Charlie Bone and the Shadow

by Jenny Nimmo

  "Follow," commanded the count.

  Billy had no choice. Stepping as lightly as he could over the soft pelts of bears and tigers, he followed his host down the long, death-filled hallway, half-closing his eyes so that he could not see the distant heads that he was walking beneath. And it was then that Rembrandt chose to speak.

  "Billy, where are we? What's up?" the rat squeaked.

  The count whirled around. "What is that?"

  Billy had completely forgotten that Rembrandt was sleeping deep in his pajama pocket. Without thinking, he answered, "My rat, sir."

  "What is that?" the count demanded.

  "I told you, sir, my rat," said Billy.

  "WHAT IS THAT?" bellowed the count.

  It dawned on Billy that the count did not actually know what a rat was, or had somehow forgotten. He gently lifted Rembrandt from his pocket and held him out.

  "Oops!" squeaked Rembrandt. "This is bad news, Billy."

  "I had forgotten about rats," grunted the count. "We do not have rats here. My soldiers ate every one of them, long, long ago. Give it to me."

  "No." Billy clasped Rembrandt to his chest. "I can't. I can't live without Rembrandt. I won't!"

  The count looked surprised. "You have spirit, boy. Very well, you can keep the odd-named thing, if it suits you. It spoke. Don't deny it. I know you understand its language. What did it say?"

  Billy wondered if the question was a trick. Perhaps the count could speak the language of animals. Billy decided to chance a lie. "He said we are in a fine place, sir."

  The count eyed Billy quizzically. "Did it say that? Hmmm. I shall have to trust you - for now." He turned and strode on, his long pointed shoes gliding softly over the thick furs. And Billy followed, feeling almost guilty that such a carpet should be so warm and comforting to his bare toes.

  It took considerable time to reach the end of the hallway, but at last they were there and another iron door slid back soundlessly to reveal a vast chamber. Suspended from the roof by iron chains were three circles, set one upon the other at intervals of twelve inches or so. The smallest was at the top, the widest at the bottom. At least fifty candles had been set into each circle, and every one burned with a fierce white flame. Billy was so taken with this amazing chandelier, it took him several seconds to notice the three figures, seated before a huge fire, at one end of the chamber.

  "My family!" the count announced. He dragged Billy forward. "And this is it!"

  "The boy!" cried a girl, leaping up from a mound of cushions. "You have brought it." As if Billy were a thing.

  She came bounding toward Billy, over a sea of rugs, a small, bright-faced girl with black curls and round brown eyes. She wore a long yellow dress, patterned with golden flowers, and her wide smile immediately put Billy at ease. When she saw Rembrandt, however, she stopped abruptly and, pointing at the rat, cried, "What is that?"

  "A rat, child," the count told her, "from your grandmother's land. It won't harm you. The boy holds it fast in his power." He turned to Billy. "Matilda is my granddaughter. Over there" - he pointed to the fireplace - "you see my grandson, Edgar, and my wife, Lilith."

  Billy nodded wordlessly. The boy, in a dark green jacket and britches, did not look up from the book on his lap. The woman, however, turned to stare at

  Billy from the large chair where she reclined. Her head rested on the chair's tall carved back, her hands lay on the thick wooden arms. When Billy met her black-eyed gaze, he felt a chill run through him, and Rembrandt whispered, "This is a mistake."

  "It made a noise," cried Matilda. "Your rat, sir."

  "I am not a sir," Billy said quietly. "I am just Billy."

  At this, the boy looked up. He was older than his sister by at least four years, and he was not a bit like her. His blond hair was neatly cut, and his eyes a startling green.

  Matilda came up to Billy, still watching Rembrandt anxiously, but Billy hastily slipped the black rat into his pocket, and this brought the smile back into her face. "I like your mask, sir, but it is glass, and I can see right through it." She touched the arm of Billy's glasses. "It is something from the future, maybe." "Urn - yes," said Billy.

  "Oh, and your eyes are the color of berries," she went on. "How lovely. And your dress too is most interesting. But you have no shoes."

  "I didn't have time to put them on," said Billy, glancing at the count.

  "Our grandfather told us that he would bring a boy from the future for our amusement." Matilda gently drew Billy toward the great marble fireplace. "And he said it would be our duty to care for you. Isn't that right, my lord?"

  "Make sure he is ready to dine." The count threw these words at Matilda as he walked back to the iron door, which obediently opened for him and closed after he had gone.

  Billy stood before the roaring fire. On his right, Edgar had returned to his book; on his left, Lilith continued to stare at him. Billy felt intensely uncomfortable. Her gaze was so hostile all attempts at conversation drained away from him. Luckily, Matilda was a chatterer.

  "I shall take you to the room we have prepared for you," she said. "I think you'll like it, Billy. And there are new clothes for you - and even shoes. And you shall have a servant, of course, to..."

  "I think I should be getting back now," Billy said.

  Matilda looked baffled. "Back where?" she asked.

  "Back to my home." Billy found he was trembling. "I don't belong here. I want to go. Why can't I go home?" He turned to the stony-faced Lilith. "Why am I here?"

  "You don't have a home," said the woman.

  For a moment Billy was too shocked to speak, and then he said, "I do, I do. I live with Charlie Bone."

  "That's a lie," she said. "They house you out of pity. But they do not want you."

  At these words a numbing coldness settled on Billy. He barely felt Matilda's touch on his arm but followed her blindly over to the door, which slid open before they had even reached it.

  Matilda led Billy a few feet down the hallway of furs, and then turned and climbed a narrow marble stairway. At the top there was a long hallway where a single rush light burned at the far end. Matilda walked toward the light and stopped before a door that had a real latch. She lifted the latch and Billy followed her into the room that was to be his - but for how long? He dared not think.

  It wasn't so bad. A fire burned in an iron grate and the walls were a soft-green-colored marble. The bed was a high four-poster, hung with ivory-colored curtains. There was a fur rug, a chair, and a large oak chest. A set of clothes lay on the bed: a blue velvet jacket, braided in gold at the collar and cuffs, and blue and gold pants. The shoes had been placed at the foot of the bed. They had long pointed toes and gold decorations.

  "The enchanter says we are very fortunate." Matilda lifted the blue jacket. "In other lands they have rough clothing; boys have to wear coarse woolen stockings and scratchy tunics. Here, in Badlock, we are very advanced."

  "Really?" Billy walked over to the fire and held his hands before its blaze. The chill that had descended on him wouldn't lift. He had no home but this.

  Matilda hitched herself up onto the bed and swung her legs. "You can be happy here, Billy, can't you? I am so lonely sometimes. Edgar will never be a friend, so I have none." She paused. "And I am afraid of the enchanter and his wife."

  She spoke as though they were barely related, Billy thought. And yet, weren't they her grandparents, the enchanter and his wife?

  "Where's your mom?" asked Billy.

  "My mother? She is dead, of a weakness of the heart. My father, too. He was a brave knight. His name was Gervais de Roussillon, and he was killed in an unfair fight." Matilda lowered her voice. "My old nurse said the enchanter had a hand in my father's murder. But I cannot tell for sure." She glanced nervously around the room.

  "What is it?" said Billy. "Are you afraid of something?"

  "You will soon see," she replied. "I can hear his footsteps."

  And Billy did see, for a moment later, a patch on one of the mar
bled walls began to move, like worms squirming in mud; a fuzzy cloud appeared, as though the marble were steaming, and through the cloud stepped Edgar.

  "You could have used the door," said Matilda.

  "I chose not to," retorted her brother. "You are required to dine, immediately." He threw a look of contempt at Billy. "Why are you not dressed properly?"

  Billy gazed helplessly at Matilda.

  "He has not had the time," she said, jumping from the bed. "I will..."

  "Leave him," said Edgar. "The servant will do it." Without another word, Edgar shuffled backward, and with an awkward twist of his shoulders and an ungainly swing of his right foot, he allowed the wall to swallow him up.

  Matilda grinned at Billy. "Luckily, Edgar is not careful with his talent. I can always hear him coming, and his exits and entrances are very rude and clumsy. Listen, you can hear him even now."

  Billy could indeed hear stumbling footsteps retreating down the passage.

  Matilda crossed the room and opened the door. "You can come in, now," she called. "I'll see you in the dining hall," she told Billy.

  He was alone for only a second before a squat figure darted into the room and began tearing at his pajamas.

  "NO!" cried Billy.

  The small being looked up at him aghast. Billy couldn't tell if it was male or female. With a woolen cap covering its head and presumably its hair, its face without eyebrows, and its body so wide and lumpy, it was difficult to tell where its waist might have been or where its legs began.

  "You can wait outside," said Billy.

  To his surprise, the being shuffled out and gently closed the door.

  Billy took off his pajamas himself and put on the blue velvet suit. Next came the shoes. These were a problem. They didn't fit very well and the long toes made a slapping noise when he walked. It was like wearing flippers. Billy felt silly, but then bare feet would look even sillier, he realized. To his dismay, he found there were no pockets in his jacket or pants. He couldn't possibly leave Rembrandt behind. What would he eat?

  "Urn, excuse me," called Billy, not knowing how to address the being outside. "You can come in now."

  The thing opened the door a fraction and peeked in. Its eyes were the gray-brown color of bark, but there was kindness in them.

  "Please, can you help me?" said Billy. "I need a ... a pocket or a bag or ... or something."

  The creature came in and stood before Billy. "Dorgo," it said in a masculine voice. "Name Dorgo, me. What for you want pocket?"

  Dorgo hadn't noticed the rat sitting on Billy's bed, cleaning himself.

  "For him," Billy pointed at Rembrandt.

  Dorgo gave an earsplitting scream and clutched Billy around the waist. "What? What? What?" he cried.

  "He's only a rat," said Billy.

  "And what's he?" squeaked Rembrandt, staring at the trembling Dorgo.

  "A person," whispered Billy. He gently pushed the terrified Dorgo away, saying to the creature, "He really won't hurt you, but I need to put him in something, so that I can carry him with me."

  Dorgo nodded. Without raising his eyes from the floor, he walked over to the oak chest and lifted the lid. He proceeded to rummage in the chest, like a burrowing rabbit, sending shoes and clothing flying out in all directions. After a few seconds he reached the bottom and pulled out a leather belt with a gold-braided pouch attached to it. He held it out, still with his eyes lowered.

  "Perfect. Thank you," said Billy, fastening the belt around his waist. He grabbed Rembrandt and popped him into the pouch.

  "Now what?" squealed Rembrandt.

  "Food," Billy replied. "I hope."

  Dorgo had closed his eyes. Billy touched him on the shoulder. "I believe the people here eat rats," he said, "so please don't tell anyone else about it."

  "Never, never, never," said Dorgo. He opened his eyes, rushed to the chest, flung back its contents, and closed the lid. "Follow, please. Master dine now," he said.

  To be called "master" was rather satisfying. It made Billy feel instantly taller and more confident. "Lead the way," he said, more pompously than he intended.

  "Oh dear!" came the muffled remark from the gold pouch.

  Dorgo shuddered and scurried out of the room. He led Billy down the marble stairway, along the hallway of heads and furs, and into the most astonishing room Billy had ever seen. Although, to call it a room would hardly be accurate. It was a vast black-marble hall, with a high vaulted ceiling of glittering stars. The walls were hung with weapons and precious objects: spears, shining swords, shields decorated with mythical creatures, tiger skins, painted masks, a golden wheel, horns of ivory, gilt-framed mirrors, tapestries embroidered with pearls, diamonds, and emeralds, and things that Billy had never seen but could only assume were used in warfare. He stood in the doorway with his mouth agape.

  The count was sitting at the far end of a glass-topped table at least twenty feet long. "Be seated, Billy Raven," he called, and his voice echoed up to the glittering ceiling, increasing the light from the golden stars.

  Lilith had her back to the door, Edgar and Matilda sat facing each other, halfway down the table. Billy was relieved to see an empty place setting beside Matilda's. As he made his way toward her, Dorgo followed - pulling out Billy's chair and pushing it in once he was seated. Matilda gave Billy a reassuring smile.

  Billy noticed that they all had a version of Dorgo standing behind them. And there were other servants standing at intervals around the room. They each held a golden tray. Almost everything on the table was made of gold: the candelabra, the plates, bowls, cups, knives, and spoons. There was so much shine, Billy had to remove his glasses and rub his eyes.

  "Have you ever had an enchanted dinner, Billy Raven?" boomed the count from the end of the table.

  Billy shook his head.

  "You are about to," said the count. "What do you wish to eat?"

  "Urn, spaghetti, please," said Billy.

  "Spaghetti," said the count to a tall servant, dressed more grandly than the others.

  There was a long silence while the tall servant stared at his empty tray. Then he cleared his throat and, lifting his head, sang out, "Not known."

  "Not known! Not known! Not known!" repeated the other servants.

  Billy was embarrassed.

  "Another," the count commanded.

  Billy tried to think of something that everyone throughout the ages must have eaten. "Bread," he said.

  "Bread," boomed the count.

  The tall servant's tray instantly filled with black loaves. Dorgo grabbed Billy's plate, rushed over to the man with the tray of loaves, put them all on Billy's plate, and brought it back to him.

  "Countess?" This time the count's voice filled the hall. It had to, in order to reach his wife.

  Lilith recited a list of peculiar names. The count repeated them, and the tall servant's tray filled with peculiar-looking fruits - or were they vegetables? Lilith's servant rushed to receive them and delivered them to his mistress.

  Edgar chose raggots, maggots, cabbage, and cheesum - all of which looked disgusting. Matilda chose Cordioni soup, which smelled delicious, and the count went for the same stuff as his wife.

  Billy felt very self-conscious with his plate of black bread. He had no idea how to eat it.

  "Dinner?" Rembrandt said hopefully.

  Before Rembrandt's squeaks became too loud, Billy attacked a loaf. Tearing it apart with his bare hands, he managed to get a sizeable chunk into the pouch on his lap.

  When Rembrandt squeaked his thanks, Matilda giggled. Edgar glared at his sister and said, "The boy is giving food to a creature. That is rude and wasteful."

  Count Harken waved his hand dismissively. "No matter, Edgar. It occupies our guest."

  Edgar sullenly pushed a spoonful of food into his mouth. But from the other end of the table, the countess continued to stare at Billy, even while she ate her unpronounceable meal. Her look was so heartless, Billy wished he were a thousand miles away, back in Charlie Bone
's house, even if he wasn't wanted there.

  The second course was much better than the first. Matilda advised Billy to ask for pears sweetened in wine. They were delicious, just as she had promised.

  After dinner, Dorgo led Billy back to his room. The little servant turned down the bedcovers and left Billy with a single candle burning in a metal saucer on the chest. Billy changed into his pajamas and got into bed. He watched the candle flame burn lower and lower and wondered if he would ever sleep. He was very tired but his mind continued to wander through the glittering rooms below. Charlie will come get me, he thought, because he can travel.

  Outside, the distant wind moaned across the plain. And then, above the wind, came the sound of heavy feet, dragging themselves across the ground. They were accompanied by a scuffling and shuffling and the rattle of chains.

  Billy jumped out of bed and looked into the hallway. Dorgo was sitting beside the door. His head lolled forward, but he was not asleep.

  "What, master?" asked Dorgo.

  "I heard something," said Billy. "Footsteps."

  "The giant, master."

  "Giant?" said Billy.

  "They bring him to dungeon. He bad. Punished he must be."

  "What did he do?"

  Dorgo sighed. "He hide boy-from-future, like you."

  Charlie! thought Billy. Charlie's ancestor was a giant.

  "Sleep now, master," said Dorgo.

  Billy stepped back into his room and closed the door.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE SPY

  It was Saturday morning. Charlie sat in his room feeling impatient and helpless. His thoughts kept returning to Tancred. How could someone with such a powerful endowment have been overcome? Charlie could not bring himself to believe that he would never again see Tancred's cheerful face and shock of blond, spiky hair, or the billowing green cape as Tancred's volatile nature brought on the wind and the rain. And then there was Billy.

  If only the painting of Badlock could be found, Charlie was sure that his moth could help him reenter the shadowy, sinister world. He had no idea how he would find Billy, if he ever got to Badlock. He supposed he would figure out what to do when he got there.