by Jenny Nimmo
Weedon spotted the spider and — BANG — she stepped on it.
“OUCH!” squealed Ollie, and almost without thinking, he brought up his left foot and kicked Mrs. Weedon where it hurt most.
“YIKES!” yelled Mrs. Weedon.
“What’s going on?” said the fishmonger, whose name was Crabb.
“Blasted spider — it’s getting away!” shrieked Mrs. Weedon. “Get it — quick — I’m out of breath!”
“You’re joking,” said Mr. Crabb genially.
“I am NOT!” cried the irate woman. “I’m injured.”
“No, I mean you’re joking about the spider,” said Mr. Crabb.
“I am NOT!” yelled Mrs. Weedon. “GET IT!”
“What — a little spider?” said Mr. Crabb incredulously.
“It’s not LITTLE! It’s got a mean kick,” screamed Mrs. Weedon.
“I see,” said Mr. Crabb rather more seriously. “Come on, Brian. Let’s get going.”
The two fishmongers climbed the stone steps a little faster than usual, but not fast enough to see a large spider leap through the iron gates and bounce its way up the street.
Ollie hadn’t been outside the academy for more than a year. He couldn’t help making a few little skips and jumps as he hurried through the city. He was free. The sun was up and the dome of the huge cathedral shone in the early light.
“I’m out!” sang Ollie. “Out forever. And soon I’ll be me!”
When he reached the cathedral he gazed up at the ancient building, awed by its height and the crowds of stone creatures that stared out from the great arched doorway.
“I’m free!” Ollie shouted.
There was no one around, so he danced over the cobbled square singing, “Soon I’ll be me, me, ME!”
Sunlight showed him a small window where large leather-bound books were displayed against a red velvet curtain. “Ingledew’s,” said Ollie, reading the name above the door. He ran across and rang the bell.
A woman looked out from a second-floor window. She stared at the space where Ollie stood. Even at that distance she could see the large black spider her niece had made just a few days ago.
“Ollie?” she said.
“Hello!” said Ollie. “Yes. It’s me.”
“Wait there. I’ll be down in a second,” said Miss Ingledew.
A moment later the door opened with a pleasant tinkling sound, and Miss Ingledew appeared in a blue bathrobe. She had a smiling, pretty face, and Ollie immediately felt at ease.
“Come in, Ollie,” said Miss Ingledew, addressing the spider, for there was nothing else she could see.
Ollie stepped down into the shop and gazed around at the shelves of books; they looked very interesting with their rich, mellow covers and gold-tooled spines. “What a great place!” he said.
“Thank you,” said Miss Ingledew. She glanced anxiously around the room and found the spider crouching by the counter. “I expect you’d like some breakfast.”
“Would I!” sighed Ollie. “Have you got any jam?”
“Plenty. Emma asked me to get some for you. But perhaps you’d like bacon and eggs as well.”
“Bacon and eggs!” Ollie cried gleefully. “I haven’t had anything hot for more than a year.”
“My goodness,” said Miss Ingledew. “We must correct that at once.”
“And after breakfast can I be cured?” said Ollie. “Can I see the blue boa, and will he make me appear again?”
“I think we’d better leave that for tonight,” said Miss Ingledew. “The city is very crowded during the day, and I wouldn’t like you to be crushed or — or lost.”
“Nor me,” said Ollie. “OK. Tonight, then. Now could I please have some of that jam?”
While Ollie was eating his first hot meal for many a month, the children and staff at Bloor’s Academy were just waking up.
As he made his way down to breakfast, Charlie observed an air of embarrassment among the teachers who hurried past him. It was even more apparent in the dining hall, when the staff climbed four steps and took their places around the High Table, in full view of the rest of the school.
Dr. Bloor kept clearing his throat, as if he were about to make an announcement. But not a word passed his lips. He looked pretty bad. His gray hair had a stiff, surprised look, and his face was very pale, for him.
The embarrassed, sheepish look appeared to have spread through the school. It had been an extraordinary night and yet no one wanted to discuss it. The truth was that most people were either ashamed of their cowardice or, like Dr. Bloor, humiliated by their failure to stop the invasion of such terrifying and unnatural activity.
The strange atmosphere lasted all day. Teachers couldn’t look their pupils in the eye. Children glanced quickly at one another and then looked away. Everyone moved very swiftly, not in any way eager to get where they were going but rather to escape whatever might be behind them.
Charlie guessed it was like having a bomb in the building. No one knew where it was or when it would go off. Things finally came to a head in the King’s room after dinner.
Tancred was the spark, if you can call it that. Although he was tired after such an energetic night, no one could help noticing that he looked rather pleased with himself.
Charlie had good reason to look pleased, but he knew it would be dangerous to show it.
The eleven endowed children were sitting in their usual places around the table when Tancred’s expression became too much for Belle to bear.
“Take that smirk off your face, Tancred Torsson!” she said. “You think your little breezes are so clever, but you’re nothing, NOTHING!”
“Is that so?” said Tancred, his grin growing broader. “Well, I honestly don’t know why you bother to wear that pretty face anymore. We all know what you’re really like, you old hag!”
A shocked gasp of horror rippled around the table, and Asa leaped up, snarling, “Take that back, you brute!”
“Feeling brave now, are you, you mini-beast?” Tancred taunted.
Asa was about to spring across the table when Manfred grabbed him by the back of his collar. “Shut up, everyone!” he shouted. “Torsson, apologize!”
“Me? Why should I?”
“She started it,” said Lysander in a reasonable tone.
“You heard me,” growled Manfred. “I mean it, Torsson. You’re not too clever to be punished, you know. APOLOGIZE!”
“Forget it!” Tancred tossed his shock of electrified hair. As far as wind was concerned, he had kept things remarkably calm, but now, not to be boring, he sent out some new weather. A few raindrops pattered onto the table, and everyone pulled their books onto their laps.
“Pitter patter,” sneered Zelda Dobinski. “It’s pathetic. Call that rain?”
Everyone wished she hadn’t said that. The next minute the small black cloud that had been floating near the ceiling suddenly burst and a torrent of water poured onto their heads. It filled their eyes, drenched their clothes, and soaked their books.
“Stupid boy!” said Belle in a deep and dreadful voice. “Who do you think you are?”
Half-blinded by the deluge, Charlie saw something he hoped never to see again. Belle’s pretty features turned brown and doglike. Two ears sprouted from her head and two huge hairless wings began to spread out from her shoulders. Belle was turning into a giant bat.
The bat raised its naked wings and, with a blood-curdling screech, it launched itself at Tancred who cried, “Yikes!” and dived beneath the table. So did everyone else — except Asa, who sat watching the bat with a look of rapt adoration.
The grotesque creature began to hover around the room, its wings catching at bookshelves and pictures. The clock crashed to the floor, a whole row of books was sent flying, and then, as Charlie peered out from under the table, he saw the picture of the Red King swinging violently against the wall. Charlie leaped up and ran to catch the painting as it fell.
“LEAVE IT!” thundered the awful bat voice.
Bu
t Charlie couldn’t bear to let the King fall. As he caught the heavy gold frame the bat made a dive toward him.
It was Dr. Bloor who, inadvertently, saved Charlie. The door suddenly swung open in front of him and the bat crashed into it. With a dreadful shriek, she dropped at the headmaster’s feet.
“Good heavens … what … who?” stuttered Dr. Bloor.
“Idiot!” screamed the bat.
“Oh. Is it …? I do hope I haven’t …”
“I’m not done for, don’t you worry,” screeched the bat. “You asked for my help, but you’re not doing much to help yourselves, are you? You’re letting them get away with it.”
To Dr. Bloor’s great discomfort, the bat crawled up his cape until she reached his shoulder, and then she launched herself through the door, screaming, “Someone’s in for a very nasty surprise.”
When the bat had gone, the headmaster shook his shoulders, straightened his cape, and addressed the children who were now crawling out from under the table. “The noise from this room is intolerable. Manfred, can’t you keep things under control?”
“Of course, sir,” said Manfred turning a fierce red. “Circumstances exceptional, sir.”
“Good lord, you’re all soaked!” Dr. Bloor observed.
“Torsson,” said Manfred.
“Torsson, get a mop. The rest of you clean up this room. And BE QUIET!”
When the headmaster swept out it was already eight o’clock, and the seniors had no intention of cleaning up the mess. Billy was excused because he was beginning to fall asleep. And Dorcas complained of a headache. The workforce dwindled to five.
“It’s always us, isn’t it?” said Emma, rolling up her sleeves.
“I wonder who’s in for the nasty surprise,” muttered Charlie.
“I bet it won’t be long before we find out,” said Lysander.
At half past eight, Miss Ingledew decided it was time to take Ollie to the Pets’ Café. The streets would be empty and there would be no risk of him being walked into or knocked over. She had already made sure that all was ready at the café.
“Ready as they’ll ever be, my dear,” said Mr. Onimous’ soft voice over the phone.
As Miss Ingledew locked the shop, she failed to notice a large bat hanging above the cathedral door.
“I think it would be best if you held my hand,” she told Ollie. “Would you mind? I don’t want to lose you.”
“No, I don’t mind,” said Ollie. “You remind me of my mom a bit. It’s been ages since I held her hand.”
Miss Ingledew was a little disconcerted to see her fingers disappear when Ollie’s small hand clutched hers. But she told herself that she must expect this sort of thing now that she was part of Emma’s strange world.
They hurried up to the main road and then along to Frog Street, and although they didn’t see the large bat fluttering in the shadows behind them, both Ollie and Miss Ingledew felt the slight tingle that people get at the back of the neck when they sense that something is not quite right behind them.
Several times, Miss Ingledew looked over her shoulder, but it was a crafty bat and managed to disguise itself as a garbage bag caught on a lamppost, a shop sign, and a grimy windowsill. Mind you, a few people did see an extraordinarily large bat gliding past their windows. One man called the zoo and another the Pets’ Rescue. But the size of bat they described was far too large to be believed. No such creature existed, they were told; it was probably a balloon, a kite, or, dare it be suggested, a result of bad eyesight.
When Miss Ingledew and her invisible companion reached the Pets’ Café, she rang the bell. The window was dark, and for one minute Ollie’s heart plummeted. And then the door opened and he found himself looking at an extremely small man, and the man was looking him right in the eye. It was very comforting. Ollie had not been looked in the eye for such a long time. It set him on the road to feeling whole again.
“This is Ollie,” said Miss Ingledew, holding up her disappeared fingers.
“So it is,” said Mr. Onimous. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Ollie. Come in, both!”
Mr. Onimous led the way through the darkened café to a cozy kitchen at the back, where Ollie was surprised to see three bright cats sitting on a freezer, a yellow dog snoozing in a basket, and a very tall woman making pastry, while a black rat watched from her shoulder.
“Aha!” said the very tall woman, who had a very long nose. “The vanished one! Welcome, Ollie Sparks. I’m Onoria, dear. Mrs. Onimous.” Her focus wandered a bit. She was obviously not as good as her husband at guessing where invisible people might be. But then she was a long way up.
Ollie couldn’t help wondering how a man so small had chosen a woman so tall to be his wife. In ordinary circumstances, Ollie would have asked. But these were not ordinary circumstances and instead he said, “Is it here — the boa?”
“There it is, dear.” Mrs. Onimous pointed to a large hamper quite close to her feet. “I’ve been singing to it. The poor thing hasn’t had an easy life.”
“I wonder,” Miss Ingledew said shyly, “would it be possible to have a cup of tea before we … er … before it happens?”
“What am I thinking of?” cried Mr. Onimous. “Manners, Orvil, manners. Sit down, my dear.” He pulled out a chair and Miss Ingledew sat down gratefully.
Ollie said he would rather stand for the “cure.” He thought the snake would find it easier that way. “Can I see it now?” he asked.
Mrs. Onimous lifted the lid of the hamper and Ollie beheld the dreadful boa that had once hugged him into invisibility. It was not quite as he remembered it. The brilliant sapphire skin had faded, and now it was a soft, silvery blue. It appeared to have shrunk as well, and something in its expression seemed to imply a gentler, friendlier disposition.
The snake’s silvery head reared up suddenly, and it chirped like a bird. Ollie stepped back.
“It’s a lovely creature, isn’t it?” sighed Mrs. Onimous. “Do you take milk and sugar, dears?”
Miss Ingledew said, “Just milk, please,” and Ollie said, “Nothing, thanks. I expect I’ll be thirsty later.”
While Miss Ingledew and the Onimouses sipped their tea, Ollie walked around the hamper. The snake followed him with its little black eyes. Obviously, it could see him. When Ollie stood still, the boa slid gracefully out of the hamper and began to wrap itself around his invisible ankles. Ollie held his breath.
“Do you think it knows what to do?” whispered Mrs. Onimous.
“Let’s hope so,” said her husband. “Are you ready, Ollie?”
“Yes, I’m ready,” said Ollie. “I’m thinking about seeing my brother. I’m thinking about going home to Sparkling Castle. It sparkles because my brother and my father can draw light from stones, did you know that?”
“And what do you do, dear?” asked Mrs. Onimous. She thought of Ollie as a patient who must be distracted while something painful was being done to them.
“I just play the flute,” said Ollie, who, at present, wasn’t feeling any pain at all.
“I should love to hear you play,” said Mrs. Onimous.
The boa was winding itself around and around in the air. As yet, nothing could be seen within its shining coils.
“I’m going to close my eyes now,” said Ollie, “in case it doesn’t work. I don’t want to be disappointed, you see.”
“Of course not,” said the adults.
Miss Ingledew put down her cup. She couldn’t watch. It was all too much. The experiment wasn’t working. Poor Ollie would be invisible forever, but she was already deciding what she would do. She would take him back to the bookshop and call his parents. After all, an invisible boy was better than no boy at all. And then she saw the feet. First one, with a spider on its toe. Then the other. Bare, cold-looking feet, badly in need of socks and shoes.
“Here come the legs,” said Mr. Onimous softly.
He might just as well have shouted because Runner Bean, disturbed by the impossible happenings, leaped up and began to
bark.
“Hush, there’s a good fellow,” said Mrs. Onimous.
Runner Bean grunted and lay down, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings as more and more of Ollie was revealed. The cats gave the impression that they’d seen all this before. They remained quiet but alert.
“Oh, the poor boy, look at his pants,” said Mrs. Onimous, regarding the tattered bits of cloth that barely covered Ollie’s knees.
The snake climbed higher, and now they could see a worn gray sweater, at least two sizes too small for its owner: the person whose bony wrists extended well beyond the threadbare sleeves.
“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Onimous as the boa’s neck curled around a head of tangled brown hair. A face appeared between the long brown strands; it had two large blue eyes ringed with shadows, a neat mouth, and a pinched, inquisitive-looking nose.
“Oh!” sighed Miss Ingledew. “Ollie!”
The snake encircled Ollie’s head until it looked like a shining turban and Ollie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and excitement. “Am I back?” he asked. “I feel as if I am.”
“You surely are,” said Mr. Onimous. “You’re well and truly visible, Ollie Sparks. Congratulations!”
It seemed appropriate to clap, and so everybody did, including Ollie, but very lightly, in case it frightened the boa.
The snake looked a little weary after its efforts; in fact, it closed its eyes and snuggled into a comfortable position on Ollie’s head.
Mrs. Onimous lifted the creature off Ollie and laid it in the basket. “We ought to celebrate,” she said. “Orvil, make another pot of tea. And I’ll find some cake.”
After a very pleasant hour in which a great many decisions were made, Miss Ingledew left the Pets’ Café and hurried back to her bookshop. She knew Ollie was in good hands; he was already having his first bath in more than a year. Mrs. Onimous had everything under control. New clothes would be found for the poor boy. His hair would be cut, and he would be well fed and rested before his long journey home to Sparkling Castle.
Miss Ingledew was so pleased with the way things had turned out, she began to hum one of her favorite tunes. When she reached the intersection, she almost carried on down to Filbert Street. She would have liked to share her news with Paton Yewbeam, but this wasn’t possible. Grandma Bone’s accusation still rankled.
