by Jenny Nimmo
Billy didn't make a sound. With his arms tucked inside his crossed legs and his chin resting on his clasped hands, he listened attentively. Charlie looked anxiously at the door. He dared not hush the cats, but he worried that Grandma Bone would hear their yowling.
Billy frowned as the cats continued in their lilting, anxious voices. When, at last, their speech was over, Billy's eyes were wide with alarm. He turned to Charlie. "It's a warning."
"A warning?" asked Charlie. "What kind of warning?"
"Aries says that something might wake up if they can't stop . . . stop . . . er . . . another thing from being found. And Sagittarius says that if that happens, you must be watchful, Charlie."
"Watchful? But what am I supposed to watch?"
Billy hesitated. "A woman - I think. Your . . ." The next word stuck in his throat.
"My what?" Charlie demanded.
"Your - mother."
"My . . ." Charlie stared at Billy and then at the cats. "Why?" His voice was husky with dread. "Is someone going to make her disappear - like my father?"
Billy asked the cats, and Leo responded with an apologetic warble.
"Leo says he wishes he could tell you more," Billy interpreted. "He will help you to watch."
Leo gave several loud mews.
"He says that if the shadow has moved, then you'll know it's been released."
"What's been released?" begged Charlie, tugging at his wild hair. "Can't they be a bit more specific?"
At that moment the door opened and a voice said, "Will someone kindly turn off that light?"
Charlie leaped up to flip the switch, and as soon as the lamp over the table had gone out, a tall man in a red bathrobe appeared. He was holding a lit candle in a brass candlestick.
"I see you have visitors." Charlie's great-uncle Paton nodded in the cats' direction. "Morning, Flames."
The cats trilled a greeting and Charlie said, "Is it really morning?"
"It's nearly one a.m.," said Uncle Paton, who didn't seem at all surprised to see Charlie and Billy downstairs at such an early hour. "I'm feeling hungry." He crossed the room and opened the fridge. "I detect an air of mystery. What's been going on?"
"The Flames came to warn me," Charlie told his uncle, "about Mom."
"Your mother?" Uncle Paton turned away from the fridge with a frown. "Did you say your mother?" Yes.
"And a shadow," added Billy.
Uncle Paton brought a plate of cheese from the fridge and set it on the kitchen table, beside the candlestick. "I want to know more," he said.
"Billy, tell the cats to explain," begged Charlie. "Ask them what the shadow is."
But the cats were eager to be gone. They stretched themselves and ran to the door.
"Wait!" said Charlie. "You haven't told me about the shadow."
Aries yowled and Leo scratched at the door. Charlie had no choice but to open it. And then the cats were out and bounding down the hall.
"What shadow?" Charlie whispered fiercely as he followed the cats.
Sagittarius growled. Charlie couldn't tell if it was an answer or a demand.
"Let them go, Charlie." Billy ran and opened the front door. "They've got to get somewhere else, fast. To see if the thing is found."
With a sudden chorus of trills, the Flames darted through the door and were away up the street; three bright flames swallowed by the whirling snow.
"They didn't explain," Charlie grumbled. "Now I'll never know."
"They did," said Billy. "They -"
Before he could say any more, a voice from the top of the stairs shouted, "What's the meaning of this?"
Grandma Bone was an unpleasant sight at the best of times, but after midnight she looked her worst. Her skinny frame was wrapped in a shaggy, gray bathrobe and her big feet encased in green woolen slippers. A long, white ponytail hung over her shoulder, and her sallow face had blotches of white cream dotted across it.
"Hello, Grandma," said Charlie, trying to make the best of things.
"Don't be insolent." Grandma Bone didn't like people being cheerful at night. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"We were hungry."
"Rubbish." She treated everything Charlie said as a lie. "I heard cats." She began to descend the stairs.
"They were outside, Grandma," Charlie said quickly.
She stopped and stared at the glass fanlight above the front door. "What sort of snow is that? It doesn't look normal." She had a point. There was something different about those spinning flakes, but Charlie couldn't have said what it was.
"It's cold, white, and wet," said Uncle Paton, stepping out of the kitchen. "What more do you want?"
"You!" snarled Grandma Bone. "Why didn't you send these boys back to bed?"
"Because they were hungry," answered her brother in a superior tone. "Go to bed, Grizelda."
"Don't you order me around."
"Suit yourself." Paton ambled back into the kitchen.
For a moment Grandma Bone remained on the stairs, glaring down at Charlie.
"I'll get a glass of water, Grandma, and then we'll go straight to bed." Charlie looked at Billy. "Won't we, Billy?"
"Oh, yes." To an orphan like Billy, Charlie's strange, quarreling family was endlessly fascinating. He nodded emphatically at Grandma Bone and added, "Promise."
Grandma Bone gave a Hmph of doubt and shuffled upstairs.
Charlie drew Billy into the kitchen again and asked in a whisper, "What did they say, Billy? The Flames. About the shadow?"
"They just said a word," Billy replied. "It sounded like 'listen. No, something different, an old-fashioned word for 'listen.
"Hark?" Uncle Paton suggested.
"Yes, that's it."
"That's hardly a name, dear boy." Uncle Paton bit into a hunk of cheddar. "It's more of a command. Perhaps you misheard."
"I didn't," said Billy gravely.
By now the three cats had crossed the city and were stepping lightly over the snow that had drifted against the walls of Bloor's Academy. They passed the two towers on either side of the entrance steps and kept going, along the side of the building, until they reached the end, where a high stone wall began. Ivy had taken root in the ancient stones and the cats skimmed up the creeper and dropped down into a snowy field.
On the far side of the field, the dark red walls of a ruined castle could be glimpsed. The cats became cautious. They paced carefully across the white field, their ears tuned to any sound that might come from the ruin. And then they heard the cry.
"I know what you're doing," shrieked a woman's voice. "But I can't be stopped, you fools. Did you think that snow would hinder me? Granted, it has slowed me down, but never will it stop me."
The cats moved closer. Through the great arch into the castle, they could see a dark figure, bent in half, her arms buried in snow up to her elbows. She swayed this way and that, tugging, pulling, and moaning with effort. With a sudden, deep groan, a large flat stone was heaved upright, then fell back into the snow.
The woman stooped and groped in the earth. With a cry of triumph, she lifted something out and held it up to the white air, her hands torn and bleeding from the struggle. "Mine! It's mine!"
A small shudder passed through the earth; a movement imperceptible to humans but enough to send a tiny thread of fear through every creature in the region. Birds awoke and screamed, small frantic rodents scurried desperately for safety, and the mournful howling of dogs carried through the bitter air.
Their eyes bright with alarm, the Flames watched the woman stumble from the ruin. The hem of her black coat was heavy with snow and her lamp swung in the icy breeze. She reached a door in the great gray building that was Bloor's Academy and disappeared. A few minutes later a glimmering light appeared in a high window.
The cats gazed at the window, fearing the worst.
The woman was standing before a gold-framed portrait of the Red King, her lamp illuminating the thick, cracked paint. "I have it," she whispered. She was not addressing the king. With
her free hand she withdrew an object from the folds of her coat. At first glance it looked like an imperfect circle of rusty metal, no more than six inches across. She held it by a thick oval stem.
The king gazed out of his portrait with dark magnetic eyes. A circle of gold glinted on his black hair and his red cloak had the appearance of real velvet.
As the woman twisted her metal circle it caught the rays from her lamp, and a sudden, bright flash lit the painting. A shadow could be seen behind the king's shoulder. Gradually it defined itself, its outline becoming sharper and brighter.
"Awake, my lord," the woman urged in a voice heavy with yearning. "I have found the Mirror of Amoret."
Slowly the shadow moved. It slipped from behind the king and drifted forward, closer and closer.
The woman gave a gasp of ecstasy. She sighed and swayed; her lamp swung, the circle glittered, and the light on the painting danced and flashed. A sudden, thunderous explosion brought the portrait crashing to the floor and the woman screamed.
A shadow rose out of the frame and came toward her.
VANISHING ANIMALS
The deep boom of the cathedral clock traveled across the city, and the boy on the hill lowered his arms.
"One o'clock." He gave a sigh and yawned. "Surely, that's enough."
A cloud of melting white flakes drifted away from the hill. Gradually, the storm subsided. In a few minutes the sky was a clear, velvet black pierced by a million stars.
Tancred put his head on one side and regarded the results of his work: the white roofs, the silent, snow-filled streets, and the network of wires strung above the city like a sparkling spiderweb.
"Not bad for a first attempt," Tancred said cheerfully. He shook his sleeves and a few remaining snowflakes floated out and settled on his slippers. In a few seconds they were gone.
Tancred was surprised to find that he was wearing slippers. He had been only half awake when he followed the cats. He hadn't even noticed the cold. Now, all at once, he was shivering. As he ran back up the narrow lane, he occasionally leaped into the air and brought his feet together with a satisfying smack. It was a recently acquired habit and often made his friends laugh.
By the time Tancred reached his secluded three-towered house, his father's thundery snores had become volcanic. Both the Torssons were weather-mongers and Tancred looked forward to a chat with his father about snow.
"I wonder if he's tried it," Tancred said to himself as he stepped inside. He stamped his feet on the doormat. "Must tell Sander," he murmured, "and Charlie."
"Tell them what?" Mrs. Torsson, unable to sleep, was drinking tea in the kitchen.
"About the snow," said Tancred.
"Ah. That was you, was it? I wondered where you were." Mrs. Torsson had grown used to her son's unusual behavior. A boy's got to do what a boy's got to do, her husband was always telling her, especially when it comes to the weather.
"Phew! Dad's making a racket." Tancred shook his damp cape and hung it on the back of the door.
Mrs. Torsson absentmindedly put a third spoonful of sugar in her tea and then poured a cup for Tancred. He took a chair opposite her and drank thirstily. Snow-making was an exhausting business. He hoped he wouldn't be called upon to do it again too soon.
"The Flame cats were here," he explained to his mother. "They wanted snow - don't ask me why. But I get the feeling something's not right down there in the city."
"Your father said he had a foreboding. He hasn't been sleeping well." Mrs. Torsson shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder if we should move away from here. You could go to a nice normal school and . . ."
"I couldn't," Tancred said emphatically. "I belong here. Just as much as Charlie and Sander, and Gabriel, and . . . and Emma. The Red King lived here and we're his children. We've got to stick together. You know that, Mom."
"Yes, Tancred." His mother sighed.
Mrs. Torsson wasn't the only mother to wish that she and her family were far away from the city. Charlie Bone's mother longed to escape her dreary life in a house that didn't belong to her, in a place that echoed with the whispers of its terrible past, and where her son had been forced to attend a school run by a malevolent old man.
But Amy Bone had no money and nowhere to run to. Besides, Charlie was perfectly happy. Nothing ever seemed to get him down. He was an extraordinarily optimistic boy. Nothing could shake his conviction that his father was still alive and that, one day, Charlie would find him. It was something that Amy had given up counting on.
It was eight o'clock on Saturday. Apart from Charlie's mother, the occupants of number nine Filbert Street were all asleep. Even Amy's mother, Maisie, could be heard gently snoring as Amy tiptoed past her room.
After a hasty breakfast, Amy left the house and began her ten-minute walk to the market where she worked. Not a hint of last night's snowfall remained. The air was chilly and the sidewalks still damp, but no one would have guessed that, a few hours ago, several inches of snow had covered the city.
"Mrs. Bone! Mrs. Bone!"
Amy turned quickly. The voice came from a boy on the other side of the road. Could it be . . .? Was it possible?
"Benjamin!" cried Amy, running back toward number nine. "It's you!"
The boy looked left and right, then dashed across the road.
"Oh, Benjamin, I'm so, so happy to see you." Amy gave him a tight hug. She'd never done such a thing before and Benjamin was rather startled.
"Are you all, er, r-right, Mrs. Bone?" he asked, embarrassment and lack of breath causing him to stammer. "I mean are you all all right?"
"Charlie's just fine," said Amy. "He's still asleep, but I'll let you in and you can surprise him." She ran up the steps, unlocked the door of number nine, and opened it. "You know where his room is. I have to dash now, or I'll be late for work. But go in, go in." She gave Benjamin a little push into the house and closed the door behind him.
Benjamin looked around the silent hall, pleased to see that nothing had changed. He was a small fair-haired boy with a perpetually lost expression. At the moment he was slightly jet-lagged, but he couldn't wait to see Charlie and Runner Bean, the dog he'd left in Charlie's care.
Benjamin peeked into the kitchen. No dog basket. No bowl. Of course, Runner Bean must be sleeping in Charlie's room.
As he climbed the stairs Benjamin heard footsteps above him, and then Charlie's grandmother, the kind one, appeared on the landing. She was wearing a bright pink bathrobe.
"Benjamin Brown! What a sight for sore eyes!"
Benjamin was subjected to yet another breathtaking squeeze. Maisie Jones was a round, curly-haired, twinkle-eyed person, and the squeeze threatened to send Benjamin tumbling down the stairs.
"You lovely normal boy," said Maisie. "No magical endowments for you. No fiddling flutes, no animal gruntings. You'll do Charlie a power of good. Go on up!"
"Thanks," said Benjamin, breathless again.
Maisie swayed downstairs, still talking. "I'll make some toast and a nice cup of tea. Cornflakes? I s'pose it's all noodles now. Do they have noodles for breakfast in Hong Kong?"
"Mrs. Jones, where's my dog?" called Benjamin.
But Maisie had disappeared into the kitchen.
Benjamin walked on to Charlie's bedroom. He listened outside the door. Not a sound came from the other side. Benjamin opened the door. He saw Charlie, fast asleep in bed. There was a new bed on the other side of the room and Benjamin could just see a few tufts of white hair poking above the duvet. Billy Raven. There was no sign of Runner Bean.
Benjamin stood just inside the door, wondering what to do. His pale, solemn face now wore a look of extreme anxiety. What had happened to Charlie while he had been away? He had a vision of his best friend surrounded by all those peculiar children at Bloor's Academy. The musicians, actors, and artists; the weather-monger, the hypnotist, and all those other weird things. Perhaps this explained why Maisie and Amy Jones were so pleased to see him. Because he was normal, unlike poor Charlie.
A sudden m
ovement on Charlie's bed caught Benjamin's eye. A white moth fluttered over the duvet. Benjamin had always been told that moths were pests. They made holes. He sprang forward and cupped his hand over the moth.
Three things happened. Charlie sat bolt upright and screamed. Billy Raven rolled out of bed, and the moth bit, yes, bit Benjamin, who yelled and let go of it.
"Benjamin!" cried Charlie.
"Charlie!" cried Benjamin. "A moth bit me."
"It's my wand," said Charlie.
"Your wand?'
"Manfred burned it, and it turned into a moth. You haven't killed it, have you?"
Benjamin shook his head. "It's on top of your wardrobe. Sorry."
Benjamin never said things like, How can a wand turn into a moth?
Charlie realized how much he'd missed his friend. "It's really great to see you, Ben."
"It's great to see you, too. Where's Runner Bean?"
"Ah." Charlie swung his legs out of bed. "He's not here."
"I can see that."
Billy Raven groaned and sat up. He put his hand up to the bedside table and felt for his glasses.
"What's Billy doing here?" asked Benjamin.
"Dr. Bloor lets me out for weekends now." Billy found his glasses and put them on.
"So, where's my dog?" Benjamin persisted, turning to Charlie.
Charlie tugged his tousled hair. He had so much to tell Benjamin he didn't know where to start. He made his friend sit on the bed, and while he got dressed, he explained how Grandma Bone had tried to have Runner Bean put down by the pest controllers. The look of horror on Benjamin's face prompted Charlie to add quickly, "But Mr. Onimous got here first. He took Runner to the Pets' Cafe, and I go every weekend and take him for a run."
"Only once a week," Benjamin said accusingly. "He needs a walk every day."
"Well, I can't get out of school, can I?" Charlie lowered his voice. "It's not my fault that I have to sleep at Bloor's during the week, is it?"
"No. Sorry. It's great to see you, Charlie."
"You, too," Charlie said once again.
As soon as Billy and Charlie were dressed the three boys went downstairs where Maisie gave them a huge cooked breakfast. Benjamin gazed dismally at the food. He couldn't eat. His stomach was churning with apprehension. He had to see his dog. Suppose someone had stolen him?
