by Jenny Nimmo
A few people applauded this outburst. Benjamin was glad that his parents kept their hands in their laps.
“We don’t know that it’s a wolf, Miss Prout,” said Mr. Marchwell.
“You bet we do,” Agnes retorted. “I saw it. It bit my neighbor Mr. Yewbeam. I saw the wound; a stream of blood poured from his wrist, a positive stream.”
Mrs. Brown put up her hand.
Mr. Marchwell leaned forward slightly. “You have a question … Mrs., er …?”
“Brown,” said Benjamin’s mother, standing up. “Trish Brown. I would just like to state that Mr. Yewbeam told me he was bitten by a human, a deluded person perhaps, but certainly not a wolf.”
Benjamin felt proud of his mother. He felt even prouder when she stood her ground against a torrent of ridicule from Agnes Prout.
“Rubbish, Mrs. Brown. Absolute nonsense! Either the poor man wasn’t himself, or you’re deaf. That was no human, it was a wolf.”
“If Mr. Yewbeam were here …,” began Mrs. Brown.
“Well, he isn’t,” said Agnes, “so that’s that.”
Mrs. Brown went an angry shade of red and sat down. Mr. Brown patted her back.
“Well done, Mom,” Benjamin whispered. She gave him a resigned sort of smile.
Benjamin looked up at the bright lights beaming down from the ceiling. It would have been impossible for Charlie’s uncle to attend the meeting. They would all have been plunged into darkness and covered in glass the moment he walked through the door.
The audience had become very lively. Hands were showing up all over the place. People began to shout out of turn. In vain, Mr. Marchwell raised his hand, begging them to be civilized, to allow one another to be heard.
“I saw it down Cruckton Avenue!”
“Someone told me it was on Piminy Street!”
“I heard it was seen in Cathedral Square!”
“A great, gray beast, fangs like knives!”
“It’s been eating cats!”
“And dogs!”
“Next it’ll be our babies!”
“Our kids!”
“It’s got to be killed!”
It took some time for the hubbub to die down, but Mr. Marchwell was a determined person and he managed to keep the rest of the proceedings under tight control. Only at the end did hysteria begin to creep into a few voices again.
A decision was made. The mayor would be apprised of the citizens’ strong feelings about the “thing” in the wilderness, and a hunt would be organized. The so-called Wilderness Wolf would be flushed out and captured or killed. As the creature was silent during daylight hours, the hunt would begin at dusk the following day.
When the meeting broke up, small groups began to form on the sidewalk outside the town hall. Benjamin could hear excited voices. Violence was in the air. He began to think that the people in those angry, grumbling groups were more dangerous than any wilderness wolf.
Mr. and Mrs. Brown walked home in silence. Benjamin looked up at their disapproving faces and decided not to ask any questions. Just as they were climbing the steps of number twelve, they heard a melancholy howl stealing through the cold night air.
Benjamin shivered. “It doesn’t sound dangerous,” he said. “It just sounds sad.”
“Sad indeed,” agreed Mr. Brown. “There’s something not right about this.”
Five minutes later, sitting in his bright cozy kitchen, Mr. Brown put forward a theory. “It’s like this,” he said. “We hear a sound from the wilderness, right? An animal cry, if you like, but a call of some kind. A call for help. Now this ‘thing’ that attacked Mr. Yewbeam was human, he says.”
“Paton Yewbeam’s no fool,” Mrs. Brown broke in. “He said it was human and I believe him, absolutely.”
“So do I, Trish,” her husband said hastily. “So do I. Thing is, it bites, which is an animal trait, so maybe there’s a connection between the thing in the wilderness and Mr. Yewbeam’s attacker.”
Benjamin had been listening intently to his parents’ conversation. Having inherited a double dose of their curiosity, and also their powers of analysis, deduction, and intuition, he was fast becoming an excellent detective himself.
“I’ve got a hunch,” said Benjamin.
Mr. and Mrs. Brown regarded Benjamin’s ideas very highly.
“A hunch, Benjamin!” Mrs. Brown said in a thrilled voice.
“What is it, boy? Tell us!” Mr. Brown eagerly studied his son’s face.
“Well …” Benjamin decided to prolong the attention he was getting. “Well, it’s just that Charlie told me that one of the boys, Asa Pike, hasn’t been seen in school this term. He’s endowed, like Charlie, only he’s a kind of beast at night.”
Mr. Brown nodded impatiently. “Asa? Yes, we know about him.”
“Well …” Benjamin paused again. The look of anticipation on his parents’ faces was very satisfying. “What you might not know is that Asa, who was once a good friend of Manfred Bloor’s, well, Asa helped Charlie to find his father, and I reckon Manfred was pretty angry about that, so he might have trapped Asa somewhere as a punishment.”
The Browns regarded their son with admiration and delight.
“Benjamin, you might be right,” said Mr. Brown.
“Having possibly identified the howl, can you suggest how the howler might be rescued?” Mrs. Brown asked her son.
At this point Benjamin told a white lie. He said, “No,” when all along an idea had been forming in his mind. Behind him lay Runner Bean, asleep in his basket. Runner Bean could find anything, Benjamin reckoned. And if he could sniff something belonging to Asa, the big dog could surely find him. Benjamin kept this idea to himself. He didn’t want his parents’ help. He wanted to find Asa on his own, or maybe with Charlie.
“We’d better do something soon,” said Mr. Brown, “or the hunt will kill that poor boy before they realize who he is. I’ll go and see the mayor.”
“He won’t believe you,” Mrs. Brown said sadly. “He doesn’t hold with all the stuff that goes on at Bloor’s Academy. He knows about the endowed children, of course, but he doesn’t like to admit it.”
“I expect I’ll think of something,” said Benjamin.
Finding something belonging to Asa wasn’t as easy as Benjamin had hoped. He discovered that Asa’s parents had never been seen. No one knew where they lived. They appeared to have no friends and no relations. Any item that Asa might have worn or touched lay inside Bloor’s Academy, an impossible place for someone like Benjamin to enter. The Bloors certainly wouldn’t be happy to assist in Asa’s rescue. He had changed sides. They would consider him a turncoat and a traitor.
By the time Benjamin got home from school the next day, the hunt was already underway. Half the city had turned out to watch. Forty able-bodied men were assembled on the bridge that led to the wilderness. In charge were the chief of police and Officer Wood. They were joined by a motley group of determined-looking men, dressed in an assortment of trenchcoats, suits, jackets, and raincoats. Their heads were covered by woolly hats, hoods, berets, and even a Stetson. A few pairs of rain boots and sneakers were to be seen, but most wore sturdy leather boots. Half the men carried rifles; the others took flashlights and clubs.
A cheer went up as the forty-two men marched across the bridge and turned right, down a path that ran beside the river. A few meters farther on, it disappeared into dense undergrowth — the beginning of the wilderness.
From a path on the city-side of the river, Benjamin’s father had watched the whole proceedings. He returned home a worried man.
“It’s not right,” he told his wife and son, as they ate their scrambled eggs and spinach. “There’s going to be a catastrophe, you mark my words. All those guns; someone’s going to be killed in the wilderness, and it might not be the beast-boy.”
Benjamin suddenly thought of Charlie’s friend Naren. She lived with her father and mother in a little house deep in the wilderness. It was a beautiful, secret place, a sanctuary for lost an
d injured animals. Would it remain secret, when a group of angry men came tramping through the trees with guns and clubs and torches?
I wish I could talk to Charlie, thought Benjamin.
Charlie had fallen asleep. He woke up to find someone shaking his shoulder.
“Charlie, there’s something on the wall behind you. A word.” It was Dagbert’s voice.
Charlie sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Look! Look behind you,” Dagbert insisted.
Charlie looked around. On the wall above his bed was the word “good-bye.” It was written in a patch of moonlight, in shaky spiderlike letters that seemed as though they were a little uncertain of themselves.
“Naren!” Charlie whispered to the wall.
One by one, the letters began to fade.
“Naren!” said Charlie, forgetting to whisper. “Where are you going?”
There was no answering message. The wall remained blank. The slice of moonlight disappeared and the room returned to its usual inky darkness.
“What’s going on?” asked Dagbert.
Charlie turned over and pretended to be asleep. He felt a sharp thump on his back. “Don’t!” he whispered harshly.
“Tell me about those words on the wall,” Dagbert hissed.
“No,” said Charlie. “It’s a private message.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“Huh!” Charlie got up and went to the bathroom. If there was going to be an argument it would be safer to have it where no one could hear them. Just as he expected, Dagbert followed him.
Charlie closed the door. The moon slipped from behind the clouds again, and the light was bright enough for the boys to see each other’s faces.
Charlie stood with his back to the bathtub. The cold tap dripped; a loud, insistent rhythmic drip. Dagbert stood by the sink, his face silvery green in the moonlight.
“I’m not a spy,” Dagbert said. “You can trust me, you know.”
“You’re joking.” Charlie sat on the edge of the bathtub. “You stalk me like a spy and you’ve turned nearly all my friends against me.”
“Not all.”
“Most. Why do you do it?”
Dagbert slid to the floor beside the sink and put his hands on his knees. He gazed at his long fingers, lifting them, one by one, and finally linking his hands together.
Drip, drip, drip went the tap, while Charlie waited for an answer.
Dagbert’s crinkly hair began to unfold, as though invisible hands were tugging it straight. It became dark, flat, and shining. “The moon rules my life,” he said at last. “Like the tides. I’m mean when the moon is hidden by clouds, worse when most of it is shadowed by the earth. I’m not going to ask you to forgive me, Charlie, because I can’t help what I do. But if you tell me about those words on the wall, I promise I won’t follow you anymore.”
Charlie considered Dagbert’s proposal. He wouldn’t have to tell Dagbert where Naren lived. Besides, if Naren had said good-bye, it probably meant that she had left the cottage in the wilderness. “I know this girl,” Charlie began. “She’s called Naren, although her real name is much longer. It’s Mongolian. Her parents were drowned in a flood …”
“Nothing to do with me,” Dagbert said quickly. “Go on.”
“She was adopted by Ezekiel’s son, Bartholomew, and his Chinese wife. They live outside the city, at least they did once.”
“But the words … the words on the wall,” Dagbert repeated insistently.
“That’s her endowment,” said Charlie. “She can send messages through the air. As long as the curtains are open and the moon is shining.”
“Do you mean like a text message on a cell phone?”
Charlie frowned. “Not at all like that. She doesn’t need any … instruments. All she has is my glove as a kind of homing device.”
“I see.” Dagbert looked impressed.
“We’d better get back to bed,” said Charlie.
“There’s just …” Dagbert couldn’t finish his sentence. Something was happening to him. He began to shake violently.
Charlie stood up, his eyes never leaving the trembling boy on the floor. Dagbert’s fingers slowly uncurled and he held his hands out to Charlie.
Speechless with horror, Charlie couldn’t touch the unnaturally long sticklike fingers, for they had begun to glow. A soft green light was pouring through Dagbert’s skin; his face, his bare feet, and his hands had a phosphorescent glow. Even the skin covered by his pajamas gleamed faintly through the thick cotton.
Charlie fought a desperate urge to get as far away as possible from the glowing boy. “What’s happened to you?” he whispered.
The boy on the floor was shaking so badly his voice came out in a halting splutter. “G-g-g-get … s-s-sea gold … cr-cr-creatures,” he stuttered. “Un-under … m-my … p-pillow.”
It took Charlie several seconds to make sense of Dagbert’s speech. When he finally grasped what the afflicted boy wanted, he dashed into the dormitory and felt under Dagbert’s pillow. His fingers touched one, two, three … seven small hard objects. Holding them cupped in his hands, he ran back to the bathroom and, with some difficulty, placed them on Dagbert’s palms, closing his glowing fingers over them. Five tiny gold crabs and a golden fish in one hand, a sea urchin in the other.
Dagbert shut his eyes and bent his head. Slowly, the shaking stopped. Gradually, the green, phosphorescent glow faded. Dagbert opened his eyes and gave a twisted half-smile.
Charlie knelt in front of him. “What’s going on, Dagbert?”
“It’s my birthday,” Dagbert replied. He glanced at his watch. “To the minute. One o’clock precisely.”
“Your birthday? I don’t understand.”
“I’m twelve,” said Dagbert. “I knew something would happen to me, but I never guessed what it would be.”
“What does it mean?” In spite of the extraordinary moment, in spite of the shock and amazement, Charlie was unable to suppress a yawn. He got to his feet, leaning on the wall for support.
Dagbert stood up, still shivering a little. “It means that I am as strong as my father. And you mustn’t tell a soul. NOT A SOUL. Because my father mustn’t know. Not yet. Do you understand?”
“I understand. And I promise not to tell.” Charlie yawned again. “Let’s both keep our promises, shall we?”
“Agreed,” Dagbert said solemnly.
They stumbled back to bed. The last thing Charlie heard before he fell asleep was the tinkle of sea-gold creatures.
It was a great relief to see Cook at breakfast the next morning. She looked almost like her old self. She had a message for Charlie. Leaning over the counter, she said quietly, “Your friend Benjamin has contacted me.”
“Ben!” said Charlie.
“Shhh. Do you want the whole world to hear?”
“Sorry,” Charlie mumbled.
Talking to Cook was always tricky, especially when you were in a breakfast line. Luckily, Billy was immediately behind Charlie, and Fidelio behind him.
Cook leaned farther over the counter. “He wants you to get some of Asa Pike’s clothes. It’s to do with the howling. Did you hear the gunshots last night?”
“Certainly did,” said Billy.
“Do you want milk on your oatmeal, Charlie?” Cook asked as two girls strolled by.
“Yes, please.”
“There was a hunt.” Cook poured milk into Charlie’s bowl. “Hit something, so I heard. Let’s hope it was no one we know.”
“Do you mean …?” Everything suddenly fell into place. Charlie walked over to one of the tables. How slow he’d been, putting two and two together.
When Billy and Fidelio joined him at the table, Charlie whispered, “It must be Asa out there in the wilderness. At least Benjamin thinks so.”
Billy nodded very slowly, as though he were still thinking about something. “Me too. That’s why Ben wants the clothes, so Runner Bean can follow the scent.”
“The only clothes belonging to Asa will
be that old coat and hat from the drama department,” muttered Fidelio. “Olivia’s in drama. She’ll be able to find them.”
“That old coat,” said Charlie affectionately. “Asa could never disguise himself properly, could he? I owe him everything. I’ve got to help him.” He didn’t add, If Olivia will listen to me.
Dagbert arrived at their table, holding his bowl of oatmeal. “Can I sit here?”
Fidelio grinned. “Can’t smell fish today, so I guess it’s OK.”
Dagbert’s face remained expressionless. “Thanks.” He took a seat between Charlie and Billy.
Charlie sneaked a glance at him. There was no trace of the extraordinary phosphorescent glow that had radiated from Dagbert the night before. In fact, he looked so downright normal, Charlie was finding it difficult to believe he hadn’t dreamed the scene in the bathroom.
When Charlie stood up, Dagbert took no notice. And when Charlie left the cafeteria, Dagbert didn’t follow him. He didn’t creep after him at the end of assembly either, or into the blue coatroom. Did it mean that he was going to keep his word?
“Let’s talk to Olivia at break,” Fidelio suggested as he and Charlie went to their French class.
“OK.” Charlie didn’t relish a talk with Olivia, but he couldn’t think of a better idea.
Emma was right about Olivia, however. Just as she had predicted, Olivia had already grown tired of her feud with Charlie. Besides, he was looking so preoccupied she longed to know what was going on. So it was Olivia who came up to Charlie and Fidelio during the first break rather than the other way around.
Charlie was very relieved. Words of apology had been chasing themselves around in his head. Now he was saved the trouble of choosing the right ones.
“What are you up to, Charlie Bone?” Olivia asked casually, as she pirouetted on the frost-hard ground.
Standing just behind Olivia, Emma grinned.
“Matter of fact, I was going to ask if you’d help us,” Charlie said gravely.
Olivia pirouetted again. “What’s it worth?”
“Your help?” Charlie floundered.
Fidelio came to his rescue. “There’s something we’re going to find very difficult to do without you, Liv. So you tell us what your help is worth.”
