Charlie Bone and the Time Twister

by Jenny Nimmo

  "It'll be warm here," said Charlie, moving several piles away from the bookcase. "You see, if we put some paper on the floor like this," he spread several sheets of music between the bookcase and a wall of plied scores. "It'll make a sort of bed, and you can hide here till morning."

  “And then what?" asked Henry.

  "Well . . ." Charlie scratched his head. "Then I'll find a way to get you some breakfast, and maybe some new clothes."

  "What's wrong with my clothes?" Henry gave an anxious frown.

  "They're just different. We don't wear that kind of stuff now"

  Henry glanced at Charlie's long gray trousers and thick-soled shoes. "No. So I see," he said.

  "I'd better be getting back," said Charlie. "The head boy Manfred Bloor, will be after me, and I don't want to get on the wrong side of him. He hypnotizes."

  "Oh. One of those." Henry had heard about the hypnotizers in his family "Are you one of them?" he asked Charlie. "The endowed?"

  '" Fraid so," said Charlie. "That's how I knew you."

  "What about him?" Henry pointed to the door behind which the rich piano music flowed on.

  "He won't bother you," said Charlie. '"Bye, now." He gave a wave and backed out of the small room, feeling inexplicably guilty.

  In the King's room a boy with a long, sad face glanced anxiously at Charlie's empty seat. The boy's name was Gabriel Silk, and he worried about Charlie. He should have gone after Tancred, not let Charlie go. Charlie was younger and likely to land in some sort of trouble. He was the kind of boy unfortunate things happened to.

  And then the howling began. At first they all tried to ignore it, but in the end Manfred flung down his pen and exclaimed, "Bloody dog! Billy go and shut it up."

  "I'll go," Gabriel offered.

  "I said Billy," Manfred gave Gabriel one of his horrible stares and then turned his piercing black gaze on Billy "Go on," he said. "You can talk to the wretched thing. Ask it if it's got a bellyache."

  "Yes, Manfred." Billy scurried to the door.

  As he ran down the chilly stairwells and dark corridors he talked to himself. He hated it when everyone else was shut away doing homework. He was afraid of meeting the ghosts. He knew they were there — gliding about in the dark. Billy never went home. He had no home to go to. Sometimes, he stayed with an aunt. But not often.

  He had reached the wide landing where a grand staircase led down into the hall. Blessed was sitting at the top of the stairs, still howling.

  Billy sat beside the dog and put one hand on its plump back. "What's the matter, Blessed?" The words came out in a series of little grunts and sniffs. A language that Blessed could understand.

  The old dog stopped howling. "Boy came," he said. "Bad thing. Wrong."

  "What boy? Why was it wrong?" asked Billy.

  Blessed considered this question. He seemed to be having some difficulty with his reply At last he grunted, "Boy came from nowhere. With ball, very small. Shiny Blessed not like this ball. It bad magic."

  Billy was perplexed. "Was it Tancred?" he asked. Boy with lots of yellow hair?"

  "No. Boy was like that one." Blessed stared down the hall.

  Following the dog's gaze, Billy was surprised to see Charlie Bone quietly closing the door into the west wing.

  "Where've you been?" Billy called.

  Charlie looked up, startled. "Nowhere," he said, lust looking for Tancred."

  "Blessed said another boy was here; a boy like you."

  " lessed's got a vivid imagination." Charlie began to cross the hall.

  "He says there was a ball. It was small and shiny and he didn't like it."

  "I think Blessed was dreaming," said Charlie, climbing the stairs toward Billy.

  Billy looked at the old dog. "Blessed doesn't lie," he said. "Dogs can't."

  "They can dream, can't they? Come on, Billy We'd better get back to our homework or we'll get detention."

  "Go back to Cook," Billy told the dog. "Go on, Blessed. No more howling."

  Blessed gave a sullen grunt and began to flop down the stairs, while Billy and Charlie ran back to the King's room.

  When homework was over, Charlie had half a mind to go and visit Henry He didn't like leaving him alone in the tower, nearly a hundred years from where he was supposed to be. Of course, he wasn't quite alone, but Mr. Pilgrim hardly counted. Charlie badly needed to confide in someone.

  When he reached the dormitory he found Fidelio filling his closet with the clothes from his bag. There were two boys from the drama department in the room and Charlie couldn't risk being overheard. "I want to ask you something," he whispered to his friend. "Can we go somewhere else?"

  "The art room," Fidelio said softly.

  As they came out of the dormitory they walked straight into Billy Raven.

  "Be careful what you say" Fidelio whispered as they sped down the corridor. "I used to feel sorry for Billy, um but I don't like the way he watches people."

  "Someone's got to him," said Charlie. "I don't know who it is, but they're making him spy for them. I don't think Billy can help it."

  They had reached the art room.

  "Light's still on," Charlie commented. "But no one's here."

  "Mr. Boldova might come back," warned Fidelio. "We'd better hide over there."

  A large painting of trees had been propped against two easels near the wall, and the boys managed to squeeze behind it and squat on the floor. In a hushed voice, Charlie began to tell his friend about the sudden appearance of Henry the boy with the Time Twister, who vanished nearly a hundred years ago. However, as soon as he mentioned the voices in the photograph, Fidelio clutched his arm.

  "Hold on," he said. " D'you mean you can hear what's going on in photos?"

  Charlie nodded. He had never told Fidelio about his peculiar talent. "I don't like people to know" he muttered.

  "I don't think I would, either," said Fidelio. "Don't worry I won't tell a soul. Go on about Henry Where is he now?"

  "I took him up to the top of the music tower. I couldn't think of anywhere else."

  "What about Mr. Pilgrim?"

  "He won't even notice Henry and if he does . . ." Charlie hesitated. "I don't think he'll harm him."

  "Hmm. I wonder! You can't tell with Mr. Pilgrim," murmured Fidelio. "So, what are you going to do with this long-lost great-great-uncle?"

  "1 thought I'd try and smuggle him home at the weekend. But first I've got to get some food to him."

  "Lunch break would be best," said Fidelio. "He can have my meat — if it's not mince; and you can sneak up to the tower, while I . . ." He broke off suddenly as a face appeared at the top of the tree painting.

  "What are you doing?" asked Emma Tolly.

  Charlie was tempted to tell her; she was, after all, a friend, as well as endowed, but something held him back. "We're just talking," he said. "Can't get any peace in the dorm."

  "I know," Emma sighed. "I came to finish a drawing."

  "We were just going," said Fidelio.

  The two boys wriggled out from behind the painting.

  Just as they were leaving the art room, Charlie caught sight of a large sketch book, lying open on a table. He stared at it, and moved closer.

  "It's mine," said Emma. "Just sketches, nothing special."

  But they were special. Both pages of the open book were covered with pictures of birds: birds in flight; swooping, hovering, soaring, and diving. They were so real Charlie felt that if he touched them he would feel real feathers.

  "They're brilliant," he murmured.

  "Brilliant," Fidelio repeated.

  "Thank you!" Emma gave one of her shy smiles.

  All at once, the door behind them opened, and a voice said, "What's going on in here?"

  Mr. Boldova appeared. You could tell he was an art-teacher, because his clothes were covered in splashes of paint. Even his green cape, which he often forgot to wear, had little flecks of color on the sleeves. Mr. Boldova always looked as if he had just been on vacation. He had bright
hazel eyes, a very healthy complexion, and long brown hair tied in a ponytail.

  "I was showing my work to Charlie and Fidelio," Emma said confidently "We were just going."

  "That's all right, Emma." The art teacher beamed at them all.

  It was impossible to be afraid of Mr. Boldova. He never gave detention, never punished pupils for untidiness, forgetfulness, or even being late. The only thing that made him angry was bad art. He gave Charlie a searching look and said, "Ah, Charlie Bone."

  "Yes, sir," said Charlie. "Good night, sir."

  The three children slipped past him and ran for their dormitories. It was already five minutes to lights out. Matron would be on the warpath, and Matron was not an understanding person. She was, in fact, Charlie's great aunt, Lucretia Yewbeam.

  As they dashed into their dormitory the boys heard Miss Yewbeam shouting at some poor girl who had lost her slippers.

  "We'll just make it before she gets here," said Fidelio, rushing to the bathroom.

  Billy Raven was sitting up in bed. "Where've you been?" he asked Charlie.

  "Had some extra work to do," said Charlie. He pulled on his pajamas and jumped into bed, just as Matron poked her long face around the door.

  "Lights out!" she barked, flicking the light switch.

  Out went the bare bulb hanging in the center of the room.

  "That was a close one," murmured Gabriel Silk from the bed next to Charlie.

  Just before Charlie finally drifted off he thought of the boy in the tower; cold, hungry and probably frightened. What was to be done with Henry Yewbeam?

  Unable to sleep, Henry Yewbeam was staring out across the city There was a small, round window in the wall between the bookcases and Henry anxious to know if the world had changed in ninety years, had climbed onto a stool to find out.

  The world had, indeed, changed. The sky above the horizon seemed to be on fire. It had a terrifying orange glow Could it be the rows of streetlights leading into the distance? Pinpricks of radiance shone out from the dark blocks of houses and below the tower pairs of shining lights, some red, some white, swept across Henry's field of vision, like earthly shooting stars.

  "Motor cars," murmured Henry as one came closer. "So many"

  "So many" said a voice, like an echo.

  Henry became aware that a man was standing in the darkness beside him. The piano music coming from the room next door had stopped. Henry was relieved; he didn't have much of an ear for music.

  "Are you Mr. Pilgrim?" Henry asked.

  There was no reply to his question. In the soft light coming through the window Henry could make out a pale face and very black hair. The man's expression was solemn and faraway.

  "I'm Henry Yewbeam," said Henry.

  Still no reply.

  It was like talking to someone who wasn't really there. Perhaps it wouldn't matter if Henry told him the truth.

  "I'm very old," he said. "Or at least I should be."

  In the distance a clock began to strike. The deep chimes of the cathedral pealed out across the city Mr. Pilgrim turned to Henry His eyes held a strange glitter.

  Henry had just counted the twelfth stroke when Mr. Pilgrim said, “Are you cold?"

  “Yes," said Henry.

  The piano teacher took off his blue cape and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders.

  "Thank you," said Henry stepping off the stool.

  Mr. Pilgrim smiled. He stretched up to a high shelf and pulled a tin from a row of books. Lifting the lid he offered the tin to Henry "Oatcakes," he said. "You see I live up here, practically And one gets hungry"

  "One does," Henry agreed, politely taking only one oatcake.

  Mr. Pilgrim didn't offer him any more. He put the tin on the stool and said, "Help yourself." The faraway look had come back into his eyes. He seemed to be trying to remember something. Frowning, he murmured, "Good night."

  And then he was gone, slipping away down some stone steps with hardly a sound.

  Henry would have liked the strange man to stay He was grateful for the extra cape but, to tell the truth, it was not as cold as it had been. In fact the temperature was rising rapidly The icicles hanging outside the window were beginning to melt.

  All around the tower there was a steady drip, drip, drip of ice turning to water. It was a sound that filled Henry with foreboding. He had just worked out that his sudden twist through time must have had something to do with the cold. He had arrived in Bloor's when the temperature had reached exactly the same degree as when he had left, in 1916. A change in the weather could make a difference in time travel.

  "I won't be able to get home," Henry said to himself. "I'll never see my family again." And suddenly his situation seemed almost too grim to bear. "But I must!" he murmured.

  CHAPTER 4

  OLIVIA MAKES A MESS

  Billy Raven lay wide awake. For two weeks he had slept alone in the long dormitory. Now he must get used to the grunts and snores, the heavy breathing and tiny whimpers of other boys. It wasn't easy Billy had always been a light sleeper.

  Tonight he was feeling excited. He had something to tell old Ezekiel Bloor. Perhaps he would be rewarded. When he was quite sure the other boys were asleep, Billy swung his feet into his slippers and pulled on his bathrobe. The floorboards gave only the slightest creak as he crossed the room and slipped out of the dormitory.

  Manfred Bloor had given Billy a present for Christmas; a long black flashlight with a very powerful beam. Billy hadn't expected a gift from the head boy of all people, but when Manfred bent down and whispered, "We must keep our spies happy" Billy had understood.

  He switched on the flashlight and a brilliant shaft of light swept right to the end of the passage. Billy began his long journey to the upper regions of the west wing. He usually waited for Blessed to lead him. But tonight he couldn't wait.

  As Billy made his way closer to the old man's room, he had to navigate a gloomy realm that never changed. It was one of the few places where Ezekiel's flawed magic had worked as he wished. So Billy's slippered feet made no prints in the thick dust, and the cobwebs he walked through wove themselves together as soon as he had passed. If it were not for the occasional hiss from a gaslight, you would have thought the creaking steps and shadowy passages had been deserted for a hundred years.

  Billy had reached a black door, the paint scarred by years of dog scratchings. He knocked twice and a voice croaked, "Who is there?"

  "Billy Raven," said Billy.

  "Enter, Billy Raven," said the voice.

  Billy walked in.

  Ezekiel Bloor sat in his wheelchair beside a blazing fire. A sheepskin blanket was draped around his shoulders, and his ancient skull-like face poked from beneath a black woolly hat. A pile of faded velvet cushions were propped behind his back, and he wore a black velvet jacket studded with gold buttons. For all his finery though, Billy couldn't help thinking the old man looked a bit like a dead sheep.

  Without being invited, the small boy sat down heavily in the chair opposite Ezekiel. The sudden change in atmosphere made him feel dizzy.

  "Where's the dog?" asked the old man.

  "I don't know I couldn't wait for him. I wanted to tell you something." Billy's glasses had misted up in the steamy atmosphere. He took them off and rubbed the lenses with his thumb.

  “Ah good. Something about Charlie?" The old man leaned forward eagerly.

  "Sort of," said Billy.

  "Come on, then. Tell, tell."

  "Well, it was Blessed really He saw it."

  "It?" wheezed the old man. "It? What 'it' was this? And the dog's name is Percy How many times do I have to tell you!"

  "Sorry But he thinks he's Blessed."

  "Yes, yes. Never mind. Go on!" Ezekiel waved his hand impatiently.

  Billy put his glasses back on, and then wished he hadn't. The old man's wizened face loomed unpleasantly close. Billy could see every wart and bristle in vivid detail.

  "The dog was howling and Manfred sent me to find out what was wron
g, knowing I could understand dog talk, and all that."

  "Wish I could understand the wretched dog." Ezekiel shook his head. "So what did he say?"

  "Said he'd seen a boy come from nowhere. And this boy had a ball, very small and shiny He said it was bad . . ."

  "WHAT?" The old man clapped a hand over his mouth. "What? A boy and . . . and was it glass, this ball?"

  "Could be," said Billy amazed by the excitement his news had caused.

  "No, no, it can't be." Ezekiel stood up, but his useless legs let him down, and he sank back into his cocoon of sheep's wool and velvet.

  "And then I noticed Charlie Bone in the hall, and Blessed said he looked like the appearing boy" Billy smiled and waited for the effect these words would have. He wasn't disappointed.

  "Charlie Bone," breathed Ezekiel. "Yes, yes, of course. He was a bit like Charlie Bone. No wonder I can't stand the boy Find him, Billy Bring him here."

  "Who? Charlie?"

  "No, you fool. The other one. My cousin Henry"

  "Your cousin?" said Billy confused. "How? I don't know where he is."

  "You've just told me he's in the building. It can't be that difficult."

  "You mean he's your . . .?"

  "My cousin, yes. I sent him packing years ago. Never thought I'd see the wretch again." The old man's voice dropped to a low mumble. "Must be the weather — coordinating temperatures. Mm, hmm . . . Time Twister works that way . . . Ho hum." He drummed his fingers on the arm of his wheelchair.

  Billy was intrigued. "What's a Time Twister?"

  Ezekiel looked up. His small black eyes seemed to be staring right through Billy "It's a marvelous thing," he murmured. "A crystal ball, hardly bigger than a marble. It can twist you through the years. No wonder the dog didn't like it. Never look at it, unless you want to travel, that's what my aunt told me. Ask the dog where that boy is. Percy knows everything. Now get out and close the door."

  Billy was very disappointed. He'd expected to be rewarded with a cup of hot cocoa at the very least. " Er . . . you know what you said about my parents he began.

  "Parents? You haven't got any" said Ezekiel. Clearly his mind was on other things.