key into his pocket. Returning to his desk, he began to study the moth in her glass jar. "I have you now, moth, wand, whatever you are."

The moth appeared to be fading. Its silvered wings had lost their sparkle, its soft head looked crumpled.

"Dead," Manfred pronounced. "But we can still use you."

A small sound came from the glass. A tiny clink. Manfred sat back. Half-closing his eyes, he scanned the jar for a fracture, a minute flaw. He was about to look closer when, with a deafening crack, the jar burst apart. A dozen gleaming shards flew straight at the window. The thick pieces shattered the pane and glass fell in a shower, onto the cobblestones outside.

The bed of white muslin lay empty on Manfred's desk. The moth had gone.

CHAPTER 7

AN EVIL WIND

Charlie heard a voice screaming in the courtyard below the dormitory. Leaping out of bed, he ran to the window. There were already several boys pressed up against the pane.

"It's the talents master," said an excited first year.

"Look at all the glass," another boy observed.

"Someone's thrown a brick through the window," said Bragger Braine, a large second year.

"Idiot," muttered Dagbert. "The glass would be on the inside, not the outside, if that had happened."

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" twittered Rupe Small, Bragger Braine's devoted slave.

A glistening quilt of broken glass lay across the courtyard. Manfred moved slowly around it, kicking the glass with his toe, then squatting down and poking the fragments with a pencil. "Weedon!" he shouted again. "Come here, this minute!"

The headmaster, Dr. Bloor, opened one of the windows above Manfred's study. "What on earth's going on?" he shouted.

"Look!" screamed Manfred, getting to his feet. "Look at all this!" He threw out an arm, indicating the broken glass.

"How did it happen?" demanded his father.

Charlie saw Manfred hesitate. Whatever it was that had caused the accident, it was going to remain Manfred's secret, for the time being. "How should I know!" he shouted, his voice taking on a hysterical note.

"I suppose it was one of your experiments," said Dr. Bloor.

"It was NOT!" shrieked Manfred. "Where's Weedon?"

"He's tidying my study. Where else should he be?" Dr. Bloor suddenly caught sight of the faces in the dormitory window. "Get back to bed!" he bellowed. "Or you'll all get detention."

There was a frantic scramble away from the window.

Twelve boys bounced back onto their beds and drew the covers over their heads. They waited for Matron to storm in, but tonight she had other things on her mind.

Claerwen lay hidden in the rotting leaves between two flat cobblestones. She made herself as small as she could while Weedon swept up the glass fragments that covered her. He groaned with fatigue as he bent and brushed the tiny shards into his dustpan.

"Put it all in here, Weedon." Manfred held out a clear plastic bag.

"Wot you gonner do with it?" asked Weedon. "Make one of them installation art things?"

"Never mind," snapped Manfred, who was doing his own bit of sweeping. "And let me know if you see anything unusual."

"Wot sort of unusual?"

"Oh, you know," Manfred said impatiently. "Anything that isn't glass: a fly maybe, or a moth."

"Ah!" grunted Weedon. "Now I get it."

The janitor continued to sweep for another half hour, but the temperature was falling fast, and soon the cobblestones began to sparkle with frost.

"It's no good, Mr. Manfred," Weedon grumbled. "I can't tell glass from frost. I'm giving up." He poured his final haul into the plastic bag and went through a door into the west tower.

Manfred straightened up, rubbing his back. His leg still ached from the wounds the leopards had given him. But he wasn't prepared to give up just yet. He refused to believe the moth had escaped him entirely. Limping around the edge of the courtyard he stared at each and every cobblestone; not one eluded his piercing, coal-eyed gaze.

Claerwen waited. She might have been a dead thing: the vein of a leaf, a thread of grass. When Manfred had given up his search at last, she crawled out of her hiding place and moved toward the wall of the chapel. There she lay, in the pool of bright colors that fell from the stained-glass window.

She knew she must reach Charlie before he was tempted to travel again, but the route to his dormitory was steep and perilous for the tiny caterpillar that she had become. To escape Manfred, Claerwen had changed shape once more. It would take her some time to become a moth again. No matter. She would find a way to reach him.

On Friday afternoon, when the children went to pack their bags for home, Claerwen was still missing.

Charlie had used every spare minute to search for his moth, but there was no sign of her. And then, as he and Billy lined up behind the great oak doors, waiting for Weed on to open them, Tancred came flying up behind Charlie and whispered, "Charlie, Dagbert says he's got your moth."

"What!" Letting his bag fall to the floor, Charlie swung around and searched the line of students behind him.

"He's not here," said Tancred. "He's having an extra lesson with the talents master."

"I don't care where he is," Charlie said loudly.

"Shhh! You'll get detention," Tancred warned. "Wait till we're outside."

Weedon had appeared. Puffing and groaning, he drew back the huge iron bolts and rattled the oversize key in the lock. At last the doors were open and the sullen janitor stood aside while students swept past him and out into freedom.

The three buses were waiting in the square. Charlie stood by the steps as the other music students climbed ahead of him onto the blue bus. When Tancred appeared, Charlie grabbed his arm.

"So where's my moth, then?"

"I told you" - Tancred hitched his green cape further onto his shoulders - "Dagbert said he'd got it. He's offered to swap it for his sea urchin."

"What d'you mean?" cried Charlie.

Striding toward the green bus, Tancred said, "I mean that he'll exchange your moth for that gold charm I took the night he tried to drown you."

"So when are you going to swap it?" Charlie dogged Tancred's steps until they reached the green bus.

"That's just it, Charlie. I don't think I can let him have his sea urchin. He's not as dangerous without it." Tancred began to climb into the bus.

"You've got to!" Charlie leaped onto the bottom step.

"You'll miss your bus," Tancred told him. "Get off quickly, Charlie. This one goes in the wrong direction."

"I don't care."

"We'll find another way to get your moth," said Tancred as he moved to the back of the bus.

"Get off, blue cape," ordered the driver, "or I'll get the school janitor to remove you."

Charlie jumped off the step as the green bus rumbled out of the square. His own bus had already started moving, and he only just managed to catch it.

He was hauled inside by Gabriel and Fidelio and lay in the aisle breathing heavily, while the driver complained about kids who didn't have the sense they were born with.

Gabriel lifted Charlie's bag onto the rack as Charlie pulled himself to his feet and fell into the seat beside Fidelio.

"What's going on?" Billy's anxious face peered around the back of Charlie's seat.

"Tell you later," said Charlie, sinking back. He turned to Fidelio and whispered, "Dagbert's got my moth, but he's offered to swap it for something Tancred took."

Fidelio stared at Charlie. "I wish there was somewhere we could all meet. I've got rehearsals with the youth orchestra all weekend, but I'll be free on Sunday night. What are you going to do now that the Pets' Cafe is closed?"

From the seat behind them, Gabriel said, "Get the cafe to open again. I'm going to see Mr. Onimous."

"But he's ... ," Charlie began.

"Not dead yet," said Gabriel solemnly.

The bus meandered around the city while children jumped off at their stops and disappeared into the dusk. The streetlights had come on, but even they couldn't penetrate the dark, winding alleys that led off High Street.

Gabriel lived on the Heights, a steep cliff road that overlooked the city. He was usually the first to leave the bus, getting off at a stop at the bottom of the cliff road, but today he waited until they reached the narrow street that led to the Pets' Cafe.

"My mom will be there," he said. "She wouldn't leave Mrs. Onimous on her own after everything that's happened."

Charlie watched Gabriel turn onto Frog Street and begin to run. Of all of them, Gabriel was probably the closest to the Onimouses. His mother helped in the cafe, and his large family of gerbils was always welcome there.

Charlie and Billy got off the bus at the top of

Filbert Street and walked down to number nine. As they drew closer, Charlie saw Benjamin standing on the top step of number twelve. He was staring across the road at Charlie's house. As soon as he saw Charlie, he went inside and slammed his front door.

Charlie sighed. "He's not going to speak to me until he sees Runner Bean again."

"Maybe I could just take a look at the painting," said Billy.

"Forget it, Billy. If you got caught in Badlock, I'd never get you out. Not without Claerwen." And then Charlie thought of the giant. Without Claerwen he could never reach his ancestor again.

The two boys stepped into the hall and headed straight for the kitchen. Maisie was cooking something that smelled so delicious their mouths were already watering.

Unfortunately, Maisie wasn't the only person in the kitchen. Grandma Bone sat in the rocking chair beside the stove.

"Ahh!" Grandma Bone's grim face broke into a smile. "Billy Raven, at last. I wondered when you would be coming to see us again."

"Hello, Mrs. Bone," Billy said nervously.

"Hang your capes in the hall, boys." Grandma Bone pointed to the door. "And take your bags upstairs. We don't like bringing the outdoors into our cozy kitchen, do we, Maisie?"

"Doesn't bother me," said Maisie, heaving a large dish out of the oven.

Grandma Bone scowled at her. "Nevertheless." She waved the boys away.

"Maisie, has Runner Bean... ?" Charlie began.

"As far as I know, nothing has come out of that cellar," said Maisie. "Your other grandma could maybe tell you if she's seen anything."

"Boys, your capes," barked Grandma Bone.

Billy backed into the hall and Charlie followed, just managing to stop himself from saying something rude. Hanging their blue capes on the coat stand, the boys rushed upstairs, dumped their bags in Charlie's room, and ran down to the kitchen.

"Set the table, Charlie," Grandma Bone ordered, rocking her chair back and forth. She seemed excited about something.

Charlie dutifully set the table for five.

"Four," said his grandmother. "Your uncle Paton's not here, thank goodness. Eating by candlelight gives me indigestion."

Charlie removed a set of knives and forks, and they all sat down while Maisie brought her lamb casserole to the table and began to ladle it out. It was just as delicious as Charlie had hoped, but the meal was spoiled by Grandma Bone's looming presence; by the slurping noise she made, the rumbling of her stomach, and the way she darted quick looks at everyone else's plate.

The meal was almost over when Charlie heard a large vehicle maneuvering on the road outside. Through the gap in the curtains he could see that a white camper van had parked in front of the kitchen window. He was surprised when Uncle Paton jumped out, quickly slammed the door, and rushed toward the house, his black fedora pulled well down over his face. Charlie crossed his fingers and watched the streetlight. It didn't explode.

"Phew!" Charlie exclaimed as the front door banged.

"Can someone please turn out the lights?" Uncle Paton called from the hall.

Maisie obligingly lit the candles while Charlie sprang for the light switch.

"Where on earth have you been all week?" Grandma Bone demanded as Paton came in.

Ignoring her question, Uncle Paton said, "Something smells good." He placed a well-worn briefcase beside the door and pulled a chair up to the table.

"I asked you a question," said Grandma Bone.

"So you did, Grizelda." Paton rubbed his hands together as Maisie put a steaming dish of lamb before him.

"And I see no reason to answer you. What I do is my business."

"Research! Research!" snarled his sister, leaving the table. "Poking your nose into other people's affairs. Where d'you think that will get you?"

"Personally, nowhere, dear sister. Though what I unearth may be of great benefit to others." Paton glanced at Billy Raven.

He turned to Charlie. "Has the dog appeared yet, Charlie?"

Charlie shook his head. "Runner's still stuck."

"But I might be able to talk to him," said Billy.

Paton frowned. "Not you, Billy." He began to eat his lamb.

"But maybe..." Billy leaned forward eagerly.

"No," said Uncle Paton firmly. "We'll find another way. Though I confess, in my research I have yet to come across any mention of dogs caught in paintings."

Charlie watched his grandmother march to the door. Here she hesitated, her right hand almost on the light switch. He could see that she was hugely tempted to turn on the lamp hanging above the table. If she did, Paton would be bound to shower himself and his meal with shattered glass. But she resisted and, with a resigned shrug, left the room.

"What exactly is your research, Mr. Yewbeam?" asked Billy.

"Ah, my research." Uncle Paton smiled, almost to himself. "I am writing a history of our family, Billy. The Yewbeams. But digging and delving into the past has led me deep into the lives of others. There isn't another city in the country like this one, you know. It was built by a magician, for one thing, and a king at that. The magic, good and bad, is now part of the fabric of the place. It is like a seam that runs through the soil, the rock and clay, the marl and loam beneath our feet."

Maisie uttered a soft "tsk!" She shook her head and said, "Was it really necessary to buy a big van, Paton?"

"Our ancestors litter the country," was Paton's reply. "I've been traveling to graveyards, libraries, historic homes, council offices, you name it. At nightfall, I often find myself far from home. I could hardly go to a hotel, with all those lights. My only option would be to sleep on a park bench."

"And get mugged," said Billy.

"Mugged, indeed. Exactly, Billy." Paton scooped up his last mouthful, declared it to be the best casserole he'd ever tasted, and sat back with a sigh of contentment.

"And have you found out anything interesting, Mr. Yewbeam?" asked Billy.

Uncle Paton stared at Billy for a moment, as though he were deciding whether or not to confide in him. At length he replied, "I have, Billy. I have, indeed. But at present the clues are a little foggy. In time I shall unravel some of the more puzzling details, and then..." He paused. "And then, lives will be changed - dramatically."