by Jenny Nimmo
"I tell you, those purrs went deep into my heart, boys. When the Flames heard my merry heartbeat and saw my eager open eyes, they jumped from the bed and waked away, as quiet and graceful as they'd come. And no one saw them, not a soul. I asked the night nurse in the morning. "Cats, Mr. Onimous," she said.
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There were no cats in this hospital, I can tell you. You were dreaming," she said, 'and now you've made a miraculous recovery."" Mr. Onimous smiled at everyone. "What d'you think of that?"
Charlie wasn't really surprised. He'd seen the Flames bring someone back to life before. He'd also seen them nearly kill someone.
"Mr. Onimous, I think it's great," said Tancred. "But we need to find out who did this to you."
"And we need to get your cafe open again," Gabriel said forcibly.
Without lifting his hand from Leo's orange coat, Charlie said, "We've got something to tell you, too, Mr. Onimous."
Tancred said quickly, "Maybe not today."
Mr. Onimous looked offended. "If there's something I should know, it had better be now," he said. "So, come on, Charlie, spill the beans."
Mrs. Silk insisted they all have a snack first. "I've cooked so much," she said, handing out some plates.
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"Most of it's for the animals, what with everything that's been happening. I forgot the cafe was closed. It's all good stuff, though, anyone can eat it."
"Which is best for rats?" asked Billy.
Mrs. Silk pointed to some thin pinkish sticks, and Billy took a handful.
Charlie sat at the table and took three cookies with not a hint of pink about them. Tancred chose a flat, nutty-looking cake, only to be told that Mrs. Silk had made it especially for Shetland ponies.
Tancred neighed and said, "Haven't you seen my hooves?"
Everyone laughed, but when the laughter had died, there was a long silence, the sort of silence that suggests it should be filled with a story. Charlie began with the troll in the Kettle Shop, and Tancred took over, telling it from his point of view.
Gabriel and the Onimouses remained perfectly quiet, but Mrs. Silk became so agitated she couldn't keep still. She scraped the baking trays, washed the mixing bowls, put away the flour, and then started
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wiping the table. She had to give up when Tancred really got going, though. Because as he spoke, things started blowing around: wooden spoons, paper bags, cake cutters, nuts, oats, currants and dried maggots, salt and pepper, sugar and spices, all lifted into the air, collided, and sank. They drifted onto heads and shoulders, tables and chairs, and every other surface. So tidying and sweeping became a rather pointless exercise.
As soon as Tancred's tale had ended, Mr. Onimous puffed out his cheeks and said, "Well, that was an epic battle. What a monster!"
"His name is Oddthumb," Charlie said quietly. "I've met him."
Obviously, another story was called for, so Charlie described his visit to Badlock. "And now Runner Bean's stuck," he finished. "And I can't seem to get back to rescue him."
"Don't go near that painting, Charlie," Mr. Onimous warned. "You say it sucked you in. I don't like the sound of it at all."
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"Not at all," echoed his wife. "Have nothing to do with it. Lock the cellar door and throw away the key."
"That's just what Mrs. Kettle said. But what about Runner Bean?" Billy said accusingly. "I thought you loved animals, Mrs. Onimous."
"So I do, Billy Raven, so I do." Mrs. Onimous rose to her full six feet. "But I love you, too. And it would break my heart if you were dragged into Badlock and never came back again."
For a moment, Billy looked quite dumbfounded. "I didn't know," he murmured.
After another round of snacks, Mrs. Silk suggested they all leave the cafe so that Mr. and Mrs. Onimous could have a little nap. Tomorrow, she herself would start a campaign to get the cafe opened again.
Gabriel was the last one to step outside. As he closed the cafe door behind him, he said thoughtfully, "Suppose the person who got the cafe shut
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down was the same person who caused the Onimouses' accident?"
"Gabriel, I won't have you saying such things," said Mrs. Silk, frowning at her son.
"Gabriel's got a point," Tancred ventured.
"Councillor Loom closed the cafe because of complaints," argued Mrs. Silk. "Who on earth would want to harm those two dear people?"
"Norton Cross rides a motorcycle," said Charlie, trying not to sound too serious.
Their footsteps faltered, then stopped. They had reached High Street. Everyone looked at Charlie.
"It's just a thought," he said.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Mrs. Silk turned right and began to stride up High Street, calling, "Gabriel, Tancred, you'd better hurry if you want a ride."
"Why's your mom so angry?" asked Charlie.
"She gets angry when she's scared," Gabriel explained. "See you guys on Monday." He grabbed Tancred's arm and together they ran after Mrs. Silk.
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Charlie and Billy made their way back to Filbert Street.
When Uncle Paton still had not returned by nightfall, Maisie told the boys he was probably asleep in his camper van, hundreds of miles away. "In the Highlands probably," she said cheerfully. "He is like a dog with a bone when he's on the trail of something. But at least it's only us three for supper. Grandma Bone says she won't be back till late."
Before he went to bed, Charlie made sure the cellar door was locked. He went to see if Grandma Bone had returned the key to the blue jug. She had. But Charlie wasn't going to throw it away. He had to go back into Badlock, whatever the consequences.
"When Claerwen is with me, I'll try again," Charlie told himself. He wasn't only thinking of the dog; he was thinking of his promise to Otus Yewbeam.
The boys soon fell asleep, exhausted by the day's events. But a little before dawn, Billy woke up. He lay
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in the dark, thinking he had heard a sound in the house. What was it? The creak of a stair? The click of a door closing?
Billy sat up. He found that he wasn't afraid. Something momentous had happened. A few hours ago, Mrs. Onimous had said she loved him. No one had ever told him that before. Not even the aunt he had lived with after his parents had died. It was such a new sensation, Billy didn't know how he felt about it. And then, gradually, it crept up on him: a profound, comforting happiness.
And then came another sound. This time there was no mistaking it. Billy would have known Runner Bean's voice anywhere.
"Billy! Help me! Billy! Where are you?"
Without turning on the bedside light, Billy reached for his glasses. The streetlight outside cast a thin beam of light under the curtains. Billy quietly slipped out of bed and went to the door. Runner Bean continued to call him, and yet he suddenly felt reluctant
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to open the door. He looked at Charlie sleeping peacefully. Couldn't he hear the barking? Was it only meant for Billy?
Mrs. Onimous said she loved me, Billy remembered. Why did he feel that if he went through the door, he would be throwing this wonderful gift away? For minutes, he stayed where he was, his hand on the doorknob, and then the dog's call became so insistent, so desperate, Billy couldn't ignore it.
As he crept downstairs, a cold breeze whipped around his feet. He reached the hall. The cellar door key was in a jug on top of the cabinet; Billy knew exactly which one. He was about to go into the kitchen when he noticed that the cellar door was wide open. A tide of sound washed toward him: the moan of the wind and a deep melancholy howl.
B ... I... L ... L ... Y?
Billy had no choice. He mus
t reach the voice. Dog or human? Whatever it was, it drew him toward the cellar and down the steps until his bare feet began to turn blue on the cold stone floor. From the
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painting Runner Bean gazed out at him. Howling and howling.
"I'm coming," said Billy.
The wind screamed into his ear, spinning him around and dragging him to the painting, closer and closer, until his cheek was pressed against the canvas, his fingers and toes already in Badlock.
A moment later, when the wind had died, someone quietly closed the cellar door and locked it.
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CHAPTER 10
MR. BITTERMOUSE
Charlie woke up to the sound of barking. At first he couldn't tell where it came from. He looked at Billy's bed. It appeared to be empty. Charlie got up and looked closer. Yes, Billy was definitely not in bed. Putting that fact together with the barking gave Charlie a surge of hope. Had Billy found a way to rescue Runner Bean?
Charlie stuffed his feet into his slippers and ran down to the cellar. The door wouldn't open. Strange. Had Billy locked himself in?
"Billy?" he called. "Are you there?"
The barking increased. Claws pattered up the wooden steps and scratched the cellar door.
"Runner!" cried Charlie. "It is you, isn't it? You're out."
He was answered by a series of joyful barks.
"What's going on?" said a voice from the stairs.
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Charlie looked up to see Grandma Bone in her purple bathrobe and pink hairnet.
"Runner Bean's gotten out of that painting!" Charlie couldn't disguise his excitement. "I don't know how it happened, unless Billy did it, but the cellar door's still locked so..."
"Better unlock it, then." Grandma Bone tightened her bathrobe belt and went upstairs again. "And get that dog out of the house," she called. "It's Sunday morning and it'll wake the whole street."
Charlie ran to the kitchen. A chair had been placed beside the cabinet. That was odd. He was certain he had pushed it back to the table after he'd replaced the key in the jug. Billy must have gotten it out, unlocked the cellar door, and then locked himself in. In which case the key would be in the cellar, not the jug. Charlie climbed onto the chair and took down the jug. The key was still there.
Thoroughly mystified, Charlie took the key and hurried back to the cellar. As soon as he opened the
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door, Runner Bean leaped out, knocked him down, and covered his face with wet kisses.
"OK! OK!" Charlie grabbed the big dog around the neck and pulled himself back onto his feet. "Quiet!" he commanded. "Sit!"
Runner Bean was an obedient dog. In spite of his excitement, he did as he was told.
Charlie called into the cellar, "Billy! Billy, are you there?"
There was no reply.
Charlie went down to take a better look. The painting hadn't moved, but now not a breath of wind escaped it. Badlock appeared dull and bleak, a place of fiction, not somewhere just a step away.
"Billy!" Charlie searched every corner: beneath old mattresses, behind wooden cabinets, old doors and suitcases, and bags of trash. There was no sign of Billy. Obviously, Runner Bean's escape had nothing to do with Billy. But in that case, where had Billy gone?
First things first. Benjamin must have his dog.
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While Runner Bean waited patiently, Charlie ran upstairs, dressed hurriedly, and took the big dog across the road to number twelve.
In all his life Charlie had never seen anyone as happy as Benjamin when he set eyes on Runner Bean. The noise from both of them was enough to wake the dead, let alone every household in Filbert Street. The squeals and barks of joy brought Mr. and Mrs. Brown tumbling out of bed and down the stairs.
A breakfast of sausages, eggs, and broccoli was quickly served up, and Runner Bean was given a bone almost as big as his own leg.
Charlie was hungry, but before he was halfway through the meal, he suddenly stood up. "The thing is," he explained, "Billy Raven's gone missing, and I ought to go and look for him."
"Missing?" Mr. and Mrs. Brown laid down their knives and forks. Missing persons were right up their alley. Not one of their cases of missing persons had remained unsolved.
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"If you can't find Billy, come straight back to us," said Mrs. Brown.
"Will do. Thanks, Mrs. Brown." Charlie ran back to number nine.
Maisie was up and another fine breakfast awaited Charlie: sausages, eggs, and mushrooms.
"I'm sorry, Maisie. I don't think I can eat much." Charlie explained what had happened.
"I thought I heard barking," Maisie exclaimed. "Oh, Charlie, what wonderful news."
"Except that Billy has disappeared," said Charlie.
Maisie's face fell. "Charlie, are you sure? He must be in the house somewhere. Or he could have run up the road for something. Check his clothes."
Charlie went up to his bedroom. Billy's clothes were piled neatly on a chair, exactly where he had left them. His shoes were under the chair, his slippers by his bed. "So he can't have gone far," Charlie said to himself, and once again, he tried to dismiss the thought that had persisted in entering his head
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ever since he had searched the cellar. Billy has to be in Badlock.
No. A wave of nausea made Charlie sit down, quickly, on his bed. He was far more frightened for Billy than he had been for himself. What chance did Billy have, with his white hair and poor eyesight? The shadow's army was bound to catch him. But what possible reason could the count have for taking Billy and letting Runner Bean go?
Unless it had been the shadow's plan all along? He had known that Billy could never resist a cry for help from a dog. Charlie remembered Manfred's insistence that Billy should come back to number nine, where the painting of Badlock waited like a trap.
Charlie tore downstairs. "He's gone, Maisie. And I know where. He's in that painting."
"I can't believe it, Charlie," said Maisie. "If he's gone, I'm going to call the police, there's no two ways about it." She went into the hall and began to dial.
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Knowing it would be useless to try and stop her, Charlie waited in the kitchen. He listened to Maisie's voice, insisting that a child named Billy Raven was missing, and then her angry response to something she'd been told. "Bloor's Academy. Mr. Ezekiel Bloor, or perhaps the headmaster, Dr. Bloor. But the boy disappeared from here, not there."
There was a pause while Maisie sighed heavily and tapped her foot. "Thank you. And will you let me know?... I'll call you, then. Good-bye." She slammed down the phone and came back to the kitchen, looking flushed and angry.
"They can't proceed until they're authorized to do so by the child's guardian," said Maisie. "I suppose it must be Dr. Bloor, since Billy's an orphan. What a mess!"
Charlie said nothing. He was now utterly convinced that Billy had been captured by the painting. How pleased Grandma Bone had been when she saw Billy arrive. It was obviously she who had locked the cellar door after Billy had "gone in."
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Charlie sat by the kitchen window waiting for Uncle Paton to arrive in the white camper van. He saw Benjamin and Runner Bean walk down to the park. He saw Mrs. Brown go to the mailbox; she was wearing a skirt and high-heeled shoes, for a change. It was no use telling Mrs. Brown that Billy was still missing.
Maisie brought Charlie a mug of hot cocoa. "Your uncle might not come back till next week. Don't look so forlorn, Charlie. I'm sure little Billy will turn up."
"He won't," muttered Charlie.
He discovered that the cellar door key was still in his pocket. When he'd finished his cocoa, he we
nt down into the cellar and stared at the painting of Badlock. He scrutinized every inch of it, looking for a way in. He didn't care if he was caught again, if only he could find Billy. But the shadow had no use for Charlie Bone at present. It was Billy he wanted.
"Why have you taken him?" Charlie shouted at the painting. "Have you made a bargain? Billy for your freedom to travel back into the world? Well, you
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won't do it, Count Harken. Not now: The Mirror of Amoret was broken, so there's no way back. EVER!"
A blast of wind hurled Charlie against the opposite wall.
"You heard me, then!" he cried.
Dust, laden with splinters, flew into his face, and he covered his eyes just in time. His nostrils were filled with grit: It even crept between his teeth. Choking and sneezing, Charlie crawled across the cellar floor. He stumbled up the steps and fell into the hall. As he lay there, rubbing his eyes and spitting dust, he became aware of a tall figure looming over him.
"Foolish boy," said Grandma Bone. "What did you hope to achieve?"
Charlie sat up and glared at her. "You did it, didn't you? You opened the cellar door and then locked it behind Billy. I know he's in Badlock, and somehow I'm going to get him out."
"Don't meddle with the shadow," she said grimly.
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Charlie watched his grandmother walk to the front door. She was wearing her Sunday best: shiny black shoes, a Persian lamb coat, and a purple velvet hat. The back of her bony shoulders expressed utter contempt.
