Charlie Bone and the Hidden King (Children of the Red King)

by Jenny Nimmo

  Books by Jenny Nimmo

  Midnight for Charlie Bone

  Charlie Bone and the Time Twister

  Charlie Bone and the Blue Boa

  Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors

  Charlie Bone and the Hidden King

  Charlie Bone and the Wilderness Wolf

  Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock

  Charlie Bone and the Red Knight

  The Secret Kingdom

  The Stones of Ravenglass

  The Snow Spider trilogy

  Dedicated to the memory of Miriam Hodgson,

  a true friend and inspiring editor.

  First published in Great Britain 2006 by Egmont UK Limited

  This edition published 2010

  by Egmont UK Limited

  239 Kensington High Street

  London W8 6SA

  Text copyright © 2006 Jenny Nimmo

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted

  ISBN 978 1 4052 2820 6

  eISBN 978 1 7803 1206 4

  www.egmont.co.uk

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Egmont is passionate about helping to preserve the world’s remaining ancient forests. We only use paper from legal and sustainable forest sources, so we know where every single tree comes from that goes into every paper that makes up every book.

  This book is made from paper certified by the Forestry Stewardship Council (FSC), an organisation dedicated to promoting responsible management of forest resources. For more information on the FSC, please visit www.fsc.org. To learn more about Egmont’s sustainable paper policy, please visit www.egmont.co.uk/ethical.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title page

  Books by Jenny Nimmo

  Copyright

  The endowed children

  Prologue

  1. A deadly hour

  2. Vanishing animals

  3. The girl in the sunshine coat

  4. A witch with two shadows

  5. Into the wilderness

  6. The explorer

  7. Trapped in the snow

  8. Frozen Maisie

  9. Amy is bewitched

  10. The hundred heads

  11. The shocking truth

  12. Bartholomew’s diaries

  13. The altered photograph

  14. The shadow attacks

  15. Olivia betrays herself

  16. The Mirror of Amoret

  17. The enchanter and the endowed

  18. An owl in danger

  19. The king’s tears

  20. Leopards!

  The children of the Red King, called the endowed

  Naren Bloor

  Adopted daughter of Bartholomew Bloor, Naren can send shadow words over great distances. She is descended from the Red King’s grandson who was abducted by pirates and taken to China.

  Asa Pike

  A were-beast. He is descended from a tribe who lived in the Northern forests and kept strange beasts. Asa can change shape at dusk.

  Billy Raven

  Billy can communicate with animals. One of his ancestors conversed with ravens that sat on a gibbet where dead men hung. For this talent he was banished from his village.

  Lysander Sage

  Descended from an African wise man. He can call up his spirit ancestors.

  Tancred Torsson

  A storm-bringer. His Scandinavian ancestor was named after the thunder god, Thor. Tancred can bring rain, wind, thunder and lightning.

  Gabriel Silk

  Gabriel can feel scenes and emotions through the clothes of others. He comes from a line of psychics.

  Emma Tolly

  Emma can fly. Her surname derives from the Spanish swordsman from Toledo, whose daughter married the Red King. He is therefore an ancestor to all the endowed children.

  Charlie Bone

  Charlie can travel into photographs and pictures. Through his father he is descended from the Red King, and through his mother, from Mathonwy, a Welsh magician and friend of the Red King.

  Dorcas Loom

  Dorcas can bewitch items of clothing. Her ancestor, Lola Defarge, knitted a shrivelling shawl whilst enjoying the execution of the Queen of France in 1793.

  Idith and Inez Branko

  Telekinetic twins, distantly related to Zelda Dobinsky, who has left Bloor’s Academy.

  Joshua Tilpin

  Joshua has magnetism. His origins are, at present, a mystery. Even the Bloors are unsure where he lives. He arrived at their doors alone and introduced himself. His fees are paid through a private bank.

  Una Onimous

  Mr Onimous’s niece. Una is five years old and her endowment is being kept secret until it has fully developed.

  Olivia Vertigo

  Descended from Guanhamara, who fled the Red King’s castle and married an Italian Prince. Olivia is an illusionist. The Bloors are unaware of her endowment.

  The endowed are all descended from the ten children of the Red King: a magician-king who left Africa in the twelfth century, accompanied by three leopards.

  Prologue

  The Red King and his friend walked together through the forest. It was a golden autumn and leaves fell about them like bright coins. The king was tall, his black hair showed not a trace of grey and his dark skin was unlined, but the sorrow in his eyes was centuries old.

  Mathonwy, the magician, was a slighter man. His hair and beard were silver-white and his back bent from years spent in the forest. He wore a cloak of midnight blue, patterned with faded stars.

  Ten paces behind the men came three leopards; they were old now and not so quick as they had once been, but their gaze never wandered from the figure of the king. He was their master and their friend and they would have followed him through fire.

  Mathonwy was troubled. He knew that this was not one of those companionable walks that he was used to taking with the king. Today their pacing had a deeper purpose. Each step took them further from the world of men, and closer to the forest’s heart.

  They came at last to a glade where even the dead leaves were silent. The grass was the colour of honey and the hawthorn trees heavy with crimson berries. Mathonwy rested on a fallen tree but the king stood looking up through the bare branches. The sky had turned a burning red but, in a high band of deepest blue, the first star showed.

  ‘Let us make a fire,’ said the king.

  Mathonwy delighted in bonfires. He sang in Welsh while he gathered the kindling, and the merry song hid the dread in his heart. The dead twigs were tinder dry and soon they had a small blaze going. A thin column of smoke lifted through the trees and the king declared it to be the sweetest scent in all the world.

  Now, thought Mathonwy. Now, he is going to ask me.

  But it was not yet.

  ‘First the cats,’ said the king. ‘They cannot survive for much longer in a land of cold winters and callous hunters. Come here, my good creatures.’

  The leopards walked up to the king. They purred as they brushed their heads against his hand.

  ‘It is time for you to wear new coats,’ the king told them. ‘Find a master who is good, for this one has to leave you now.’

  It was said. Mathonwy shuddered. The king was leaving. How empty the forest would be without the companion who had filled his mind with wonders, who had shared his thoughts, answered his doubts, conversed
from sunrise to moonset.

  The king walked round the fire with long measured strides and the leopards followed him, around and around and around.

  ‘Watch my children,’ the king commanded them. ‘Seek out the descendants of the children who are lost to me: sons and daughters of brave Amadis and bright Petrello, children of gentle Guanhamara and clever Tolemeo, descendants of my youngest child, Amoret. Help them, my loyal cats, keep them safe.’

  When the king stepped away from the fire the big cats continued to circle it. They were running now, leaping and bounding.

  The king raised his arm. ‘Bright flame, burning sun and golden star,’ he chanted. ‘Guard my children with your wild hearts. Live safely in the world of men, but remain forever what you are.’

  Mathonwy had seen such spells as these before, but tonight the king’s magic had a special beauty. The bounding leopards had become a ring of fire. Sparks flew into the trees and glowing streams festooned the branches, bathing the glade in ever-changing rainbow colours. When the king let his hand fall, the ring had faded; the leopards had gone. Mathonwy rose to his feet. ‘Where are they?’

  The king pointed to a tree behind the magician. On a low branch sat three cats. One was the colour of copper, one as orange as a flame, the last like a pale gold star.

  ‘Behold! Aries, Leo and Sagittarius. Their coats have changed, but I still know who they are.’ The king laughed contentedly, pleased with his spell. ‘And now it is my turn.’

  Mathonwy sighed. From the folds of his cloak he drew out a slim ash stick – his wand. ‘What would you have me do?’

  The king looked about him. ‘The forest has become my home. The guise of a tree would suit me well.’

  ‘You don’t need my help for that,’ said the magician. ‘Shape-shifting comes as naturally to you as flying to a bird.’

  The king regarded his only friend. ‘Shape-shifting is not what I need, Mathonwy. I crave an everlasting change. If I am doomed to live forever, then I want to discard my human form, and take on a more peaceful aspect.’

  ‘You want to live forever as a tree?’ Mathonwy asked. ‘A tree without speech, without movement? What if they come and cut down the forest?’

  The king considered this. ‘Perhaps I shall learn to move,’ he said with his mischievous smile. ‘Don’t grieve, my friend. Last night I saw a boy in the clouds and I knew that he was one of mine. A future child. And listen to this, Mathonwy: I know that he was from your line too. This knowledge gave me a moment of great happiness. Now I feel the Red King can leave the world.’

  ‘The world and me,’ said Mathonwy without bitterness, for he was pleased to know that one day his bloodline would be joined with the king’s.

  ‘Don’t begrudge me this favour,’ begged the king. ‘If I do it alone, then I will be tempted to return. Only you can make my transformation permanent. I am so weary, my friend. I cannot carry my sorrows any further.’

  Mathonwy gave a gentle sigh. ‘I will do as you wish. But forgive me if I do not compose the tree in a way that you imagine.’

  The king smiled, but although he fought his sorrow with all his strength it began to overwhelm him and his eyes were clouded with tears.

  The magician was filled with compassion for the king and began to work quickly. He touched his friend’s shoulders with the tip of his ash-wand, then reached for the crown. But the thin gold band was so embedded in the king’s black curls Mathonwy let it rest where it belonged.

  The king wore the robes of coarse hemp that he had worn ever since he had come to live in the forest. As he lifted his hands the rough sleeves fell back and beneath his arms slim green shoots sprouted from his body. Mathonwy tapped the shoots with his wand and they began to thicken. The king’s head rose, his body stretched, taller and taller, wider and wider. Leaves began to cover the branches; like tiny mirrors they reflected the colours of the autumn forest and the red-gold fire.

  The cats watched the transformation of their master with glowing eyes. They watched the magician leap around the king, his wand a streak of sparks, his dark cloak flying, his hair a drift of thistledown. And now the cats began to howl, for their master had all but vanished; only his head remained atop a tree of dazzling splendour. And, as his dear features gradually faded, the tears that fell from his dark eyes ran a deep berry red.

  ‘Oh, my children!’ sighed the king. And then he was gone.

  But the tears flowed on, coursing down the furrowed trunk, red as blood.

  Mathonwy stared at the tears in dismay. He tried to stem them with his wand, but on they flowed. So, summoning all the wit, the poetry and the magic that was in his soul, Mathonwy cast a spell. ‘One day, my friend,’ he said, ‘your children will come to find you, and oh, what a day that will be!’

  A deadly hour

  Snow filled the air; thick and fast it heaped itself upon the sleeping city, almost as though it were trying to keep it safe. A blanket of down to smother the wickedness that someone was determined to let loose.

  It was the second week in January, a time when snow is not uncommon, and yet this was no ordinary snowfall. On a hill above the city a boy stood with his arms wide, as if for flight. As the wind buffeted his body, clouds of snow billowed into his wide sleeves and under the green cape he wore. Tancred Torsson could summon rain, wind, thunder and lightning, but this was the first time he had attempted snow. And why should he be standing here, in the dead of night, beckoning snow? Because three cats had climbed up to his windowsill and woken him with their calls. Slipping a cape over his pyjamas, Tancred had rushed out into the dark.

  The cats met him at his front door and, while his parents slept on (his father sending thundery snores through the house), he had followed the three bright creatures down a shadowy lane to a windy hillside where he could see the city lights twinkling below him. Once there, the cats stared and stared at Tancred until they had made him understand their wishes.

  Tancred did not have the gift of understanding animals but, being a descendant of the Red King, he could, sometimes, follow the gist of their yowling. ‘Snow?’ he said. ‘Is that what you want?’

  A loud trill came from the cats, their voices blending musically.

  ‘Never done that before.’ Tancred scratched his stiff blond hair. ‘But, hey, I’ll give it a go.’

  The cats purred their satisfaction.

  While Tancred set to work, the cats sped down the hillside into the city. The first cat was the colour of a copper sunset, the second like an orange flame, the third a yellow star. They bounded lightly down alleys, through gardens and over stone walls and fences, their paws leaving scarcely a mark on the first scattering of snow. The tall city buildings were beginning to disappear in a shroud of white silence.

  This was an hour like no other. A time when the living were as quiet as the dead. A deadly hour.

  The cats ran down Filbert Street. They had nearly reached their destination when a car appeared, moving slowly up the street towards them. It stopped outside number twelve and three figures stumbled out. A man, a woman and a boy. Grumbling and exclaiming at this sudden snowstorm they heaved bags and cases on to the pavement.

  ‘We’re just in time,’ said the woman. ‘Another ten minutes and it would have been too deep for the car.’ She climbed the steps up to her front door.

  ‘What a welcome,’ muttered the man. ‘Let’s go back to Hong Kong.’ He gave a gruff chuckle and slammed the car door.

  The boy carried two cases up the steps, then turned, as if he felt something watching him. He looked across the street and saw the three cats. ‘It’s the Flames,’ he said, ‘outside Charlie’s house. I wonder what they want?’

  ‘Don’t stand out there, Benjamin,’ said his mother. ‘Come inside.’

  Benjamin ignored her. ‘Hello, Flames!’ he called softly. ‘It’s me, Benjamin. I’m back.’

  A throaty rumble came from the cats. A growl of welcome that also held a note of complaint. ‘About time, too,’ they seemed to say.

&nbs
p; ‘See you soon,’ said Benjamin as his mother hauled him and the cases through the door.

  The cats watched the door close. When the lights came on inside number twelve, they turned their attention to the house behind them. A leafless chestnut tree stood in front of the house and they quickly climbed to a wide branch that hung outside one of the dark windows. Sitting in a row, the cats began to sing.

  On the other side of the window, Charlie Bone stirred in his sleep. Someone was calling him. Was it a dream? His eyes opened. A sound he recognised came floating through the window. ‘Flames?’ he murmured. Now he was wide awake. Leaping out of bed, he drew back a curtain and opened the window.

  The sight of three shining creatures, veiled in snow, took Charlie’s breath away. When he’d convinced himself he wasn’t dreaming he asked, ‘Aries, Leo, Sagittarius, is it really you?’

  They didn’t bother to reply. With soft thuds they landed on the carpet, followed by a cloud of flying snow.

  Charlie closed the window. ‘You’d better come downstairs,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a night for warm milk and maybe a slice of turkey?’ He glanced at a bed on the other side of the room, where a boy lay sleeping, his hair as white as his pillow.

  The cats padded after Charlie as he crept downstairs. In the kitchen he warmed a pan of milk and poured it into three saucers. Deep, delighted purring filled the room as the cats lapped the milk. As soon as it was gone, Charlie laid slices of turkey on the empty saucers.