Midnight for Charlie Bone (Children Of The Red King, Book 1) (6 page)

            "Sorry." Benjamin pressed the light switch and looked down to see Charlie kneeling beside the case.

            "Which aunt is it?" asked Charlie.

            "She's got black hair, a long dark coat, red boots, and a white face," Benjamin said softly.

            "Venetia," Charlie breathed. "She's the tricky one."

            "She doesn't look as if she's going to move off our front step. You'd better go out the back way."

            But Charlie had four more keys to try before he gave up in disgust. None of them fitted. "I've got to find it," he cried.

            "Shh! She'll hear you," Benjamin warned.

            "I'm coming up." Charlie began to climb the steps.

            It was harder this time. Some of the steps had broken on his way down, and in some places he had to pull himself up with his hands. "Ouch!" he gasped as a splinter speared his thumb.

            "Shhhhh!" hissed Benjamin.

            At last Charlie reached the top step and, together, the boys crept down the passage to the front door.

            Benjamin pressed his eye to the spyhole. "She's gone," he said.

            "I don't know if that's worse or better," said Charlie. "She could be anywhere, waiting to pounce."

            "Go through the garden at the back, and then you can look over the wall and see if she's there," suggested Benjamin. "You'll have a better chance that way."

            "Good thinking," said Charlie.

            They went to the back door with Runner Bean barking excitedly expecting a walk.

            "Your parents can sleep through a lot of noise," Charlie remarked.

            "They're tired," said Benjamin, and then he asked, "Why is it so important to open the case? Can't we just leave it locked up forever? We could dump it in a garbage can or something."

            "No way,” said Charlie. "The thing inside it was there when the baby was swapped. It's bound to help Miss Ingledew get her back. We've got to keep it safe."

            "Suppose it's something horrible that no one wants?" Charlie had considered this, but decided that it was something someone wanted very much. Why were his aunts so interested? Why was a boy with red hair asking for it?

            "Someone wants it, all right," said Charlie, "but they're not going to get it until I find the baby and, according to Mr. Onimous, the baby is at Bloor's Academy." He opened the back door, jumped down the steps, and raced across the garden.

            Benjamin watched his friend dash through the gate without bothering to look either way He was bound to be caught by that horrible aunt. Benjamin sighed. Sometimes Charlie didn't think too carefully about what he was doing.

            Runner Bean looked so disappointed about the walk he hadn't had that Benjamin decided to make him a big breakfast. The thought of grilled sausages made him feel hungry himself.

            In the middle of the kitchen table, there was a white card with the words ORVIL ONIMOUS AND FLAMES printed in gold lettering. How and when did the card get there? And why?

            Charlie had reached the end of the alley behind Benjamin's house. He was now in the street where he'd first seen his uncle boosting the lamps. A quick glance to the left and right told him his aunt was not in the street.

            "Maybe I've fooled her," muttered Charlie. He ran up to Filbert Street, turned the corner, and "Got you!" said a voice. Aunt Venetia sank her long nails into Charlie's shoulder. "You're coming with me, little boy,” she cooed nastily. "We've got something to ask you. And if we don't get the right answer, you'll be sorry Very sorry."

CHAPTER 6

A RUINED SCHOOL BREAK

            Aunt Venetia marched Charlie home with her nails pressed firmly into his neck. Charlie ducked and wriggled all the way but he couldn't escape those steely claws.

            Grandma Bone was waiting for them in the hall, her face as hard as stone.

            "Well done, Venetia. One needs young legs to catch a villain."

            "Villain?" protested Charlie. He glanced at Aunt Venetia's red boots. Her legs weren't so very young. She was cunning, that was all. Grandma Bone prodded him into the kitchen, where he sat and rubbed his neck. His mother looked up from her newspaper. "What's going on?"

            "We've been a wicked and deceitful boy,” said Grandma Bone. "Haven't we, Charlie? And a liar to boot."

            "Have not," muttered Charlie.

            "Oh, yes, I think we have." Grandma Bone sat opposite him and glared into his face. "He's got a case that doesn't belong to him, but he can't open it."

            Before Charlie could stop her, Aunt Venetia had plunged her hand into his pocket and pulled out the bunch of keys. "What are these?" she asked, rattling them over his head.

            "Charlie, whose are they?" asked his mother.

            "No one's. That is -a friend gave them to me. They're just a game."

            "Liar," snarled Grandma Bone.

            "Don't call him that," said Charlie's mother angrily. “How do you know it's not true?"

            "My dear Amy I know a lot more about your son than you do," Grandma Bone said coldly. “He was given a case by someone who should have known better. Someone who didn't rightfully own it, and the stupid boy has hidden it, probably in Benjamin's house."

            "I don't know what you're talking about," said Charlie.

            He refused to answer any more questions and eventually Grandma Bone gave up. With a sinister smile, Aunt Venetia dropped the keys onto the table.

            "Better take them back where they belong," she said, almost sweetly Charlie grabbed the keys.

            "You haven't heard the last of this," warned Grandma Bone.

            "Leave him alone," said Charlie's mother.

            "Perhaps we will for a while." Grandma Bone gave Venetia a knowing look.

            "We have other fish to fry."

            To Charlie's great relief, the two sisters put on their hats and gloves and swept out into the street; to bother someone else, no doubt. If Benjamin was their intended victim, they'd never get past Runner Bean.

            "Charlie, what's going on?" his mother asked when they were alone.

            "It's nothing, Mom. Grandma Bone wants to know everything, but I've got a right to my secrets, haven't I?"

            "Of course. But this seems a rather serious sort of secret. Can't you tell me what it is?"

            His mother looked so concerned, Charlie hated not telling her the truth. He decided to let her know at least a small part of his problem.

            "It's about a baby,” he began.

            His mother gasped, "A baby!"

            Charlie wished she wouldn't look so frightened. "It's all right, I haven't stolen one or anything. It's not even a baby now, she -it's a girl -she's about the same age as me. When she was a baby her mom died and her dad swapped her for something else..."

            "What?" his mother's hand flew to her mouth.

            "It's horrible, isn't it? Anyhow, her father's just died and her only living relative wants to see her again, but she can't find her. So I'm going to."

            "You, Charlie? You can't go around looking for lost children. This girl could be anywhere."

            “Ah, but I think I know where she is. I can't tell you any more yet, Mom. I'm sorry You won't say anything to Grandma Bone or the aunts, will you? I don't think they're on our side exactly."

            "I agree," his mother said wistfully.

            "I'm going to find this girl, Mom," Charlie said earnestly. “It's funny but I suddenly feel it's something I've got to do." To Charlie's dismay his mother's eyes began to look glittery and tearful. "How like your father you are," she said gently. “I'll keep your secret, Charlie. But take care. They're very strong, you know, the people you're up against." Her quick look at the window told Charlie exactly whom she meant.

            The doorbell rang and, thinking Maisie had forgotten her key again, Charlie's mother sent him to open the door.

            He didn't find Maisie on the doorstep; instead he found a boy with a twinkling sort of face. He was a little taller than Charlie, his hair was a bright shiny brown, and his eyes almost the same color.

            "I'm Fidelio Gunn," said the boy. “They asked me to help with your music. I'm going to be your tutor. Aren't you the lucky one?" Charlie was speechless. "It's Sunday,” he said at last. The boy's grin almost reached his ears. "I'm too busy during the week. Can I come in?" He held up a violin case.

            Charlie pulled himself together. "Who sent you?"

            "Bloor's, of course," the boy said cheerfully. “I'm told your music needs work." His grin grew even wider.

            "My music doesn't exist," said Charlie, grinning back. The strange boy stepped into the foyer without being asked. "Where's the piano?" he said.

            Charlie showed him into the room that was only used for Yewbeam visits. At the far end, an upright piano stood against the wall. No one had ever touched it as far as Charlie could remember.

            Fidelio opened the lid with a bang and ran his fingers across the keys. A real tune emerged, a rather beautiful one.

            "Needs tuning," said Fidelio, "but it'll do. Does anyone play it?" Charlie found himself saying, "Perhaps my father did. I don't know He's dead now"

            "Oh." For the first time since he'd arrived, Fidelio looked serious.

            "It happened a long time ago," said Charlie hastily Fidelio's smile returned. He pulled out the piano stool, sat down, and played loud and merrily.

            "What are you doing?" Charlie's mother stood in the doorway her face a ghostly white.

            "Hello!" said Fidelio. "I'm Fidelio Gunn. I've come to teach Charlie music."

            "Why?" asked Mrs. Bone.

            "Because he's one of the endowed, and although he'll probably never be a musician, he can't come to the academy knowing absolutely nothing, can he?" Fidelio gave Mrs. Bone a heartwarming smile.

            "I suppose not," said Charlie's mother faintly. “No one has played that piano since - for a very long time."

            She cleared her throat, which had gone rather husky and said, “You'd better go on, then," and went out, closing the door behind her. Charlie wasn't sure he liked people knowing he was endowed. "How did you know about me, being... you know...?" he asked Fidelio.

            "If you're going to be in the music department and you can't play a sausage, then you must be one of them," said Fidelio. "The rest of us are geniuses!"

            Charlie was intrigued. “Are there many of us?"

            "Not many,” said Fidelio. "I don't know you all. Some of you are actually talented as well as endowed. What can you do, by the way?" Charlie didn't feel ready to talk about the voices. "I'll tell you some other time," he said.

            Fidelio shrugged. "That's OK. Now, let's get on with the music." They began with "Chopsticks" and, to Charlie's great surprise, after only a few horrible mistakes he actually managed to play some base notes with both hands while Fidelio picked out the tune.

            At the end of an hour, Charlie could play scales in several different keys and even an arpeggio. Fidelio was a very noisy teacher. He hopped around Charlie, tapping his feet, rapping the piano, and shouting out the beat. Finally he took out his violin and began to accompany Charlie. They made a great sound.

            "Got to go now,” sang Fidelio, flourishing his bow. “I'll be back next Sunday." He pulled a bunch of papers out of his music case and handed them to Charlie. "Study these and learn the notes. OK?"

            "OK." Charlie's head was still ringing with music as he saw Fidelio out. That afternoon Charlie set to work on the papers Fidelio had left with him. He soon realized it would be easier to learn the notes while he was sitting at the piano, but he had only pressed a few keys when Grandma Bone burst in, demanding to know why he was making such a racket.

            "I've got to learn if I'm going to be in the music department, haven't I?" said Charlie.

            Grandma Bone sniffed and then laid a large file on the dining-room table. "When you've finished with music, you're to start on that," she said.

            Charlie didn't like the look of the thick, black file. Printed in gold on the cover were the words BLOOR'S Academy. "What is it?" he asked.

            "Work," said Grandma Bone. "Questions. You're to answer every question in the file. I shall check your answers at the end of each day If they're wrong, you'll have to do them again. I expect them to take at least a week."

            "That's not fair," spluttered Charlie. "It'll take all of my vacation."

            "Hardly." Grandma Bone smiled. "You've got a computer, haven't you? Just think how much you'll know in just a week. You'll be almost clever, won't you, Charlie?"

            "I don't want to be clever," Charlie grunted.

            "If you don't answer those questions, you'll have a very bad time at Bloor's, I can assure you. You don't want to start off on the wrong foot, do you?" Still wearing her unpleasant smile, Grandma Bone left the room.

            Charlie could hardly believe his bad luck. He opened the file and scanned the lists of questions. There were five hundred and two of them, and, at a quick glance, Charlie didn't know the answer to any of them. They were all about ancient history and unheard-of places and people. The worst ones were mathematical and scientific. Even with a computer it would take him ages to get even halfway through.

            Charlie groaned. He left his music and carried the black file upstairs. As he passed his uncle's door he had an idea. He knocked, hesitantly.

            "What?" asked a familiar, angry voice.

            "It's me, Uncle Paton," said Charlie. "I'm sorry to disturb you but I've got a really bad problem and I need some help."

            "Come in, then," his uncle said with a sigh.

            Charlie walked in. Uncle Paton's room looked, if anything, more chaotic than before. He even had bits of paper stuck to his sleeves.

            "What's the problem?" Paton asked.

            Charlie took the file to his uncle's desk.

            "Grandma Bone says I've got to answer all these questions in a week. There are more than five hundred of them."

            His uncle whistled and said, “A tall order, Charlie."

            "How can I do it, Uncle Paton?"

            "You'll need a lot of paper."

            "Please. Be serious," Charlie said miserably.

            "I take it you're asking for my help," said Paton. "If that's the case, then I can't leave my work today But tomorrow I'll certainly do what I can for you. My general knowledge is considerable. We'll make short work of this, I'm sure." He tapped the black file. "Now take the nasty-looking thing away and leave me in peace."

            "Thanks, Uncle Paton. Thanks, thanks!"

            Filled with gratitude, Charlie bounced to the door, but this time, before he left he couldn't stop himself from asking, "What exactly is your work, Uncle Paton?"

            "I'm writing a book," his uncle said without looking up. "I have always been writing it, and probably always will be."

            "What's it about?"

            "It's a history Charlie." Paton was now scribbling furiously in a notebook. “A history of the Yewbeams and their ancestor, the Red King."

            There it was again, the Red King. "Who was he?" Charlie asked.

            "Who was he?" Paton stared at Charlie as if he weren't really seeing him, as if his thoughts were far away. “One day I'll be able to tell you more. For the moment, all I can say is that he was a king -who disappeared."

            "Oh." Charlie decided it would be best to disappear while his uncle was still in a good mood. He shut the door, very quietly behind him. Uncle Paton kept his word. Every day he joined Charlie in his room and together they worked their way through the long list of questions. Paton hadn't been exaggerating about his general knowledge. It was considerable. Charlie worked on one hundred questions a day; that way his uncle told him, he'd be finished by Friday night and could have a free weekend before he went to the academy.

            In the evenings Grandma Bone allowed Charlie to open the piano and play the notes Fidelio had given him to memorize. But one day he forgot. He was so hungry he went to the kitchen and began eating bread and butter. After a few bites his head sank to the table and he fell asleep. He woke up to find Grandma Bone holding his head up by his hair. "Music, Charlie!" she barked at him. "No supper until you've done your music." Charlie dragged himself to the piano. Grandma Bone watched him like a hawk until he'd pulled out the piano stool and sat down. He was so tired he could barely make his fingers move; so he didn't try He sat back and, folding his arms across his chest, he murmured, "If my father were here he could teach me. I suppose he was the last person to play this piano properly."

            Grandma Bone was about to walk away but, all at once, she said, "Your father had a grand piano. It stood in the center of a large, bright room. The only things in the room were the piano and Lyell, your father.

            Through the long windows there was a view of the lake, but your father never looked at it. He gazed at his music while his fingers found the notes. And he would cast his spell."