Charlie Bone and the Blue Boa

by Jenny Nimmo

  "Invisibility?" Mrs. Sage frowned.

  "I'm making a carving," Lysander went on. "It's really good, Mom. The best I've ever done. I thought the ancestors would be able to bring the boy back. But the drums say no, I've done the wrong thing."

  Mrs. Sage stood up. "Not you, Lysander. Someone else has done wrong. Go to school and put it right." She swept out of her son's room, her long, flowered skirt whispering around her ankles like the sea.

  "What a picnic!" shrieked Homer

  "For you, maybe," said Mrs. Sage, closing the door.

  • • •

  On Monday morning, the reason for Lysander's terrible foreboding soon became clear.

  After their history test, Charlie and Fidelio, emerging into the garden, saw a group of their friends clustered around the remains of a fire. Weedon was always burning garbage on the grounds, so this wasn't too unusual — it was the attitude of the group that alerted Charlie. Lysander was standing in stony disbelief while Tancred's stiff yellow hair sparked with electricity.

  Olivia, standing next to Lysander, caught Charlie's eye and gestured wildly Charlie and Fidelio rushed over to them.

  Amid a pile of scorched twigs and burned paper, two blue eyes stared out at them. The eyes were all that remained of Lysander's beautiful carving.

  "How could they?" whispered Emma.

  Lysander was shuddering. He held his arms stiffly at his sides and his hands were clenched. He seemed unable to speak.

  Chartie noticed a group of seniors watching them. Asa Pike had a satisfied smile on his face, while Zelda Dobinski's long features were twisted in a horrible smirk. Manfred, however, was staring straight at Lysander, as if he was outraged at the African boy's clever attempt to rescue Ollie.

  "No one else knew . . . " Lysander muttered. "Who would . . .?"

  "Obviously someone in art," said Olivia.

  Silence fell over the little group and then, almost as one, they looked over to the walls of the ruin, where Belle and Dorcas were standing watching them.

  "But why?" said Lysander.

  "Because your carving was too good," said Olivia grimly “And because someone doesn't want us to rescue Ollie Sparks."

  "Don't give up, Sander," said Charlie.

  "You don't know what it's like for him," said Tancred. "He can feel the injury can't you, Sander? It's like he put a bit of his own heart into that piece of wood. Do you know what that's like, Charlie?"

  "No," said Charlie in a small voice. "I'm sorry."

  "What's that?" said Fidelio, rubbing his head. "I can hear drums."

  "What do you expect?" said Tancred, almost angrily "Come on, Sander, let's get out of here." He grabbed his friend's arm and steered him away from the fire. Lysander seemed hardly aware of his surroundings. He allowed Tancred to lead him back toward the school, but not before Charlie too heard the faint throb of a drum, almost like a heartbeat, following Lysander across the grass.

  "I didn't ask him to do it," Charlie murmured, gazing at the accusing blue eyes. "He wanted to. It was his idea."

  "It wasn't your fault," Fidelio said cheerfully "Sander will get over it. We'll just have to think of something else."

  "It's so awful," murmured Emma. "I feel like I'm looking at a real boy or what was a real boy"

  "Let's get away from here," said Olivia, glancing at Belle and Dorcas. "We don't want them to enjoy our misery for too long, do we?"

  As they turned away from the fire, Gabriel came leaping up to them. "I've had a really weird piano lesson," he panted. "It went on for ages and . . . " He stopped in mid-sentence. "Oh, no," he said, staring at the blue eyes. "Is that . . .?"

  "Lysander's carving," said Charlie. “And we've got a good idea who did it."

  In an effort to cheer them up, Olivia announced that she'd brought a Frisbee to school. "Let's have a game," she suggested.

  While they tossed the red Frisbee from one to the other, Gabriel told them about his strange piano lesson.

  Mr. Pilgrim, the piano teacher, was an odd person at the best of times. A tall, dark, morose man, he was seldom seen outside the music room at the top of the west tower. He hardly ever spoke, and it was so difficult to get any advice from him that he had lost most of his students. During Gabriel's extended piano lesson, however, Mr. Pilgrim had said quite a lot — for him.

  "So come on, tell us what he said." Olivia leaped for the Frisbee, losing a yellow shoe mid-leap.

  "It was weird," said Gabriel. "He said, 'I don't know how he got up here, but I couldn't help him.' So I said, 'Who, Mr. Pilgrim?' And he said, 'It's all too much, he can't take it in — lights, traffic, plastic things. He doesn't like them; they confuse him. He'll do away with them, and who can blame him . . .?' and then Mr. P looked very hard at me, and said, 'I can't see how he'll do it, though, can you?'

  "I said . . . " Gabriel caught the Frisbee and yelped with pain. "Ouch! That was a hard one, Charlie!"

  "Come on, come on," cried Olivia. "So what did you say?"

  "I just said, 'No, sir' I mean, what else could I say?"

  "You could have said, 'Do what?'" said Fidelio.

  A nasty thought suddenly occurred to Charlie. He stood stock-still with the Frisbee clutched in both hands.

  "Come on! Come on! Throw it, Charlie!" called the others.

  "Hold on," said Charlie. "Did Mr. P describe this mysterious visitor?"

  Gabriel shook his head. "I couldn't get a name out of him either. He just said, 'He can, you know He's quite exceptional. Look what he did to the music!' So I looked, and do you know, all the notes on one of the music sheets had turned to gold. It was Beethoven's Sonata Number Twenty-seven, as a matter of fact. And then I noticed that the bats in the corner — Mr. Pilgrim's always had bats in his room, but he doesn't mind, nor do I, they're just like flying gerbils really . . ."

  "So what had happened to the bats?" asked Fidelio impatiently

  "They were gold, too," said Gabriel.

  "Oh." Charlie felt queasy

  Emma looked at him. "What is it, Charlie?"

  "Er, nothing," Charlie mumbled.

  "So were the spiders," Gabriel went on blithely "and their webs. They looked really pretty like Christmas decorations."

  Charlie was glad to hear the hunting horn. He was beginning to wonder when the next nasty surprise would hit him. For once, all he wanted to do was to bury himself in a complicated math test.

  "I've got a feeling you know who it is," said Fidelio, racing Charlie across the grass. "Mr. P's visitor, I mean."

  "Shhhh!" hissed Charlie.

  "Tell us, Charlie, go on!" cried Olivia.

  They piled into the hall, where Charlie was grateful for the rule of silence. He walked off to the math room with Fidelio in tow, while the girls went to their coatrooms and Gabriel dragged himself up the stairs to a dreaded theory test.

  Charlie might have longed to bury himself in fractions, but he found he couldn't. His thoughts kept returning to Mr. Pilgrim's mysterious visitor. Who else would turn spiders into gold? Who else would be confused by lights and traffic? At the end of the test, Charlie knew he'd done badly He wished he'd put the wand to work on mathematics instead of French.

  There was more bad news waiting for him in the cafeteria. One of the lunch ladies was in quite a state, having only that morning witnessed a large bull charging out of the butcher's, where before there had only been two large sides of beef hanging at the back.

  "Beef one minute, bull the next," Mrs. Gill kept muttering as she handed out plates of shepherd's pie. "What's happening to the world?"

  "What indeed, Mrs. Gill?" said Fidelio, with his usual charming smile.

  "I don't think you believed her, did you?" whispered Charlie as they made their way to a table.

  "Well, did you?" said Fidelio. "Poor old thing, she's a real fruitcake!"

  “Actually I did believe her," said Charlie.

  At that moment, Gabriel joined them, saying, "Have you heard what Mrs. Gill's been . . .?"

  "Yes, we have,"
said Fidelio. “And Charlie believes her, because he knows why or who or what . . . Well, why Charlie?"

  “You know that painting?" Charlie said. "The one I brought to school last semester?"

  Fidelio and Gabriel, with forks halfway to their mouths, stared at Charlie.

  "You mean the one with the sorcerer?" asked Gabriel in a squeaky whisper.

  Charlie looked around the cafeteria. No one was paying them any attention, and the noise of scraping knives and forks and chattering voices was so loud, not a soul beyond their table could have heard him. All the same, Charlie lowered his voice as he told his two friends about his visit to Skarpo, and the escaped mouse.

  'You mean, you think he got out, too?" said Fidelio.

  "Must have," said Charlie. "At first I thought it was impossible, because he was still in the painting. But my uncle says that's only his image, not his essence. I'd convinced myself that Skarpo couldn't get out because I desperately didn't want to believe it."

  You mean the golden bats and the bull and stuff are him . . .?" said Fidelio.

  "Must be," said Charlie. “And I've got a horrible feeling he's only just begun. It could get worse."

  ************************************

  It did.

  The pupils in Bloor's Academy were about to go out for their afternoon break when a cloud passed over the sun. And then another, and another. The sky was filled with a lurid purple glow It darkened to deep indigo, which gradually turned black. Pitch black.

  A crowd of children gathered around the garden door, reluctant to be the first to step into the eerie darkness.

  "For goodness' sake, you ninnies," sneered Zelda Dobinski. "Get out! Go on! You're not afraid of a few clouds, are you?"

  To show her contempt for the younger children, she pushed through the crowd and took several steps into the dark garden.

  A toad fell on her head. And then another. When the first toad plunked onto Zelda's head, she opened her mouth. When the second one came, she gave a loud shriek and leaped back into the crowd.

  Then it began to rain frogs.

  Some of the children screamed and retreated into the hall. Others put out their hands to catch the frogs, but the slimy creatures were falling with such force, there were cries of "Ouch!" "Help!" "Ow!" and hands were quickly withdrawn.

  In the distance, they could hear police sirens, ambulances, and fire engines wailing around the city

  Standing at the back of the crowd, Charlie's heart sank. Where was Skarpo? How on earth could he be caught and taken back to where he belonged?

  It was obviously too dangerous to play outside in complete darkness. The lights came on in the building, and the children were sent back to their classrooms. In Charlie's case, this was Mr. Carp's English room. Mr. Carp was broad and red-faced. He kept a slim, wicked-looking cane propped beside his desk and had been known, accidentally of course, to flick children on the ears when he was irritated. Charlie had become rather good at ducking these attacks, but he could tell from the malicious gleam in Mr. Carp's small eyes that he was determined to get Charlie one day Charlie thought it might be today

  From the desk beside Charlie's, Fidelio whispered, "What's he going to do next, Charlie? Got any ideas?"

  Charlie shook his head.

  In a high-pitched screech, Mr. Carp cried, "You've got half an hour to study your Wordsworth before the test."

  Mindful of their ears, twenty children got out their Wordsworths and silently bent their heads.

  Outside, the dark clouds lifted and the sun came out. Mr. Weedon and several seniors could soon be observed collecting frogs in nets, boxes, and bags. Charlie wondered if frogs had fallen all over the city, or had Bloor's been singled out for the favor? Through the window, he saw Manfred wiping his slimy hands on his pants, and he smiled to himself. His smile didn't last long.

  Nobody thought it unusual when the cathedral bells began to ring. But when the bells in five smaller chuches joined in, people began to worry: Soon the sound of pealing bells resounded throughout the city And they didn't stop. On and on and on they went. Priests and bell ringers rushed into the churches to find the bell ropes mysteriously rising and falling, all by themselves.

  Fidelio looked at Charlie. Charlie rolled his eyes and shrugged. And then one of the girls in the front row put up her hand. When Mr. Carp, who had his hands over his ears, took no notice, the girl — Rosie Stubbs — shouted, "Excuse me, sir, but there's an elephant in the garden."

  Everyone turned to look. There was.

  Mr. Carp, a livid glow spreading over his cheeks, lifted his cane. Rosie put her hands over her ears.

  The noise from the bells increased.

  "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!" screeched Mr. Carp, although the class was completely silent. "I can't stand this. Who is doing it? They should be shot!"

  Everyone gasped.

  Remembering himself, Mr. Carp shouted, "Put away your books. It's no good. We can't continue. Class dismissed."

  The class gratefully slipped their books into their desks and filed out of the classroom into the hall. Other classrooms were emptying. Harassed-looking teachers were rushing down the hall to the staff room, black capes flapping, papers flying, books tumbling out of their arms.

  The children who had gathered in the hall, finding it almost impossible to observe the rule of silence, whispered and muttered their way down to the cafeterias where an early lunch was hoped for.

  Charlie and Fidelio had just managed to grab a cookie and a glass of orange juice when Billy Raven rushed up to Charlie, saying, "You're wanted in Dr. Bloor's study"

  "Me?" said Charlie, turning pale.

  “All of us. You too, Gabriel."

  “All of us?" said Gabriel. "That's unusual. What on earth's going on?"

  CHAPTER 12

  A SORCERER ON THE LOOSE

  Charlie had never been to Dr. Bloor's study Nervous as he was, he couldn't help feeling curious.

  "I've been there," said Gabriel as the two boys followed Billy up to the hall. "It was when I first came here. I had to go and explain about my clothes problem. It's the sort of room that makes you feel as though you've done something wrong; I don't know why"

  Manfred and Zelda were waiting for them in the hall, and gradually the other endowed children began to arrive: Dorcas and Belle, with Asa close behind, wearing a silly smile; Tancred, whose hair was crackling with nervous electricity and Emma with a pencil behind her ear.

  "Take that out!" barked Zelda. "Tidy youself up, girl. What do you think you look like?"

  Emma seemed bewildered, until Charlie pointed to the pencil, which she pulled out and stuck in her pocket, smoothing her blonde hair as best she could.

  "Ah, here comes the great sculptor!" Manfred announced as Lysander slouched gloomily into the hall. "Cheer up, boy! What's the trouble, eh?"

  "You know very well," Lysander said grimly.

  Dorcas giggled, and Belle's awful eyes turned from blue, through gray to violet. Manfred look momentarily uneasy and then said, "Billy lead the way You know where it is."

  "Yes, Manfred." Billy crossed the hall to the door into the west wing. The old door creaked open, and Charlie, close behind Billy found himself in the dark, musty passage that led to the music tower.

  They reached the round room at the base of the tower and were about to ascend the staircase up to the first floor when they saw Mr. Pilgrim sitting on the second step.

  "Excuse me, sir," said Billy but Mr. Pilgrim didn't move. He appeared not to have heard Billy

  "We've got to go to Dr. Bloor's study sir," said Charlie.

  Mr. Pilgrim stared at Charlie with a puzzled expression. "So many bells," he said. "Why so many? Who died? Was it — me?"

  Charlie was about to reply when Manfred suddenly pushed past him and, glaring down at the music teacher, said, "Please move, Mr. Pilgrim. Now We're in a hurry!"

  Mr. Pilgrim pushed a thick lock of black hair away from his eyes. "Is that so?" he said in a surprisingly stubborn v
oice.

  "Yes, it is. Move!" Manfred demanded rudely "Come on. NOW!" His narrow eyes took on an intense, chilling look as he stared at Mr. Pilgrim.

  Charlie glanced at Manfred's coal-black eyes and remembered how it felt to be hypnotized. He longed to warn Mr. Pilgrim, to make him fight that horrible disabling stare. It was possible to resist Manfred's power. Charlie, himself, had done it once.

  But it seemed that Mr. Pilgrim had neither the strength, nor the will, to oppose Manfred. With a groan of dismay the music teacher stood and whirled away up the narrow, curving steps. His footsteps could be heard clattering to the top of the tower as Manfred led the way to the first floor.

  They went through a low door and into a thickly carpeted corridor, where Manfred stopped outside another door, this one paneled in dark oak. He knocked twice, and a deep voice said, "Enter."

  Manfred opened the door and herded the others into the room.

  Behind a large, highly polished desk sat Dr. Bloor, his broad, grayish face illuminated by a green desk lamp. The curtains behind him had been drawn against the sunlight, and the book-lined room was plunged in gloomy shadows. Dr. Bloor beckoned, and the children shuffled forward until they stood in a row before his desk.

  The headmaster scanned their faces with steely gray eyes, and then his gaze came to rest on Charlie. "I want to know who is responsible," he demanded in a cold voice.

  Charlie's legs felt weak. He hated the way Dr. Bloor could do this to him. He knew the headmaster wasn't endowed, but he gave the impression that he had enormous power, that he could do anything he wanted, and that his will was so strong he could overcome anything, or anyone.

  "Children of the Red King," Dr. Bloor sneered. "Look at you! Freaks! That's what you are."

  Manfred shifted uncomfortably and Charlie wondered how it felt to have your father calling you a freak.

  "All of you!" shouted Dr. Bloor, and then, glancing at Belle, he muttered, “Almost all of you."

  "Excuse me, sir," said Zelda, rather boldly "But do you mean who's responsible for the bells and the frogs et cetera? Because it certainly wasn't me. I got one on the head. Actually it was a toad and there were two."