Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock (Children of the Red King, Book 7) (12 page)

"Did you see that?" The man's frail voice hardly reached them.

Realizing he couldn't deny it, Charlie walked toward the man, saying, "Yes, we did, sir."

"There's a great stone thing in my hall," the man said tremulously, "all broken up. Looks like a stone dog."

"It is, sir," said Charlie, peering into the old man's hall. "At least it was." The hound's head had separated from its body and the rest lay around the floor covered in bricks.

"I am a retired lawyer," the old man told Charlie. "Mr. Hector Bittermouse, you may have heard of me." He didn't wait for Charlie to reply. "Look! I haven't done any harm for sixty years, so why would anyone do that?" He pointed to the rubble in his hall. "And who was it?"

Charlie struggled to reply. He could hardly tell Mr. Bittermouse that a six-year-old boy was responsible for demolishing his door. It was too incredible. "It was ... it was ..." Charlie was aware that Benjamin and Runner Bean were now standing just behind him. Benjamin also found it impossible to provide Mr. Bittermouse with an answer.

"No!" Mr. Bittermouse suddenly cried out. "It was one of them, wasn't it?"

"One of who?" asked Charlie.

"One of those people from Piminy Street. My wife and I should have moved years ago, but we thought they'd all gone, and moving is such an upheaval." The old man began to wring his hands. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. What am I to do?"

Mr. Bittermouse was clearly not up to the task confronting him, so the boys helped to clear the rubble into the street and prop up the broken door. And then Charlie had a bright idea. Norton Cross, the large Pets' Cafe doorman, would probably be looking for work.

"If you send a letter to Mr. Norton Cross, The Pets' Cafe, Frog Street, I think he'll be able to help you, Mr. Bittermouse," said Charlie. "He's very strong, and nothing frightens him."

"Write it down for me, young man." Mr. Bittermouse beckoned them into a dark study where a huge mahogany desk filled almost an entire wall. The old man took out a pen and a notepad and handed them to Charlie. Charlie wrote down Norton's name and the Pets' Cafe address.

"And what would your name be, young man?" asked Mr. Bittermouse.

"Charlie Bone, sir."

"Bone," said the old man thoughtfully. "My older brother knew a Bone - Lyell Bone."

"He's my father," said Charlie.

"They were friends," went on Mr. Bittermouse, "good friends. Their relationship wasn't just professional."

Charlie had no way of knowing that his next question would have far-reaching consequences. He merely wanted to know how and why his father had become friends with a man who must be very old. "Who is your brother, Mr. Bittermouse?" asked Charlie.

"He's a lawyer like me, Charlie - was a lawyer, I should say. Though he still does a bit of work, now and again, for special friends. Barnaby Bittermouse is his name. He's over ninety, but his memory is a lot sharper than mine. Lives all by himself on Tigerfield Street, number ten."

Charlie filed all this away in his mind. But how could he forget names like Tigerfield and Bittermouse? And how could he forget the number ten?

CHAPTER 11

TANCRED'S NOTE

Charlie and Benjamin left Mr. Bittermouse without meeting his wife.
She must be very deaf,
thought Charlie,
not to have heard her porch falling down.
Nobody else had heard either, for that matter. Or if they had, they were keeping well away. The street was deserted. But then most people would be huddled around a fire or the TV on a cold Sunday afternoon.

Ingledew's Bookstore was not far from Mr. Bittermouse's house. Had Miss Ingledew heard the noise?

Yes, she had. "Charlie, Benjamin, how good to see you," said Miss Ingledew as she opened the door to them. "You didn't happen to see what caused that awful crash just now, did you?"

"Yes, we did," said Charlie.

Olivia, who had been packing books behind the counter, suddenly popped up like a jack-in-a-box, causing Runner Bean to leap in the air with a yelp.

"So what was it?" asked Olivia.

"I'll tell you about the crash later," said Charlie, "but really I've come to ask Miss Ingledew's advice. Something awful has happened to Billy Raven."

Olivia pulled aside the curtain behind the counter and called, "Bad news, Em!"

"Oh, no!" said Emma in a suitably tragic voice.

They all joined her in the backroom, where Miss Ingledew had a good fire burning. A pile of roasted chestnuts by the grate reminded Charlie of Christmas. There was even a jug of hot blackberry juice just inside the fireplace screen.

Once he was tucked into a corner of the sofa, with hot chestnuts in his hands and a mug of blackberry juice on the table beside him, Charlie recounted his extraordinary weekend. There were interruptions, of course, most of them from Olivia, but Benjamin and Runner Bean, lying together on a rug before the fire, fell fast asleep. The others looked quite exhausted by the time Charlie had finished, but at least they'd stayed awake.

223 Charlie was disappointed with Miss Ingledew's reaction. "Your uncle will know what to do," she said. Her face was a picture of worry.

"But he's not here," said Charlie, peeling his last chestnut.

"Where is he, Charlie? He was away all last week. What are we going to do without him?" Miss Ingledew seemed to have reversed their roles. Now she was asking Charlie for his advice.

"I was hoping you would know," Charlie replied.

"Oh!" Miss Ingledew, who was sitting at her desk, nervously flipped over a page on her calendar, picked up a pen, and put it down again. Was it possible that she was missing Uncle Paton?

Wedged in beside Charlie, Olivia was frowning with concentration. Emma, at the other end of the sofa, was staring into the fire, with her chin resting on her hands. All at once, Olivia made a loud huffing sound and cried, "I know. We'll go and see the headmaster. Maybe Billy did go back to school, but if he's not there, we'll ask Dr. Bloor where he is. He'll have to tell us."

"He won't tell us the truth," Emma said gloomily. "He could easily say he's sent Billy away, or something."

Miss Ingledew stood up and began to pace about. "It's the Piminy Street business that worries me," she said. "Poor Mrs. Kettle. I must pay her a visit. And Mr. Bittermouse! That creature could have killed him. Something should be done about Eric."

Benjamin had woken up. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he grumbled that Runner Bean had never hurt anyone, so why had a stone dog been sent after him?

"Maybe it wasn't," Olivia said brightly. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"Tell us, Olivia." Miss Ingledew sat down again and put on an earnest expression.

"I think the stone hound was meant to break down Mr. Bittermouse's door," Olivia said triumphantly. "Runner Bean just happened to be in the way. Remember, Charlie? You told us Mr. Bittermouse said, 'I haven't done any harm for sixty years." Which means he did once, and someone's getting back at him at last."

Nobody argued. It made perfect sense. Except, as Miss Ingledew pointed out, the someone who put Eric up to his nasty tricks must be quite old by now, if Mr. Bittermouse had harmed them such a very long time ago.

"It could be a family feud," Benjamin suggested.

"Yes, yes, Benjamin, I think you're right." Miss Ingledew sat down again. "Their descendants are returning to settle old scores, to continue the feuds that began centuries ago." She frowned. "But why now? And who has summoned them?"

"The shadow," said Charlie.

Olivia shook her head. "It can't be the shadow. Why do you keep coming back to him, Charlie? The shadow was banished. He's gone. If he wasn't, he'd be seen in the streets, causing trouble, appearing at Bloor's. He was an enchanter, for goodness' sake; he'd be creating mayhem, after what happened to him."

"Then he's reaching those Piminy Street people through someone else," Charlie claimed. "Mrs. Tilpin. She still has the Mirror of Amoret. Even though it's broken, maybe she can still talk to the shadow."

"Let's hope no one can fix the mirror," said Emma.

Mss Ingledew gave a little shiver, as though she were trying to shrug off something unpleasant. "I must get back to work. I've a lot to do before the store opens tomorrow. Stay as long as you like, boys, and finish those chestnuts while they're warm."

When Miss Ingledew had gone, no one spoke for a while, and then Olivia said, "Shall we go and see Dr. Bloor tomorrow, Charlie?"

He didn't like the idea at all; he knew that Billy was in Badlock, but Olivia had boxed him into a corner. "I'll go alone, if you don't mind," he said. "Billy was staying with me, so it's my responsibility."

"OK. But just let me know if you want me to come." Olivia peeled another chestnut. "I think I'll dye my hair green tonight."

"Good," said Charlie, for want of a better response.

So much had happened over the weekend Charlie couldn't be blamed for overlooking a very important detail. It was Benjamin who brought it up, as he and Charlie were walking home.

"Was Rembrandt with Billy when he disappeared?" asked Benjamin.

Charlie stopped dead. "I don't know," he said slowly. "He wasn't in my bedroom. I'd have seen him."

"Well, if you find him in the cellar, it means that Billy was definitely there, doesn't it?" Benjamin looked rather pleased with himself.

"Certainly does, Ben." Charlie felt much more optimistic. At least there was something he could do to prove that Billy had gone into the cellar.

"Good luck, then, Charlie!" Benjamin sprinted across the road to number twelve, with Runner Bean bounding beside him.

When he reached his own front door, the yellow dog looked back at Charlie, as if to say, "Better you than me."

Rembrandt was not in the cellar. Charlie turned over every mattress, bag, box, moth-eaten blanket, pillow, and suitcase. He even forced himself to look behind the sinister painting, still propped against the wall.

"Charlie, whatever are you doing?" Maisie called softly from the hall.

"I'm looking for Rembrandt," Charlie shouted, not caring who heard.

"Rembrandt? Didn't Billy take him, then?"

"Yes, he probably did," Charlie said angrily as he climbed the cellar steps. "Only YOU think he took him to Bloor's, and I think he took him to Badlock."

Maisie said sadly, "I wish your uncle would come back."

But Uncle Paton didn't come back. And next morning there was no sign of a white camper van outside the house, and no answer when Charlie knocked on his uncle's door.

There was, however, a postcard.

"Look! Look!" cried Maisie, running into the kitchen. "Your mom and dad have written. I'm so glad it arrived before you left for school."

Charlie looked at the picture on the front of the card. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He picked up the card and stared at it.

"Charlie, whatever is the matter?" said Maisie. "Turn it over and read the message."

But Charlie couldn't tear his gaze from the image on the front: a small sailing boat, riding the waves of an endless gray sea. It was the boat Charlie had seen in his nightmares, in the moments when he had fought off Manfred's hypnotizing stare, and glimpsed the thoughts behind those cruel black eyes.

Unable to bear the suspense, Maisie snatched the card away and read: "This is such fun, Charlie, we have decided to stay away a little longer than we had planned. A letter to Maisie will explain. I'm giving this to the captain of a passing yacht. He'll reach dry land long before we do. We think of you every day. All our love, Mom and Dad xxx."

"Well, that's not so bad, Charlie. We'll manage, won't we? Don't look so upset."

"It's the boat." Charlie's throat was dry with fear.

"What about it?" Maisie turned the postcard over. "It's a nice little boat. I expect they've got someone to sail it for them. They wouldn't go out alone."

"It's going to sink," Charlie said with conviction.

"I've never heard such foolishness. They might not even be on this boat." Maisie jabbed a finger at the postcard. "It's just a picture, Charlie. What-ever's the matter with you? Anyone would think you begrudged your poor parents a little bit of time together."

Charlie felt too wretched to reply. He walked out of the kitchen, went to get his bags, and left the house without even saying good-bye.

News of the "wicked weekend," as Olivia was calling it, had reached everyone who mattered in Bloor's Academy before the first break. Unfortunately, it had also reached a lot of people who didn't matter. Although Joshua, Dorcas, Dagbert, and the twins probably did matter, insofar as they made Charlie feel even worse with their sidelong smirks and snide remarks.

It all came to a head as they were filing down the corridor of portraits for lunch. Joshua sidled up to Charlie and whispered, "Where's your friend, the little white rat, Charlie? Has he been adopted by a nice mommy rat?"

Charlie shoved Joshua backward, grunting, "Shut up, you moron!"

Joshua had legs like pins. He lost his balance at the slightest shove. Charlie's small push sent him flying into the portrait of a rather disagreeable-looking woman. The very same woman who Dagbert had so tactlessly insulted.

This time Manfred's great-great-great-grandmother, Donatella Da Vinci, came tumbling off the wall. There was a scream of pain as the portrait landed on the already prostrate Joshua Tilpin.

"What's going on?"

Silent children parted like waves as the talents master came storming down the corridor. When he saw the portrait of his ancestor lying across Joshua Tilpin, Manfred's mouth fell open in horror. He uttered a strangled cry and then, turning in fury, bellowed, "Who did this?" It was clear that he was more concerned with the fallen portrait than the boy underneath.

"Charlie Bone, sir." Dorcas Loom tried not to smile, but the effort was too great.

"Do you think this is funny, Dorcas Loom?" Manfred demanded.

"No, sir," answered Dorcas, instantly losing her smile.

"Someone help me!" Manfred lifted one side of the portrait.

Bragger Braine stepped forward and took the other side. A moment later, Donatella was back in place, but horror of horrors, there was a small hole above her right eyebrow. It had not been noticed while she lay on Joshua, probably because of the long wrinkle on her unforgiving forehead.

There was a chorus of gasps. Charlie caught Donatella's eye. She was cursing him in the most unpleasant language. He hoped, desperately, that he would never find himself in her century.

Manfred was turning from white to red and back again to white, all in the space of thirty seconds. Charlie didn't dare to move. He wanted to close his eyes but forced himself to keep them open while he awaited his fate.

The talents master uttered a crescendo of growls that ended in a very long roar. In one breath he screamed, "Charlie Bone, go to the headmaster this minute and tell him what you've done!"

"Yes, sir." Charlie was glad of the opportunity to escape Donatella's curses, but he would have preferred to visit the headmaster in different circumstances. He began to make his way back down the corridor, which was difficult because of the press of children who were trying to get to the cafeterias.

Fidelio, squeezing himself closer to Charlie, whispered, "Good luck." He passed a note into Charlie's hand. "Tancred ..."

Someone pushed Fidelio aside and Charlie failed to hear the rest of his friend's sentence. He quickly put the note in his pocket as Fidelio was swept away.

"I'm still going to ask him about Billy," Charlie said to himself as he walked to the door leading to the west wing. When Charlie opened the door, a small white caterpillar, hidden in a crack in the old wood, fell onto Charlie's shoulder. Slowly, it began to crawl down the back of his blue cape. By the time Charlie had reached Dr. Bloor's study, the caterpillar had tucked itself into the sleeve of his shirt.

Before he knocked on the door, Charlie glanced down the deserted hallway. There was not one empty space between the rows of doors on either side. Every inch was filled with shelves of books, glass cases holding skulls and ancient artifacts, upright leather trunks, carved chests, grandfather clocks, gilt-framed mirrors, and oddly dressed wax figures.

As if all this were not enough, the ceiling was hung with stuffed birds, dried plants, and mechanical toys, all moving slowly in a draft from the distant staircase; their tinny, rustling, creaking sounds competing with the melancholy ticking of the grandfather clocks.

Charlie wondered what went on in the many rooms behind the shiny oak-paneled doors. He decided that he would rather not know. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and knocked on Dr. Bloor's door.

"I'm coming," said an irritated voice.

This was not what Charlie had expected. He knocked again.

"For goodness' sake, what's the hurry? Will the soup get cold if I'm a minute late?"

Plucking up courage, Charlie said loudly, "It's Charlie Bone, sir."

"What the dickens?" Quick strides could be heard approaching the door. The next moment it was flung open and Dr. Bloor stood glowering at Charlie. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded. "I don't see miscreants at this hour. It's lunchtime."