Charlie Bone And The Red Knight (Children Of The Red King)

by Jenny Nimmo

  "What can I do to help?" asked Cook. "Oh, dear, dear me. Those wonderful books. Have you called the police, Julia?"

  "I did," said Emma. "They told me they had a lot to deal with tonight,

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  and if we hadn't actually been burgled, which we haven't, then we weren't a priority."

  "But they've done so much damage," cried Miss Ingledew. "My books are priceless."

  "Tell me everything." Cook took Miss Ingledew's arm and drew her into the little room behind the store. Here there was yet more chaos. Books open, their pages torn and crumpled, lying all over the floor.

  Miss Ingledew sat on the edge of the sofa with Cook beside her and in a tremulous voice began to describe the events that had followed the arrival of the two threatening-looking strangers.

  "I had some very important customers and they didn't leave until half past six," Miss Ingledew explained, distractedly lifting her mug of cocoa to her lips. "I was just about to put the 'closed' sign up and lock the door, when these two villains pushed their way in, nearly knocking me over."

  "I saw them!" Olivia came in with another mug

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  of cocoa and handed it to Cook, saying, "I'd just come from dinner at Charlie's place -- boy, what a lot he's been through, I can tell you -- anyway, when I came into the bookstore, I saw these men hauling books onto the floor. It was pretty scary. They said they were looking for a box, and if I knew anything I'd better come clean. Well, we all know what box they meant, don't we? But I wasn't going to say anything."

  "They seemed to think it might be hidden in one of my larger tomes," said Miss Ingledew, "but they just hauled the whole lot out and shook them, as if they were ... as if they were so much... trash. They rummaged under my counter, turned over the cash register, and then started in here. Olivia came and shouted at them, but they just laughed. One even threw a book at her." Miss Ingledew's shoulders heaved. "And then they went upstairs."

  Cook put an arm around her. "There, there, my dear. It's all over now. I don't know -- all this fuss over a box that might contain a will. And even if it does,

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  and Billy Raven proves to be an heir, what's the point of all this trouble if Billy is lost to us?"

  "He isn't," Olivia said confidently. "Charlie will get him back." She skipped across the room and through the curtains, back into the store.

  "Well, it's good to see that someone is optimistic," said Cook.

  "She's a treasure," Miss Ingledew declared. "She's always cheerful and such a help. I know people think she's a bit odd, in those rather flamboyant clothes of hers. But then, her mother is a famous film star, so what can you expect? She often stays with us when her parents are on location, and Emma loves her company." Miss Ingledew wiped her nose and actually smiled.

  Cook decided that her own news could wait until the bookstore had been put to rights, and with the four of them working together, they managed to clear all the books away in both rooms in under an hour.

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  "I'll have to get the ladder fixed," Miss Ingledew said ruefully. "But I'm almost ready for business again." She beamed around at them. "Thank you all so much."

  "And we've still got Sunday," said Emma. "I'm sure Mr. Yewbeam will mend the ladder for you."

  "No, he won't," said Miss Ingledew in a slightly bitter tone. "He'll have better things to do. I tried to call him when those ruffians came in, but he didn't pick up, and so far he hasn't even bothered to return my call... a distress call at that."

  There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Olivia suggested that Paton was in a place where his cell phone couldn't get a signal. "He did look a bit preoccupied when I saw him earlier," she said.

  "He told me he was coming around after dinner this evening," Miss Ingledew said coldly. "So where is he?"

  "Held up?" Cook helpfully suggested. "In times like these, anything can happen. Now I want you all

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  to sit down and listen to what I have to tell you. Something quite ..." -- she raised her hands -- "quite dreadful is going on at Bloor's. And if I hadn't suffered personally at the hands of a certain person, I wouldn't have believed such a thing could happen."

  Their eyes wide with apprehension, the two girls sank onto the sofa, while Cook and Miss Ingledew took chairs on either side of the dying fire. And Cook told them of Lord Grimwald's great Sea Globe, describing in graphic detail the gravity-defying waves, the eerie sea light, and the way the water responded to the Lord of the Ocean's scaly hands. "Only his son can stop him," she said. "But if you ask me, Dagbert Endless doesn't stand a chance against a father like that. Someone must get a message to Lyell Bone," she went on earnestly. "Surely, Paton Yewbeam knows where he is. Wireless messages can be received. There are numerous ways of contacting people at sea. Lyell must put to shore at once. I know, only too well, the consequences of being on the ocean

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  when the Lord of the Oceans has decided to eliminate you."

  "I feel I should go there tonight." Miss Ingledew twisted her hands together. "But we would only be waylaid by Charlie's grandmother. She seems to bear a grudge against her own son. And it would be the same with the telephone. If only Paton would answer his cell phone -- but he won't."

  "Try again, Auntie," urged Emma.

  Miss Ingledew took her cell out of a pocket, dialed a number, and waited. "Nothing," she said flatly.

  "In that case I suggest we all have a good night's sleep and contact Charlie first thing in the morning." Cook stood up and pulled on her woolly hat. "I've heard that Grandma Bone is usually in bed till noon on a Sunday morning. So you shouldn't have any trouble. As for me, I'd be missed at the academy. They're demanding big breakfasts these days, especially that wretch with the sword."

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  "Treasure, take care!" Miss Ingledew suddenly stood up, her voice harsh with misgiving. "It is not just a matter of a will and a box; it is not just a problem of a Sea Globe and a storm. There is much more at work here."

  Everyone looked at her expectantly.

  "Have none of you noticed it? The creaks, the whispers and murmurs from another world. The wickedness beneath the city is waking, slowly, called by a distant voice." She turned her gaze from the flickering embers in the grate to a shadowy corner shelf. "What I have managed to glean from the Latin texts in those ancient books tells me that if the Enchanter of Badlock cannot rule this city, as he once tried to do, then he will encircle it with his loathsome army and take it into another world. His world."

  "Badlock?" said Emma, in a frightened voice.

  Miss Ingledew nodded. "If that's what it's called."

  "He could do that?" Olivia said angrily.

  "Oh, yes."

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  Cook looked extremely indignant. "What? And do we have no say in the matter?"

  Cook's down-to-earth manner caused Miss Ingledew to smile in spite of herself. "From what I can understand" -- she glanced at the books again -- "we have a chance if one of the Red King's descendants is brave enough to face the enchanter's army."

  "Alone?" said Olivia. "Surely, he'll have other people to help him."

  "Of course," said Miss Ingledew. She gave them a grave smile. "If he can find any."

  "There's us," said Emma in a small voice.

  Cook gave a little shiver. "There are plenty of people who would fight for the Red King's city," she said confidently. "I'm off now, my dears. Don't forget to lock the door after me."

  Olivia and Emma were already yawning, and when Cook had gone, they took themselves off to bed. Miss Ingledew, however, put another log on the fire and sat watching the flames for a while. But her gaze

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  kept drifting toward the far bookcase where her oldest books stood, their gold tooling glittering faintly in the low firelight, their leather spines appearing as soft as velvet. And Miss Ingledew felt compelled to go to them, knowing the comfort their touch would bring. She chose the largest and carried it back to the armchair, where she sat a
nd laid it on her lap, opening it at a page she had studied many times. But as she ran her hand over the thick vellum, a soft whine echoed down the chimney, and the wind outside carried the sound of distant, menacing voices.

  Olivia woke up before dawn. She blamed the chimes from the cathedral clock. It was dark and she tried to go to sleep again. On Sundays she and Emma usually stayed in bed until after ten o'clock. But try as she might, Olivia could not sleep. She screwed her eyes tight shut, pulled the covers over her head, and counted sheep. But she succeeded only in making herself feel more and more awake.

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  A thin light began to creep through the curtains, and Olivia remembered that her parents were coming home today. They'd been on location in Morocco and were bound to have found something special for her. A necklace, perhaps, or an embroidered vest or some silk trousers.

  It was no use just lying in bed and thinking, Olivia decided. She would go home and start to cook something special for her parents' lunch. They had told her that they would be in the city by midday.

  Olivia sprang out of bed and began to put on her clothes. Her bag was filled with an assortment of tops, jackets, hats, and scarves. Today she chose a scarlet dress to wear over her tight black jeans, a white scarf with a glittering fringe, a fur-lined denim jacket, and a black felt hat. Her red gloves exactly matched her boots.

  She made quite a noise throwing on her clothes, but Emma didn't wake up.

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  Olivia wrote her a brief note and left it on the nightstand. In the bathroom she splashed her face with water, brushed her teeth, and, figuring that her tangled hair looked distinctly cool, carried her bag downstairs and left the shop.

  It was a gray, misty day, but that didn't take the spring out of Olivia's step. She swung along, humming lightly to herself. There was no one about, and the voice that suddenly called out took her by surprise.

  "Olivia!"

  Recognizing the voice, Olivia hurried on. There came a second call, which she ignored.

  "Olivia, hold on!"

  "Bother him," Olivia said to herself. She swung around and faced Manfred Bloor. He was strolling toward her, his hands deep in the pockets of a long, green coat with a small cape attached to it.

  "What do you want?" Olivia demanded.

  "You're out early, Miss Vertigo."

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  "So are you," she retorted. "What do you want? I'm in a hurry."

  "Are you?" Manfred came right up to Olivia and stared into her face, his dark eyes glinting. "This is so opportune," he said. "I was coming to visit you at the bookstore."

  Olivia frowned. "Why?"

  "Why do you think? I want to discuss your wonderful endowment with you."

  "There's nothing to discuss." Olivia turned away and began to run toward High Street, where she could see an elderly couple walking their dog.

  "Off to see your godmother?" Manfred called. "Alice the Angel."

  Olivia stopped in her tracks. Without turning around, she said, "My godmother isn't here."

  "Oh, but she is." Manfred's voice was silky smooth. "I'm surprised she hasn't been in touch with you."

  Against her will Olivia found herself moving, very slowly, to face Manfred. She could see the thin green figure,

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  swathed in mist, his dark hair shining with dew, his eyes like black coals. "What... ?" she croaked. Her voice seemed to have disappeared.

  Manfred waved a hand at her. "Don't let me keep you. We can have our chat another time."

  "Yes ... a chat." Olivia took a few steps backward and then turned and walked on toward High Street. She passed a man with a newspaper under his arm. The man smiled pleasantly and said, "Morning."

  Olivia frowned as if she hadn't heard him, which made the man shake his head and murmur, "These young things; anyone would think I was the man in the moon."

  A boy and a large yellow dog came running up the road. No one could fail to recognize Runner Bean.

  "Hi, Olivia!" called Benjamin Brown. "Are you going to see Charlie? He's not up yet."

  Olivia didn't stop when Benjamin reached her. She didn't even smile, but kept on walking.

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  "GOOD MORNING, Olivia!" Benjamin shouted after her. "Nice of you to stop."

  "Good-bye," she called over her shoulder.

  Benjamin looked at his dog and shrugged. "She's in a funny mood," he said, and Runner Bean barked in agreement.

  As Olivia drew closer to her home, she began to think about her godmother, Alice Angel. Alice kept a flower shop in a place called Steppingstones. It was Alice who had helped Olivia to discover her endowment. Alice knew things instinctively. She always knew when Olivia needed her. Alice was a white witch and Olivia recalled her warning, "Where there is a white witch, there is always another of a darker nature." And so it had proved, when Mrs. Tilpin had revealed her true identity.

  And now Olivia found herself passing the turn to her own street and walking on toward the park. She turned the corner onto Park Road, murmuring, "Number fifteen." The houses in this street were half hidden

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  behind tall hedges and overgrown shrubs. The gate of number fifteen had come off its hinges and stood propped against the fence. The path was overgrown with moss, and the white paint on the door had all but peeled away. Ivy covered the walls and had even made its way across the windows.

  Alice Angel had lived here once. Had she returned, as Manfred said? The house looked deserted. Olivia walked up the mossy path and pulled a rusty chain that hung beside the door. A soft chime could be heard within the house.

  Olivia waited. A lace curtain twitched in the window that overlooked the garden, and a voice came whispering out of the house. Was it a voice or the rustle of evergreens?

  "Come in, my dear!"

  Olivia tried the door handle. It turned smoothly and the door creaked open. She stepped inside a chilly hall. Was Alice living here? The house felt as though it had been empty for a very long time. At the end of the hall a door opened into Alice's living room.

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  The ivy covering the windows made the room so dark, Olivia could barely make out the furniture. It was so cold her breath condensed into tiny clouds.

  Olivia blew on her hands. Even in gloves her fingers were freezing.

  "Alice?" she said tentatively.

  "Here, my dear!"

  The voice made Olivia jump. She peered into the corner where the voice had come from. A woman sat in an armchair; her hair was smooth and white, just like Alice's. Her face was pale and her eyes had a greenish tinge. It must be Alice, and yet... The face wavered and almost disappeared. One moment the features were clear and then they became vague and incomplete.

  "Alice, is it really you?" asked Olivia, her throat contracting in the cold air.

  "Of course it is, my dear." Alice's voice was little more than a whisper. "I haven't been too well. Come and kiss me."

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  Olivia hesitated.

  "What is it? You're not afraid, are you?" Alice's voice was stronger now, but... was it her voice?

  Olivia walked over to the armchair. She looked down at the woman resting against a faded blue cushion. It was Alice... although how thin she had become.

  "Oh, Alice, I've missed you!" Olivia bent and kissed the cold cheek. Immediately her heart flooded with love for this frail woman, the godmother who had watched over her from far away.

  "I've got a present for you." Thin fingers pushed at Olivia's arms. "It's on the table over there. Try it on, dear."

  Olivia saw a white package on the table. Tissue paper wrapped around something soft and sparkling. She peeled back the paper and drew out a black velvet vest covered in tiny circles of mirrorlike silver.

  "Oh, it's beautiful!"

  "Try it on."

  Olivia slipped out of her denim jacket and put on

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  the glittering garment. The silver was so bright she could hardly look at it, and for some reason, the featherlike fabric press
ed heavily on her shoulders, as though it were weighted with stones. And yet she could not bear to take it off.

  Three hundred miles away, Alice Angel was arranging flowers at the back of her shop. She liked to do this very early on a Sunday morning when the shop was closed. As soon as she had made up a dozen or so small bouquets, she would display them on a stand outside, where she would wait beneath a white canopy for people visiting relatives or friends in the hospital.

  Alice sold only white flowers. She was surrounded by tall vases of blooms whose pale petals ranged from deepest cream to bluest white. It was cool in the shop but Alice kept warm, moving through her flowers, snipping, twisting, wrapping, and binding. The sweet fragrance made her sing.

  A petal fell onto her arm, and then another. Alice

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  looked up from her work, surprised that her fresh flowers were shedding petals already. A white rose dropped from its stalk, and then another and another. Petals began to fall like snow. They became a white storm, showering Alice with the scent of dying flowers. She dropped the bouquet she had been holding and pressed her hands to her face. "Olivia!" she cried. "What has happened to you?"

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  10. TIGERFIELD STEPS

  Charlie sat in the kitchen, eating oatmeal. He felt as though he'd run a marathon. He ached all over and could hardly keep his eyes open. On the other side of the table Emma was drinking tea. She had just told Charlie about her aunt's unwelcome visitors and now, in a rush, she repeated Cook's description of the Sea Globe.

  Charlie's eyes widened just a fraction. "So that's how he does it?" he mumbled through a yawn.