Charlie Bone and the Red Knight

"We should like to leave now," Paton said in a low voice to Officer Singh, whom he recognized from various other encounters. "Would this be convenient?"

"Yes, sir. But we need your address and phone number." The policeman peered at Paton suspiciously. There was something odd about the tall man in his black hat. Hadn't he caused some trouble a few months ago? Lights, that was it. Exploding lights. "Don't leave the city, sir. We might need to talk to you again."

"Oh, but I want..." Paton hesitated. He looked anxious. "Very well. I'll let you know if I'm thinking of making a journey."

"You do that, sir." Officer Singh took out his notebook. "Now, address and phone number, please."

Uncle Paton gave them, a little reluctantly.

The policeman consulted his notes. "And you didn't know the late gentleman but were just visiting to inquire about making a will, even though it was Sunday"—he raised his eyebrow a fraction, but continued in the same tone—"and you found the front door open."

"Yes," said Uncle Paton firmly. "I'm a very busy man and Sunday is the only day I can do these... er, things."

Charlie added, "The door opened when I knocked on it."

Officer Singh ignored this. They had gone through it all before. But not to be left out, Emma said, "And I was the one who went upstairs first."

"You can go now," said Officer Singh, giving a sort of flourish with his pen on the notepad.

They walked down Tigerfield Street in single file. The ambulance and two police cars were parked in Hangman's Way. Uncle Paton strode across the road without even glancing at them. Charlie and Emma ran to catch up with him and when they reached the gate into Cathedral Close, Charlie burst out, "It was Ashkelan Kapaldi. He murdered that poor old man."

"Whatever gives you that idea?" Uncle Paton marched across the cobblestones, his face set in an angry frown.

"Because of the scratch on the floorboards. The sword can do that. It scraped along the road when it was chasing me."

Uncle Paton slowed down, then he stopped altogether and looked at Charlie.

"You have a point," he said.

"I saw the police staring at the scratch," said Charlie. "They must have been wondering what had made it."

"Then why didn't you tell them about the sword?" asked Emma.

Charlie gave her a disappointed look. "How could I, Em? How could I say,

"Excuse me, but there's this man at our school, who came out of a painting, and he's got this sword that works on its own'?"

Emma pouted. "You could have," she argued. "They might have gone and questioned him."

"I doubt it, Emma," said Uncle Paton. "The police don't like delving into the paranormal."

Emma shrugged. "I'm going home," she said.

They watched her run across the square and disappear into the bookstore.

"They were looking for the box, weren't they?" Charlie asked his uncle.

"Whoever murdered Mr. Bittermouse was working for the Bloors."

"Could have been. But did they find it? And why kill the poor old man?" Uncle Paton cast a lingering look at the bookstore and then resumed his loping stride toward High Street.

As soon as they were home, Uncle Paton rang Mr. Silk and told him the news.

Charlie could hear the excitement in the room where Mr. Silk had taken the call. It was lunchtime, and knives and forks were clattering on plates, Mr.

Onimous was exclaiming very loudly, and then Gabriel's voice sang out, "Is Charlie all right, Dad? Who's been murdered?"

When Uncle Paton had said all he needed to, Charlie took the receiver and spoke to Gabriel. He wanted to know what the important meeting had been about.

"Not much, really," said Gabriel. "We just thought we should work out some kind of strategy for dealing with the swordsman. Emma told us pretty much everything that happened to you, so we reckoned you'd be spending the morning in bed."

"No such luck," said Charlie. "Em dragged me around to see this old lawyer.

She thought he might have the box that everyone is looking for. That's when we found him—murdered." Charlie lowered his voice. "It was the swordsman, Gabe, I know it. There was a scratch on the—" He was cut short by someone opening the front door.

Grandma Bone walked in. "What are you doing?" she demanded, glaring at Charlie.

"Sorry. Got to go, Gabe. Grandma's here." Charlie put down the receiver.

"I hear you've been involved in a murder." Grandma Bone stared at Charlie accusingly.

"How do you know?" asked Charlie. "It's only just happened."

"I want to know what you were doing on Tigerfield Street."

Charlie didn't answer. He watched his grandmother pull off her black gloves and put them in her pocket. Next she took off her hat with the purple feathers sticking up in the back, unwound a lavender-colored scarf from her neck, and shuffled out of her black fur coat. When she had hung all these garments on the coatrack, she said, "Well?"

Charlie walked into the kitchen, where Uncle Paton, having heard everything his sister had said, was making himself yet another cup of black coffee.

"It's amazing how word gets around so quickly in your nefarious underground, Grizelda," he said, dropping a lump of sugar into his coffee. "There is a network of spies in this city that I find truly repellent."

"What are you talking about? Where's lunch? I'm hungry," she said, all in one breath.

"We are all aware that you are part of a scandalous conspiracy to defraud Billy Raven of his rightful inheritance." Uncle Paton's dark eyes never left his sister's face as he slowly stirred the spoon around and around in his cup. "Even if it means drowning your own son. The question I have often asked myself is, why, Grizelda, why? Now I believe I know."

Grandma Bone stared at her brother with a mixture of contempt and hatred.

"You have no idea what you're up against this time, Paton Yewbeam," she snarled, and left the room.

Charlie pulled out a chair and sat beside his uncle. "What did you mean, Uncle P.?" he asked. "Have you really found out why Grandma Bone's the way she is?"

Uncle Paton was silent for a while. He continued to stir his coffee, almost as if he were unaware of his actions. Charlie began to smell the leg of lamb that Maisie was roasting in the oven. He thought of the crisp roast potatoes that she always cooked with lamb, and the rich, brown gravy. And because he was still so tired, the thought of the wonderful meal ahead filled his mind like a dream, and he forgot that he'd asked a question until his uncle began to speak.

Charlie had heard the story of Uncle Paton's mother, slipping on the steps of Yewbeam castle and cracking her head on the stones. He knew that Paton's four sisters had remained in the castle after their mother's death, while Paton and their father had left. The castle belonged to an aunt: Yolanda, the notorious shape-shifter. It was she who had turned the girls against their father and their brother. All this Charlie knew, but it didn't explain why Grizelda, the oldest, had turned against her only son.

"It has to do with love, Charlie." Uncle Paton stared at the window.

Snowflakes were tapping gently against the pane, and the room was filled with a soft opalescent light. "Grandma Bone's husband, Monty, fell out of love with her. Who wouldn't have, the way she behaved: jealous, domineering, humorless, greedy.... Monty would never have married her, but he was trapped, spellbound if you like, probably by Venetia with one of her magic garments.

She was good at that even as a child. Poor Monty didn't stand a chance.

Grizelda had always wanted to marry a pilot, and she got one. But not for long."

"What happened?" Charlie stared at his uncle's angular profile, expecting to hear why Monty's plane had crashed. He had often asked how it had happened, but no one seemed to know. Charlie was hoping his uncle had found out at last, so he was disappointed when Paton said nothing about the crash but began to describe a meeting he'd had with a woman called Homily Brown, who lived in the far southwest.

Homily Brown had been a great friend of Monty's. They'd been in school together. It was James, Uncle Paton's father, who had remembered that Monty had been born in a little hamlet called Neverfinding. And that's where Uncle Paton had been on one of his recent trips as he tried to piece together the troubled history of the Yewbeams and the Bones.

"Monty returned to his old home a week before he died." Uncle Paton's tone was almost melancholy. "He went to make a will. Homily found a lawyer for him, and she and a friend were witnesses. He left everything to his only son, Lyell. But that wasn't all.

He wrote a letter, a sad, tragic message to be given to Lyell on his eighteenth birthday. He told his only son never to trust the Yewbeams, never to let them rule his life and"—Paton paused and drew a deep breath—"Homily read this letter, but Lyell has never spoken of it and, I have to admit, I found the last part rather shocking."

"What did it say?" asked Charlie, bracing himself for a dreadful revelation.

Uncle Paton glanced at him, and for a moment, Charlie thought that his uncle could not bring himself to repeat the last part of Monty Bone's letter, and then out it came, on a long sigh. "Monty told Lyell to put an end to the Yewbeams, before they destroyed him."

It was Charlie's turn to stare at the snowflakes falling past the window. So many questions filled his head, but before he could even utter them, Maisie came bustling into the kitchen, talking about snow and overcooked potatoes and uncooked carrots, and Grandma Bone sulking in her bedroom.

Before they knew it, lunch was on the table, and Uncle Paton was carving the lamb. But the rich smells and a yearning, empty stomach couldn't dislodge the thought of Monty Bone's letter from Charlie's mind. He was told to take a tray of food up to Grandma Bone, and as he carried it carefully across to the table in her room, he couldn't stop himself from thinking, She knew about that letter and she doesn't want Dad to come home, ever.

"You've spilled the water," the old woman grumbled as Charlie left the bedroom.

"Sorry," Charlie closed the door while his grandmother was complaining about dry potatoes and not enough gravy.

"Are you going off again?" Maisie was asking Paton when Charlie returned to the kitchen.

"Not until Monday night," said Uncle Paton. "I'll have to inform the police, of course."

"But..." Charlie stared hard at his uncle. "Haven't you found out enough?"

"No, Charlie. I'm on the trail of something else.

It's all connected, I suppose, but we need to know the whereabouts of that pearl-inlaid box."

"Maybe they found it in Mr. Bittermouse's study," said Charlie.

Uncle Paton shook his head. "In that case, why kill him?"

"The sword did it. It acts on its own, you know."

Maisie's knife and fork clattered onto her plate. "Please," she begged.

"You're putting me off my lunch. Can't we talk about something pleasant for a change?"

"The weather?" said Charlie, grinning at the snow. "Maybe the school will be closed and we can go tobogganing in the Heights."

"And I'll slip, fall on my bottom, and drop the shopping," Maisie said with a laugh.

The snow continued to fall.

After lunch, Charlie went up to his room. Claerwen was fluttering over the windowpanes as though she were trying to become part of the snow. Charlie took her onto his hand and she walked up to his shoulder, where she sat, her wings folded, and watched him writing an essay for English. "Vacation."

Charlie didn't go on vacations. There was a break from school, but he had never experienced a journey to a sunny place with yellow beaches, blue skies,

and pink and white houses. Now and again, Uncle Paton would take him to see his greatgrandfather who lived beside the sea: a fierce gray sea, where seagulls gathered and wild waves lashed the black rocks. But these visits had to be kept secret because if Grandma Bone had known her father's whereabouts, she would have sought him out and harried him to his grave. There was another reason. Great-grandfather's brother lived there, a boy named Henry who had never grown up, caught in time by the Twister, a marble of astonishing beauty that Ezekiel had used to try and banish Henry to the Ice Age.

Charlie smiled when he thought of Henry, safe in his own brother's cottage by the sea.

After a few minutes of deep thinking, Charlie imagined a vacation spent on a Caribbean island. And then he realized that he didn't have to imagine it; if he could find a photograph of someone actually sitting on a Caribbean beach, he could travel there. But Charlie had become wary of picture traveling. It was never quite as much fun as he hoped. He could never take a friend, and the journey home often left him feeling a little unsteady. He must now conserve his energy for the dangerous journey into Badlock to rescue Billy Raven.

His essay completed, Charlie felt he deserved a cookie, maybe two. The house was very quiet. His grandmothers were both sleeping, no doubt, and Uncle Paton would be writing up his notes for the next chapter of his book, A History of the Yewbeams.

It was not yet evening, but the sky was dark with snow to come, and snow was still falling. Charlie could hardly see his way to the back of the kitchen.

Details in the room were vague and incomplete, as though covered by a thin, gray veil. Charlie found a package of cookies and brought it to the table. He sat down and began to eat them while he watched the snow gently falling.

The doorbell rang.

If the sound had woken the grandmothers, they apparently didn't feel obliged to go to the door. Nor did Uncle Paton.

The bell rang again.

Charlie had seen no one pass the window. Filbert Street appeared to be deserted; snow lay on the parked cars, three inches deep.

The third time the bell rang, it was hardly a sound at all. Charlie had the impression that it was only inside his head. But he felt compelled to go to the door. He opened it tentatively and a cloud of snow-flakes floated into the hall.

A woman stood on the doorstep. Her hair was as white as the snow. She wore a thick white coat, and a soft yellow-gold shawl lay on her shoulders.

Charlie gasped. His hand flew to his mouth. For a moment he thought a snow angel had landed at their door.

And then he recognized the woman. "Alice Angel," he whispered.

Alice smiled. "Hello, Charlie. May I come in?"

He stood aside and she walked into the hall. A delicious smell drifted past Charlie and he remembered Alice's store, Angel Flowers, where tall white blooms perfumed the air with their heavenly scent.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"I've been in my other store," she said, putting a small leather case on the floor. "It's a long, long way from here."

Charlie took Alice's soft white coat and hung it on a peg. "Why have you come back?" he asked.

"Olivia," she said.

"Olivia?" Charlie took Alice into the kitchen and put on the kettle. The room seemed suddenly brighter, especially where Alice stood in her white dress and long silver-gray boots. "It's funny you should come here now," he said,

"because Olivia may be in trouble."

"I know," said Alice, with a frown of concern.

"She betrayed herself."

"Tell me how." Alice sat at the table while Charlie made her a cup of tea.

She hadn't asked for one but was very happy to drink it while Charlie told her about the stone gargoyle and the skeleton Olivia had conjured up to scare Eric the animator.

Alice Angel's solemn face broke into a smile. "How very appropriate: a skeleton. Olivia certainly has a wild imagination. But she shouldn't have let her endowment be known. Now I've lost her."

There were footsteps on the stairs, and Charlie and Alice looked at the door.

Charlie hoped it wasn't Grandma Bone. But Uncle Paton looked into the room and immediately recognized Alice Angel.

"Dear Alice, what brings you here?" he asked. "In a snowstorm, too. It must be urgent."

"It is," she said earnestly. "I may live three hundred miles away, but I always know when Olivia needs me. It's an instinct I have; I can't explain it.

As soon as I got to the city, I went around to Olivia's house." Her face clouded and she nervously sipped her tea. "They wouldn't let me see her."

"Wouldn't... ?" Uncle Paton sat down abruptly. "Why on earth?"

"Olivia's father came to the door," Alice continued. "He said that Olivia wasn't quite herself. I begged him to tell her that I had arrived, that I wanted to see my dearest goddaughter, so he went up to her room while I waited in the hall." Tears glittered in the corners of Alice's large hazel green eyes. "When Mr. Vertigo came down, he said ... he said..." She stopped and dabbed her eyes with a white handkerchief.

Paton laid a hand on her arm. "What did Mr. Vertigo say?"

Alice straightened her back and tucked her handkerchief into her sleeve. "He said that Olivia didn't want to see me and would I please leave the house immediately."

Charlie couldn't believe his ears. Olivia loved her godmother. What had happened to turn her against Alice Angel, unless...

"I'm afraid they have gotten to her already." Alice's voice was firmer now.

"But I am not going to give up, and I am certainly not going to leave this city. I shall stay here until Olivia is herself again. The trouble is"—she hesitated—"I'm not sure where I can stay. The house I used to live in is still empty, but it's very, very cold."

"You must stay here," said Uncle Paton, springing up. "I insist."

Maisie came into the room just as Paton was about to run and fetch her. She listened to Alice's story with the resigned expression that she frequently wore these days. And yet Charlie could see her warming to Olivia's godmother, and it wasn't long before she was offering her cake and then shooting upstairs to make up a bed in the room where Charlie's mother had slept.

In all this time, there was no sign of Grandma Bone. She didn't even put in an appearance at dinner. Charlie knocked on her door, but there was no reply.

Had she gone out? Or was she still sleeping?

"She's asleep," said Maisie, tiptoeing out of Grandma Bone's room at nine o'clock. "Can't you hear the snoring?"

Charlie took himself off to bed. It was school tomorrow. Will Olivia be there? he wondered. And what will she do? Whose friend will she become?

In spite of the questions filling his mind, Charlie found himself drifting easily into sleep. He thought of Alice Angel in the room above him. It was comforting to know that she was in the house, even if she was someone else's guardian angel.

"We're borrowing her," Charlie said to himself, "just for a while, until Olivia wants her." And then his thoughts turned to Billy Raven pulled nine hundred years through time to the enchanter's palace. No wonder Billy didn't want to come home; his companion was the most beautiful girl in the world—a girl with dark curls and a gentle smile, a girl named Matilda whom Charlie would give anything to see again.

Billy wasn't having such a good time as Charlie imagined. He was being punished, and he blamed Rembrandt. Rembrandt was Billy's rat; he was sleek and black, with shining eyes and long, impressive whiskers. He happened to be in Billy's pocket when Billy was whisked into the painting of Badlock. A nasty spell of the enchanter's (or Count Harken of Badlock, to give him his full title).

Life in Badlock had been very good to Billy. He had fine clothes to wear, delicious food to eat, and a jungle of animal enchantments to visit every day. There was also Matilda, Count Harken's granddaughter, the kindest friend Billy had ever known. But Rembrandt wanted to go home. He nagged and complained and chewed Billy's new shoes and generally made himself a terrible nuisance. Billy could communicate with animals.

He understood every squeak, whine, purr, twitter—and a lot more.

One day Rembrandt went too far. It was during dinner, the worst time he could have chosen. Dinner in the enchanter's palace was a very important affair. It was served in a vast black marble hall. False stars shone down from the vaulted ceiling, and the walls were hung with glittering weapons.

The glass-topped table was twenty feet long, and the count and his wife, sitting at opposite ends, had to converse in shouts that made Billy's head ache.

Billy and Matilda sat next to each other, facing Edgar, Matilda's brother, a hard-faced boy who liked to frighten Billy by appearing suddenly through a wall or a door. The diners only had to utter the name of the food they wanted and it would instantly be conjured up. Billy usually chose whatever Matilda was having. He tried to feed Rembrandt as much as he could without Edgar catching sight of him. Edgar loathed the rat; he called Rembrandt an abomination not fit to walk the earth, let alone live in a palace.

So when Rembrandt, tired of the usual tidbits, leaped onto the table and made a dash for Edgar's plate, Edgar jumped up with a yell, seized a knife from the wall, and flung it at the rat. Luckily, it missed Rembrandt and slid across the table, but Billy was already on his feet, screaming at Edgar.

"You vile, mean, horrible boy," Billy cried. "You nearly killed my rat."

"It's a pity he didn't," the countess remarked.

The dreadful coldness in her voice stunned Billy. Rembrandt jumped into his arms and he sat down abruptly.

"The creature must be killed," the countess continued. "Don't you agree, Harken?"

Billy stared at the countess's long face. Her small black eyes rested on the rat he was clutching to his chest.

"Well, Harken, say something!" the countess demanded, raising her voice.

Billy turned to look at the enchanter, who until that moment had been ignoring the drama and carrying on with his meal as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Taking a sip of wine from a golden goblet, he regarded Billy with a thoughtful expression and stood up.

Billy cowered under the enchanter's chilly gaze. His green robe glittered with diamonds and emeralds, and his abundant hair shone with a dusting of powdered gold. Sometimes Billy was so overawed by his host's magnificence, he could barely look at him. He waited, fearfully, for the count's pronouncement. At last it came.

"We shall not bother with the rat," said the enchanter.

Billy's heart gave a flutter of relief. His hopes were dashed, however, by the enchanter's next words. "The creature can keep the boy company in the dungeons."

"Sir, you can't do that!" cried Matilda. "Billy is our guest."

"I am tired of guests!" the count roared at her. "Guards, take the boy away."

Before Billy could think what might be coming next, two guards stepped forward and grabbed his arms. Rembrandt dropped to the floor and scuttled at Billy's heels as he was marched out of the hall. He could hear Matilda's protesting cries receding into the distance as he was taken farther and farther down the long dark passages that led to the dungeons.

12. THE SEA-GOLD CHARMS

When Charlie went down to breakfast the next morning, he found Alice in the kitchen. A pot of tea had been made, oatmeal was cooking on the stove, and slices of golden-brown toast filled the toast rack on the table.

"Good morning, Charlie," Alice said brightly. "Watch the oatmeal for me; I'm going to take Maisie a cup of tea." She spoke as if she had lived at number nine for much longer than a night.

"Morning, Alice." Charlie took up a wooden spoon and began to stir the oatmeal while Alice slipped out, carrying a cup of tea with two biscuits on the saucer. Her footsteps were so light they could hardly be heard on the stairs.

By the time Alice came back, Charlie had eaten his oatmeal. The plows had been working through the night and the roads were clear, although the side streets were still covered in snow. The sky was bright blue and the sun made

roofs, walls, trees, and hedges blaze with light. Alice opened the window and breathed in deeply. "I love the smell of snow," she said.

Charlie sniffed the cold air and agreed with her. The world smelled deliriously fresh. He ran upstairs to fetch his schoolbag. As he pulled on his blue school cape, he found that he was glad of its warmth. Sometimes other children in the street would tease him for attending Bloor's Academy and wearing a fancy cape. And Charlie would stuff the embarrassing garment in his bag, trying not to draw attention to himself. But today he felt warm and confident.

The house was still very quiet, almost as if it were buried in snow. There wasn't a sound from Grandma Bone's room.

Alice came to the kitchen door just as Charlie was leaving. "Watch Olivia for me, Charlie," she said. "Don't let anything... anyone ... I hardly know what I'm saying because it's obvious that she's become one of THEM now.

But I'd like to know how it happened, so that I can deal with it."

"I'll do my best," Charlie promised. He still couldn't believe that the Olivia he knew would allow herself to be TAKEN OVER.

On the other side of the road, Benjamin was throwing snowballs for Runner Bean to fetch. "No school for me today," he called happily. "School's closed

'cause of the snow."

"Lucky thing," Charlie shouted back. He knew the blue bus would be waiting for him at the top of the road. Only an avalanche would close Bloor's Academy.

Charlie hardly saw Olivia during the day. Sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of a bleached blond head above a purple cape, but then she'd be gone, swallowed in a sea of purple. Drama students surrounded her like bees around a honeypot.

It wasn't until the homework hours began that Charlie discovered what he was really up against.

After dinner, Charlie climbed the back stairs up to the King's Room, where the endowed children had to do their homework. He was halfway up when a voice behind him whispered, "Charlie." He turned around and saw Emma's pale, distraught face. Her eyes were red from crying.

"What's up, Em?" Charlie asked.

The Branko twins came up behind them and tried to push pass. Idith (or was it Inez?) hissed, "You're in the way, morons."

Charlie's fist itched. He would have liked to land a punch on Idith's doll-like face, but reluctantly he stepped aside and let them pass. When the twins were out of earshot, Emma said, "Something's wrong with Liv. She hasn't spoken to me all day."

"THEY'VE got her," Charlie whispered.

"What?" Emma's blue eyes widened in disbelief. "They can't have."

"She betrayed herself, Em. Once they knew, they were bound to try and change her."

"No." Emma vigorously shook her head. "They couldn't. Not Liv. I won't believe it."

Dorcas Loom trudged past them, breathing heavily. "What's wrong with you two?" she mumbled, without looking back.

Charlie and Emma didn't bother to reply.

"It's true," Charlie said in a low voice as Dorcas disappeared around a bend in the stairs. "Alice Angel has come back. Olivia wouldn't see her."

Emma's mouth fell open.

"We'd better go, Em," said Charlie. "We're late."

They began to hurry up the stairs, but hearing slow footsteps at the bottom of the staircase, Charlie glanced back. Dagbert Endless stood brushing the shoulders of his blue cape. His hair was like wet seaweed and the bottoms of his pants were soaked with snow. Feeling Charlie's eyes on him, Dagbert looked up.

Charlie couldn't stop himself from asking, "Have you hidden your charms?"

Dagbert gave a silent nod.

"Good." Charlie didn't want to know where they were. But he was glad they were out of Lord Grimwald's reach. He ran up the stairs with Dagbert plodding after him.

The King's Room was almost circular. Its curved walls were lined with books, and in the center stood a large, round table. The endowed children sat at the table to do their homework, watched over by the Talents Master.

When Charlie walked into the room that night, he was surprised to see that Olivia had already made herself at home. She had never worked in the King's Room before, but here she was, sitting between Dorcas and one of the twins, with her books laid out neatly before her. She had been accepted as one of the endowed and quickly taken her place among them.

There were always two distinct groups at the table. Manfred sat with Dorcas, Joshua, and the twins while on the other side of the table, Lysander, Gabriel, Emma, and Charlie sat close together. Dagbert was always alone in the gap between the groups, never on one side or the other.

Lysander and Gabriel were already immersed in their work. Charlie took a chair beside Gabriel, with Emma on his other side. When Charlie put his books on the table, Gabriel looked up and rolled his eyes, inclining his head toward Olivia. Charlie grimaced and shrugged. Gabriel frowned. Charlie grinned.

"Stop making faces, you two," said Manfred. "If you want to welcome our new member, do it sensibly."

Gabriel and Charlie stared at him. Neither said a word.

Manfred sighed. "For your benefit and everybody else's, I might as well formally announce that Olivia Vertigo has joined our elite company. Olivia is an illusionist, something that she has been keeping to herself for quite a while, but now that her endowment is out in the open, we expect her to use it only when Bloor's Academy requires her to."

Everyone stared at Olivia, who took absolutely no notice. She was bent over her exercise book, writing feverishly.

"Do you think," said Joshua, in his eager whine, "that Olivia could show us, just once, what an illusionist can do?"

Manfred pondered this before replying, "I don't see why not." He turned to Olivia. "Olivia, show them."

Olivia's head came up. She looked slightly confused.

"An illusion please, Olivia," said Manfred, enunciating every word as though Olivia were deaf.

Olivia blinked and then looked up at the ceiling. When she brought her gaze back to the table, all at once a miniature safari park appeared. Sand covered the table's polished surface, while scrub and acacia trees bloomed from books and pencil cases. Charlie had seen Olivia's larger-than-life illusions, but today she had chosen to captivate rather than terrify.

Among the trees, tiny animals could be seen: elephants, giraffes, lions, zebras, and many others. Faint howls, growls, and shrieks were heard as lions chased their prey and minute birds fluttered out of the branches.

Everyone gazed at the scene in silent wonder. And yet Charlie could not feel enthralled, for there was a coldness in Olivia's blank face, a chilling emptiness. He could see something sparkling in the opening of her purple cape. Olivia often wore sequined scarves or vests, but this was different somehow. Now and again she would twitch her shoulders, as though her clothes were too heavy for her.

"That's enough," Manfred commanded.

The marvelous scene disappeared and Dorcas and the twins stared at Olivia in admiration. Joshua said, "Well done!"

"Get on with your work," said Manfred.

Books were opened and heads bent over them. Pens and pencils set to work, but Charlie couldn't concentrate.

He found himself staring at the gilt-framed painting on the wall. It was an ancient portrait of the Red King, cracked and darkened with age. The king's features were blurred, but his red cloak was still bright and a slim gold crown was just visible in his black hair.

So often Charlie had tried to travel into the past to meet his ancestor, but every attempt had been blocked by the shadow that stood behind the king.

Count Harken was an enchanter whose shadow had found its way even into a painting. And it was the shadow that Charlie focused on today. It was the shadow that held Billy Raven captive in Badlock.

"How many times have I told you to stop staring at that portrait?" Manfred's cold voice broke into Charlie's thoughts.

"I haven't counted," said Charlie.

Before Manfred could make another withering remark, Lysander said, "Why is the portrait there if we're not supposed to look at it?"

Taken off guard, Manfred glared speechlessly at Lysander.

Seizing his advantage, Lysander went on, "We are sitting in the Red King's room; he is our ancestor; without the king we would not be here. Does it not strike you as ridiculous, sir, that we should be commanded never to gaze on his portrait?"

What a joy it was to see Manfred's angry, incredulous face. Of all the endowed children, it was only Lysander whom Manfred feared. Lysander could conjure up his spirit ancestors, no mere illusions but ghostly warriors who could throw a spear straight at your heart.

Everyone waited to see what Manfred would do. Eventually the Talents Master made a contemptible remark. "I hope you don't find yourself in the same predicament as your friend," he said, glancing at Dagbert the drowner.

It was obvious that Manfred was referring to Tancred, but Dagbert didn't appear to have heard him. His eyes had a glazed look, and Charlie guessed that he was thinking of his sea-gold charms.

Frowning at Dagbert, Manfred told everyone to get on with their work.

The minutes ticked by. After almost two silent hours the endowed children packed up their homework and made their way to bed.

In the girls' dormitory, Olivia took off her purple cape, revealing a velvet vest covered with shimmering mirrored circles.

"That's very beautiful," Emma remarked.

Olivia gave her a half smile and sauntered off to the bathroom. Emma threw on her bathrobe and began to follow her. Dorcas Loom was sitting on her bed just inside the door. She was wearing a frilly pink nightgown and trying to straighten her crimpy fair hair. When Emma passed her bed, Dorcas said quietly, "Something wrong with your friend?"

Emma stopped and looked at Dorcas, who added, "What's eating you?"

And suddenly Emma knew that Olivia had been bewitched by that sparkling vest.

Because that's what Dorcas could do; it was what Charlie's great-aunt Venetia prided herself on. Both could make bewitching garments.

Emma ran to the bathroom. Olivia was brushing her hair in the mirror. She had taken off the vest to put on her pajamas, and now the sparkling vest lay on a chair. Seizing her chance, Emma made a grab for it.

"DON'T TOUCH IT!" Olivia's long nails dug into the back of Emma's hand. For a moment Emma resisted. She clung to the vest, but Olivia, raising her hairbrush, brought it down, crack, across Emma's knuckles.

Emma let go with a cry, and Olivia pulled the vest on over her pajamas.

"Don't ever do that again," she said.

Emma followed Olivia back into the dormitory. She watched her friend get into bed, still wearing the vest. It scratched and tinkled against the covers, and Emma shuddered. "Night, Liv!" she murmured.

Without replying, Olivia turned over and closed her eyes.

After lights out Charlie and Fidelio went to the bathroom, where they could talk in peace. Fidelio might not have been endowed, but he was Charlie's loyal friend and always would be. Sitting crossed-legged beside Charlie on the bathroom floor, he listened with mounting horror to the account of his best friend's grim weekend.

"I haven't heard about anyone being murdered," whispered Fidelio. "Poor old Mr. Bittermouse."

"It was probably in all the papers this morning," said Charlie. "But the swordsman will be back in his portrait before anyone can catch him."

"Do you think... ," began Fidelio.

The bathroom door opened and Dagbert Endless looked in. Charlie noticed that he was shaking and wondered if they would soon be engulfed in one of Dagbert's underwater illusions.

Dagbert stepped into the bathroom, closed the door softly behind him, and came to sit beside Charlie. There was a long silence while Charlie and Fidelio tried to think what to say. The whiff of fish that usually hung about Dagbert had been replaced by the tang of seaweed; it was a raw, melancholy scent.

After several silent seconds had elapsed, Dagbert said, "I'm sorry."

Charlie turned to look at him. In the faint light from the window, Dagbert appeared to be a bluish green.

"Are you saying that you're sorry about Tancred?" asked Fidelio.

Dagbert nodded. "About Tancred and about the things my father is going to do.

He's brought his Sea Globe here and means to drown your parents with it, Charlie."

Charlie said, "I know."

"You do?" Dagbert seemed surprised. "I... I'm sorry. If I could stop him I would, but I'm not strong enough yet.

And if I tried without the seven sea-gold charms, the globe would swallow me.

My father's often warned me that would happen."

"And if you had the charms?" asked Fidelio. "Could you destroy the Sea Globe then?"

Dagbert shrugged, and then he said, "I'm not like THEM, you know. I'm not with Manfred and Joshua and the Bloors."

"I didn't think you were," said Charlie quietly.

"Sometimes I can't help doing what I do," Dagbert continued in a desperate voice. "I just find myself getting angry or scared, and the world turns to water all around me."

"Look, Dagbert," Charlie said. "I happen to know that Joshua is going to try and find your sea-gold charms, wherever you've hidden them. I'll do everything I can to stop him, but I might not be able to."

"They're... ," Dagbert began.

"Don't tell me," said Charlie sharply. "Manfred might try and get it out of me."

"OK."

Fidelio suggested that they should go to bed before they froze to death. The bathrooms in Bloor's Academy were the coldest rooms in the building.

Charlie woke up feeling that it was going to be a rather difficult day. One look at Dagbert's troubled face reminded him that he would have to watch Joshua Tilpin's every move. It wouldn't be easy. Joshua was in the first year, Charlie in the second. Joshua took art, not music. He ate in a different cafeteria, changed his shoes in a different coatroom, and had assembly with another group. Charlie could only hope that Dagbert had hidden the charms outside.

Dagbert had done just that. Joshua made his move during the first break. He had been practicing with some of his mother's jewelry and was now fairly confident that he could attract gold. But where to start? He had to have some hint of where the sea-gold charms might be.

In the end it was Dagbert who gave the game away. He was lost without the charms and so anxious about their safety, he began to gravitate toward them.

Snow lying on the field had been turned to a muddy slush by three hundred pairs of feet. But there were still some children who could not give up a last attempt at making snowballs. Joshua and the Branko twins were among them. But while he collected handfuls of slopping ice, Joshua was watching Dagbert out of the corner of his eye.

Charlie was kicking a soccer ball about with Emma and Fidelio. Emma looked depressed. Olivia was nowhere to be seen. Charlie made a half turn to see if Joshua was still with the Branko twins and found that he wasn't. So where was he?

"Where's Joshua?" Charlie shouted.

Fidelio pointed to a small figure walking stealthily up to the castle.

"OK. I'm off," said Charlie.

"I'll come with you," Fidelio offered.

Charlie shook his head. "Better not. It'll look too obvious."

"What's going on?" Emma asked irritably.

Fidelio mouthed, Tell you in a minute.

Trying to look casual but putting on speed whenever he thought no one was looking, Charlie hurried after Joshua. He saw him disappear under the great red arch, waited a few seconds, and then dashed after him. Joshua had vanished again. Charlie found himself staring at the five small arches set into a stone wall, all of them leading into the ruin. Charlie had tried each one before. He knew that the central arch led straight into the castle while beyond the others, four long tunnels twisted their way into the more obscure parts of the ruin. But which route had Dagbert and Joshua taken?

A scream came echoing up the tunnel on the far left. Charlie groaned. Dagbert had chosen the most difficult way in. There was nothing for it but to follow him.

As Charlie plunged into the tunnel, there was another scream, this one more terrible than the last. It was a scream of terror and despair.

Slipping and sliding down the wet, musty tunnel, Charlie groped desperately for the wall to steady himself, but the bricks were slimy with mildew, and Charlie slithered on, now falling to his knees, now on all fours. He emerged at last on a snow-covered bank. Tall trees on either side of him sighed in a wind that had suddenly blown up, filled with the scent of the sea.

Below Charlie, in a patch of muddy snow, Dagbert and Joshua were fighting around a large black rock. Lying on its smooth surface were the seven sea-gold charms. Dagbert must have hidden them beneath the rock, Charlie realized, but Joshua had drawn them out of their hiding place.

Charlie slid down the bank. As he reached the bottom, Joshua suddenly gave Dagbert a shove and he fell back into the snow.

"Mine!" cried Joshua, holding up his hand, and the golden charms floated over to him. He closed his fist over them and began to run up the bank.

"No, you don't!" Charlie shouted, grabbing Joshua's ankle.

Down he came, with a yell of pain.

"Drop those charms, Joshua Tilpin," said Charlie, clinging to Joshua.

"They're not yours."

"And they're not yours, either," screamed Joshua. "Get off me, Charlie Bone."

He kicked out with his other foot, catching Charlie on the nose. Blood poured into Charlie's mouth and he let go of Joshua's ankle.

Dagbert rushed at Joshua and seized his hands. He tore at the puny fingers and pried them open, but the charms stuck to Joshua's palms like barnacles.

"Give them to me!" cried Dagbert, peeling the fish off Joshua's skin while the small boy writhed like an eel.

Charlie straightened up and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Blood was now dripping onto his sweater.

Dagbert tore a crab from Joshua's open palm, but the fish boy was beginning to shake like a leaf.

"I'll get the rest," Charlie told Dagbert. "Take a break!"

Dagbert rolled onto his back, clutching the two charms. Joshua began to crawl up the bank again, and Charlie was about to grab him when the air seemed to shiver and a flash of light streamed over their heads, striking the earth with an earsplitting twang.

A long sword rocked to and fro, its tip stuck fast in the earth an inch from Charlie's hand.

"Get thee gone, wretched boys," said a voice. "Or suffer the wrath of my sword."

Charlie turned his head, very slowly, afraid of what he would see. And there was Ashkelan Kapaldi, standing on the black rock, his hands on his hips, and on his face the mocking smile of his portrait.

"Give me thy charms, Dagbert Endless," said Ashkelan, holding out a gloved hand.

Dagbert shook his head and clutched the two charms to his chest.

Ashkelan lost his smile. "Tis a pity," he sighed. "Sword, do thy work."

"Dagbert!" cried Charlie as the sword flipped out of the earth and came at Dagbert, its deadly tip pointing at his heart. Dagbert jumped back, but the sword followed him. Charlie couldn't bear to look. He was about to close his eyes when, in a blaze of light, a white horse leaped out of the trees and another sword, held by a knight in glittering chain mail, caught the lethal weapon and tossed it sideways.

"Vile, cursed, hateful knight!" screamed Ashkelan. "Thou shall not have it thy way."

Ahskelan's sword swung in an arc and sliced the air with whining, hissing strokes. It came at the knight's arm, but the white mare flew sideways.

The three boys sat on the bank, petrified and entranced, while the knight, his red plume flying and his cloak filling like a scarlet cloud, struck and parried the enchanted sword. Ashkelan stood on the rock, uttering a stream of incomprehensible commands, but suddenly he fell silent, waiting for his sword to find a position from where it could strike a fatal blow.

The white mare paced between Ashkelan and the bank, while the enchanted sword hovered at the edge of the trees above the boys. Joshua was so frightened he loosened his grip and the five remaining charms trickled out of his hand.

"The charms," Charlie whispered.

Dagbert grabbed them.

Joshua yelled and caught Dagbert's hand.

As the Red Knight turned to look at them, Ashkelan shrieked a command and the sword came flying at the knight's throat. With a warning scream, the horse reared up, tilting the knight out of harm's way. The sword swept past her thrashing hooves and entered Asheklan's chest, just above the leather belt that held his scabbard. The swordsman fell back with a moan, the sword buried deep in his heart.

The knight removed his gauntlet and laid a bare hand on the white mare's neck, calming her instantly. He turned his head, and Charlie found himself staring at the dark holes in the blank, featureless helmet. Whose eyes were looking out at him? he wondered. Was the face behind the steel mask known to him?

The knight sheathed his sword and lifted his hand, briefly, in farewell. The horse whinnied and they left the scene, trotting quickly into the dense wood that filled the ruin.

For a moment the three boys were too stunned to speak, and then Charlie cried, "Run, Dagbert, run!"

13. THE ROARING WAVE

Dagbert ran. No one knew where. He wasn't seen for the rest of the day.

Charlie left Joshua sitting on the snowy bank, cradling his hand and whimpering, "Mom, Mom, Mom."

As Charlie made his way back to the school, he began to wonder who would be blamed for the death of Ashkelan Kapaldi. "But he's dead already," Charlie told himself.

Only Joshua saw what really happened to the swordsman's body. He was rubbing his eyes with a muddy fist and at first he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. A snowy mist began to seep into the glade, covering the broken walls, burying the trees, and seeping around the black rock. The mist was filled with the sounds of battle: steel on steel, leather creaking, hooves thundering, men screaming, and cannons booming.

Joshua put his hands over his ears and watched in disbelief as the sword lifted itself out of Ashkelan's chest and lay down beside him. And then Ashkelan's body was raised from the rock—and vanished.

Joshua stopped whimpering. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened. "Gone!"

he murmured. "How?"

Joshua didn't know that, by a strange coincidence, Ashkelan Kapaldi met his second death in exactly the same way he had met his first. He had, in fact, been killed by his own sword during the Battle of Edgehill in 1642. The sword didn't mean to kill its master, of course. It was just unfortunate that Ahskelan happened to be in its way, both times.

When he got back to the school, Charlie tried to clean himself up in the blue coatroom. He remembered that bloodstains could be removed with cold water, but he didn't make a very good job of it. Luckily, his cape covered most of

his sweater, and his nose had stopped bleeding by the time he reached Madame Tessier's classroom.

"What happened?" whispered Fidelio as Charlie took the desk beside him.

"Tell you later," said Charlie.

"Shhh!" commanded Madame Tessier. "Regardez vos livres!"

Charlie didn't get another chance to talk to Fidelio until lunchtime. Gabriel carried his bowl of soup over to their table just as Charlie was describing the battle in the ruin. When he had finished, Gabriel looked very excited.

"I knew it!" he exclaimed.

Several children looked in their direction and Fidelio said, "Keep your voice down, Gabe."

Lowering his voice, Gabriel said, "I took a good look at Ashkelan's portrait when I passed it, and do you know, I could swear I saw a kind of light in his eyes that wasn't there while he was 'out.""

"He's back where he belongs," said Charlie grimly.

Fidelio looked around the cafeteria. "Where's Dagbert?" he said. "He should have been in French."

Charlie frowned. "I'm sure he's got all his charms. But he's at risk now.

Mrs. Tilpin's going to be furious. I hope he's somewhere safe."

"That sounds a bit odd, coming from you," Gabriel remarked.

Charlie stared into his bowl of soup. "He needs our help," he said.

The storm began when Mr. Pope was halfway through giving a history test. The teacher's heavy-jowled face was always an angry shade of red. Even when he wasn't furious, he was grouchy. The windows in his classroom fitted very badly and on windy days their constant rattle drove Mr. Pope into a frenzy.

He would thump his desk and roar out his questions, confusing his class and even himself.

The wind had blown up from nowhere. One minute the air was calm, the next, hail was beating on the windowpanes, thunderclaps reverberating through the building, and the draft from the ill-fitting windows whipped spitefully around everyone's legs.

"How am I supposed to teach in a storm like this?" screeched Mr. Pope. "I'm going to stop this test and go home if it continues."

Realizing that he'd said something silly because, of course, no one would have minded if he went home, Mr. Pope muttered, "I suppose you have all heard about the storms at sea? No, I suppose you haven't." Televisions and radios were allowed only in the sixth year. "Well, I shall enlighten you." There was another deafening clap of thunder, and Mr. Pope looked up to heaven. When the thunder had rumbled away, he said, "Severe weather in the southern hemisphere has caused havoc on the coasts. Many drowned. Ships wrecked. Boats lost." His last words were shouted above another violent rumble.

Charlie put up his hand.

"What is it, Charlie Bone?" Mr. Pope asked irritably.

"Did you say boats, sir?" asked Charlie.

"Yes, BOATS! Are you deaf?" Mr. Pope bellowed. "The storms have been appalling. Waves a hundred feet high. Wouldn't fancy my odds in a boat. They don't stand a chance." He nodded at the rattling window. "Mind you, this is just a breeze compared with the tempests out at sea. But that's no consolation when you've GOT TO TEACH HISTORY TO A GROUP OF NITWITS!" And with that, Mr. Pope gathered up his books and strode out of the classroom, banging the door behind him.

As soon as the teacher had gone, Simon Hawke leaped up from his desk, yawned, stretched, and said, "We've got twenty minutes before the next lesson. Let's do some push-ups."

Boys groaned and girls made scornful remarks. Undeterred, cheerful Simon spread himself on the floor and began to do his exercises.

Fidelio leaned over to Charlie, saying, "Let's go."

They left the classroom together. Their next lesson was music. Fidelio had violin with Mr. O'Connor. Charlie was due to see Senor Alvaro. With twenty minutes to spare they decided to go and see Cook. They hurried across the hall and down the corridor of portraits, but Charlie slowed down and then stopped altogether beside the portrait of Ashkelan Kapaldi. He leaned closer, staring at the eyes. "I can't see that it's changed," he said.

Fidelio grabbed the back of his cape. "You'll be in there with him if you don't look out," he said. "Don't forget, Gabe's kind of clairvoyant. Come on, we've only got fifteen minutes now."

They had almost reached the blue cafeteria when Dr. Saltweather came striding out and asked them what they were doing. Fidelio explained that Mr. Pope couldn't teach in a storm. The music master smiled. "If he thinks this is bad, he should try a bit of sea fishing," he said, and then he glanced at Charlie.

"Is it really that bad?" asked Charlie.

Dr. Saltweather nodded. "I'm afraid it is, Charlie."

Charlie swallowed. He could taste the tomato soup he'd had for lunch, and hoped he wasn't going to be sick. "My parents are whale watching, sir."

"I know, Charlie," said the music master.

"Do you think..."

Fidelio broke in, saying, "Do you know about the Sea Globe, sir?"

Charlie stared at Fidelio, surprised that he had mentioned the Sea Globe to a master. Dr. Saltweather frowned for a moment, then he said, "I have heard that it is here."

"And do you believe that Lord Grimwald can control the oceans with it?"

Charlie blurted out.

Dr. Saltweather took a deep breath before saying, "How could I not believe, Charlie? Cook is my friend." He marched off down the hallway, his hands clasped behind his back and his big head bent.

"Can you help, sir?" Charlie called after him. "Can you stop him?"

Dr. Saltweather murmured softly in reply, and then turned down another hall.

Charlie clutched Fidelio's arm. "What did he say? Did you hear?"

Fidelio's musical ear had picked up the music master's rueful answer. "I think he said, "Only the son can do that.""

"He means Dagbert," said Charlie, "and Dagbert will do it."

"What makes you think that?"

Charlie shrugged. "We have to find him, Fido."

But where to look?

Charlie had an idea, but he had to wait until lessons were over before he could find out if he was right. Fidelio had orchestra practice, but he offered to give it up to help his friend. Charlie insisted that it was only a hunch, and one pair of eyes was enough to find someone.

"So where are you going?" asked Fidelio.

"The Music Tower," Charlie told him.

It was called the Music Tower because once Charlie's father had taught piano in the room at the very top. To reach it, Charlie had to go down the same dark hallway that led to the ballroom. The Music Tower was out of bounds now and Charlie had to choose the right moment to make a dash for the small door into the hallway. He waited in the blue coatroom while shoes were changed and wet capes shaken out.

"You OK, Charlie?" Gabriel asked.

Charlie nodded. "I'm going to look for Dagbert," he whispered.

"Want any help?"

"Not yet."

"OK." Gabriel left the coatroom murmuring to himself, "But I'm going to make sure you're not alone."

Gabriel was the last person to leave the coatroom. When he had gone, Charlie peeped into the hall. It appeared to be deserted, so he made a dash for the tower door. Twisting the heavy bronze handle, he pulled open the door and slipped into the hallway. At that very moment Dorcas Loom left the green coatroom. She screwed up her eyes and stared at the closing door. If she was not mistaken, she had just seen Charlie Bone going into the Music Tower.

Someone would have to be informed.

Unaware that he'd been spotted, Charlie hurried down the hall. When he came to the ballroom doors he stopped and noted that the heavy bolt at the top had been drawn back. He put his ear to the door. A faint sound reached him: the swish and splash of water, the boom of giant waves rising and falling. And then another sound. A curious humming. Lord Grimwald was humming to the tune of his own drowning seas. Charlie stepped away from the door as though he'd been stung. He clenched his fists, powerless to stop the awful events that Lord Grimwald had set in motion. As he turned to run up the hallway, a figure appeared in the small circular room at the end.

"Dagbert." Charlie spoke in a hoarse whisper. "Where have you been?"

"Thinking," Dagbert replied. "I've got to stop him." He came toward Charlie, holding the sea-gold charms in both hands as though he was afraid that he might drop them.

"How will you do it?" asked Charlie. "The curse, Dagbert—your father will try and overwhelm you."

"Yes," Dagbert agreed. "But I have to make an attempt. No one else can stop him, and your parents will drown, Charlie."

"They may have drowned already," said Charlie. He was surprised to find that he wanted to give Dagbert a chance to avoid the confrontation with Lord Grimwald.

But Dagbert was determined. "You saved my sea-gold charms and they will stop him. My mother would have wanted it."

The boys stood, side by side, facing the ballroom doors.

"I'm coming with you," said Charlie as Dagbert pushed open one of the tall doors.

Charlie had expected to see a sphere of rolling water, but the sight of the huge globe took his breath away. The glass panels had been removed and the unbridled waves now swept out in gigantic arcs that splashed against the high ceiling.

Lord Grimwald was standing with his back to the boys but turned as soon as they entered. He seemed to be expecting them. "Dagbert," he said. "Welcome. I see you have brought a friend."

Dagbert remained silent. He approached the globe, the charms still held firmly in both hands. Charlie followed, wondering what Dagbert would do.

Lord Grimwald stared at his son's hands and his eyes narrowed. "Give me the charms," he commanded. His voice was soft, but his face was as hard as stone.

Dagbert clasped the charms tighter. He stepped toward the globe, and Charlie followed. Sea spray flew in their faces and soaked their hair.

"Give them to me!" Lord Grimwald's mouth was clenched in a terrible smile. He held out his hand.

Dagbert shook his head.

"Don't come any closer," his father warned. "If you harm the globe, it will destroy you."

All at once Charlie knew what Dagert intended to do. He would throw the golden charms into the sea. Would this calm the giant waves all over the world? Without his mother's protection, Dagbert would die.

"Give them to me," Lord Grimwald demanded, seizing his son's clasped hands.

"No!" cried Dagbert. He fell to his knees, his body hunched over the precious charms.

Snarling with fury, the Lord of the Oceans raised his arm, and a wall of water curled out from the globe. With an angry roar it rose to the ceiling and then began to fall. Charlie found himself enclosed in a tunnel of thundering black water. He fell to his knees beside Dagbert and waited for the roaring wave to crush them. Just before it smothered them, the sound of drums broke through the boom of water. And then Charlie was beaten down by the weight of the wave. He couldn't breathe, his lungs were bursting. He closed his eyes, his head full of shrieking sounds.

And then the weight of water was gone and he opened his eyes. He was lying in a pool of water with Dagbert's blue fist only inches from his face. A golden fish floated through Dagbert's fingers, and Charlie grabbed it before it

could be washed away. Black boots splashed toward him. One came down hard on Charlie's hand.

"Ahhh!" Charlie heard his muffled scream through the thunder of drums. The boot lifted from his fingers and Charlie rolled onto his back, still clutching the fish. Dagbert lay beside him; his eyes were closed, his face blue and lifeless. His hands were empty.

"Dagbert!" Charlie screamed, shaking the limp arm.

Dagbert didn't move.

The drumbeats grew louder. Faster. Deeper. They filled the air with their threatening rhythm. Charlie sat up and rubbed his eyes. Lord Grimwald stood a few feet in front of him. His back was toward Charlie, his arms spread wide.

The blue sea light had been replaced by the red and gold of leaping flames.

Charlie rose shakily to his feet. Now he could see them: Lysander's spirit ancestors. Tall, dark figures lined the walls. There was not an inch of space between them. Gold adorned their necks and arms, their robes were white, their belts colored like rainbows. Each man held a spear in one hand, a flaming torch in the other.

The drumming came from figures on the stage. Standing two rows deep, they beat their drums with feverish intensity, making the chandelier crystals chime like a thousand tiny bells.

Lysander moved so fast around the great room that Charlie could catch only a glimpse of his dark face and flashing eyes. The graceful whirl of his arms caused his cape to move through the air like a spinning green circle.

Charlie stepped away from the Sea Globe. Now he could see Lord Grimwald's face. It was gray with fury and terror. He lurched from side to side, his arms outstretched protectively, as he backed toward his precious globe.

The lines of warriors began to advance. Closer and closer to the globe.

Charlie could feel the heat of their torches. Clouds of steam rose from the globe, and the spirits moved closer still. For a moment Charlie panicked. He didn't know where to go. They were almost upon him, their dark, impassive faces only inches away. And then they were flowing around either side of him, and he could taste the fire and smell the pungent scent of their robes.

They encircled the globe. Closer and closer. Their ranks were four men deep now as the circle became small. And still Lysander whirled, and still the drums beat.

Charlie could no longer see Lord Grimwald. He was trapped in the circle of warriors. They were so densely packed, their torches had become a ring of fire. There was a sudden, awful scream as the Lord of the Oceans was forced into the very seas that he had used to drown so many.

The scream became a gurgle, the gurgle a desperate thrashing, as the Sea Globe churned and boiled and swallowed its master.

Above the rows of spears and torches, Charlie could see the top of the globe.

The blue water had turned a dull gray; it was now more steam than water. The patches of brown land were cracking and shrinking. Slowly the globe began to sink. Charlie dropped to his knees, desperate to see what became of it.

Through the lines of white robes he glimpsed steaming oceans and scorching land. The Sea Globe was dwindling, sinking, and boiling away.

Minutes after Lord Grimwald's scream, the spirit ancestors still held their lines, and then, slowly, they began to move back. Once more Charlie felt them drift past him. The flames of their long torches were dying now, their white

robes fading into clouds of steam. Charlie couldn't say when the drums stopped or when the warriors vanished, because he was staring at the Sea Globe, or rather at the space it had occupied. There was nothing there—

except...

A small glass sphere, slightly larger than a tennis ball, rocked gently to and fro in a pool of water. Dagbert lay beside it.

Charlie felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up into Lysander's grave face. "You finished it," Charlie said, hardly able to believe what he had seen.

"There was no other way," said Lysander. He nodded at Dagbert. "But perhaps it was too late for him."

Charlie got up and ran over to Dagbert. His face looked utterly lifeless. And then, suddenly, his eyelids fluttered and his strange arctic eyes stared up at Charlie. "Am I alive?" he croaked.

"YOU are," Charlie said, helping Dagbert to his feet. He pressed the golden fish into his palm and then, seeing the crabs and the sea urchin floating at the edge of the pool, he scooped them up and gave them to Dagbert, saying,

"You're safe now."

Dagbert thrust them into his pocket and then stood swaying slightly as he gazed around the ballroom. "Where is it?" he said, turning a full circle and looking down at the water around his feet. "Where's the Sea Globe?"

Lysander picked up the small blue-green sphere. He shook it free of water and handed it to Dagbert. "I think you'll find that this is it," he said.

Dagbert looked utterly bemused. He stared at the tiny globe and then at Lysander. "How did it... ?" he breathed, and then, "Where's my father?"

"The globe swallowed him," said Charlie in a matter-of-fact voice. There didn't seem to be any other way to tell a boy that he was holding his father in his hand.

Dagbert grimaced. "Then he's... ?" He looked at the globe.

"In there," said Charlie.

Dagbert shook the globe and turned it upside down, as though he half expected a tiny version of his father to drop into the puddle. Sparkling sea spray trickled slowly from the top to the bottom, but nothing fell out of the sphere.

"It's quite pretty," Charlie remarked. "Like one of those snowstorms in a glass snow globe."

"A sea storm," Dagbert murmured.

Lysander took Dagbert by the shoulder and nudged him toward the doors. "You can't stay here, Dagbert," he warned. "The Bloors will be furious that Lord Grimwald and his globe have gone. We'll get you out, but then it's up to you."

"Where will I go?" Dagbert asked desperately. "I don't know anyone in the city. I have no family."

Where could Dagbert go? Lysander and Charlie realized that he wouldn't be safe in the fish shop where he stayed on weekends. The Pets' Cafe was closed and he couldn't go to Charlie's house while Grandma Bone was there.

"I know!" cried Charlie. "The Kettle Shop. It's only a few doors up from the fish shop where you've been staying."

Lysander looked doubtful. "It's on Piminy Street, Charlie. A nest of vipers, if I may say so."

"I know, I know, but Mrs. Kettle is very strong," Charlie argued. "She's withstood them all so far. And I can't think of anywhere else right now."

For a moment Lysander looked thoughtful.

He stroked his chin in a manner reminiscent of his father, Judge Sage, when he was passing judgment. But whatever objection had passed through Lysander's mind, he quickly banished it and agreed with Charlie. "Tell her you've come from us," he said. "Show her the globe."

"Tell her..." Charlie hesitated. "Say "Matilda" and she'll know you're with us now."

Lysander gave Charlie a questioning look and Dagbert said, "Who's Matilda?"

"Never mind," said Charlie, going pink. "Just say it."

"OK."

They took Dagbert down the hallway and across to the garden door. There was no one about and they realized that the bell for dinner must have rung. The entire school was in the underground dining hall.

"How shall I get out?" Dagbert looked utterly exhausted. Pale and frightened, he stepped into the garden and looked back at Charlie.

Charlie told him where to climb the wall. He hoped the twisted vines of ivy would still show signs of his own speedy clambering.

"Hurry, Dagbert," urged Lysander.

They watched Dagbert run toward the trees, and then Lysander closed the door.

As they hastened across the main hall, someone came out of the side hall leading to the ballroom.

"Very impressive, Lysander Sage," Manfred said through clenched teeth. His whole frame shook with fury, fury at his own cowardice, for he'd been unable to screw up enough courage to face Lysander's spirit ancestors.

"You're too late," Manfred went on, enraged by Lysander's look of disdain.

"Charlie's parents will never come home now." And he gave Charlie a terrible smile.

14. A PERPLEXING POSTCARD

Charlie watched Manfred step back into the side hall and swiftly close the door.

"It can't be true, Sander. Can it?" said Charlie.

Lysander put an arm around his shoulders. "You mustn't let yourself believe it, Charlie. There's no proof. Your parents might have been safe on shore when the storm blew up."

"Yes," said Charlie desperately. His head was spinning. He wanted to run home to Maisie and Uncle Paton. But would they know the truth?

When Lysander steered him down the corridor of portraits, he suddenly remembered the danger they were in. Someone was going to have to pay for the Sea Globe's destruction and the end of Lord Grimwald.

Lysander, sensing what Charlie was thinking, said calmly, "Don't worry.

You've done nothing wrong, Charlie. I destroyed the globe, and the Bloors can't touch me. They're too afraid of my ancestors."

No one seemed to notice their late arrival in the dining hall. The staff sat at a table on a raised platform at the end of the hall. From here they could keep an eye on the tables below them. But today they were all too keen on their dinners to notice Lysander and Charlie slip stealthily in.

Charlie quickly cast an eye over the three tables running the length of the hall. On the left, blue-caped music students chattered over their stew. No one looked in his direction until Fidelio gave him a wave. As he made his way over to Fidelio, Charlie noticed Olivia sitting at the center table, with a Branko twin on either side of her. Lysander went to the art table, where Emma was sitting several places away from Dorcas and Joshua, whose left hand was all bandaged up.

"What happened, Charlie?" Fidelio asked in a low voice as Charlie squeezed onto the bench beside him.

"Tell you later," said Charlie, and then whispered into his friend's ear,

"Lysander destroyed the Sea Globe—and Lord Grimwald!"

"WHAT?" Fidelio stared at Charlie in disbelief.

At that moment, Weedon appeared through one of the doors behind the staff table. He moved quickly to Dr. Bloor's side and, bending over his shoulder, said a few words. Dr. Bloor leaped up, pushing over his heavy chair so that it fell on the floor with a loud bang.

The other teachers stared at him, and all the children watched the staff table expectantly. Dr. Bloor rushed out, followed by Weedon. An excited shouting and chattering exploded in the air. Prefects hushed and shushed in vain. Eventually, Dr. Saltweather stood up and clapped his hands. The hall fell silent. Dr. Saltweather commanded a great deal of respect. "Calm yourselves!" he bellowed. "Just because the headmaster has left the room, it doesn't mean that you can squeal like animals. Lower your voices, please."

There was a moment's hush and then the chatter was resumed on a quieter note.

Gabriel, sitting opposite Charlie, leaned over the table and asked, "Lysander found you, then, Charlie? What happened?"

"Thanks for telling Lysander, Gabe. He saved my life, and Dagbert's."

"Dagbert's?" Gabriel frowned.

"Let's talk later," said Fidelio in a warning voice. Several children were already looking at Charlie.

Gabriel glanced at the inquisitive faces and said, "OK."

After dinner, Charlie headed for the blue coat-room, with Fidelio and Gabriel following close behind. They had five minutes before they would be expected to start their homework. Almost without pausing for breath, Charlie told his friends what had happened in the ballroom.

For a moment they were too stunned to speak, and then Gabriel said slowly,

"When I told Lysander you were going to the Music Tower I never imagined ...

I mean I just knew he was the only one who could help you."

"Weedon must have told Dr. Bloor," said Fidelio. "No wonder he rushed out."

"Manfred saw it all," Charlie told them.

His friends frowned at him, and Fidelio said, "Didn't he try and stop it?"

"Stop Lysander?" Charlie found that the cold chill of Manfred's words had suddenly lifted and he felt irrationally cheerful. "Nothing can stop Lysander."

Gabriel grinned. "Of course not," he agreed.

Charlie was reluctant to spoil their positive mood so didn't mention Manfred's dreadful prediction.

The three boys left the coatroom, and while Fidelio hurried to his classroom, Charlie and Gabriel made their way up to the King's Room. Just before they went in, Gabriel said, "Charlie, I forgot to tell you. I saw Cook after lunch. She's got something for you."

"What?"

Gabriel rubbed his head. "Postcard, I think she said."

"A postcard. What... ?" Charlie felt something sharp poke into the small of his back and he swung around to see Joshua holding a pencil in his bandaged hand.

"Are you going in or not?" asked Joshua sullenly.

Without replying, Charlie opened the door and Joshua pushed past him.

It was a surprise to see Manfred sitting in his usual place, as if nothing had happened. But he gave Charlie a cold glance when he came in; otherwise there was nothing in his manner to suggest that he had seen the giant Sea Globe swallow its master and then disintegrate. For a moment Charlie wondered if this was because the Bloors had no further use for the globe. If Lyell Bone had really drowned, then the pearl-inlaid box would never be found. But Charlie refused to accept this. He had decided that as long as he kept believing his parents would come home, then nothing could prevent them.

A quiet sniffle beside him made Charlie aware that Emma was dabbing her nose.

He hadn't spoken to her all day and felt guilty for leaving her out of things. Nudging her gently, he whispered, "See you in the art room later, Em."

Emma nodded and smiled, and then, while Manfred's head was bent over his book, she whispered back, "It's the vest," and she looked straight at Olivia on the other side of the table.

Charlie frowned. He didn't have a chance to ask Emma what she had meant because Manfred was glaring at him again. So was Olivia. She wasn't herself, he could see that. Her skin was dull, and dark circles ringed her eyes. As she turned the pages of her book he caught a glimpse of the glittery thing she wore beneath her cape. Of course, a vest!

After homework, Charlie made straight for the art room. Gabriel and Lysander stayed behind to finish some work, and Charlie found that he was being followed by a group of girls. He looked back and saw Dorcas, the twins, and Olivia. They stopped at the bottom of the staircase that led up to the girls'

dormitories, and when Charlie continued on to the art room, he could feel their eyes on him.

The art room was at the end of the hallway leading to Charlie's dormitory, so he hoped the girls wouldn't guess where he was heading. He quickly glanced over his shoulder and, seeing that the girls had gone, made a dash to the end of the hall and into a large room with long windows overlooking the garden.

The place was crammed with easels and canvases, and Charlie quickly switched on one of the lights in case he tripped. It was easy for someone to hide behind one of the tall easels; for a moment, he wasn't quite sure if he was alone. "Emma?" he called softly.

There was no reply, so Charlie walked around the easels toward the dark windows. He had to pass a trapdoor covering the spiral staircase that led down to the sculpture room. The room where Dagbert had tried to drown Tancred. Or had he?

Charlie reached the windows and peered out into the misty garden.

Thick clouds obscured the moon and stars and he could see nothing beyond a row of stone statues directly beneath him. Old Ezekiel had a fondness for garden ornaments, and groups of figures, human and animal, had been placed about the grounds. Sometimes you would come upon a single statue in an unexpected place, and the gray form, appearing above shadowy bushes, could give you quite a fright.

"Charlie!" came a whisper.

"Em?" said Charlie.

Emma came tiptoeing toward him. "Come away from the window," she said.

"Someone might see you from the garden."

Charlie hadn't thought of this. He backed behind a group of easels and found Emma crouching on the floor. She was obviously very nervous.

"What's been happening, Charlie?" She sounded aggrieved. "You were late for dinner, your sweater's got blood on it, and Dagbert Endless has disappeared."

Charlie hesitated. Emma looked so scared he wondered how he could tell her about his dangerous day without making her even more fearful.

"Charlie, please, what's been happening?" she begged.

So Charlie told her. He tried his best to speak calmly when he described the fight with Ashkelan Kapaldi, but he failed to keep the terror out of his voice when he relived the drowning sensation he felt as the roaring wave swept over him, and he could hardly contain his excitement when he recounted the astonishing shrinking of the Sea Globe.

Charlie needn't have worried. By the time he had finished, Emma's spirits had risen considerably. In fact she looked almost cheerful. "Oh, Charlie, perhaps we are winning after all," she said happily. "I was feeling so gloomy about everything, but now I believe we stand a chance, and if I can get that awful vest away from Olivia, she'll be her old self again."

"I saw something glittering under her cape," said Charlie.

"So that's the vest that you think has changed her?"

"I'm sure of it. I tried to get it away from her when she was changing in the bathroom, but she nearly tore my hand off."

"Hmmm." Charlie scratched his wiry hair. "Take a good look at that vest," he said. "Try and memorize every stitch and sequin. Then come over to my place on Friday night. Alice Angel is there."

"Alice!" Emma clapped her hands delightedly. "Oh, Alice can save Liv, I know it."

A voice suddenly cut across the room. "Charlie, are you there? Matron is on the warpath."

Charlie and Emma jumped up. Fidelio was standing by the door, his hand on the light switch. "Come on, quick," he said, turning off the light.

They ran for the door and as soon as they were through, Fidelio closed it quickly behind them. When the boys reached their dormitory, Emma kept running toward the next staircase.

"Where is Matron?" Charlie whispered.

"In the bathroom," Fidelio told him. "Rupe Small has lost his toothbrush, and Matron's waiting for him to find it."

Charlie grinned. But when they got into the dormitory, they discovered that the toothbrush had been found and Matron, otherwise known as Lucretia Yewbeam, was standing at the end of Charlie's bed with her hands on her hips.

"Where have you been?" she demanded as Charlie walked in.

"Working," lied Charlie. "Mr. Pope gave me extra homework."

The lie worked. Charlie's great-aunt gave a nasty smirk and said, "Serves you right." He could only hope that she wouldn't mention the extra homework to Mr. Pope.

From the other end of the dormitory, Simon Hawke piped up. "Dagbert Endless isn't here."

"No," the matron said flatly and left the room.

"Odd," said Simon. "She doesn't seem bothered about the fish boy. Does anyone know where he is?"

"Probably gone home," said Bragger Braine.

"Can't have," argued Simon. "We're only halfway through the week."

"Haven't you noticed?" Bragger plumped up his pillow. "Lots of kids have left."

Charlie went to the bathroom. What did Bragger mean? No one ever left Bloor's Academy halfway through the week. It wasn't allowed. He took a long time brushing his teeth and combing his impossible hair. By the time he left the bathroom, the lights were out and some of the boys were already asleep.

Charlie didn't even expect to sleep. Scenes from his extraordinary day kept chasing one another through his head. One moment he felt elated, the next full of doubt. And then he remembered the postcard. How could he possibly sleep when news of his parents might be only a few steps away? Swinging his feet to the floor, he shuffled into his slippers and put on his bathrobe.

Everyone brought a flashlight to school, and although the battery in Charlie's was running low, it gave him enough light to see his way down the unlit hallway to the landing.

Here was the tricky bit. A small light was always left burning in the hall, and at any moment a member of the staff could walk through one of the doors opening onto the hall and see Charlie. There was nothing for it but to hurry and hope. Taking a deep breath, Charlie tiptoed down the creaking stairs as fast as he could. Without pausing to look back, he flew along the hallway of portraits to the blue cafeteria. Raised voices could be heard coming from the

direction of the green cafeteria. Mr. and Mrs. Weedon arguing again, thought Charlie. He quickly slipped into the blue cafeteria and then into the kitchen beyond.

It was pitch-dark in the kitchen; a strong smell of cooked cabbage filled Charlie's nostrils and he pinched his nose. He hadn't visited Cook's apartment for some time, but shining his flashlight across the rows of closets, he quickly recognized Cook's entrance. He always felt slightly apprehensive when he opened this door because if anyone discovered Cook's secret, she would be banished from the academy.

The Bloors believed she slept in a cold little room in the east wing and were completely unaware of the wonderful labyrinth beneath the building.

Charlie stepped into the closet and, closing one door behind him, opened the other. Now he was in the softly lit hall that led to the next closet and then into Cook's room.

"My Heavens!" cried Cook as Charlie walked out of the closet at the end of her room. "What are you doing here, Charlie Bone?"

"The postcard," said Charlie. "Gabriel said you had a postcard for me."

"So I have," said Cook. "But you could have waited until tomorrow."

"I couldn't," said Charlie. "I'm sorry, but I had to know what my parents had written."

"Ah, you guessed. Yes, Maisie gave me the card when we met at our usual time in the market. Luckily, your other grandma didn't see it."

Cook reached for the postcard that sat on a shelf above her stove. "Sit down and read," she said, "while I make a cup of cocoa and then, seeing as you're here, we can discuss what's been going on. It hasn't entirely escaped my notice that a few reversals of fortune have taken place today."

Charlie grabbed the postcard and dropped into an armchair by the stove. There was a low grunt behind him, and Blessed eased himself out from the back of the chair and tumbled onto the floor, landing in an untidy heap.

"Sorry, Blessed. Didn't see you," Charlie muttered as he quickly scanned the writing on the back of the card. "It makes no sense," he complained after reading the card a second, then a third time.

"Why's that?" asked Cook. "It makes perfect sense to me. Your parents are safe, Charlie."

"Are they? Are they really? This card might have been posted before the storms, by someone on a ship that passed them."

The card was from Charlie's mother, and it read: "We're on our way home. Not long now. We've missed you so much. But soon, we'll all be together. Your father says you mustn't look for the box. We love you. Mom xxxx."

"So what don't you understand?" asked Cook, handing Charlie a cup of cocoa.

"The box," said Charlie. "It's such a puzzle. How did they know I was looking for a box, and why did my dad tell me to stop looking for it?"

"Probably because he knows where it is," Cook replied.

Charlie sipped his cocoa. "But how... ," he began. "I just don't understand.

Has he suddenly remembered where he put it? Or has he always known? And...

and where is it?"

"Best not to know," said Cook in her warm, wise voice.

Charlie gazed at the comforting red glow in Cook's stove. "I don't know why Dad went away when the city got so dangerous," he murmured. "And sometimes I've felt angry with him and kind of disappointed. But he must have had a reason, mustn't he?"

"Of course," Cook agreed.

"A very, very good reason. And even if I never find out, I'll never believe that he ... he didn't care about me, or any of this."

Cook smiled. "Charlie, you're wise beyond your years."

No one had ever said that to Charlie. In fact they usually said the opposite.

He felt rather pleased.

"Now tell me what's been going on," said Cook, "although I've already made a few good guesses."

While he slowly drained his cup of deliciously sweet cocoa, Charlie related everything that had happened. By the time he had finished, his eyes were beginning to close, and Cook had to give him a little shake to wake him up.

"Charlie," she said gently. "Can you bring Billy back to me? I miss him so much."

She looked at the old dog. "And Blessed is so depressed. I try to talk to him, but it's not the same. Billy can speak his language."

Charlie rubbed his eyes. "I'll try," he said. "But first I've got to find the painting of Badlock. It's my only way in. Actually, I'd really like to see Matilda again."

Cook shook her head. "The enchanter's granddaughter? Forget her, Charlie.

She's from another world. I'll see what I can find out about the painting.

Now, you'd better get back to bed before you're missed."

Charlie reluctantly dragged himself away from Cook's warm stove and stepped into the closet.

"You take care now, Charlie," Cook whispered as she closed the door behind him.

As before, the hall was deserted and Charlie slipped up the stairs to his dormitory without being seen. He was unaware that the staff had all decided to keep well away from the west wing that night. In fact, most of them had gone to bed earlier than usual rather than face any of the people who were, at that moment, insulting each other in the ballroom.

Old Ezekiel couldn't believe what had happened. "That lovely globe," he wailed, wheeling himself around and around the ballroom as if his endless rotation might somehow conjure up the Sea Globe. "Did he drown them, did he, did he?" he demanded.

"I've told you, yes!" shouted Manfred. "He must have. You should have seen those waves."

"So you saw it all and didn't do a thing about that boy's spirit ancestors!"

Ezekiel shrieked. "You coward. You lily-livered milksop."

"I'd like to see you try and stop a hundred spirits with spears and torches and... and everything," Manfred shouted back.

"You didn't have to attack them," argued Ezekiel. "You could just have given Lysander Sage a bang on the head."

"Couldn't!" Manfred kicked at the pool of water lying in the center of the ballroom, all that remained of the Sea Globe, as far as he knew. He hadn't seen the tiny sphere that Dagbert now possessed. An unpleasant fishy smell wafted from the pool of water, and Manfred kicked it again. "Anyway, Lyell Bone has been drowned, so he won't be coming home to rake up that box."

"What about me?" screeched Mrs. Tilpin, swaying at the edge of the pool. "My little boy has been injured, my swordsman has been... sent back. And Lord Grimwald promised me a castle, servants, money. All gone. Poof! Just like that. I'll strangle someone. I'll do worse. I'll turn them into toads."

"As if... ," muttered Manfred.

"Stop it!" Dr. Bloor bellowed from a chair at the end of the room. "There's nothing to be gained by endless bickering. If we are to achieve anything, we must pull together."

The headmaster's commanding voice managed to silence everyone. Mrs. Tilpin gazed into the murky pool; Manfred tapped his wet foot quietly at the edge; and Ezekiel wheeled himself to a standstill.

"Nothing's changed," Mrs. Tilpin said at last. Her tone was soft and sly, and they looked at her uneasily. "Because he's coming. Harken, the shadow, the enchanter. His people are here already and there'll soon be more. So you can keep your precious school." She flung out her arms and danced around the pool, her glinting black skirt sweeping through the water, sending little ripples across the surface. "And then Charlie Bone and Billy Raven and Lysander Sage and his spirit ancestors will all be a distant memory."

"What about the Red Knight?" asked Manfred.

"Ah, the Red Knight," said Mrs. Tilpin, and she stopped dancing.

15. FOG!

Billy's bed was now a bale of prickly straw, his light a thin candle that always burned through before nightfall. Not that Billy would have noticed when night began and ended. There were no windows in his chilly cell. At least he had Rembrandt to talk to. Luckily, the countess hadn't carried out her threat to kill the rat, believing that he would die anyway unless Billy shared his meager allowance of black bread.

But Rembrandt didn't die. He thrived. He had found a friend: a small brown-coated, green-eyed rat he called Gloria. Billy could see the attraction.

Gloria was very pretty; she was also helpful. Being two sizes smaller than Rembrandt, she could squeeze through a tiny hole in Billy's cell and she would bring Rembrandt delicious tidbits from the kitchen waste bucket. So Rembrandt didn't need Billy's black bread, and instead of fading away, he grew fatter and fatter.

Count Harken and his wife were the only people in Badlock ever to have seen a rat before Rembrandt arrived. They had brought a pair of rats back from the Red King's city many years ago. But the rats had vanished and the count assumed they had been eaten by a greedy servant (though they all swore they had never set eyes on a rat). In fact, the clever pair had burrowed deep into the mountain and raised a family. Gloria was their last surviving great-greatgrandchild.

Sometimes Rembrandt and Gloria would go off for a whole day. They would wait until Billy's guard was having his meal in the kitchen and then slip through the bars of the cell and leap up the steep stone steps into the palace.

Rembrandt would return with stories of their wonderful adventures, and

eventually, Billy would fall asleep while his rat's gentle voice squeaked on and on and on. Without those stories, Billy figured, he would never have slept at all.

A troll named Oddthumb guarded Billy's cell. He was a squat, ugly being with a grotesque thumb as big as his hand. He hated everyone and everything from Billy's world, especially Charlie Bone, who had once managed to slip in and out of Badlock without being caught. Charlie had also managed to rescue his ancestor, the giant Otus Yewbeam, right under Oddthumb's nose.

Billy had refused to be rescued by Charlie. He thought life would be better in Badlock. He would have a home with plenty of animals to talk to and a friend, Matilda. How Billy regretted that decision. A week in the dreadful dungeons had broken Billy's spirit. He now longed for home as much as Rembrandt did. But he knew there was little hope of Charlie making the dangerous journey a second time.

"Billy! Billy!"

The soft voice didn't wake Billy, who had fallen into a deep sleep after one of Rembrandt's stories. He lay with his head snuggled against the rat's soft back, his glasses folded neatly on the floor beside his mattress.

"Billy! Billy!"

This time the voice broke through Billy's dreams. He reached for his glasses, pushed them onto his nose, and sat up. Candlelight flickered in the room outside his cell. Billy blinked and tried to focus. The candle was raised and he saw a girl's face framed in long, black curls.

"Matilda?" Billy whispered.

"I'm going to make you a key," Matilda said softly. She showed Billy the big iron key that usually hung around Oddthumb's neck. "I've given your guard one of my grandmother's sleeping potions. I slipped it into his mug of ale before the servant brought it down here. So Oddthumb won't wake before I can get this key back to him."

"Matilda!" called Billy, as she began to mount the steps. "Why can't you let me out now?"

She looked back, her face in the candlelight shadowed with regret. "Where would you go, Billy? They'd find you and then things would only get worse. We must wait until Charlie comes."

Billy clutched the iron bars of his cell. "Do you think he'll come back, then?"

"I'm doing my best," she said mysteriously.

When Matilda left the dungeons, she climbed a long, winding stair to a small room at the top of the palace. Here, Billy's faithful attendant, Dorgo, awaited her. Dorgo was one of the beings who had inhabited Badlock long before the enchanter invaded and turned their world into the fearful, barren place it had become. There were many beings like Dorgo in the palace. They were all servants of one sort or another, and they all looked alike: their bodies short, square, and lumpy, their faces without eyebrows, their hair (if they had any) hidden in woolen caps.

And they shared one characteristic: Once they had befriended a master, they were loyal unto death.

Dorgo was a blacksmith of sorts. In the little room that Matilda had found for him, he had set up a modest furnace and, in a wooden tray, molded enough

soft clay to take the imprint of a key. Liquid metal was waiting in a bowl hanging from a beam above the furnace.

"Got it, Dorgo!" said Matilda as she leaped through the door. "How long will it take?"

Dorgo never said very much. He took the key from Matilda and, pressing it into the clay, murmured, "Short!"

It was difficult to guess how many minutes went into "short." But Dorgo didn't deal in minutes, so it was no use asking him for a precise time.

Matilda wasn't too sure about time anyway. The enchanter had a clock, a magical contraption that showed constellations and clouds as well as hours and minutes, and Matilda had learned that there were five hours between each meal. Her stomach told her that there were probably two hours to go before dinner, but she would have to get the key back to Oddthumb sooner than that.

"See you in an hour," Matilda told Dorgo, and leaving his makeshift smithy, she went down to the room where Count Harken kept his paintings. The enchanter was an excellent artist, but how much was skill and how much enchantment, Matilda couldn't guess. She was interested in only one painting anyway. Among the brightly colored landscapes and the pictures of incredible animals, there was a painting of Billy's city.

Matilda had spent many hours gazing at this city. Billy had told her where Bloor's Academy stood, close to the ruins of a great castle built by the Red King. The king who was her great-grandfather and also Billy's ancestor.

Sometimes, when she heard someone coming, Matilda would hide among the big canvases. She had never been forbidden to look in this room, but something made her afraid to be found there. One day while she was hiding, she had heard a woman's voice coming from the painting of Billy's city. The enchanter had replied to it. And that's how Matilda had found out about the woman named Titania, who was trying to help Count Harken to get back into the city. Why he found it so difficult, Matilda couldn't imagine.

The painting was beautiful, in its way. It was as if the count had painted it from a cloud, for you could see all the streets and buildings laid out in a great pattern, and yet the angle of the houses was not so steep that you couldn't see walls and doors and windows slanting away from the gray slate roofs.

Matilda would stare at the buildings, trying to guess what was happening behind their dark windows, and often she would hear a snatch of music, a dog barking, someone singing, or a hoot from one of the extraordinary-looking machines that filled the streets: cars, Billy called them. But most of all, Matilda liked to watch the house with a big tree in front of it, for this was where a boy named Charlie Bone lived, a boy who'd be brave enough to venture into Badlock, a boy who lived nine hundred years away. Could she get to Charlie's world, Matilda wondered. Could she?

Matilda put her hand on the painting. Her fingers touched a high window, just above the tree outside number nine Filbert Street. "Can I?" she whispered.

"Can I? Charlie, are you there?"

On Friday, Alice Angel decided to tidy up the spare room on the top floor.

Maisie never seemed to have the time. The shelves lining two walls were crammed with suitcases, old clothes, sets of china, books, newspapers, and boxes of goodness-knows-what. The floor space was occupied by long rolls of cloth, chairs in need of recaning, the occasional table, an ancient treadle sewing machine, and an old rocking chair. Alice pushed the rocker up to the window and sat down. "Hmmm. Windows need a wash," she observed, running her hand over the grimy pane.

A curious tingle shot through Alice's fingers. If she hadn't been who she was, she might have thought the surface of the glass had been electrified.

But being Alice, she thought nothing of the sort. And being Alice, she wasn't too surprised when a distant yet sweet, clear voice said, "Charlie, are you there?"

"Charlie's not here right now, my dear," said Alice, lightly touching the windowpane. "Try again later."

"Thank you," said the voice.

Alice smiled to herself. She wondered how far the voice had traveled? How many years?

"When shall I see him again?"

Alice didn't know how to reply. This time the voice sounded wistful and slightly hesitant. Alice had always found it impossible to lie. She could only tell the truth. "I don't know, my dear." She knew the girl had gone as soon as she had spoken.

"I wonder... ," Alice said to herself. She couldn't sit still any longer and so she continued to tidy up, dusting the books and stacking them neatly on the shelves.

It began to rain. Alice looked at the window, hoping another storm wasn't brewing. The last one had been ferocious. She knew who had brought it about, of course. Alice was well aware that Lord Grimwald was in the city, and she knew that he was trying to drown Lyell Bone. She made it her business to know these things. Intuition told her that Lord Grimwald wasn't around anymore.

But on rare occasions, intuition had let her down. She couldn't be absolutely sure.

The rain was now falling very heavily. It was extraordinary rain, the drops as large as cupfuls of water. The cupfuls soon became bucketfuls. Whoosh!

Splash! Cars hooted; birds flew for cover.

Looking down into the street, Alice saw a solitary pedestrian in a brown raincoat and a wide-brimmed waterproof hat. He was striding along, swinging an old-fashioned doctor's bag, and didn't seem at all concerned about the rain. He stopped at number nine and rang the bell.

The front door was opened and, from the hall far below, a little scream echoed up the stairwell. Alice dropped the book she had been dusting and ran down the two flights of stairs. When she got to the kitchen, she found the person in the waterproof hat, sitting at the table with the bag in front of him. The hat dripped, the raincoat dripped, and the man's large brown mustache dripped.

"Maisie!" cried Alice, staring at the stranger. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes." Maisie frowned at the little pools of water forming on her freshly cleaned floor. "I'm just not used to seeing this young man with a mustache."

Tancred put a hand up to his mustache, and Maisie said, "No, no, don't take it off. Grandma Bone might see you."

Pressing his mustache firmly to his upper lip, Tancred said, "Sorry about the mess, Mrs. Jones. I've been practicing."

"Thought as much," muttered Maisie, reaching for the mop. "Alice, this is Tancred Torsson, a friend of Charlie's. Calls himself a storm boy."

"Ah, the rain!" Alice glanced at the window. "Not at school, then," she commented.

"I'm supposed to be dead," Tancred said gloomily. "A boy named Dagbert Endless drowned me—almost."

"I see." Alice understood immediately.

"I'm so bored," Tancred went on. "There's no one to talk to during the week.

I've no idea what's going on at school, and I just feel so out of it. I live miles away, you see. Up in the—" He suddenly stopped and frowned at Alice as if he was worried he'd said too much. "Excuse me," he said, "but who are you?"

"I'm Olivia Vertigo's godmother," said Alice. "Olivia is in trouble. That's why I'm here."

"Really?" Tancred leaned forward eagerly. "That's just it, you see. I never know anything now. What sort of trouble has Olivia gotten herself into?"

"She didn't get herself into it," Alice said reprovingly. "She was trapped by my opposite's power."

Tancred sat back and digested this. "Ah," he said at last. "You must mean Mrs. Tilpin."

Alice sighed. "I fear so." All at once she looked over her shoulder.

"Someone's coming. Tancred, be prepared."

Tancred sat up very straight and laid a hand on his bag. The door opened and Grandma Bone came in. She was wearing her bathrobe and looked very sleepy.

"Tea?" she asked with a yawn. "Is it teatime?"

"Yes, I think it is, Grizelda," said Maisie, putting the kettle on.

Grandma Bone turned and stared at Alice and Tancred. "You don't live here,"

she said.

"I'm staying for a while." Alice gave Grandma Bone a radiant smile. "I'm Alice Angel, remember?"

"I suppose I do." Grandma Bone yawned again. "And who are you?" she asked Tancred.

Tancred sprang to his feet and opened his bag.

It was full of broken china halfheartedly wrapped in tissue paper. Tancred had gathered up all the broken china his mother had put aside, ready for gluing. Poor Mrs. Torsson now used only plastic cups and saucers, her husband and son having broken every single piece with the violent weather they produced.

"So?" Grandma Bone poked at the china with her bony finger. "Are you trying to sell this stuff? It looks broken."

"Exactly, madam," said Tancred in an odd, gravelly voice. "I'm mending it. Do you have any broken china?"

Grandma Bone stared glumly at Tancred. "No. And I wouldn't give it to you if I had."

Tancred chewed his lip and sat down.

"Here you are, Grizelda," said Maisie. "I've popped two cookies on the saucer."

Grandma Bone took her tea and cookies and left the room without another word.

"Is Mrs. Bone all right?" asked Tancred in a low voice. "She doesn't seem to be all there."

Maisie laughed. "She's been like that ever since Alice came. I think you've cast a spell on her, Alice."

Alice regarded her long, elegant fingers and said, "I probably have. Oh, look, the rain has stopped."

Tancred grinned sheepishly and stood up. "I was going to wait for Charlie,"

he said, "but I don't suppose he'll be back for another hour, so I'll head off. Tell him I'll see him tomorrow, maybe at the bookstore."

Maisie saw Tancred to the door. "I'd better warn Charlie about your ..." She tapped her upper lip and gave Tancred a wink.

"Bye, then, Mrs. Jones." Tancred marched confidently up Filbert Street. He noticed that several people were filling their cars with suitcases, bedding, bags, and even plants. People often left the city on Friday, for a weekend away. But the amount of stuff that was being crammed into some of the cars made it look as though their owners were going away for months, or even years.

High Street was almost deserted. What was going on? Curiosity got the better of Tancred. "Excuse me," he said to a harassed-looking mother with a baby in a stroller. "Has something happened? I mean, where is everyone?"

"Fog," said the woman.

"Fog?" Tancred looked up and down the street. "I don't see any fog."

"It's coming." The woman walked on.

"Coming?" Tancred called after her. "How do you know? What sort of fog?"

"Bad. It's coming off the river." The woman was actually running now. "Listen to your radio."

Tancred stood still. He looked all around him. Shops were closing. Cars were roaring down High Street, breaking all the speed limits. Tancred changed his mind about going home. The bookstore was closer. He began to jog.

It was Tancred's intention to go straight to Ingledew's Bookstore, but as he passed the end of Piminy Street, something made him turn onto it. He decided to visit Mrs. Kettle. He hadn't seen her for some time and wanted to make sure she was safe in the street of hooligans and scoundrels.

There was no sign of anyone leaving Piminy Street. If anything, there were even more people about than usual. Oddly dressed people in fashions long gone. Unshaven men who laughed unpleasantly and walked right into Tancred, knocking him aside. There were women in shawls and greasy bonnets, their long skirts trailing in the gutter.

Angry and nervous, Tancred caused a blast of wind to sweep across the street.

His electrified hair blew his hat off and rain began to fall again in bucketfuls.

In the Stone Shop, carved creatures with grotesque faces stared out into the street, their eyes glimmering behind the rain that streamed down the windowpane.

Tancred shuddered and made a dash for the Kettle Shop. A group of teenagers with white faces, velvet coats, and braided hair glared at Tancred as he put his finger on the doorbell and rang and rang and rang. His false mustache slipped off his wet face, and mocking laughter erupted from the teenage gang.

He turned to send a blast of wind in their direction but was distracted by the sight of Norton Cross standing on the other side of the road, his gaze fixed on Tancred.

The door was opened at last by Mrs. Kettle, tall and jolly, her red hair as shiny as polished copper. "Come in, young man," she said, hauling Tancred over the doorstep. "As for you lot"—she glared at the teenagers—"scram!" She slammed the door.

Tancred stood in the shop, gazing at all the bright kettles. Only a few weeks ago, almost every kettle had been smashed by a vicious stone troll brought to life by Eric Shellhorn. "You've mended them all," he said. "Everything looks just great."

"Come into my parlor," said Mrs. Kettle, leading the way through an arch into her private part of the shop. She stopped suddenly and, putting her hand to her chin, said, "I think I should warn you..."

But Tancred had already seen the boy carefully polishing a big copper kettle.

It was Dagbert the drowner.

The two boys stared at each other in horror, and then Dagbert uttered a low wail and shook his head. "You're dead," he moaned, "dead, dead, dead!" And dashing past Tancred, he ran out of the shop.

16. A DISTANT VOICE

There's been a mishap," said Maisie as Charlie and Emma walked into the kitchen at number nine.

"Not another one." Charlie dropped into a chair and hungrily regarded the food on the table. "Good spread, Maisie. I'm starving."

Emma took a chair beside him, and Charlie handed her a plate of chicken sandwiches.

"Emma's come to see Alice," he told Maisie.

Before he could say any more, Alice came in and sat at the table. "Emma, how lovely to see you!" Alice beamed with pleasure, and so did Emma.

Charlie quickly explained his idea for releasing Olivia from her bewitching.

Alice looked at him with great interest, her head on one side, before saying,

"Charlie, that's an excellent idea." She turned to Emma. "So can you describe this vest for me, the little details, the placing of the sequins, the size of the armholes, the length, the buttonholes?"

"Every night, when Liv takes it off in the bathroom, I take a good look,"

said Emma. "She snatches it up very quickly, hardly looks at it, when she puts it back on. So I don't think she'll notice if it's not an exact match."

She reached into her pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper, which she flattened out and laid in front of Alice.

"A sketch! Emma, this is wonderful!" Alice bent over Emma's drawing of the vest and studied it intently.

"So what's the mishap?" asked Charlie, not very enthusiastically.

"I thought you'd never ask." Maisie put a plate of scones on the table and sat down. "Your friend, Tancred, was here and—"

"Tancred?" said Charlie through a mouth full of chicken.

"Yes, in a mustache," said Maisie.

"A mustache," said Emma. "I hope no one saw him. I hope he's all right. I mean I hope he hasn't been caught."

"Well, THEY probably know he's alive by now."

When Maisie said this, Emma's hand flew to her heart, her eyes wide and glistening.

"Because," Maisie went on, "he went up Piminy Street and lost his hat and mustache. Probably due to the weather he'd brought about. So he's only got himself to blame. But, anyway, he went into the Kettle Shop and saw that drowning boy, Dagbert something-or-other. The boy rushed out, but luckily Miss Ingledew saw him hovering outside the bookstore in a bit of a state, so she coaxed him in."

"How do you know all this, Mrs. Jones?" asked Emma.

"Your aunt called me just before you got here. I asked her if she wanted to speak to Paton, but she gave me a definite no."

"She's given up on him," said Emma.

"Given up?" Charlie looked anxious. "She can't have. I think Uncle Paton wants to marry her."

"He should have thought of that before." Emma sounded very cold and practical. It was almost as if Uncle Paton had upset her personally.

To make matters worse, at that moment, Uncle Paton walked into the kitchen.

He had obviously overheard Emma's remarks and no one could fail to notice that he appeared to be very upset. Without a word, he walked over to the counter, put on the kettle, and got a bottle of milk from the fridge.

Even Maisie was lost for words. Emma, however, was indifferent to Uncle Paton's feelings. "So is Tancred all right?" she asked. "Where is he now?"

"They're all at the bookstore." Maisie glanced uneasily at Paton. "Mrs.

Kettle and Tancred are there, trying to put things right, Julia said"—she gave Paton another quick glance—"whatever that means. But she called because Dagbert will only speak to you, Charlie. He says he doesn't trust anyone else."

"Me?" Charlie swallowed a large piece of scone and washed it down with a mug of tea. "I'd better get over there, then." He jumped up and going to his uncle, tapped his arm, saying, "Hi, Uncle P., I'm glad you're here."

Uncle Paton gave Charlie a half smile and said, "We'll talk later, Charlie."

All this time Alice had been quietly contemplating Emma's drawing. Although she hadn't spoken, she had been listening intently to the conversation and now, all at once, she looked keenly at Charlie and said, "Go with the dog, Charlie. Things are not right out there." She nodded at the window.

Charlie was about to ask her what she meant by the dog when the doorbell rang, and running to open the front door, Charlie found Benjamin and Runner Bean on the doorstep.

"That's odd," said Charlie. "Someone else was thinking about you before I was."

"Eh?" Benjamin wrinkled his nose. "You all right, Charlie?"

"Mmmm." Charlie managed to swallow the last piece of scone that had lodged in his throat. "I was just going to the bookstore. Want to come?"

"That's why I'm here," said Benjamin. "I think."

Emma appeared in the hall behind Charlie, and when they had both flung on jackets and scarves, they joined Benjamin on the sidewalk and all three began to walk up Filbert Street, preceded by a very energetic dog.

"Have you noticed?" said Benjamin. "Lots of cars have gone from the road."

"People, too," Charlie observed. On his way down from the school bus, he hadn't noticed how empty the street had become because he was thinking of tea, but now he saw the big gaps between cars that were normally parked bumper to bumper, all along the road. "Where's everyone gone?"

"It's the fog," said Benjamin. "Our neighbors on both sides have left the city. They said on the radio that it's going to be so thick, it won't be safe to travel in or out. But we're not going. Dad says if everyone leaves, the villains will have a free hand."

"A free hand for what?" asked Emma.

Benjamin shrugged. "Looting and pillaging I expect."

This sounded rather too medieval. Charlie had never heard of a fog so thick it couldn't be penetrated. Surely there would always be at least one way in or out of a city. He was relieved to see a police car cruising down the deserted High Street.

As they approached Cathedral Close, they could hear snatches of music drifting toward them. The music grew louder and when they passed the end of Piminy Street, they saw that a party seemed to be in full swing. People were dancing in the middle of the road while a group of musicians in velvet coats and tall stovepipe hats played wild jigs and polkas. Some sawed at the strings of small violins, while one beat a drum and others played pipes adorned with colored ribbons that fluttered in the air as the players swayed to the rhythm and tapped the ground with their pointed boots.

Charlie and Benjamin watched openmouthed as the dancing grew faster and wilder. And then Runner Bean barked, and heads were turned in their direction. The dancers' faces were distorted with malice, and Emma plucked Charlie's sleeve, saying, "Come on, quick!" They ran for the bookstore.

Tancred, looking quite himself again, was restacking some of the books Miss Ingledew's customers had taken out during the day but not replaced. It was the end of the week and Miss Ingledew was doing her accounts beside the register.

Emma ran down the steps, crying, "Tancred, you're safe. I heard about your mustache and everything."

"Well, they all know I'm alive, so there's no point in hiding any longer." He gave Emma an especially welcoming smile.

"Where's... ?" Charlie looked around the store.

"Dagbert?" said Miss Ingledew. "He was exhausted, so I put him in Emma's room for a little nap."

"Oh!" Emma wasn't quite sure how to take this news.

The curtain behind the counter billowed alarmingly and Runner Bean gave a howl of anxiety as Mrs. Kettle pushed her way into the store. "Ah, Charlie, there you are," she said. "You'd better go and have a word with that poor boy upstairs. He's in quite a state."

"Poor?" said Emma indignantly. "He's not poor. He tried to drown Tancred."

"He seems pretty harmless now," said Tancred, fitting the last book into place. He turned to the others. "I think he's changed. There's nothing weird about him now. He doesn't even smell fishy."

"Have a word with him, Charlie," said Mrs. Kettle. "Just calm him down.

There's enough trouble in this city already. We need all hands on deck."

A funny way of putting things, thought Charlie as he walked around the counter and into Miss Lngledew's living room. He was surprised to see Dagbert standing on the other side of the room. He was clutching the glass sea storm, and Tancred was right, he looked quite ordinary, just a boy who was scared and worn out. He gave Charlie a weak smile and said, "I heard a dog. What are they going to do to me, Charlie? I know Tancred's alive. I thought I was seeing a ghost."

Charlie took a few steps toward Dagbert and said quietly, "They're not going to do anything, Dagbert. You're safe here. Tancred didn't drown, as you've seen. And he's forgiven what you did. There's no point in being angry with someone who doesn't exist."

Panic showed in Dagbert's blue-green eyes. "But I do exist. Don't I?"

"Of course," said Charlie emphatically. "But that other boy, the mean, drowning, selfish boy that was you, is gone. Isn't he?"

Dagbert turned the sea storm over and over in his hands. "Seems to be gone,"

he murmured. "I'm not frightened that my life is going to end anymore." He held up the sea storm and watched the silvery shower of foam fall from top to bottom. And then he gave Charlie a very ordinary, happy grin.

"You're one of us now, Dag," Charlie said. "And you'll be needed. Things are happening in this city."

Charlie was aware that a small tide of people had begun to fill the room.

First came Mrs. Kettle, then Emma and Miss Ingledew, Benjamin and Runner Bean, and last, Tancred. They eased themselves into seats around the room and, trying not to be too obvious, watched Dagbert to see if Charlie was having an effect. Runner Bean, sensing the gravity of the situation, did not bark once.

"Charlie's right," said Miss Ingledew. "Something is happening. I think we shall all be tested in the next few hours. You must have noticed that half the inhabitants of this city have left. I predict that, over the next few days, even more will go, until only a few remain. It will be tempting to leave before the fog finally encloses us."

Mrs. Kettle stood up and began to pace about the room, her copper hair looking more like a helmet than ever. Even her shiny bomber jacket gave the appearance of armor. "But we must stay and fight," she said. "Or the shadow will drag this city into the past, and the Red King and all he stood for will not even be a memory."

"Fight?" said Emma in a small voice. "What with?"

"With whatever comes to hand, my dear." Mrs. Kettle gave her an encouraging smile. "Unfortunately we have no way of knowing when or how Count Harken will make his move. But it will be soon. The swelling ranks of the residents of Piminy Street, the increase in stone creatures, the fog, all these things suggest that he will arrive very soon. His conduit, the Mirror of Amoret, is cracked, that is true, but he will find a way. We maybe sure of that. He is an enchanter after all."

Miss Ingledew got up and patted her cushions. "Mrs. Kettle and I have made some arrangements. She will stay here with me and Emma. Dagbert, you, too.

We'll make up some beds down here. Piminy Street is too dangerous now."

"There's something I have to do," Charlie said suddenly, "before it's too late."

They all looked at him. Mrs. Kettle wore a forbidding frown. "I hope it's not a dangerous task," she said.

Charlie shrugged. "Not really. I have to get Billy out of Badlock. I promised Cook."

Frowns turned to disconcerting stares.

"It's not a very good time, Charlie," Miss Ingledew remarked.

"I think it's kind of now or never," he replied. "But I've got to find that painting of Badlock or I'll never get in. Mrs. Tilpin has moved it from the old chapel, but I don't know where she has put it."

"It'll be in the academy," said Mss Ingledew.

Charlie shook his head. "Nope. I've looked everywhere. Everywhere I can, that is. The Bloors don't like it, so it won't be in the west wing."

"It could be in Darkly Wynd," Tancred suggested. "In fact, I'll bet that's where it is. In one of your great-aunts' dingy basements."

Charlie figured that Tancred could be right. But which great-aunt had the painting, and how was he to get into any of those awful houses without being seen? "I'll sleep on it," he said.

Night was falling. It was time for Charlie and Benjamin to go home. They didn't want to be on Piminy Street in the dark, even with Runner Bean.

Tancred volunteered to walk with them as far as High Street. Emma stood outside the store and watched the three boys make their way down Cathedral Close. "Take care," she called. Tancred turned and waved. He almost blew her a kiss, at least that's what it looked like to her, but he obviously thought better of it.

When they parted on High Street, Charlie anxiously watched Tancred stride alone toward the Heights. He had a long way to go. And then he took something from his pocket, and a flash of silver told Charlie that the storm boy was phoning his father. In a few minutes, Mr. Torsson's roaring whirlwind of a car would be swooping down from the Heights. But before that happened, three bright forms leaped out from a dark alleyway and encircled Tancred's legs so closely that he almost tripped over them.

"The Flames," said Benjamin. "He'll be OK now."

"And so will we." Charlie grinned at Runner Bean, who gave an appreciative bark.

Although the boys felt safe, they were both aware of the curious whispers that seemed to float through the air above them. And they could feel sounds through the soles of their shoes, as though underground creatures were moving beneath the sidewalk. The fog seemed to have crept closer, and the houses on the other side of the road looked blurred and distant.

It was almost dark when Charlie got home. Maisie was watching the road from the kitchen window. Benjamin and Runner Bean ran across to number twelve and Benjamin shouted, "See you tomorrow."

Filbert Street seemed to be completely deserted. Number twelve and number nine were the only houses where lights showed.

"I'm glad you're back, Charlie." Maisie shut the front door behind him and leaned against it. "It's bad out there."

Charlie knew what she meant. There was no other way to put it. "Bad," he agreed.

"Alice wants to see you," Maisie told him. "She's up in the spare room."

Charlie took off his jacket and hurried up to the top of the house. A row of candles stood on the spare room's windowsill, and Alice explained that Uncle Paton had been helping her to tidy up. Charlie noticed a small black vest lying on the sewing machine.

"It'll be finished by Sunday," Alice told Charlie when she saw him looking at the vest. "First I had to find enough silver sequins. This room is a real treasure trove."

Charlie guessed that the vest wasn't the real reason for Alice wanting to see him. He was right.

"Something rather"—she paused—"strange would be a way to describe it, but it was more than strange. Wonderful would be better. Yes, something wonderful happened up here just before you came back from school, Charlie. There wasn't time to talk about it then, but I think you should know someone has been...

calling you."

"Calling?" Charlie sat down rather quickly on the edge of the rocker, and a thread of cane snapped beneath him.

"I touched the window, just here"—Alice laid her hand on a pane a few inches from her shoulder—"and I felt another."

Charlie waited for her to continue, but she merely gave him an enigmatic smile.

"Another what?" he asked.

"Another person, Charlie. And then I heard her voice. She asked me if you were here, and I had to tell her no but that you might be later on."

"What sort of voice?" asked Charlie, hardly daring to breathe.

"Faint, but very sweet. I believe I was speaking to someone many hundreds of years distant."

"Matilda!" Charlie's voice was almost as faint as that faraway girl's.

Alice stood away from the window so Charlie could touch the same pane of glass. He took a breath and laid his hand on the window. The glass felt hard and cold. But he let his hand rest there for several minutes.

After a while, Alice said gently. "I must warn you, Charlie, that you may never feel the girl's touch. I am peculiarly sensitive to the past."

"I'll wait," he said. "I'll wait until she comes back."

Alice left him leaning against the window, his hand beginning to turn blue on the cold glass. As she closed the spare room's door, she felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps she had given Charlie false hope, telling him about that distant girl, and yet how could she have kept it from him?

An hour later Alice brought Charlie a mug of cocoa and some cookies. He made her put them on a rickety table beside him, so that he could reach it with one hand.

"The girl might be asleep now, Charlie." Alice carefully lifted his hand and laid her own on the glass. "Perhaps your Matilda can't reach the gate between our worlds just now," she suggested. "I think you should go to bed, Charlie, and try again tomorrow."

Charlie shook his head. "I'll wait," he insisted.

When Alice had gone, he sipped his cocoa and quickly changed hands.

"Matilda!" He spoke close to the glass, his breath steaming up the window.

"I'm here. It's Charlie. I'm coming to Badlock."

But how could he get there?

Charlie sat back in the rocker, and with one hand still touching the window, he fell asleep.

17. EAGLE THIEF

Emma had gone to bed feeling useless. She lay awake for a long time, her thoughts divided between Olivia and Tancred. And then she began to worry about her aunt. Paton Yewbeam had woefully neglected her with his sudden changes of plan, his lack of attention, and his forgetfulness. As for the enchanter, could that ancient book be right? Was it possible that Count Harken could surround the city with a mist of enchantment and drag it back into the past?

Already, the city was beginning to change. Parts of it were deserted while the inhabitants of Piminy Street appeared to have doubled in a week.

Emma thought of Billy alone in that bleak and dangerous place, and she suddenly sat bolt upright. There was something she could do. She could help Charlie to rescue Billy before it was too late. They should all be together; they stood abetter chance that way.

She resolved to wake up very early and set off for Darkly Wynd. Tancred had suggested the painting of Badlock might be there. And Tancred was always right. Emma chose not to think of the occasions when he had been wrong.

Her mind made up, Emma slept soundly for a few hours and then woke at dawn, refreshed and determined. She decided to get dressed before leaving, even though she would be traveling as a bird. When she opened the window, an unpleasant, musty smell drifted into the room. A thick, gray-green cloud lay just beyond the edge of the city. Was this the fog the radio had been warning them about?

Emma climbed onto the windowsill and closed her eyes. She thought of a bird, small, brown, and inconspicuous. Feathers rustled at her fingertips and she felt herself beginning to shrink. Smaller and smaller. The tiny feathers swept up her arms and covered her head. In a few seconds a small brown wren

was perching on the windowsill. It lifted its wings and flew into the gray dawn sky.

The city beneath was silent and still. A few cars were parked in some of the outlying roads, but otherwise the place appeared to be deserted. No early morning joggers, no mail trucks, no garbage collectors. Nothing moved except the birds in the sky and a few cats hunting in parks and gardens.

Emma swooped down toward Greybank Crescent and fluttered along the dark cul-de-sac called Darkly Wynd. The sight of the three tall houses always made Emma shudder. Which one should she choose to investigate first? Perhaps Charlie's great-aunt Venetia was keeping the painting. She had a lot in common with Mrs. Tilpin." Yes, Emma could imagine a poisoner and minor sorceress living happily beside that grim, forbidding landscape.

The little bird flew back and forth across the three houses. The curtains were closed in every window and she couldn't see any that were open. She would have more luck at the back, she thought. But here too the curtains were drawn and the windows shut. Refusing to give up, Emma flew into Venetia's garden.

No one had bothered to mow the lawn ever, by the look of it, and the dry grass grew waist high, completely concealing the lower part of the house. To a tiny bird, this didn't present a problem. Hopping through the stalks, she came to a low basement window. It was uncurtained but not open.

Emma fluttered down to the sill and peered into the room beyond. The pane was grimy with dust and cobwebs, but she could just make out a long table covered in material of every description. Bottles of colored liquid stood at one end.

Poisonous potions, thought Emma, twisting her head from side to side to get a better view. Now she could see piles of sequins at the other end of the table; beside them were reels of cotton, needles, and scissors of different sizes. Bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling, and dark, shiny plants snaked their way across the walls. But there was no sign of a painting.

Something glinted at the back of the room. The bird's sharp eyes made out another table, small and round. And there, sitting on a pile of silk, was a mirror.

Even from a distance Emma could see that it was very beautiful. The circle of glass was set in a golden frame and the handle was an oval of twisted gold and silver. Intricate patterns and tiny jewels were set into the frame, and even though the mirror was in shadow, it had a vibrant glow. It was definitely Amoret's mirror, stolen by Mrs. Tilpin and broken by Joshua.

Venetia was obviously trying to mend it for them.

How can I reach it? She had come to find the painting, but perhaps the mirror could be of use instead. Emma hopped along the windowsill. She was too small to break a pane. If only she had chosen to be an eagle or a vulture. Think, she told herself. Sec what you wish to he. And she saw an eagle, its dark wings spread like a cloak against the sky, a white head and golden talons as sharp as knives.

Emma shivered and stretched. She could hear her feathers crackling as they grew and multiplied. She was now so tall she could see farther into Venetia's workroom, and so wide she could no longer perch on the narrow sill. A hoarse cry came from her white throat and she lifted in the air. Hovering, for a moment, high above the dismal garden, she measured the basement window with her faultless sight, and then swooped, so fast she could hardly draw breath.

Her feet smashed through the windowpane with a bang that resonated like a rifle shot.

Folding her wings, Emma sailed through the broken window, thrust out her talons, and seized the mirror. With a lightning-swift turn she was through

the room and out into the air. Success made her give a triumphant cry, and as she flew up into the sky, she saw windows opening in the three number thirteens.

"Eagle!" screeched Venetia from the top of her lofty house. "It's got Titania's mirror."

"Eagle thief!" shouted Eric from the window below her. "Kill it!"

"I'll get it!" cried Eustacia, appearing with a crossbow in a window in the middle house. And an iron bolt came whizzing past Emma's head. She screamed in terror and almost dropped the mirror.

"Missed," yelled Lucretia from a window in the third house.

Before the next bolt could hit her, Emma was out of reach and flying high over the city. Charlie's house was easy to spot because of the chestnut tree that grew in front of it. Emma came down in a whoosh of air, right at the top. The eagle is a heavy bird, and the branch that Emma landed on creaked under her weight as it swung down beside a window underneath the eave.

Spread flat against the window was a hand. Behind the hand was Charlie Bone.

He was sitting in a chair, half asleep, by the look of it. Emma tapped the windowpane with her beak, and Charlie's eyes flew open. He stared at the huge bird framed in the window, its feathers covered in shards of glass, and then he saw the mirror clasped in the talons of its left foot.

Charlie opened the window very carefully so as not to push the eagle off the branch. "Em, is that you?" he said, astonished at the size of the huge bird.

Emma thrust her foot through the open window, and Charlie gingerly took the mirror from the lethal-looking talons. Before he had time to thank her, the bird took off from the shuddering treetop and soared into the air.

Charlie sat back in the chair and gazed at the mirror. He wondered how Emma had managed to find it. The eagle was covered in glass. Had she risked her life to get the mirror? He hoped not, for it was still cracked, still useless. He would never get into Badlock with this broken mirror.

The window was still open and from outside, there came a shout. "Charlie, let me in." He looked out and saw Emma, standing on the sidewalk and looking quite herself again, if a little disheveled.

"Hang on!" called Charlie. He ran downstairs and opened the front door.

Emma quickly stepped inside. Little pieces of glass were caught in her long hair and there were scratches on her forehead.

"You OK, Em?" Charlie asked, still amazed by what she had done.

"I thought I could find the painting for you," she said, gulping for air.

"Phew! Sorry, couldn't get my breath back."

"It's very... well. Thanks, Em." He didn't know how to tell her that the mirror was useless. "No one's awake yet. Do you want to come up to the spare room?"

"The spare room? Have you been sleeping there, Charlie?"

He reddened. "Sort of."

"Why?" she asked. "And could I have a drink or something?"

"Um, yes." Charlie shifted from foot to foot. "Can you make it yourself? I've got to get back upstairs."

"Why?" Emma was disappointed. Charlie didn't seem very excited about the mirror.

"Because I'm kind of waiting for someone." Charlie dashed upstairs, saying,

"I'm sorry. It's hard to explain. See you up there."

Mystified, Emma went into the kitchen and made herself some hot chocolate instead of tea. Having gotten up so early, she felt desperately hungry and helped herself from a package of cookies sitting on the counter.

By the time Emma had climbed up to the spare room, Charlie had settled himself back in the rocker and placed his hand on the window. It was in exactly the same position as before, all five lingers splayed out on the glass. The mirror lay on a table beside him.

"Charlie, what are you doing?" asked Emma, becoming more and more puzzled.

"Alice started it," Charlie said awkwardly. "She felt Matilda's hand, just here, and heard her voice."

"Matilda?" Emma didn't know anyone by that name.

"The girl in Badlock," Charlie said with slight impatience.

"Sorry, I'd forgotten her," Emma confessed.

Charlie obviously hadn't forgotten.

"I mean it's not as if I've ever seen her," Emma said defensively. "But why have you got to keep your hand there? It's going blue."

"She wanted to talk to me," Charlie explained. "And, Em, I really want to see her again."

"Ohhh." Emma understood at last. "So that's why you want to get into Badlock."

"I want to get BILLY," Charlie stressed, "but I'm hoping to see Matilda as well."

"Try the mirror."

"It's broken, Em. I'm sorry, but I don't think it will work."

Emma's look of dismay made Charlie feel guilty and then, suddenly, her face lit up. "Charlie, look!" She pointed at the mirror.

Throughout the night Claerwen had kept Charlie company, nestled on a duster that Alice had left on a shelf. But now the moth was busily skimming over the cracked glass. The rapid movement of her silver-white wings began to cause shafts of brilliant reflected light to stream out of the mirror. The glass was now so bright they could barely look at it.

"She's mending it!" Forgetting the windowpane for a moment, Charlie screwed up his eyes and stared at the mirror. But it was too bright! He got up and rubbed his tired eyes.

Emma's sight was still as sharp as a bird's. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the dazzling glass. "It's fading, Charlie," she said. "The crack. It's disappearing."

"Claerwen, you've done it," marveled Charlie as the moth, her task complete, left the mirror and settled on his shoulder.

The blinding light became a manageable shine and Charlie's eyes could at last rest on the mirror. There was nothing there, of course. No reflection of his face or the room behind him. The Mirror of Amoret didn't work like that.

"Can it help you to travel now, Charlie?" Emma asked hopefully. "Like Amoret?"

Charlie nodded. "I used it once and saw my father. I nearly reached him, but because of the spell laid over him, I couldn't quite. And then Olivia took the mirror from my hand because I made a dreadful sound and she thought I was dying."

"I won't do that," Emma promised. "Unless you think I should."

"No, no. Don't touch the mirror, whatever happens. Claerwen will bring us both back, me and Billy."

Emma watched Charlie's face. If anyone looked spellbound, he did. She wondered if she should let him go into Badlock looking the way he did, shocked and already almost gone.

"Look into the mirror," Charlie chanted, remembering Uncle Paton's words.

"Look into the mirror, and the person you wish to see will appear. If you want to find that person, look again, and the mirror will take you to them, wherever you are."

"So all you have to do is to think of Billy, and you'll see him in the mirror, and then"—Emma took a breath—"and then, you'll be traveling."

"Yes." Charlie's voice was so quiet, Emma could hardly hear him.

Charlie wasn't thinking of Billy. He kept seeing the face that he had wanted to see ever since he had returned from that first journey into the past.

"Is he there?" asked Emma, who could see only a misty glow on the surface of the mirror.

"Mmmm," Charlie muttered absently, but the face beginning to appear in the glass wasn't Billy's. It belonged to a girl, a girl with large tobacco brown eyes and soft black curls.

"Matilda," Charlie murmured.

An electric shock passed through Charlie's fingers and he almost dropped the mirror. The handle became red-hot so that he had to use both hands to cling to it.

"What is it?" cried Emma, alarmed by Charlie's grimace of pain.

And then he was gone.

Emma stared at the space Charlie had occupied only a minute ago. She hadn't expected him to vanish quite so quickly. Once before, she had seen him travel, but then his body had remained exactly where it was; it was only his mind that had traveled.

Charlie had progressed. His endowment must he stronger, thought Emma, for his traveling to have become so fast.

But for Charlie, it wasn't like that at all.

18. REMBRANDT'S FLY

A journey with Amoret's mirror was nothing like traveling through a painting.

By the time Charlie had reached his destination, his head had been filled with images that would never desert him: golden sand hills as smooth as velvet, a camel racing through trees with a tiny boy riding him, domed cities, and a sea the color of sapphires.

And then Charlie was standing in a castle of white stone where a duel was taking place between a boy of African descent in crimson and a yellow-haired youth in emerald green. The clash of swords rang in Charlie's ears as he was torn from the scene and drifted in a vast gray ocean; above him an orange sail flapped in the wind. He glimpsed white cliffs, an endless forest, and a blood-red castle.

And now Charlie was falling, tumbling, twisting in an avalanche of rocks, flying across a barren landscape where black towers leaned into a stormy sky.

"Badlock," Charlie cried as the wind tossed him through the air. He was hurtling toward a mountain that rose before him like a curtain of stone. But before he hit the mountain, Charlie was lifted above a palace of black marble where flames streamed from iron brackets set into the wall. And then he was falling, falling, falling....

Someone screamed. Charlie shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He was sitting on a very soft carpet patterned in rich colors.

"Charlie Bone!" said a shocked voice.

Charlie turned his head. And there was Matilda perched on the end of a four-poster bed. She was wearing the same buttercup yellow dress that she had worn the last time Charlie saw her.

"Hello!" Charlie found himself grinning happily, even though his head still ached and he felt bruised all over.

Matilda slipped off the bed and gently helped Charlie to his feet. "I am so very pleased to see you," she said.

"But I thought you would arrive through my grandfather's painting."

Charlie held up the mirror. "I used this."

"Oh!" Matilda looked astonished. "But I've seen that here, in my grandfather's spell room. It was a long time ago, and I was very young."

Charlie frowned at the mirror. "How can it be in two places at once?"

"No, no." Matilda shook her head. "The enchanter took it back to your world.

He told me he had buried it there for the future. How did you find it?"

"It's a long story." Charlie turned the mirror over and over in his hands.

"I'd like to know its history."

"Perhaps you will one day." Matilda took Charlie's hand and pulled him down to sit beside her on the bed. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you,"

she said, looking deep into his eyes. "You didn't hear me, did you, when I touched a window in the picture of your house?"

Charlie shook his head regretfully. "There's a woman named Alice in our house. She's a kind of guardian angel. She heard your voice. She senses things, and she has an affect on people. My grandma's a bully and a grump usually, but since Alice came she's been all slow and sleepy."

"The enchanter can do that, too," said Matilda, "but he doesn't often bother.

My grandmother has a temper and so does my brother. But the enchanter watches with amusement when they rant and rave."

They smiled at each other and Charlie wished the moment would last forever.

He could imagine himself living here, in this incredible room with its green marble walls, its soft, bright carpets and gleaming black furniture.

"You've come for Billy, haven't you?" Matilda asked. "I knew you would."

"For Billy, yes..." Charlie hesitated. "And maybe you. Do you think it would work, Matilda? Could you come back with me?"

She beamed at him and then quickly turned away, as if she were trying to hide the sudden sadness in her face.

"The enchanter can read my mind," she said at last. "He knows that you came here before, trying to rescue Billy. And he knows that I have been thinking of you often."

"Often?" said Charlie happily.

Matilda gave him a haughty glance. "Who else am I to think about, living in this vast lonely palace? Outside, the wind roars and nothing exists but dark crawling things." She nudged his arm. "So you mustn't think too much of yourself."

Charlie grinned. "You were saying... about the enchanter," he reminded her.

Her smiled faded and she said, "One day the enchanter told me that he knew my future, that I would never travel nine hundred years ahead and live in the Red King's city. I will marry and live in a place called Venice. My husband-to-be is rich and handsome, and I will travel there by boat and carriage when I am sixteen. So you see, I cannot come with you even though"—she dropped her voice—"I might wish it."

"Just because he sees your future in some crystal ball, it doesn't mean that it can't be changed," said Charlie gruffly.

Matilda slid off the bed. "There is no crystal ball, Charlie. It is my fate.

Now let us go to Billy. If luck is with us, the guard will be taking his meal in the kitchen; he lingers there for longer than he should, knowing that Billy cannot escape."

"Escape?" said Charlie. "Where is Billy?"

"In the dungeons, where they kept your ancestor the giant."

Charlie leaped off the bed. "Why is he there? I thought he was happy here, being treated like a prince."

"It was the rat's fault," Matilda told him. "He made a fuss."

Charlie had to smile. "Trust Rembrandt." And then all at once it struck him that he had traveled thoughtlessly. He had left the boa behind, the snake that made him invisible. He clutched his hair, moaning, "Oh-, Matilda, I've been so stupid. I forgot the snake.

How am I going to get through the palace without being seen?"

Matilda didn't look in the least perturbed. From inside her gown she produced a large iron key. "A copy," she told Charlie, "made by a friend." And raising her voice, she called, "Dorgo, are you there?"

The door opened and a small being shuffled in. Charlie couldn't help a slight intake of breath, not a gasp exactly but loud enough to make Matilda smile.

"Billy tells me that there are none like Dorgo in your city," she said, patting the being's shoulder.

Charlie gulped. "None." Indeed, he had never seen such a small, square, lumpish thing. Its hair, if it had any, was hidden in a big woolen cap, and its body was covered, rather than dressed, in a long brown robe. But it had a gentle face and kind gray-brown eyes.

"Dorgo, give your clothes to Charlie," said Matilda.

Showing no surprise or embarrassment, Dorgo pulled off his cap and held it out. A head of brown bristles was revealed, rather like a hedgehog's spines.

Charlie took the cap and put it on, then Matilda helped him to tuck all his hair inside. This wasn't difficult, as the cap was so large it covered his ears and eyebrows. While they were dealing with Charlie's hair, Dorgo lifted the brown robe over his head and dropped it on the floor.

Charlie was relieved to see that Dorgo's square body was still hidden in yellow underwear. Seizing the brown robe, Matilda dropped it over Charlie's head. "Bend your knees," she commanded. "Now, let's go."

Charlie obediently followed Matilda to the door. But before he shuffled out, he looked back and thanked the small being whose clothes he was wearing.

Dorgo beamed. "Is good," he said.

"Quick!" hissed Matilda. "We must hurry. I can hear movements below. The guards are leaving the kitchen."

Charlie shuffled after her. It was not easy to hurry with bent knees.

"Lower," whispered Matilda. "You are still too tall."

Charlie groaned and crouched even lower. Now it was impossible to walk properly. He lurched from side to side as he moved his bent legs forward.

Matilda put her hand over her mouth but failed to stifle a giggle. "You really do look like Dorgo now," she whispered.

They were making for a marble staircase that led down to the lower regions of the palace, but before they got there, a woman appeared at the top of the stairs. "My lady Matilda," she said. "The countess wants to see you. The shoe smith has come with some fine leather. You are to have your feet measured."

"Oh!" Matilda stopped in the middle of the passage, her hand resting on Charlie's shoulder. "Must I come now?"

The woman came toward them. She had a pale, stern face and her brown hair was pulled back severely into a silver net. Her dress was the color of dark ivy, and colored beads glittered at her neck. "Who is this servant?" The woman's cold, gray eyes rested on Charlie. "I have not seen him before."

Matilda gave a nervous laugh. "Of course you have, Donata. But they all look the same, don't they? This one is young. I am instructing him."

"The countess will not be kept waiting." Donata turned on her heel and swept down the staircase.

Matilda and Charlie stared at each other in dismay.

"Can you remember the way to the dungeons?" Matilda asked softly. "I dare not come with you now."

"I think so," Charlie said dismally. "Oh, Matilda, I can't believe I'll never see you again."

"Nor I," she said. "It is sad to part like this."

"My lady!" Donata called from the foot of the stairs.

"I'm coming." Matilda put one foot on the stair, then turned back to Charlie.

"The key," she whispered, putting it into his hand. "Wait a few minutes after I am gone. And keep Dorgo's clothes with you when you go. He will be in trouble if you leave them in the dungeon. I can easily find another outfit for him."

Charlie nodded and slipped the key into his pocket, beneath the brown robe.

"Good-bye, Matilda," he murmured.

"Fare thee well, Charlie." She bent and kissed his cheek, and then she was gone, her fine leather shoes tap-tapping on the marble staircase and then receding into the distance. Somewhere deep within the palace, a heavy door clanged shut. And then all was silent.

The mirror seemed to move beneath Charlie's fingers, warm and smooth. He must hurry. Deciding not to attempt a descent on bent legs, Charlie straightened up and ran down the staircase. At the bottom he crouched again and shuffled forward. It took him some time to get his bearings.

Count Harken's palace had few windows. The wide corridor that Charlie was lurching along was carpeted in furs and lit by flaming rushes. Peering into the hallways that led off the corridor, he saw one that he recognized and, straightening his knees, dashed into it. Here there were no rushlights, and it became darker and darker. Claerwen crawled from inside Charlie's collar and flew ahead, her soft light showing rock walls and a floor of brick and rubble.

Deeper and deeper they went. The air was thin and stale. At last Charlie reached a familiar half circle of iron railings. Behind the railings a stairway of rocky steps twisted down into an even greater darkness.

Was the troll guard already there, waiting to grab him? Charlie had no way of knowing. He cautiously began to descend the steep steps. He was only halfway down when he heard footsteps approaching, and then a deep, hoarse voice echoed along the hallway above him. Someone, the troll probably, was attempting to hum a monotonous tune.

Charlie tore down the rest of the steps, stumbling and slipping on the rocky surface. He arrived at last in a cavelike room where a candle spluttered on a table. Beyond the table Charlie could see the bars of a cell. He leaped toward the cell and, looking through the bars, saw a small figure curled on a rough bed of straw.

"Billy!" Charlie whispered. "It's me, Charlie!"

Billy sat up. He stared at Charlie, aghast. "W-what?"

Charlie briefly lifted Dorgo's cap. "See! It's me. I've come to take you back."

"CHARLIE!" cried Billy.

"Shhh!" warned Charlie. "Someone's coming." The footsteps above had increased their pace. Now they were descending the rough steps.

Charlie fitted Matilda's key into the lock on the cell door, and it swung open. He leaped inside.

"How... how are we going to... ?" Billy began.

Charlie held up the mirror. "With this, and with Claerwen. Hold my hand."

"Wait!" cried Billy. He ran over to his rat, who was crouching beside a small hole in the wall. "He's waiting for his friend," said Billy. "But, Rembrandt, we've got to go." He clutched the rat, who gave a loud squeal and began to struggle violently.

"Quick!" said Charlie, grabbing Billy's hand. "We must go, NOW!" He looked into the mirror and thought of Emma waiting for him in the spare room at number nine. He could see her face now, pale and anxious. Charlie wished himself there, beside her. "Claerwen, let's go," he cried.

Feet appeared, stumbling down into the guard's room. And there was Oddthumb the troll leaping toward the cell, his hand, with its great thumb, extended toward them.

All at once Charlie was rocked off his feet and was tugged upward, the mirror burning one hand and Billy's fingers clutched in the other.

The second journey was nothing like the first. How many tricks could the mirror play, Charlie wondered, as they tumbled through the dark. Wind howled in their ears, and hailstones beat into their faces. Their legs kicked aimlessly, reaching for a solid mass to land on. And still they whirled, over and over, around and around.

"Ahhh!" groaned Charlie. His knees hit the floor and he fell in a crumpled heap, unable to brace himself with either hand, as one still held fast to the mirror and the other clung to Billy Raven.

"That was quite something," said a voice.

Charlie let go of Billy's hand and rolled onto his back.

Emma peered down at him. She was smiling. "You've got him," she said. "Well done."

Charlie turned his head. Billy was lying beside him. One of the lenses in his glasses had cracked and he looked quite sinister with a starburst covering his eye.

"You didn't have time to change, then," Emma remarked.

Charlie slowly got to his feet. He was still wearing Dorgo's woolen cap and ill-fitting gown. Billy was dressed in a blue velvet jacket, braided in gold at the collar and cuffs, and blue velvet trousers. The outfit looked somewhat the worse for wear. The front was stained and the pants torn. On one foot he wore a very long pointed shoe. His other foot was bare.

Rembrandt was sitting on Billy's chest, squealing endlessly. Billy sat up.

"I'm sorry about Gloria," he told the rat in a series of small squeaks. "But it was then or never. Anyway, we couldn't have brought her back."

"Huh!" Rembrandt turned his back on Billy, and a fly buzzed out of his fur.

"How come we managed to bring a fly back, then?" the rat asked sulkily.

Billy couldn't answer that one. "Hi, Em," he said. "It's good to see you."

"You, too," she said. "Nice outfit."

"It was." He looked down at the stains on his jacket. "I hope there's something to eat. I'm really, really hungry." He got up and made for the door, but Charlie held him back.

"You'd better stay in here, Billy," Charlie said. "Grandma Bone might see you, and if the Bloors know you're back, they'll be after you."

Billy sighed, sat down on a box, and rubbed his tummy.

"I'll get you something." Emma rushed off.

As Charlie pulled off Dorgo's clothes he glanced out the window and noticed that the rooftops he could usually see were now completely obscured by the fog. By the time he tidied himself up, Emma was back with a tray of cakes and orange juice, and also Alice Angel. When Billy saw Alice, the eye behind his good lens widened in terror and he pushed himself, and his box, back into a corner. But Alice knelt beside him, not too close but near enough for him to take her hand if he needed to. "Billy, you must be so frightened," she said.

"What a journey you've had.

You're safe now. My name is Alice Angel and I won't let anything happen to you."

Billy relaxed and a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I'm Billy Raven," he said, clasping her hand. "And that's Rembrandt." He pointed at the rat, who was sulking in a corner, facing the wall. "He had to leave his girlfriend behind in Badlock, and he's very upset about it."

Alice covered her mouth with her hand, but she couldn't hold back a peal of laughter. Emma joined in, and even Billy started to giggle. But Charlie thought of Matilda and couldn't find the joke funny.

"I'm glad I'm back," Billy said, "and Rembrandt will be too when he's found another girlfriend. I suppose I was silly to like it so much in Badlock. But the count was nice to me at first. He made all those animals for me, and even if they didn't have hearts, they let me pet them, and the tiger even purred.

But then I was put in that dungeon. I think the count got bored with me.

Maybe he thought I'd be useful, and then he found out that all I could do was talk to animals"—

Billy took off his glasses and touched the frame of the shattered lens—"and that wasn't good enough."

"Count Harken trapped you in Badlock because the Bloors wanted it," Charlie said.

"Why?" asked Billy.

Charlie didn't think that now was the right time to tell Billy that he would inherit the Bloor family fortune, if a certain will, in a certain box, could be found. Uncle Paton had been reluctant to discuss the hidden will just lately. Perhaps he had changed his mind about it.

The doorbell rang and voices could be heard down in the hall. Charlie went out onto the landing and called, "Who is it, Maisie?"

Maisie came to the foot of the stairwell and said, "Miss Ingledew's come for Emma."

"Miss Ingledew?" said Charlie. "Why?"

Emma ran out onto the landing, crying, "I'm sorry, Auntie, so sorry. I should have come straight home."

"She can't hear you," shouted Maisie. "She won't come in, but she doesn't want you to walk home alone. The fog's getting thicker."

"Emma, take this, it's finished." Alice handed Emma a white plastic bag.

"The vest," said Emma, peeping into the bag.

Alice nodded. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Alice!" Emma kissed Alice's cheek and ran down the stairs. She reached the landing below just as Grandma Bone came out of the bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" Grandma Bone demanded, seizing Emma's shoulder.

"Paying a visit," said Emma, wriggling free and bounding down the next flight.

"At this time of the morning?" Grandma Bone leaned over the banister and stared down into the hall. "Maisie, why's the front door open? What's going on?"

Before Maisie could reply, Alice Angel appeared at the top of the stairwell and called down to Grandma Bone.

"There's nothing to worry about, Grizelda. Go back to bed and I'll bring you a nice cup of tea."

"Oh." Grandma Bone looked confused. "All right, then." She padded back to her bedroom and closed the door. Emma left the house at the same moment, and Maisie shut the front door. Half a second later, Uncle Paton opened his bedroom door and, looking up at Charlie, asked, "Was that... ?"

"Miss Ingledew, Uncle P.," said Charlie.

"She didn't come in, then?" his uncle inquired, tentatively.

Feeling a little uncomfortable, Charlie replied, "No, Uncle."

"I see." Uncle Paton withdrew his head, and Charlie felt even worse.

In the spare room, Billy had coaxed Rembrandt out of his corner with a piece of fruitcake, the rat's favorite. The fly that had traveled from Badlock in Rembrandt's fur was now buzzing around the window.

"I don't like the look of that fly," said Alice, trying to swat it with a duster.

Charlie noticed that, in a certain light, the fly looked green. Claerwen fluttered after it, but the fly dropped behind a pile of books on a shelf and went quiet.

Alice went to tell Maisie what had been going on and to fetch Grandma Bone a cup of tea. Charlie ran down to his bedroom to look for some clothes for Billy. It was decided that Billy should stay in the spare room until other arrangements could be made. What those arrangements might be, nobody could work out just yet. Even Alice was stumped. And when Charlie asked his uncle for advice, Paton just stared at Charlie as if he'd been told that a Martian was sitting in the spare room.

"I don't know what to suggest," Uncle Paton said at length. "Yes, keep him in the spare room for a while, by all means. But he can't stay there forever."

"It won't be forever, will it, Uncle P.?" said Charlie.

"Because something is going to happen very soon. Something that will change EVERYTHING forever."

"Indeed," agreed his uncle without much enthusiasm.

It was an odd day, quiet and still. The fog had crept closer and the city was holding its breath. Benjamin and his parents came over at teatime and, with the exception of Grandma Bone and Billy, they all gathered in the kitchen to hear what Mr. Brown had to say. Being a private detective meant that he had managed to discover the truth of some of the rumors that had been flying around.

The mayor and some of the councillors had left the city. Part of the police force could not be located, though Officer Singh and Officer Wood had been spotted patrolling High Street. All the schools would be closed on Monday except for Bloor's Academy. The post office and all the banks would be closed. One or two buses might run. There were no taxis to be had.

"So we're on our own, more or less," said Mrs. Brown cheerfully. "I've got enough food for a couple of weeks, and fogs never last longer than that."

No one liked to say that this particular fog might carry something that could last forever.

The Browns stayed for dinner, and when they had gone home, a bed was made up for Billy in the spare room. With Rembrandt on his pillow, he was soon fast asleep.

In the middle of the night a deafening explosion ripped through the house.

The building shook to its very foundations; china slid off the dresser, and furniture groaned and slithered out of place.

Tumbling out of bed, Charlie met his uncle clutching the railings on the landing. Maisie and Alice appeared on the landing above and ran down to meet them. The front door was open and a cold wind swept through the house.

"Was it an earthquake?" cried Maisie.

"More like a meteor strike," said Uncle Paton.

"A bolt of lightning?" Charlie suggested.

Alice said quietly, "Or the sound of a fly turning into something much larger."

They looked at her in horror, and Charlie whispered, "Rembrandt's fly!"

19. RESCUING SOLOMON

There were few to see the dark figure striding up the road; his magnificence was wasted on the creatures of the night, who quickly fled. Emeralds glinted at the stranger's neck, his gold cloak rippled like a waterfall, his black tunic was encrusted with pearls, and his hair was dusted with gold.

From the roof of number nine, the bright eyes of three vibrant cats watched the enchanter's progress through the fog. When he reached the end of the road, the cats climbed down and began to follow him. Soon he sensed their presence and turned with a hiss that would have chilled the blood of any ordinary cat. But these flame-colored cats were not ordinary. They had the hearts and minds of leopards. As soon as the enchanter had resumed his course, they followed, keeping to the shadows but never losing sight of their prey.

It soon became clear that the enchanter was making for Bloor's Academy. The cats watched him climb the steps between the two towers and cross the

courtyard to the entrance. The cats ran past the steps and along the side of the building until they reached a high stone wall. Up they went, the three bright forms. They paced along the top of the wall, watching the frosted field below and the woods beyond, where the great red arch led into the castle ruins.

A stirring in the naked winter trees alerted them. They moved closer together, as though each cat knew his senses would be enhanced by the nearness of the others. They saw the white mare first, and then her rider: a knight in a silver helmet, his suit of chain mail glimmering in the frail light of a fogbound moon. A deep purr rose in the throats of the three cats.

They leaped from the wall and ran to the mare's side.

The enchanter didn't wait for an answer to his knocking. He seized the bronze handle in fingers ringed with emerald and gold, and with one twist, he shattered the lock, letting loose a shower of sparkling, splintered wood.

The heavy doors crashed open and the enchanter swept into the hall.

A heavyset man in plaid pajamas flung himself, trembling, to the floor in front of the enchanter. "I was coming, my lord... sire... Count Harken," he declared. "Forgive ... I didn't know..."

"Get up, Weedon." Count Harken kicked the prostrate body in the ribs, causing a violent shudder to run through it.

Weedon stumbled to his feet. He couldn't quite bring himself to stand upright but remained bent at the waist in an untidy sort of bow. "We didn't know," he muttered, "though Mrs. Tilpin told us to be ready."

"Where are they?" the count demanded.

"In the west wing, my lord, asleep."

"Not for long," said the enchanter. "Take me there."

Weedon straightened up a fraction and tottered over to the door to the west wing. Holding back the door, he let the enchanter sweep past him, the gold robe scratching his knuckles as it brushed against his hand. Weedon suppressed a sob of pain and hurried after the count.

"I'll have to wake them, my lord," the porter mumbled. "Forgive me, but it's well past midnight. It might take a while to gather them."

"Ring a bell. Bang a gong!" the count commanded. "There must be one." He began to mount the stairs to the first floor.

"Oh, indeed there is," said Weedon, scrabbling behind the scratchy gold-threaded cloak.

The huge brass gong hung in an oak frame outside the headmaster's study. A hammer with a round leather head lay beneath it. Weedon had never hit the gong. He wouldn't have dared. In fact, he had only heard it once, when Manfred in a teenage tantrum had pounded it so hard, the head of the hammer had split in two. The sound had been deafening. It reached into every part of the building and took fifteen minutes to subside. The hammer had been mended and Manfred forbidden ever to touch the thing again.

The enchanter regarded the gong with interest, pronouncing it excellent for his purpose. "I'll do it myself," he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Lifting the hammer, he drew back his gold-spangled arm and beat the gong with such force, Weedon's left eardrum was perforated.

The sound reverberated through the building, even reaching Cook in her underground rooms. And for Cook, that sound spelled the end of an era. For many years she had kept the balance in Bloor's Academy. She called herself the lodestone of the house, keeping a watchful eye on the endowed children and doing whatever she could to make sure those who used wickedness did not overcome the others: the children who refused to let the Bloors corrupt them.

Cook knew no one who would strike the massive gong in the middle of the night. Something told her that the Shadow of Badlock had broken into the city again. And this time it would be hard to banish him. This time he had made sure he had followers in the city. Even as Cook sat there wondering what to do, an army from the past was coming to life.

"So why am I sitting here?" Cook muttered to herself. She pulled her suitcase from a closet and began to pack.

Up in the west wing a motley group had assembled in the headmaster's study.

They were all standing except for the enchanter, who sat behind the headmaster's desk, and Titania Tilpin, who had fainted at the sight of her ancestor the count.

Dr. Bloor wore a tweed robe that wouldn't have looked out of place in a hunting lodge. Manfred had appeared in purple silk pajamas, much to his father's disapproval, and Ezekiel wore a red nightcap, a plaid jacket, and a too-short nightshirt (another embarrassment for Dr. Bloor). Titania, lying beside the door, was wearing a black kimono, while Joshua, in an ordinary green bathrobe, was trying to revive his mother by patting her cheeks.

"Foolish boy," said Count Harken. "That will do no good."

"Weedon, get some water," said Dr. Bloor.

Still clutching his left ear, Weedon staggered out.

"It's lucky he's still got one good ear," said Manfred, chuckling at his own joke.

No one else laughed. This was a serious moment and the sooner Manfred caught on, the better. Everyone waited for the enchanter to speak, while he waited for Weedon to return. He arrived, at last, with a jug of water and his wife in curlers and a pink shawl.

"Put it on her face," the enchanter commanded, pointing at Titania.

"Put it?" Weedon, looking uncertain, held up the jug.

"Pour it!" thundered the enchanter.

"Pour? Of course." Weedon turned the jug and let a stream of water splash onto Titania's face.

She sat up, gulping for air. "I'm drowning!" she screamed.

"You are not," said the count. "Calm yourself."

"My lord, it really is you!" Clinging to her son, Titania pulled herself to her feet. "I knew you would come, but with the mirror broken and..."

"I came another way," the count said, with a private sort of smile.

"Tell us how," begged Ezekiel. "We'd love to know."

"With the boy," the count said carelessly. "Charlie Bone. I knew he would come to Badlock. My granddaughter has a fondness for him. She tried to reach him through my painting, but he used the mirror."

"The mirror?" cried Titania. "The Mirror of Amoret? But it's broken."

"Not now. I allowed the boy to arrive. I even watched him use a ridiculous garb to rescue his friend, Billy, and I traveled back with them."

A babble of complaints and questions broke out, and raising his hand for silence, the enchanter said, "How did I travel? As a fly. And why did I allow Billy to return to your city? Because he was of no use to me."

"But what about the will?" Ezekiel screeched. "That kid stands to inherit everything if the will is found. We had a bargain, sir. You keep Billy, and we help you to get back into the city."

Leaning across the desk, the enchanter roared in Ezekiel's face, "But you didn't help, did you?"

"What, what?" Ezekiel spluttered. "She tried"—he pointed at Titania—"and Venetia Yewbeam attempted to seal the crack in the mirror."

"I called to your shadow in the Red King's portrait," Titania whined. "But all in vain. I brought back my ancestor Ashkelan Kapaldi to help, but the Red Knight killed him."

"Red Knight?" The enchanter sat up, his ringed fingers drumming the desk.

"What Red Knight?"

"A killer, a rogue, a dressed-up devil..."

Dr. Bloor's calm voice cut through Titania's hysterical outburst. "A knight on a white horse has been seen, now and then, riding through the city. He appears to be protecting some of the endowed children, Charlie Bone among them. This knight has a plume of red feathers on his helmet, a red cloak, and a shield with a burning sun."

"The king!" Count Harken leaped up, his eyes blazing. "So he has returned to give me the ultimate satisfaction. All my life I have relished the thought of this encounter."

"I hesitate to disagree," said Dr. Bloor, "but surely it cannot be the Red King himself, the man who built this city nine hundred years ago?"

"I am here," the enchanter reminded him, "so why should he not be here?"

Manfred, who had been listening to the conversation with increasing impatience, suddenly spoke up. "The Red King is a tree, always will be, so we've heard. If he could have returned as a man, then he would have done it years ago."

The count began to look uncertain. At last he said, "If he is not the king, then he is someone who has taken on the king's mantle. Whoever he is, he must be destroyed before I can take this city into the past."

"The past?" said Ezekiel. "But..."

"Oh, you can keep your house, your garden, your treasures." The enchanter waved his hand disdainfully. "But they will all be taken into the past."

The Bloors stared at the enchanter, not quite comprehending what they had heard. Even Titania looked anxious.

"You will hardly notice the difference," the enchanter said airily. "The city will be in the world of Badlock, that is all. Now, can someone find me a horse. Preferably a stallion. And I'll need some of the armor that I saw displayed in your hall. We will do battle on the morrow!"

"We?" croaked Ezekiel.

"Battle?" said Dr. Bloor.

The family at number nine was on its way back to bed when the doorbell rang.

"It's going to be a long night," sighed Uncle Paton. He went down into the hall and called, "Who's there?"

"It's me. Cook!" said a voice.

"Cook?" Uncle Paton drew back the bolts and. unlocked the door. When he opened it, a small figure darted in. She was carrying a large suitcase in one hand and a leather bag in the other.

"My word," she puffed, dumping the suitcase and the bag on the floor. "It's dark in here, Mr. Yewbeam."

"There's a reason," said Paton.

"Oh, of course." Cook noticed the candle burning on the landing above.

"Cook!" cried Charlie.

Cook blinked at the three figures on the stairs, the smallest of whom was now bounding down toward her.

"What's happened?" asked Charlie. He had rarely seen Cook outside the school.

"I've left Bloor's," she said. "The balance is gone. You can't go back there, Charlie. None of you can. It's all over."

"What's all over?" Paton ushered Cook into the kitchen, where he lit another candle. "Sit down and tell us what's happened."

Charlie followed them, and when Alice came in, Cook exclaimed, "Alice Angel!

I'm so glad you're here. What a difference it will make."

Alice smiled and sat beside her. "Tell us, Cook!"

"He's come back." Cook couldn't control the tremble in her voice. "Count Harken. It's all over for us. We'll have to leave before it's too late."

"It is too late." There was anxiety in Alice's tone but not despair, and Charlie took comfort from this.

"The fog is very thick," Cook agreed. "I could barely see my way here. Some of the streetlights are out, and I heard looters in High Street. I came the back way."

Maisie, who'd been making yet another pot of tea, said, "What's going to become of us all? What can we do?"

"Plenty," said Paton firmly. "I wouldn't want to leave this city, even if I could. It's worth fighting for, I'm sure you all agree."

They did agree, but a sudden thought caused Charlie to gasp, "Mom and Dad! If we can't get out, they can't get in, and they're on their way here." He paused. "At least I think they are."

Alice touched his hand. "They will be here, Charlie."

It was like a promise, and although Charlie tried hard to ignore the uncomfortable doubts that kept tormenting him, all at once they became too much to bear and he burst out, "Why did he run away just when we needed him?"

Nobody spoke and Charlie realized that even Uncle Paton had been worried by the same distressing doubts.

"We'll know soon enough," said Maisie, handing Cook a cup of tea. "I'll make up a bed in the living room," she told her. "The sofa's very comfy, and I'm sure we'll all be thinking better in the morning."

"Indeed," said Uncle Paton. "I'm off. Sleep well, everyone."

Charlie followed his uncle upstairs. He was about to go into his room when he saw a small figure sitting on the second flight of stairs.

"Charlie," Billy whispered. "Is he here?"

"The enchanter?" Charlie was reluctant to alarm Billy, but he would have to know the truth eventually. "Yes, he is," he admitted. "But Cook's here and we think everything's going to be all right."

"Oh, good." Billy gave a huge yawn. "Night, Charlie."

In the bookstore, Mrs. Kettle had been given Emma's room, while Dagbert took the sofa downstairs. Emma shared her aunt's bed. None of them slept very well. Voices from Piminy Street carried through the air in disturbing waves of sound: raucous laughter; rough, deep singing; and wild strains from a fiddle that played on and on, the fiddler seeming never to tire. But it was the smell of burning that finally drove Mrs. Kettle to the window.

From the rear of the bookstore you could see the backyards of the houses in Piminy Street and Cathedral Close, and the narrow alley between them. The alley was deserted at the moment; it would not be too difficult to creep across without being seen. Smoke was billowing from behind the roofs of Piminy Street, and Mrs. Kettle began to feel anxious for the blue boa. In her haste to find Dagbert and get him to safety, she had forgotten her precious snake.

"He can't stay there, poor love." Mrs. Kettle dressed hastily. She was about to leave the room when the door opened and Emma crept in.

"You gave me quite a fright, my dear," said Mrs. Kettle, patting her heart.

Emma explained that she had left something in one of her drawers, a vest that Alice Angel had made for Olivia. "She's been won over," Emma told Mrs.

Kettle.

"Someone gave her a vest that's made her one of THEM. She's changed completely, will hardly speak to me. And she absolutely won't be parted from the awful thing."

"So you want to swap them. The one that troubles her must be exchanged for one that brings her peace."

"It is a bit like that." Emma smiled. Mrs. Kettle had put it so well. Olivia was troubled. Even though she struggled to keep the bewitching vest with her, it appeared to be draining the life out of her. Emma went to her drawer and lifted out the vest that Alice Angel had made.

"It's beautiful." Mrs. Kettle touched the silver circles. "It's easy to see why Olivia would want to wear a thing like this."

"It's as light as a feather," said Emma, "and yet Olivia seems to sink under the other one, as though it's weighted with stones."

"Evil is heavy," Mrs. Kettle declared, "goodness a pleasure to wear."

Mrs. Kettle looked so strong and solid, any qualms that Emma might have had were instantly swept away, and she found herself describing how she would go to Olivia's house in the morning and change the vests while Olivia was dressing. "That's the only moment in the whole day when she'll take it off,"

said Emma.

"Good luck, my dear." Mrs. Kettle laid a hand on Emma's shoulder, and Emma could feel the strength of all those smith magicians who had gone before. It gave her a rush of courage.

"Thank you, Mrs. Kettle. Good night!"

"Good night to you, my dear. I'll be off now to get my lovely snake."

While Emma went back to bed, Mrs. Kettle slipped down the stairs. She tiptoed through the living room, where Dagbert Endless was moaning in his sleep, and into the kitchen. The back door opened into a small yard. Mrs. Kettle stepped out into the foggy air and closed the door behind her. Then she made a sudden dash across the alley to her own backyard.

On the way she had to pass behind the Stone Shop, and what she saw there made her blood run cold.

The yard was crammed with huge stone creatures, hideous things with tusks, broad noses, eyes hidden in wrinkled stone, and pointed teeth protruding from their lower jaws. What warped imagination had conjured up these dreadful beasts? she wondered. One turned its head, and Mrs. Kettle ran. Eric Shellhorn, she thought. He's bringing them to life.

When she reached her shop, Mrs. Kettle dared not turn a light on. The blue boa was curled beneath a table at the back. He had obviously tried to get as far away from the window as possible. Flames from the street fires bathed the shop in an angry orange glow, and the silhouettes of prancing figures passed constantly across the window.

"Come on, my love!" Mrs. Kettle reached down and coaxed the snake from his hiding place. He crawled up her arm and wrapped himself around her neck.

"We'd best be quick," she whispered.

As she stepped into the alley, two figures appeared in the Stone Shop yard: Melmott the stonemason and a burly figure in a white undershirt. Mrs. Kettle hoped they hadn't seen her, but Melmott heard the rattle of a pebble under her foot and looked her way.

"Ah! What have we here?" he said in his cold, rough voice.

"Oh, heavens," whispered Mrs. Kettle. "Solomon, do something!" She pulled the boa's tail, hoping he'd understand.

Solomon did. In two seconds he had slithered from Mrs. Kettle's head right down to her shoes, and both he and Mrs. Kettle vanished.

"What the heck!" Melmott exclaimed.

"Where did they go?" shouted the man in the undershirt.

Mrs. Kettle held her nerve. While the men turned their heads this way and that, she stealthily crept past them.

A cat jumped from a wall farther up the alley, and the men ran toward the sound, shouting, "Gotcha! You can't fool us!"

Mrs. Kettle hitched the invisible boa back onto her shoulders and ran for the bookstore. Bounding into the kitchen, she ran straight into Dagbert Endless, who was getting himself a drink of water. He was just about to scream, when an invisible hand was clamped over his mouth, and a familiar voice said,

"Shhh, my dear! It's only me, Mrs. Kettle. You can see for yourself in a moment."

Dagbert watched the space in front of him gradually fill up with the broad figure of Mrs. Kettle. Across her shoulders lay a huge blue snake with feathers on its head.

"This is Solomon," said Mrs. Kettle. "Isn't he a beauty?"

Dagbert nodded. He was too astonished to speak.

20. ON THE HEATH

During the night the fog crept right over the city in a smothering gray cloud. The merrymakers of Piminy Street slept where they had dropped on sidewalks littered with broken glass and drifting ash. The cathedral clock chimed seven across a city that waited, in fear, for the day that was to come.

In Ingledew's Bookstore, Dagbert had fallen into a deep sleep. The cathedral chimes never woke him, nor did Emma creeping past with the vest in a white plastic bag. Once she'd fortified herself with a glass of milk, she tucked the bag under her arm and left the house by the back door. Outside she stood for a moment in the yard. The smell of the fog and burning garbage hit the back of her throat; she put a hand over her nose and mouth. She would have to fly through that toxic air and she needed a moment to prepare herself.

Deciding at last on a jackdaw, she hastily changed her shape behind the yard wall, then picked up the bag in her beak. Olivia's house was on Dragon Street, only two blocks beyond Charlie's. If the Vertigos wouldn't let Alice into their house, Emma stood no chance, so she resolved on an alternative to the front door. Mrs. Vertigo had often complained about the mess that jackdaws made, dropping twigs down her chimney. Twice a jackdaw had been found flapping sootily around their living room.

As Emma winged her way above the rooftops, she could hear voices in the cloud of fog: hoarse whispers, distant laughter, and even the clink of weapons. She ducked her head and tilted down to Dragon Street.

Olivia's house stood back to back with Alice Angel's old home, and no one could fail to recognize the orchard that grew between them. White buds were already appearing on some of the plum trees.

Alighting on the Vertigos' chimney, Emma was surprised to find a jackdaw already in residence. Her eggs hadn't yet been laid, but a fine nest was already half built. She seemed more surprised than angry to see Emma perching at the edge of her home.

"Excuse me," Emma murmured and she dived through the tangle of twigs and straw before plummeting down the dusty chimney. She landed in the Vertigos'

living room fireplace with the plastic bag still held in her beak. The remains of last night's fire were warm but luckily not alight.

After a few moments of feather riffling, Emma stepped out of the fireplace, a girl once more. It wasn't until she began to tiptoe up the stairs that she

noticed her feet were leaving sooty marks on the carpet. Can't be helped, thought Emma. Perhaps they'll blame the jackdaws!

There was a large linen closet in the hall, and Emma quickly crawled in, pulling the door shut behind her. Now she would have to wait.

Mr. and Mrs. Vertigo always slept late on Sunday mornings, so Olivia would be the first one up. Emma hoped she wouldn't need anything from the linen closet on her way to the bathroom.

Time passes slowly when you're waiting in the dark, in a rather uncomfortable position. Emma was just beginning to think that she couldn't bear it another minute, when she heard a door open. Someone walked past the closet and went to the bathroom. Emma heard the bathroom door close, but the lock didn't click. She crawled warily out of the closet and listened. Someone was taking a shower. It had to be Olivia.

Emma crept over to the bathroom door. She slowly turned the handle until it opened just wide enough for her to see a pile of clothes on a low chair.

There was no sign of the vest. Perhaps it was under the pile? Or in Olivia's bedroom? Emma darted to the bedroom. She couldn't see the vest anywhere.

Frantically she lifted the bedspread and the pillows. She looked under the bed, pulled out drawers, searched the closet. Nothing. Was Olivia wearing the vest in the shower?

Emma ran back to the bathroom. Olivia was now humming monotonously as she washed her hair. Seizing the pile of clothes, Emma turned it upside down. And there was the vest. As she pulled the new vest out of the bag, Emma's hand began to shake. She couldn't afford to stop now, even though she had no idea what might happen if Olivia discovered her precious vest had been switched.

Grabbing the enchanted garment, she stuffed it into the bag, replaced it with the new one, and laid the clothes back on the chair.

"Is someone there?" Olivia called from behind the shower curtain. "Mom, is that you?"

Emma dropped to the floor behind the chair. Olivia peeped around the curtain.

Her eyes were misted with soapy water and she failed to see the hunched figure behind the chair. When she went back to her showering, Emma crawled out of the bathroom and back into the linen closet, where she stuffed the bag behind some sheets. It was too late to go back and close the bathroom door.

Olivia had turned off the shower.

Emma waited. Waited and waited. How long did it take a person to dry themselves and get dressed? There was a sudden long wait and then a thump.

Emma ran back to the bathroom. Olivia, fully dressed, was lying on her back.

Her eyes were open and her hands rested on her chest. She seemed to be finding it difficult to breathe. "Ah! Ah! Ahhh!" she moaned. Beneath her fingers the silver discs on the new vest were turning all the colors of the rainbow. They sparkled and crackled and sang, while Olivia cried, "Help me!

Oh, help me! I'm dying."

Emma dropped to her knees beside her friend. "You're not dying, Liv," she said. "You're coming to life again." She took Olivia's hand and held it tight in both of her own. It wasn't easy to escape wickedness, she realized, and she couldn't imagine the pain that Olivia must be feeling. She began to thrash about, kicking her legs, flinging one arm out and banging the floor with her free hand while Emma still clung to the other.

"Whatever's going on?" Mrs. Vertigo ran into the bathroom and bent over her daughter. "Liv, what is it? What's the matter?"

Emma wondered how she could tell Mrs. Vertigo the truth. She was afraid the vest would be torn off Olivia before she had been healed. But Olivia suddenly

became still. Her eyes closed and she appeared to be in a deep and peaceful sleep.

"Has she fainted?" Mrs. Vertigo asked Emma. "She's smiling. Emma, what's been going on?"

"I'm not sure, Mrs. Vertigo," Emma 'said a little guiltily. "But I think Liv's OK now."

Olivia opened her eyes. "Hi, Em," she said. "Wow! I feel weird."

"You fainted, darling," said Mrs. Vertigo. "I expect you got up too early."

"I expect I did," said Olivia. She sat up. "Silly me."

It was too much for Emma to behave as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

She suddenly hugged her friend tight, crying, "Oh, Liv. I'm so glad you're better."

"Me, too," said Olivia, looking somewhat puzzled.

Nobody thought to ask how Emma had got into the house, and the sooty marks were put down to yet another chimney jackdaw. Soon Emma and the Vertigos were eating a hearty breakfast. When the doorbell rang, the girls continued their conversation about fashion while Mrs. Vertigo went to the front door in her white bathrobe.

When Mrs. Vertigo came back, she looked anxious. "There are three young men here," she told the girls. "Friends of yours."

Before she could go any further, Tancred Torsson poked his head around the door and said, "Hello, Em. I'm glad I found you. Charlie said you might be here."

Emma's cheeks turned pink as she gave Tancred a profoundly welcoming smile.

"I'm here, too," said Olivia. "In fact, I live here."

"And you look quite your old self to me," said Tancred. "I heard you'd been acting a bit peculiar."

Olivia frowned. "I was tricked," she said. "It won't happen again."

By now Lysander had pushed Tancred farther into the kitchen and walked in himself, followed by Gabriel Silk. At this moment Mr. Vertigo chose to come galloping down the stairs in jeans and what might have been a pink pajama top, but you couldn't always tell with him, as he was a famous film director.

There was now quite a crush in the Vertigos' kitchen, but they managed somehow to get everyone around the table, and luckily there was enough orange juice left for the three boys. Lysander waited until Mr. Vertigo had helped himself to a banana before explaining why they had arrived so early on a Sunday morning.

"It was Mr. Silk," he said, glancing at Gabriel. "You can imagine what it's like up in the Heights in this fog. We can hardly see an inch in front of our faces. Mr. Silk rang my dad and Tancred's, and he said... well, he said something odd, although it made sense to us, to me and Tancred anyway."

"Well, none of it makes sense to me yet." Mr. Vertigo knitted his brows.

"Everyone seems to be leaving the city, which is a dumb thing to do, if you ask me."

"Something has happened, Mr. Vertigo," Lysander said earnestly. "I expect you've heard of Count Harken?"

Olivia's parents might have been in the movie business, but that didn't mean they weren't aware of the city's history. In fact, they knew a great deal about it and they had certainly heard of Count Harken the enchanter. They also knew that a day would arrive when their daughter's extraordinary talent would be needed for something more vital than scaring a few misguided children.

"I imagine that he's got back somehow," said Mr. Vertigo, looking at the mist creeping through their garden.

"That's about it." Lysander was relieved to find that he wouldn't have to explain a rather complex situation. "The thing is, Gabriel's dad has advised us to walk up to the Heath."

"Why?" asked Olivia's father. Her mother was more interested in "Who?"

"Us." Lysander looked at Gabriel.

Taking his cue, Gabriel said, "Er, my family has always kept the Red King's cloak but just lately, my dad passed it on to someone else, a... er"—he cleared his throat—"a... um... knight. The knight has been protecting us, but now my dad says we must do something for ourselves. All of us"—he glanced at Emma and Olivia—"all of us children of the Red King. The knight needs our help to save the city."

"Who is this knight?" Mr. Vertigo demanded. "He could be leading you into a trap."

"I don't think so, sir," Gabriel said firmly.

Mr. Vertigo leaped up. "I'll get my jacket. We'll come with you. I can't allow the girls to go alone."

"They'll be with us, sir," said Tancred, "and we think it's best if you stay here." He allowed a slight breeze to blow across the table to emphasize his point. "We have talents. We can protect ourselves better than you can, if you don't mind my saying so. Mr. Yewbeam will be there, and Mrs. Kettle, and Alice Angel."

"Alice?" Mrs. Vertigo looked at her daughter.

"Alice Angel? Why didn't you say?" cried Olivia. "I'll be absolutely fine, Mom, if Alice is with me."

"If you say so." Mrs. Vertigo clasped her face in her hands. "And I suppose we must just sit here and wait?"

"That's about it, Mrs V," Tancred said cheerfully. "I think we'd better be off now, so if you two girls ..."

"Ready in a minute." Olivia pranced out of the room and up the stairs. She returned a few seconds later wearing a silver-gray bomber jacket, black boots, and a white faux fur hat with earflaps. "Ta-da! I'm ready!" she announced.

Emma smiled. It was so good to have the old Olivia back again.

With brief kisses for her parents, Olivia followed the others out into the fog. Their next stop would be at number nine Filbert Street.

Charlie was waiting for them in the open doorway. As soon as he saw the group arrive through the fog, he called up the stairs, and his uncle appeared, wearing his black fedora and long coat. He was carrying a stout walking stick that Charlie had never seen before.

Alice Angel came down the second flight, followed closely by Billy. When she reached the hall, Olivia caught sight of her and jumped up the steps, crying,

"Alice! Alice! I'm so happy to see you!"

Alice gave her a hug. "I'm happy too, Olivia, dear."

Maisie and Cook came out of the kitchen, and Maisie said plaintively, "What are we going to do, Cook and me? Just wait and wonder? And what about Grandma Bone?"

"She won't give you any trouble," Alice told her. "We'll be back, dear Maisie. Please don't worry."

"I'll be with you." Cook took Maisie's arm. "We'll keep the balance together."

Maisie looked briefly reassured; nevertheless she watched anxiously from the door as the two groups met at the foot of the steps and then proceeded up Filbert Street together.

"Good luck!" called Maisie and Cook.

Seven children and two adults turned and waved to her.

They walked on in silence, an unusual state for some of them. Even Olivia had nothing to say, though she clung to Emma's hand. The gravity of the situation had finally struck home, and all of them were preoccupied with their own thoughts.

Halfway up High Street two figures loomed out of the fog. One very large and one small. Mrs. Kettle and Dagbert had been waiting for the others. As they drew closer, the sight of Mrs. Kettle's cheerful face and strong, broad shape brought a sudden babble of chatter from the group, and they increased their pace.

"Is Julia all right?" Uncle Paton asked Mrs. Kettle.

"Just fine," she replied. "Piminy Street's deserted. There's no one there to worry her now."

"That means they're all on the Heath," said Paton.

"It does indeed," Mrs. Kettle agreed. "But we can cope, can't we?" She pulled back her coat and patted her hip, and they all saw the bronze hilt of a great sword sheathed in a leather scabbard attached to her belt.

Charlie realized that, apart from Mrs. Kettle, none of them had a weapon of any kind. "Shouldn't we have one of those?" he asked, staring at her sword.

"You have your endowments, my dear," said Mrs. Kettle.

"They don't amount to much," Charlie muttered. He was thinking of himself.

Traveling into pictures wasn't much use in a fight, nor were Gabriel's psychic powers. And what about Billy? Communicating with animals wouldn't help when there were no animals around.

"Listen, my dear," Mrs. Kettle said gravely. "You are children of the Red King. That's all you will need when the time comes. Isn't that so, Alice?"

Alice gave one of her enigmatic smiles. "Of course!"

And so they set off again, Dagbert falling into step beside Charlie. What should we call him now? Charlie wondered. Because Dagbert no longer had the fishy smell that made people hold their noses whenever he was near. His skin had lost its green tinge, although it was very pale. Charlie couldn't imagine what it must be like to lose your father in such a dramatic way. "Water boy,"

he tried out, murmuring to Dagbert. "Can you still... you know?"

Dagbert nodded. "I haven't lost THAT!"

There was a distant shout. Looking back, Charlie saw Runner Bean bounding toward them. Benjamin and Fidelio were following fast behind.

"Uncle!" Charlie called to Paton, who, together with Mrs. Kettle, was leading the group. "There are two more of us—and a dog."

Uncle Paton stopped and the group behind him came to a sudden halt. They all turned to the two boys racing up to them. Fidelio and Benjamin arrived, gasping for breath and grinning, while Runner Bean bounced around, joyfully barking his head off.

"You left without us!" Benjamin complained.

"Maisie told us where you were heading," added Fidelio. "You might have let us know."

Lysander stepped forward and said, "Sorry, guys. You can't come. You're not endowed."

"So what?" said Fidelio.

"You won't be safe," said Tancred. "You need protection."

"We've got Runner Bean," Benjamin said stoutly, "and we won't be left out."

"What about your parents?" Alice asked gently. "Did you tell them what you were about to do?"

"We left notes." Fidelio glared at them defiantly. "And we're coming. So that's that."

"I'm sorry, boys," Uncle Paton began, "but you—"

He was cut short by an explosive crash from behind. The traffic lights had toppled over and now straddled the intersection. The lights themselves had broken off the pole and lay in the middle of the road. The misty figures of Mrs. Branko and the twins could just be made out, standing beside the fallen lights.