by Jenny Nimmo
The van spluttered into life and rolled across the yard. All at once, Naren was running beside them. ‘Don’t close . . . tonight,’ she called.
‘What?’ Charlie wound down the window.
‘Give me something of yours,’ Naren called.
Almost without thinking, Charlie tore off his glove and tossed it through the window. The van lurched out of the yard and on to a rough track. Charlie turned in his seat and looked through the back window. He saw Naren pick up the glove and wave it happily. Meng stood behind her, a hand hesitantly raised. The van turned a sharp bend and the two figures disappeared from view.
‘Why did she want something of mine?’ Charlie asked Bartholomew.
‘She wants to keep in touch.’ Bartholomew gave Charlie an enigmatic smile.
‘But a glove? And what mustn’t I close tonight?’
‘Your curtains, Charlie. Let the moon shine in.’
‘But –’
‘Look to your right,’ Bartholomew commanded.
Obediently, Charlie looked past Bartholomew. At first there was nothing to be seen but trees and then, on the other side of the gorge, a square reddish-coloured tower came into view.
‘The Red Castle,’ Charlie exclaimed.
‘The very same,’ Bartholomew agreed.
‘And there’s a part of the wall,’ cried Charlie.
The van slowed down so that he could see the tumbling remains of a massive wall, built on the very edge of the gorge. Sections of the wall could be glimpsed for at least a mile and then, gradually, the huge stones were lost in a sea of trees.
‘I never realised it was so big,’ breathed Charlie.
‘Vast,’ said Bartholomew. His voice softened. ‘And I believe the king is still there, or certainly his spirit. He is hidden for now but, perhaps soon, he’ll show himself, especially if the shadow is back.’
‘The queen’s there, too,’ said Charlie.
Bartholomew turned to him with an enquiring frown, and Charlie told the explorer about the white horse that had carried Billy and himself to the Castle of Mirrors.
‘The Queen.’ Bartholomew’s blue eyes glittered. ‘That is truly wonderful.’
They drove on in silence for a while and then Bartholomew said gravely, ‘Charlie, it’s very important that no one finds out about me and my family. Promise not to tell a soul where we live, or where you found the animals.’
Charlie thought of his friends, and Uncle Paton. ‘I promise,’ he said reluctantly.
After another mile they left the track through the wilderness and joined a road that eventually took them to the wide stone bridge. Charlie thought it best to take all the animals to the Pets’ Café where their owners could come and collect them. He directed Bartholomew to the end of Frog Street, but the explorer wouldn’t leave his van.
Before Charlie got out, Bartholomew popped something into his top pocket. ‘I don’t have any photographs of your father,’ he explained, ‘but he took that one. I have always kept it and it just occurred to me that it might help you, Charlie.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Please get out now. I don’t want anyone to see me.’
With the boa’s cage hanging on one arm, and a box of rabbits and gerbils on the other, Charlie shouted goodbye as the van sped away. Then he trudged down Frog Street with Runner Bean bounding ahead and Nancy the duck waddling obediently behind him. The wilful parrot, however, kept disappearing and shrieking rude words from lamp posts and windowsills.
Charlie had almost reached the Pets’ Café when he became aware of footsteps on the cobbled street behind him.
‘Stop right there, Charlie Bone,’ said a voice.
Charlie stopped and looked round. Dorcas Loom and her two large brothers came striding towards him. Between the two Looms marched Joshua Tilpin.
‘Where are our dogs, Charlie Bone?’ asked Albert, the tallest and ugliest Loom.
‘Yeah. How come you’ve got your dog and all your friends’ pets?’ demanded Alfred, the shorter, wider youth.
‘What have you done with the animals, Charlie?’ said Joshua with a mean sort of grimace. ‘Come on, tell us!’
‘Nothing,’ said Charlie. ‘I just happened to find these.’ He glanced at Nancy, who came swaying to his side.
‘Oh, just happened to find them, did you?’ said Dorcas.
A growl rumbled in Runner Bean’s throat, and Homer shrieked, ‘Battle stations!’
‘Stop that thing jabbering,’ snarled Albert. ‘If you don’t tell us where our dogs have gone, we’ll take yours. We’ll take ’em all, unless you speak up.’
‘Tell us,’ Alfred demanded, ‘or else . . .’
The four of them began to close in.
Trapped in the snow
Charlie stood his ground. It isn’t easy to run away when you’re carrying a cage and a large cardboard box, and expecting a duck to keep up with you. There was only one solution.
‘Runner, get them!’ Charlie commanded.
The big dog didn’t need any encouragement. He rushed at the Looms, barking furiously. But Albert and Alfred hadn’t trained four Rottweilers for nothing. Albert grabbed Runner’s collar and tugged him to the side of the alley, where Alfred chained him tightly to a lamp post.
Frantic with rage, Runner Bean’s howls were enough to raise the town, but no friendly policeman appeared and no one came to the door of the Pets’ Café. Homer, however, was a bird of action. He hurtled out of the sky and dug his talons into Dorcas’s curly head.
‘Get off! Get off!’ screamed Dorcas.
Joshua grabbed Homer by the neck and squeezed. The parrot’s grey eyes bulged. He choked and spluttered, his talons clawing the empty air as Joshua pulled him off Dorcas and shook him from side to side.
The boa gave an angry hiss when his cage was dropped, and Charlie was tempted to release him, but he couldn’t risk another creature being injured. Putting the box of rabbits and gerbils beside the boa, Charlie ran at Joshua.
‘Let him go!’ he cried, trying to tear Joshua’s fingers away from the parrot’s neck.
Charlie didn’t stand a chance. Alfred pulled his arms behind his back, and Albert punched him in the stomach.
‘Oooooow!’ Charlie sank to his knees, doubled up in pain.
Albert grabbed the cage and led the way out of Frog Street. Alfred followed with the box. They marched up the narrow street, herding poor Nancy in front of them, while Dorcas helped Joshua to stuff Homer into his rucksack.
‘You can keep the dog,’ Alfred called back to Charlie, ‘for now.’ His footsteps stopped abruptly. ‘What the . . .?’ His voice shook a little.
Charlie looked up.
At the end of Frog Street, three glowing forms had appeared.
‘Flames,’ breathed Charlie.
A deep sound rumbled down the narrow alley: the low, angry growl of a wild creature. A second growl joined the first, and then a third increased the sound. The dreadful chorus grew louder. Joshua and the Looms stepped back. Faster and faster they moved. Before they could turn away, a streak of colour, bright as a flame, divided into three and flew towards the boys, landing on their shoulders.
Screaming with terror, Joshua and the Looms flailed wildly as the dazzling creatures bit into their necks.
‘Help us, Dorc,’ yelled Albert.
Sobbing regretfully, Dorcas bolted without a backward glance.
By now, Albert had dropped the cage and Alfred had cast aside the box. A yellow cat still clung to Joshua’s rucksack and, blubbering with fright, the boy yanked it off his back and tore after the Looms, who were sprinting up the alley faster than they had ever believed they could move.
‘What was that all about?’ said a voice behind Charlie.
Mr Onimous stood in the doorway of the Pets’ Café. He was wearing a fake (Charlie hoped) fur dressing gown and bore a striking resemblance to a mole. ‘It’s hardly breakfast,’ he said, ‘and Saturday at that. We were having a lie-in.’
‘The Looms got me.’ Charlie
stood up, rubbing his stomach. ‘Them and that freak Joshua Tilpin.’
‘I see you have a duck – and a dog – oh, and our blue boa. Onoria will be overjoyed.’
Runner barked with delight as Charlie untied him.
‘I think I’ve got them all,’ said Charlie, looking into the box. ‘Olivia’s rabbits and Gabriel’s gerbils.’
‘That rucksack is talking to itself,’ Mr Onimous anxiously observed.
Charlie picked it up and undid the strap. Homer shot out and flew into the air, swearing horribly. Mr Onimous put his hands over his ears. ‘That parrot’s language!’ he protested. ‘Where did he learn such disgusting stuff?’
‘In the army,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s what Lysander told me.’
‘Tch! Tch!’ Mr Onimous carried the box and the cage into the café while Charlie coaxed Nancy through the door. Runner Bean needed no coaxing. He rushed into the café, round the counter and into the kitchen, where he knew he would get a chocolate drop at the very least.
Mrs Onimous, in a pink kimono, was frying bacon when Charlie and her husband walked in. ‘The animals are back!’ she cried. ‘Oh, the pets, the loves. Chocs for Runner, toast for Nancy and something special for Boa. Where did you find them, Charlie?’
Charlie pretended he hadn’t heard. ‘Could you spare a couple of carrots for the rabbits, and maybe an apple for the gerbils?’
‘Of course, Charlie. But where were they?’ Mrs Onimous persisted.
‘Um. That’s difficult to say.’
The Onimouses asked no more questions for the moment. They set about feeding the animals and Charlie. Mrs Onimous was just pouring a second cup of tea when an oily voice from somewhere inside the café said, ‘Hello!’
‘We’re closed,’ called Mrs Onimous, frowning. Lowering her voice, she said, ‘I hate people catching me in my kimono.’
‘I’m sure I locked the door, dear.’ Mr Onimous tiptoed out of the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a surprised look on his face, and a parrot on his head. ‘Must have flown in before I closed the door,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘Another beak to feed, my darling.’
But Homer didn’t wait to be served. He swooped on to the table and carried a piece of toast up to a high shelf, where he tore it apart, muttering all the while.
‘How rude,’ said Mrs Onimous, probably referring to his behaviour, although it could have been his language.
When all the animals had settled down, Mr Onimous once again asked Charlie where he had found them. Charlie struggled with an answer. He knew he could trust the Onimouses, but he had promised Bartholomew not to tell a soul about the house in the wilderness.
‘On the bridge,’ Charlie said at last. ‘I heard Runner’s bark and – just went there.’
‘Just went there,’ said Mrs Onimous suspiciously. ‘And just happened to find all the animals belonging to your friends, but no others? No kittens, or mice or puppies belonging to anyone else?’
‘Er, no,’ said Charlie.
‘Leave him be, Onoria,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘I think he’s made a promise to someone. Am I right, Charlie?’
Charlie shuffled his feet. ‘Well, yes. And I would tell you, really I would, but I can’t, you see.’
‘Can’t trust us?’ sniffed Onoria.
‘No, no. That is, I mean yes, of course I can, but . . .’
‘Charlie, lad, don’t get in a frazzle,’ Mr Onimous said soothingly. ‘You take that dog back to Benjamin, and we’ll hang on to the others until your friends come to collect them. We’ll take good care of them, won’t we, darling?’ He turned to his wife.
‘I’m not sure about the parrot,’ Mrs Onimous glanced upwards. ‘But I’ll do my best.’
‘Thanks! You’re both the greatest!’ Charlie grabbed Runner Bean’s collar and led him out of the café.
When they reached Filbert Street, Charlie was reluctant to go straight to number twelve. Benjamin’s parents were behaving so strangely, he wondered if he would be welcome there. ‘But you are Ben’s dog,’ Charlie said to Runner Bean, ‘so perhaps you’d better go home.’
The big dog’s excited bark clinched the matter.
Mrs Brown opened the door to Charlie. ‘Charlie, how wonderful. You’ve found Benjamin’s dog.’ She was all smiles.
Charlie couldn’t understand it. One minute Mrs Brown was ignoring him, the next she was welcoming him into her house as if he were the best thing to arrive since mobile phones were invented. ‘Benjamin, it’s Runner Bean!’ she called up the stairs.
‘What!’ came an excited shriek.
The next moment, Benjamin was half falling, half leaping down the stairs, while Runner Bean bounced up to meet him, howling with joy.
‘Charlie, did you find him? Where was he? Oh, thanks, Charlie. Thanks, thanks, thanks! You’re the best!’
Dog and boy rolled down to the hall where Charlie stood, not quite knowing what to say.
‘Where did you find him?’ Benjamin begged.
‘Oh, just in the street,’ Charlie said awkwardly. ‘He was probably on his way here.’
‘In the street?’ Mrs Brown’s grey eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course.’ Charlie didn’t like the way Benjamin’s mother was eyeing him.
‘And what about the others? I’ve heard no birds. I’ve seen no dogs in the street.’
Mrs Brown looked so suspicious Charlie felt like backing right out of the front door. But the next minute he found himself saying, ‘I don’t know anything about the others. I found Runner Bean, and I brought him back. If that’s not good enough for you, well, too bad!’ He turned to the door.
‘Charlie,’ cried Benjamin, grabbing his arm. ‘Of course it’s good enough. Come upstairs with Billy and me.’
‘Yes, come on,’ called Billy from the top of the stairs.
Mrs Brown’s mouth formed a tight little line and, without another word, she marched into the kitchen.
Charlie kicked off his boots and ran upstairs. As soon as he was safely inside Benjamin’s overheated room he flung off his heavy jacket and burst out, ‘Ben, what is it with your mum? Did you know that she was working at Bloor’s, and your dad?’
Benjamin looked uncomfortable. ‘Billy told me. But I swear I didn’t know before. When I asked Mum about it she just said it was a job, like any other.’
‘But they’re detectives, Ben,’ said Charlie. ‘They must be investigating something.’
‘Yes, they must,’ said Billy.
‘Well, I did overhear them say something,’ Benjamin admitted.
‘What? What?’ Charlie bounced down on the bed between Benjamin and Billy.
Rembrandt, who had been snoozing in Benjamin’s slipper, woke with a start and scuttled under the bed, while Runner Bean, delighted that the rat had decided to play, squeezed in after him, barking with joy.
‘Leave it!’ Billy shouted desperately. ‘If you hurt my rat I’ll kill you, you mangy dog.’
‘Billy!’ said Benjamin in a shocked voice.
Before an argument could develop, and seeing that everything had gone quiet under the bed, Charlie said quickly, ‘So what did you hear, Ben?’
‘Well, I was outside their bedroom, so I didn’t hear too well, but Mum said something about illusions. Billy told me they’d been appearing at Bloor’s, so I went a bit closer and I heard Dad say he had an idea. He was on to them, he said. He knew who was doing it, but he just needed one more illusion to –’
‘The illusions!’ Charlie leapt off the bed. ‘They’re trying to find out who’s doing it, the sneaky –’ He stopped, realising what he’d said.
‘It’s not Mum and Dad’s fault,’ said Benjamin. ‘They’re only doing it for the money.’
‘Is it you, Charlie?’ asked Billy. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s not.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘I can’t create illusions.’
‘But you know who it is, don’t you?’ pressed Benjamin.
‘No,’ said Charlie.
‘You wouldn
’t tell us even if you did know who it was,’ said Billy.
Charlie glanced at Billy. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ Billy said a little sadly.
Runner Bean was snoring under the bed and Rembrandt, seizing his chance, was on the move again. He appeared close to Charlie’s foot, chewing something.
‘What’s he got?’ asked Benjamin.
‘Looks like a photo,’ said Billy.
‘PHOTO?’ Charlie grabbed the rat. ‘No, no. It is. It’s my photo. My only chance.’
Rembrandt, surprised by the look in Charlie’s eye, opened his mouth, and the little square of paper fluttered to the floor. Charlie plonked the rat on Billy’s lap and scooped up the photograph. Luckily, only one corner had been chewed. Bartholomew was right. It wasn’t a good shot. A cloud of snow almost obscured the lonely figure in the foreground.
‘I forgot about it.’ Charlie hugged the photo to his chest. ‘How could I? He put it in my pocket, and when I took my coat off it must have slipped out.’
‘Who put it in your pocket?’ asked Benjamin.
‘What?’ Caught offguard, Charlie mumbled, ‘Oh, no one, really. I mean, I put it there.’
Benjamin stared at him. ‘You’re being a bit secretive, these days,’ he said. ‘We are your friends, aren’t we?’
Before Charlie could answer, Rembrandt and Runner Bean were at it again. The rat had leapt on to a shelf, and Runner Bean, barking wildly, was on his hind legs, sweeping his paw along the shelf. Books and toys came crashing down, and the next minute, the door was flung open, and an angry Mrs Brown stood on the threshold.
‘Benjamin!’ shouted his mother. ‘Can’t you control that dog? Your father and I are trying to write up our reports and our vocabularies are all over the place.’
Benjamin blinked. ‘D’you mean dictionaries, Mum?’ he asked.
Mrs Brown stamped her foot. ‘Take him out!’ She stood back and pointed to the stairs. ‘Now!’
Without another word, the three boys put on their coats and went downstairs to pull on their boots. Billy tucked Rembrandt into his pocket, and Benjamin put Runner Bean on his leash. Then they all went out into the frosty air.
