Charlie Bone and the Hidden King

by Jenny Nimmo

  Charlie suddenly remembered to look at his watch. It was five minutes to seven. He nudged Billy's arm.

  "Matron'll be in the dorm in five minutes. As soon as she's gone, we'll run down to the dining hall and find somewhere to hide before the dinner begins."

  They crawled away from the landing and raced back to the dormitory. A minute after they had leaped into their beds, the door opened and Matron looked in. She was quite a sight in her long emerald-green evening dress, with green earrings that practically touched her shoulders. Her gray-white hair had been pulled on top of her head and decorated with an enormous green bow. "Lights-out," she said coldly. "And in case either of you takes it into his head to go wandering, please remember your next punishment will be far worse than this one."

  "Yes, Matron," Charlie meekly replied. He thought it rather unfair that Billy should be included in his punishment, but decided not to mention it.

  The matron turned out the light, but before she closed the door, she said, "Don't tell your great-aunt how lovely she looks, or anything."

  "No, Aunt," said Charlie "I mean . . ."

  She slammed the door.

  Charlie listened to her receding footfalls. "She won't be back," he said. "Not looking like that."

  "I bet she's out to catch a nice, rich head teacher." Billy giggled.

  They waited another five minutes and then jumped into their slippers, crept along to the back staircase, and down to the ground floor. Now they were in the hallway that ran past the cafeterias and down into the underground dining hall. Keeping to the shadows they had almost reached the dining hall when one of the waitresses backed out of the green kitchen. She was pulling a cart laden with dinner plates.

  The boys shrank against the wall but she had seen them. "Hello, boys," she said, eyeing their pajamas. "What are you doing here?"

  "We came down for some water," Charlie said quickly. "We were so thirsty and we're not supposed to drink from the sinks upstairs, because the pipes are rusty - or something."

  "Poor boys. Go on in and help yourselves." She nodded at the cafeteria door.

  "Thanks!" Charlie gave her his best smile. But no way was he going into the green kitchen where the porter's wife, Mrs. Weedon, held sway. She was mean, short-tempered, and a terrible cook, and she would probably get her husband to drag the boys back to their dormitory.

  The waitress wheeled her cart past them and up to the blue cafeteria. "Wrong plates," she grumbled. "What a palaver."

  As soon as her back was turned, the boys dashed along to the dining hall. They were about to slip through the doors when Billy said, "Where are we going to hide?"

  "Under a table," Charlie said.

  "But - they might see us."

  Charlie didn't want to think about that. He opened the door a fraction and peeked inside. What luck!

  Every table was covered with a huge white cloth that hung almost to the floor.

  A waitress was busily arranging the glasses on Dr. Bloor's top table, but the other three tables were already laid. Silver cards, printed with names, sat on red velvet place mats, and each mat was surrounded by more knives, forks, spoons, and glasses than Charlie had time to count.

  The fiery braziers gave every shining surface a dangerous orange glow, and even from the door, Charlie could feel waves of heat from the leaping flames.

  Choosing a moment when the waitress's back was turned, Charlie whispered, "Let's go. Now!"

  Bending low, the boys half ran, half crept toward the middle table and slithered under the cloth. A terrible smell hit Charlie's nostrils and he saw, to his horror, that Blessed had chosen the same hiding place.

  It was too late to change tables. A door beside the platform opened and two waiters bustled in with carts of hot food.

  Under the table, Blessed ran up to Billy, whining softly.

  "Tell him to be quiet," whispered Charlie, "or he'll give us away."

  Billy gave several soft grunts, and Blessed lay beside him, thumping his hairless tail.

  "What's that?" said one of the waiters.

  Billy puffed, almost soundlessly, into Blessed's ear and the thumping stopped.

  "Probably a rat," said the other waiter.

  The first one laughed. "Hope it bites someone's ankle. I'm fed up with this job. I've been here since six o'clock this morning, and the pay's rotten."

  "They're a mean bunch," his companion agreed.

  The two waiters made so much noise transferring food from their carts onto the tables, Charlie and Billy were able to crawl, undetected, toward the platform. Charlie wanted to be in a good position to hear what was said at the top table.

  Two more carts were wheeled in, and not long after that, the boys heard a great babble of voices that drew closer and closer until they spilled into the dining hall. A hundred pairs of feet shuffled, marched, stamped, and pattered around the room, as the visitors searched for their places.

  Crouched in the dark, Charlie and Billy listened to the chomping, slurping, and gulping that was going on above them. Charlie was trapped between two pairs of very long black-trousered legs. He decided to move and backed into Billy who, unfortunately, put his hand on a foot in a silver shoe.

  "Do you mind?" said a woman's voice.

  "Pardon?" said the man opposite her.

  "You kicked me."

  "You're mistaken. It was someone else."

  Pushing Blessed in front of them, the boys crawled away from the silver shoe as fast as they could. Just in time. The tablecloth was lifted and the woman in silver shoes looked under the table. The boys held their breaths until, with a grunt of annoyance, the woman let the cloth fall back into place.

  The Hundred Heads' dinner went on and on and on.

  Blessed fell asleep and Billy started yawning, and then a hush fell over the room as Dr. Bloor began to speak.

  After he had welcomed his guests, the names of all the academies were read out: Loth, Oranga, Mor-van, Derivere, Somphammer, Festyet, Ipakuk, Altabeeta . . . The list continued. Charlie's eyes began to close, and then, suddenly, he was wide awake. Dr. Bloor had uttered the name Lyell Bone, and it was connected to a crime. Charlie sat bolt upright, his head just grazing the top of the table.

  "Those of you who were here ten years ago will remember my grandfather, Ezekiel Bloor, as an active and agile ninety-year-old. Today, sadly, he is confined to a wheelchair. Lyell Bone is distantly related to us, and so the crime was doubly shocking." Dr. Bloor paused and cleared his throat.

  "Please," said a voice close to Charlie, "can you tell us how this crime was committed?"

  "He knocked me down," shouted Ezekiel. "Tried to kill me. Pushed me. Head hit stone. Bingo! Couldn't move. Done for. The SCOUNDREL!"

  A gasp rippled around the room.

  "But why?" asked another voice, a woman this time. "Why did he do this terrible thing?"

  "Some of you," said Dr. Bloor, avoiding the question, "will run your establishments in a different way from us. But all of you will be acting in the interests of our wider family. Like you, we draw the Children of the Red King toward us. We offer them scholarships, first-class teaching, and equipment. We protect them, nurture them, prepare them for the difficulties they may face when they are adults . . .. Occasionally, it becomes necessary, for the child's own good you understand, to remove it from its parents."

  "Do you mean that you steal them?" asked an indignant voice.

  "He said 'remove, screeched Ezekiel. "Stealing doesn't come into it. For the greater good we must control these children, and if their parents seem likely to resist, then, yes, we must take them by any means."

  A murmur of agreement ran along the table above him, but Charlie noticed a few sounds of dissent.

  "However," Ezekiel continued, "in the case of a certain child who could fly, her father, Dr. Tolly, was happy to hand her over. It was Lyell Bone who tried to prevent it by striking me to the ground. His protest was unsuccessful and he was duly punished."

  "And did the punishment fit the crime?" so
meone asked in a gruff voice.

  "Yes, Dr. Loth. Thanks to my great-grandson, Manfred Bloor. Manfred, stand up!"

  The distant scrape of a chair seemed to indicate that Manfred was sitting at the top table. Someone clapped and others joined in. Charlie couldn't imagine why.

  "Manfred may be the greatest hypnotist who has ever lived," Ezekiel proudly announced. "At only nine years of age, he erased Lyell Bone's memory with a single glance. The man is now utterly helpless. He doesn't even know who he is."

  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 traveler, a priceless gift, as you well 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," the thin male voice went on. "I can smell a boy, possibly 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 around the room. "Uuuurrgh!" "PU!" "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 apologize 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 a sorcerer 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 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 acclimated 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 turn against us."

  There was a rumble of agreement and then Dr. Loth's voice drowned out the others. "Who is 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 call 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," sa
id 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 gray 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 named 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," Miss Chrystal went on, "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.