by Mary Hoffman
‘So I was right,’ said Charlie softly.
‘I can’t tell you any more,’ said Alice, ‘because you wouldn’t believe me. But if you want to find out where she goes and what she does, you must take her talisman.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s different for each of them. Mine was a chalk drawing.’
‘So you used to be part of this . . . cult, or club, whatever it is?’
‘Only once,’ said Alice, which didn’t make sense to him. ‘Look for her talisman. It will look sort of Italian and old and she’ll always have it with her.’
It did not take Charlie long to identify what Isabel’s talisman must be. She had shown him the red pouch with the tesserae, after all. He hadn’t been interested in it at the time. And he had to wait a long time before he got his hands on it.
But Charlie was not like Georgia’s stepbrother, Russell, who had stolen her winged horse talisman and wilfully broken it. He was really worried about his twin and, though he didn’t understand what the talisman could do, he knew it was the key to the mystery.
On Thursday, Isabel was very tired and went to run herself a bath. Instead of undressing in the bathroom, she had changed into her night things in her bedroom and left her clothes on the floor where they dropped. Charlie passed her on the landing and grinned; this was his chance. He couldn’t help feeling a bit mean as Isabel smiled back.
As soon as she had locked the bathroom door, Charlie was in her room rummaging through her things.
‘Bingo!’ he said, drawing the red velvet pouch out of her jeans pocket.
He took it back to his room and tipped the silver tesserae out into a glittering pool on his bed. There was nothing else in the bag. Charlie felt like a Neanderthal confronted with a BlackBerry; he just didn’t have a manual to help him understand how to get the talisman to work.
In the end, he scooped the tesserae back into the bag and lay back on his pillows, still holding it. He closed his eyes and thought about Isabel and what could have changed her so much since half-term.
When he opened his eyes again, Charlie was in the Baptistery in Classe, surrounded by colourful mosaics. He blinked but they didn’t go away.
Funny dream, thought Charlie, noticing he still had the red pouch in his hand. Then he saw he was sitting in a sort of huge bath. That’s it, he thought. I was thinking about Isabel and tesserae and mosaics and she had a bath and that’s all got mixed up in my brain to produce this weird dream.
But after a while he felt a bit stupid just sitting in the bath with nothing happening and no one else in the room. He cautiously climbed out over the side and went towards the only door in the room. When he opened it, bright sunlight streamed into the small round building and his curiosity took him outside.
It seemed to be somewhere Mediterranean, probably Italy. There were cobbled streets and horses everywhere and it was gloriously warm. Charlie didn’t feel at all cold even though he was only in a baggy T-shirt and tracky bottoms. But he did feel a bit conspicuous; no one else was dressed like him. They all seemed to be in costume like characters from an old play, the women in long dresses, the men in ruffled shirts and velvet trousers with buckled shoes.
Now that is weird, thought Charlie. I wasn’t thinking about pantomimes at all.
Stranger still, a tall thin young man with a cane and a scarred face stopped him in the street.
‘Isabella!’ said the young man. ‘Why are you dressed like that? Is it so you can be more comfortable on board ship? Only, I have to say, I think the crew of the Tiger will find it a bit distracting.’
Charlie had no idea what was going on, but at the mention of a ship he noticed that there was a salty smell in the air and he heard the cry of gulls. And an unsettling feeling crept over him that perhaps he was not in a dream at all.
Chapter 19
Out of His Depth
Isabel was frantic when she couldn’t find the talisman. She had planned to have a couple of hours’ sleep before stravagating and had set her alarm to wake her at midnight. But when it went off she took a few minutes to remember where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, her sleep had been so deep. Groggily, she got out of bed and picked up her jeans. The velvet pouch wasn’t in the pocket.
Fully alert now, she put the main light on and hunted through the mess on her floor and then in every other place she could think of. Nothing.
Then she remembered Georgia’s stories about Russell and decided she was going to have to wake Charlie and confront him.
Quietly, she opened the door and crept to his room. There was no point in knocking; Charlie was a deep sleeper. So she turned the handle and slipped into her brother’s bedroom. He was lying on his back, snoring lightly, an angelic expression on his face. Isabel thought for a moment that he really was very nice-looking.
Then she saw what he was holding.
A jolt went through her body like the ones you have in your sleep when you think you have fallen into an abyss. Charlie had stravagated!
Two emotions wrestled in her mind. Firstly, that her brother would find himself in Classe – at least she hoped it would be Classe – almost undressed by Talian standards, alone and without any idea of what was going on. And secondly, that as long as he was there with the talisman, there was no way she could get there herself. She knew from Matt’s story that she couldn’t just take the talisman out of his hand and use it herself.
Panic overwhelmed her. But then she started to think straight. It was all right – at least that second worry. If one of the other Barnsbury Stravaganti would lend her their talisman, she could get to Classe by saying the city’s name out loud. She knew what the place looked like and would surely get there. Then all she had to do was find Charlie and show him how to get back.
But time was of the essence. Who was the best person to try?
Sky, she thought. He stays up late. I can ring him and he’ll come round with his perfume bottle; I could meet him at the front door.
And then she saw it. Just one silver tessera winking in the light from the street lamp shining through Charlie’s window. It was lying on the duvet a good foot away from where Charlie lay. He must have emptied the bag out to investigate it and then not put them all back in. Gingerly Isabel picked up the little shining square. Would it, could it, work on its own?
There was only one way to find out.
Charlie was completely at a loss in Classe. As soon as he spoke, Filippo realised he wasn’t Isabel.
‘Do you know Isabella?’ he asked. ‘She looks very like you.’
‘I have a twin called Isabel, if that’s who you mean,’ said Charlie cautiously.
‘And I can’t help noticing you have no shadow,’ whispered Filippo.
Charlie looked down; this weird bloke was right. He had no shadow. ‘What does that mean?’ he asked.
‘Isabella is without a shadow here too. Look, we should not stand talking in the square. Come into my house and I’ll lend you something to wear. You are attracting attention and we don’t want anyone else to notice you have no shadow.’
Charlie let the man lead him across the market square to a handsome building, making introductions on the way. So this was Filippo and he seemed to have decided that Charlie was to be called Carlo.
Footmen eyed them curiously as Filippo led Charlie across the grand hall and up a marble staircase. His chamber was much grander than any room Charlie had ever been in but it seemed to lack a few basic essentials, like a wardrobe. There was a large wooden chest, through which Filippo was now rummaging for clothes that would fit Charlie.
It wasn’t easy: Filippo was much taller than him. But Charlie was eventually dressed in one of the ridiculous ruffled shirts and a spare pair of black velvet trousers that Filippo commandeered from one of his footmen. White silk stockings and black shoes with silver buckles completed his outlandish outfit; at least Filippo didn’t have big feet.
Charlie looked at himself in a long glass. The surface was greenish and unev
en, with a few bubbles in it, but he could see that he would now pass for a local.
‘That’s better,’ said Filippo. ‘Now tell me why you are here. And where is Isabella? Is something wrong?’
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ said Charlie. ‘but I really have no idea who you are or where I am. I’m sort of . . . er . . . here by accident. I didn’t mean to come.’
Filippo looked at him.
‘This is beyond me,’ he said. ‘We must go to Flavia.’
‘Whatever you say,’ said Charlie.
*
Isabel had never been so pleased to see the inside of the Baptistery; she would even have accepted another wet bath if that was the price of being there. She took the little silver tessera and kissed it before carefully putting it in the pocket of her green dress. It was her tiny passport home.
In the end she hadn’t dared to make the experiment without telling someone and had rung Sky after all. He had answered straight away and, as soon as he understood what had happened, had volunteered to come over and sit with her while she tried to stravagate.
But the thought of what Charlie and her parents would say if they found Sky in her room made her reluctantly turn him down.
‘Let me call Georgia then,’ he said.
‘No, it’s all right,’ said Isabel. ‘I feel better now you know.’
‘Well, text me when you’re back,’ said Sky.
It had taken ages to get off to sleep even though she’d been so tired before; all the adrenalin that had flooded her system when she realised what Charlie had done kept her wired for at least another hour.
So it was a huge relief to be back in Classe. She ran out of the Baptistery and into the street before realising that she had no idea what to do next; where could Charlie be? Normally she would have gone straight down to the harbour and met Filippo there. They were supposed to be studying the code of the Admiral’s flags today. But how likely was it that her brother would be there?
She tried hard to think what he would do in this unfamiliar city, and the thought of him standing about barefoot and in his night things made her grind her teeth in frustration.
She found herself automatically walking towards Flavia’s house, crossing the square and looking at all the market stalls. There was no shaggy blond boy in twenty-first-century nightclothes. She reached Flavia’s and pulled on the iron bell.
A familiar footman showed her straight to Flavia’s parlour, where, to her surprise, she found Filippo. On the settle lay a young man she had never seen before. He was dressed as a Talian but there was something familiar about him; he appeared to be asleep.
Then light dawned.
‘Charlie!’ she cried, flooded with relief.
‘It is all right, Isabella,’ said Flavia, holding up a hand. ‘He is falling asleep and should be back in his own body soon.
Before Isabel could reach her brother, the figure on the settle started to waver and turn transparent. Then he was gone.
‘What happened?’ asked Flavia. ‘How did he get your talisman and how did you get here without it?’
Isabel took out the shining little tessera. ‘He’d dropped one of these,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know if it would be enough to bring me here but it did.’
‘Well, you’d better go straight back,’ said Flavia. ‘I’ve spoken to Rodolfo and he thinks you need to go home and check that your brother is safe and then take the talisman from him. Come back again today if you can but don’t take any risks.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,’ said Isabel. ‘It was so strange seeing him in this room.’
‘It was strange for him too,’ said Filippo.
‘It was Filippo who dressed him in Talian clothes,’ said Flavia. ‘Thank the goddess he was the one who found him. Now, let me give you a light sleeping draught. I gave some to Carlo and told him to think of home. He should be safely back in his body in your world by now but none of us will feel certain of that till you come back and tell us.’
Charlie had accepted the drink and the explanation from the friendly middle-aged woman. And he had fallen asleep really quite easily, worn out by his adventures.
But when he woke, he was not in his familiar bed. He was in a hayloft over a stable, with dry stalks tickling his face. He gave a great sneeze and then groaned.
I must be in some other part of that crazy world, he thought. All he wanted was for the adventure to be over and to be back in his own home in Islington. But it was nowhere near as warm as in Classe, so maybe he was somewhere else in London?
Cautiously he descended the ladder. He didn’t think there were any stables in Barnsbury, and once he stepped out into the light, he could see straight away that it was nothing like his street outside.
The road was roughly cobbled at the sides with a channel of filth running down the middle. The houses were so close together at the tops that people could talk to one another leaning out of their top-floor windows; he saw some women doing this. But it didn’t look Italian any more and he noticed with a jolt that he did have a shadow.
Does this mean I’m back in my own world? he wondered. But where? Or do I mean when?
It was horrible, literally not knowing where in the world he was. And he suddenly felt very hungry. He was still in the clothes that Filippo had given him but had no money, and no pockets, come to that. All he had was the red velvet bag, which he now stashed up one of his full sleeves, making sure it was tightly tied at the wrist. He was going to have to forage.
He stepped out into the street, noticing that the houses had pigs and chickens in the yards beside them. It looked as if he was in a village in the country but one that had been dressed up for a BBC costume drama. Not cleaned up though; the smell of animals and manure was terrible. But there was no other kind of pollution in the air. No smoke or petrol fumes.
He looked back at the house whose stable he had woken up in. And went up to its front door and knocked.
If this is where I’m supposed to be, I’d better get it over with, he thought.
A woman in an apron answered his knock.
‘Ah, hello,’ said Charlie. ‘I was wondering if you could give me something to eat.’
The woman looked at him uncomprehendingly. Perhaps this was Italy after all? Charlie mimed putting food into his mouth and drinking something.
Understanding dawned but the woman was still looking at him dubiously. At least he was wearing the right sort of clothes; Charlie wondered what she would have made of him if he’d been barefoot and in pyjamas.
While she was weighing up whether to let him in, a man came up behind her.
‘Whatte doth the varlet wante?’ he said.
‘Vittels and ale,’ said the woman.
Charlie could just about understand them but they had broad country accents.
And while he was wondering what to say to them, a familiar presence suddenly appeared at his side.
‘What’s up, Charlie?’ said Isabel as casually as she could manage.
He had never been so glad to see her in his life.
‘Bel!’ he said, grabbing her arms. ‘Thank God! What’s going on?’
‘You tell me,’ said Isabel. ‘Why did you steal my talisman?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Charlie. ‘At least I didn’t mean to. I was just sort of looking at it and then I fell asleep. Here, you can have it back.’ He started to fish in his sleeve.
‘No,’ said Isabel, stopping him. ‘You’ll need it if you’re ever to get home. Where are we, anyway?’
The two people in the doorway were watching and listening, fascinated.
‘Mayhap we sholde summone the watch?’ said the woman.
Isabel froze. This woman sounded just like Doctor Dethridge. It was clear that Charlie didn’t understand what she meant by ‘the watch’, but his sister did.
‘No neede for thatte,’ said Isabel, trying to speak in the same way. ‘We . . . meane no harme. We are just lost.’
‘Lost?’ said the man. �
�Why, ye are in the village of Bernersbury. Where wolde ye bee?’
‘Barnsbury?’ said Isabel. A suspicion was dawning on her that made her feel sick to her stomach. ‘Can you, I mean, canne ye telle mee whose house this be?’
‘Yt bilonged to my olde mastire,’ said the woman. ‘Doctor Dethridge. Bot he has been gonne these five yeares.’
‘No more of thatte,’ said the man, rather angrily. ‘Thoughe yore mastire is dede, yore mistresse liveth.’
‘And as fore ye,’ he said, looking at the twins curiously, ‘mayhap ye are of good faithe and are gode servauntes of the Queen, or mayhap ye are scoundrels.’
All Isabel could think was, This is William Dethridge’s house!
And then, We’re in Elizabethan England!
She pulled Charlie away from the house, nodding and smiling like a mad thing to the couple in the doorway.
‘Wow!’ he said. ‘You speak the local lingo.’
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said Isabel. ‘I’m just winging it. But I think we’ve ended up in Barnsbury in 1580.’
In Classe, Flavia was sitting anxiously by her mirrors in constant contact with Rodolfo and Dethridge and waiting for Isabel’s return. She had sent Filippo off to wait in the Baptistery.
Still no sign, she told the Bellezzan Stravaganti. I thought she would be back by now.
Yt likes me notte, said Dethridge. There is somme thynge about this day thatte is notte ryghte.
Another face joined them in the mirror. It was Luciano. In her head Flavia heard him responding to the old Elizabethan: What do you think could have happened?
The talismanne was notte for hym, said Dethridge. Sich a chaunge of ownire myghte make a bygge difference in the gatewaye bitwene oure worldes. Who knowes where those twain have stravayged to?
Sky had hardly slept. There had been no text message from Isabel. As soon as it was light, before six, he was on the phone to the other Stravaganti. It took a while to make them understand, especially Matt, who was a heavy sleeper. But they were all outside Isabel’s house by six thirty, dressed and looking more or less awake.