Charlie Bone And The Red Knight (Children Of The Red King, Book 8) (9 page)

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.