by Jenny Nimmo
Charlie recognized Weedon's voice. He can't possibly have seen me, thought Charlie. The surly porter was surely not clairvoyant. But someone else could be. Mrs. Tilpin? Who knew what witches could do? And then he began to wonder if Amos had recovered and returned to tell the Bloors that Charlie had run into the school grounds.
Standing still wasn't going to get him anywhere, Charlie reasoned. The cats were growling now, anxious to get him on the move again. He began to follow them, keeping an eye on the school building. It was as well that he did. For he saw the door open and two figures step out; they stood beneath the lamp that hung over the door and stared across the grounds. Charlie could see them clearly. One was Lord Grimwald; the other, the swordsman from the past, Ashkelan Kepaldi. They began to stride across the grass. Lord Grimwald held a tall lantern that swayed violently as he lurched over the lawn. Ashkelan's sword danced in the air beside its master.
The cats' growling turned to a soft hissing, and they flew away through the woods. This time Charlie kept up with them. As he ran, he couldn't help thinking about the wall they were approaching; it was ten feet high and stood between the grounds of Bloor's Academy and the outside world. How would he ever scale it? He wasn't a cat.
The ancient wall was covered in ivy and it was difficult to make out in the gloom. Charlie first became aware of it when he saw Leo's bright form climbing quickly to the top. Aries followed, but Sagittarius waited. At dusk he was the brightest of the three, his coat gleaming like a star. He seemed to be waiting for Charlie to climb.
Charlie squinted up at the mass of dark ivy; he saw a thick stem protruding from the wall a foot above him and reached for it. With both hands, he pulled himself up, bringing his feet behind him. The leaves were slippery and it took him some time to get a foothold. Leo and Aries looked down, and, following their gaze, Charlie saw another stem. It appeared to be out of his reach, until Sagittarius, climbing swiftly beside him, clawed at the leaves, revealing a strong loop, lower down. Charlie hoisted himself up another foot. It was freezing cold, but he could feel the sweat running down his forehead.
Voices rang out from the direction of the ruin. Lord Grimwald and Ashkelan must have found Amos. They hadn't yet realized that Charlie was on the wall. He gave a sigh of relief and, letting go of the ivy for a moment, wiped his forehead -- and lost his footing. He tumbled to the ground with a groan.
"Sorry!" Charlie whispered to the cats. They regarded him with impatience, disappointment showing in the downturned tails and whiskers.
At least Charlie remembered where his footholds were, and he swiftly climbed to the place from where he had fallen. With the cats' help he pulled himself up the next few feet. He was very near the top when he heard the voices again. His two pursuers were crashing through the trees close to the wall.
With a superhuman effort Charlie heaved himself up, crouched a moment on the bumpy stones at the top of the wall, and, following the cats' example, let himself drop to the ground. He lay on the rough grass beside the wall, winded, shaken, and bruised, while the Flames howled and meowed in his ear.
"Give me a moment," groaned Charlie. "I'm safe now."
But he didn't have a moment. Glancing sideways, he saw a shining blade standing upright in the road. Ashkelan's sword had flown over the wall.
"No!" yelled Charlie. In a second he was on his feet again and running.
The sword pranced behind him, now slicing the air, now clanging on the hard pavement. The Flames darted around it, hissing and spitting, furious with the rod of steel that seemed to have a life of its own.
Ashkelan must have lost control of the dreadful weapon at last. Perhaps it could move only in close proximity to its owner. But when Charlie got to High Street, the sword was no longer behind him. Charlie slowed his pace. He had a stitch in his side, and his legs felt like jelly, but at least he was alive. The Flames accompanied him to number nine and then they left him, melting into the dusk without a sound.
Charlie wearily climbed the steps up to his front door. When he walked inside, the first thing he noticed was the dark interior of the kitchen. Maisie was always in the kitchen at this time of day. Where was she? Charlie heard voices coming from the other side of the hall.
Could she be in the living room? He popped his head around the door.
Grandma Bone and her three sisters were sitting around the fire, eating crumpets. There was a plate of toasted tea cakes on the coffee table.
"Oh!" said Charlie, quickly withdrawing his head.
"Come in, Charlie!" called Grandma Bone.
"No, it's all right." Charlie tiptoed across to the dark kitchen.
"It's NOT all right!" shouted Great-aunt Lucretia. "Come here, this minute!"
Charlie ground his teeth. "Now what?" he muttered. He went back to the living room and looked in. "I just wondered where Maisie was," he said.
"Gone shopping!" Grandma Bone told him.
"But it's late." Charlie looked at his watch. It was only half past five. He felt that a whole day and a night had passed since he left the house.
Grandma Bone snickered. "She's probably dropped in to see the kettle woman."
"Oh!" he said again. Charlie wondered what he could have for tea. He eyed the pile of tea cakes.
"Maisie's left something for you in the fridge," said Grandma Bone.
Charlie's heart sank. He would have liked something hot to eat.
"Where've you been?" asked Great-aunt Eustacia. "You smell of smoke."
Eustacia's power was obviously not at its best today, thought Charlie. And then it occurred to him that she was taunting him. She knew very well where he had been. But did she know about Amos, with his fiery torch?
"I think I'll go and have some tea," said Charlie, beginning to back out.
"Eustacia asked you where you had been," said Grandma Bone.
Charlie hesitated. If they already knew where he'd been, what would be the point of lying about it? "If you must know," he said, "I've been to the Pets' Cafe. But, as you also know, it's been closed for good.
But someone was in there, searching for a box. So I went in, too. But I didn't find anything; neither did he."
All four women stared at him, their thin mouths grim, their black eyes hooded. They seemed to be temporarily struck dumb. And, with a sudden shock, Charlie knew that he'd said too much. He wasn't supposed to know about the box.
Now the hunt would be on. The Bloors would have to find the box before Charlie's father came home. The search had become a deadly game, and Billy Raven's future hung in the balance. So did Lyell Bone's life.
7
OLIVIA AND THE GARGOYLE
The silence lasted only a few seconds, but in that time so many thoughts swept through Charlie's head, he began to feel dizzy. In his mind's eye he saw Billy wandering endlessly through the enchanter's forest; and he saw a wooden box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a box that held a secret that could change the lives of everyone he knew.
Grandma Bone's voice reached Charlie as from a great distance. "What's wrong with you, boy? Pull yourself together."
"I am, I am," murmured Charlie, just managing to focus on the pale face that loomed above him.
"What's in your mind?" asked Grandma Bone.
"Nothing," said Charlie.
"Well, Eustacia?" Grandma Bone turned to her sister.
"He was thinking of Billy," said Eustacia, "and the box."
Charlie was rattled. Eustacia was in top form today. "I've never seen the box," he cried. "Well, not the box you mean," he ended lamely.
"Charlie, where's your father?" asked Eustacia, coming to stand beside her sister.
"I don't know, do I? I don't know any more than you do. He's whale watching."
"But when you think about him, what do you see?" Eustacia leaned very close to Charlie, and he flinched at her stale breath.
"Nothing," he said.
"We know you have a gift, Charlie," his grandmother snorted angrily. "We know you can see your father in your mind's eye whe
n you think hard enough. Stop dissembling."
"I don't know what you mean," said Charlie. They must never know about the boat, he thought. And he filled his mind with pictures of his friends: Benjamin and Runner Bean, Fidelio, Olivia and Lysander...
"Well?" Grandma Bone looked at Eustacia.
"Rubbish," said Eustacia. "His mind is filled with rubbish."
Grandma Bone grabbed Charlie's arm and drew him into the kitchen, where she sat him down and made him drink a cup of cold milk. A plate of cheese and crackers was put before him, and Grandma Bone said, "Get it down you. We're all going out."
"But --" Charlie began.
"No buts," she snapped.
Grandma Bone's three sisters crowded into the kitchen. They paced around the table, looking at Charlie. Great-aunt Eustacia never took her eyes off him. Perhaps she was still trying to read his mind. He must keep the name of the boat from her, the name on the side of a boat that rode the dangerous sea. For if the name reached Lord Grimwald, there was no knowing what he might do.
"Maisie's not back," Charlie said, through a mouthful of dry crackers. "If I go out again, she'll wonder where I am."
"We'll leave a note," said his grandmother.
"Uncle Paton's not here," cried Charlie desperately. "My parents said that he was in charge."
"They were wrong," said Great-aunt Lucretia coldly. "We're your guardians now."
"That's not true!" retorted Charlie.
"You're coming to Darkly Wynd with us, and there's an end to it." Great-aunt Venetia whisked away the plate of half-eaten crackers. "And we have to go now. My little boy needs me."
Venetia's stepson, spiteful little Eric, had never needed anyone as far as Charlie knew. He spent his time animating stone figures, a dangerous talent, often ending in disaster for his unsuspecting victims.
"I don't understand why I have to go to Darkly Wynd." Charlie twisted nervously in his chair as Grandma Bone snatched his cup and poured the rest of his milk down the drain.
"We want to ask you some questions," said Great-aunt Eustacia.
"Can't you ask your questions here?" Charlie knew the answer as soon as he saw the cold, closed-in look on Grandma Bone's hard face. They couldn't risk being interrupted by Maisie or Uncle Paton. And that meant they were going to give him a real grilling.
Charlie knew it would be useless to resist. He could kick and scream, but they would get him to Darkly Wynd in the end and he would have wasted precious energy. He needed all his strength to fight Great-aunt Eustacia's clairvoyance. And now that he thought about it, he almost looked forward to the challenge.
The four sisters frog-marched Charlie out of the house and down the steps. He was bundled into the back of Great-aunt Eustacia's car, where he sat squeezed uncomfortably between the bony thighs of Lucretia and Venetia.
Eustacia drove very badly. She was forever bumping onto the curb and lurching recklessly around corners. After driving much too fast down a narrow alley, she braked, with a screech, in front of a long cobblestone yard. They had reached Darkly Wynd.
Three tall houses stood in a row at the far end of the yard. They had steep turrets and wrought-iron balconies, and their narrow arched windows were framed by carved stone creatures: gnomes, gargoyles, and unlikely beasts. All three houses were numbered thirteen.
The smaller houses on either side of the courtyard appeared to be deserted; their windows were boarded up, their steps covered in moss. Some grim force had driven the occupants away, a force that was evidently not strong enough to dislodge the Yewbeam sisters, unless it was they themselves who had caused the exodus.
Venetia's house, on the right, looked in better condition than the other two. Since the fire in her house a year ago, the slates on the steep, sloping roof had been replaced and her front door had been freshly painted.
At the top of the steps stood a squat stone troll. Charlie kept an eye on it as he passed. Eric liked to animate the thing, and Charlie didn't want to be knocked flat before his interrogation began.
Venetia unlocked the door and led the way into a dark hall. It had a pungent, bitter smell. A huge gold-framed mirror, hanging on one side, reflected the long coatrack on the other. The rack was filled with garments of every size and description, and Charlie didn't need reminding that Venetia could bewitch her victims with clothing. The collars and cuffs, buttons and belts of these exotic-looking outfits were, in all probability, impregnated with poison. Charlie gave a shudder and kept as far away from them as possible.
They walked in single file down a long corridor beside the staircase. Venetia led the way, followed by Charlie, who was prodded in the back by Grandma Bone's sharp nails every time he hesitated.
Charlie had never been inside any of the three number thirteens. He had looked through their windows and, secretly, crept into their back gardens, but none of his great-aunts had ever asked him into their home. And Charlie had certainly never wanted an invitation.
"Here we are!" Venetia opened a door on the left of the hallway, and Grandma Bone pushed Charlie into a large, gloomy room. An oval table stood in the center, and huge glass-fronted cabinets filled the entire wall opposite the door. Charlie gave an involuntary gasp when he saw the figure standing in the bay window.
Manfred Bloor wore an expression of malicious amusement. "Didn't expect this, did you, Charlie?" he said.
So that's why they brought me here, thought Charlie. They needed Manfred's help. And he wondered how often Manfred visited the Yewbeams. Grandma Bone was prodding him again. His back probably resembled a Dalmatian's by now, with all those black bruises. In spite of his precarious situation, Charlie couldn't help grinning.
"What are you smiling at?" Manfred asked coldly.
"It's not a smile, actually," said Charlie. "It's a wince."
Having prodded her grandson into a chair at the table, Grandma Bone and her sisters began arguing over the seating arrangements. Eustacia was going to be working, therefore her needs were a priority. So Charlie found himself sitting opposite Manfred and beside Eustacia, who was at the head of the table with her back to the window. Grandma Bone sat on Charlie's other side, with Venetia directly opposite. Lucretia didn't sit, because she hadn't gotten the chair she wanted. She stood by the glass cabinet, regarding the shelves of labeled bottles and talking to herself.
"Where's Eric?" asked Charlie, hoping to delay the proceedings.
A forlorn hope.
"He's outside," snapped Venetia.
Charlie craned sideways, tipping his chair, and looked down into the lamplit garden. What he saw there gave him another shock.
Lumbering between bushes of bright winter berries were stone figures, pale as ghosts: hideous beings carrying stone clubs, knights in armor, horses, goblins, trolls, and massive dogs all moving in slow deliberate steps. And there was Eric, sitting on a stone head, a small, skinny boy with a sickly color. His head twisted this way and that, and his right hand swung back and forth across his body, as though he were orchestrating the movements of an army.
"Sit up!" Eustacia ordered, and Charlie lurched back, almost tipping his chair too far in the other direction.
"Impressive, eh?" said Manfred with a smile. "Our little Eric's coming on a treat."
Charlie didn't bother to reply. Manfred's black eyes held a chilling shine, and Charlie knew that all the will his mind possessed must be used in the next few minutes.
He lifted his gaze to the top shelf of the cabinet and started counting bottles.
"Look at me," Manfred demanded.
Charlie kept his eyes on the row of dark bottles: green, red, brown, and blue. How many fatal potions did Venetia keep? One, two, three...
"Look at me." Manfred's voice had taken on a fatal silkiness. Try as he might, Charlie couldn't resist it. He found his gaze drifting down to Manfred again, and he remembered the first time that Manfred had tried to hypnotize him. Charlie had fought him then. He had looked into the treacherous black eyes and then into the mind behind them.
Cha
rlie met Manfred's gaze. He looked at him steadily and tried to read his thoughts.
"Stop that!" said Manfred.
"What?" said Charlie.
"You're trying to block me. Well, you won't get away with it this time." Manfred leaned across the table. His face came closer and closer. So close that Charlie could see the deadly glitter at the center of those dark eyes. He felt as though he were falling into them. All he wanted was to escape, to close his eyes, to sleep. Desperately, he tried to avoid the images that crowded into his head. I mustn't, I mustn't, he thought. But it was no use. He saw the boat Greywing. He saw the heaving foamy sea and a night sky crammed with stars.
"What does he see?" Grandma Bone's voice was very faint.
Eustacia's answer was even fainter. "A boat called Greywing... sunrise... whales calling ... a night sky, but... aha... the constellations are upside down."
The voice droned on and on, and Charlie was powerless. He could neither move nor open his eyes. They were asking him another question now. A question he couldn't answer.
"Who is the Red Knight, Charlie?"
"I don't know."
"We think you do."
"No."
"Who is he?"
"The Red King."
"Not true. Concentrate, Charlie."
Charlie's head drooped. He tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. He found himself thinking of the stranger that came to Gabriel's moonlit yard, the stranger in a dark, heavy coat who carried the Red King's cloak away. Did Charlie know anyone who wore a coat like this? No. No one, except... except... Manfred's grandfather Bartholomew Bloor. He was utterly different from the other Bloors. He had even helped Charlie to find his father. Before Charlie could prevent it, an image came into his mind. The last time he had seen Bartholomew Bloor, he had been wearing a similar dark blue, thick coat.
Eustacia's muffled voice said, "Aha!"
A loud bark broke into Charlie's thoughts. He raised his head. The dog must have been at the front of the house, but its bark came ringing down the hall. Charlie didn't know that Benjamin had lifted the flap on the letterbox, and Runner Bean was barking right through it.
