Charlie Bone And The Red Knight (Children Of The Red King, Book 8) (19 page)

"Huh!" Rembrandt turned his back on Billy, and a fly buzzed out of his fur. "How come we managed to bring a fly back, then?" the rat asked sulkily.

Billy couldn't answer that one. "Hi, Em," he said. "It's good to see you."

"You, too," she said. "Nice outfit."

"It was." He looked down at the stains on his jacket. "I hope there's something to eat. I'm really, really hungry." He got up and made for the door, but Charlie held him back.

"You'd better stay in here, Billy," Charlie said. "Grandma Bone might see you, and if the Bloors know you're back, they'll be after you."

Billy sighed, sat down on a box, and rubbed his tummy.

"I'll get you something." Emma rushed off.

As Charlie pulled off Dorgo's clothes he glanced out the window and noticed that the rooftops he could usually see were now completely obscured by the fog. By the time he tidied himself up, Emma was back with a tray of cakes and orange juice, and also Alice Angel. When Billy saw Alice, the eye behind his good lens widened in terror and he pushed himself, and his box, back into a corner. But Alice knelt beside him, not too close but near enough for him to take her hand if he needed to. "Billy, you must be so frightened," she said. "What a journey you've had.

You're safe now. My name is Alice Angel and I won't let anything happen to you."

Billy relaxed and a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I'm Billy Raven," he said, clasping her hand. "And that's Rembrandt." He pointed at the rat, who was sulking in a corner, facing the wall. "He had to leave his girlfriend behind in Badlock, and he's very upset about it."

Alice covered her mouth with her hand, but she couldn't hold back a peal of laughter. Emma joined in, and even Billy started to giggle. But Charlie thought of Matilda and couldn't find the joke funny.

"I'm glad I'm back," Billy said, "and Rembrandt will be too when he's found another girlfriend. I suppose I was silly to like it so much in Badlock. But the count was nice to me at first. He made all those animals for me, and even if they didn't have hearts, they let me pet them, and the tiger even purred. But then I was put in that dungeon. I think the count got bored with me. Maybe he thought I'd be useful, and then he found out that all I could do was talk to animals" --

Billy took off his glasses and touched the frame of the shattered lens -- "and that wasn't good enough."

"Count Harken trapped you in Badlock because the Bloors wanted it," Charlie said.

"Why?" asked Billy.

Charlie didn't think that now was the right time to tell Billy that he would inherit the Bloor family fortune, if a certain will, in a certain box, could be found. Uncle Paton had been reluctant to discuss the hidden will just lately. Perhaps he had changed his mind about it.

The doorbell rang and voices could be heard down in the hall. Charlie went out onto the landing and called, "Who is it, Maisie?"

Maisie came to the foot of the stairwell and said, "Miss Ingledew's come for Emma."

"Miss Ingledew?" said Charlie. "Why?"

Emma ran out onto the landing, crying, "I'm sorry, Auntie, so sorry. I should have come straight home."

"She can't hear you," shouted Maisie. "She won't come in, but she doesn't want you to walk home alone. The fog's getting thicker."

"Emma, take this, it's finished." Alice handed Emma a white plastic bag.

"The vest," said Emma, peeping into the bag.

Alice nodded. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Alice!" Emma kissed Alice's cheek and ran down the stairs. She reached the landing below just as Grandma Bone came out of the bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" Grandma Bone demanded, seizing Emma's shoulder.

"Paying a visit," said Emma, wriggling free and bounding down the next flight.

"At this time of the morning?" Grandma Bone leaned over the banister and stared down into the hall. "Maisie, why's the front door open? What's going on?"

Before Maisie could reply, Alice Angel appeared at the top of the stairwell and called down to Grandma Bone.

"There's nothing to worry about, Grizelda. Go back to bed and I'll bring you a nice cup of tea."

"Oh." Grandma Bone looked confused. "All right, then." She padded back to her bedroom and closed the door. Emma left the house at the same moment, and Maisie shut the front door. Half a second later, Uncle Paton opened his bedroom door and, looking up at Charlie, asked, "Was that... ?"

"Miss Ingledew, Uncle P.," said Charlie.

"She didn't come in, then?" his uncle inquired, tentatively.

Feeling a little uncomfortable, Charlie replied, "No, Uncle."

"I see." Uncle Paton withdrew his head, and Charlie felt even worse.

In the spare room, Billy had coaxed Rembrandt out of his corner with a piece of fruitcake, the rat's favorite. The fly that had traveled from Badlock in Rembrandt's fur was now buzzing around the window.

"I don't like the look of that fly," said Alice, trying to swat it with a duster.

Charlie noticed that, in a certain light, the fly looked green. Claerwen fluttered after it, but the fly dropped behind a pile of books on a shelf and went quiet.

Alice went to tell Maisie what had been going on and to fetch Grandma Bone a cup of tea. Charlie ran down to his bedroom to look for some clothes for Billy. It was decided that Billy should stay in the spare room until other arrangements could be made. What those arrangements might be, nobody could work out just yet. Even Alice was stumped. And when Charlie asked his uncle for advice, Paton just stared at Charlie as if he'd been told that a Martian was sitting in the spare room.

"I don't know what to suggest," Uncle Paton said at length. "Yes, keep him in the spare room for a while, by all means. But he can't stay there forever."

"It won't be forever, will it, Uncle P.?" said Charlie.

"Because something is going to happen very soon. Something that will change EVERYTHING forever."

"Indeed," agreed his uncle without much enthusiasm.

It was an odd day, quiet and still. The fog had crept closer and the city was holding its breath. Benjamin and his parents came over at teatime and, with the exception of Grandma Bone and Billy, they all gathered in the kitchen to hear what Mr. Brown had to say. Being a private detective meant that he had managed to discover the truth of some of the rumors that had been flying around.

The mayor and some of the councillors had left the city. Part of the police force could not be located, though Officer Singh and Officer Wood had been spotted patrolling High Street. All the schools would be closed on Monday except for Bloor's Academy. The post office and all the banks would be closed. One or two buses might run. There were no taxis to be had.

"So we're on our own, more or less," said Mrs. Brown cheerfully. "I've got enough food for a couple of weeks, and fogs never last longer than that."

No one liked to say that this particular fog might carry something that could last forever.

The Browns stayed for dinner, and when they had gone home, a bed was made up for Billy in the spare room. With Rembrandt on his pillow, he was soon fast asleep.

In the middle of the night a deafening explosion ripped through the house. The building shook to its very foundations; china slid off the dresser, and furniture groaned and slithered out of place.

Tumbling out of bed, Charlie met his uncle clutching the railings on the landing. Maisie and Alice appeared on the landing above and ran down to meet them. The front door was open and a cold wind swept through the house.

"Was it an earthquake?" cried Maisie.

"More like a meteor strike," said Uncle Paton.

"A bolt of lightning?" Charlie suggested.

Alice said quietly, "Or the sound of a fly turning into something much larger."

They looked at her in horror, and Charlie whispered, "Rembrandt's fly!"

19

RESCUING SOLOMON

There were few to see the dark figure striding up the road; his magnificence was wasted on the creatures of the night, who quickly fled. Emeralds glinted at the stranger's neck, his gold cloak rippled like a waterfall, his black tunic was encrusted with pearls, and his hair was dusted with gold.

From the roof of number nine, the bright eyes of three vibrant cats watched the enchanter's progress through the fog. When he reached the end of the road, the cats climbed down and began to follow him. Soon he sensed their presence and turned with a hiss that would have chilled the blood of any ordinary cat. But these flame-colored cats were not ordinary. They had the hearts and minds of leopards. As soon as the enchanter had resumed his course, they followed, keeping to the shadows but never losing sight of their prey.

It soon became clear that the enchanter was making for Bloor's Academy. The cats watched him climb the steps between the two towers and cross the courtyard to the entrance. The cats ran past the steps and along the side of the building until they reached a high stone wall. Up they went, the three bright forms. They paced along the top of the wall, watching the frosted field below and the woods beyond, where the great red arch led into the castle ruins.

A stirring in the naked winter trees alerted them. They moved closer together, as though each cat knew his senses would be enhanced by the nearness of the others. They saw the white mare first, and then her rider: a knight in a silver helmet, his suit of chain mail glimmering in the frail light of a fogbound moon. A deep purr rose in the throats of the three cats. They leaped from the wall and ran to the mare's side.

The enchanter didn't wait for an answer to his knocking. He seized the bronze handle in fingers ringed with emerald and gold, and with one twist, he shattered the lock, letting loose a shower of sparkling, splintered wood.

The heavy doors crashed open and the enchanter swept into the hall.

A heavyset man in plaid pajamas flung himself, trembling, to the floor in front of the enchanter. "I was coming, my lord... sire... Count Harken," he declared. "Forgive ... I didn't know..."

"Get up, Weedon." Count Harken kicked the prostrate body in the ribs, causing a violent shudder to run through it.

Weedon stumbled to his feet. He couldn't quite bring himself to stand upright but remained bent at the waist in an untidy sort of bow. "We didn't know," he muttered, "though Mrs. Tilpin told us to be ready."

"Where are they?" the count demanded.

"In the west wing, my lord, asleep."

"Not for long," said the enchanter. "Take me there."

Weedon straightened up a fraction and tottered over to the door to the west wing. Holding back the door, he let the enchanter sweep past him, the gold robe scratching his knuckles as it brushed against his hand. Weedon suppressed a sob of pain and hurried after the count.

"I'll have to wake them, my lord," the porter mumbled. "Forgive me, but it's well past midnight. It might take a while to gather them."

"Ring a bell. Bang a gong!" the count commanded. "There must be one." He began to mount the stairs to the first floor.

"Oh, indeed there is," said Weedon, scrabbling behind the scratchy gold-threaded cloak.

The huge brass gong hung in an oak frame outside the headmaster's study. A hammer with a round leather head lay beneath it. Weedon had never hit the gong. He wouldn't have dared. In fact, he had only heard it once, when Manfred in a teenage tantrum had pounded it so hard, the head of the hammer had split in two. The sound had been deafening. It reached into every part of the building and took fifteen minutes to subside. The hammer had been mended and Manfred forbidden ever to touch the thing again.

The enchanter regarded the gong with interest, pronouncing it excellent for his purpose. "I'll do it myself," he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Lifting the hammer, he drew back his gold-spangled arm and beat the gong with such force, Weedon's left eardrum was perforated.

The sound reverberated through the building, even reaching Cook in her underground rooms. And for Cook, that sound spelled the end of an era. For many years she had kept the balance in Bloor's Academy. She called herself the lodestone of the house, keeping a watchful eye on the endowed children and doing whatever she could to make sure those who used wickedness did not overcome the others: the children who refused to let the Bloors corrupt them.

Cook knew no one who would strike the massive gong in the middle of the night. Something told her that the Shadow of Badlock had broken into the city again. And this time it would be hard to banish him. This time he had made sure he had followers in the city. Even as Cook sat there wondering what to do, an army from the past was coming to life.

"So why am I sitting here?" Cook muttered to herself. She pulled her suitcase from a closet and began to pack.

Up in the west wing a motley group had assembled in the headmaster's study. They were all standing except for the enchanter, who sat behind the headmaster's desk, and Titania Tilpin, who had fainted at the sight of her ancestor the count.

Dr. Bloor wore a tweed robe that wouldn't have looked out of place in a hunting lodge. Manfred had appeared in purple silk pajamas, much to his father's disapproval, and Ezekiel wore a red nightcap, a plaid jacket, and a too-short nightshirt (another embarrassment for Dr. Bloor). Titania, lying beside the door, was wearing a black kimono, while Joshua, in an ordinary green bathrobe, was trying to revive his mother by patting her cheeks.

"Foolish boy," said Count Harken. "That will do no good."

"Weedon, get some water," said Dr. Bloor.

Still clutching his left ear, Weedon staggered out.

"It's lucky he's still got one good ear," said Manfred, chuckling at his own joke.

No one else laughed. This was a serious moment and the sooner Manfred caught on, the better. Everyone waited for the enchanter to speak, while he waited for Weedon to return. He arrived, at last, with a jug of water and his wife in curlers and a pink shawl.

"Put it on her face," the enchanter commanded, pointing at Titania.

"Put it?" Weedon, looking uncertain, held up the jug.

"Pour it!" thundered the enchanter.

"Pour? Of course." Weedon turned the jug and let a stream of water splash onto Titania's face.

She sat up, gulping for air. "I'm drowning!" she screamed.

"You are not," said the count. "Calm yourself."

"My lord, it really is you!" Clinging to her son, Titania pulled herself to her feet. "I knew you would come, but with the mirror broken and..."

"I came another way," the count said, with a private sort of smile.

"Tell us how," begged Ezekiel. "We'd love to know."

"With the boy," the count said carelessly. "Charlie Bone. I knew he would come to Badlock. My granddaughter has a fondness for him. She tried to reach him through my painting, but he used the mirror."

"The mirror?" cried Titania. "The Mirror of Amoret? But it's broken."

"Not now. I allowed the boy to arrive. I even watched him use a ridiculous garb to rescue his friend, Billy, and I traveled back with them."

A babble of complaints and questions broke out, and raising his hand for silence, the enchanter said, "How did I travel? As a fly. And why did I allow Billy to return to your city? Because he was of no use to me."

"But what about the will?" Ezekiel screeched. "That kid stands to inherit everything if the will is found. We had a bargain, sir. You keep Billy, and we help you to get back into the city."

Leaning across the desk, the enchanter roared in Ezekiel's face, "But you didn't help, did you?"

"What, what?" Ezekiel spluttered. "She tried" -- he pointed at Titania -- "and Venetia Yewbeam attempted to seal the crack in the mirror."

"I called to your shadow in the Red King's portrait," Titania whined. "But all in vain. I brought back my ancestor Ashkelan Kapaldi to help, but the Red Knight killed him."

"Red Knight?" The enchanter sat up, his ringed fingers drumming the desk. "What Red Knight?"

"A killer, a rogue, a dressed-up devil..."

Dr. Bloor's calm voice cut through Titania's hysterical outburst. "A knight on a white horse has been seen, now and then, riding through the city. He appears to be protecting some of the endowed children, Charlie Bone among them. This knight has a plume of red feathers on his helmet, a red cloak, and a shield with a burning sun."

"The king!" Count Harken leaped up, his eyes blazing. "So he has returned to give me the ultimate satisfaction. All my life I have relished the thought of this encounter."

"I hesitate to disagree," said Dr. Bloor, "but surely it cannot be the Red King himself, the man who built this city nine hundred years ago?"

"I am here," the enchanter reminded him, "so why should he not be here?"

Manfred, who had been listening to the conversation with increasing impatience, suddenly spoke up. "The Red King is a tree, always will be, so we've heard. If he could have returned as a man, then he would have done it years ago."

The count began to look uncertain. At last he said, "If he is not the king, then he is someone who has taken on the king's mantle. Whoever he is, he must be destroyed before I can take this city into the past."

"The past?" said Ezekiel. "But..."

"Oh, you can keep your house, your garden, your treasures." The enchanter waved his hand disdainfully. "But they will all be taken into the past."

The Bloors stared at the enchanter, not quite comprehending what they had heard. Even Titania looked anxious.

"You will hardly notice the difference," the enchanter said airily. "The city will be in the world of Badlock, that is all. Now, can someone find me a horse. Preferably a stallion. And I'll need some of the armor that I saw displayed in your hall. We will do battle on the morrow!"

"We?" croaked Ezekiel.

"Battle?" said Dr. Bloor.

The family at number nine was on its way back to bed when the doorbell rang.

"It's going to be a long night," sighed Uncle Paton. He went down into the hall and called, "Who's there?"

"It's me. Cook!" said a voice.

"Cook?" Uncle Paton drew back the bolts and. unlocked the door. When he opened it, a small figure darted in. She was carrying a large suitcase in one hand and a leather bag in the other.

"My word," she puffed, dumping the suitcase and the bag on the floor. "It's dark in here, Mr. Yewbeam."

"There's a reason," said Paton.

"Oh, of course." Cook noticed the candle burning on the landing above.

"Cook!" cried Charlie.

Cook blinked at the three figures on the stairs, the smallest of whom was now bounding down toward her.

"What's happened?" asked Charlie. He had rarely seen Cook outside the school.

"I've left Bloor's," she said. "The balance is gone. You can't go back there, Charlie. None of you can. It's all over."

"What's all over?" Paton ushered Cook into the kitchen, where he lit another candle. "Sit down and tell us what's happened."

Charlie followed them, and when Alice came in, Cook exclaimed, "Alice Angel! I'm so glad you're here. What a difference it will make."

Alice smiled and sat beside her. "Tell us, Cook!"

"He's come back." Cook couldn't control the tremble in her voice. "Count Harken. It's all over for us. We'll have to leave before it's too late."

"It is too late." There was anxiety in Alice's tone but not despair, and Charlie took comfort from this.

"The fog is very thick," Cook agreed. "I could barely see my way here. Some of the streetlights are out, and I heard looters in High Street. I came the back way."

Maisie, who'd been making yet another pot of tea, said, "What's going to become of us all? What can we do?"

"Plenty," said Paton firmly. "I wouldn't want to leave this city, even if I could. It's worth fighting for, I'm sure you all agree."

They did agree, but a sudden thought caused Charlie to gasp, "Mom and Dad! If we can't get out, they can't get in, and they're on their way here." He paused. "At least I think they are."

Alice touched his hand. "They will be here, Charlie."

It was like a promise, and although Charlie tried hard to ignore the uncomfortable doubts that kept tormenting him, all at once they became too much to bear and he burst out, "Why did he run away just when we needed him?"

Nobody spoke and Charlie realized that even Uncle Paton had been worried by the same distressing doubts.

"We'll know soon enough," said Maisie, handing Cook a cup of tea. "I'll make up a bed in the living room," she told her. "The sofa's very comfy, and I'm sure we'll all be thinking better in the morning."

"Indeed," said Uncle Paton. "I'm off. Sleep well, everyone."

Charlie followed his uncle upstairs. He was about to go into his room when he saw a small figure sitting on the second flight of stairs.

"Charlie," Billy whispered. "Is he here?"

"The enchanter?" Charlie was reluctant to alarm Billy, but he would have to know the truth eventually. "Yes, he is," he admitted. "But Cook's here and we think everything's going to be all right."

"Oh, good." Billy gave a huge yawn. "Night, Charlie."

In the bookstore, Mrs. Kettle had been given Emma's room, while Dagbert took the sofa downstairs. Emma shared her aunt's bed. None of them slept very well. Voices from Piminy Street carried through the air in disturbing waves of sound: raucous laughter; rough, deep singing; and wild strains from a fiddle that played on and on, the fiddler seeming never to tire. But it was the smell of burning that finally drove Mrs. Kettle to the window.

From the rear of the bookstore you could see the backyards of the houses in Piminy Street and Cathedral Close, and the narrow alley between them. The alley was deserted at the moment; it would not be too difficult to creep across without being seen. Smoke was billowing from behind the roofs of Piminy Street, and Mrs. Kettle began to feel anxious for the blue boa. In her haste to find Dagbert and get him to safety, she had forgotten her precious snake.