Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One: Matey Goes Missing
Chapter Two: Black Queen
Chapter Three: Rabbit Stew
Chapter Four: Fixed Up
Chapter Five: Sometimes It’s Hard to Be a Woman
Chapter Six: Genius, Pure Genius
Chapter Seven: Hide and Seek
Chapter Eight: Checkmate
About the Auhtor
Also by Michael Morpurgo
Copyright
About the Book
The ‘Black Queen’ is what Billy calls his shadowy next-door neighbour. She always wears a black cloak and a wide-brimmed black hat. She lurks about her garden, alone except for her black cat. Scarily for Billy, the Black Queen befriends him and asks him to look after her cat while she’s away. Billy can’t resist the opportunity to peek inside her house. There are chessboards scattered everywhere. Who is the Black Queen and what sort of game is she playing? Billy thinks he knows …
For dear Léa
Chapter One
Matey Goes Missing
OF ALL THE houses in all the streets, we have to move into Number 23, Victoria Gardens. Number 24 would have been fine; but no, we had to end up in Number 23, right next door to Number 22, and trouble, real trouble.
To begin with everything seemed perfect. On the outside Number 23 may have looked a bit old, a bit ramshackle; but as my mother said the day we moved in – and we all agreed – it was a house just made for us, a dream house. For the first time in my life I didn’t have to share a room with Rula – my little sister, six and sweet sometimes. We now had all the space we hadn’t had back in the fourth-floor flat we’d come from. My father had his own den for his train set. (He’s crazy about trains.) And we could leave the chess set out safely, in mid-game. (We all love chess in our family, even Rula.) My mother too had her own room at the top of the house for her painting. (She’s crazy about painting, and reading – she loves reading.) We even had a basement room for Gran, so she could have some peace and quiet when she came to stay. But, best of all, we had a garden, a great big garden with a huge apple tree you could climb into, a goldfish pond with three goldfish, and a garden shed.
This garden shed at once became my own private hideaway, good for skulking in or sulking in, good for just being alone. Rula hated the place. (I made sure she did. I told her there were spiders in there, and there were too, lots of them, and all of them huge and horrible and hairy.) So she always left me alone in my shed, which was what I wanted. I was really happy. I had a new house, almost like a new life, and the whole summer holidays stretching away in front of me. And Rula was happy too. She had Matey.
Matey was Rula’s oversized lop-eared grey rabbit with a white bobtail, and she was completely besotted with him. As for Matey, he must have thought he had arrived in bunny paradise. Back in the flat he had been stuck inside his smelly old hutch in the utility room, next to the washing machine. He’d never even seen grass before, only carpets. Now he had the entire garden to roam in. He could nibble all the grass he wanted, dig holes in the flower beds and hop about like proper rabbits do. Rula would spend all her time in the garden hopping about on all fours with Matey. It takes all sorts, I suppose. Anyway, she was hopping happy; the whole house was happy – until the morning, a week or so after we had moved in, when Matey disappeared.
The two of them were playing out in the garden as usual, when Rula came running in for a drink. When she went back out again Matey just wasn’t there. He had gone, vanished into thin air. We searched the garden first, then the house, from top to bottom, every nook and cranny. He was nowhere. Rula kept wailing over and over again: “I’ll never see him again. I know I won’t.”
Nothing and no-one could stop her crying.
I decided I would go out into the garden again to have one last look, and my father came with me. That was when he discovered the hole under the fence right at the bottom of the garden behind my shed. It looked as if it had been freshly dug. We scrambled up and looked over the fence towards the garden of Number 24 to see if Matey had gone that way. Mrs Watson – we’d met her the day we moved in – was outside in her fluffy green slippers hanging out her washing. No, she said, taking the clothes pegs out of her mouth, no, she hadn’t seen a rabbit, but she’d certainly tell us if she did.
So we looked over the fence into the garden of Number 22. No sign of Matey there either. Mind you, it would have been rather difficult to spot him anyway in the garden of Number 22, because it was completely overgrown. The place was like a jungle. All I could see was a beehive, with lots of bees buzzing about, a tumble-down garden shed, a rusty roller up against the fence and a black cat sitting on top of a sundial, watching me with orange eyes.
I was all for climbing over there and then to see if I could find Matey, but my father held me back. We knew there was a Mrs Blume living in Number 22 – Mrs Watson had told us that much – but we hadn’t even seen her yet, let alone met her. “We can’t just go barging in, Billy,” my father said. “We’d better ask first. Someone’ll have to go round to the front door.”
“I will,” I said. I don’t know why I volunteered, but I did.
So that was how I found myself going up the steps into the porch of Number 22 that afternoon. It was strange, but somehow I knew even then that once I had pressed that bell I would be starting something I would not be able to stop. I wasn’t frightened exactly, but I was nervous, I admit it. But I could still hear Rula crying. I had no choice. I couldn’t chicken out, not now.
I heard the bell echoing through the house. I waited, but no-one came. I rang again. Still no-one. I stepped back out of the porch, down a step or two, and looked up. The house looked deserted. But it wasn’t, because I could hear music from inside. All the curtains were closed. Then, in a downstairs window, a curtain shivered – I was sure of it. It wasn’t the only thing shivering, I can tell you. If I’d had any sense at all I’d have just run for it. But for some reason I didn’t. I heard footsteps. I saw a shadow looming closer behind the frosted glass door. I heard bolts grinding back, a key turning in the lock. Slowly, horribly slowly, the door opened.
Chapter 2
Black Queen
“WELL?” IT WAS a strange voice, deep and croaky, like no voice I’d heard before. The door had opened only a crack. She wore glasses – that was all I could see of her. “Well, what do you want?”
“I live next door,” I began. My mouth was so dry I could hardly speak. “I just moved in.”
“And?”
“It’s our . . . We wondered if we could climb over into your garden. We lost our—”
“Football, right?” She sounded American, I thought, and not at all friendly.
“No,” I said. “It’s a rabbit.”
“A rabbit! You mean to tell me you’ve got a rabbit that jumped right over the fence into my backyard? That’s some rabbit.” And the croak turned suddenly into a high-pitched chuckle. “What did he do? Pole-vault over? Trampoline? What?”
As I tried to explain how Matey had tunnelled his way out, the door opened a little wider, just enough for me to be able to see more of her. She seemed to be dressed entirely in a black coat of some kind, and she wore a floppy black hat with a wide brim that shaded her face. But I could see her eyes clearly through her glasses. They were darting about nervously all the time we spoke, at one moment fixing me with a piercing stare, the next looking out beyond me into the street.
She suddenly seemed in a hurry to get rid of me. “OK, OK,” she said, the door closing again. “Listen, I don’t want you snooping about in my backyard. Not you, not anyone. I’ll go look for the rabbit myself, OK? Now, go on home. Get out of here.”
I backed away down the steps, and was already out of the gate and in the street when she called me back. “Hey, kid.” She had the door open wider again. “I didn’t mean to get mad at you. It’s the bees. I wouldn’t want you coming into my backyard on account of the bees. Those bees can be real mean. And if they don’t get you, then that grouchy old pussy cat of mine surely will. Rambo doesn’t take kindly to strangers. Bit like me, I guess. Listen, kid, if I find that rabbit of yours, I’ll let you know – that’s a promise.” The door closed.
I went on home. I just didn’t know what to make of her. One minute she was frightening me half to death, the next laughing herself silly. One moment kind, the next moment nasty.
We were busy all the rest of that day putting up LOST RABBIT notices on every lamp post, in every shop window, at every bus stop, with our telephone number to call if anyone found him. But no-one called. We asked up and down the street, everywhere, but no-one had seen Matey.
That evening at supper, whilst everyone else was being sad about Matey, I couldn’t stop myself talking about the lady in black at Number 22. “She was weird, really weird,” I told them. “All in black, like that woman in the Addams family on the telly, in the cartoons – you know, that family of ghosts in the spooky house.”
“Black Queen,” my father said suddenly. “Her real name’s Mrs Blume, of course, but everyone round here calls her the Black Queen – that’s according to Mrs Watson next door. Loves to talk, does Mrs Watson. She told me all the gossip. Apparently that Mrs Blume hasn’t been there long, just rents the place. A bit snooty, Mrs Watson says, a bit stand-offish. Always dresses in black – big long coat, big black hat. Never talks to anyone. She goes out walking on the common, but only at night. You hardly ever see her out by day.”
“Like bats,” I quipped. “Like vampires, like witches. She’s got a black cat too. A witch! Maybe she’s a real witch.”
At that Rula began to cry all over again, into her baked beans. My mother eyed us both darkly as she tried to hug Rula better.
We both did our very best to put things right. “Don’t you worry, Roo,” my father said sheepishly. “Matey’ll be all right.”
“He’s just gone off to explore, probably,” I added. “He’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll see.” But neither of us really believed it and nor did Rula. She buried her head in my mother’s arms and sobbed her heart out.
Chapter 3
Rabbit Stew
BY LUNCHTIME THE next day there was still no sign of Matey. I was alone in the house. Everyone else was out. They had all gone shopping to cheer Rula up – Rula adores shopping. The chain had come off my bike again, and I was trying to mend it out in the garden, when I heard a voice.
“Hey, you! Hey, kid!” It was her! Mrs Blume! The Black Queen! She was peering over the fence at me in her floppy black hat, and smiling. Then, like a magician, she produced a rabbit – Matey – holding him up by the scruff of his neck and dangling him over the fence at me. “This your bunny rabbit?” she asked. “You want him?”
I was just tall enough to reach up and take him. “Where d’you find him?” I asked, cradling Matey in my arms.
“He was just sitting there in the grass. Rambo was eyeballing him. I reckon he was freaking him out, hypnotizing him. Hey, don’t worry. No harm done. He’s fine, just fine.”
“Thanks,” I said, setting Matey down on the grass. “Thanks a lot.”
“I’m telling you, that’s one fine rabbit you’ve got there. You take good care of him, you hear me. You don’t want him ending up as rabbit stew, do you?”
And I heard her chuckling as she walked away, rustling through the long grass as she went. It was odd. I had met her twice now, and I still had no idea what she really looked like under that great floppy hat. She had long black hair – I had noticed that much. But why did she wear that hat inside the house as well as outside? And why was she always dressed in black as if she’d just been to a funeral?
By the time everyone came back I was sitting on the sofa with Matey lying beside me, his legs in the air – he loved having his tummy tickled. Rula hugged Matey half to death, and then she did the same to me. I told them it was the Black Queen who had found him, not me, but Rula kept on kissing me and hugging me and telling me I was the best brother ever, and at tea I got a double helping of ice-cream. It was good being a hero. I enjoyed it.
Later Rula was upstairs shrieking with joy in her bath. We all thought Matey was safely shut up in his hutch. I was filling in the hole under the fence – my mother’s idea – so that Matey couldn’t escape again. I don’t know what made me look. Just plain curiosity, I suppose. I scrambled up the fence and peered over into the Black Queen’s garden. Rambo was sitting on the sundial, his tail swishing. His gaze was fixed on something in the long grass near the beehive. Matey! I could just make out the white of his bobtail in the grass. Somehow, he’d got out – again.
Number 22 looked dark. No lights on, the curtains closed. No music. Not a sign of anyone. Perhaps the Black Queen was out. I didn’t much want to go over into her garden, not after what she’d told me about Rambo, about the bees. And she’d made it fairly obvious she didn’t like being bothered, so I didn’t want to go knocking on her door again either. I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly Rambo sprang down off the sundial. I watched him snaking his way through the grass towards Matey. I wasn’t sure whether or not cats can kill rabbits, but I wasn’t going to wait to find out. I shinned up over the fence, let myself down on the other side, and hurdled through the long grass, keeping as low as I could.
When Rambo saw me coming he arched his back and turned his tail instantly into a bottle brush. He didn’t run off, but stood his ground and hissed at me furiously.
Matey was sitting in the grass, either rigid with fear or completely hypnotized – I didn’t know which. I was aware now of the bees humming about me. I’d be as quick as I could. I crouched down, and was just about to pick up Matey when one of them landed on the back of my hand and stung me.
I was sitting there some moments later rocking back and forth in pain and nursing my throbbing hand, when I felt a shadow pass over me. I looked up. My blood ran cold. The Black Queen was looking down at me from out of the sun. Then she was helping me to my feet. “He stung you, right?” she said. “I did warn you, didn’t I? I’m telling you, these bees are mean, real mean.”
She was examining my hand now, and for the first time I could see her face properly. She was a lot younger than I had thought. Not old at all, more middle-aged. From her voice and from her clothes I had imagined her to be much, much older. The floppy hat looked as if it was made of velvet, the coat too.
“Come in the house,” she said. “I’ll fix up that bee sting for you. You’d better bring that bunny rabbit along with you.” I must have looked as reluctant as I felt. “Look, kid, I’m not going to eat you. And I’m not going to eat the rabbit either. I never did like rabbit stew.”
So, carrying Matey with me, I found myself following the Black Queen up the steps into the darkness of the house. All the time I was thinking: I shouldn’t be doing this, this is silly. But somehow I couldn’t seem to stop myself. It was almost as if I was being led up the steps by some unseen hand, as if I was under some kind of magical spell.
Chapter 4
Fixed Up
THE HOUSE SMELT of coffee – that was the first thing I noticed. She didn’t say much, not to start with. She led me into the kitchen, and sat me down at the table. She filled a bowl with cold water, dropped in dozens of ice cubes, took my hand and plunged it in. Then she turned on the CD player, and the room filled with music.
“You’ve got to keep it there,” she said. “It’ll stop it swelling up. The music’ll help. Music always helps everything. You want a Coke?”
The Coke was ice-cold too. Everything was tidy and in its place – not at all like home – almost as if the place wasn’t lived in at all. Then I saw the chessboards. They were everywhere, hung on the walls like pictures, propped
up on the sideboard. Just chessboards, nothing else. Each of them was different – marbles ones, wooden ones, all sorts. There were no pieces, no kings, no queens, no knights, no castles, just the boards. It was weird, really weird.
“My son’s,” she said, “they’re all my son’s. He collects them. I guess you could say he’s a kind of chess nut. Not a walnut but a chestnut.” She stifled a little chuckle, but it was a few moments before I saw the joke. “Do you play?” she went on.
“We all do,” I told her. “My father really likes it. He says it’s the best game in the world – good for the brain, helps you to think, he says. I can beat Rula and Mum every time. Never beaten Dad though.”
“So you’re a bit of a chess nut too then,” she said, smiling at me. “You got a name?” she went on.
“Billy.”
“Billy the Kid,” she laughed, and I laughed with her. I was beginning to like her. She asked all sorts of questions about me and my family, about where we’d come from, what school I went to; and all the time I felt her eyes on me, as if she was reading me like a book. From time to time she’d have a quick look to see how my hand was doing. “I hate those lousy bees,” she said. “Nothing to do with me. They kind of came with the property. I only rent the place. I’ve asked a dozen times for them to be taken away but no-one seems to want to do it. Still, at least you zapped one of them for me. They die, you know. If a bee stings you, it dies. Did you know that?”
I didn’t. By the time the Black Queen lifted my hand out of the water a while later, I think she knew just about all there was to know about me. But I still knew very little, if anything, about her.
“There,” she said, giving me back my hand. “It looks all fixed up to me.” And it was too. There was hardly a mark left, and all the pain had gone. It was amazing.
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