Charlie Bone and the Red Knight

by Jenny Nimmo

  Emma uttered a quiet, "Ahh!" She had been thinking of weddings lately. She looked at her aunt, who smiled.

  "The key was lost," Paton continued rather hurriedly. "And there was no way of opening the box. It was just a very beautiful object, Sally said. But in her heart she knew it contained something special because there were others, on the Bloor side of the family, who desperately wanted it."

  "The Bloors?" said Tancred and Emma.

  "Just so," replied Paton. He turned to Miss Ingledew. "Shall we show them?"

  "I think we had better." Miss Ingledew went to her desk and unlocked a small drawer at the top. She withdrew a folded piece of paper and carried it over to Tancred. "Open it out," she said.

  Tancred unfolded the paper on his knees, where Emma could see it.

  "Wow!" Emma exclaimed.

  "Sally Raven is an extraordinary woman," Paton told them. "She has a case full of photos, letters, and cards from her family and her husband's. She was able to help me draw up a family tree that goes right back to Septimus Bloor, old Ezekiel's great-grandfather."

  "So Billy is related to Ezekiel?" said Tancred, with a frown.

  "Distantly," Paton agreed. "Billy is descended from Maybelle, who married a Raven. Ezekiel is descended from Maybelle's brother, Bertram, who inherited Septimus's fabulous wealth. But Sally believes that Septimus left his fortune to Maybelle and her heirs. And his original and true will is hidden in that beautiful box. The box she gave to Rufus. The box she believes Rufus entrusted to his dearest friend. And he was Lyell Bone."

  Tancred and Emma peered closer at the family tree. There were notes scrawled across the bottom.

  Maybeile gave the mother-of'--pearl inlaid box. to Evangeline. EuaMgeii*ie gave it to HimU, and Sally on their wedding day. Hugh aud Sally gave it to Kufeos a*id ElleK on their wedding day. Rulws gaAW it to Lyell Bone for safekeeping.

  Va*viei Raven's first wife, Niamk, died in childbirth. He then, married Jatte Hill.

  Tancred gave a low whistle. "What a tangle." He was about to hand back the family tree when Emma restrained him. She was scrutinizing the paper intently.

  "There's a line that goes nowhere," she said, pointing to a name on the far left side of the tree. "N-I-A-something, and then Ita, and then Eamon."

  "Irish," said Paton. "I intend to follow it up, but it may be impossible. Sally told me that her husband had a half sister who lived in Ireland with her grandparents. Her mother died when she was born. But we're only interested in the line that ends with Billy. If Sally is right, then Billy Raven is the heir to Septimus Bloor's fortune."

  Tancred rolled his eyes. "No wonder they want to get rid of him. Does Charlie know about this, Mr. Yewbeam?"

  Paton nodded. "I managed to fill him in before he left for school on Monday."

  The telephone on Miss Ingledew's desk suddenly gave a sharp ring and everyone jumped. Miss Ingledew picked up the receiver. The voice at the other end could be heard quite clearly and Tancred leaped off the sofa, crying, "It's Dad. Oh, no, I forgot to call him."

  Miss Ingledew had to hold the receiver well away from her ear as Mr. Torsson's voice thundered into the room, sending pens and papers flying off her desk. Paton took the receiver from her and shouted "Torsson!" into the phone. "Tancred's here, as you no doubt suspected. He's quite safe, but he'd better spend the night in the bookstore. There's a lot going on. We'll talk about it later."

  Mr. Torsson's reply was loud but reasonable. He'd managed to get his thunder under control. Tancred took over from Paton and told his father he would be home in the morning. He replaced the receiver with a sigh of exhaustion.

  "It's all right to stay the night?" he asked Miss Ingledew, darting a look at Emma.

  "We'll make up a bed on the sofa," Mss Ingledew said with a smile.

  Paton decided it was time for him to leave. He wished everyone a good night and reminded Miss Ingledew to lock and bolt the door as soon as he had left.

  He waited outside the shop while she did this, and then she waved at him through the glass in the door, and he set off.

  When he left Cathedral Square, Paton heard a low muttering of voices that grew louder as he approached the turn to Piminy Street. A group of people were coming up the road toward him. They were an odd bunch, with their long coats, their furs, their leathers, and their strangely dated hats. One of them wore a white undershirt. Paton backed up a few steps and slid into the shadows behind a narrow porch. He watched as they all turned onto Piminy Street. There must have been at least a dozen of them. When they had passed the first few houses, Paton felt confident enough to step quietly into the street, but one of the group turned, suddenly, and stared at him, her eyes glinting in the dark; she was very small, her face ancient in the streetlight, her hair a deep red. Paton averted his eyes and hurried on.

  Not for the first time he wished that Julia Ingledew didn't live so close to Piminy Street. "On the doorstep of another world," he said to himself as he walked briskly through the city, avoiding streetlamps where he could. The salty tang on his lips reminded him that Lord Grimwald was in the city once again. At Ezekiei's invitation, no doubt. And Paton thought of Lyell Bone, out on the wild ocean.

  As Paton strode down Filbert Street, a black car rolled past him and stopped outside number nine. Grizelda Bone got out of the car and climbed the steps to the door.

  "I'll wager she's up to her neck in all this skulduggery," Paton said to himself.

  4

  GABRIELS SECRET

  Gabriel Silk had a secret. He wanted to tell Charlie about it, but there was never an opportunity. They were in different dormitories now, and different classes. The cafeteria was too public, and out in the grounds they were never alone. There might, however, be a chance when Charlie was on his way to a music lesson.

  Gabriel had been waiting in the corridor of portraits, hoping to catch Charlie as he crossed the hall. He had intended to stand just inside the hallway but found himself wandering farther down, studying the portraits on the wall. He passed them every day but had never really studied them. The subjects were mostly stern-looking men and women, though occasionally you could find a smiling person. If you knew your history well enough, you could tell by their clothes what century they had lived in. Gabriel had been told that every one of them was descended from the Red King. There was even a Silvio Silk in a black velvet suit and a white curled wig. He might have been Gabriel's ancestor, but he bore no resemblance to him.

  If Gabriel wore someone else's clothes, he immediately knew what sort of person had worn them before. He could sometimes picture them, see what they had done, and even hear their voices. But portraits could tell him nothing. "If I was Charlie, I could go right in and talk to you," Gabriel whispered to Silvio Silk. "And you could talk to me."

  Silvio Silk didn't bat an eyelid. He wore the same resigned expression that he had worn when the artist painted him, two hundred years before.

  Gabriel wandered farther down the hallway. He passed men in sober black suits, in rich red jackets and glittering gold waistcoats; he passed women whose necks were hung with diamonds and pearls, whose hair was garlanded with flowers, and whose shoulders were draped in velvet and fur. And then he stopped before a full-length portrait of a cavalier. Gabriel's eye was drawn to the sword at the man's side. It had a delicately wrought golden hilt, and the man's gloved fingers rested on it almost lovingly. As Gabriel stared at the intricate gold curves, they glinted suddenly, as though the sun had caught them. And then Gabriel found his gaze lifting to the face above the wide lace collar. The man had shoulder-length black hair, and between the black mustache and pointed beard, his fleshy lips held an unpleasant grin.

  Gabriel stepped back to get a better view, and now he noticed that the eyes seemed wrong. There was no light in them. It was as if the man's spirit had left the painted face.

  A cold shudder ran down Gabriel's spine. It was dark in the hallway. There were no lights, no sunlit window. Had he imagined the sudden bright glint on the gold sword hilt?
Was the lack of light in the man's eyes or merely Gabriel's own shadow? No. There was something different about this painting. The name on the bronze plaque at the base of the frame read: Ashkelan Kapaldi. The plaque had come loose; it hung at an angle and there were fingerprints on the shiny surface of the paint. Someone had touched the portrait very recently, pressed and prodded it repeatedly.

  "Gabriel Silk, what are you doing?" Manfred's voice came ringing down the corridor of portraits.

  Gabriel turned guiltily, although, as far as he knew, he had nothing to feel guilty about. He must make sure that Manfred didn't guess what was on his mind. The talents master had been using hypnotism a great deal recently.

  "What are you doing here?" Manfred came up to Gabriel and stared at him.

  "Nothing, sir." Gabriel looked away from the narrow black eyes. Beneath his black cape, Manfred was wearing a bright green vest. Surprising for one who was usually so soberly dressed.

  "Nothing?" The talents master glared at Gabriel, forcing him to look up. "Nothing?"

  Gabriel felt dizzy. "Going to a music lesson, sir," he said faintly.

  "Go, then! And stop hanging about!"

  Gabriel was about to turn away when he saw two figures coming down the hall behind Manfred. One of them was limping, the other lurching. Gabriel's eyes widened in surprise, for the limping man bore a strong resemblance to the man in the portrait: Ashkelan Kapaldi.

  The surprise in Gabriel's eyes caused Manfred to whirl around. "Go!" he shouted at Gabriel. "This instant!"

  Gabriel walked away quickly, but not so quickly that he didn't hear the talents master say, "It's not wise, sir, for you to leave the west wing during the day. Pupils will recognize you... and wonder."

  "Let them wonder." The stranger's voice had a foreign lilt. "Let them be amazed."

  "It's not the time, Ashkelan." This second voice had a cavernous, echoing sound. Something in the ebb and flow of it reminded Gabriel of Dagbert Endless.

  He hastened into the hall, which was full of children on their way to different classrooms. Occasionally someone would whisper to a companion, while glancing anxiously about in case a prefect was watching. Silence in the hall was the rule.

  Gabriel spotted Charlie's wild mop of hair. He wore a slight frown and his thoughts were obviously miles away. Gabriel waved, trying to get Charlie's attention, but Charlie didn't see him. And then Dagbert Endless walked between them. He followed Charlie doggedly across the hall and into another one that led to Señor Alvaro's music room. Gabriel pursued them.

  Safely out of the main hall, Gabriel called, "Charlie!"

  Dagbert swung around and snapped, "What do you want?"

  Gabriel was momentarily taken aback by Dagbert's sharp tone. "I want to speak to Charlie," he said.

  "Hi, Gabe!" Charlie had noticed Gabriel at last. "What is it?"

  Gabriel saw that Dagbert wasn't going to leave them. "It's nothing," he murmured. "I'll catch you later."

  Charlie watched Gabriel slouch away, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets. Obviously he didn't want Dagbert to hear what he had to tell Charlie.

  "Why do you keep following me?" Charlie demanded. "Shouldn't you be in a lesson?"

  Dagbert shrugged. "I've lost my flute. I thought Señor Alvaro might have it."

  "Why? Mr. Paltry teaches flute." Charlie walked faster, trying to shake Dagbert off.

  Dagbert caught up with him. "OK. The truth is... my father's here."

  "I know," said Charlie irritably. "We've been through that. What do you want me to do about it?"

  "I want you to keep my sea-gold creatures for a while."

  "What?" Charlie stopped dead in his tracks. He could hardly believe his ears. "Are you seriously asking me to keep something that you almost k--" He quickly corrected himself, "Something that you drowned Tancred for taking."

  "I've told you," Dagbert said desperately, "I didn't mean to drown him. It was an accident." He dug into his pocket and brought out a handful of tiny charms: five golden crabs, a fish, and a miniature sea urchin. "Please, keep them safe for me." He held the charms out to Charlie. "My father's looking for them."

  "Why?"

  "I can't explain right now." Dagbert pushed the charms at Charlie.

  Charlie stepped back. "Why me?"

  "You're the only person I can trust."

  Charlie found this hard to believe. "What about your friends: Joshua, Dorcas, the twins? What about Manfred?"

  Dagbert vigorously shook his head. "No, no, no." He grabbed Charlie's wrist and attempted to press the charms into his hand. "PLEASE!"

  "No." Charlie snatched his hand away and the sea-gold creatures spilled onto the floor. The sea urchin rolled toward Señor Alvaro's door, which at that very instant began to open.

  Señor Alvaro stood in the doorway regarding the sea urchin at his feet. He gave it a small kick.

  "No!" Dagbert pounced on the charm as it rolled across the floor. "You could have broken it." He hastily gathered up the five crabs and the golden fish as well and shoved them into his pocket.

  "What's going on?" Señor Alvaro frowned at the wall behind the boys. It was now a rippling bluish-green; silvery bubbles rose from a shell that floated just behind Charlie's ear; and fronds of seaweed waved gently from the baseboard.

  Charlie glanced at the scowling Dagbert. "It's what happens, sir," he told the music teacher. "He can't help it."

  "Can't help it?" Señor Alvaro raised a neat black eyebrow. He was young for a teacher, and his clothes were always interesting and colorful. He had permanently smiling brown eyes, a sharp nose, and shiny black hair. He didn't appear to be too surprised by the watery shapes on the wall.

  As Dagbert shuffled away, the weeds and shells and bubbles gradually faded and the wall took on its usual grayish color.

  "Come in, Charlie," said Señor Alvaro.

  Charlie always enjoyed his music lessons now. He knew he wasn't talented, but Señor Alvaro had convinced him that music could be fun as long as you blew with conviction and hit the right notes, more or less. Charlie had even managed half an hour's practice the previous evening, and Señor Alvaro was pleasantly surprised.

  "Excelente, Charlie!" The music teacher's Spanish accent was soft and compelling. "I am astounded by your improvement. A little more practice and that piece will be perfect."

  The lesson was at an end, but Charlie was reluctant to leave. Señor Alvaro was one of the few teachers at Bloor's whom Charlie felt he could trust. He had an overwhelming urge to confide in him.

  "Do you know about Dagbert?" he asked as he put his trumpet in its case.

  "I know about the boy's father, if that's what you mean, Charlie. I'm aware of the curse placed upon the Grimwald dynasty and I know that Dagbert believes the charms his mother made can protect him." Señor Alvaro's tone was very matter-of-fact. Charlie was surprised he knew so much.

  "Do you know about... about... my talent?" Charlie was unsure of how to put this question and found himself stuttering.

  "Of course!" Señor Alvaro gave one of his heartwarming smiles. "I'll see you on Friday, Charlie. Usual time."

  "Yes, sir." Charlie left the room.

  When he closed Señor Alvaro's door, he felt slightly dizzy. Perhaps it was the darkness of the hallway coming so soon after the bright lights in the music room. He closed his eyes for a moment and a rushing, foggy gray seeped behind his lids. It was the sea, and in the churning gray waves, there was a small boat bobbing among the foam. Charlie saw this boat in his mind's eye whenever he thought of his parents, somewhere on the ocean, watching whales. But today he could just make out a name on the side of the boat: Greywing.

  Charlie opened his eyes. Why had the name come to him so suddenly? Did anyone else know about it? His grandmother Maisie? Uncle Paton? The company that arranged his parents' whale-watching vacation?

  "Charlie!"

  Gabriel came running down the hallway just as the bell rang for lunch. "Can we talk outside, Charlie, after lunch?"

&nbs
p; "Why not now?" asked Charlie.

  "I can't explain. It's too complicated," said Gabriel.

  "Give us a clue!"

  "It's about the Red Knight."

  "Now I'm really interested." Charlie hurried into the hall where the usual crowd of children was rushing to the coatrooms: blue for music students, purple for the actors, and green for the artists. Gabriel hovered beside Charlie while he washed his hands and then they walked together across the hall and down the corridor of portraits toward the blue cafeteria. As they passed Ashkelan Kapaldi, Gabriel nodded at the portrait and whispered, "I saw him today."

  "I think I saw him last night," Charlie whispered back.

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. "What's going on?"

  Charlie shrugged.

  Fidelio had kept two places for them at a corner table. While they ate their macaroni and cheese, Charlie bent close to his friend and, as quietly as he could, described the swordsman both he and Gabriel had seen outside his portrait.

  "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes," Fidelio remarked with a grin.

  "What do you mean by that?" Gabriel asked in an offended tone. "This man isn't after me and Charlie, particularly."

  "Sorry." Fidelio often forgot how touchy Gabriel Silk could be. "But you're both endowed, Gabe. These weirdos are always after you lot; by and large they leave normal people like me alone."

  Gabriel had to admit that this was true. He realized that he would have to take Fidelio into his confidence as well as Charlie. Best friends always stuck together during break.

  After lunch the three boys jogged around the grounds. It was one of those dreary March days when the sky is a dark gray slab and the cold air sneaks into your very bones. Sixth years were allowed to stay indoors, but the rest of the school, almost three hundred children from eight years old to sixteen, were trying various ways to keep warm.