by Jenny Nimmo
A profound silence followed this remark and, for some reason, this made Ezekiel laugh. He laughed so much he almost choked. Charlie found the sound unbearable. He could hardly contain his anger and had to clasp his arms tight around his body to stop himself from leaping out.
In a stirring voice, Dr Bloor continued, ‘Manfred also put the baby “under”. She was two at the time. It lasted until she was ten and then Lyell Bone’s confounded son woke her up.’
There was a mutter of surprise. Snatches of conversation reached Charlie. ‘Who?’ ‘How was this done?’ ‘Do you . . .?’ ‘Could it be . . .?’
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ boomed Dr Bloor. ‘Do not be concerned. The girl is still here, and so is Lyell’s son, Charlie. These endowed children stick together like glue. Charlie is a picture-traveller – a priceless gift, as you will know. He has proved difficult, probably because he is his father’s son, but he is well-guarded. These charming ladies on my right are his grandmother, Grizelda Bone, and his three great-aunts, Lucretia, Eustacia and Venetia Yewbeam. They all keep an eye on Charlie Bone –’
‘And one day,’ Ezekiel broke in, ‘Charlie will take me with him into the past, where I can rearrange history.’ He began to cackle again.
Dr Loth called, ‘Bravo!’ and others took up the call. But some remained silent.
Billy, who had been lying asleep on top of Blessed, suddenly woke up and gave a tiny sneeze. The cloth was lifted right in front of Charlie and an upside-down face appeared. It had a beard and wore a blue turban.
Charlie stared straight into the man’s dark brown eyes. He didn’t know what to do. The man stared right back at him. Charlie waited for something to happen. The man with the turban seemed to be waiting too. So Charlie did the only thing he could think of. He put a finger to his lips.
The man gave him a broad smile and dropped the cloth back in place.
Charlie had only just begun to breathe again when a thin, petulant voice cried, ‘I smell boy!’
‘Boy?’ said several voices.
‘Smells are my thing,’ went on the thin, male voice. ‘I can smell a boy, maybe two – or three.’
Charlie and Billy looked at each other in terror. It was all over. They were about to be found out. And then Charlie had an idea. He pointed at Blessed.
Billy grunted into the old dog’s ear and Blessed scrambled to his feet. With a little shove from Billy, he tottered under the tablecloth and out into the dining-hall. As he went he let out the worst stink Charlie had ever smelled. It was so bad and so strong he nearly keeled over. Billy had told Blessed to give the biggest fart of his whole life.
Cries of horror and disgust reverberated round the room. ‘Uuuurrgh!’ ‘Pooooh!’ ‘What is that smell?’ ‘It’s a dog.’ ‘An old dog!’ ‘What a monster!’
‘That’s not the smell of boy, it’s the smell of dog,’ said an irritated voice.
‘Your nose is growing old, Professor Morvan.’ This voice belonged to a jolly-sounding woman. ‘It can’t tell boy from dog.’
Laughter followed, and old Ezekiel screamed, ‘Don’t be so rude about my doggie. He can’t help it.’
‘I think we should let him out, Dr Bloor,’ someone suggested. ‘I’m sure he wants to go – that is – leave.’
‘A good idea,’ Dr Bloor agreed. ‘Would someone kindly . . .’
‘And be quick about it,’ added another female voice.
A chair scraped. Someone ran and opened the door. Blessed gave a bark of thanks and padded out. More laughter.
Fortunately, the old dog had left such a bad smell behind him, Professor Morvan’s nose was thoroughly confused and he said nothing more about the smell of boys.
When the laughter had subsided, Dr Bloor coughed loudly and said, ‘I apologise for the distraction but now I would like to get back to the momentous development that we hinted at when we welcomed you here tonight.’
‘We’re all ears,’ said Dr Loth.
‘Thank you.’ Dr Bloor waited for complete silence and then continued with barely suppressed excitement, ‘First I must give you a brief history of someone whom even I had never heard of, until last week. Count Harken Badlock.’
Silence. Obviously no one knew about Count Harken Badlock. Charlie listened intently, aware that he was about to learn something of immense importance.
‘Count Harken was eighteen years old when he arrived in Spain. He began to court the beautiful Berenice, daughter of a knight of Toledo. The young count was an enchanter and very soon Berenice fell under his spell. They were to be married, and then –’
‘Surely Berenice married the Red King,’ a voice interrupted.
‘Indeed, she did,’ agreed Dr Bloor. ‘But there was a duel between the two men and Count Harken lost. For all his sorcery, all his charm, he could not compete with the Red King’s magic, and so he lost the fair Berenice.’
Dr Bloor’s audience waited in wordless suspense for the story to continue, as surely it must.
‘As you know, Queen Berenice died when her tenth child, Amoret, was born. The King, as was the custom of his people, went into the forest to grieve for his wife. His children were left in the care of servants – until Count Harken appeared. Yes, my friends, he came to protect the children of his beloved Berenice. He taught them all he knew, guarded them against marauding strangers, and married the King’s eldest daughter, Lilith.’
‘How has all this suddenly come to light, Dr Bloor?’ someone asked.
There was a dramatic pause. Charlie’s scalp prickled and he imagined Dr Bloor leaning forward in an attitude of triumph. ‘Because I have heard it from the count himself.’
There was a collective gasp of disbelief before Dr Bloor continued, ‘I know it’s hard to believe that a man who lived nine hundred years ago is with us again. But it’s the truth. I am utterly convinced of it.’
Above a chorus of questions and protests, old Ezekiel cried, ‘He was a mere shadow in the Red King’s portrait, but someone has let him out.’
Charlie grabbed Billy’s arm so tightly he gave a little gasp of pain. In the dim light beneath the table, Charlie could see that Billy’s eyes were as wide as his own. The shadow, he mouthed. Charlie nodded.
The noise that greeted Ezekiel’s revelation almost amounted to an uproar.
‘Who let him out?’
‘Where is he now?’
These two questions could be heard above all the others. Dr Bloor begged for silence and when the commotion had subsided he answered. ‘Where is he? He is safe. He has acclimatised to this century in the most remarkable way. It took him ten minutes to learn our language, and once that was accomplished he was able to acquaint himself with our politics, our finances, our mode of dress, our habits, in short –’
‘But then, he is an enchanter,’ Ezekiel put in.
‘Indeed, yes,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘Unfortunately he had to be a little ruthless when it came to finding a home and an income, but these things cannot always be avoided.’ He gave an awkward laugh. ‘At this point, I must ask you, dear guests, not to repeat a word of what I have told you outside this building. We are used to keeping secrets, are we not? We have to, or the world would take against us.’
There was a rumble of agreement and then Dr Loth’s voice drowned out the others. ‘Who was it?’ he demanded. ‘Who let the shadow out, and how?’
‘Ah.’ Dr Bloor paused. ‘The count is not sure. He claims it was done with a mirror – some called it the Mirror of Amoret. We found him in the hall, during a snowstorm. The person who released him had slipped away.’
‘We thought it was Venetia here,’ said Ezekiel. ‘She’s the cleverest of us. The wickedest.’ He chuckled.
‘Well, it wasn’t,’ said Venetia sullenly.
‘So you see –’ began Dr Bloor.
‘It was me,’ said a voice. ‘I did it.’
‘You?’ The headmaster sounded utterly astonished.
‘Yes, me. I found the Mirror of Amoret.’
Charlie froze. Every nerve
in his body began to tingle. He knew that voice. It came from one of the last people in the world he would have expected.
The shocking truth
The only sound in the room came from footsteps that began near the door. Sharp and light, they were made by a woman wearing very high heels.
Charlie was so shocked, he began to feel sick. Billy’s face, in the gloom, looked grey with fear. If this could happen, anything was possible.
The footsteps reached the platform and Dr Bloor found his voice at last. ‘Miss Chrystal, please step up and tell us how all this came about.’
‘Thank you.’ There were four light footfalls on the steps up to the top table.
‘Someone give her a seat,’ said Ezekiel.
‘I prefer to stand,’ said Miss Chrystal.
‘Are you going to tell us your . . . your history, my dear,’ asked Dr Bloor, ‘and how you released the count? We are all eager to know the details.’
Jolted out of their dumbfounded silence, the audience loudly agreed.
‘Of course.’ Miss Chrystal’s voice was still light and musical, but all the sweetness had gone out of it. Now there was a coldness behind her words; a hard and brittle note that made Charlie shiver.
‘Fourteen years ago I was the happiest girl in the world. I was in love and I thought the man I loved returned my feelings. But he rejected me and married another. My heart was broken. I thought I would die. Eventually, I married a man called Matthew Tilpin. We had a son, Joshua.’
At this point Charlie almost spluttered out loud. Billy carefully laid a hand over Charlie’s open mouth.
‘Not long after Joshua was born,’ went on Miss Chrystal, ‘my husband left us. He said he was afraid of our baby. Things stuck to Joshua, you see. Dust, fluff, insects, bits of paper, and when you touched his tiny hands they clung. It was difficult to draw away. Matthew said that if he stayed, one day the baby would make him do something terrible. He could already feel Joshua bending his will.
‘My mother had often told me that we were descended from the Red King,’ Miss Chrystal continued, ‘and I had some success with magic when I was a child. But it is useless in affairs of the heart, so I rather gave it up. And then, last Christmas, my great-uncle died and left me a chest full of papers. Some had been in the family for nine hundred years. A lot of it was impossible to read. Much was useless scribbling, but I did discover that we were descended from Lilith, the Red King’s eldest daughter, and her husband, Count Harken Badlock.’
The hundred heads all gasped at once, but Miss Chrystal ploughed on, almost without taking breath, ‘Among the papers was a map, in perfect condition, but very, very small. You wouldn’t believe how small it was – is. It must have been overlooked for generations. I have no idea who made it – perhaps the count drew it himself. I must ask him.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘It told me where I could find the Mirror of Amoret. The mirror that would bring the count back into the world. I merely had to hold it before the Red King’s portrait, so that reflected light fell over the shadow behind him and,’ she paused, ‘and so I did – and it worked. The count is back!’ When she said the last four words Miss Chrystal’s voice crackled with rapturous excitement.
‘A glass of water,’ said Dr Bloor.
‘Here, a chair.’ Someone pushed a chair across the floor.
A babble of conversation broke out among the guests. If Charlie and Billy had wanted to change their positions, now would have been the time, but Charlie was too stunned to move.
Miss Chrystal hadn’t finished with her audience. ‘I have something more to say,’ she announced. ‘My son, Joshua, is very powerful. Like Charlie Bone, he has the blood of two magicians running in his veins. If Charlie is to be controlled, then Joshua can do it. As for the matter of Charlie’s father, the count will make sure that he never wakes.’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘Oh yes, the count will make sure that Lyell Bone is lost, lost, lost forever.’
After a brief silence, a voice above Charlie said, ‘Miss Chrystal, I would like to ask you a question.’ Charlie had a feeling that the voice belonged to the man in the turban. ‘Will you tell us the name of the man who rejected you?’
‘Who d’you think?’ she said coldly. ‘It was Lyell Bone.’
Charlie shuddered so violently Billy had to hold his arm.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Charlie whispered.
There was now such a hubbub in the dining-hall, the boys’ frantic scramble to the end of the table couldn’t be heard. Chairs began to squeak. People got up and moved about. Trolleys were wheeled in and the boys could hear the clink of china.
‘Coffee, everyone!’ Dr Bloor announced. ‘Coffee and Turkish delight. Please take your seats for a few more minutes.’
‘How are we going to get out of here?’ Billy whispered.
Charlie shrugged hopelessly. The doors were at least two metres from the table. Even if they crawled, someone was bound to see them. He had an idea. Hoping that the waiters would wheel their trolleys right to the end of the table, he waited, just out of reach of the last pair of legs.
The trolleys rolled closer, one each side of the table. As best he could, Charlie mimed climbing on to the lower shelf of the trolley. Billy understood and nodded.
At last the two waiters reached the very end of the table. With a last look at Billy’s anxious face, Charlie grinned encouragingly and scrambled under the red cloth that covered one of the trolleys. The lower shelf was now empty, and the waiter distracted by serving coffee. Huddled uncomfortably on the shelf, Charlie realised that the red cloth didn’t entirely cover him. Crossing his fingers, he remained perfectly still while the trolley was wheeled slowly to the other end of the dining-hall. As soon as they were safely through the swing doors, the waiter came to a stop and began to swear. ‘What the . . .?’ He looked under the cloth and found Charlie.
‘Blimey, a kid!’ said the waiter, a young man with a slightly spotty face. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I got detention and I was bored,’ said Charlie, hoping the young man was a sympathetic type.
The young man laughed. ‘I’ll bet you were bored. Now, do you mind getting off my trolley? My back’s been playing up something awful.’
‘Please, couldn’t you take me a bit further,’ Charlie begged, ‘just through the kitchens?’
‘You’re joking. I’ve been working since six o’clock a.m.’
‘Just through the green kitchen, then,’ Charlie pleaded. ‘I don’t want Mrs Weedon to catch me.’
‘I get your point. All right, hold tight.’
Charlie gritted his teeth as they passed through Mrs Weedon’s domain. He could see the lower half of her wide body, stomping along in a cloud of steam beside the vast sinks. And then they were in the next part of the kitchens, behind the Drama canteen. The waiter wheeled Charlie through the canteen and into the passage.
‘Now, scarper,’ said the waiter, ‘or I’ll be in for it as well as you.’
Charlie rolled off the trolley, thanking the waiter profusely. ‘I’ve got a friend who’s –’ he began, but the waiter had gone.
Hoping that Billy was also in sympathetic hands, Charlie nipped up the back stairs and along the dark passages until he reached his dormitory.
Billy didn’t appear. Charlie waited and waited. The cathedral clock struck ten. The voices of departing guests could be heard in the courtyard. What had happened to Billy? Charlie chewed his nails with anxiety. If Billy was caught, would he tell the Bloors that Charlie had been with him?
When the clock struck eleven Charlie made a body-shaped bundle out of his clothes and pushed it under the covers of Billy’s bed. A few minutes later, the matron looked in. Charlie closed his eyes and lay very still. The matron left.
Charlie couldn’t sleep. He went over to the window and looked out across the courtyard. No lights showed in the windows of the west wing. The whole building was in darkness. Charlie had just decided to go looking for Billy when a small figure crept in.
‘Billy
, where’ve you been?’ cried Charlie.
‘I got locked in a storeroom,’ Billy said wearily.
‘How?’
‘The waiter just shoved my trolley into this cupboard sort of place and locked the door.’ As Billy crossed the pitch-dark room his face was suddenly lit from below by a tiny, flickering light. Charlie saw that he was carrying a slim candle that had, apparently, burst into flame by itself.
‘How did that happen?’ asked Charlie.
Having reached his bed, Billy blew out the candle and scrambled under the covers, flinging out the bundle of clothes as he did so. ‘Neat trick,’ he said with a yawn.
‘Billy, I’m wide awake,’ said Charlie. ‘Before you go to sleep, please tell me how you got out of the storeroom, and how that candle lit itself.’
‘Well,’ Billy yawned again, ‘I waited till it was quiet, then I found a bit of paper and pushed it under the door. I poked a pencil into the keyhole and knocked the key on to it, then I pulled it through to my side. It was dark and I was so, so scared. I always carry my candles with me, the ones my guardian, Mr Crowquill, gave me before he died. I didn’t know what they could do until tonight. I took one out and . . . and . . .’ Billy’s next yawn was almost a groan.
‘And,’ pressed Charlie.
‘I tried to find a match, but it was so, so dark, and I was so, so scared, and . . . and . . .’
‘And?’ cried Charlie, who was now past caring if the matron heard him.
‘And . . . and I cried,’ Billy confessed, ‘and I said, “Oh, I wish I could see,” and the candle just – came alight.’
‘Wow!’ Charlie lay back at last. ‘Amazing. You’ve had those candles for ages and you never knew what they could do. Poor Christopher Crowquill.’
‘I’ve got five candles, now, because your uncle gave me the one Mr Crowquill sent to him. I wish my guardian was still alive.’ Billy snuffled and turned over.
