Charlie Bone and the Red Knight

Charlie Bone and the Red Knight (The Children of the Red King, Book 8) By Jenny Nimmo

To Alice and Corwine, with love...

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE XI

THE ENCHANTED SWORD 1

LORD GRIMWALD ARRIVES 19

A FAMILY TREE 43

GABRIEL'S SECRET 62

FIRE IN THE TUNNEL 85

CHARLIE ESCAPES 111

OLIVIA AND THE GARGOYLE 124

THE SEA GLOBE 145

THE FALSE GODMOTHER 163

TIGERFIELD STEPS 187

ANGEL IN THE SNOW 206

THE SEA-GOLD CHARMS 232

THE ROARING WAVE 257

A PERPLEXING POSTCARD 280

FOG! 302

A DISTANT VOICE 322

EAGLE THIEF 341

REMBRANDT'S FLY 356

RESCUING SOLOMON 381

ON THE HEATH 402

THE BATTLE 428

THE SEAT OF EVIL 440

THE CHILDREN OF THE RED KING, CALLED THE ENDOWED

THE ENDOWED ARE ALL DESCENDED FROM THE TEN CHILDREN OF THE RED KING.

Manfred Bloor Teaching assistant at Bloor's Academy. A hypnotist. He is descended from Borlath, elder son of the Red King. Borlath was a brutal and sadistic tyrant.

Naren Bloor Adopted daughter of Bartholomew Bloor. Naren can send shadow words over great distances. She is descended from the Red King's grandson who was abducted by pirates and taken to China.

Charlie bone Charlie can travel into photographs and pictures. Through his father, he is descended from the Red King and through his mother, from Mathonwy, a Welsh magician and friend of the Red King.

Idith and Inez Branko Telekinetic twins, distantly related to Zelda Dobinski, who has left Bloor's Academy.

Dagbert Endless Dagbert is the son of Lord Grimwald, who can control the oceans. His mother took the gold from drowned men's teeth and made them into charms to protect her son. Dagbert is a drowner.

Dorcas Loom An endowed girl whose gift is the ability to bewitch clothes.

Una Onimous Mr. Onimous's niece. Una is five years old and her endowment is being kept secret until it has fully developed.

Asa pike A were-beast. He is descended from a tribe who lived in the northern forests and kept strange beasts. Asa can change shape at dusk.

Billy Raven Billy can communicate with animals. One of his ancestors conversed with ravens that sat on a gallows where dead men hung. For this talent he was banished from his village.

Lysander Sage Descended from an African wise man, Lysander can call up his spirit ancestors.

Eric Shellhorn Eric can animate stone carvings.

Gabriel Silk Gabriel can feel scenes and emotions through the clothes of others. He comes from a line of psychics.

Joshua Tilpin Joshua has magnetism. He is descended from Lilith, the Red King's oldest daughter, and Harken, the evil enchanter who married her.

Emma Tolly Emma can fly. Her surname derives from the Spanish swordsman from Toledo whose daughter married the Red King. The swordsman is therefore an ancestor of all the endowed children.

Tancred Torsson A storm-bringer. His Scandinavian ancestor was named after the thunder god, Thor. Tancred can bring wind, thunder, and lightning.

Olivia Vertigo Descended from Guanhamara, who fled the Red King's castle and married an Italian prince. Olivia is an illusionist. The Bloors are unaware of her endowment.

PROLOGUE

The Red King arrived in the North nine hundred years ago. He was an African magician and each of his ten children inherited a small part of his power.

These powers were passed down, through their descendants, to the current inhabitants of an ancient city. But not all the inheritors use their powers wisely. Some of them are bent on evil, and Charlie Bone strives constantly to thwart them.

Charlie's parents are on their second honeymoon. They have been away for more than a month. Postcards arrive for Charlie, describing his parents' wonderful adventures on the world's oceans. Although Charlie is happy for them, he

wishes they would return. The city is becoming a dangerous place for him and his friends. One of them was almost drowned and their favorite meeting place, the Pets' Cafe, has been closed.

Charlie is afraid that the Red King's old enemy, Count Harken, will try and enter the city once again. The count, an enchanter, has already abducted the orphan Billy Raven and now keeps him in Badlock, a world that exists in the far distant past.

If only the Red King could return to keep the city safe. But that is too much to hope for. And yet, deep in the ruins of the Red King's castle, a heart still beats within a tall, red tree. The king can watch with the eyes of birds that settle on his branches; he can listen with the ears of creatures that graze beside him; sometimes he can even move. But he who was once mighty is now powerless to help the children who need him. His last spell has been cast. He can only hope that his cloak and sword will protect the man who has chosen to take his place. One thing is certain: The white mare that was once the king's beloved queen will do all in her power to carry their champion to victory.

1. THE ENCHANTED SWORD

To the small man hurrying through the city, the dark buildings that rose around him had never appeared so menacing.

"Menaced," muttered Orvil Onimous. "That's what we are, my dears, menaced."

He was speaking to three cats that paced about him, magnificent creatures with fire-bright coats, from the deep copper of the cat that leaped ahead, to the flame orange and starry yellow of the two that ran on either side of him.

"You are a comfort, Flames," sighed the little man. "You know that, don't you?"

They turned off High Street and made their way down Frog Street, a narrow alley that led to the ancient city walls. It was a cold, damp night and the cobblestones were wet with melting frost. Every step the small man took became more labored. He rounded a corner and came within sight of an unusual-looking shop, built into the very fabric of the old walls. Above a large, latticed window the words the pets cafe could just be made out on a sign filled with the paintings of animals.

Mr. Onimous seemed unable to continue. He hung his head, gasping for air.

With his whiskery face and furry brown hair, he resembled a large mole in an ill-fitting tweed coat.

The cats gathered around him, meowing encouragement, but Orvil Onimous let out a mournful sob and pointed to a sheet of paper nailed to the green painted door.

These premises are closed, read the notice, by order of the city councillors, in accordance with Section 238 of the Public Health Act.

The cats could not read the notice, but they were well aware of its meaning.

Their friend's livelihood had been stolen from him. The Pets' Cafe, where every customer was obliged to bring a pet, was now closed. The joyful twittering, the braying, and the meowing that once had welcomed every visitor was now gone, leaving only a bleak silence.

Inside the cafe, chairs were piled on empty tables, the lights were out in the colored lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and in the kitchen Mrs.

Onimous endlessly filled the stove with cakes and cookies that no one would eat.

Thinking of his wife, Mr. Onimous took a firm step toward the green door, and then hesitated. A sound at the far end of the alley made him peer cautiously around the corner.

A figure came striding toward him.

"We're closed," called Mr. Onimous. "It's no use coming down here. Besides,"

he added sadly, "you haven't got a pet—unless it's in your pocket. Go away."

The stranger paid no attention. He marched purposefully closer. A boy, thought Mr. Onimous, noting the slim build and youthful stride. A yellow scarf covered the lower half of the boy's face, and the hood of his blue coat was pulled well down over his forehead.

Mr. Onimous backed nervously around the corner. His heart was beating rather fast, but his gloomy mood had been replaced by resentful anger. Who was this silent stranger, marching toward him when he had expressly told him to go away?

The cats were usually quick to defend Mr. Onimous, but they stood in the alley with their tails erect, sniffing the air and meowing expectantly.

A strong breeze accompanied the stranger, a sinister breeze in Mr. Onimous's opinion. Can't be one of the kids, he thought. Can't be one of the endowed.

It's Wednesday night. They're all at school and in bed most likely. He ran across to the green door and, pulling a key from his pocket, shakily inserted it into the lock.

"Mr. Onimous!" The voice was a harsh, urgent whisper.

The little man turned fearfully and looked into a pair of familiar sky blue eyes. "Tancred Torsson!" he cried.

"Shhh!" Tancred put a finger to his lips.

"Oh, my dear, dear fellow." Mr. Onimous clasped both Tancred's hands and squeezed them tight. "Oh, you can't know how you've lifted my spirits. We thought you were dead."

"I am dead, Mr. Onimous," whispered Tancred, "dead to THEM at least. Can I come in? I'll explain everything."

"Of course, of course." Mr. Onimous unlocked the door and drew Tancred into the empty cafe. The three cats bounced swiftly after them, and Mr. Onimous locked and bolted the door.

Tancred pulled down his scarf and gazed at the upturned chairs with their legs pointing desolately at the darkened ceiling. "This is so sad, Mr.

Onimous," he said. "We must do something about it."

"Of course we must, but it's too much for my poor old brain to sort out." Mr.

Onimous led the way around the counter at the back of the cafe and into the bright kitchen beyond.

An exceptionally tall woman with a long melancholy face was spooning jam into some rather pale-looking tarts. There were several plates of them spread across the kitchen table, and if it hadn't been for Mrs. Onimous's bleak expression, you would have thought she was preparing for a party.

"Don't say it," murmured Mrs. Onimous without looking up. "Who's going to eat a hundred tarts? I couldn't help myself, Orvil. What else am I to do?"

"Onoria, my darling." Mr. Onimous failed to keep a squeak of excitement out of his voice. "We have a visitor."

She looked up, opened her mouth, screamed, staggered backward, and collapsed into an old armchair. "Tancred Torsson!" she gasped. "You're dead!"

"Not so, Mrs. Onimous." Tancred pulled back his hood, revealing a mop of thick, corn gold hair. "As you see, I am very much alive."

"The news is all around the city. They said you had drowned." Two fat tears rolled down Mrs. Onimous's cheeks. "A terrible accident, they said it was, but we guessed it was that evil boy, Dagbert Endless, who had drowned you."

"Well, he did, in a sense," Tancred agreed. "I was just about gone when Emma rescued me. And then, soon after my father had carried my lifeless body home, we had visitors." Tancred sat at the table and stroked the head of the yellow cat, Sagittarius, drawing a deep purr from his silky throat. "I thought you had sent them."

"The cats!" cried Mr. Onimous, clapping his hands. "I should have known it.

But they lead a mysterious life. I never know where they are off to."

"They saved your life, too, Orvil," said his wife, pouring tea for their visitor. "It's a miracle how they always know when a child of the Red King is in trouble."

"I'm no child." Mr. Onimous chuckled, lifting orange-colored Leo into his arms.

"You're a descendant; that's good enough for them." Onoria smiled as Aries, the copper cat, wound himself around her legs.

"They sat on my bed all through the night." Tancred's eyes took on a faraway gleam as he began to describe the warmth and comfort the cats had brought to his aching limbs, and how their voices had soothed the pain in his head and steadied his faltering heart.

"I know, I know." Mr. Onimous thought of his own recent miraculous recovery.

Mrs. Onimous sat down and pushed some tarts across to Tancred. "Empty the plate, there's a good boy," she said. "And take some home to your mother. We don't see enough of her down here."

"She doesn't have a pet," said Tancred through a mouthful of tart. "She's tried dogs and cats, guinea pigs and rabbits, even a pony, but they all ran away. They couldn't take my dad's thunder."

Tancred's father was known as the thunder man, on account of the violent weather that constantly attended him.

"Does Charlie Bone know that you survived?" asked Mr. Onimous, biting into one of his wife's tarts.

Tancred nodded vigorously. "So do the others: Lysander, Gabriel, and everyone, but no one else must know. I can do more to help them if Dagbert and the Bloors think that I'm dead."

"We won't tell a soul." Mr. Onimous lowered his voice as though the Bloors might be outside the door that very moment. "I feel so sorry for poor Charlie. His parents have been away for more than a month now, and although I don't like to criticize a fine person like Lyell Bone, it's a long time to leave your only child when you've already been apart for more than ten years."

"I agree," said Tancred, "but Charlie's such a great—" A loud knocking caused him to stop mid-sentence and stare over his shoulder.

"Whoever can it be?" Mr. Onimous opened the kitchen door and stared across the cafe at a large figure framed in the window. "Bless me, it's Norton, I'll—"

"No, Mr. Onimous!" Tancred leaped up and pulled the little man back into the kitchen. "Charlie asked me to warn you. That's why I came. Norton Cross has betrayed you, Mr. Onimous."

"What?" Mr. Onimous frowned at Tancred in disbelief. "How can you say such a thing? Norton? He's the best doorman we've ever had."

"You have to believe me, sir," said Tancred in a low voice. "He's been seen in the company of the witch Tilpin and others. Some of the villains from Piminy Street, in fact."

"Norton?" Clutching the edge of the table, Mr. Onimous sank onto a chair.

"What's the world coming to?"

"Well, at least we'll be on our guard, Orvil," said his wife. She shook her head. "Who can have turned our dear Norton to wickedness?"

No one could answer her.

The knocking had ceased at last and, peering through the cafe window, Tancred caught a glimpse of two figures walking down the alley. Norton was unmistakable, his bulky form clad in a green padded jacket printed with yellow elephants. His companion was shorter and wore a black cloak and a hat with a drooping feather. The hat was an odd shape, soft and velvety-looking.

It reminded Tancred of another hat he'd seen. Was it in a book or in a painting? He couldn't yet place it.

"Think I'd better be going now," Tancred told the Onimouses.

"Do take care, my dear." Mrs. Onimous came and gave him a hug. "You're young to be out alone on such a dark night."

Tancred was fourteen and accustomed to being out alone on dark nights. His endowment was the only protection he needed, or so he thought. A bolt of lightning or a blast of gale-force wind had always been enough to deter any would-be assailant. "I can look after myself," he said, extricating himself from Mrs. Onimous's embrace.

A violent gust of wind blew through the kitchen, and the cups hanging on the dresser rattled and clinked in a wild tune.

"All right, storm boy, you don't have to prove it." Mr. Onimous chuckled.

Tancred walked briskly through the cafe, calling, "Good night, Onimouses.

Keep safe!"

Stepping into the alley, he closed the cafe door and stood listening for a moment. Footsteps could be heard turning right onto High Street. Pulling up his hood, Tancred tiptoed swiftly up the alley and looked around the corner.

The two figures were walking briskly in the direction of Bloor's Academy.

Tancred drew his scarf over the lower part of his face and hurried after them. At first, Norton and his companion seemed unaware of their stalker, but all at once, the man in the black cloak swung around. Tancred leaped into a doorway.

He stood with his back against the door, breathing heavily.

He must have seen me, thought Tancred, because I saw him.

It was a face Tancred had instantly recognized. Framed in shoulder-length black curls, the stranger's pale features were dominated by large dark eyes and heavy arched eyebrows. He had a small pointed beard, and the tips of his fine mustache curled up to each cheek.

If the man had seen Tancred, he was apparently unconcerned, for the footsteps resumed their brisk walk.

It was several minutes before Tancred could bring himself to move again, and by the time he emerged on High Street, the two figures were nowhere to be seen. They had evidently taken the side street that led to the academy.

Keeping close to the buildings, Tancred flew after them. He reached the square in front of the academy just in time to see Norton climb the steps up to the school.

A cold shudder ran down Tancred's spine. He had spent three years at the academy, and in spite of the friends he had made, he had always been aware that, at any moment, old Ezekiel Bloor and the children he controlled might do something irrevocably evil. And then Dagbert-the-drowner had arrived, and the evil had finally shown its hand. Dagbert thought he had drowned Tancred Torsson; indeed, if it hadn't been for the cats' miraculous powers, Tancred would be dead.

He watched Norton climb to the top step, then turn and look back at the fountain in the center of the square. A circle of swans, their beaks upraised, blew silvery streams into the lamplit air. Tancred pressed himself against a wall, where the glow from the streetlights couldn't reach him.

Norton made an odd sign with his hand, a sort of thumbs-up with all his fingers. And then, before Tancred realized what was happening, Norton's hand had twisted around so that his forefinger was now pointing straight at him.

Tancred cursed himself for being such a fool. He had forgotten Norton's companion.

The man now emerged from behind the fountain and advanced toward Tancred.

"Who are ye? Give us thy name?" The voice was deep and husky. "Speak!"

With his back to the wall, Tancred shuffled sideways, attempting to slide back into the alley.

"Stop!" roared the man, and Tancred froze as, from beneath the folds of his cloak, the man drew out a gleaming sword. "Spy! Give thy name!"

Tancred found he couldn't breathe; his legs felt so weak he feared they would give way at any moment. He tried to summon up a wind, to fill the air with hailstones, but in the stranger's presence he could muster up only a damp breeze. The man was almost upon him, his sword slicing the air in shining arcs of light.

"Must I die a second time?" Tancred whispered dismally.

There would be no witnesses. The city seemed deserted; even the noise of traffic had faded away. The only sound that Tancred could hear was a faint clattering, which he mistook for his own beating heart. But the clattering grew louder. And now the sound resembled hooves cantering on stone, and then a voice cut through the night, "ASHKELAN!"

The swordsman whirled around and Tancred blinked in amazement as a knight on a white horse charged into the square. The knight was dressed from head to foot in glittering chain mail; he wore a helmet of polished metal with a plume of red feathers flowing from its crown, and a red cloak that billowed behind him like a sail. In his right hand he wielded a bright sword, the hilt

encrusted with dazzling jewels, and the shield that hung from his saddle was emblazoned with a burning sun.

"You!" grunted the man called Ashkelan. Holding his sword aloft, he rushed at the knight.

With one blow of his own weapon the knight swept the sword from his assailant's hand, and it rattled over the cobblestones. There was a scream of pain, followed by a roar of anger as the owner of the sword fell to the ground, clutching his arm.

A stream of mysterious and indecipherable words issued from the man as he reached for his sword. Tancred had been about to run from the scene, but he stood rooted to the spot, scarcely able to believe his eyes. For all at once the fallen sword was in the air and flying toward the knight. Lifting his weapon, the knight parried the blow that would surely have severed his arm, but the enchanted sword came at him again, and again he fought off the blow.

An extraordinary duel was taking place, and frightened as he was, Tancred could not bring himself to leave the square.

The knight and his mount seemed almost to be one, for the horse turned in a flash. It leaped high above the fountain and raced around the square, its hooves moving in a cloud of sparks. The enchanted sword, now a flying streak of light, attacked the knight from every angle. How he managed to fight off such a battery of lightning blows, it was hard to comprehend. And then, at last, came the strike that might have finished him. It fell across his chest, slicing through the chain mail and drawing a deep grunt of pain from the knight. But, with a mighty upward thrust, he caught the enchanted sword and set it spinning into the sky.

Tancred didn't wait for the sword to fall to earth. Astounded by what he had seen, he tore down the alley and onto High Street. Fear and excitement caused great gusts of wind to whistle around his head; his hood blew back, and the air above him fizzed with blue and white sparks. He reached Frog Street and ran toward the Pets' Cafe, calling, "Mr. Onimous, let me in!"

A tall man stepped out of the shadows, and Tancred ran straight into him.

With a moan of defeat the storm boy closed his eyes and dropped to the ground.

2. LORD GRIMWALD ARRIVES

Charlie Bone had been fast asleep. Now, suddenly, he was not. There were voices in the courtyard below. Charlie got out of bed, crossed the dormitory, and looked out of the window. Two men were moving toward the main doors of the academy. One Charlie recognized as Norton Cross, the doorman at the Pets'

Cafe. He was half-dragging, half-carrying a smaller person in a large hat with a drooping feather at the back.

"Huh!" muttered Charlie. He couldn't see the face of the man beneath the hat, but he was groaning horribly. Charlie opened the window, just a crack, so that he could hear what was going on.

"Shhh!" hissed Norton. "You'll wake the whole school, sir."

The two men climbed the steps to the main doors, and Norton rang the bell. A moment later, there was a loud rattle and one of the doors opened.

Weedon the porter stood on the threshold. He was a bald, stocky man with a sour face.

"I thought he wasn't supposed to go out yet," said Weedon.

"He wanted to see the city." Norton dragged his companion through the door.

"What's the matter with him?" asked Weedon, frowning at the sword that danced past him.

The door was closed before Charlie had a chance to hear Norton's reply. But then his attention was drawn to a second arrival. Three women came through the arched entrance and crossed the courtyard. Grizelda Bone's imposing beak of a nose led the way (Grizelda was Charlie's grandmother). Her sisters, Eustacia and Venetia, came close on her heels. All three were tall and lean, their dark eyes small, their black brows thick and heavy. Grandma Bone's hair was a startling white, Venetia's black, Eustacia's somewhere in between.

Charlie watched them climb the steps, his grandmother teetering, very slightly, in her high-heeled boots.

As she rang the bell, Eustacia, for no good reason, suddenly looked up at the window where Charlie stood.

Charlie backed into the shadows. Eustacia boasted that she was clairvoyant, though Charlie was not entirely convinced. Her power could wax and wane.

Tonight it appeared to be waxing.

To complicate matters, the dormitory door was suddenly flung open and Charlie was caught in a strip of light from the passage. The matron, Grandma Bone's third sister, Lucretia, stood silhouetted in the doorway. "What are you doing out of bed?" she demanded.

"Er, getting some air," Charlie said feebly.

"Air? There's enough air in here to fill the lungs of a thousand boys, let alone twelve."

"Is there?" Charlie looked around at the eleven boys sleeping behind him. Not one had woken up, even though the matron had made no attempt to lower her voice.

"Get back to bed!"

Without waiting for Charlie to obey, the matron closed the door. Her footsteps receded so fast, Charlie imagined she must be running down the hallway. In the two years he had been at the academy he had never known his great-aunt Lucretia to run. Tonight she must either be escaping from something unpleasant or she was late for a very important meeting.

And who would be holding a meeting at such a late hour? Only Ezekiel Bloor, Charlie decided. At a hundred and one years old, Ezekiel hardly cared about the daily routines of others. He spent his mornings dozing in his wheelchair and afternoons reading up on unpleasant spells. It was only at night that his malicious mind really came alive, and then good luck to anyone who didn't fit in with his plans.

Charlie was about to close the window when a curious smell drifted up to him: a salty, seaweedy tang that left its taste on the tongue. It was terribly familiar. Looking down into the courtyard, he wasn't surprised to see a large figure appear in the archway.

The man wore an oilskin coat and tall fisherman's boots. He moved over the cobblestones with an odd swaying stride, as though he were on the heaving deck of a ship.

Charlie raced back to his bed. Before he climbed into it, however, there was a husky whisper from the bed at the end of his row.

"The window. Close the window."

Charlie pulled the bedcovers over his head. He could hardly bear to look at Dagbert Endless, let alone talk to him. Dagbert kept protesting that Tancred's drowning had been an accident. Even the headmaster believed his story. The school had been told that Tancred Torsson had accidentally slipped in the sculpture room and been drowned by water pouring from a broken tap.

Charlie knew better. Dagbert was a drowner. He even boasted of his power. But neither Dagbert nor the Bloors were aware that Tancred had survived.

Tancred's friends intended to keep it that way.

"The window. Close the window." This time the voice was louder. The seaweedy smell from outside mingled with the fishy stench that Dagbert sometimes gave off.

Charlie held his nose and lay still.

"CLOSE THE WINDOW!"

The shout woke half the dormitory. Some of the boys yawned sleepily and turned over, but Bragger Braine, the bully of the second year, sat up and grunted, "Who said that?"

"I did," Dagbert answered in an aggrieved tone. "Charlie opened the window and he won't close it."

"Close the window, Charlie Bone," Bragger commanded.

His ardent follower, Rupert Small, echoed his words in a thin, reedy voice.

"Close the window, Charlie Bone."

Charlie held his breath. He was determined not to obey Bragger Braine or his pathetic crony.

"CLOSE THE WINDOW!" shouted Dagbert.

This shout woke Fidelio Gunn in the bed next to Charlie's. "Stop bellowing, fish boy!" he cried, punching his pillow into shape. "Let normal people get some sleep."

For a few seconds, silence reigned. Charlie smiled to himself in the dark and whispered, "Well done, Fido!"

The whisper irritated Bragger. If his bed had been beside Charlie's, he would have thumped him. But they were half a dormitory apart, and a day of thumping other people and starring on the soccer field had exhausted Bragger. He just wanted to go to sleep. The next time Dagbert repeated his demand, Bragger said, "Close it yourself, fish boy!"

Charlie waited for Dagbert to slip out of bed and close the window, but the fish boy didn't move. Soon the room was filled with the soft rhythmic breathing of heavy sleepers. Charlie turned over and closed his eyes.

Minutes passed. Try as he might, Charlie couldn't sleep. A soft light insisted on creeping through his eyelids. He half opened one eye. A bluish glow was spreading across the walls, a luminous rippling gleam, like the water in a swimming pool. Charlie screwed his eyes tight shut, trying to wish away the eerie light. This was what happened when Dagbert was nervous or excited. Perhaps he sensed Lord Grimwald's arrival. Charlie knew that Dagbert was afraid of his father; they seldom saw each other, for Lord Grimwald rarely left his gloomy castle in the northern isles.

At the far end of Charlie's row a bed creaked, and he heard quick footsteps on the bare floorboards. Someone slammed the window shut, but no one woke up.

Charlie curled up and began to drift into sleep. And then something heavy

sank onto his bed, just below his knees, and a voice whispered, "Charlie, are you awake?"

"No. I am asleep," Charlie told himself. He didn't stir.

"Charlie, wake up."

He could have remained as he was, motionless, his eyes closed, but sudden anger made Charlie sit up and whisper harshly, "What is it?"

"My father's here," said Dagbert, his quiet voice husky and urgent. "I can smell him."

"And I can smell you," Charlie grunted. "Get off my bed."

"Charlie, I think I might need your help."

"What?" Charlie exclaimed. "Me help you, after you drowned my friend?"

"It was an accident." Dagbert's whisper became a low whine. "I didn't mean to."

"Oh, you meant to, all right," Charlie growled. "Emma Tolly saw everything.

Now get off my bed." He kicked Dagbert in the back.

Dagbert stood up, but he didn't move from Charlie's side. Charlie could see his rigid form silhouetted against the glimmering blue-green wall. At last a soft grumble of words came tumbling from Dagbert. "You know our secret, our family curse. You know that my destiny is to die in my thirteenth year -

unless my father dies before me. It has to be one of us, and now he's here, unexpectedly, in the night, and I am twelve, Charlie. So what's going to happen? Find out for me, please. No one else is like you, Charlie. No one else would do it."

"Do it yourself," muttered Charlie. Turning his back on Dagbert, he wriggled under the covers.

Seconds passed before Dagbert said dully, "I'm afraid."

"Too bad," Charlie replied.

"But I want to know why my father's here."

"Well, I don't. Not interested." Charlie pulled the covers over his head. He waited for Dagbert's response, but none came. Before falling asleep, Charlie opened his eyes briefly and found that the dormitory was in darkness again.

Hopefully, Dagbert had gone back to bed.

Charlie hadn't been quite truthful with Dagbert. He was interested in Lord Grimwald's arrival. In fact, he was very curious about everything that he had seen from the window that night. He just wasn't quite curious enough to risk being caught by some of the school's unpleasant-looking visitors.

In a dark corridor leading off the great hall, two highly polished ancient doors opened into a magnificent, but seldom used, ballroom. Tonight the ballroom had been filled with chairs, and Ezekiel Bloor's visitors sat in rows beneath four glittering chandeliers. The brilliant light reflected in the crystals was rather disconcerting to some of Ezekiel's unwholesome-looking guests. They were people who were happier in shadow: thieves, poisoners, fraudsters, kidnappers, swindlers, and even murderers. Most of them lived on Piminy Street, a narrow road in the ancient part of the city.

Once it had been inhabited by magicians, sorcerers, warlocks, and the like.

Indeed, among the villains seated in the ballroom that night, there were those who had inherited the talents of their notorious ancestors. Prominent

among them was a clairvoyant named Dolores Slingshot, so named because of her deadly accuracy with a catapult. Dolores was eighty years old and wore a wig of claret-colored ringlets.

In a corner at the back of the room stood an eight-foot white cube. Even in a corner it seemed to dominate the room. Everyone who entered eyed the cube with surprise and curiosity. As well they might, for it was hard to understand how the great white square had managed to get itself down the narrow passage outside. In fact, it hadn't. Weedon had been forced to open up the disused doors at the side of the ballroom and push the cube (with the help of four moving men) through the garden and into the room. The whole process had been extremely difficult and exhausting. Even Weedon didn't know what lay beneath the covering. The visitors wondered if they were about to find out.

The last person to arrive was a sickly-looking arsonist named Amos Byrne.

When he had taken his place, Weedon closed the doors, and all eyes turned to the stage.

The grand piano had been pushed to the back and in its place stood an oval table topped with a purple cloth. At one end of the table an ancient man in a wheelchair sat grinning at the audience.

Ezekiel Bloor's white, waxy hair framed a face so gaunt and bony, it looked more like a skull than the face of a living person. Next to him, and not smiling at all, his great-grandson, Manfred, sat slightly turned from his neighbor, an ashen-faced woman with strands of gray hair and a nose as blue as a bruise.

At the other end of the table, the headmaster, Dr. Harold Bloor, was in the middle of a long, extremely boring speech when another guest arrived. He was a well-muscled man wearing only a white undershirt and camouflage trousers.

He took a chair at the back, twirled it in one hand, and brought it to rest with a loud bang. The headmaster glared at the latecomer and then resumed his speech. It went on for another ten minutes before grinding to a halt, and those of the audience who hadn't fallen asleep were able to applaud.

The applause didn't go on for as long as the headmaster would have liked, however, because the doors suddenly crashed open and a strong, salty smell wafted into the room, followed by a large man.

"Lord Grimwald!" Dr. Bloor's mouth hung open. "We didn't expect... that is to say, we hardly dared to hope that you would arrive today. As you see, your...

your ..." He pointed to the cube.

"Sea Globe." Lord Grimwald smiled at the cube with satisfaction. "Well, I'm here now, so get on with it." He swayed down the narrow aisle between the seats as though his legs were of different lengths. His crinkled gray hair was streaked with a seaweedy green and his eyes were an icy aquamarine. The strong, salty smell that accompanied him caused several people to sneeze and cough.

"We have already covered several issues," said Dr. Bloor, "but I have not yet introduced—"

"Yes, yes. Go on." Lord Grimwald climbed the steps up to the stage, and Manfred, leaping up, hastily pulled an extra chair between himself and his neighbor.

Lord Grimwald sat down heavily on the empty chair. "Grimwald," he said, extending his hand to the woman on his left.

She took the eel-like fingers with a barely concealed look of distaste.

"Titania Tilpin," she said, rising to her feet. "I am about to speak."

Everyone in the room appeared to know Titania and wild applause broke out.

She gave her audience a gratified smile and said, "I know what you are expecting and I shall not disappoint you."

More applause. The headmaster frowned. He had not received such generous applause. "Allow Mrs. Tilpin to speak," he said.

The woman smiled and drew from the folds of her sparkling black cloak a round mirror set in a jeweled frame. The mirror glass blazed so brilliantly, some of the visitors had to cover their eyes. And then, with blissful sighs, the spellbound audience fell silent.

"The Mirror of Amoret," announced Mrs. Tilpin. "Most of my audience has seen it already, but for your benefit, Lord Grimwald, this mirror was made by the Red King for his daughter Amoret. It is nine hundred years old."

"And is an aid to travel," Lord Grimwald interrupted in a bored tone. "Yes, I've heard of it."

"Much more than an aid," Mrs. Tilpin said indignantly. "I have only just begun to understand its many properties. Formerly I have used it to bring my ancestor, the enchanter Count Harken, into the city. He was eventually driven back into his own world - I won't go into detail - but I have hopes that he can return again. Now, I have something to show you all." She turned and, tossing back her sequined cloak, held the mirror so that its radiant light was beamed on the wall behind her.

A glowing circle appeared on the wall. It grew to the size of a small table.

And then, within the circle, the fuzzy contours of plants and trees appeared.

As a green jungle came into focus, a boy could be seen wandering through the trees with a tiger at his side. The boy had snow-white hair and thick-lensed glasses. Unfortunately, a jagged line ran diagonally across the scene, cutting it in two.

"Your mirror is flawed," Lord Grimwald observed.

"Charlie Bone did it," snapped Mrs. Tilpin. "Infernal boy. I had a promise from Ezekiel here that he would help to mend it. But, so far, his promises have come to nothing."

"I am old, Titania," Ezekiel protested. "My magic is waning and I must conserve my strength. I told you to consult Dorcas Loom. She can do it, I am certain."

"It is of no consequence," Lord Grimwald said, with a yawn. "We can see the boy well enough. Continue, Mrs. Tilpin."

"Of no consequence." Mrs. Tilpin glared at Lord Grimwald. She shook her shoulders like a hen ruffling her feathers, and the black cape sparkled. "My mirror is of great consequence!"

"Of course, of course, Titania," said the headmaster. "Tell us more; our audience is waiting."

With a defiant look at Lord Grimwald, Mrs. Tilpin pointed to the white-haired boy. "Billy Raven," she said, "and a tiger that is not a tiger, an illusion conjured up by the enchanter to entertain the boy."

Ezekiel gave a sudden cackle. "How delicious to see the little wretch trapped in Badlock, never to return. Never to claim his inheritance. There's a will, you see, my friends." He wheeled himself to the front of the stage and addressed the audience directly. "That's where you come in. The document is signed by my great-grandfather Septimus Bloor. It leaves all his land, his

treasures, and even his house to his oldest daughter, Maybelle, and her heirs. Her only remaining descendant is Billy Raven" - Ezekiel turned his chair and pointed to the wall - "still strolling through the enchanted jungle. Billy is unaware, you see, and only I know the truth because it was told to me by my great-aunt Beatrice, a witch, who poisoned Maybelle and forged a false will leaving everything to my side of the family. But the real will still exists." Ezekiel banged the arm of his wheelchair with surprising vigor. "And I believe that Lyell Bone, father of Charlie, has hidden it."

At this point Manfred stood up and, leaning over the table, declared, "It must never be found by anyone outside this room. Do you understand?"

A low murmur broke out. There were enthusiastic nods and cries of "Never!"

and "We'll see to it!"

"See to it, you must," said Manfred, his dark, hypnotic gaze traveling over the assembled villains. "Find it, you must. Destroy it, we must. Lyell Bone is at sea, hopefully never to return." He glanced at Lord Grimwald. "But he might have passed a hint, a clue to his son, Charlie. We will deal with the boy. You must find the will."

"Carefully, mind," said Dr. Bloor. "Nothing violent. We don't want to cause suspicion or alert the law. The Pets' Cafe is a good place to start.

Counciller Loom and Norton Cross" - he looked at Norton in the front row and Norton gave a nod - "they have helped us to close the place. Once the owners are evicted, you can search the cafe. There may be a tunnel that leads to the castle ruins. Find it! Investigate!"

"I'll do it," said Amos the arsonist.

"And me," called the man in the white undershirt. "I'm very nimble, me."

"Don't cause suspicion," warned Dr. Bloor.

"Rewards?" piped up Dolores, tossing her red ringlets. "What do we get for helping you?"

"Money," said Ezekiel. "Lots of it. What else would you want?"

"Money'll do," said Dolores. "Ten thousand if I find the will."

Ezekiel scratched his long nose, wondering if he could eventually go back on his word. "Ten thousand," he agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

"A thousand for trying!" demanded a white-haired man in a purple suit, an illusionist by the name of Wilfred Coalpaw.

Dr. Bloor shook his head. "Just for trying? It's rather -"

"Agreed!" cried Ezekiel, who had decided that going back on his word wouldn't be too difficult. "A thousand for each of you. There'll be plenty to go around if we find where Septimus hid the rest of his treasure.

You can go now." He waved his hand dismissively.

There was a great deal of scraping, stamping, and shuffling as the audience rose from their seats and made for the door. A few of them cast curious glances at the white cube. A sound came from it. Waves perhaps. There was a faint rustle of a tide rolling onto a stony shore.

"By the way," called Manfred, as though to distract them, "Ingledew's Bookstore. Keep an eye on it. Get in there if you can. Old books make good hiding places."

The guests murmured among themselves and left the room.

Six people remained sitting in the front row: Grizelda Bone and her three sisters on one side of the aisle. Norton Cross and the swordsman on the other.

"Bring us some tea!" Dr. Bloor demanded when Weedon poked his head around the door.

"And cookies," added Ezekiel. "And cake!"

"For all of you?" asked Weedon, counting heads.

"All," said Dr. Bloor. "Eleven, to be precise."

With a bad-tempered mutter, Weedon withdrew his head and closed the doors.

"At last, the elite." Ezekiel beamed down at his six remaining guests. "Now we can discuss things more - comprehensively. Ashkelan Kapaldi, welcome!"

The swordsman stood and bowed deeply, first to the stage and then to Grandma Bone and her three sisters. He was a very colorful figure with his wide lace collar and emerald green tunic embroidered with gold. His cuffs were made of lace too, and his breeches were green velvet. Wide leather boots reached almost to his thighs, and a scarlet cummerbund encircled his waist. A broad leather belt hung diagonally across his chest from his shoulder to below his waist, and attached to this was a dark green scabbard.

"In the seventeenth century," Ezekiel announced, "Ashkelan Kapaldi was the greatest swordsman in Europe."

"Swordsman?" questioned Grandma Bone.

"Seventeenth... ?" murmured her sister Eustacia.

"I did it," said Mrs. Tilpin. "That is to say, I did it with the help of the mirror and my son, Joshua, who is endowed with magnetism. Together they"—she made a small circular motion with her hand—"they drew Ashkelan from his painting. And here he is... and his sword!"

At this, Ashkelan pulled his sword from its scabbard and sent it skimming toward the four sisters. They rose as one, with loud shrieks and exclamations, and the sword came to a halt, swaying gently on its point. A deep scratch on the polished floor left no doubt as to the sword's effectiveness.

"Fear not, ladies," said Ashkelan as the sword swept back to him. "See, it is under my command." He grabbed the sword and limped closer to Ezekiel. "I have been told, good sire, that every endowed child in this part of the world is within these walls on a weekday."

"That is so," said Dr. Bloor.

"Not so," stated Ashkelan. "I can sense the endowed and I have seen one, not one hour since, in the very courtyard before your establishment. A boy of medium height, a creeping, prying, nasty boy. And he is protected, sir, by none other than the Red Knight."

"Red Knight," breathed Ezekiel, leaning toward Ashkelan. "A Red Knight, you say?"

"Aye. His mount is a white mare," said the swordsman, "his cloak all red, the helmet's plume a fluttering scarlet. And he wounded me, good sirs and ladies.

He wounded me and I cannot let that pass."

"Of course not, sir!" Ezekiel was now bent almost in half, his breath rattling in his chest. "Whoever this knight may be, we shall put an end to him."

"First the boy," said Manfred coldly. "We can't have an endowed boy wandering the streets without our knowledge."

3. A FAMILY TREE

Tancred got to his feet. Had he known it was Charlie's uncle Paton standing there in the dark, he wouldn't have taken fright. Paton Yewbeam spent much time in the dark. His endowment was an unfortunate one - the ability to make artificial lights brighten. Exploding lights were a terrible mess and quite embarrassing for Paton, so he tended to avoid them whenever possible.

Tancred brushed the knees of his jeans, feeling rather foolish. "Sorry, sir,"

he said.

"On the contrary, Tancred," Paton said in a low voice, "it is I who must apologize. My wretched affliction compels me to walk in the shadows. I'm afraid I've already distressed at least three other people tonight."

"There's a man with a sword ... a sword that..." Tancred hesitated, unsure how to describe the scene that had so unnerved him.

"I know. I saw him, too," said Paton, "and the knight."

"I didn't know where to go, what to—"

"Come with me." Paton took Tancred's arm and hurried him away from Frog Street. "I was on my way to the bookstore. We can discuss things there.

Hurry! And tread softly if you can."

"Yes, sir."

They walked together down High Street, their footsteps light and brisk. Every so often, Paton would stop and hold Tancred still so that he could listen for any following sounds. But there were none. And yet something accompanied them. A hoarse whisper seemed to echo down the street, a faint groan came from a shifting manhole cover, and there was a soft whine in the air above them, either from overhead cables or telephone wires. And then there was the smell, strong and salty, that clung to their hair and faces.

"The father of the boy who tried to drown you is here," murmured Paton.

"I know. I can taste him," Tancred said.

They reached a row of ancient half-timbered buildings standing in the shadow of the great cathedral. Ingledew's Bookstore was one of a dozen small, rather exclusive stores on a sidewalk that ran beside the cathedral square. There was a lamppost standing immediately outside the window, but the light at the top was unlit. The council had given up replacing the bulb as it exploded so frequently. The councillors were all aware of Paton Yewbeam's unfortunate talent and guessed that he was responsible for the power surges. But none of them could bring themselves to mention it, for fear of being ridiculed. They pretended to believe that the constant shattering of glass was caused by hooligans.

Soft candlelight illuminated the bookstore window, where large leather-bound books lay on folded velvet. Paton rang the doorbell, and a tall woman appeared so quickly behind the glass in the door, it seemed likely that she had been waiting for him.

She withdrew the bolts, unlocked the door, and opened it, saying, "Paton, come in."

There was tenderness in the woman's voice, the sort that made Tancred feel a little uncomfortable. And then she saw him and uttered a little gasp of surprise.

"Julia, it's Tancred," Paton reassured her. "I thought it best to bring him here."

"Sorry, Miss Ingledew," Tancred mumbled. "Hope I'm not intruding."

"Of course not." She gave him a warm smile and walked down the three steps into her store.

Tancred followed her while Paton locked and bolted the door again. Miss Ingledew led the way around the store counter, where three candles in bronze saucers burned with a sudden brightness as the visitors stirred the air.

Behind the counter, a thick velvet curtain hid Miss Ingledew's cozy living room. Here a log fire burned in the grate, and shelves of books lined the walls right up to the ceiling. Tancred was surprised to see Miss Ingledew's niece, Emma, kneeling before the fire. She had her back to him, while she brushed her pale gold hair over her head. Tancred gave a polite cough and said, "Em?"

The girl tossed back her long hair and stared at Tancred, her cheeks reddening.

"Hello," she said. "I've... er... got a cold or a sore throat that might soon be a cold. So I didn't go back to school."

"Me neither." Tancred grinned.

"Well, you can't go back, can you?" Emma wrapped a hank of hair around her hand. "I mean you can't ever, now that they think you're dead."

Paton and Miss Ingledew had disappeared through the door into the kitchen, and the clink of dishes could be heard above the low murmur of their voices.

Tancred eased himself onto the sofa behind Emma. "I suppose I could turn up and give everyone a fright," he said.

"Not a good idea." Emma came to sit beside him, and he noticed that her hair was still damp. It was very fine, silky hair and he had a sudden urge to touch it. This thought made him blush for some reason, and he stared into the flames, not quite knowing how to continue the conversation.

Miss Ingledew saved him the trouble by carrying a tray of tea into the room.

She set it down on her desk, every other available surface having been taken over by books and candlesticks.

"I've told Julia about the things you saw tonight." Paton handed Tancred a mug of tea.

"Thanks, Mr. Yewbeam!" Tancred clutched the warm mug. "But you saw them, too," he added anxiously. "You know I didn't imagine it."

"What did you see?" Emma demanded as she reached for her tea. "What's been going on?" She turned to Tancred. "And, come to that, why are you here, in the middle of the night?"

Tancred explained that he had come to warn the Onimouses that Norton Cross, their doorman, could no longer be trusted. He went on to describe the

extraordinary events that had followed: the foreign swordsman who seemed to have stepped from the past, the sword that fought on its own, and the mounted knight in his scarlet cloak. "If the knight hadn't turned up, I'd have been done for," Tancred finished dramatically.

Emma's gray eyes widened. "Oh, Tancred!"

Tancred glanced at her anxious face and smiled. "Funny thing is, I recognized the swordsman. I'm sure I've seen him in the school, in a painting, that is."

"You have." Paton lowered himself into an armchair by the fire. "I saw him once and have never forgotten it. He is one of Mrs. Tilpin's forebears. I imagine it was she who brought the man into our world."

"With the help of a mirror that does not belong to her, no doubt," Miss Ingledew remarked crisply.

"Charlie's mirror?" asked Emma.

"Indeed." Paton's dark eyes glinted. "The Mirror of Amoret."

"But who is this mysterious swordsman?" begged Emma.

"Ashkelan Kapaldi," Paton told her. "A swordsman of renown and a magician of sorts. Though, as far as I can tell, it was only his sword that he could bend to his will and set to killing, all on its own. He was active during the English Civil War. How do I know this?" He waved a hand at a bookcase in the corner. It contained ancient, dusty books bound in peeling leather, their yellowed leaves covered in mysterious, faded writing. Tancred had taken a look at one of them and understood hardly a word.

"He seemed to recognize me," Tancred said thoughtfully, "that swordsman. I felt that he knew I was endowed."

"It's something we have in common," Paton remarked. "I can often recognize one of the Red King's descendants. Most of us have a way of knowing one another. Isn't it the same for you, Tancred?"

Tancred wasn't sure. He certainly wouldn't have known that pretty Miss Chrystal, the former music teacher, was, in fact, a witch of the very darkest nature. He slowly shook his head. "I didn't know about Mrs. Tilpin."

"No," Paton agreed. "She was a tricky one."

Emma slipped off the sofa and knelt in front of the fire again, flicking out strands of her damp hair to dry them. "Why has it all gotten so ominous?" She looked at Paton as though he must hold the answer.

Paton was in no hurry to reply. He sipped his tea and then stared into his mug, apparently having forgotten Emma's question. He hadn't forgotten, however.

"Convergence," he said at last. "Two things have occurred in these last few months. Charlie's father has reappeared. And Titania Tilpin has become the witch she was destined to be. I believe she is the conduit, the channel, if you like, between the present and the distant past, the world of her ancestor, Count Harken of Badlock. And it is Titania who is drawing Harken's minions back into our city. Some of them are present-day villains, descendants of Harken; others are, for now, mere shadows, whispers, rustlings, echoes. But if Titania and Harken have their way, these shadowy phantoms will soon take on form and substance, and then our lives, if we manage to hold on to them, will be changed forever."

Paton's dreadful prophecy shocked everyone into a long silence. Eventually, Emma, scrambling onto the sofa again, said shakily, "Billy Raven is there, in Harken's world, so Charlie says."

"I'm sure it's true," Paton said. "And I'm equally sure that Charlie will try to rescue him."

"And what about Charlie's father?" asked Tancred.

"Ah, Lyell." Paton's frown lifted and he actually managed to smile. "My recent travels have proved useful. It's quite incredible what you can turn up these days."

Tancred and Emma stared at Paton, uncomprehending.

On the other side of the fireplace, Miss Ingledew pulled herself from the depths of a battered armchair and gave a light, ringing laugh. "Paton," she cried, "they haven't a clue what you're talking about."

Paton cleared his throat. "I'll explain," he said. And he told them of his search for a certain pearl-inlaid box that Billy Raven's father, Rufus, had entrusted to Lyell Bone. Soon after this, Rufus and his wife were both dead, victims of a supposed traffic accident, and Lyell began ten long years of spellbound forgetfulness, a trancelike state brought about by Manfred Bloor's dreadful hypnotic power.

Paton's deep voice shook with emotion when he spoke of Lyell and Rufus, but his tone became firmer when he described his growing suspicion that Billy Raven was closely connected to these vile crimes. Why, for instance, did Ezekiel Bloor keep the orphan Billy almost a prisoner in the school? And then allow him to be dragged into the past by the enchanter of Badlock?

"I don't have an answer, either," said Paton, looking at the bemused expressions around him.

"So how do you know about the box?" Tancred ventured.

"Ah, the box. I was coming to that." Paton stood up and began to pace the room. "My suspicions led me to search for any of Billy's remaining relatives.

I discovered the aunt who cared for him after his parents' deaths, but she would tell me nothing. It was only by chance that she mentioned a certain Timothy Raven, Billy's great-uncle. I could see that she instantly regretted it, and she wouldn't tell me where he lived. I had to discover that for myself. I now know that she was on Ezekiel's payroll. She didn't even tell me that her own mother was still alive. It was Timothy who told me that. I found him in Aberdeen. He was ailing when I met him and has since died, but he was able to give me an old address of Billy's great-grandmother. And I found her."

Paton's audience waited breathlessly for his next revelation. He smiled at them with satisfaction and announced, "Her name is Sally Raven and she lives in a nursing home on the northeast coast. It seems she had become estranged from her daughter and knew nothing of Billy's fate after his parents had died. But she told me about the box, Maybelle's box, she called it, with its beautiful pattern of inlaid mother-of-pearl. It was given to her by her husband's aunt Evangeline, and Sally gave it to her grandson, Rufus, on his wedding day."

Emma uttered a quiet, "Ahh!" She had been thinking of weddings lately. She looked at her aunt, who smiled.

"The key was lost," Paton continued rather hurriedly. "And there was no way of opening the box. It was just a very beautiful object, Sally said. But in

her heart she knew it contained something special because there were others, on the Bloor side of the family, who desperately wanted it."

"The Bloors?" said Tancred and Emma.

"Just so," replied Paton. He turned to Miss Ingledew. "Shall we show them?"

"I think we had better." Miss Ingledew went to her desk and unlocked a small drawer at the top. She withdrew a folded piece of paper and carried it over to Tancred. "Open it out," she said.

Tancred unfolded the paper on his knees, where Emma could see it.

"Wow!" Emma exclaimed.

"Sally Raven is an extraordinary woman," Paton told them. "She has a case full of photos, letters, and cards from her family and her husband's. She was able to help me draw up a family tree that goes right back to Septimus Bloor, old Ezekiel's great-grandfather."

"So Billy is related to Ezekiel?" said Tancred, with a frown.

"Distantly," Paton agreed. "Billy is descended from Maybelle, who married a Raven. Ezekiel is descended from Maybelle's brother, Bertram, who inherited Septimus's fabulous wealth. But Sally believes that Septimus left his fortune to Maybelle and her heirs. And his original and true will is hidden in that beautiful box. The box she gave to Rufus. The box she believes Rufus entrusted to his dearest friend. And he was Lyell Bone."

Tancred and Emma peered closer at the family tree. There were notes scrawled across the bottom.

Maybelle gave the mother-of-pearl inlaid box to Evangeline. Evangeline gave it to Hugh and Sally on their wedding day. Hugh aud Sally gave it to Rufus and Ellen on their wedding day. Rufus gave it to Lyell Bone for safekeeping.

Daniel Raven's first wife, Niamh, died in childbirth. He then, married Jane Hill.

Tancred gave a low whistle. "What a tangle." He was about to hand back the family tree when Emma restrained him. She was scrutinizing the paper intently.

"There's a line that goes nowhere," she said, pointing to a name on the far left side of the tree. "N-I-A-something, and then Ita, and then Eamon."

"Irish," said Paton. "I intend to follow it up, but it may be impossible.

Sally told me that her husband had a half sister who lived in Ireland with her grandparents. Her mother died when she was born. But we're only interested in the line that ends with Billy. If Sally is right, then Billy Raven is the heir to Septimus Bloor's fortune."

Tancred rolled his eyes. "No wonder they want to get rid of him. Does Charlie know about this, Mr. Yewbeam?"

Paton nodded. "I managed to fill him in before he left for school on Monday."

The telephone on Miss Ingledew's desk suddenly gave a sharp ring and everyone jumped. Miss Ingledew picked up the receiver. The voice at the other end could be heard quite clearly and Tancred leaped off the sofa, crying, "It's Dad. Oh, no, I forgot to call him."

Miss Ingledew had to hold the receiver well away from her ear as Mr.

Torsson's voice thundered into the room, sending pens and papers flying off

her desk. Paton took the receiver from her and shouted "Torsson!" into the phone. "Tancred's here, as you no doubt suspected. He's quite safe, but he'd better spend the night in the bookstore. There's a lot going on. We'll talk about it later."

Mr. Torsson's reply was loud but reasonable. He'd managed to get his thunder under control. Tancred took over from Paton and told his father he would be home in the morning. He replaced the receiver with a sigh of exhaustion.

"It's all right to stay the night?" he asked Miss Ingledew, darting a look at Emma.

"We'll make up a bed on the sofa," Mss Ingledew said with a smile.

Paton decided it was time for him to leave. He wished everyone a good night and reminded Miss Ingledew to lock and bolt the door as soon as he had left.

He waited outside the shop while she did this, and then she waved at him through the glass in the door, and he set off.

When he left Cathedral Square, Paton heard a low muttering of voices that grew louder as he approached the turn to Piminy Street. A group of people were coming up the road toward him. They were an odd bunch, with their long coats, their furs, their leathers, and their strangely dated hats. One of them wore a white undershirt. Paton backed up a few steps and slid into the shadows behind a narrow porch. He watched as they all turned onto Piminy Street. There must have been at least a dozen of them. When they had passed the first few houses, Paton felt confident enough to step quietly into the street, but one of the group turned, suddenly, and stared at him, her eyes glinting in the dark; she was very small, her face ancient in the streetlight, her hair a deep red. Paton averted his eyes and hurried on.

Not for the first time he wished that Julia Ingledew didn't live so close to Piminy Street. "On the doorstep of another world," he said to himself as he walked briskly through the city, avoiding streetlamps where he could. The salty tang on his lips reminded him that Lord Grimwald was in the city once again. At Ezekiei's invitation, no doubt. And Paton thought of Lyell Bone, out on the wild ocean.

As Paton strode down Filbert Street, a black car rolled past him and stopped outside number nine. Grizelda Bone got out of the car and climbed the steps to the door.

"I'll wager she's up to her neck in all this skulduggery," Paton said to himself.

4. GABRIELS SECRET

Gabriel Silk had a secret. He wanted to tell Charlie about it, but there was never an opportunity. They were in different dormitories now, and different classes. The cafeteria was too public, and out in the grounds they were never alone. There might, however, be a chance when Charlie was on his way to a music lesson.

Gabriel had been waiting in the corridor of portraits, hoping to catch Charlie as he crossed the hall. He had intended to stand just inside the hallway but found himself wandering farther down, studying the portraits on the wall. He passed them every day but had never really studied them. The subjects were mostly stern-looking men and women, though occasionally you could find a smiling person. If you knew your history well enough, you could tell by their clothes what century they had lived in. Gabriel had been told that every one of them was descended from the Red King. There was even a Silvio Silk in a black velvet suit and a white curled wig. He might have been Gabriel's ancestor, but he bore no resemblance to him.

If Gabriel wore someone else's clothes, he immediately knew what sort of person had worn them before. He could sometimes picture them, see what they had done, and even hear their voices. But portraits could tell him nothing.

"If I was Charlie, I could go right in and talk to you," Gabriel whispered to Silvio Silk. "And you could talk to me."

Silvio Silk didn't bat an eyelid. He wore the same resigned expression that he had worn when the artist painted him, two hundred years before.

Gabriel wandered farther down the hallway. He passed men in sober black suits, in rich red jackets and glittering gold waistcoats; he passed women whose necks were hung with diamonds and pearls, whose hair was garlanded with flowers, and whose shoulders were draped in velvet and fur. And then he stopped before a full-length portrait of a cavalier. Gabriel's eye was drawn to the sword at the man's side. It had a delicately wrought golden hilt, and the man's gloved fingers rested on it almost lovingly. As Gabriel stared at the intricate gold curves, they glinted suddenly, as though the sun had caught them. And then Gabriel found his gaze lifting to the face above the wide lace collar. The man had shoulder-length black hair, and between the black mustache and pointed beard, his fleshy lips held an unpleasant grin.

Gabriel stepped back to get a better view, and now he noticed that the eyes seemed wrong. There was no light in them. It was as if the man's spirit had left the painted face.

A cold shudder ran down Gabriel's spine. It was dark in the hallway. There were no lights, no sunlit window. Had he imagined the sudden bright glint on the gold sword hilt? Was the lack of light in the man's eyes or merely Gabriel's own shadow? No. There was something different about this painting.

The name on the bronze plaque at the base of the frame read: Ashkelan Kapaldi. The plaque had come loose; it hung at an angle and there were fingerprints on the shiny surface of the paint. Someone had touched the portrait very recently, pressed and prodded it repeatedly.

"Gabriel Silk, what are you doing?" Manfred's voice came ringing down the corridor of portraits.

Gabriel turned guiltily, although, as far as he knew, he had nothing to feel guilty about. He must make sure that Manfred didn't guess what was on his mind. The talents master had been using hypnotism a great deal recently.

"What are you doing here?" Manfred came up to Gabriel and stared at him.

"Nothing, sir." Gabriel looked away from the narrow black eyes. Beneath his black cape, Manfred was wearing a bright green vest. Surprising for one who was usually so soberly dressed.

"Nothing?" The talents master glared at Gabriel, forcing him to look up.

"Nothing?"

Gabriel felt dizzy. "Going to a music lesson, sir," he said faintly.

"Go, then! And stop hanging about!"

Gabriel was about to turn away when he saw two figures coming down the hall behind Manfred. One of them was limping, the other lurching. Gabriel's eyes widened in surprise, for the limping man bore a strong resemblance to the man in the portrait: Ashkelan Kapaldi.

The surprise in Gabriel's eyes caused Manfred to whirl around. "Go!" he shouted at Gabriel. "This instant!"

Gabriel walked away quickly, but not so quickly that he didn't hear the talents master say, "It's not wise, sir, for you to leave the west wing during the day. Pupils will recognize you... and wonder."

"Let them wonder." The stranger's voice had a foreign lilt. "Let them be amazed."

"It's not the time, Ashkelan." This second voice had a cavernous, echoing sound. Something in the ebb and flow of it reminded Gabriel of Dagbert Endless.

He hastened into the hall, which was full of children on their way to different classrooms. Occasionally someone would whisper to a companion, while glancing anxiously about in case a prefect was watching. Silence in the hall was the rule.

Gabriel spotted Charlie's wild mop of hair. He wore a slight frown and his thoughts were obviously miles away. Gabriel waved, trying to get Charlie's attention, but Charlie didn't see him. And then Dagbert Endless walked between them. He followed Charlie doggedly across the hall and into another one that led to Senor Alvaro's music room. Gabriel pursued them.

Safely out of the main hall, Gabriel called, "Charlie!"

Dagbert swung around and snapped, "What do you want?"

Gabriel was momentarily taken aback by Dagbert's sharp tone. "I want to speak to Charlie," he said.

"Hi, Gabe!" Charlie had noticed Gabriel at last. "What is it?"

Gabriel saw that Dagbert wasn't going to leave them. "It's nothing," he murmured. "I'll catch you later."

Charlie watched Gabriel slouch away, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets. Obviously he didn't want Dagbert to hear what he had to tell Charlie.

"Why do you keep following me?" Charlie demanded. "Shouldn't you be in a lesson?"

Dagbert shrugged. "I've lost my flute. I thought Senor Alvaro might have it."

"Why? Mr. Paltry teaches flute." Charlie walked faster, trying to shake Dagbert off.

Dagbert caught up with him. "OK. The truth is... my father's here."

"I know," said Charlie irritably. "We've been through that. What do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to keep my sea-gold creatures for a while."

"What?" Charlie stopped dead in his tracks. He could hardly believe his ears.

"Are you seriously asking me to keep something that you almost k—" He quickly corrected himself, "Something that you drowned Tancred for taking."

"I've told you," Dagbert said desperately, "I didn't mean to drown him. It was an accident." He dug into his pocket and brought out a handful of tiny charms: five golden crabs, a fish, and a miniature sea urchin. "Please, keep them safe for me." He held the charms out to Charlie. "My father's looking for them."

"Why?"

"I can't explain right now." Dagbert pushed the charms at Charlie.

Charlie stepped back. "Why me?"

"You're the only person I can trust."

Charlie found this hard to believe. "What about your friends: Joshua, Dorcas, the twins? What about Manfred?"

Dagbert vigorously shook his head. "No, no, no." He grabbed Charlie's wrist and attempted to press the charms into his hand. "PLEASE!"

"No." Charlie snatched his hand away and the sea-gold creatures spilled onto the floor. The sea urchin rolled toward Sehor Alvaro's door, which at that very instant began to open.

Sehor Alvaro stood in the doorway regarding the sea urchin at his feet. He gave it a small kick.

"No!" Dagbert pounced on the charm as it rolled across the floor. "You could have broken it." He hastily gathered up the five crabs and the golden fish as well and shoved them into his pocket.

"What's going on?" Senor Alvaro frowned at the wall behind the boys. It was now a rippling bluish-green; silvery bubbles rose from a shell that floated just behind Charlie's ear; and fronds of seaweed waved gently from the baseboard.

Charlie glanced at the scowling Dagbert. "It's what happens, sir," he told the music teacher. "He can't help it."

"Can't help it?" Senor Alvaro raised a neat black eyebrow. He was young for a teacher, and his clothes were always interesting and colorful. He had permanently smiling brown eyes, a sharp nose, and shiny black hair. He didn't appear to be too surprised by the watery shapes on the wall.

As Dagbert shuffled away, the weeds and shells and bubbles gradually faded and the wall took on its usual grayish color.

"Come in, Charlie," said Senor Alvaro.

Charlie always enjoyed his music lessons now. He knew he wasn't talented, but Senor Alvaro had convinced him that music could be fun as long as you blew with conviction and hit the right notes, more or less. Charlie had even managed half an hour's practice the previous evening, and Senor Alvaro was pleasantly surprised.

"Excelente, Charlie!" The music teacher's Spanish accent was soft and compelling. "I am astounded by your improvement. A little more practice and that piece will be perfect."

The lesson was at an end, but Charlie was reluctant to leave. Senor Alvaro was one of the few teachers at Bloor's whom Charlie felt he could trust. He had an overwhelming urge to confide in him.

"Do you know about Dagbert?" he asked as he put his trumpet in its case.

"I know about the boy's father, if that's what you mean, Charlie. I'm aware of the curse placed upon the Grimwald dynasty and I know that Dagbert believes the charms his mother made can protect him." Sehor Alvaro's tone was very matter-of-fact. Charlie was surprised he knew so much.

"Do you know about... about... my talent?" Charlie was unsure of how to put this question and found himself stuttering.

"Of course!" Senor Alvaro gave one of his heartwarming smiles. "I'll see you on Friday, Charlie. Usual time."

"Yes, sir." Charlie left the room.

When he closed Sehor Alvaro's door, he felt slightly dizzy. Perhaps it was the darkness of the hallway coming so soon after the bright lights in the music room. He closed his eyes for a moment and a rushing, foggy gray seeped behind his lids. It was the sea, and in the churning gray waves, there was a small boat bobbing among the foam. Charlie saw this boat in his mind's eye whenever he thought of his parents, somewhere on the ocean, watching whales.

But today he could just make out a name on the side of the boat: Greywing.

Charlie opened his eyes. Why had the name come to him so suddenly? Did anyone else know about it? His grandmother Maisie? Uncle Paton? The company that arranged his parents' whale-watching vacation?

"Charlie!"

Gabriel came running down the hallway just as the bell rang for lunch. "Can we talk outside, Charlie, after lunch?"

"Why not now?" asked Charlie.

"I can't explain. It's too complicated," said Gabriel.

"Give us a clue!"

"It's about the Red Knight."

"Now I'm really interested." Charlie hurried into the hall where the usual crowd of children was rushing to the coatrooms: blue for music students, purple for the actors, and green for the artists. Gabriel hovered beside Charlie while he washed his hands and then they walked together across the hall and down the corridor of portraits toward the blue cafeteria. As they passed Ashkelan Kapaldi, Gabriel nodded at the portrait and whispered, "I saw him today."

"I think I saw him last night," Charlie whispered back.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "What's going on?"

Charlie shrugged.

Fidelio had kept two places for them at a corner table. While they ate their macaroni and cheese, Charlie bent close to his friend and, as quietly as he could, described the swordsman both he and Gabriel had seen outside his portrait.

"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes," Fidelio remarked with a grin.

"What do you mean by that?" Gabriel asked in an offended tone. "This man isn't after me and Charlie, particularly."

"Sorry." Fidelio often forgot how touchy Gabriel Silk could be. "But you're both endowed, Gabe. These weirdos are always after you lot; by and large they leave normal people like me alone."

Gabriel had to admit that this was true. He realized that he would have to take Fidelio into his confidence as well as Charlie. Best friends always stuck together during break.

After lunch the three boys jogged around the grounds. It was one of those dreary March days when the sky is a dark gray slab and the cold air sneaks into your very bones. Sixth years were allowed to stay indoors, but the rest of the school, almost three hundred children from eight years old to sixteen, were trying various ways to keep warm.

Some of the boys were playing a rather halfhearted game of soccer, others were being violently active in an athletic kind of way, and yet more were doing formal exercises, presided over by an enthusiastic outdoorsy type named Simon Hawke.

Most of the girls were walking around in pairs or large groups. Someone had put up an umbrella, even though the rain wasn't more than a damp mist. It was a very bright umbrella, printed with red and yellow butterflies. The girl beneath it had almost white hair and wore a scarlet coat. She was holding her umbrella high enough to cover the head of a very tall boy of African descent.

"Is that Lysander?" Gabriel pointed at the boy beneath the umbrella.

"Must be," said Fidelio. "Who's the girl?"

"Never seen her before," said Charlie.

The girl turned toward them, and Charlie recognized Olivia Vertigo. He had never seen her as a bleached blonde before. Her hair color changed frequently from purple to green to indigo—she'd even gone stripy—but never white. He wondered why she and Lysander were together. They were both endowed, but they had little else in common. And then he remembered that their best friends were both missing. Lysander was seldom apart from Tancred Torsson, while Olivia and Emma were practically inseparable.

Charlie waved at Olivia and she leaped forward, catching Lysander's head in her umbrella. "Ow!" he yelled. Olivia flapped her hand at him and came bouncing over the grass in her red fur-tipped boots. Lysander stood looking around for another companion for a moment, but finding none, he followed Olivia over to the group.

Gabriel groaned to himself. Now he would have to tell his story to four people instead of one. It was such a small incident; it might mean nothing or everything. He hadn't wanted to broadcast it this way; in fact, he decided, he probably wouldn't tell anyone at all, because what he had seen wasn't all that important. His mind had simply exaggerated its significance.

"We've been talking about the Pets' Cafe," said Olivia, obligingly closing her umbrella, "and you—know—who." She glanced at Lysander.

"Shhh!" Lysander looked over his shoulder as the Branko twins passed behind them.

The Branko twins were now lingering just within earshot. They had pale, impassive faces and the bangs of their shiny black hair touched the tips of their long, thick eyelashes. The eyes beneath those lashes were dark and inscrutable. If the twins were to get the slightest hint that Tancred was still alive, they would pass the news straight to Manfred, and that would be a disaster. The Bloors would be furious that his survival had been kept a secret, and Dagbert might even make a second attempt on Tancred's life.

"Let's move," Lysander suggested, nodding at an ancient wall standing at the top end of the grounds.

The massive red walls surrounded a castle built by the Red King nine centuries ago. It had been a vast and beautiful building, but today it lay in ruins, its thick walls crumbling, its stone floors lined with moss and weeds,

its roofs fallen, and its once sturdy beams mildewed and rotting. But just inside the great arched entrance was a paved courtyard, surrounded by thick hedges, and facing the entrance were five smaller arches, each one leading into the castle. Four were like the mouths of dark tunnels. Only one gave a view of the green hill beyond.

"Smells a bit musty in here," said Olivia. She planted herself on one of the stone benches located between the arches.

The others squeezed in beside her, but Fidelio suddenly jumped up and ran to the entrance, He stood beneath the arch where he could get a good view of the rest of the school. "Don't want any snoops," he said.

A low grunt came from beneath the bench beside them. Everyone stared at it until a gray paw emerged, followed by a long-nosed, overweight, short-legged dog.

"Blessed!" they cried.

Olivia held her nose. "I might have known."

"He can't help being smelly," Gabriel reproved her.

"He looks so sad," said Charlie. "I'm sure he misses Billy."

At the mention of Billy's name, Blessed waddled over to Charlie, wagging his bald tail. Charlie stroked the dog's rough head, saying, "Billy will come back, Blessed, I promise you."

The dog grunted a couple of times and then waddled away through the arch.

"How are you going to keep that promise, Charlie?" said Gabriel. "Billy doesn't even want to come back."

"He will." Charlie looked pointedly at Gabriel. "You wanted to tell me something, Gabe."

Gabriel grimaced. "I said you, Charlie, not everyone."

"We're not everyone, Gabe." Olivia dug her elbow into his side. "Or is it just very, very private?"

Gabriel shifted uneasily on the cold stone bench.

"Not private exactly. I mean, I suppose it concerns you as much as anyone, being endowed."

"Come on, Gabe. I can't bear the suspense," said Lysander.

Gabriel stared at his hands rather than meeting anyone's eye. "It's about the Red Knight," he muttered.

No one spoke. It was as if Gabriel had dropped a spell into the chilly air.

He looked up and saw that they were taking him very seriously.

"What about him?" asked Charlie with a catch in his voice.

"I think you're the only one who's seen him," said Gabriel, playing for time.

"I've seen him," Olivia said quietly.

"Oh, yes. I forgot." Gabriel had seldom seen such an earnest expression on Olivia's face. It was encouraging. "As you know," he continued, "my family inherited the Red King's cloak. It was kept in a chest under my parents' bed,

and as I told you before, the cloak disappeared just before the knight was seen."

Charlie nodded. "He was on the iron bridge, and he saved Liv and me from drowning. He's saved my life twice now."

"The cloak was billowing all around him, like a great red cloud," Olivia said, elegantly demonstrating with her arms, "but we couldn't see his face because of the helmet and the visor. We thought it might be the Red King himself, or his ghost."

"No," said Gabriel. "It wasn't. I've thought and thought about it. I've gone over it in my mind, trying to remember every little detail. ..."

"Hurry up, Gabe," said Fidelio. "Some of the others are leaving the grounds.

It's nearly the end of break."

Fidelio's interruption flustered Gabriel. He frowned with concentration while the others waited for him to continue.

"It was one morning," Gabriel began, "very early, still night really, because the moon was up.

Something woke me, I don't know what. I went to the window to see if a fox had crept in and gotten one of our chickens. And I saw this figure in our yard in the moonlight. He was wearing a dark, heavy coat with the hood up, so I couldn't see his face. The funny thing was, my dad was down there, talking to him in a very low voice, almost whispering really. And then my dad handed the man a package. Quite a big package, tied up with string. And then the man left. He crossed our yard and when he reached the gate, he gave my dad a wave, and then he was gone. And the next day I found that the cloak had disappeared, and I thought it must have been the man in the dark coat who took it. And if my dad gave it to him, he must have trusted him."

"Or he was under some kind of spell," muttered Charlie.

"It might not have been the king's cloak, Gabe," said Lysander, standing up and rubbing his cold bottom. "I mean, we know your dad writes thrillers. It could have been a manuscript or a load of books."

Gabriel shook his head. "It was the cloak."

"What makes you so sure?" asked Lysander.

"Because the horse was there," said Gabriel, "the white mare, Queen Berenice.

She was standing just beyond the hedge, waiting for the man, whoever he was."

The others stared at him for a moment, and then Lysander said, "Come on, we'd better get going."

They left the castle courtyard and began to run across the grass toward the school door. Just before they stepped into the hall, Charlie said, "Did you ask your dad about the stranger, Gabe?"

"He told me I'd been dreaming," Gabriel said.

5. FIRE IN THE TUNNEL

Charlie had often wondered about the Branko twins. He knew where all the other endowed children lived; he even knew about their parents, although he hadn't actually met them all. But the Brankos were a mystery. This was because they ran a store called Fine and Fancy, the sort of shop that Charlie generally avoided.

Mr. and Mrs. Branko prided themselves that almost anything at all could be purchased in their store, as long as it wasn't a live animal and you didn't mind your food in a can. The Brankos didn't like animals.

Mrs. Branko looked like a large, tired version of her daughters. Before she was married she had been Natalia Dobinsky, a woman renowned for her telekinetic powers and a few other, more peculiar talents. Not only could she move things with her mind, she could also produce anything—from cans of Peking duck to breadfruit, boiled cauliflower, and curried spiders.

Mrs. Branko liked to wander the store, encouraging her customers to spend more than they could afford, while her husband remained behind the vast oak counter.

Bogdan Branko often wondered how he had come to marry Natalia Dobinsky. He had forgotten how they had met. He was a small, mild man with a slanting-back sort of face, his receding chin blending into a flat nose, and a wrinkled caved-in forehead that disappeared beneath thin strands of sandy hair. Bogdan had been very surprised when the exotic Natalia had chosen him above all her other suitors. Lately he had begun to wonder if it was because of his appalling memory. If you can't remember how you came to be married, you're inclined to blame yourself rather than your wife. You're also likely to forget all the appalling things she has done.

Beneath Bogdan's counter were boxes containing everything from size 20

ballroom dresses to fur-lined rain boots. If a customer asked Mr. Branko for anything out of the ordinary, such as a pair of rainbow-striped stilts, Bogdan would delve beneath the counter while Mrs. Branko stared at it, from wherever she happened to be in the store, and the stilts would obligingly materialize within an inch of Mr. Branko's desperately delving hands.

Every Saturday morning, the Brankos would receive a visit from their benefactor. In other words, the person who had loaned the Brankos enough money to buy their store and who would, every now and again, give them a little more money to refurbish the place with fancy lights, brocade seats, and extra shelves.

This Saturday, Natalia was even more restless than usual. The benefactor would be coming to inspect the small cafe that he had suggested the Brankos should open at the back of the shop. "Just a few chairs and tables," he said,

"a good coffee machine and some nice herbal teas.

I'll leave the choice of food entirely to you, Natalia." He gave her a knowing wink.

The benefactor also suggested that Mr. and Mrs. Branko should change the name of their shop. From Fine and Fancy to Not the Pets' Cafe.

Natalia and the benefactor seemed to find this suggestion absolutely hilarious, although Mr. Branko could see nothing at all to laugh about.

However, before he forgot the new name, he managed to telephone a sign writer and today the new sign would be going up.

It was 8:30 a.m. The shop was due to open at 9:00 a.m. Mrs. Branko had instructed the twins, Idith and Inez, to tidy the shelves, and they were now sitting on the counter, rearranging the cans telekinetically. The twins didn't always get along with each other, and today they were both becoming increasingly angry as cans that Idith had just arranged on the bottom shelf were sent flying up to the top shelf by her twin.

Mr. Branko sat in a corner, reading his newspaper while, outside, two men on ladders hammered the new sign into place.

At that very moment, Charlie's friend Benjamin Brown was walking down Spectral Street with his dog, Runner Bean. They were heading, in a roundabout way, for the park.

Benjamin lived opposite Charlie on Filbert Street. They had been friends since they were four years old, but Benjamin wasn't endowed, so he didn't go to Bloor's Academy, for which he was truly thankful.

Benjamin was almost at the end of Spectral Street when he saw two men on ladders fixing a sign above a shop door. He stopped to watch the men and remembered that the shop had once been called Fine and Fancy. Benjamin read the new sign, and his mouth dropped open. He rubbed his eyes, not quite able to believe what he was seeing.

"Not the Pets' Cafe?" he said in a loud and shocked voice. Then he repeated himself in an even louder and even more shocked voice, "NOT THE PETS' CAFE?"

Runner Bean gave three hearty barks in sympathy.

"What's your problem?" said the man on the left-hand ladder.

"Not... not... not..." Benjamin stuttered as he pointed to the sign.

"Move on!" said the other man, hammering the last nail into the sign. "You'll give the place a bad name."

"It is a bad name," cried Benjamin, and Runner Bean barked in agreement.

"That dog can read," said the first man with a nasty laugh. "Not the Pets'

Cafe! Ha-ha!"

Both men came down their ladders, folded them up, and began to fix them onto their van.

Benjamin stared and stared at the sign, and then he became aware that two girls were glaring at him through the shop window. They had very pale faces and very black hair. One of them stuck her tongue out at Benjamin. This brought on a storm of howling from Runner Bean. A woman appeared in the store doorway. She looked exactly like the girls, except that she was bigger and a lot older.

"We don't open until nine o'clock," the woman said coldly. "If you want to come in, you'll have to wait. And get rid of the dog."

"I don't want to come in!" Benjamin backed away. He pointed at the sign. "Why does it say "Not the Pets' Cafe?"

"That's my business," the woman replied.

Benjamin suddenly felt compelled to look at the two girls. There was something very odd about them. He could almost feel the intense concentration in their dark eyes. Runner Bean's hair was standing up like a brush. Benjamin shook his head and shivered. The girls were staring at one of the ladders, and the ladder was sliding off the van. It hovered for a moment and then began to move toward Benjamin.

"STOP!" roared the black-haired woman, glaring at the girls in the window.

"Wrong time."

The ladder gave a shudder and slid back into place.

The two workmen looked at each other in disbelief. "What was that?" one muttered.

"Wind," snapped the woman and strode back into her shop.

Benjamin had seen enough. He tore down the street, with Runner Bean bounding and barking beside him. They didn't stop running until they had reached number nine Filbert Street.

Benjamin leaped up the steps and rang the bell, calling, "Charlie! Charlie!"

The door was opened by Maisie. "Good heavens, Benjamin Brown, what's the trouble?" she asked.

"There's another cafe, Mrs. Jones," Benjamin said breathlessly. "Only it's Not the Pets' Cafe."

Maisie frowned. "There are lots of other cafes, Benjamin, dear," she said gently.

"But not Not the Pets' Cafe cafes."

Maisie didn't know what to make of this. Benjamin was a nice boy, but he sometimes got the wrong end of the stick. "I think you need to see Charlie,"

she said. "He's gone to see Mr. Onimous."

"The Pets' Cafe!" cried Benjamin. "That's where I should be." He jumped down to the sidewalk and tore up the street with his long-legged dog racing in front of him.

Maisie watched them for a moment, shook her head, and closed the door.

"Who was that?" a voice called from the sitting room. "Was it the mail? I'm expecting something."

"It wasn't the mail, Grizelda," said Maisie.

"Who, then?" Grandma Bone came into the hall. "I hate mysteries."

"It's not a mystery," Maisie told her. "It was just Benjamin Brown. He was rambling on about a cafe that wasn't for pets."

To Maisie's surprise, Grandma Bone began to laugh. "Ha-ha-ha," she cackled.

"That'll teach them."

It always worried Maisie when Grandma Bone's laughter turned spiteful.

Perhaps Benjamin wasn't so deluded after all.

Benjamin and Runner Bean were now racing, side by side, along High Street. It was still early and there were only a few shoppers around. They turned the corner onto Frog Street and came upon a dreadful scene. The Silks' old van was parked halfway down the narrow alley, and Charlie, Gabriel, and Mr. Silk were piling boxes and furniture into it. The small yard in front of the cafe was crammed with chairs, cupboards, tables, boxes, and a large iron bedstead.

Two woebegone figures sat on the bed: Mr. and Mrs. Onimous. Mrs. Onimous was weeping copiously, while her husband held one of her hands and stared stonily ahead.

"What's happened?" cried Benjamin.

"Landlord," shouted Charlie as he and Gabriel lifted a roll of carpet into the van.

"Landlord? But I thought..." Benjamin looked at the Onimouses.

"Yes, Ben," Mr. Onimous said bitterly. "The landlords kick you out if you haven't paid your rent. But we own the Pets' Cafe and we've paid our rent.

We've done nothing to deserve this. Nothing."

"So why?" Benjamin approached Charlie and Gabriel.

"The council," said Charlie. "They said the cafe wasn't safe for the public.

And the Onimouses can't live here anymore because the wall at the back is crumbling."

"It isn't crumbling," muttered Mr. Silk, throwing an angry glance at the hired mover, a sickly-looking creature with thin, sepia-colored hair. He was throwing bags from the doorway onto the muddy cobblestones. One of the bags burst open and a pile of socks and stockings rolled out.

Mr. Onimous jumped up from the bed and ran across to the mover, shouting, "Be careful! Those are our belongings."

The mover snickered and backed into the darkness of the empty cafe.

"He doesn't look like a mover, does he?" Benjamin remarked.

Charlie had to agree. He had never seen a mover before, but he was sure that men who spent their lives moving other people's furniture should be a bit more robust than the skinny individual who was flinging bags into the alley.

His assistant, however, was built like a heavyweight boxer. He wore only a white undershirt and camouflage pants, and his shoulders were as wide as the table he was now maneuvering through the door.

"I've got something awful to tell you," Benjamin said to Charlie.

"This is awful," said Charlie.

Mr. Silk closed the doors at the back of the van and said, "I'm sorry, Orvil, we can't get any more in. I'll run this load up to the Heights and come back for the rest."

"Oh, let me come." Mrs. Onimous slid from the bed and ran over to the van.

"Please, Cyrus. I want to make sure there's a place for everything in your barn. Are you sure we won't be an inconvenience?"

"Not at all, Onoria. Hop in!" Mr. Silk opened the passenger door. "And you, too, Orvil. There's room for three at the front. The boys'll watch your stuff, won't you, boys?"

"Of course!" said the boys.

"It's very good of you, Cyrus," cried Mr. Onimous, hurrying over to the van.

"I don't know how we'll ever—"

"Only too glad, Orvil." Mr. Silk got into the driver's seat and slammed the door while Mr. Onimous climbed in beside his wife.

All at once, the little man jumped out again and ran over to Charlie. "Keep this for me," he said, pressing a small gold key into Charlie's palm. "You know what it's for." He winked at Charlie and ran back to the car. Mr. Silk honked once and the van rattled down the alley and onto High Street.

"What was that all about?" asked Gabriel as Charlie tucked the key into his pocket.

"It's for the door into the castle tunnel," Charlie said quietly.

Gabriel and Benjamin looked at him as though they expected him to say more.

"It might come in handy," Charlie said with a shrug.

"Are the Onimouses coming to live with you?" Benjamin asked Gabriel.

Gabriel nodded. "It's going to be a bit of a squash, and my sisters aren't too happy about it because they've all got to sleep together. But where else can the poor Onimouses go? We've got a nice dry barn for their stuff, and some of it can go in my gerbil house, in a pinch. But we couldn't take the cafe chairs and tables. They've already been taken away."

"I wish I could have the Onimouses living with me," Benjamin said wistfully.

"Mrs. Onimous makes great pet food."

Just then the movers walked out of the cafe, slamming the door behind them.

One of them produced a bunch of keys and, carefully selecting one, locked the door. He rubbed his hands together and declared, "All done!"

As the two men passed the boys, the one in the white undershirt said, "Looks like rain, boys. Hope this stuff doesn't get wet!" He jerked a thumb at the bed. "Could be ruined."

The boys glared at him and then, as the men walked down the alley, Charlie muttered, "Thinks he's so macho, but I can see goose bumps."

The undershirt man came to a halt and looked back with a snarl on his face.

Runner Bean gave one of his famous throaty growls and the man hurried after his companion.

"This is an awful, awful day," moaned Benjamin as soon as the men were out of sight.

"You can say that again," agreed Charlie.

"I mean worse than awful," cried Benjamin, and he told them about the Not the Pets' Cafe, the peculiar twins, and the floating ladder.

"The Brankos!" Charlie exclaimed. "So that's where they live."

"Brankos?" Benjamin looked puzzled.

"They're telekinetic," Charlie explained. "I'm sure I've told you about them.

They're forever moving stuff when we're trying to do homework: books, pencils, and things. They knocked a wall down once and nearly buried me.

They're Manfred's slaves."

Benjamin was even more glad that he didn't have to go to Charlie's school.

"I bet Manfred put those Brankos up to it," Gabriel grunted. "I mean, it's like a slap in the face, isn't it, calling it Not the Pets' Cafe when he knows the Pets' Cafe was our favorite place?"

"Look!" Charlie suddenly pointed to the sloping roof of the cafe. Three bright cats had appeared at the very top; Leo, the orange cat, stood on the apex, the other two perched on either side of him.

"They've lost their home," Gabriel said sadly.

"No, they're wanderers," Charlie told him. "Their home is everywhere and nowhere. I think they're guarding the place."

"There's nothing left to guard," said Gabriel.

"There's the secret tunnel that leads under the wall to the castle," Charlie reminded him. "And I bet those movers are going to come back later and look for it. The Bloors have always wanted to find it, and now's their chance. My dad hid something very, very precious that old Ezekiel wants, and now I'm wondering if Dad hid it at the end of that tunnel."

Gabriel and Benjamin were now regarding Charlie with very puzzled frowns, and Charlie realized he would have to tell them a bit more. "There's a box," he went on. "My uncle told me about it. He thinks there's a will in it, a will that proves Billy Raven should have inherited Bloor's Academy and all the money the Bloors have stashed away."

"Wow!" Benjamin collapsed onto the iron bedstead, causing a great rattling of springs.

Gabriel, however, continued to stare at Charlie with a frown that grew deeper every second.

"What?" said Charlie. "Don't you believe me?"

"Why did your father hide it in the first place," Gabriel asked in a slow, deliberate voice, "if he knew there was something so important in it?"

"He didn't know," Charlie said patiently. "The box couldn't be opened. The key was lost. Before Billy's father died, he asked my dad to look after the box. He didn't tell him what was in it because he didn't know. And then my dad was hypnotized, as you very well know, and..." Charlie grimaced. It was hard for him to admit that his father had not completely recovered from his long ordeal and that his memory had not been entirely restored. It meant that Lyell Bone would never again be the brave young man who had once defied the Bloors. Charlie found that difficult to accept.

"And what?" Benjamin gently prodded.

"And he hasn't remembered everything that happened before," said Charlie.

"But he will," he added confidently, "when he comes back from vacation."

"Of course he will," said Benjamin.

"But the Bloors don't want him to remember," Gabriel said thoughtfully. "Do they, Charlie?"

"No," he admitted.

It took Mr. Silk two more journeys to get all the Onimouses' possessions up to the Heights. Gabriel joined his father on the last trip, and Benjamin and Charlie were left in the deserted alley. They gazed sadly at the silent cafe, and then walked on to High Street, both hoping desperately that it wouldn't be long before the Pets' Cafe was once again full of joyfully lapping, munching, chewing, pecking creatures, and their equally happy owners.

Benjamin's parents were private detectives and were often working on Saturdays. But today they were at home and Mrs. Brown had promised Benjamin he would have lamb chops and mint sauce for lunch. As soon as they reached Filbert Street, Benjamin ran eagerly toward number twelve, and Runner Bean, who sensed that good bones were soon to be had, raced beside his master.

Charlie had carrot soup and cheese for lunch. Grandma Bone was spending the day with her three sisters, and Uncle Paton had left on yet another mysterious journey.

"Gathering information, that's what your uncle said," Maisie told Charlie.

"Are you going over to Benjamin's after lunch?"

"Yes," Charlie lied, although, at the time, it wasn't really a lie because he might have gone over to Benjamin's. It was just that the more he thought about it, the more inclined he became to return to the Pets' Cafe.

When he had helped Maisie to wash up, Charlie went to his room and did his homework. At half past three, with a shout of "See you later, Maisie," he left the house and made his way back to the empty cafe. Pressing his face close to the window, he looked for a light that might be showing in the kitchen. But the cafe was dark and silent. Nothing moved. Charlie now had a burning desire to get into the place, but he had no key and he had seen the mover lock the door. He tried it, just in case. The handle turned, but the door wouldn't budge. Charlie told himself that he was being foolish; if anyone intended to search the place, they would probably wait until nightfall. And then he heard footsteps in the alley.

Charlie darted around the side of the cafe and pressed himself into the corner, where the cafe wall met the great stone edifice of the old city wall.

He heard the clink of keys. The door opened and was closed. Charlie waited, breathlessly, and then tiptoed around to the front of the building. He looked through the window but could see nothing. As quietly as he could, he turned the door handle and pushed. The door opened. Charlie was in.

Footsteps creaked above him. Whoever had entered the cafe, they were beginning their search upstairs. There was a chance that Charlie could reach the place he wanted before anyone saw him. He crept through the kitchen and into a long hallway. The farther he went, the darker and narrower it became.

Soon the stone floor gave way to an earthen path. Now the brick ceiling was so low that Charlie could touch it with his fingers. Eventually he reached a small circular cavern where Mr. Onimous stored food for the cafe. Crates of apples, along with sacks and tea chests, were still piled against the walls.

Perhaps this place would never be found, thought Charlie. And yet he didn't hold out much hope of that. Whoever the Bloors had chosen to search the Pets'

Cafe, they wouldn't give up until they had explored every room and every hall. They would move the sacks and crates and, eventually, they would find the door that Charlie was about to open.

Grunting with the effort, Charlie began to push two heavy tea chests away from the wall until he revealed an ancient door, little more than a few feet high. Squeezing himself behind the tea chests, Charlie fitted Mr. Onimous's key into the lock. It turned with a light click and the door creaked open.

Behind it lay a darkness so intense, Charlie hesitated. He had been in the tunnel twice before, but never alone. It was time for the gift from his Welsh ancestor.

Charlie had inherited two strains of magic. His picture traveling came from the Red King and his wand from Mathonwy, a Welsh magician. The wand was now a white moth, a moth with such bright wings, she could illuminate the deepest darkness.

"Claerwen!" Charlie said softly.

Answering to her name, the white moth crawled from beneath Charlie's collar, where she had been sleeping. In English the name meant "snow white." She was nine hundred years old.

The white moth fluttered into the tunnel and Charlie followed, bending his head as he stepped through the low doorway. Before he went any farther, he closed the door behind him, hoping that it would not be seen behind the two tea chests. If he had locked the door, things might have turned out differently. But he forgot.

The tunnel was damp and airless. Several times, Charlie slipped on the wet ground. Claerwen's light gave the damp walls a misty shine. The tunnel began to curve and twist, and Charlie had to put one hand on the wall to keep his

balance. Halfway down the tunnel a long fissure appeared in the wall. Charlie squeezed through it and into another tunnel, this one so narrow he had to shuffle sideways. The little moth swinging above gave him courage, and after five long shuffling minutes, Charlie emerged into an astonishing room.

Outside, the sky was a dull gray, but here everything was bathed in sunlight.

The ground was paved with tiny squares of color: yellow, red, and orange, a mosaic of a burning sun. The walls showed golden domes, silver clouds, and leafy arbors, where tall robed figures strolled together or rested on long marble seats. In the vaulted roof a painted sun appeared again, and in the very center a perfect circle opened to the sky.

Charlie walked around the perimeter of the circular floor, touching the pillars set at intervals between the painted walls. What had he expected to find? A wooden box placed neatly behind a pillar or tucked into a small cavity in the wall? For this room was very special. It had once been the Red King's chamber, hidden from the world. Even now, only a very few people knew of it, and Charlie was certain that the Bloors were not among them. It was a perfect hiding place.

Charlie felt the smooth painted walls; he knelt and scrutinized the paved floor, running his hands over the colored squares. He squinted up at the vaulted ceiling and prodded the bricks at the base of each pillar. But there was no sign of a box. Perhaps his father had hidden it in the castle? It was too late to search the vast ruin. Charlie decided to give up for now, but as he gazed around the bright room, he felt a great surge of hope. He was convinced that he would find the box. Perhaps not today, but sometime very soon. And Billy would have his inheritance—if he could be rescued from Badlock.

Charlie edged back along the narrow gap and stepped into the tunnel. He would have to return the way he came. If he went on, into the ruined castle, he would be trapped in the school grounds.

With Claerwen's light to guide him, Charlie began to walk back to the small door, hoping that no one else had found it. Turning a bend in the tunnel, he suddenly found himself caught in the light of a leaping flame.

"Aha!" said a mocking voice. "What have we here? A boy with a box, no doubt."

Charlie stood frozen to the spot. "I haven't got a box," he said, his voice husky with fear.

"Oh, no? I think you have!" The leaping flame drew nearer, and Charlie could see the mover's sneering features in the flaring light of a long tarred stick.

"What... what's that you're holding?" Charlie asked in a faint voice.

"Fire! That's what it is," cackled the mover. "Amos Byrne has come to warm you up, Charlie Bone."

6. CHARLIE ESCAPES

Charlie realized that there was no chance of his returning the way he had come. Leaping away from the flames, he ran toward the castle entrance. Too bad if he was caught in the academy grounds; at least he wouldn't be burned to a cinder. He had no doubt that Amos Byrne was in deadly earnest.

Charlie wished he had told someone where he was going. He could feel the heat of the flames on his back. The mover was gaining ground. He held the torch at arms' length and Charlie inhaled an acrid bitterness. His head felt as though it was on fire and, bringing his hand to the back of his neck, he found that his hair had been scorched by flying embers.

Yelping with fear, Charlie rushed toward the distant light at the end of the tunnel. But a sudden ray of hope was immediately dashed when he realized that a ruined castle would be no protection from a villain with a fiery torch.

Where can I go? Charlie's eyes were open, but his mind was closed to his surroundings, for he was desperately seeking a way of escape. He was never sure when the knight had appeared. Perhaps he had been there, at the end of the tunnel, all the time, sitting astride the white mare, his armor glimmering faintly in the dusk.

Charlie almost stopped dead in his tracks. But he didn't. He found, to his surprise, that he was still running. Faster and faster. As he drew closer to the horse and its rider, the Red Knight suddenly lifted his sword and, again, Charlie was choked with fear and almost stopped. But a voice reached into his head, quiet and commanding.

"Run, boy. RUN!"

And Charlie ran. Losing his terror of the sword, he put on a burst of speed he didn't dream that he had. But Amos was not deterred by the sight of a gleaming sword. He had great confidence in the fire he carried. It was what he lived by, and it had never let him down. He kept up his pace and rushed at the horse, hoping to terrify the creature into throwing its rider.

Charlie bounded past the mare and tore into the trees that grew inside the ruin. Flinging himself behind a broken wall, he lay, gasping for breath, while a stream of oaths filled the air.

The white mare gave a high-pitched snort of fear, then came a scream that curdled Charlie's blood. There was a moment of utter silence, before hoofbeats could be heard receding slowly into the distance.

It was several minutes before Charlie felt brave enough to raise his head above the wall. Darkness was falling fast, but he could just make out a dark figure lying close to the tree whose branches hung above the tunnel entrance.

Amos Byrne lay motionless, one outstretched hand reaching for the long torch that lay just beyond him, its flame extinguished. Charlie was caught between a sigh of relief and a shudder of horror. Now he must find a way out of the ruin, and then out of the academy grounds. All at once, he felt deeply weary.

The next few minutes were going to be very tricky.

Charlie had often explored the ancient castle. He knew that if he continued along the hedged walkway behind him, he would eventually come to the glade where he had once seen the Red King, or rather, the enchanted tree that the Red King had become. But then where could he go? He had never approached the glade from the academy grounds. It was a secret place, impossible to find except by going through the tunnel.

"Claerwen!" Charlie called.

The white moth crawled out of his sleeve and sat on his hand. Charlie was glad to see her. For a moment he had wondered if she had flown into the flames, as moths are inclined to do. "But you're too clever for that, aren't you, Claerwen?" Charlie said cheerfully. "The thing is, how are we going to get out of here?"

Claerwen had no answer for him. She fluttered onto a branch and closed her wings until they became a tiny triangle of light.

Something brushed against Charlie's legs. First one side, then the other. He looked down and saw that he was surrounded by cats. Three of them. With both hands, Charlie stroked their heads, first Leo's, then the other two. They all began to purr.

Charlie's laugh was both happy and nervous. "You're going to get me out of here, aren't you?" he said.

The cats gazed at him with their bright golden eyes and then they were off.

They moved fast, jumping over broken walls and slipping easily through the undergrowth, and if ever Charlie fell too far behind, one of them would wait until he caught up with them again.

They came, at last, to the wide expanse of grass that lay between the school and the woods that surrounded the castle. The cats became more cautious now.

They sniffed the air and moved carefully through the bare trees, turning now and again to look back at Charlie. He was heavier than the cats; twigs snapped beneath his feet, and the undergrowth rustled as he brushed it aside.

The Bloors are too far away to hear me, he thought. But suddenly several lights came on in the school, and a distant voice called, "Is anyone there?

Show yourself, you miserable, creeping thing."

Charlie recognized Weedon's voice. He can't possibly have seen me, thought Charlie. The surly porter was surely not clairvoyant. But someone else could be. Mrs. Tilpin? Who knew what witches could do? And then he began to wonder if Amos had recovered and returned to tell the Bloors that Charlie had run into the school grounds.

Standing still wasn't going to get him anywhere, Charlie reasoned. The cats were growling now, anxious to get him on the move again. He began to follow them, keeping an eye on the school building. It was as well that he did. For he saw the door open and two figures step out; they stood beneath the lamp that hung over the door and stared across the grounds. Charlie could see them clearly. One was Lord Grimwald; the other, the swordsman from the past, Ashkelan Kepaldi. They began to stride across the grass. Lord Grimwald held a tall lantern that swayed violently as he lurched over the lawn. Ashkelan's sword danced in the air beside its master.

The cats' growling turned to a soft hissing, and they flew away through the woods. This time Charlie kept up with them. As he ran, he couldn't help thinking about the wall they were approaching; it was ten feet high and stood between the grounds of Bloor's Academy and the outside world. How would he ever scale it? He wasn't a cat.

The ancient wall was covered in ivy and it was difficult to make out in the gloom. Charlie first became aware of it when he saw Leo's bright form climbing quickly to the top. Aries followed, but Sagittarius waited. At dusk he was the brightest of the three, his coat gleaming like a star. He seemed to be waiting for Charlie to climb.

Charlie squinted up at the mass of dark ivy; he saw a thick stem protruding from the wall a foot above him and reached for it. With both hands, he pulled himself up, bringing his feet behind him. The leaves were slippery and it took him some time to get a foothold. Leo and Aries looked down, and, following their gaze, Charlie saw another stem. It appeared to be out of his reach, until Sagittarius, climbing swiftly beside him, clawed at the leaves, revealing a strong loop, lower down. Charlie hoisted himself up another foot.

It was freezing cold, but he could feel the sweat running down his forehead.

Voices rang out from the direction of the ruin. Lord Grimwald and Ashkelan must have found Amos. They hadn't yet realized that Charlie was on the wall.

He gave a sigh of relief and, letting go of the ivy for a moment, wiped his forehead—and lost his footing. He tumbled to the ground with a groan.

"Sorry!" Charlie whispered to the cats. They regarded him with impatience, disappointment showing in the downturned tails and whiskers.

At least Charlie remembered where his footholds were, and he swiftly climbed to the place from where he had fallen. With the cats' help he pulled himself up the next few feet. He was very near the top when he heard the voices again. His two pursuers were crashing through the trees close to the wall.

With a superhuman effort Charlie heaved himself up, crouched a moment on the bumpy stones at the top of the wall, and, following the cats' example, let himself drop to the ground. He lay on the rough grass beside the wall, winded, shaken, and bruised, while the Flames howled and meowed in his ear.

"Give me a moment," groaned Charlie. "I'm safe now."

But he didn't have a moment. Glancing sideways, he saw a shining blade standing upright in the road. Ashkelan's sword had flown over the wall.

"No!" yelled Charlie. In a second he was on his feet again and running.

The sword pranced behind him, now slicing the air, now clanging on the hard pavement. The Flames darted around it, hissing and spitting, furious with the rod of steel that seemed to have a life of its own.

Ashkelan must have lost control of the dreadful weapon at last. Perhaps it could move only in close proximity to its owner. But when Charlie got to High Street, the sword was no longer behind him. Charlie slowed his pace. He had a stitch in his side, and his legs felt like jelly, but at least he was alive.

The Flames accompanied him to number nine and then they left him, melting into the dusk without a sound.

Charlie wearily climbed the steps up to his front door. When he walked inside, the first thing he noticed was the dark interior of the kitchen.

Maisie was always in the kitchen at this time of day. Where was she? Charlie heard voices coming from the other side of the hall.

Could she be in the living room? He popped his head around the door.

Grandma Bone and her three sisters were sitting around the fire, eating crumpets. There was a plate of toasted tea cakes on the coffee table.

"Oh!" said Charlie, quickly withdrawing his head.

"Come in, Charlie!" called Grandma Bone.

"No, it's all right." Charlie tiptoed across to the dark kitchen.

"It's NOT all right!" shouted Great-aunt Lucretia. "Come here, this minute!"

Charlie ground his teeth. "Now what?" he muttered. He went back to the living room and looked in. "I just wondered where Maisie was," he said.

"Gone shopping!" Grandma Bone told him.

"But it's late." Charlie looked at his watch. It was only half past five. He felt that a whole day and a night had passed since he left the house.

Grandma Bone snickered. "She's probably dropped in to see the kettle woman."

"Oh!" he said again. Charlie wondered what he could have for tea. He eyed the pile of tea cakes.

"Maisie's left something for you in the fridge," said Grandma Bone.

Charlie's heart sank. He would have liked something hot to eat.

"Where've you been?" asked Great-aunt Eustacia. "You smell of smoke."

Eustacia's power was obviously not at its best today, thought Charlie. And then it occurred to him that she was taunting him. She knew very well where he had been. But did she know about Amos, with his fiery torch?

"I think I'll go and have some tea," said Charlie, beginning to back out.

"Eustacia asked you where you had been," said Grandma Bone.

Charlie hesitated. If they already knew where he'd been, what would be the point of lying about it? "If you must know," he said, "I've been to the Pets'

Cafe. But, as you also know, it's been closed for good.

But someone was in there, searching for a box. So I went in, too. But I didn't find anything; neither did he."

All four women stared at him, their thin mouths grim, their black eyes hooded. They seemed to be temporarily struck dumb. And, with a sudden shock, Charlie knew that he'd said too much. He wasn't supposed to know about the box.

Now the hunt would be on. The Bloors would have to find the box before Charlie's father came home. The search had become a deadly game, and Billy Raven's future hung in the balance. So did Lyell Bone's life.

7. OLIVIA AND THE GARGOYLE

The silence lasted only a few seconds, but in that time so many thoughts swept through Charlie's head, he began to feel dizzy. In his mind's eye he saw Billy wandering endlessly through the enchanter's forest; and he saw a wooden box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a box that held a secret that could change the lives of everyone he knew.

Grandma Bone's voice reached Charlie as from a great distance. "What's wrong with you, boy? Pull yourself together."

"I am, I am," murmured Charlie, just managing to focus on the pale face that loomed above him.

"What's in your mind?" asked Grandma Bone.

"Nothing," said Charlie.

"Well, Eustacia?" Grandma Bone turned to her sister.

"He was thinking of Billy," said Eustacia, "and the box."

Charlie was rattled. Eustacia was in top form today. "I've never seen the box," he cried. "Well, not the box you mean," he ended lamely.

"Charlie, where's your father?" asked Eustacia, coming to stand beside her sister.

"I don't know, do I? I don't know any more than you do. He's whale watching."

"But when you think about him, what do you see?" Eustacia leaned very close to Charlie, and he flinched at her stale breath.

"Nothing," he said.

"We know you have a gift, Charlie," his grandmother snorted angrily. "We know you can see your father in your mind's eye when you think hard enough. Stop dissembling."

"I don't know what you mean," said Charlie. They must never know about the boat, he thought. And he filled his mind with pictures of his friends: Benjamin and Runner Bean, Fidelio, Olivia and Lysander...

"Well?" Grandma Bone looked at Eustacia.

"Rubbish," said Eustacia. "His mind is filled with rubbish."

Grandma Bone grabbed Charlie's arm and drew him into the kitchen, where she sat him down and made him drink a cup of cold milk. A plate of cheese and crackers was put before him, and Grandma Bone said, "Get it down you. We're all going out."

"But—" Charlie began.

"No buts," she snapped.

Grandma Bone's three sisters crowded into the kitchen. They paced around the table, looking at Charlie. Great-aunt Eustacia never took her eyes off him.

Perhaps she was still trying to read his mind. He must keep the name of the boat from her, the name on the side of a boat that rode the dangerous sea.

For if the name reached Lord Grimwald, there was no knowing what he might do.

"Maisie's not back," Charlie said, through a mouthful of dry crackers. "If I go out again, she'll wonder where I am."

"We'll leave a note," said his grandmother.

"Uncle Paton's not here," cried Charlie desperately. "My parents said that he was in charge."

"They were wrong," said Great-aunt Lucretia coldly. "We're your guardians now."

"That's not true!" retorted Charlie.

"You're coming to Darkly Wynd with us, and there's an end to it." Great-aunt Venetia whisked away the plate of half-eaten crackers. "And we have to go now. My little boy needs me."

Venetia's stepson, spiteful little Eric, had never needed anyone as far as Charlie knew. He spent his time animating stone figures, a dangerous talent, often ending in disaster for his unsuspecting victims.

"I don't understand why I have to go to Darkly Wynd." Charlie twisted nervously in his chair as Grandma Bone snatched his cup and poured the rest of his milk down the drain.

"We want to ask you some questions," said Great-aunt Eustacia.

"Can't you ask your questions here?" Charlie knew the answer as soon as he saw the cold, closed-in look on Grandma Bone's hard face. They couldn't risk being interrupted by Maisie or Uncle Paton. And that meant they were going to give him a real grilling.

Charlie knew it would be useless to resist. He could kick and scream, but they would get him to Darkly Wynd in the end and he would have wasted precious energy. He needed all his strength to fight Great-aunt Eustacia's clairvoyance. And now that he thought about it, he almost looked forward to the challenge.

The four sisters frog-marched Charlie out of the house and down the steps. He was bundled into the back of Great-aunt Eustacia's car, where he sat squeezed uncomfortably between the bony thighs of Lucretia and Venetia.

Eustacia drove very badly. She was forever bumping onto the curb and lurching recklessly around corners. After driving much too fast down a narrow alley, she braked, with a screech, in front of a long cobblestone yard. They had reached Darkly Wynd.

Three tall houses stood in a row at the far end of the yard. They had steep turrets and wrought-iron balconies, and their narrow arched windows were framed by carved stone creatures: gnomes, gargoyles, and unlikely beasts. All three houses were numbered thirteen.

The smaller houses on either side of the courtyard appeared to be deserted; their windows were boarded up, their steps covered in moss. Some grim force had driven the occupants away, a force that was evidently not strong enough to dislodge the Yewbeam sisters, unless it was they themselves who had caused the exodus.

Venetia's house, on the right, looked in better condition than the other two.

Since the fire in her house a year ago, the slates on the steep, sloping roof had been replaced and her front door had been freshly painted.

At the top of the steps stood a squat stone troll. Charlie kept an eye on it as he passed. Eric liked to animate the thing, and Charlie didn't want to be knocked flat before his interrogation began.

Venetia unlocked the door and led the way into a dark hall. It had a pungent, bitter smell. A huge gold-framed mirror, hanging on one side, reflected the long coatrack on the other. The rack was filled with garments of every size and description, and Charlie didn't need reminding that Venetia could bewitch her victims with clothing. The collars and cuffs, buttons and belts of these exotic-looking outfits were, in all probability, impregnated with poison.

Charlie gave a shudder and kept as far away from them as possible.

They walked in single file down a long corridor beside the staircase. Venetia led the way, followed by Charlie, who was prodded in the back by Grandma Bone's sharp nails every time he hesitated.

Charlie had never been inside any of the three number thirteens. He had looked through their windows and, secretly, crept into their back gardens, but none of his great-aunts had ever asked him into their home. And Charlie had certainly never wanted an invitation.

"Here we are!" Venetia opened a door on the left of the hallway, and Grandma Bone pushed Charlie into a large, gloomy room. An oval table stood in the center, and huge glass-fronted cabinets filled the entire wall opposite the door. Charlie gave an involuntary gasp when he saw the figure standing in the bay window.

Manfred Bloor wore an expression of malicious amusement. "Didn't expect this, did you, Charlie?" he said.

So that's why they brought me here, thought Charlie. They needed Manfred's help. And he wondered how often Manfred visited the Yewbeams. Grandma Bone was prodding him again. His back probably resembled a Dalmatian's by now, with all those black bruises. In spite of his precarious situation, Charlie couldn't help grinning.

"What are you smiling at?" Manfred asked coldly.

"It's not a smile, actually," said Charlie. "It's a wince."

Having prodded her grandson into a chair at the table, Grandma Bone and her sisters began arguing over the seating arrangements. Eustacia was going to be working, therefore her needs were a priority. So Charlie found himself

sitting opposite Manfred and beside Eustacia, who was at the head of the table with her back to the window. Grandma Bone sat on Charlie's other side, with Venetia directly opposite. Lucretia didn't sit, because she hadn't gotten the chair she wanted. She stood by the glass cabinet, regarding the shelves of labeled bottles and talking to herself.

"Where's Eric?" asked Charlie, hoping to delay the proceedings.

A forlorn hope.

"He's outside," snapped Venetia.

Charlie craned sideways, tipping his chair, and looked down into the lamplit garden. What he saw there gave him another shock.

Lumbering between bushes of bright winter berries were stone figures, pale as ghosts: hideous beings carrying stone clubs, knights in armor, horses, goblins, trolls, and massive dogs all moving in slow deliberate steps. And there was Eric, sitting on a stone head, a small, skinny boy with a sickly color. His head twisted this way and that, and his right hand swung back and forth across his body, as though he were orchestrating the movements of an army.

"Sit up!" Eustacia ordered, and Charlie lurched back, almost tipping his chair too far in the other direction.

"Impressive, eh?" said Manfred with a smile. "Our little Eric's coming on a treat."

Charlie didn't bother to reply. Manfred's black eyes held a chilling shine, and Charlie knew that all the will his mind possessed must be used in the next few minutes.

He lifted his gaze to the top shelf of the cabinet and started counting bottles.

"Look at me," Manfred demanded.

Charlie kept his eyes on the row of dark bottles: green, red, brown, and blue. How many fatal potions did Venetia keep? One, two, three...

"Look at me." Manfred's voice had taken on a fatal silkiness. Try as he might, Charlie couldn't resist it. He found his gaze drifting down to Manfred again, and he remembered the first time that Manfred had tried to hypnotize him. Charlie had fought him then. He had looked into the treacherous black eyes and then into the mind behind them.

Charlie met Manfred's gaze. He looked at him steadily and tried to read his thoughts.

"Stop that!" said Manfred.

"What?" said Charlie.

"You're trying to block me. Well, you won't get away with it this time."

Manfred leaned across the table. His face came closer and closer. So close that Charlie could see the deadly glitter at the center of those dark eyes.

He felt as though he were falling into them. All he wanted was to escape, to close his eyes, to sleep. Desperately, he tried to avoid the images that crowded into his head. I mustn't, I mustn't, he thought. But it was no use.

He saw the boat Greywing. He saw the heaving foamy sea and a night sky crammed with stars.

"What does he see?" Grandma Bone's voice was very faint.

Eustacia's answer was even fainter. "A boat called Greywing... sunrise...

whales calling ... a night sky, but... aha... the constellations are upside down."

The voice droned on and on, and Charlie was powerless. He could neither move nor open his eyes. They were asking him another question now. A question he couldn't answer.

"Who is the Red Knight, Charlie?"

"I don't know."

"We think you do."

"No."

"Who is he?"

"The Red King."

"Not true. Concentrate, Charlie."

Charlie's head drooped. He tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. He found himself thinking of the stranger that came to Gabriel's moonlit yard, the stranger in a dark, heavy coat who carried the Red King's cloak away. Did Charlie know anyone who wore a coat like this? No. No one, except...

except... Manfred's grandfather Bartholomew Bloor. He was utterly different from the other Bloors. He had even helped Charlie to find his father. Before Charlie could prevent it, an image came into his mind. The last time he had seen Bartholomew Bloor, he had been wearing a similar dark blue, thick coat.

Eustacia's muffled voice said, "Aha!"

A loud bark broke into Charlie's thoughts. He raised his head. The dog must have been at the front of the house, but its bark came ringing down the hall.

Charlie didn't know that Benjamin had lifted the flap on the letterbox, and Runner Bean was barking right through it.

Charlie's eyes flew open. Manfred had straightened up, but Eustacia sat in a confused silence, gazing at the table.

"Snap out of it, Stace!" Grandma Bone clicked her fingers close to Eustacia's nose, and Eustacia frowned up at her. "Well done, we got what we wanted."

"There's more," mumbled Eustacia.

"And there's a stupid dog at the door," shouted Venetia. "We'll have to deal with it." She rushed out, followed by Lucretia and Grandma Bone.

"I think Eric's already dealing with it," Manfred said easily.

Charlie leaped up and ran blindly toward the front door. He had to blink several times before he could focus properly, but when the hypnotic haze had lifted he saw that Eric was standing in the open doorway with Venetia at his side.

There was a loud thump and then another. Someone screamed and a dog howled.

When Charlie had pushed his way past Venetia, he saw Benjamin, Runner Bean, and Olivia trying to dodge the stone gargoyles that came flying at them from the wall. Eric was enjoying himself. He gave a little jump for joy every time a gargoyle came loose and crashed onto the pavement.

"That's enough, Eric," said Venetia. "You'll ruin the house."

"Charlie, get out of there!" cried Olivia.

Charlie was already bounding down the steps. "Run, Liv! I'm right behind you!" he shouted.

A stone gargoyle came flying after him and caught his heel. Runner Bean bounced around him, barking furiously.

"Eric, enough!" Venetia commanded.

"Let's get out of here!" yelled Benjamin. "Runner! Here, boy! Quick!"

The four children raced away from the three number thirteens.

If they had all kept running they would have escaped with a few bruises, but then something happened. And for one of them, nothing would ever be quite the same again.

Olivia suddenly turned around. She picked up the headless body of a broken gargoyle and was about to throw it back at Eric when, horribly, it stretched out a puny arm and grabbed her wrist. Olivia let out a shriek that brought the boys to a skidding halt. They ran to help her, tugging at the squirming stone body, pulling its legs and trying to pry the rigid fingers away from Olivia's wrist. Eric began to laugh.

All four sisters had now crowded onto the top step behind Eric. Venetia was laughing. Eustacia and Lucretia joined her and then, in spite of herself, Grandma Bone gave in to a bout of loud, undignified giggling. Olivia glared up at Eric and the four women. She wondered what would frighten them. What would wipe the silly grins off their faces and stop their spiteful giggling.

She imagined a tall skeleton in a black hat and cloak, wielding a six-foot saber.

And there he was! Standing in front of the steps, his saber lifted to strike.

Laughter turned to screams of horror. Eric and the sisters disappeared, slamming the door behind them.

"Oh, Liv! Why did you do that?" asked Charlie.

"I couldn't help it," Olivia replied as the headless gargoyle relaxed its grip and dropped to the ground. "Anyway, it did the trick. Eric obviously loses concentration when he's scared."

"It was pretty impressive—that thing!" Benjamin was disappointed to see the skeleton slowly fading. He gave Runner Bean a reassuring pat, as the dog's legs were still trembling. "It was only an illusion, Runner."

They hurried out of Darkly Wynd, Charlie throwing worried looks in Olivia's direction. She had betrayed herself. The Bloors had no idea that she was endowed, but as soon as the Yewbeam sisters had recovered from their shock, they would know. And they would certainly pass on the news.

Olivia ignored Charlie for a while. She deliberately refused to meet his eye, but at last she cried, "Stop looking at me like that, Charlie. We rescued you!"

"But you gave yourself away, Liv!" said Charlie. "My grandma and her sisters will know you conjured up that skeleton and they'll tell everyone. And then what?"

"Then what?" Olivia mimicked Charlie. "We'll see, won't we?" She rubbed her wrist where the gargoyle had left ugly marks on her skin.

"Sorry," said Charlie, feeling guilty. "And thank you for rescuing me. How did that happen, anyway?"

Benjamin explained that he had gone to number nine and found Maisie in a "bit of a state," as he put it. She'd found the note from Grandma Bone, but she didn't like to think of Charlie in one of the Darkly Wynd houses. So Benjamin had offered to come and find Charlie. "With Runner Bean, of course," Benjamin added. "I wouldn't have come without him. And then I met Olivia on her way to the bookstore, and she said she'd come, too. Safety in numbers kind of thing."

"Thanks," said Charlie. "Sorry I barked at you, Liv."

"I should think so!" She tossed her bleached hair and grinned.

"Manfred was there," Charlie said quietly. "He hypnotized me."

Olivia and Benjamin stopped. They stared at Charlie until he felt quite uncomfortable.

"The trouble is, I don't know if I told them anything I shouldn't have. I tried not to, but I can't remember." He stroked Runner Bean's shaggy head.

"Runner Bean woke me up."

They had reached the top of Filbert Street, and Charlie was relieved to see Uncle Paton's camper van parked outside number nine.

Olivia, Benjamin, and Runner Bean followed Charlie into the house, where they found Maisie and Uncle Paton enjoying a candlelit meal of salmon pie and chips. There was plenty for all, and while everyone dug in, Charlie recounted his day, reliving his escape from Amos Byrne with such dramatic gestures he twice sent the pepper pot flying off the table.

"Good grief!" cried Maisie. "Your hair's all singed, Charlie. I thought I could smell burning. You mustn't run off without telling me where you're going. You could have been ... oh, I can't bear to think of it."

Uncle Paton nodded. Although his expression was very grave, and although he made all the right exclamations of horror and concern, Charlie sensed that something else was troubling his uncle. He did not seem to be wholly engaged with the conversation around the table. His gaze kept drifting away from them.

"Uncle Paton, where have you been?" asked Charlie.

His uncle regarded him thoughtfully. It was as though he'd had to drag his mind back from somewhere far away.

"Where I have been doesn't matter, for now," he said. "But tell me, did my sisters question you about the Red Knight?"

Charlie's mind had cleared a little. The troubling hypnotic haze was lifting.

"Yes, they did ask about the knight, and although I didn't put it into words, I remember thinking that he might be Bartholomew Bloor."

"Bartholomew?" Uncle Paton looked incredulous.

"Wow! That's fascinating." Olivia cupped her chin in her hands. She wore an interesting pair of mittens threaded with gold and silver ribbons. "I hope you didn't tell them about Tancred," she said.

Charlie shook his head. "Don't think so. No. They didn't get around to asking about Tancred."

"Phew! That's good." Olivia raised her head and clasped her mittened hands together. "He's still safe, then."

"Yes. But you're not, Liv," said Charlie.

8. THE SEA GLOBE

The huge Sea Globe now stood in the center of the ballroom. The white covering had been removed, but the globe was enclosed in a large glass box.

Behind the glass, blue-green water could be seen rippling over the surface of a glowing sphere. It was the world, mapped out in oceans and continents. The land appeared a dull brown color, while the water glowed with countless shades of blue and green, gray and silver.

The ballroom lights were out, but the chandelier above the globe reflected the sea green radiance of the waves, and beams of brilliant light spilled out into the room. All that could be heard was the faint swish of waves and the low murmur of the world's vast oceans.

Lord Grimwald stood before his treasure, and his stern features softened as his gaze swept over the oceans—north to the Arctic, two feet above him, then down through the Atlantic to Antarctica and up again through the Pacific.

"So much sea," he murmured and the smile that crept into his face made him appear almost amiable. If Lord Grimwald had a heart, then it was held in the glowing sphere before him. He loved it above everything else. Alone on his rocky island, with only the globe for company, he was happy. Sometimes the memory of his wife's gentle singing caused him to look down into the waves, where she had drowned in a net, crushed by a ton of fish. And then he would think of the gold charms she had made for their son, so that he should survive the curse that lay upon their family.

It was regrettable, Lord Grimwald reflected, that if he was to live on, he must destroy his only son, now that Dagbert was twelve years old. He had proved to be a talented drowner and would no doubt become a powerful Lord of the Oceans, if he survived.

The reason for the Grimwald family curse had been lost through time. But it was as strong as it had ever been.

When Lord Grimwald was twelve he had caused his own father's death, and for his father it had been the same. But, occasionally, a father had survived a son, and the present Lord of the Oceans didn't intend to die for a long time yet.

He'll hide those charms, that son of mine, but I will find them. Lord Grimwald laughed out loud. He had a plan that involved Mrs. Tilpin's son, Joshua. The Magnet. He hoped the boy was up to the task.

The Lord of the Oceans put a scaly hand against the glass, and a white plume of water rose beneath his fingers. When it fell back, bright circles rippled away from it across the ocean, like the ripples in a pond. Only these foamy circles would appear on the real ocean as a mountain of water. Lord Grimwald was so entranced by his work, he didn't hear Manfred come into the ballroom.

"So this is the Sea Globe!" said Manfred in an awestruck voice. "It is"—he stretched out his hand—"so vast!"

Lord Grimwald turned, almost guiltily, as though caught in the act of admiring himself in a mirror. "The Sea Globe, yes. I'm pleased that it has traveled so well, despite its size. Not a wave, not an ocean out of place."

Manfred leaned close to the glass. "It defies gravity," he said with a frown.

"Why does the water not tumble to the ground? How can it possibly rise like that? The waves"—he leaned even closer—"some of them are rolling upward."

Lord Grimwald smiled with satisfaction. "It is what it is. And has always been so. I know nothing of its history. My father told me once that an ancestor in the distant past was endowed with magnetism. He attracted water, if you like. He gathered it into his arms, out of the Northern Sea, and lo and behold, a sphere of water grew out of his gatherings, dotted about with parcels of land."

"And it's with this globe that your family has been able to control the oceans?" Manfred's tone was tinged with doubt.

"For eight hundred years," Lord Grimwald replied. "It was encased in glass in the nineteenth century, to protect it from pollution, you understand."

Manfred nodded. "Naturally."

"Did you get anything out of the boy?" Lord Grimwald asked.

"Oh, a great deal," Manfred replied with a smile. "The boat was on his mind, and it has a name, Greywing. Eustacia saw it all, the sea, the night sky, and constellations upside down."

"Upside down?" The Lord of the Oceans rubbed his chin. "So they are in the southern hemisphere." He put his finger against the glass, and the waves beneath it sparkled with silver foam. "There are whales aplenty on the coasts of Australia. I'll wager our quarry is in this vicinity." He slid his finger up the eastern coast of Australia, and a line of white foam followed the course he took.

Manfred watched the long, fishlike finger with a slight frown of distaste.

"You've caused a few shipwrecks there, I imagine," he said.

"Mustn't let it run away with me." Lord Grimwald turned to Manfred. "Well, what else did this clairvoyant have to tell you?"

"The Red Knight's identity. We believe he must be my grandfather, Bartholomew Bloor, black sheep of the family."

"Why do you believe this?" Lord Grimwald asked curtly.

"Because he turned his back on us, went abroad. Became an explorer, wouldn't have anything to do with the family."

Lord Grimwald sighed impatiently. "No. Why do you believe the Red Knight is this Bartholomew person?"

"Oh, he was in Charlie's mind."

"Proves nothing. The boy doesn't know. He's guessing."

"Well, it's a start," said Manfred indignantly. "Eustacia's in top form lately. I bet she could tell me what was in your mind."

"I doubt it," muttered Lord Grimwald.

"What about this unknown endowed child that's on the loose?"

Manfred grimaced. "Charlie got away before we could ask. His friend's dog came barking through the mailbox. It broke our concentration."

"Teh!" Lord Grimwald thrust his hands into his pockets. "Not that I'm bothered, but Kapaldi wants to know. He's always in such a state, it's unsettling."

"We did find out about one of the other kids," Manfred said, a touch smugly.

"One of the girls, Olivia Vertigo. Turns out she's an illusionist, quite a good one. We had no idea. So it's a bit of a coup."

"Indeed," agreed Lord Grimwald. "Get her under control and she could be useful."

One of the great ballroom doors was suddenly pushed open and Mrs. Tilpin shuffled in, dragging Joshua behind her.

"Weedon said you wanted us," she grumbled. "I was taking a nap. Can't get a wink of sleep at night. Place is haunted."

"What's that?" cried Joshua, pointing at the Sea Globe.

Lord Grimwald stared at the puny boy disdainfully. Joshua's thin hair was covered in bits of paper, crumbs and pencil shavings clung to his sweater, and his shoes were coated with dead leaves and mud.

"I can see that you're magnetic," Lord Grimwald observed.

"But what is THAT?" Joshua demanded, his eyes never leaving the Sea Globe.

Lord Grimwald wrinkled his nose. "I suppose you'll do," he murmured.

"If you want him to do something for you, you'd better be a bit nicer," said Mrs. Tilpin, hobbling toward the globe. "Tell him what it is."

"That is a Sea Globe." Lord Grimwald tossed the words out as though the Tilpins hardly deserved an answer.

"WOW!" Joshua ran to the globe, his arms outstretched.

"DON'T TOUCH!" shouted the globe's owner.

Joshua halted within inches of the glass. "It's all wrong," he declared, staring up at the gigantic sphere. "It's impossible. The waves are going up.

How does the water do that? And how can the earth stand on water?" He pointed at the base of the globe. "Why doesn't it all fall down?"

"Because it doesn't," Lord Grimwald said crisply.

Joshua fell silent. He gazed up at the water tumbling far above him in the Arctic Ocean. His pale face was bathed in the shifting blue-green light of the great sphere, and his paper-covered hair was dappled with rainbow colors from the crystals in the chandelier. He looked at his mother and decided she was almost beautiful in sea light, and it certainly improved Manfred's appearance.

At last Joshua turned his head and stared up at Lord Grimwald. "Who are you?"

he asked.

The man beside him looked down as from a great height, and Joshua noted the crinkled, almost green hair, the chilly arctic eyes, and the grayish glimmering skin. "You look like a fish," he said.

His mother dug him in the ribs. "Behave yourself, Josh," she said. "This man controls the sea. He's like Dagbert, only more clever." She glanced at the Lord of the Oceans. "He wants you to do something for him."

"What?" Joshua stared at the stern features.

Lord Grimwald dug his hands into his pockets. "You are acquainted with Dagbert Endless?"

"He's a year above me, but I know him," said Joshua. "He's almost my best friend."

"Ah. Is he? Well, Joshua, Dagbert is my son, and you may not believe this, but he has stolen something from me."

"I believe you. Dagbert and me often steal things." Joshua gave the man a crooked smile. "What's he stolen from you?"

"Seven golden charms, Joshua: a fish, five crabs, and a sea urchin."

Joshua wrinkled his brow. "But they're his charms, Mr. Grimwald—"

"Lord Grimwald," Manfred hastily corrected him.

"Lord Grimwald," said Joshua. "Dagbert said his mother made the charms for him, so he'd be protected."

"From me," said the Lord of the Oceans. "I know his story. All lies, Joshua."

Joshua kicked the floor with the toe of his boot, and Manfred scowled at the dried mud falling onto the polished floorboards.

Lord Grimwald sighed heavily and paced around the globe, saying, "I suppose you want a reward for your services, Joshua?"

Joshua looked at his mother, who said, "Of course he does."

"Very well." Lord Grimwald, having circled the globe, stopped beside Mrs.

Tilpin and sighed again. "Your accommodation here is not much, I imagine."

Manfred's scowl deepened. "Damp probably," Lord Grimwald continued. "I can see you've got a touch of arthritis. I can offer you a small castle in the north. A servant. Heated rooms and ..."

Mrs. Tilpin began to sway with pleasure. She had to steady herself on Manfred's arm, which he didn't much like. "And?" she prompted.

Lord Grimwald turned to Joshua. "What is your favorite food, Joshua?"

The boy gave a broad grin and, without hesitation, said, "Chocolate, sausages, Battenberg cake, lemon sherbet, strawberry jelly, chips, and beans."

"Fish?" asked the Lord of the Oceans.

"I hate fish," said Joshua.

Lord Grimwald's cheeks turned a greenish pink, and for a second, a look of hatred passed across his face, but pulling himself together, he waved a hand and said, "You'll get all those things, but—"

"Yippee!" Joshua gave a little jump for joy.

"But only when you've done what I ask."

"Spit it out," said Mrs. Tilpin, momentarily forgetting to be grateful. "I'm tired." She shuffled over to one of the gold-painted ballroom chairs and sank down on it.

Lord Grimwald became very businesslike. "I know that Dagbert will hide the charms. You will find them, Joshua. Wherever they are. You are magnetic. The charms will be drawn to you; they will cling to you, even if you are twelve feet away from them."

"I've never done gold before," said Joshua doubtfully.

"Believe me, you will attract gold if you think about it. If you truly want it. I know a little about magnetism, and the mind plays a great part in it.

Why are you covered in paper, mud, and crumbs, for instance? Do you want to look a mess? Think them away"—Lord Grimwald flipped a hand at the mess on Joshua's sweater—"and you'll feel much better."

Joshua frowned at the crumbs, but nothing happened.

"I think we are done here," said the Lord of the Oceans. "You may go now.

Bring me the charms as soon as you can."

"Yes, sir." Joshua turned to his mother, who shuffled forward and grabbed his hand.

"I'll come and see you later, Titania," said Manfred.

"I want your opinion on a new development. Olivia Vertigo is endowed."

This news brought a twisted smile from Mrs. Tilpin. "Indeed?" she murmured.

"I can have some fun at last, a little shape-shifting." Her blackberry eyes glittered with excitement.

As the Tilpin's walked out, a few bits of paper floated off Joshua's head, and squeezing his arm tightly, his mother whispered, "You're going to make our fortune, Josh."

Manfred waited until the Tilpins had gone before asking, "When will you find Lyell Bone's boat, then? I'd like to watch the drowning."

"Patience," said Lord Grimwald. "I want those charms. If I don't get them, I might not survive long enough to help you."

Manfred found it difficult to believe that the powerful man standing beside him could be overcome by a twelve-year-old boy. But a curse was a curse, he told himself, and there was no getting around it. "I haven't told Greatgrandfather the latest news," he said, striding to the door. "I'd better go up to his attic right now. He always likes to be the first to know things."

Lord Grimwald followed Manfred into the hallway. "Must be dinnertime," he said. "Can your cook make fish cakes?"

"No idea." Manfred closed the ballroom doors, slid a bolt across, and locked them. "Don't want anyone tampering with your globe," he said.

The two men made their way down the gloomy hall, opened the low door at the end, and stepped into the main hall. As soon as the door had been closed, a small person emerged from the shadows at the other end of the passage. Cook had been listening through a crack in the ballroom door and had heard almost every word of the conversations that had taken place. Certainly enough to know that she must tell someone about the Sea Globe. She had even caught a glimpse of the awful thing.

Cook and Lord Grimwald had a history. Not once, but twice, he had asked her to marry him. She had refused both times, and for this he had swept away her house and drowned her family. Tears stung her eyes when she thought of the dreadful day she had returned to her island home to find nothing but a few planks of wood bobbing beside a rock.

"He won't get away with it again," she muttered as she tiptoed hastily down the passage. "Better the boy than the man. Whatever Dagbert has done, it can't be worse than what that slimeball has in mind."

Cook opened the door into the corridor. Looking quickly about her, she ran across the hall and down the corridor of portraits to the blue cafeteria.

Once there, she slipped into the kitchen and over to a broom closet. Her assistants were all off duty for the weekend, so she was able to use the access to her secret apartment without fear of being observed.

At the back of the broom closet and covered by aprons and towels, a small door opened onto a softly lit corridor. Cook hurried along, muttering under her breath, "Mustn't let him. Must stop him," until she came to a flight of steps leading down to another cupboard.

This one opened into a cozy room where bright coals flickered in an old black stove. The walls were hung with paintings, and an ancient dresser was filled with gold-patterned china. There was a comfy sofa and an old armchair beside the stove. In the armchair sat a large man with a lot of white hair and a lined but handsome face.

Dr. Saltweather, Head of Music, was Cook's friend and ally. It was only recently that she had begun to trust him enough to let him into her secret room. And how he loved it. What a contrast it was to the cold, gloomy room he had been allotted in the academy.

When he saw Cook's anxious face, Dr. Saltweather flung down his newspaper and exclaimed, "What is it, Treasure?" This was not an endearment, although the doctor was very fond of Cook. Treasure was actually her name.

"Oh, Arthur. It's dreadful!" cried Cook, and she related everything she had heard—and caught a glimpse of. "I've got to warn them," she said, putting on her tweed coat and woolly hat. "Charlie and his uncle have got to know. We've got to stop that wicked, murdering, drowning monster."

"Let me go," said Dr. Saltweather, springing up.

"No, no. You're too... er... distinctive." She blushed slightly. "You'd be noticed. I'll go to the bookstore rather than risk being seen by the Bone grandmother. Mr. Yewbeam is bound to be with Miss Ingledew today."

"If you're sure. But do take care." Dr. Saltweather anxiously watched Cook dart about, putting things into her bag. And then, with a little wave, she was off again.

Dr. Saltweather sank back into the armchair and patted the old dog at his feet. "I don't like it, Blessed," he said. "I don't like it one bit."

9. THE FALSE GODMOTHER

Cook remembered that she was on duty tonight. She would be expected to produce a meal for the Bloors and their unwholesome guests. Fish cakes had been mentioned.

"Nothing for it; Mrs. Weedon will have to take over," Cook said to herself as she ran through the blue cafeteria. "Better warn her."

Cook hurried down to the green cafeteria, where Mrs. Weedon could usually be found dozing beside the kitchen range or reading thrillers. But today she was nowhere to be seen. Cook found her, at last, in the yard outside the kitchen, feeding an evil-looking dog.

"Bertha, what on earth are you doing?" cried Cook as the animal bared its teeth and lunged at her.

"Poor thing, it's hungry," said Mrs. Weedon. "It's a stray. I'm very fond of it. And so much food goes to waste in this place."

Cook had given up wondering why Bertha Weedon always looked so sour. She decided that the poor woman probably couldn't help it. After all, being married to Mr. Weedon could be no picnic.

"Why are you all dressed up? You're on duty," said Mrs. Weedon, looking at Cook's woolly hat.

"I'm hardly dressed up," said Cook, "but as you rightly point out, I am supposed to be on duty, except I'm going out, so you'll have to do dinner tonight."

Mrs. Weedon put her hands on her wide hips and stamped her foot. "Why should I? Where are you going?"

"I'm visiting a sick friend. She's very ill. No one else to look after her.

So toodle-loo!" Cook stepped nervously around the dog, which now had its nose in a bowl of cold stew, and ran up the flight of stone steps that led to the road. Ignoring Mrs. Weedon's indignant shouts, she hurried down to High Street and then on into the old part of the city. She was quite out of breath by the time she reached Cathedral Close, and thinking of a nice cup of tea, but as she approached the bookstore, something happened that put the cup of tea completely out of her mind.

Two figures stepped out of the bookstore, slamming the door behind them so that the bell rang frantically and the glass pane at the top of the door rattled alarmingly. The strangers did not look at all like Miss Ingledew's usual customers. One wore a white undershirt and camouflage trousers, and the other was dressed in a hooded black tracksuit. They were both laughing in a rather unpleasant way.

Cook shrank against the wall as the men jogged past her, chatting in low voices. She couldn't hear what they were saying and hoped they wouldn't notice her, but unfortunately, the undershirt man caught sight of her bright red hat. "What're you looking at, Grandma?" he shouted in a mocking voice.

Cook was tempted to reply that she was too young to be a grandmother and who was he to cast aspersions when he was wearing a silly undershirt on a freezing March night. But she thought better of it and kept her mouth shut.

The two men ran on, laughing, and eventually turned onto Piminy Street. "I might have known it," muttered Cook as she hurried toward the bookstore. She thought of her friend, Mrs. Kettle, the only trustworthy person in Piminy Street, all alone now on a street of thugs and hooligans and probably worse.

When Cook reached the bookstore she found that the closed sign had been removed and, looking through the window, was horrified to behold a scene of utter devastation. Piles of precious books lay strewn across the floor. Two shelves had collapsed, the ladder that was used to reach the highest shelves was broken, and the cash register had been turned on its side. Miss Ingledew stood leaning against the counter, her hands covering her face, while her niece, Emma, knelt on the floor and smoothed the pages of a large, leather-bound book.

Cook rang the bell and then knocked frantically. "Julia!" she called. "Julia, let me in."

Miss Ingledew lowered her hands, revealing a tearstained face, and wearily climbed the steps to the door, unlocking it with trembling fingers.

"My dear!" cried Cook, entering the store. "Whatever has been happening here?"

"I hardly know where to start," said Miss Ingledew. She locked and bolted the door, then followed Cook down into the shop.

At that moment, Olivia Vertigo appeared through the curtains behind the counter. She was carrying a tray containing three large mugs and a plate of cookies. "Hello, Cook," she said cheerfully. "Do you want some cocoa? It won't take a sec."

"That would be nice, dear," said Cook, gazing around the shop, her horror growing every second.

Olivia put the tray on the counter and retreated behind the curtain, saying,

"Okeydoke."

"What can I do to help?" asked Cook. "Oh, dear, dear me. Those wonderful books. Have you called the police, Julia?"

"I did," said Emma. "They told me they had a lot to deal with tonight, and if we hadn't actually been burgled, which we haven't, then we weren't a priority."

"But they've done so much damage," cried Miss Ingledew. "My books are priceless."

"Tell me everything." Cook took Miss Ingledew's arm and drew her into the little room behind the store. Here there was yet more chaos. Books open, their pages torn and crumpled, lying all over the floor.

Miss Ingledew sat on the edge of the sofa with Cook beside her and in a tremulous voice began to describe the events that had followed the arrival of the two threatening-looking strangers.

"I had some very important customers and they didn't leave until half past six," Miss Ingledew explained, distractedly lifting her mug of cocoa to her lips. "I was just about to put the 'closed' sign up and lock the door, when these two villains pushed their way in, nearly knocking me over."

"I saw them!" Olivia came in with another mug of cocoa and handed it to Cook, saying, "I'd just come from dinner at Charlie's place—boy, what a lot he's been through, I can tell you—anyway, when I came into the bookstore, I saw these men hauling books onto the floor. It was pretty scary. They said they were looking for a box, and if I knew anything I'd better come clean. Well, we all know what box they meant, don't we? But I wasn't going to say anything."

"They seemed to think it might be hidden in one of my larger tomes," said Miss Ingledew, "but they just hauled the whole lot out and shook them, as if they were ... as if they were so much... trash. They rummaged under my counter, turned over the cash register, and then started in here. Olivia came and shouted at them, but they just laughed. One even threw a book at her."

Miss Ingledew's shoulders heaved. "And then they went upstairs."

Cook put an arm around her. "There, there, my dear. It's all over now. I don't know—all this fuss over a box that might contain a will. And even if it does, and Billy Raven proves to be an heir, what's the point of all this trouble if Billy is lost to us?"

"He isn't," Olivia said confidently. "Charlie will get him back." She skipped across the room and through the curtains, back into the store.

"Well, it's good to see that someone is optimistic," said Cook.

"She's a treasure," Miss Ingledew declared. "She's always cheerful and such a help. I know people think she's a bit odd, in those rather flamboyant clothes of hers. But then, her mother is a famous film star, so what can you expect?

She often stays with us when her parents are on location, and Emma loves her company." Miss Ingledew wiped her nose and actually smiled.

Cook decided that her own news could wait until the bookstore had been put to rights, and with the four of them working together, they managed to clear all the books away in both rooms in under an hour.

"I'll have to get the ladder fixed," Miss Ingledew said ruefully. "But I'm almost ready for business again." She beamed around at them. "Thank you all so much."

"And we've still got Sunday," said Emma. "I'm sure Mr. Yewbeam will mend the ladder for you."

"No, he won't," said Miss Ingledew in a slightly bitter tone. "He'll have better things to do. I tried to call him when those ruffians came in, but he didn't pick up, and so far he hasn't even bothered to return my call... a distress call at that."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Olivia suggested that Paton was in a place where his cell phone couldn't get a signal. "He did look a bit preoccupied when I saw him earlier," she said.

"He told me he was coming around after dinner this evening," Miss Ingledew said coldly. "So where is he?"

"Held up?" Cook helpfully suggested. "In times like these, anything can happen. Now I want you all to sit down and listen to what I have to tell you.

Something quite ..."—she raised her hands—"quite dreadful is going on at Bloor's. And if I hadn't suffered personally at the hands of a certain person, I wouldn't have believed such a thing could happen."

Their eyes wide with apprehension, the two girls sank onto the sofa, while Cook and Miss Ingledew took chairs on either side of the dying fire. And Cook told them of Lord Grimwald's great Sea Globe, describing in graphic detail the gravity-defying waves, the eerie sea light, and the way the water responded to the Lord of the Ocean's scaly hands. "Only his son can stop him," she said. "But if you ask me, Dagbert Endless doesn't stand a chance against a father like that. Someone must get a message to Lyell Bone," she went on earnestly. "Surely, Paton Yewbeam knows where he is. Wireless messages can be received. There are numerous ways of contacting people at sea. Lyell must put to shore at once. I know, only too well, the consequences of being on the ocean when the Lord of the Oceans has decided to eliminate you."

"I feel I should go there tonight." Miss Ingledew twisted her hands together.

"But we would only be waylaid by Charlie's grandmother. She seems to bear a grudge against her own son. And it would be the same with the telephone. If only Paton would answer his cell phone—but he won't."

"Try again, Auntie," urged Emma.

Miss Ingledew took her cell out of a pocket, dialed a number, and waited.

"Nothing," she said flatly.

"In that case I suggest we all have a good night's sleep and contact Charlie first thing in the morning." Cook stood up and pulled on her woolly hat.

"I've heard that Grandma Bone is usually in bed till noon on a Sunday morning. So you shouldn't have any trouble. As for me, I'd be missed at the

academy. They're demanding big breakfasts these days, especially that wretch with the sword."

"Treasure, take care!" Miss Ingledew suddenly stood up, her voice harsh with misgiving. "It is not just a matter of a will and a box; it is not just a problem of a Sea Globe and a storm. There is much more at work here."

Everyone looked at her expectantly.

"Have none of you noticed it? The creaks, the whispers and murmurs from another world. The wickedness beneath the city is waking, slowly, called by a distant voice." She turned her gaze from the flickering embers in the grate to a shadowy corner shelf. "What I have managed to glean from the Latin texts in those ancient books tells me that if the Enchanter of Badlock cannot rule this city, as he once tried to do, then he will encircle it with his loathsome army and take it into another world. His world."

"Badlock?" said Emma, in a frightened voice.

Miss Ingledew nodded. "If that's what it's called."

"He could do that?" Olivia said angrily.

"Oh, yes."

Cook looked extremely indignant. "What? And do we have no say in the matter?"

Cook's down-to-earth manner caused Miss Ingledew to smile in spite of herself. "From what I can understand"—she glanced at the books again—"we have a chance if one of the Red King's descendants is brave enough to face the enchanter's army."

"Alone?" said Olivia. "Surely, he'll have other people to help him."

"Of course," said Miss Ingledew. She gave them a grave smile. "If he can find any."

"There's us," said Emma in a small voice.

Cook gave a little shiver. "There are plenty of people who would fight for the Red King's city," she said confidently. "I'm off now, my dears. Don't forget to lock the door after me."

Olivia and Emma were already yawning, and when Cook had gone, they took themselves off to bed. Miss Ingledew, however, put another log on the fire and sat watching the flames for a while. But her gaze kept drifting toward the far bookcase where her oldest books stood, their gold tooling glittering faintly in the low firelight, their leather spines appearing as soft as velvet. And Miss Ingledew felt compelled to go to them, knowing the comfort their touch would bring. She chose the largest and carried it back to the armchair, where she sat and laid it on her lap, opening it at a page she had studied many times. But as she ran her hand over the thick vellum, a soft whine echoed down the chimney, and the wind outside carried the sound of distant, menacing voices.

Olivia woke up before dawn. She blamed the chimes from the cathedral clock.

It was dark and she tried to go to sleep again. On Sundays she and Emma usually stayed in bed until after ten o'clock. But try as she might, Olivia could not sleep. She screwed her eyes tight shut, pulled the covers over her head, and counted sheep. But she succeeded only in making herself feel more and more awake.

A thin light began to creep through the curtains, and Olivia remembered that her parents were coming home today. They'd been on location in Morocco and

were bound to have found something special for her. A necklace, perhaps, or an embroidered vest or some silk trousers.

It was no use just lying in bed and thinking, Olivia decided. She would go home and start to cook something special for her parents' lunch. They had told her that they would be in the city by midday.

Olivia sprang out of bed and began to put on her clothes. Her bag was filled with an assortment of tops, jackets, hats, and scarves. Today she chose a scarlet dress to wear over her tight black jeans, a white scarf with a glittering fringe, a fur-lined denim jacket, and a black felt hat. Her red gloves exactly matched her boots.

She made quite a noise throwing on her clothes, but Emma didn't wake up.

Olivia wrote her a brief note and left it on the nightstand. In the bathroom she splashed her face with water, brushed her teeth, and, figuring that her tangled hair looked distinctly cool, carried her bag downstairs and left the shop.

It was a gray, misty day, but that didn't take the spring out of Olivia's step. She swung along, humming lightly to herself. There was no one about, and the voice that suddenly called out took her by surprise.

"Olivia!"

Recognizing the voice, Olivia hurried on. There came a second call, which she ignored.

"Olivia, hold on!"

"Bother him," Olivia said to herself. She swung around and faced Manfred Bloor. He was strolling toward her, his hands deep in the pockets of a long, green coat with a small cape attached to it.

"What do you want?" Olivia demanded.

"You're out early, Miss Vertigo."

"So are you," she retorted. "What do you want? I'm in a hurry."

"Are you?" Manfred came right up to Olivia and stared into her face, his dark eyes glinting. "This is so opportune," he said. "I was coming to visit you at the bookstore."

Olivia frowned. "Why?"

"Why do you think? I want to discuss your wonderful endowment with you."

"There's nothing to discuss." Olivia turned away and began to run toward High Street, where she could see an elderly couple walking their dog.

"Off to see your godmother?" Manfred called. "Alice the Angel."

Olivia stopped in her tracks. Without turning around, she said, "My godmother isn't here."

"Oh, but she is." Manfred's voice was silky smooth. "I'm surprised she hasn't been in touch with you."

Against her will Olivia found herself moving, very slowly, to face Manfred.

She could see the thin green figure, swathed in mist, his dark hair shining with dew, his eyes like black coals. "What... ?" she croaked. Her voice seemed to have disappeared.

Manfred waved a hand at her. "Don't let me keep you. We can have our chat another time."

"Yes ... a chat." Olivia took a few steps backward and then turned and walked on toward High Street. She passed a man with a newspaper under his arm. The man smiled pleasantly and said, "Morning."

Olivia frowned as if she hadn't heard him, which made the man shake his head and murmur, "These young things; anyone would think I was the man in the moon."

A boy and a large yellow dog came running up the road. No one could fail to recognize Runner Bean.

"Hi, Olivia!" called Benjamin Brown. "Are you going to see Charlie? He's not up yet."

Olivia didn't stop when Benjamin reached her. She didn't even smile, but kept on walking.

"GOOD MORNING, Olivia!" Benjamin shouted after her. "Nice of you to stop."

"Good-bye," she called over her shoulder.

Benjamin looked at his dog and shrugged. "She's in a funny mood," he said, and Runner Bean barked in agreement.

As Olivia drew closer to her home, she began to think about her godmother, Alice Angel. Alice kept a flower shop in a place called Steppingstones. It was Alice who had helped Olivia to discover her endowment. Alice knew things instinctively. She always knew when Olivia needed her. Alice was a white witch and Olivia recalled her warning, "Where there is a white witch, there is always another of a darker nature." And so it had proved, when Mrs. Tilpin had revealed her true identity.

And now Olivia found herself passing the turn to her own street and walking on toward the park. She turned the corner onto Park Road, murmuring, "Number fifteen." The houses in this street were half hidden behind tall hedges and overgrown shrubs. The gate of number fifteen had come off its hinges and stood propped against the fence. The path was overgrown with moss, and the white paint on the door had all but peeled away. Ivy covered the walls and had even made its way across the windows.

Alice Angel had lived here once. Had she returned, as Manfred said? The house looked deserted. Olivia walked up the mossy path and pulled a rusty chain that hung beside the door. A soft chime could be heard within the house.

Olivia waited. A lace curtain twitched in the window that overlooked the garden, and a voice came whispering out of the house. Was it a voice or the rustle of evergreens?

"Come in, my dear!"

Olivia tried the door handle. It turned smoothly and the door creaked open.

She stepped inside a chilly hall. Was Alice living here? The house felt as though it had been empty for a very long time. At the end of the hall a door opened into Alice's living room.

The ivy covering the windows made the room so dark, Olivia could barely make out the furniture. It was so cold her breath condensed into tiny clouds.

Olivia blew on her hands. Even in gloves her fingers were freezing.

"Alice?" she said tentatively.

"Here, my dear!"

The voice made Olivia jump. She peered into the corner where the voice had come from. A woman sat in an armchair; her hair was smooth and white, just like Alice's. Her face was pale and her eyes had a greenish tinge. It must be Alice, and yet... The face wavered and almost disappeared. One moment the features were clear and then they became vague and incomplete.

"Alice, is it really you?" asked Olivia, her throat contracting in the cold air.

"Of course it is, my dear." Alice's voice was little more than a whisper. "I haven't been too well. Come and kiss me."

Olivia hesitated.

"What is it? You're not afraid, are you?" Alice's voice was stronger now, but... was it her voice?

Olivia walked over to the armchair. She looked down at the woman resting against a faded blue cushion. It was Alice... although how thin she had become.

"Oh, Alice, I've missed you!" Olivia bent and kissed the cold cheek.

Immediately her heart flooded with love for this frail woman, the godmother who had watched over her from far away.

"I've got a present for you." Thin fingers pushed at Olivia's arms. "It's on the table over there. Try it on, dear."

Olivia saw a white package on the table. Tissue paper wrapped around something soft and sparkling. She peeled back the paper and drew out a black velvet vest covered in tiny circles of mirrorlike silver.

"Oh, it's beautiful!"

"Try it on."

Olivia slipped out of her denim jacket and put on the glittering garment. The silver was so bright she could hardly look at it, and for some reason, the featherlike fabric pressed heavily on her shoulders, as though it were weighted with stones. And yet she could not bear to take it off.

Three hundred miles away, Alice Angel was arranging flowers at the back of her shop. She liked to do this very early on a Sunday morning when the shop was closed. As soon as she had made up a dozen or so small bouquets, she would display them on a stand outside, where she would wait beneath a white canopy for people visiting relatives or friends in the hospital.

Alice sold only white flowers. She was surrounded by tall vases of blooms whose pale petals ranged from deepest cream to bluest white. It was cool in the shop but Alice kept warm, moving through her flowers, snipping, twisting, wrapping, and binding. The sweet fragrance made her sing.

A petal fell onto her arm, and then another. Alice looked up from her work, surprised that her fresh flowers were shedding petals already. A white rose dropped from its stalk, and then another and another. Petals began to fall like snow. They became a white storm, showering Alice with the scent of dying flowers. She dropped the bouquet she had been holding and pressed her hands to her face. "Olivia!" she cried. "What has happened to you?"

10. TIGERFIELD STEPS

Charlie sat in the kitchen, eating oatmeal. He felt as though he'd run a marathon. He ached all over and could hardly keep his eyes open. On the other side of the table Emma was drinking tea. She had just told Charlie about her aunt's unwelcome visitors and now, in a rush, she repeated Cook's description of the Sea Globe.

Charlie's eyes widened just a fraction. "So that's how he does it?" he mumbled through a yawn.

"You don't seem very surprised." Emma looked disappointed.

"After yesterday, nothing surprises me," said Charlie. "I've been prodded and interrogated, hit by gargoyles, burned by a mad person, and chased by a sword, and I've fallen off a ten-foot wall."

Maisie paused in her ironing and gave a huge sigh. "We've got to leave this city," she declared. "It's not a normal place. It's too dangerous. As soon as your parents come back, Charlie, we should pack up and leave."

"You can't," said Emma. "Not until it's all sorted out. And we've got to do that."

"We?" Maisie banged down her iron on a hapless shirtsleeve. "I suppose you mean you Children of the Red King. Well, it seems to me that half you lot are causing all this trouble."

"Only half," Emma pointed out. "That's why the other half must stop them."

"Humph." Maisie continued ironing, banging down her iron with more force than was absolutely necessary.

Emma watched her for a moment, then turned her gaze on Charlie, who was now leaning his head against his hand and yawning again. "Anyway," she said sharply. "We've got to do something today, before it's too late. We'll be back at school tomorrow and things will get more and more difficult. I don't know how we're going to tackle Lord Grimwald.

I've just had to put that at the back of my mind until we've sorted out this box problem."

Charlie reflected that Emma had been off from school for a whole week. No wonder she was so perky. "Have you seen Tancred?" he asked.

Emma blushed. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Charlie shrugged but couldn't stop himself from grinning. "I only asked."

Emma's blush spread to the roots of her hair, but she continued, rather fiercely, "Well, are you coming to see Mr. Bittermouse with me?"

"What?" Charlie said slowly. "Why?"

Emma leaned across the table, looking more animated than Charlie had ever seen her. "I had this idea, you see. Mr. Bittermouse is a lawyer and he knew your dad, so maybe your dad gave him this box, with the will in it. I mean"—

she spread her hands—"what could be more obvious? Auntie Julia agrees with me."

"Don't you think they will have thought of that?"

For a moment Emma's determined look wavered, and then she said, "Maybe. But it's worth a try."

Charlie sighed and licked his spoon. He could have done with another bowl of oatmeal, but he contented himself with a large spoonful of honey, which he sucked very slowly while Emma reeled off the names of all the people she'd phoned before coming to him. Olivia was spending the day with her parents, Fidelio was playing the violin at a concert, and Gabriel was "doing something important" with Lysander and Tancred up at Lysander's grand house on the Heights.

"So there's only us," Emma finished breathlessly.

"OK." Reluctantly, Charlie stood up. "I'll get my coat."

"You will not, Charlie Bone. And it is not OK." Maisie plunked down her iron and walked over to stand in front of the kitchen door. "I forbid you to leave this house today. Your parents would never forgive me if something happened to you."

"But Mrs. Jones... ," Emma began.

"Don't you Mrs. Jones me, Emma Tolly," said Maisie. "I'm surprised at you, forcing our Charlie into dangerous streets after all that he's been through."

This embarrassed Charlie. "Maisie," he cried, "I'm not a child!"

"Yes, you are," Maisie retorted.

Charlie didn't like arguing with Maisie, but he hated being made to look like a sissy, and a nasty scene might have followed if Uncle Paton's camper van hadn't arrived outside the house.

Charlie's uncle looked tired when he came in. Maisie asked him where he had been, but he merely shook his head and told her it was a long story and not a very satisfactory one. "I shall have to go to Ireland," he muttered, before gulping down a large cup of black coffee.

Charlie noticed that his uncle had a familiar "don't ask me any more questions" look on his face, so he sat beside him at the table and related everything that had happened on the previous day. And now, at last, he got a reaction from his uncle, who quickly helped himself to another cup of coffee, exclaiming, "I shouldn't have left, I see that now. They're getting too bold, those villains, and yet"—he scratched his unshaven chin—"I must find out more about that will."

"I've got an idea," said Emma. But before mentioning Mr. Bittermouse, she repeated Cook's description of the Sea Globe and Lord Grimwald's terrible power.

"I never imagined that was how he did it," Paton murmured, and an anguished look passed across his face. "I can't reach Lyell. Every contact I had seems to have gone dead. There was a harbormaster but he left his post, and the captain of the ship that carried your parents' mail hasn't been seen for a month. But there is a ray of hope. The sailor who was with them on one of their journeys says he's received word from Lyell, very recently, and will try and contact him again."

"I had a card from them," said Charlie. "Just a week ago.

Another whale. The date on it was smudged."

"But don't you see," said Emma, wringing her hands fretfully, "if we find the box, then there'll be no need for Lord Grimwald to drown anyone."

"Unless he just likes doing it," said Charlie.

"We've got to try." Emma groaned with impatience. "Please, Mr. Yewbeam, please, please will you come with us to see Mr. Bittermouse? He's a lawyer.

He knew Charlie's dad. Lawyers deal with wills, don't they?"

"It's a long shot, Emma." Paton gave her a rueful smile. "But I was going to the bookstore this morning, so we could pop in to see Mr. Bittermouse on the way."

"Thank—" Emma began.

"But"—Paton held up his hand—"not before I've had my breakfast and a shower."

"Thank you." Emma sat down, exhausted by her efforts. "So now can Charlie come?" she asked Maisie.

"We'll see." Maisie set about cooking Paton's breakfast while he went upstairs. He came down looking very clean and dressed in his blue velvet jacket and a new red tie.

Emma and Charlie waited patiently while Uncle Paton ate a large plate of bacon, tomatoes, asparagus, mushrooms, eggs, and beans. After two slices of toast and marmalade, a croissant, and a third cup of coffee, Paton rose from the table, saying, "Bless you, Maisie," and made for the hall, where he wound a gray scarf around his neck and put on his black fedora and long woolen coat.

Light snowflakes were drifting through the air, and frost still lingered on the grass and hedgerows. Charlie huddled into the thick scarf that Maisie had bought him for Christmas. He would have preferred to stay at home, but how could he possibly ignore any attempt to save his parents? And again he was beset by worrying, unpleasant thoughts. Why was his father so far away when the city was in trouble? Had he been in a trance for so long that now he was too weak to face any danger? No. For the ocean was a dangerous place.

Charlie had been so lost in thought, he was surprised to find they were already approaching the street where Mr. Bittermouse lived. A large moving van was parked outside the lawyer's house, the wheels on one side resting on the pavement and blocking their way. The cobblestone street was so narrow, they had to squeeze by the van on the other side of the road.

"I'm sure this is illegally parked," puffed Uncle Paton as he shuffled sideways, trying to avoid the mud spattered on the side of the van.

When they had all gotten through, they discovered that the van was not parked outside Mr. Bittermouse's house but standing in front of the house next door to his. Here there was much activity. The doors at the back of the van were wide open and several moving men in brown overalls were pushing furniture up a ramp and into the van's depths.

"Is someone moving?" Charlie realized that this was a silly question because someone was very obviously moving.

"We are." A young woman with a baby in her arms stood in the doorway. "And not a moment too soon for my liking."

Uncle Paton touched his hat. "Paton Yewbeam," he said. "What's been going on?"

"What hasn't," said the young woman. She nodded at the turn to Piminy Street, almost opposite. "Those ruffians in Piminy Street have made our lives a misery. I just can't take it any longer. Stone creatures banging on the door at night, unearthly singing, laughter like I've never heard. Bats in the chimney. Glowing eyes at the window. It's... it's..."

"A nightmare," said Emma.

The woman winced. "Yes, a nightmare."

"I'm so sorry." Uncle Paton looked very concerned. "If there's anything... ?

But, of course, you'll soon be away from all this."

"Yes." The young woman smiled at last. She stood aside as a baby's crib was maneuvered through the door. "I'm Lucy Palmer and this is Grace." She held up the baby's hand. "We've found a nice little place a hundred miles away from here and we won't ever come back."

A cheerful-looking young man came through with a rocking chair. "It's all done, Luce," he said. "We can be off soon.... Oh, hello!" He grinned at Uncle Paton and the children.

After introductions were made all around, Uncle Paton explained that they were intending to visit Mr. Hector Bittermouse, who lived next door.

"Not anymore," said the young man, whose name was Darren. "He moved a week ago, along with half the neighbors. Who'd want to live in a place with THEM

on the doorstep?" He too nodded at the turn to Piminy Street.

This was bad news, especially for Emma. She'd had such high hopes. But all was not lost, because Charlie remembered that Hector Bittermouse had a brother, a Mr. Barnaby Bittermouse, who lived at number ten Tigerfield Street.

"Charlie, what an excellent memory you have," Uncle Paton remarked in surprise.

"It's not the sort of thing you can forget," muttered Charlie.

Darren thought he knew a Tigerfield Street. He pointed to the cathedral square, telling them it could be one of the small alleys leading off the road at the back. "I can't be sure," he said. "I thought it had another name, like Tigerfield Way, or Steps, or something."

They said good-bye to Lucy, Darren, and Grace and wished them good luck in their new home. Then they made their way up to Cathedral Close. They had to pass the bookstore on the way, and Uncle Paton was about to stop and look in on Miss Ingledew, when Emma grabbed his arm and said, "Not now, Mr. Yewbeam.

Let's find the other Mr. Bittermouse first."

Uncle Paton frowned. Emma's tone seemed to suggest that something was amiss.

"Is your aunt all right?" he asked.

"Yes, but..." Emma hesitated. "She's been sort of burgled."

"What?" Paton stood stock-still. "How could you forget to tell me? I must go to her at once." He began to stride toward the bookstore.

"NO!" cried Emma, so loudly that Uncle Paton was halted in his tracks.

"Auntie doesn't want... doesn't need you right now. She wasn't really burgled, she was just..."

"What?" Paton demanded. "Burgled or not burgled?"

"Not," said Emma lamely. "Just visited by ruffians. But she's OK. Please, can we go on to Tigerfield Street?"

Charlie swung from foot to foot, rubbing his hands together. "It's so cold, Uncle Paton. Can we move on?" He began to walk across the wide square in front of the cathedral, with Emma hurrying beside him.

Uncle Paton followed them reluctantly. Glancing back, Charlie saw that his uncle looked troubled, and wondered if it was because Emma had implied that her aunt didn't want to see him.

A small wrought-iron gate led out of Cathedral Close and onto a road called Hangman's Way. Charlie remembered that Billy Raven had once been kept in one of the dark alleys leading off Hangman's Way. Emma remembered, too. She shivered at the thought of poor Billy, held fast behind the force field of a sinister man named Mr. de Grey.

"There it is!" Uncle Paton announced. He pointed to the sign on a wall that curved into a dark gap little more than a few feet wide.

"Tigerfield Street," said Charlie.

"This must be the place," said Paton.

They crossed the road and stood at the entrance to Tigerfield Street.

"It's hardly a street." Emma stared doubtfully at the flight of stone steps that led up into the darkness.

The tops of the buildings leaned so dangerously, they appeared almost to touch one another.

"Come on." Charlie began to mount the steps. They climbed in single file, their footsteps echoing in the confined space, the only sound for miles, it seemed. Charlie counted the numbers on the thick oak doors. Some were missing altogether. There was a sixteen, then nothing until twelve was reached, with an eleven opposite.

"Here!" cried Charlie. "Number Ten."

The single bronze numbers hadn't been cleaned for years and were now green with mildew. Beneath them was a large bronze door knocker in the shape of a tiger's head. Charlie lifted the head and knocked.

There wasn't a sound within the house. Charlie knocked again. And again.

After the third knock, something curious happened. The door creaked open, just an inch.

"It's not even latched," Uncle Paton observed, pushing the door until it swung right back, revealing a small marble-tiled hall. "Hello there!" he called. "Anyone home?"

There was no answer.

A tingle of foreboding ran down Charlie's spine. Something had happened in this house. Was there a ghost in the place or was it worse than that?

Uncle Paton stepped inside and the others followed. They opened a door at the side of the hall and looked into a small kitchen, where pots and pans were heaped on the drainboard. A brown teapot was warm to the touch, and there was steam on the window but no sign of the person who had recently made a cup of tea.

On the other side of the hall was a cozy living room where a scuffed leather sofa and an armchair clustered around the fireplace. The embers of a recent fire could be seen glowing in the grate.

"Perhaps Mr. Bittermouse just popped out for a newspaper and forgot to lock the door," Emma suggested.

"Perhaps," said Uncle Paton.

At the end of the hall an uncarpeted wooden staircase led to the rooms above.

"A lawyer usually has a desk," said Uncle Paton thoughtfully. "Mr.

Bittermouse's study could be up there."

"And he could have fallen asleep over his books," said Emma, "being so old.

Old people often fall asleep like that."

Uncle Paton gave her a look that said, "You don't have to be old to do that."

"Let's go up." Emma's foot was already on the first step. "Hello!" she called. "Anyone up there?"

The treads creaked woefully as they mounted the staircase. Charlie came last.

His throat felt tight, his ears buzzed, and the icy foreboding that clutched at his stomach got worse and worse.

There were three doors leading off the landing and then the stairs continued up to another floor.

Emma knocked on the door in the center. There was no answer. She opened the door and looked into a bedroom.

The bed was neatly made and a suit of clothes hung on the outside of the closet. She shrugged and closed the door. Beside the bedroom, there was a chilly bathroom with no hint of a woman's touch. No bottles or jars or tubes, just a bar of soap, a razor on the windowsill, and a toothbrush in a glass.

"Third time lucky," said Uncle Paton, marching toward the third door, and Charlie's stomach gave a lurch. He found that he wanted to cry out, to stop the door being opened, to make them all go downstairs again without knowing what was in that third room. But Uncle Paton was already opening the door. He stopped abruptly on the threshold, uttering a strangled cry and then a string of oaths, the sort of oaths that Charlie had rarely heard, and certainly never coming from his uncle.

And so Charlie had to look into the room. Peering around his uncle's rigid form he saw a study that had been utterly ransacked. Bookcases were tipped at an angle, a desk had been rolled onto its side. The floor was littered with books and papers, and in the center of it all lay a very old man. He had a shock of white hair and fine if wrinkled features. He was on his back. His tweed jacket had fallen open, and on his white shirt, just where the heart might be, was a large red stain.

"Dead?" Emma whispered.

"Looks like it. I'll call for an ambulance," said Uncle Paton. "Who could have done such a ghastly thing?"

It was then that Charlie noticed a mark on the floorboards, a long thin scratch as though a knife had been drawn across the floor—or the tip of a sword. And he felt that he knew who had murdered Mr. Barnaby Bittermouse. But who on earth would believe him?

11. ANGEL IN THE SNOW

A police car arrived soon after the ambulance. They were both too late to save poor Barnaby Bittermouse. He was definitely dead, though the detective wasn't able to confirm what kind of weapon had actually killed him. There was no question that he'd been the victim of a robbery. But what had been taken?

His wallet was still in his pocket, his gold watch was on his wrist, and there was a significant sum of change lying in a drawer.

Charlie could see that Uncle Paton was trying to decide whether he should mention the box. If he said too much, he would be taken to the police station for questioning. He would have to sit beneath a light, several lights most probably, and every one of them would explode, to Paton's utter humiliation and embarrassment.