Charlie Bone and the Hidden King (Children of the Red King, Book 5) (2 page)

The woman stooped and groped in the earth. With a cry of triumph, she lifted something out and held it up to the white air, her hands torn and bleeding from the struggle. "Mine! It's mine!"

A small shudder passed through the earth; a movement imperceptible to humans but enough to send a tiny thread of fear through every creature in the region. Birds awoke and screamed, small frantic rodents scurried desperately for safety, and the mournful howling of dogs carried through the bitter air.

Their eyes bright with alarm, the Flames watched the woman stumble from the ruin. The hem of her black coat was heavy with snow and her lamp swung in the icy breeze. She reached a door in the great gray building that was Bloor's Academy and disappeared. A few minutes later a glimmering light appeared in a high window.

The cats gazed at the window, fearing the worst.

The woman was standing before a gold-framed portrait of the Red King, her lamp illuminating the thick, cracked paint. "I have it," she whispered. She was not addressing the king. With her free hand she withdrew an object from the folds of her coat. At first glance it looked like an imperfect circle of rusty metal, no more than six inches across. She held it by a thick oval stem.

The king gazed out of his portrait with dark magnetic eyes. A circle of gold glinted on his black hair and his red cloak had the appearance of real velvet.

As the woman twisted her metal circle it caught the rays from her lamp, and a sudden, bright flash lit the painting. A shadow could be seen behind the king's shoulder. Gradually it defined itself, its outline becoming sharper and brighter.

"Awake, my lord," the woman urged in a voice heavy with yearning. "I have found the Mirror of Amoret."

Slowly the shadow moved. It slipped from behind the king and drifted forward, closer and closer.

The woman gave a gasp of ecstasy. She sighed and swayed; her lamp swung, the circle glittered, and the light on the painting danced and flashed. A sudden, thunderous explosion brought the portrait crashing to the floor and the woman screamed.

A shadow rose out of the frame and came toward her.

VANISHING ANIMALS

The deep boom of the cathedral clock traveled across the city, and the boy on the hill lowered his arms.

"One o'clock." He gave a sigh and yawned. "Surely, that's enough."

A cloud of melting white flakes drifted away from the hill. Gradually, the storm subsided. In a few minutes the sky was a clear, velvet black pierced by a million stars.

Tancred put his head on one side and regarded the results of his work: the white roofs, the silent, snow-filled streets, and the network of wires strung above the city like a sparkling spiderweb.

"Not bad for a first attempt," Tancred said cheerfully. He shook his sleeves and a few remaining snowflakes floated out and settled on his slippers. In a few seconds they were gone.

Tancred was surprised to find that he was wearing slippers. He had been only half awake when he followed the cats. He hadn't even noticed the cold. Now, all at once, he was shivering. As he ran back up the narrow lane, he occasionally leaped into the air and brought his feet together with a satisfying
smack.
It was a recently acquired habit and often made his friends laugh.

By the time Tancred reached his secluded three-towered house, his father's thundery snores had become volcanic. Both the Torssons were weather-mongers and Tancred looked forward to a chat with his father about snow.

"I wonder if he's tried it," Tancred said to himself as he stepped inside. He stamped his feet on the doormat. "Must tell Sander," he murmured, "and Charlie."

"Tell them what?" Mrs. Torsson, unable to sleep, was drinking tea in the kitchen.

"About the snow," said Tancred.

"Ah. That was you, was it? I wondered where you were." Mrs. Torsson had grown used to her son's unusual behavior.
A boy's got to do what a boy's got to do,
her husband was always telling her,
especially when it comes to the weather.

"Phew! Dad's making a racket." Tancred shook his damp cape and hung it on the back of the door.

Mrs. Torsson absentmindedly put a third spoonful of sugar in her tea and then poured a cup for Tancred. He took a chair opposite her and drank thirstily. Snow-making was an exhausting business. He hoped he wouldn't be called upon to do it again too soon.

"The Flame cats were here," he explained to his mother. "They wanted snow - don't ask me why. But I get the feeling something's not right down there in the city."

"Your father said he had a foreboding. He hasn't been sleeping well." Mrs. Torsson shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder if we should move away from here. You could go to a nice normal school and . . ."

"I couldn't," Tancred said emphatically. "I belong here. Just as much as Charlie and Sander, and Gabriel, and . . . and Emma. The Red King lived here and we're his children. We've got to stick together. You
know
that, Mom."

"Yes, Tancred." His mother sighed.

Mrs. Torsson wasn't the only mother to wish that she and her family were far away from the city. Charlie Bone's mother longed to escape her dreary life in a house that didn't belong to her, in a place that echoed with the whispers of its terrible past, and where her son had been forced to attend a school run by a malevolent old man.

But Amy Bone had no money and nowhere to run to. Besides, Charlie was perfectly happy. Nothing ever seemed to get him down. He was an extraordinarily optimistic boy. Nothing could shake his conviction that his father was still alive and that, one day, Charlie would find him. It was something that Amy had given up counting on.

It was eight o'clock on Saturday. Apart from Charlie's mother, the occupants of number nine Filbert Street were all asleep. Even Amy's mother, Maisie, could be heard gently snoring as Amy tiptoed past her room.

After a hasty breakfast, Amy left the house and began her ten-minute walk to the market where she worked. Not a hint of last night's snowfall remained. The air was chilly and the sidewalks still damp, but no one would have guessed that, a few hours ago, several inches of snow had covered the city.

"Mrs. Bone! Mrs. Bone!"

Amy turned quickly. The voice came from a boy on the other side of the road. Could it be . . .? Was it possible?

"Benjamin!" cried Amy, running back toward number nine. "It's you!"

The boy looked left and right, then dashed across the road.

"Oh, Benjamin, I'm so, so happy to see you." Amy gave him a tight hug. She'd never done such a thing before and Benjamin was rather startled.

"Are you all, er, r-right, Mrs. Bone?" he asked, embarrassment and lack of breath causing him to stammer. "I mean are you
all
all right?"

"Charlie's just fine," said Amy. "He's still asleep, but I'll let you in and you can surprise him." She ran up the steps, unlocked the door of number nine, and opened it. "You know where his room is. I have to dash now, or I'll be late for work. But go in, go in." She gave Benjamin a little push into the house and closed the door behind him.

Benjamin looked around the silent hall, pleased to see that nothing had changed. He was a small fair-haired boy with a perpetually lost expression. At the moment he was slightly jet-lagged, but he couldn't wait to see Charlie and Runner Bean, the dog he'd left in Charlie's care.

Benjamin peeked into the kitchen. No dog basket. No bowl. Of course, Runner Bean must be sleeping in Charlie's room.

As he climbed the stairs Benjamin heard footsteps above him, and then Charlie's grandmother, the kind one, appeared on the landing. She was wearing a bright pink bathrobe.

"Benjamin Brown! What a sight for sore eyes!"

Benjamin was subjected to yet another breathtaking squeeze. Maisie Jones was a round, curly-haired, twinkle-eyed person, and the squeeze threatened to send Benjamin tumbling down the stairs.

"You lovely normal boy," said Maisie. "No magical endowments for you. No fiddling flutes, no animal gruntings. You'll do Charlie a power of good. Go on up!"

"Thanks," said Benjamin, breathless again.

Maisie swayed downstairs, still talking. "I'll make some toast and a nice cup of tea. Cornflakes? I s'pose it's all noodles now. Do they have noodles for breakfast in Hong Kong?"

"Mrs. Jones, where's my dog?" called Benjamin.

But Maisie had disappeared into the kitchen.

Benjamin walked on to Charlie's bedroom. He listened outside the door. Not a sound came from the other side. Benjamin opened the door. He saw Charlie, fast asleep in bed. There was a new bed on the other side of the room and Benjamin could just see a few tufts of white hair poking above the duvet. Billy Raven. There was no sign of Runner Bean.

Benjamin stood just inside the door, wondering what to do. His pale, solemn face now wore a look of extreme anxiety. What had happened to Charlie while he had been away? He had a vision of his best friend surrounded by all those peculiar children at Bloor's Academy. The musicians, actors, and artists; the weather-monger, the hypnotist, and all those other weird things. Perhaps this explained why Maisie and Amy Jones were so pleased to see him. Because he was normal, unlike poor Charlie.

A sudden movement on Charlie's bed caught Benjamin's eye. A white moth fluttered over the duvet. Benjamin had always been told that moths were pests. They made holes. He sprang forward and cupped his hand over the moth.

Three things happened. Charlie sat bolt upright and screamed. Billy Raven rolled out of bed, and the moth bit, yes,
bit
Benjamin, who yelled and let go of it.

"Benjamin!" cried Charlie.

"Charlie!" cried Benjamin. "A moth bit me."

"It's my wand," said Charlie.

"Your
wand?'

"Manfred burned it, and it turned into a moth. You haven't killed it, have you?"

Benjamin shook his head. "It's on top of your wardrobe. Sorry."

Benjamin never said things like,
How can a wand turn into a moth?

Charlie realized how much he'd missed his friend. "It's really great to see you, Ben."

"It's great to see you, too. Where's Runner Bean?"

"Ah." Charlie swung his legs out of bed. "He's not here."

"I can see that."

Billy Raven groaned and sat up. He put his hand up to the bedside table and felt for his glasses.

"What's Billy doing here?" asked Benjamin.

"Dr. Bloor lets me out for weekends now." Billy found his glasses and put them on.

"So, where's my dog?" Benjamin persisted, turning to Charlie.

Charlie tugged his tousled hair. He had so much to tell Benjamin he didn't know where to start. He made his friend sit on the bed, and while he got dressed, he explained how Grandma Bone had tried to have Runner Bean put down by the pest controllers. The look of horror on Benjamin's face prompted Charlie to add quickly, "But Mr. Onimous got here first. He took Runner to the Pets' Cafe, and I go every weekend and take him for a run."

"Only once a week," Benjamin said accusingly. "He needs a walk every day."

"Well, I can't get out of school, can I?" Charlie lowered his voice. "It's not my fault that I have to sleep at Bloor's during the week, is it?"

"No. Sorry. It's great to see you, Charlie."

"You, too," Charlie said once again.

As soon as Billy and Charlie were dressed the three boys went downstairs where Maisie gave them a huge cooked breakfast. Benjamin gazed dismally at the food. He couldn't eat. His stomach was churning with apprehension. He had to see his dog. Suppose someone had stolen him?

"Mr. Onimous would never let that happen." Maisie patted Benjamin's head. "Runner Bean's just fine. You'll see."

Billy and Charlie wolfed down their breakfasts and followed Benjamin, who was already at the front door.

"Where's all the snow gone?" said Benjamin as they raced up Filbert Street. "Last night it was so deep we could hardly drive through it."

"The Flame cats had something to do with it," muttered Charlie.

"You mean like it wasn't real snow?"

"Don't know what I mean," said Charlie.

When they reached the Pets' Cafe they found a CLOSED sign hanging on the door. Charlie pressed his face to the window. Chairs were piled on tables and the counter was bare. But at the back of the cafe, a soft light could be seen coming through the beaded curtain into the kitchen.

Charlie knocked on the door.

For a moment he thought no one had heard. He was about to knock again when Mr. Onimous's small figure appeared behind the counter. The three boys waved and Mr. Onimous scurried around the tables to open the door.

"Well, if it isn't Marco Polo himself," said Mr. Onimous, ushering the boys into the cafe.

"Marco who?" asked Benjamin.

"An ancient traveler, Benjy." Mr. Onimous locked the door. "A man who went to China before most people knew it was there."

"I was in Hong Kong," Benjamin said gravely, "and I'm not ancient. Please, where's my dog?"

"Ah." Mr. Onimous ran a hand over his stubbly chin. "You'd better come into the kitchen."

"Where is he?" Benjamin ran around the counter and past the curtain.

Mr. Onimous shrugged uneasily and whispered, "The dog's gone, Charlie. Goodness knows where."

"Gone?" Charlie and Billy rushed after Benjamin.

On entering the Onimouses' kitchen, the boys beheld Emma Tolly, sitting in the only armchair. Her eyelids were red and wet streaks covered her cheeks.

"Emma, are you OK?" Charlie immediately felt foolish because, clearly, Emma wasn't OK.

In a desolate voice, Emma said, "I've lost my duck." She gave a deep sob.

"What?" Charlie exclaimed.

"Now, now, now. Let's all calm down," said Mrs. Onimous, almost scalding herself as she emptied a kettle of boiling water into a gigantic teapot. "Sit down, boys, and help yourselves to cake."

"I don't think I can eat." Benjamin pulled out a chair and dropped onto it. "I just want my dog. I've been waiting to see him for seven whole months."

"Well, you'll just have to wait a tad longer," said Mrs. Onimous somewhat testily. "As a matter of fact, there's been a mass exodus. All the animals have gone and . . ."

"Even Rembrandt?" squeaked Billy.

"All
means
all,
even rats, Billy," said Mr. Onimous. "But I'm sure there's a simple explanation. In order to think, we must remain calm. Pour the tea, Onoria, my darling. Tea is restoring."

Emma joined the boys at the table, while Mr. and Mrs. Onimous each took a seat at either end. Tea and cakes were passed around, but Charlie was the only one to enjoy the cake. His concern for the animals hadn't managed to spoil his appetite. Surely, they couldn't all have disappeared. He looked around the cozy kitchen looking for signs of life: a mouse, a spider, the odd fly. But nothing moved on the copper pans above his head, or on the shelves crammed with jars and tins and brightly painted dishes. Finally his glance fell on a lidded basket in the corner and he asked, "What about the blue boa?"

"Gone, the dear thing," Mrs. Onimous replied sadly. "They must have left last night, in the snowstorm. I came down early to make a cup of tea and the place was deserted. No welcoming barks, no eager scamperings, no happy slitherings." She blew her very long nose with a loud trumpeting sound.

"Same happened to me." Emma's blue eyes filled with fresh tears. "Nancy's always, always, always in her duck house in the yard. But it was empty."

Billy gave a little cough. "The Flame cats came to warn us, but they didn't say anything about animals disappearing."

"What exactly did they say, dear?" Mrs. Onimous bent her lean frame eagerly toward Billy.

"They said Charlie must watch his mother and a shadow was waking up. A shadow called Hark."

"Hark?" Mr. Onimous raised and lowered his bristly eyebrows. He scratched a whiskery cheek with slightly furry hands and said, "I'm in the dark."

"What was that?" Mrs. Onimous suddenly sat bolt upright, craning her long neck toward the far end of the kitchen.

"Scratching," said Billy.