by Jenny Nimmo
Gabriel grinned. "Of course not," he agreed.
Charlie was reluctant to spoil their positive mood so didn't mention Manfred's dreadful prediction.
The three boys left the coatroom, and while Fidelio hurried to his classroom, Charlie and Gabriel made their way up to the King's Room. Just before they went in, Gabriel said, "Charlie, I forgot to tell you. I saw Cook after lunch. She's got something for you."
"What?"
Gabriel rubbed his head. "Postcard, I think she said."
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"A postcard. What... ?" Charlie felt something sharp poke into the small of his back and he swung around to see Joshua holding a pencil in his bandaged hand.
"Are you going in or not?" asked Joshua sullenly.
Without replying, Charlie opened the door and Joshua pushed past him.
It was a surprise to see Manfred sitting in his usual place, as if nothing had happened. But he gave Charlie a cold glance when he came in; otherwise there was nothing in his manner to suggest that he had seen the giant Sea Globe swallow its master and then disintegrate. For a moment Charlie wondered if this was because the Bloors had no further use for the globe. If Lyell Bone had really drowned, then the pearl-inlaid box would never be found. But Charlie refused to accept this. He had decided that as long as he kept believing his parents would come home, then nothing could prevent them.
A quiet sniffle beside him made Charlie aware that Emma was dabbing her nose. He hadn't spoken to her all day
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and felt guilty for leaving her out of things. Nudging her gently, he whispered, "See you in the art room later, Em."
Emma nodded and smiled, and then, while Manfred's head was bent over his book, she whispered back, "It's the vest," and she looked straight at Olivia on the other side of the table.
Charlie frowned. He didn't have a chance to ask Emma what she had meant because Manfred was glaring at him again. So was Olivia. She wasn't herself, he could see that. Her skin was dull, and dark circles ringed her eyes. As she turned the pages of her book he caught a glimpse of the glittery thing she wore beneath her cape. Of course, a vest!
After homework, Charlie made straight for the art room. Gabriel and Lysander stayed behind to finish some work, and Charlie found that he was being followed by a group of girls. He looked back and saw Dorcas, the twins, and Olivia. They stopped at the bottom of the staircase that led up to the girls' dormitories,
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and when Charlie continued on to the art room, he could feel their eyes on him.
The art room was at the end of the hallway leading to Charlie's dormitory, so he hoped the girls wouldn't guess where he was heading. He quickly glanced over his shoulder and, seeing that the girls had gone, made a dash to the end of the hall and into a large room with long windows overlooking the garden. The place was crammed with easels and canvases, and Charlie quickly switched on one of the lights in case he tripped. It was easy for someone to hide behind one of the tall easels; for a moment, he wasn't quite sure if he was alone. "Emma?" he called softly.
There was no reply, so Charlie walked around the easels toward the dark windows. He had to pass a trapdoor covering the spiral staircase that led down to the sculpture room. The room where Dagbert had tried to drown Tancred. Or had he?
Charlie reached the windows and peered out into the misty garden.
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Thick clouds obscured the moon and stars and he could see nothing beyond a row of stone statues directly beneath him. Old Ezekiel had a fondness for garden ornaments, and groups of figures, human and animal, had been placed about the grounds. Sometimes you would come upon a single statue in an unexpected place, and the gray form, appearing above shadowy bushes, could give you quite a fright.
"Charlie!" came a whisper.
"Em?" said Charlie.
Emma came tiptoeing toward him. "Come away from the window," she said. "Someone might see you from the garden."
Charlie hadn't thought of this. He backed behind a group of easels and found Emma crouching on the floor. She was obviously very nervous.
"What's been happening, Charlie?" She sounded aggrieved. "You were late for dinner, your sweater's got blood on it, and Dagbert Endless has disappeared."
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Charlie hesitated. Emma looked so scared he wondered how he could tell her about his dangerous day without making her even more fearful.
"Charlie, please, what's been happening?" she begged.
So Charlie told her. He tried his best to speak calmly when he described the fight with Ashkelan Kapaldi, but he failed to keep the terror out of his voice when he relived the drowning sensation he felt as the roaring wave swept over him, and he could hardly contain his excitement when he recounted the astonishing shrinking of the Sea Globe.
Charlie needn't have worried. By the time he had finished, Emma's spirits had risen considerably. In fact she looked almost cheerful. "Oh, Charlie, perhaps we are winning after all," she said happily. "I was feeling so gloomy about everything, but now I believe we stand a chance, and if I can get that awful vest away from Olivia, she'll be her old self again."
"I saw something glittering under her cape," said Charlie.
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"So that's the vest that you think has changed her?"
"I'm sure of it. I tried to get it away from her when she was changing in the bathroom, but she nearly tore my hand off."
"Hmmm." Charlie scratched his wiry hair. "Take a good look at that vest," he said. "Try and memorize every stitch and sequin. Then come over to my place on Friday night. Alice Angel is there."
"Alice!" Emma clapped her hands delightedly. "Oh, Alice can save Liv, I know it."
A voice suddenly cut across the room. "Charlie, are you there? Matron is on the warpath."
Charlie and Emma jumped up. Fidelio was standing by the door, his hand on the light switch. "Come on, quick," he said, turning off the light.
They ran for the door and as soon as they were through, Fidelio closed it quickly behind them. When the boys reached their dormitory, Emma kept running toward the next staircase.
"Where is Matron?" Charlie whispered.
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"In the bathroom," Fidelio told him. "Rupe Small has lost his toothbrush, and Matron's waiting for him to find it."
Charlie grinned. But when they got into the dormitory, they discovered that the toothbrush had been found and Matron, otherwise known as Lucretia Yewbeam, was standing at the end of Charlie's bed with her hands on her hips. "Where have you been?" she demanded as Charlie walked in.
"Working," lied Charlie. "Mr. Pope gave me extra homework."
The lie worked. Charlie's great-aunt gave a nasty smirk and said, "Serves you right." He could only hope that she wouldn't mention the extra homework to Mr. Pope.
From the other end of the dormitory, Simon Hawke piped up. "Dagbert Endless isn't here."
"No," the matron said flatly and left the room.
"Odd," said Simon. "She doesn't seem bothered about the fish boy. Does anyone know where he is?"
"Probably gone home," said Bragger Braine.
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"Can't have," argued Simon. "We're only halfway through the week."
"Haven't you noticed?" Bragger plumped up his pillow. "Lots of kids have left."
Charlie went to the bathroom. What did Bragger mean? No one ever left Bloor's Academy halfway through the week. It wasn't allowed. He took a long time brushing his teeth and combing his impossible hair. By the time he left the bathroom, the lights were out and some of the boys were already asleep.
Charlie didn't even expect to sleep. Scenes from his extraordinary day kept chasing one another through his head. One moment he felt elated, the next full of doubt. And then he remembered the postcard. How could he possibly sleep when news of his parents might be only a few steps away? Swinging his feet to the floor, he shuffled into his slippers and put on his bathrobe. Everyone brought a flashlight to school, and although the battery in Charlie's was running low, it gav
e him enough light to see his way down the unlit hallway to the landing.
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Here was the tricky bit. A small light was always left burning in the hall, and at any moment a member of the staff could walk through one of the doors opening onto the hall and see Charlie. There was nothing for it but to hurry and hope. Taking a deep breath, Charlie tiptoed down the creaking stairs as fast as he could. Without pausing to look back, he flew along the hallway of portraits to the blue cafeteria. Raised voices could be heard coming from the direction of the green cafeteria. Mr. and Mrs. Wecdon arguing again, thought Charlie. He quickly slipped into the blue cafeteria and then into the kitchen beyond.
It was pitch-dark in the kitchen; a strong smell of cooked cabbage filled Charlie's nostrils and he pinched his nose. He hadn't visited Cook's apartment for some time, but shining his flashlight across the rows of closets, he quickly recognized Cook's entrance. He always felt slightly apprehensive when he opened this door because if anyone discovered Cook's secret, she would be banished from the academy.
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The Bloors believed she slept in a cold little room in the east wing and were completely unaware of the wonderful labyrinth beneath the building.
Charlie stepped into the closet and, closing one door behind him, opened the other. Now he was in the softly lit hall that led to the next closet and then into Cook's room.
"My Heavens!" cried Cook as Charlie walked out of the closet at the end of her room. "What are you doing here, Charlie Bone?"
"The postcard," said Charlie. "Gabriel said you had a postcard for me."
"So I have," said Cook. "But you could have waited until tomorrow."
"I couldn't," said Charlie. "I'm sorry, but I had to know what my parents had written."
"Ah, you guessed. Yes, Maisie gave me the card when we met at our usual time in the market. Luckily, your other grandma didn't see it."
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Cook reached for the postcard that sat on a shelf above her stove. "Sit down and read," she said, "while I make a cup of cocoa and then, seeing as you're here, we can discuss what's been going on. It hasn't entirely escaped my notice that a few reversals of fortune have taken place today."
Charlie grabbed the postcard and dropped into an armchair by the stove. There was a low grunt behind him, and Blessed eased himself out from the back of the chair and tumbled onto the floor, landing in an untidy heap.
"Sorry, Blessed. Didn't see you," Charlie muttered as he quickly scanned the writing on the back of the card. "It makes no sense," he complained after reading the card a second, then a third time.
"Why's that?" asked Cook. "It makes perfect sense to me. Your parents are safe, Charlie."
"Are they? Are they really? This card might have been posted before the storms, by someone on a ship that passed them."
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The card was from Charlie's mother, and it read: "We're on our way home. Not long now. We've missed you so much. But soon, we'll all be together. Your father says you mustn't look for the box. We love you. Mom xxxx."
"So what don't you understand?" asked Cook, handing Charlie a cup of cocoa.
"The box," said Charlie. "It's such a puzzle. How did they know I was looking for a box, and why did my dad tell me to stop looking for it?"
"Probably because he knows where it is," Cook replied.
Charlie sipped his cocoa. "But how... ," he began. "I just don't understand. Has he suddenly remembered where he put it? Or has he always known? And... and where is it?"
"Best not to know," said Cook in her warm, wise voice.
Charlie gazed at the comforting red glow in Cook's stove. "I don't know why Dad went away
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when the city got so dangerous," he murmured. "And sometimes I've felt angry with him and kind of disappointed. But he must have had a reason, mustn't he?"
"Of course," Cook agreed.
"A very, very good reason. And even if I never find out, I'll never believe that he ... he didn't care about me, or any of this."
Cook smiled. "Charlie, you're wise beyond your years."
No one had ever said that to Charlie. In fact they usually said the opposite. He felt rather pleased.
"Now tell me what's been going on," said Cook, "although I've already made a few good guesses."
While he slowly drained his cup of deliciously sweet cocoa, Charlie related everything that had happened. By the time he had finished, his eyes were beginning to close, and Cook had to give him a little shake to wake him up. "Charlie," she said gently. "Can you bring Billy back to me? I miss him so much."
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She looked at the old dog. "And Blessed is so depressed. I try to talk to him, but it's not the same. Billy can speak his language."
Charlie rubbed his eyes. "I'll try," he said. "But first I've got to find the painting of Badlock. It's my only way in. Actually, I'd really like to see Matilda again."
Cook shook her head. "The enchanter's granddaughter? Forget her, Charlie. She's from another world. I'll see what I can find out about the painting. Now, you'd better get back to bed before you're missed."
Charlie reluctantly dragged himself away from Cook's warm stove and stepped into the closet.
"You take care now, Charlie," Cook whispered as she closed the door behind him.
As before, the hall was deserted and Charlie slipped up the stairs to his dormitory without being seen. He was unaware that the staff had all decided to keep well away from the west wing that night. In fact, most of them had gone to bed earlier than usual
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rather than face any of the people who were, at that moment, insulting each other in the ballroom.
Old Ezekiel couldn't believe what had happened. "That lovely globe," he wailed, wheeling himself around and around the ballroom as if his endless rotation might somehow conjure up the Sea Globe. "Did he drown them, did he, did he?" he demanded.
"I've told you, yes!" shouted Manfred. "He must have. You should have seen those waves."
"So you saw it all and didn't do a thing about that boy's spirit ancestors!" Ezekiel shrieked. "You coward. You lily-livered milksop."
"I'd like to see you try and stop a hundred spirits with spears and torches and... and everything," Manfred shouted back.
"You didn't have to attack them," argued Ezekiel. "You could just have given Lysander Sage a bang on the head."
"Couldn't!" Manfred kicked at the pool of water lying in the center of the ballroom, all that remained of the Sea Globe,
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as far as he knew. He hadn't seen the tiny sphere that Dagbert now possessed. An unpleasant fishy smell wafted from the pool of water, and Manfred kicked it again. "Anyway, Lyell Bone has been drowned, so he won't be coming home to rake up that box."
"What about me?" screeched Mrs. Tilpin, swaying at the edge of the pool. "My little boy has been injured, my swordsman has been... sent back. And Lord Grimwald promised me a castle, servants, money. All gone. Poof! Just like that. I'll strangle someone. I'll do worse. I'll turn them into toads."
"As if... ," muttered Manfred.
"Stop it!" Dr. Bloor bellowed from a chair at the end of the room. "There's nothing to be gained by endless bickering. If we are to achieve anything, we must pull together."
The headmaster's commanding voice managed to silence everyone. Mrs. Tilpin gazed into the murky pool; Manfred tapped his wet foot quietly at the edge; and Ezekiel wheeled himself to a standstill.
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"Nothing's changed," Mrs. Tilpin said at last. Her tone was soft and sly, and they looked at her uneasily. "Because he's coming. Harken, the shadow, the enchanter. His people are here already and there'll soon be more. So you can keep your precious school." She flung out her arms and danced around the pool, her glinting black skirt sweeping through the water, sending little ripples across the surface. "And then Charlie Bone and Billy Raven and Lysander Sage and his spirit ancestors will all be a distant memory."
"What about the Red Knight?" asked Manfred.
"Ah, the Red Knight," said Mrs. Tilpin, and she stopped dancing.
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15. FOG!
Billy's bed was now a bale of prickly straw, his light a thin candle that always burned through before nightfall. Not that Billy would have noticed when night began and ended. There were no windows in his chilly cell. At least he had Rembrandt to talk to. Luckily, the countess hadn't carried out her threat to kill the rat, believing that he would die anyway unless Billy shared his meager allowance of black bread.
But Rembrandt didn't die. He thrived. He had found a friend: a small brown-coated, green-eyed rat he called Gloria. Billy could see the attraction. Gloria was very pretty; she was also helpful. Being two sizes smaller than Rembrandt, she could squeeze through a tiny hole in Billy's cell and she would bring Rembrandt delicious tidbits from the kitchen waste bucket. So Rembrandt didn't need Billy's black bread,
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and instead of fading away, he grew fatter and fatter.
Count Harken and his wife were the only people in Badlock ever to have seen a rat before Rembrandt arrived. They had brought a pair of rats back from the Red King's city many years ago. But the rats had vanished and the count assumed they had been eaten by a greedy servant (though they all swore they had never set eyes on a rat). In fact, the clever pair had burrowed deep into the mountain and raised a family. Gloria was their last surviving great-greatgrandchild.
Sometimes Rembrandt and Gloria would go off for a whole day. They would wait until Billy's guard was having his meal in the kitchen and then slip through the bars of the cell and leap up the steep stone steps into the palace. Rembrandt would return with stories of their wonderful adventures, and eventually, Billy would fall asleep while his rat's gentle voice squeaked on and on and on. Without those stories,
