by Jenny Nimmo
"We've got our own bananas!" barked Grandma Bone, advancing on her unwelcome visitors. "Mr. Yewbeam is far too ill to have company."
"He's not!" cried Charlie.
"Be quiet!" Grandma Bone glared up at Charlie, while Emma and Miss Ingledew were forced to step down on to the pavement.
"Really Mrs. Bone," said Julia. "I'm sure it wouldn't do Paton any harm to see me. I'm concerned about him. Don't you understand?"
Paton's face turned from white to pink, then back to white again as he struggled out of bed. "Julia," he said breathlessly "Don't let her go, Charlie!"
"Stop stalking my brother." Grandma Bone followed Miss Ingledew down the steps. 'You're not welcome here."
"I am not stalking him. I have never stalked anyone in my life." Clearly upset by Grandma Bone's insinuation, Miss Ingledew threw back her head of magnificent chestnut hair and marched away up the street. Emma waved bleakly at Charlie and ran after her.
"Has she gone?" croaked Paton.
" 'Fraid so, Uncle," said Charlie. "I think Grandma Bone offended her."
Paton put his head in his hands. "I'm lost," he moaned. "I might as well be dead."
"Don't say that!" Charlie couldn't bear to see his normally vigorous uncle in such a pitiful state. "I'll try and get her back," he said.
Grandma Bone met Charlie in the hall. "Where do you think you're going?" she said.
"Out," said Charlie.
"Oh, no, you're not. You've got work to do. Studying, I believe. You've got tests coming up on Monday Lots of them. Get upstairs and take out your books. Right now!"
Charlie almost exploded with indignation. "How could you do that to Uncle Paton?" he demanded. "He really wanted to see Miss Ingledew"
"That woman's no good for him," said Grandma Bone. "Now if you don't get to work this minute, I'll tell them to give you detention next Saturday In fact, after your disgraceful behavior this morning, I'll be surprised if you don't get it, anyway"
"I . . . You're just a . . . " Charlie struggled to contain-himself and then rushed to his room before he said something so rude his grandmother would make sure he had detention for years to come.
For several hours Charlie wrestled with history dates, geographical locations, English grammar, and French verbs. He began to get a headache and found he was forgetting things more than remembering them. Occasionally he looked out of his window; longing to see Benjamin and Runner Bean racing across the street. But no friendly face appeared, and nothing interesting occurred to break the monotony of Charlie's awful afternoon . . . until he noticed the wand.
It was lying under his bed, caught in a thin beam of sunlight. Charlie picked it up. The wand felt warm and silky It was very comforting to hold, almost like tasting something exceptionally delicious or lying on a bed of feathers.
Charlie had an idea. Skarpo had stolen the wand from a Welsh wizard so, reaching for the Welsh dictionary his uncle had given him, Charlie looked for the words "help me." He found "helpu fi" and remembered the "u" was pronounced "i," and the "f" like a "v."
Charlie sat at his table and, holding the wand in his lap, he stared at a column of French verbs and their English equivalents. "Helpi vee," he said. "Helpi vee! Helpivee!"
For a few moments nothing happened, and then Charlie had the strangest sensation. It was as if the word "look" was whispered into his brain. He tightened his grip on the wand and looked at the words in front of him. A few minutes later he tested himself Miraculously he had learned every verb and its meaning.
Charlie was so excited he dashed into his uncle's room without knocking.
Paton's eyes were closed, but his face was distorted by a terrible frown. Charlie had forgotten Miss Ingledew's unfortunate visit.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Uncle," Charlie said in a quietly urgent voice, "but something amazing has happened."
"What?" Paton said wearily
"You know you took the wand when you went to Yewbeam Castle and it got all burned by something. Well, it got better, somehow It's as good as new; and I just tried using it to memorize my French, and — it's amazing — it worked!"
Paton's eyes opened. He looked at Charlie with interest, and then his gaze was drawn to the wand. "Curious," he murmured. "Very curious."
Charlie said, "I know this sounds silly but do you think the wand might really be mine?"
"How could that be possible, dear boy? You got it from an ancient painting."
"Yes, but . . . " Charlie was reluctant to tell his uncle that Skarpo had refused to take the wand back. Paton had warned him, more than once, not to go into the painting again.
Paton was now staring at Charlie's feet, and Charlie had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what his uncle was looking at. He had forgotten to shut the door and something had crept into the room. Yes, there it was, right beside his left foot. It began to squeak.
"That is a very singular mouse," Paton observed. "I've always known we had mice in the house, but that one looks abnormally old. I can't say why."
“Actually it is," Charlie confessed.
Paton eyed his great-nephew suspiciously "Explain!"
Charlie explained, as best he could, how he had taken a step, just a fraction of a step really into the painting of Skarpo. "I did it for you, Uncle," he said. "I thought he might have something to cure you. That's when he said the wand belonged to me. He wanted to meet you, but I wouldn't let him. As you see, I got out all right, but the mouse that was in his pocket came with me."
"What!" Paton's head dropped back onto the pillows. "Then the sorcerer's out, too!"
"Maybe not," said Charlie hopefully "I mean he'd have done some damage by now, wouldn't he?"
"If the mouse is out, then he is out, you stupid boy" Paton snapped.
"But he's still in the picture."
"That's just his image, Charlie. The essence of the man, the living, breathing being, with all its mischief, magic, and mayhem is OUT!"
After a moment of humble silence, Charlie said, "What should I do with the mouse, then?"
The mouse ran under the bed.
"It hardly matters," Paton muttered. "What have you done, Charlie? I thought that life couldn't get worse, but now here I am, done for, and that person is on the loose." He closed his eyes.
Charlie would have liked to bring up the subject of the wand again, but clearly his uncle would rather he left the room.
"Sorry," Charlie murmured. He tiptoed out and closed the door on his uncle and, presumably the mouse.
Amy Bone had just come back from work and Charlie could hear her setting the table for dinner. He ran down to the kitchen.
"Where's Billy?" asked Mrs. Bone.
Charlie told her about Ezekiel's visit.
"That poor boy" said his mother. "He must be so lonely Something should be done about it. I'm sure someone would adopt him, he seems like such a nice little fellow"
"The Bloors will never let him go," said Charlie. "They like to own people."
"That they do," his mother said quietly "Take your uncle some tea, will you, Charlie?"
"Um . . . I don't think that would be a good idea," said Charlie.
"Why ever not?"
"Him and me . . . well, I think he's a bit angry with me."
One of the many good things about Amy Bone, from Charlie's point of view, was that she never reproached him for any quarrels he might have had with other members of the family.
“Ah well," she sighed. "I'll do it then." She put some tea and cookies on a tray and took it upstairs. In a few minutes she came back looking very worried.
"I'm really concerned about your uncle," she told Charlie. "He's just lying there, looking gray and ill, and so melancholy Whatever is the matter with him?"
"He went to Yewbeam Castle," Charlie said.
His mother gasped. "Where that awful Yolanda lives? Has she done this to Paton?"
"No, Mom. It was something else. He won't say what. Yolanda's here. She's staying with the aunts, only she isn't old. She looks my age. S
he came here once when you were out. Her name's Belle."
Mrs. Bone clapped a hand over her forehead. "Stay out of her way Charlie. She tried to keep your father up there, you know When he was young. Luckily it turned out that Lyell wasn't endowed, so she lost interest in him."
"Maybe not so lucky," said Charlie. "If Dad had been endowed, he might have been able to save himself."
"Who knows?" Mrs. Bone looked thoughtful. "I wish you weren't part of that awful family"
"Well, I am," said Charlie. “And I don't care. If they try to mess with me, they'll regret it."
His mother gave him an encouraging smile.
On Sunday Charlie decided to visit the Pets' Café. With the wand's help he had managed to finish all his studying.
"Runner Bean's waiting for you!" said Norton, the bouncer, as Charlie stepped into the café. "Going to take him for a run, then?"
Charlie felt guilty He'd almost forgotten about Runner Bean. "The park's a bit far away" he said.
"Take him to the park," said Norton. "He's really missed you, he has."
Charlie was about to go around the counter when he noticed Lysander and Olivia sitting at a table in the corner. As soon as she saw Charlie, Olivia jumped out of her seat and waved frantically at him. She looked surprisingly normal. Her hair was mouse-brown and her face free of any makeup or decoration.
Charlie made his way over to their table. It took him some time because a gang of lop-eared rabbits kept bouncing around his feet.
"No warpaint today then?" he said, leaping over Olivia's white rabbit and grabbing a chair.
"I'm preparing my face for the end-of-semester play," said Olivia. "I thought if I looked normal for a while, my transformation would be all the more dramatic."
"I can't wait," said Charlie. "I didn't think any of you were coming here today."
"I got bored," said Olivia, "but I think Sander's here for another reason."
Charlie noticed that the normally cheerful African boy looked extremely agitated. He kept darting wild, anxious glances around the room, and his gray parrot, Homer, fluttered from his head to his shoulder and back again every time he moved.
"Where's Tancred?" Charlie asked Lysander.
"His dad made him stay in to study I've done my work. I just had to come out."
"What's the trouble?"
Lysander shook his head. "My ancestors are angry" he muttered. "I couldn't sleep. All night I heard their drums in my head, their loud voices, their furious wailing."
All at once, Homer cried, "Catastrophe! Catastrophe!"
"He knows when things are wrong," said Lysander. "He feels their rage through me."
"Why don't they tell you what's upsetting them?" asked Olivia.
Lysander frowned at her. "I have to find out myself," he said.
Lysander's spirit ancestors were very powerful. They were more than ghosts. Charlie had seen their strong brown hands, their spears and shields. More than once, they had helped to save him. If they were angry then it was for a very good reason.
"Let's go for a walk," Charlie suggested, hoping fresh air would clear Lysander's head.
"Good idea!" said Olivia, scooping up her rabbit.
Charlie was about to go fetch Runner Bean when Mr. Onimous appeared with the dog. Runner Bean rushed up to Charlie, while cats and rabbits scattered in all directions.
"Oh, he has missed you, Charlie," said Mr. Onimous as the big dog leaped up and began licking Charlie's face and hair.
“And is the rat OK?" asked Charlie.
"Right as rain," said the little man. "Very popular with Mrs. Onimous. And the flames adore him."
"How unusual," Olivia remarked. "I mean cats liking a rat."
"They're unusual, miss," said Mr. Onimous solemnly "Off you go now Charlie, give that dog a nice long run. My legs can't keep up with him."
The three friends left the café and headed toward the park at the edge of the city Olivia carried her rabbit in a basket, but Lysander's parrot traveled on his shoulder, its head bobbing up and down in rhythm with its master's stride.
When they reached the park, Charlie let Runner Bean off the leash and he tore across the grass, barking joyfully Homer the parrot left Lysander's shoulder and flew over the big dog's head, crying, "What a to-do. Dog ahoy!"
"Ship ahoy if you don't mind," called Olivia.
"He's confused," said Lysander.
"I'd say he's gone off the deep end," said Olivia, giggling.
"It's not a joke," barked Lysander. "He gets muddled when he's upset. Like me. I'm muddled."
"Sorr-e-e-e!" said Olivia.
Charlie glanced at her. She might almost have been laughing at Lysander. It was all very well for her, Charlie thought. Olivia could be a good friend when she chose to be, but she didn't really understand what it was like to be endowed, what a burden and a puzzle it could be.
"Cool it," he said.
Olivia raised her eyebrows, but she seemed to understand the warning look in Charlie's eyes.
"I don't think I'll go to school tomorrow" Lysander murmured.
"Why?" asked Charlie.
"Don't really know I think there's trouble for me there." Lysander's voice had sunk so low they could hardly hear him.
"But you've got to," Charlie said desperately "What about the carving? What about Ollie Sparks?"
"Why do you care so much?" said Lysander, surprised by Charlie's vehemence.
"I just do," said Charlie. "I can't help it. I feel bad about Ollie because I haven't tried to rescue him again. There's been so much else going on. But think how awful it must be for him. Alone in those dark attics, not knowing if he'll ever get out. We've got to rescue him soon, Sander. We've just got to. Please say you'll come to school on Monday Please!"
"I'll think about it," said Lysander. He whistled to his parrot, and the gray bird wheeled around and flew back to perch on his shoulder.
"See you," said Lysander. He turned and strode away across the park.
The parrot looked back at Charlie and Olivia and called, "Watch it!"
CHAPTER 11
BULL, BELLS, AND GOLDEN BATS
As he made his way up the steep hill to his home, Lysander began to feel breathless. This had never happened before. He was a strong boy tall for his age, a great runner and champion hurdler.
It was the drums that took away his breath. That's what it was. Their angry beats echoed in his head like distant thunder, making him shudder.
"Trouble!" called Homer from his master's shoulder.
"Yeah, trouble," Lysander agreed.
He had just climbed the steepest part of the hill road, a long curving ascent that ended in a welcome stretch of even ground. Here he stopped and looked out across the city The cathedral, with its great domed roof dwarfed all the other buildings in the city Only the shadowy mansion to the north was anywhere near as tall.
"Bloor's," Lysander muttered.
Beyond the gray roof of the academy and just at the edge of the woods that covered the castle ruin, there issued a thin plume of smoke.
When he saw it, Lysander's eyes began to smart, his skin burned, his throat felt raw Tearing at his collar, he ran the last few meters home. He reached a pair of tall iron gates and, pulling one open, he tore up the path to an imposing white house, set behind lawns as green and smooth as billiard tables.
Mrs. Jessamine Sage was watching a quiz show on TV when her son went pounding up to his room. Mrs. Sage knew her son's trouble immediately She could hear the drums accompanying his footsteps. It was from her that Lysander had inherited his power. At certain times, she too heard the drums speak and the ancestors clamoring for attention.
Mrs. Sage eased herself up from her comfortable chair. She was a well-rounded woman of considerable strength, but she'd been feeling heavy and listless of late. She didn't need drums to tell her that another baby was on its way There were other very obvious signs.
The beautiful and stately woman climbed the stairs to the first floor. Behind the two doors
on either side of her son's room, her daughters, aged ten and fourteen, were playing loud, unmelodic music: guitars and voices. It was all squeaky shouting and rap, rap, rap. Not a drumbeat between them.
"Hortense! Alexandra! Reduce!" barked Mrs. Sage in such a commanding tone that both girls immediately obeyed.
When Mrs. Sage opened her son's door she was met by another barrage of sound, this one so tumultuous it almost knocked her back onto the landing.
"Lysander! Calm!" called Mrs. Sage across the room. She never used two words, or even five for that matter, where one would do.
Lysander was lying on his bed with his eyes shut tight and his hands over his ears. Even so, he heard his mother's powerful voice. He opened his eyes.
"Think of a tree," sang Mrs. Sage.
"Roots, leaves, branches.
"Holding, lifting . . .
"Sky . . .
"Think of the King."
Lysander removed his hands from his ears.
"There," said his mother, lowering herself onto the bed. "Better?"
It worked every time. As soon as Lysander thought of a tree, as soon as he saw, in his mind's eye, the mysterious painting in the King's room, he felt calmer. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The drumbeats were still there, in his head, but now quiet enough for him to think.
"Tell," said his mother.
"Trouble!" cried Homer from his perch by the window
"She didn't ask you," said Lysander with a rueful grin. "There is trouble, though," he told his mother. "I don't know what. But it's at Bloor's. I saw smoke and I felt my skin burn. The ancestors are angry Mom."
"They always have a reason," said Mrs. Sage.
"I don't want to go to school on Monday I don't want to face whatever it is. I never felt like this before."
"You must face it." Mrs. Sage patted her son's hand. "You must go to school."
"That's what Charlie Bone said."
"Charlie?"
"Yes. You know the kid with rough hair. His uncle had a party last semester, remember? He's smaller than most of us, but he pushes his way into trouble and somehow we find ourselves following; Tancred, me, and Gabriel. He's doing it again, trying to rescue a boy from invisibility"