Charlie Bone and the Time Twister (Children of the Red King, Book 2) (4 page)

"Are you on his side now?" Tancred demanded, glaring at his old ally.

"Everyone's on my side," sniggered Manfred.

Lysander silently shook his head, but unfortunately Zelda Dobinski chose that moment to show off her particularly nasty gift for moving things. She was staring at a huge reference book on the shelves behind Tancred. The book launched itself across the room and caught Tancred in the back just as he whirled toward the door.

" Owww!" roared Tancred.

Six children burst into wild laughter, while five looked on in horror.

Tancred didn't notice the sympathetic faces. He was only aware of the mocking laughter. Wind rushed furiously around the room as the stormy boy swept through the door, leaving it banging violently against the wall.

Charlie couldn't stop himself. "Wait!" he cried, leaping after Tancred.

“And where do you think you're going, Bone?" said Manfred.

"I've left my pens in the coatroom," lied Charlie.

A scrawny red-haired boy looked up and sneered, “Always forgetting things, aren't you, Bone?"

"Not always, Asa." Charlie was scared of Asa Pike. He was Manfred's sidekick and had a very nasty talent for changing his shape.

"Close the door," said Asa, as Charlie stepped outside.

Charlie pulled the door shut behind him. The passage outside was deserted. Charlie decided to try the hall.

As he descended the wide staircase a blast of arctic air almost rocked him off his feet. He stepped down into the stone-slated hall and stood very still. Something was happening to his eyes. He was seeing things that should not be there. A cloud of sparkling particles swirled in the very center of the long room. Was it an ice storm?

Gradually the pale fragments grew more vivid. Now they were forming a blurred shape, blue with a touch of black beneath it. Before Charlie's astonished gaze, a figure in a blue hooded cape was materializing.

Charlie had no doubt that he was seeing a ghost. But when the figure turned to face him, he found, to his horror, that he was looking at . . . himself.

CHAPTER 3
HIDING HENRY.

It was the other Charlie who spoke first.

"What a joke," said the boy. "I haven't traveled very far at all."

He had such a normal sort of voice Charlie was reassured. This wasn't a ghost. But if not a ghost, what was it? Clearing his throat, he asked, "Where have you come from, exactly?"

"Here," said the boy "Just now I was here, but," he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed up at the row of electric lights illuminating the hall. "It wasn't like this. How did it get so bright?"

"Electricity" said Charlie. He was beginning to recognize the boy “Are you . . .?" he began. "I mean have you . . . well, the thing is, I've seen you in a photo. Are you Henry Yewbeam?"

"That's me," said Henry beaming. "I think I've seen you, too. Somewhere. Who are you?"

"I'm your . . . erm . . . sort of cousin, Charlie Bone."

"No! This is very good news. A cousin, well, well." Henry marched over and shook Charlie's hand. "Very glad to meet you, Charlie Bone."

"The news isn't that good," said Charlie. "What was the date when you . . . just now?"

"January 12, 1916," said Henry "I always know the date."

"I'm afraid it isn't that now"

"No?" Henry's smile began to fade. "So . . .?"

"You're almost ninety years ahead of where you were," said Charlie.

Henry's mouth opened but no words came out. Instead there was a sharp ping as something dropped out of his hand and hit the floor.

Charlie saw a large glass marble rolling across the hall. "Wow!" he exclaimed, but before he could pick it up, Henry shouted, "Careful, Charlie. Don't look at it."

"Why?"

"It's what brought me here."

Charlie stood back from the shining glass marble. "You mean it brought you through time?"

Henry nodded. "It's a Time Twister. My mom told me about it, but I'd never seen it until just now 1 should have guessed what it was. I knew Zeke would try and punish me."

"Zeke?"

"My cousin, Ezekiel Bloor." Henry suddenly grinned. "I say he's probably dead by now." And then a sad and solemn expression crossed his face. "They're probably all dead: Mother, Father, even my brother, James. There's no one left."

"There's me," said Charlie, "and I think your brother is . . ."

At that moment a dreadful howl came from the stairs above them. The boys looked up to see a squat, ugly-looking dog standing at the top of the stairs. 11 howled again, raising its long nose toward the roof while folds of almost hairless skin shook beneath its whiskery chin.

"What an ugly beast," Henry whispered.

"It's Cook's dog, Blessed." Charlie didn't wait for the dog to howl again. "Quick," he said, grabbing Henry's arm. "You've got to hide. This isn't a good place for you to be right now There are people here who might — do something nasty if they find out who you are."

"Why?" asked Henry his eyes widening.

"Just a feeling," said Charlie. "Come on." He dragged Henry toward the door into the west wing.

"Where are we going?" said Henry scooping up the Time Twister and slipping it into his pocket.

For a moment Charlie had no idea why he was taking Henry into the west wing. He turned the heavy brass ring in the door and pushed his new friend into the dark passage beyond.

"I know this place," whispered Henry "I never liked it."

"Nor me," said Charlie. "But we have to go this way to find somewhere safe." He closed the door behind him just as Blessed gave another mournful howl.

The two boys made their way along the passage until they reached an empty circular room. A dim light hanging from the ceiling showed an ancient wooden door and, opposite the door, a flight of stone steps.

"The tower?" Henry looked at the steps and made a face.

It was then that Charlie realized why he had brought Henry to this place. "You'll be safe at the top," he said.

"Will I?" Henry looked doubtful.

"Trust me," said Charlie.

As Henry began to mount the steps, Charlie noticed his peculiar tweed pants. They reached only to the knee, where a button held them in place over loose gray socks.

Henry's boots looked distinctly feminine: black and shiny they were neatly laced just above the ankle.

"We'd better find you some new clothes," Charlie muttered as they reached a second circular room. A door led off this room into the west wing, but Charlie urged Henry up a second flight of steps. "The Bloors live through there," he said.

"Interesting," said Henry "Some things haven't changed, then."

They kept climbing upward but long before they reached the top of the tower, the sound of a piano could be heard, echoing down the narrow stairwell.

Henry stopped. "There's someone up there."

"It's the piano teacher, Mr. Pilgrim," said Charlie. "No one else comes up here, and Mr. Pilgrim doesn't really notice things. He won't be a problem, promise!"

Another two sets of stairs brought them to the small room at the top of the tower. Sheets of music lay scattered on the floor and the shelves that ran from floor to ceiling were crammed with huge leather-bound albums, and thick dog-eared scores.

"It'll be warm here," said Charlie, moving several piles away from the bookcase. "You see, if we put some paper on the floor like this," he spread several sheets of music between the bookcase and a wall of plied scores. "It'll make a sort of bed, and you can hide here till morning."

“And then what?" asked Henry.

"Well . . ." Charlie scratched his head. "Then I'll find a way to get you some breakfast, and maybe some new clothes."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Henry gave an anxious frown.

"They're just different. We don't wear that kind of stuff now"

Henry glanced at Charlie's long gray trousers and thick-soled shoes. "No. So I see," he said.

"I'd better be getting back," said Charlie. "The head boy Manfred Bloor, will be after me, and I don't want to get on the wrong side of him. He hypnotizes."

"Oh. One of those." Henry had heard about the hypnotizers in his family "Are you one of them?" he asked Charlie. "The endowed?"

'" Fraid so," said Charlie. "That's how I knew you."

"What about him?" Henry pointed to the door behind which the rich piano music flowed on.

"He won't bother you," said Charlie. '"Bye, now." He gave a wave and backed out of the small room, feeling inexplicably guilty.

In the King's room a boy with a long, sad face glanced anxiously at Charlie's empty seat. The boy's name was Gabriel Silk, and he worried about Charlie. He should have gone after Tancred, not let Charlie go. Charlie was younger and likely to land in some sort of trouble. He was the kind of boy unfortunate things happened to.

And then the howling began. At first they all tried to ignore it, but in the end Manfred flung down his pen and exclaimed, "Bloody dog! Billy go and shut it up."

"I'll go," Gabriel offered.

"I said Billy," Manfred gave Gabriel one of his horrible stares and then turned his piercing black gaze on Billy "Go on," he said. "You can talk to the wretched thing. Ask it if it's got a bellyache."

"Yes, Manfred." Billy scurried to the door.

As he ran down the chilly stairwells and dark corridors he talked to himself. He hated it when everyone else was shut away doing homework. He was afraid of meeting the ghosts. He knew they were there — gliding about in the dark. Billy never went home. He had no home to go to. Sometimes, he stayed with an aunt. But not often.

He had reached the wide landing where a grand staircase led down into the hall. Blessed was sitting at the top of the stairs, still howling.

Billy sat beside the dog and put one hand on its plump back. "What's the matter, Blessed?" The words came out in a series of little grunts and sniffs. A language that Blessed could understand.

The old dog stopped howling. "Boy came," he said. "Bad thing. Wrong."

"What boy? Why was it wrong?" asked Billy.

Blessed considered this question. He seemed to be having some difficulty with his reply At last he grunted, "Boy came from nowhere. With ball, very small. Shiny Blessed not like this ball. It bad magic."

Billy was perplexed. "Was it Tancred?" he asked. Boy with lots of yellow hair?"

"No. Boy was like that one." Blessed stared down the hall.

Following the dog's gaze, Billy was surprised to see Charlie Bone quietly closing the door into the west wing.

"Where've you been?" Billy called.

Charlie looked up, startled. "Nowhere," he said, lust looking for Tancred."

"Blessed said another boy was here; a boy like you."

" lessed's got a vivid imagination." Charlie began to cross the hall.

"He says there was a ball. It was small and shiny and he didn't like it."

"I think Blessed was dreaming," said Charlie, climbing the stairs toward Billy.

Billy looked at the old dog. "Blessed doesn't lie," he said. "Dogs can't."

"They can dream, can't they? Come on, Billy We'd better get back to our homework or we'll get detention."

"Go back to Cook," Billy told the dog. "Go on, Blessed. No more howling."

Blessed gave a sullen grunt and began to flop down the stairs, while Billy and Charlie ran back to the King's room.

When homework was over, Charlie had half a mind to go and visit Henry He didn't like leaving him alone in the tower, nearly a hundred years from where he was supposed to be. Of course, he wasn't quite alone, but Mr. Pilgrim hardly counted. Charlie badly needed to confide in someone.

When he reached the dormitory he found Fidelio filling his closet with the clothes from his bag. There were two boys from the drama department in the room and Charlie couldn't risk being overheard. "I want to ask you something," he whispered to his friend. "Can we go somewhere else?"

"The art room," Fidelio said softly.

As they came out of the dormitory they walked straight into Billy Raven.

"Be careful what you say" Fidelio whispered as they sped down the corridor. "I used to feel sorry for Billy, um but I don't like the way he watches people."

"Someone's got to him," said Charlie. "I don't know who it is, but they're making him spy for them. I don't think Billy can help it."

They had reached the art room.

"Light's still on," Charlie commented. "But no one's here."

"Mr. Boldova might come back," warned Fidelio. "We'd better hide over there."

A large painting of trees had been propped against two easels near the wall, and the boys managed to squeeze behind it and squat on the floor. In a hushed voice, Charlie began to tell his friend about the sudden appearance of Henry the boy with the Time Twister, who vanished nearly a hundred years ago. However, as soon as he mentioned the voices in the photograph, Fidelio clutched his arm.

"Hold on," he said. " D'you mean you can hear what's going on in photos?"

Charlie nodded. He had never told Fidelio about his peculiar talent. "I don't like people to know" he muttered.

"I don't think I would, either," said Fidelio. "Don't worry I won't tell a soul. Go on about Henry Where is he now?"

"I took him up to the top of the music tower. I couldn't think of anywhere else."

"What about Mr. Pilgrim?"

"He won't even notice Henry and if he does . . ." Charlie hesitated. "I don't think he'll harm him."

"Hmm. I wonder! You can't tell with Mr. Pilgrim," murmured Fidelio. "So, what are you going to do with this long-lost great-great-uncle?"

"1 thought I'd try and smuggle him home at the weekend. But first I've got to get some food to him."

"Lunch break would be best," said Fidelio. "He can have my meat — if it's not mince; and you can sneak up to the tower, while I . . ." He broke off suddenly as a face appeared at the top of the tree painting.

"What are you doing?" asked Emma Tolly.

Charlie was tempted to tell her; she was, after all, a friend, as well as endowed, but something held him back. "We're just talking," he said. "Can't get any peace in the dorm."

"I know," Emma sighed. "I came to finish a drawing."

"We were just going," said Fidelio.

The two boys wriggled out from behind the painting.

Just as they were leaving the art room, Charlie caught sight of a large sketch book, lying open on a table. He stared at it, and moved closer.

"It's mine," said Emma. "Just sketches, nothing special."

But they were special. Both pages of the open book were covered with pictures of birds: birds in flight; swooping, hovering, soaring, and diving. They were so real Charlie felt that if he touched them he would feel real feathers.

"They're brilliant," he murmured.

"Brilliant," Fidelio repeated.

"Thank you!" Emma gave one of her shy smiles.

All at once, the door behind them opened, and a voice said, "What's going on in here?"

Mr. Boldova appeared. You could tell he was an art-teacher, because his clothes were covered in splashes of paint. Even his green cape, which he often forgot to wear, had little flecks of color on the sleeves. Mr. Boldova always looked as if he had just been on vacation. He had bright hazel eyes, a very healthy complexion, and long brown hair tied in a ponytail.

"I was showing my work to Charlie and Fidelio," Emma said confidently "We were just going."

"That's all right, Emma." The art teacher beamed at them all.

It was impossible to be afraid of Mr. Boldova. He never gave detention, never punished pupils for untidiness, forgetfulness, or even being late. The only thing that made him angry was bad art. He gave Charlie a searching look and said, "Ah, Charlie Bone."

"Yes, sir," said Charlie. "Good night, sir."

The three children slipped past him and ran for their dormitories. It was already five minutes to lights out. Matron would be on the warpath, and Matron was not an understanding person. She was, in fact, Charlie's great aunt, Lucretia Yewbeam.

As they dashed into their dormitory the boys heard Miss Yewbeam shouting at some poor girl who had lost her slippers.

"We'll just make it before she gets here," said Fidelio, rushing to the bathroom.