by Jenny Nimmo
Charlie had almost forgotten the pebble. He pulled it out of his pocket. “This,” he said.
They looked at the smooth gray stone lying in Charlie’s palm.
“Looks familiar,” said Lysander.
“I’m sure it belonged to Mr. Boldova,” said Charlie. “The stones that sparkled in his hand looked just like this.”
“You’re right,” said Olivia. “But how did it get into your aunt’s garden?”
“It was dropped from a window,” said Charlie. “I think she stole it.”
Everyone agreed that this was a possibility. And yet who had dropped the pebble? And why? It was a puzzle.
“There are too many puzzles,” said Lysander. “We’ll meet up tomorrow, right? And discuss the Ollie problem.”
“What about Charlie’s uncle?” said Emma. “Suppose the vervain doesn’t work?”
“I’ll come whatever,” said Charlie.
When they reached the main road, the five friends parted, and Charlie ran home with the prized vervain. He could hardly wait to see if it worked. First he would chop some into tea leaves and take his uncle a cup of vervain tea. He leaped up the steps of number nine, opened the door — and walked straight into Grandma Bone.
“What’s that you’ve got?” she said, eyeing the plastic bag.
“Nothing — er, some fruit from Mom’s shop,” said Charlie.
“Liar! I know what you’ve been doing. Eustacia called me. You’re a thief!”
“No.” Charlie backed out of the open door.
“Give me that bag!” she demanded.
“No!” yelled Charlie.
Grandma Bone made a grab for the bag but, at that very moment, a large yellow dog bounded up the steps and leaped on Charlie’s grandmother, knocking her back into the house.
“Runner!” cried Charlie. He ran down the steps with Runner Bean at his heels, while Grandma Bone roared from the house, “Stop! Come here! You wait, Charlie Bone! You won’t get away with this.”
Charlie raced up the street, panting, “Runner, where did you come from? You saved my life!” And then he saw Fidelio, speeding toward him.
“Hi, Charlie!” called Fidelio. “Runner got away from me. I guess he couldn’t wait to see you.”
The two boys met halfway up Filbert Street, and Fidelio explained that he had gone to the Pets’ Café hoping to find Charlie, but instead he had run into Norton Cross, who insisted he take Runner Bean for a walk.
“I forgot,” said Charlie. “In fact, I keep forgetting. I’m sorry, Runner.” He patted the dog’s shaggy head.
“So where were you? And what’s going on?” asked Fidelio.
Charlie described his visit to Darkly Wynd and the reason for stealing his great-aunt’s vervain.
“Wish I’d been there,” said Fidelio, a little aggrieved at being left out of things. “You’d better come home with me while your grandma cools down.”
Charlie thought this was a very good idea.
Runner Bean didn’t, but he was so pleased to see Charlie, he was prepared to put up with a place he considered to be the noisiest in the world.
Fidelio’s seven brothers and sisters all played different musical instruments, and at any one time at least five of them would be practicing. Add to this the rich bass and shrill soprano of Mr. and Mrs. Gunn, and you had a sound resembling the work of the most daring experimental composer.
“Let’s go to the top,” shouted Fidelio as soon as they got inside. “It’s a bit quieter up there.”
Runner Bean dragged himself up the stairs behind the boys, flinching every time he passed a room where a drum, or a trumpet, a horn or a cello, was being beaten, blown, or scraped.
At the top of the house, there was a shady attic where the Gunns kept their broken instruments. The two boys made themselves comfortable on a large crate, and Charlie gave Fidelio a more detailed account of his dealings with Skarpo. But he found that he wasn’t yet ready to tell even his best friend about his mysterious journey over the sea.
Fidelio listened thoughtfully to Charlie’s story, and then he said, “You’d better stay out of your grandma’s way today. And let’s put that plant in water before it dies.”
Down they went again, passing children with freckled faces and brown curly hair who all patted Runner Bean and greeted Charlie like a long-lost brother. Into the kitchen, where a singing Mrs. Gunn was making banana sandwiches and real lemonade.
“That looks like a powerful weed!” she exclaimed when Charlie drew the vervain out of its bag. “Do you want me to put it in a pot?”
“Actually, Mom, Charlie needs to hide it from his grandma,” said Fidelio. “So it wouldn’t be any good in a pot. And it’s not a weed, it’s a special herb.”
“Aha!” sang Mrs. Gunn. “We can still plant the roots. I’ll snip off some leaves and you can hide them under your T-shirt when you go, Charlie. The rest of the plant will be here when you need it.”
Charlie handed over the vervain, accepted two banana sandwiches (one for himself and one for Runner Bean), and then he and Fidelio took the yellow dog for a run in the park.
At four o’clock, after several more sandwiches (Stilton cheese and peanut butter, and egg and blackcurrant), Charlie left Gunn House and took Runner Bean back to the Pets’ Café. He promised Norton he would call again the next day, but he was anxious to get home before his mother ran into an angry Grandma Bone.
When Charlie reached number nine, however, Grandma Bone had left the house, and his mother was about to take Uncle Paton a cup of tea.
“Can I do it?” begged Charlie. He pulled the sprigs of vervain from under his T-shirt and put them on the table. “I want Uncle Paton to try some of this.”
Mrs. Bone frowned. “Where did you get it, Charlie?”
“From Aunt Eustacia,” he confessed. “Actually, I stole it, and there may be a bit of trouble.”
His mother gave him one of her anxious smiles. “There’s bound to be,” she said. “Let’s hope it works before your grandmother comes back.” She snipped off a few leaves, put them in a teacup, and filled it up with boiling water.
Charlie watched the water turn bright green. It looked dangerous. Was Skarpo tricking them?
“I hope it doesn’t do more harm than good,” said Mrs. Bone. “It looks very powerful.”
“It may be Uncle Paton’s last chance, Mom,” said Charlie desperately.
He waited until the vervain tea had cooled and then took it up to his uncle, with the rest of the herb tucked under his arm.
Paton was lying in semidarkness. The curtains were closed, and from the thin light trickling into the room you would never have guessed that outside was a bright summer afternoon.
Charlie put the tea on his uncle’s bedside table and whispered, “Uncle Paton, I’ve brought you a drink.”
Paton groaned.
“Please take a sip. It’ll make you feel better.”
Paton raised himself on one elbow.
“Here.” Charlie held out the cup.
Paton’s eyes were still half-closed and his hand trembled when he grasped the cup. Charlie watched intently as his uncle raised the tea to his lips.
“Go on,” said Charlie. “Drink it.”
“Anyone would think you were trying to poison me.” Paton made a funny, choking noise that was probably a laugh.
“I’m trying to help you,” Charlie whispered earnestly.
His uncle opened his eyes properly and looked at Charlie. “Very well,” he said and took a sip. “Ugh! What is this?”
“Vervain,” said Charlie. “You remember the sorcerer said it would cure you. And I’ve brought the rest.” He laid the leafy stems on his uncle’s bed.
“Looks like a weed,” Paton observed. “I can guess where you’ve been, Charlie.” He gave a real chuckle and took another sip, and then another.
Charlie waited while his uncle drained the cup.
“Not bad,” said Paton. “Not bad at all. Bless you, Charlie.” He lay back on the pillo
ws and closed his eyes.
Charlie took the empty cup from his uncle’s hands and tiptoed out of the room.
“Did it work?” asked Mrs. Bone when Charlie came back into the kitchen.
“I don’t know, Mom. But he looked kind of peaceful. It’ll probably take awhile.”
They found themselves talking softly and moving as quietly as they could. TV was out of the question. It seemed as though the air in the house had become charged with mysterious and delicate spirits that could be disturbed by the slightest breath of wind, the tiniest sound.
It grew dark, but Grandma Bone didn’t come home. Charlie imagined that a meeting was taking place in Darkly Wynd. They would be plotting to put him in his place, once and for all. He glanced at his mother, reading at the kitchen table, and hoped that whatever might be coming his way wouldn’t hurt her as well.
Suddenly, Mrs. Bone looked up from her book. “Did you hear that?”
Charlie did hear it. Upstairs a door was opening. The floorboards creaked. A moment later the sound of running water could be heard. A bath was filling up.
When the tap stopped running, the silence was so profound that Charlie could hear the beat of his own heart. And then a strange perfume stole through the house, a perfume laced with magic.
Charlie opened his eyes and looked at the kitchen clock. It was midnight. His mother was washing a saucepan in the sink.
“I’ve only just woken up,” she said, putting two mugs of cocoa on the table. “I don’t know what came over us, Charlie.”
“Uncle Paton had a bath,” Charlie muttered. “I remember hearing the water running, and then I fell asleep.”
“Me, too,” said Mrs. Bone. “Your grandmother is still out. Let’s get to bed before she comes home.”
They drank their cocoa and slipped upstairs. As Charlie passed his uncle’s door he stopped and listened. Not a sound came from Paton’s room. Not even a snore. Charlie crept into his own room with a worried frown.
Just as he was getting into bed, he heard a car pull up outside. A door slammed and Grandma Bone called out, “Good night, Eustacia. I’ll fix the little brute, don’t you worry.”
Charlie pulled the covers over his head and tried not to think about meeting Grandma Bone in the morning.
He woke up very early, tiptoed down to the kitchen, and ate a bowl of cereal. He thought of leaving his mother a note explaining he’d be out for the day, though he hadn’t decided where he would go. Anything would be better than facing Grandma Bone.
But it was already too late for a note. Too late to run out of the house. Charlie froze as a pair of large feet thumped down the stairs. They crossed the hall and the kitchen door opened.
“Caught you!” Grandma Bone stood on the threshold in her evil-looking gray bathrobe.
“’Morning, Grandma,” said Charlie as casually as he could.
“I suppose you thought you’d get away before I woke up.”
“N-no.”
“Don’t lie. You’re in big trouble, Charlie Bone.” His grandmother marched into the kitchen and glared down at Charlie. “What were you doing in my sister’s garden? No, don’t bother to answer. You were stealing. And those friends of yours were no better. Eustacia’s in a terrible state. She almost had a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Charlie.
“Sorry’s not good enough. You’ll have to pay!” screeched Grandma Bone. “Dr. Bloor will be notified, and you’ll stay here till we’ve decided what to do with you.”
“Not go out?” asked Charlie. “Not even to school?”
“NO. Not for a month at least.”
This normally wouldn’t have worried Charlie. But under the circumstances, he had to go to school. There was a blue boa to be tamed, there was Ollie Sparks to rescue. “But …” he said.
“And that confounded woman’s in it, too,” growled Grandma Bone. “A book was seen lying on her counter, with a picture of the herb you stole, openly displayed.”
Charlie couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard the faint tinkle of broken glass while his grandmother was shouting. He was just wondering who had seen the book at Ingledew’s and passed on the information when his grandmother suddenly thumped the table and shouted, “WE WON’T HAVE IT! THIS CONTINUAL MEDDLING, THIS DISOBEDIENCE, THIS, THIS … WHY CAN’T YOU TOE THE LINE?”
Charlie was about to give a feeble answer when a voice from the doorway said, “Aha!”
There stood Uncle Paton, in a shirt so white it was almost blinding. His hair was two shades blacker than it had ever been, and he looked at least three inches taller. So tall, in fact, that he had to duck his head to get under the doorframe.
Grandma Bone looked as if she’d seen a ghost. “You’re better,” she croaked.
“Aren’t you pleased?” said Paton.
Grandma Bone nervously licked her lips. “But … but …”
“Thought he’d done me in, didn’t you?” said Paton advancing on his sister. “Thought he’d turned me into a flabby, fluttering, half-baked yes-man?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Of course you do!” Paton thundered. “You set it up. You planned it all. You brought that evil, shape-shifting hag into our midst. What were you up to, EH?”
“Stop it!” cried Grandma Bone. “I — I could ask you to leave this house!”
“And I could ask you to do the same thing,” roared Paton, towering over her.
Charlie watched in fascination as his grandmother gave a strangled gasp and ran out of the kitchen with both hands over her heart.
Paton gave Charlie a beaming smile and began to make himself a cup of coffee.
“It worked!” said Charlie. “The vervain. It really worked!”
“Something worked. I feel as bright as a button,” said Paton, who looked nothing like a button.
“I was afraid Skarpo might have tricked us,” said Charlie. “But maybe I should trust him now. Wow, Uncle Paton! It’s great to see you well again.”
“It feels great, Charlie. Thank you.” Paton made a little bow and brought his cup to the table. “So, are you going to tell me how things stand at Bloor’s Academy?”
Charlie did his best to bring his uncle up to date with everything that had been going on while he lay on his sickbed. He was just describing events in Eustacia’s garden when someone stumped downstairs and walked out of the house, slamming the front door behind them.
Through the window they saw Grandma Bone marching up the street in her new straw hat — black with purple cherries on it.
“She’s off to Darkly Wynd, no doubt,” said Paton. “To hatch another plot. I bet my recovery will give them a nasty shock, especially that hag Yolanda.” He chuckled.
“Uncle Paton, do you think you could talk about what happened in the castle now?” Charlie asked tentatively.
Paton scratched his chin and said, “Yes, Charlie. It’s about time.” He drained his cup and set it back on the table. For a moment he stared into space, and then he began, “Imagine the castle as I described it, dark without and dark within. I arrived at dawn but there’s never a sunrise at Yewbeam Castle. The sky turns a dull yellow and no birds sing. The wind shrieks over the stones. There are no trees, no leaves or flowers, only the dead grass.
“The road ends at a narrow footbridge, so I left the car and walked the half-mile to the castle. Thirteen steps carved into the rock lead up to a door that is never locked. After all, who would want to enter a place like that?” Paton paused and hunched his shoulders.
“And then?” said Charlie.
“It all came back to me, Charlie: my mother’s horrible fall, and my father rushing away with me. I almost turned and ran, but I had to find out if Yolanda had left and why she was coming south after all these years. I called, but there was no reply. The place seemed deserted. And then it began. First laughter like I had never heard. More like howling, it was. And then a roar, and the screams of a thousand animals that you could never name. And out
of this awful noise a voice called, ‘What do you want, Paton Yewbeam?’
“I stood my ground, but I can tell you, Charlie, my stomach was churning. And I said, ‘Is that Yolanda’s voice?’ ‘No,’ came the reply. ‘Yolanda’s had an invitation she couldn’t refuse.’ And then the awful laugh came again.
“I ran for the door but something pushed me back. I brought out the wand and tried to strike the invisible thing in front of me, but the wand hissed like a thing on fire and burned my hand. After that …” Paton sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know how long I was there. I lay on the stone floor, blind and never knowing if I was awake or dreaming. My body was either burning or freezing. Sometimes, I would see him but he never looked the same. One minute he’d be a child, then an old man. One day there’d be a great black dog beside me, then a bear. There’d be a raven tearing my head, a wolf gnawing my bones. But every time, as soon as he’d gone, I’d crawl a little closer to the door.
“Eventually, I reached it. I pulled myself up by the great iron handle, turned it, and fell through the door. I stumbled down the thirteen steps, and then I ran. Don’t ask me how. I could feel him behind me, burning my neck, scorching my shoes. I got to the car and tumbled in. The nightmare had only begun. He jumped on the roof and smashed the windshield with his fists. I don’t know what shape he was — a monster, by the sound of it. He rolled off and ran in front of me, hurling rocks at the headlights. He threw flames at the tires and the way ahead was lit by a thousand sparks.
“We reached another bridge, and when I drove over it, he fell away. Perhaps his power couldn’t survive beyond the borders of his land. But I heard him call after me, and I’ll never forget that awful, wailing voice.” Paton shivered and closed his eyes.
Charlie waited expectantly, but then he could wait no longer and begged, “What did he say?”
Paton gave a droll smile. “He said, ‘If you harm my dear one, you’ll pay for it with your life.’”
“And who is he?”
“Oh, didn’t I say?” Paton grimaced. “He’s Yolanda’s father, Yorath, a shape-shifter so old he can’t keep his own shape but has to borrow from other — beings.” Paton looked at the burn marks on his right hand and repeated, “Yes, other beings.”
