by Jenny Nimmo
‘Indeed, the Gunns.’ Paton did a sort of tap dance.
‘And Mrs Vertigo? Mr Vertigo’s in South America, directing a very important movie.’
‘Hm. She’s a bit of a glamour puss, Mrs Vertigo,’ Uncle Paton said doubtfully. ‘She does rather attract attention.’
‘But she’s an actress,’ argued Charlie. ‘I know she could act dowdy, if you wanted her to.’ He took a breath and added tentatively, ‘And then there’s Bartholomew Bloor.’
‘Over to you, Charlie,’ Paton said abruptly. ‘I’ve no way of contacting him. You’d better be off now. And be here by five o’clock, please, or I’ll come and fetch you, explosions or not. Perish those street lights.’
When Charlie left the house he felt so optimistic, he almost forgot to look miserable. He had to abandon the effort altogether when Benjamin and Runner Bean came racing up to him. Charlie was so happy to see them he gave a whoop of joy and grabbed Benjamin’s arm.
‘Where are you going?’ Benjamin asked. ‘Can I come? Please don’t say no. Mum and Dad aren’t working for the Bloors any more, you know.’
‘I guessed,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m going to find someone a bit special.’
As they walked through the town, Charlie found himself talking almost non-stop. And, in spite of Benjamin’s wide surprised eyes, his nervous little skips and exclamations of horror, no one could have imagined the sensational events that Charlie was describing to him.
The afternoon sky was already growing dark. Flurries of sleet blew in their faces and by the time they reached the iron bridge an icy fog had drifted over the gorge, completely obliterating the wilderness on the other side. In his hurry to find Naren, Charlie had forgotten the danger.
‘You’d better stay here,’ he told Benjamin, ‘or wait for me at the café. I don’t want anything to happen to you.’
‘Too late,’ said Benjamin, as Runner Bean tore past them. ‘Looks like he knows where he’s going.’
‘He does.’ Charlie grinned. ‘Come on, then.’
It took even longer than Charlie expected. Once again, the bridge was treacherous with icy dew. They walked in single file, Benjamin stepping carefully into Charlie’s footprints, and both clinging tight to the rusty rail. When they got to the other side, Runner Bean led them straight to the little house in the clearing. Naren was about to go into the house with an armful of logs when she saw them. She threw down the logs, ran to Charlie and gave him a hug.
‘This is Sunflower,’ Charlie told Benjamin. ‘And this is my friend, Benjamin, who’s Runner Bean’s real master,’ he told Naren.
Naren invited them into the house, but the door opened suddenly and Bartholomew Bloor stood there, looking very annoyed. ‘I thought I told you not to come here again,’ he said to Charlie. ‘And you’ve brought someone with you – that’s unforgivable.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Charlie said lightly. ‘I had to come because Naren’s messages –’
‘I told Naren to stop,’ Bartholomew said impatiently. ‘The shadow was becoming aware of your nightly conversations. I didn’t want Naren’s messages to betray our whereabouts.’
‘I thought it was something like that. But, Mr Bloor, I had to come. You see, it’s the spell that was in your diaries.’
‘What spell?’
Charlie pulled the scrap of parchment from his pocket and passed it to the explorer. Benjamin was, by now, hopping from foot to foot and blowing on his hands to keep them warm. But Bartholomew didn’t invite them into the house. He listened to Charlie’s story impassively, looked at the spell, and then said, ‘I will bring Naren, of course. I would do anything for your father.’
‘And will you stay?’ asked Charlie. ‘My uncle Paton says that if we fill the Pets’ Café with parents, it will be a kind of protection.’
Bartholomew thrust the spell into Charlie’s hands. ‘Your uncle is full of fine ideas. He should have put them into action years ago, or your father wouldn’t be where he is.’
‘Don’t say things like that about my uncle,’ Charlie said furiously. ‘I trust him more than anyone else in the world. You’re a nasty, unforgiving person, Mr Bloor, just like the rest of your family. If you don’t want to help us, suit yourself. We can do without you.’
A series of curious expressions fleetingly crossed Bartholomew’s face: disbelief, anger and pure shock. And last of all, a kind of terror.
Before the explorer could say another word, Charlie grabbed Benjamin’s arm and dragged him away from the cottage.
‘Wow, Charlie! How could you say those things?’ whispered Benjamin.
‘I don’t know,’ Charlie admitted. ‘He’s just so mean, that man. I hope I haven’t blown it.’
When they got to the gate, Charlie looked back. The explorer had gone but Naren was standing in the porch. She gave Charlie a cheerful wave and called, ‘I’ll be there, Charlie. Four o’clock!’
The boys waved back and Runner Bean gave a hearty farewell bark.
They had a few scares on their second crossing of the bridge. Twice Benjamin slipped on to his knees, and then, when they were almost on the bank, Charlie lost his footing altogether. He clutched the railing with one hand, while Runner Bean grabbed his sleeve in his mouth and hauled him back again.
‘Phew! I’m glad Runner came,’ said Charlie, crawling on to the wet grass.
They sat on the bank for a few minutes, telling each other how lucky they were to be alive. But Runner Bean was eager to be off again. Someone had mentioned the Pets’ Café and he knew that Mrs Onimous would give him a treat. She’d probably smother him in kisses as well, but it was a price worth paying for a few Nut-Pom sticks.
It was dark when Runner Bean raced the two boys down Frog Street. Norton-the-bouncer was just closing the door of the Pets’ Café, but he opened it again when Charlie called out to him.
‘Your friends were here,’ said Norton, giving Runner Bean a pat, ‘the whole ruddy lot of them. They gave up waiting for you. It’s closing time, young Charlie.’
‘Can we come in, just for a moment?’ begged Charlie.
‘Be quick about it, then.’ Norton frowned over Charlie’s head. ‘And who’s this, coming down here like the prophet of doom?’
Charlie looked back to see Uncle Paton striding towards them. He was wearing dark glasses and a large black fedora, and he kept his eyes on the ground as he paced down the cobbled alley.
‘It’s my uncle,’ Charlie said with relief.
‘The power-booster? Better turn the lights off then.’ Norton reached for the light switch and the café was plunged into darkness.
‘Ah, there you are, Charlie. It is you, isn’t it?’ said Uncle Paton, stepping into the café. ‘I can’t see a thing.’
‘Just as well,’ said Norton.
‘Uh!’ Paton jumped. He hadn’t seen the bouncer standing behind the door. ‘I’ve come to see Mr Onimous on very important business,’ he said, recovering his dignity.
‘I’d better warn him then.’ Norton could be heard banging into tables as he made his way though the dark café. ‘Ow!’ he grunted as he walked into the counter. ‘Mr Onimous,’ he called. ‘Customer to see you. Mr Yewbeam, the you-know-what.’
A whisker-thin strip of light above the kitchen door was immediately extinguished and, a few seconds later, Mr Onimous appeared, carrying a tall candelabra with two candles flickering at the top.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Paton?’ asked Mr Onimous, whose whiskery face could just be seen peeping over the counter.
‘Good evening, Orvil,’ said Uncle Paton, removing his dark glasses. ‘I – that is, we,’ he glanced at Charlie, ‘have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you.’
‘You’d better come into the kitchen, then.’ Mr Onimous held the candelabra as high as he could to light their way across the room.
‘Can I come too?’ asked Benjamin diffidently. Runner Bean added a plaintive whine, treats being on his mind.
‘Ah, Benjamin Brown. I’d forgotten.’ Unc
le Paton gave the boy a cool stare.
‘Please! My parents aren’t spying for Mr Bloor any more,’ Benjamin said in a rush. ‘Mr Ezekiel wouldn’t pay them, and Dad had a terrible row with him, and Mum said she’d never speak to him again. Mr Ezekiel, I mean, not Dad.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Paton. ‘Of course you may join us.’
A few minutes later they were all three sitting round the Onimouses’ ample kitchen table, drinking tea and eating lemon curd tarts. Runner Bean was not disappointed. Mrs Onimous gave him a whole bowl of chocolate beef bars, to make up for the ten kisses he’d endured. Though with little Una about he was having to put up with a rather rough grooming.
Uncle Paton came straight to the point. He held nothing back in his long explanation of why the endowed children must use the secret door into the castle. Charlie even produced the scrap of parchment as a further persuasion.
The Onimouses listened in spellbound silence and when all that could be said had been said, Mr Onimous shook his furry head in wonder.
‘Those other kids, your friends, they were talking about the king,’ said the little man, ‘but we couldn’t get the whole picture. This bit of parchment – this spell, or whatever it is – it explains it all, doesn’t it? I’ve never relaxed the rules before, but this is an exception. As for the door, well, I can see we have no option. As long as all the kids keep their mouths shut about it.’
‘They will,’ said Charlie fervently.
‘I knew our little Una would come in handy,’ said Mrs Onimous, grabbing the little girl and giving her a squeeze.
‘Give over,’ giggled Una, ‘or I’ll lose me lunch.’
‘Bless her,’ said Mr Onimous, ‘she can’t help it.’ He closed his eyes and counted the number of Charlie’s friends on his fingers, muttering the names of each one in turn. When he came to Una, he opened his eyes and said, ‘Even with the Chinese girl, there’s only nine. How are we going to find ten, Mr Paton?’
‘Ah,’ said Paton. ‘That I wouldn’t know.’
A hush fell over the room. Even Una was silenced by the look of fierce concentration on everyone’s face.
All at once, Mr Onimous leaned forward and said, ‘If I may be so bold, I’m not less than twenty years, but I am awful small. D’you think I would do?’
They all stared at the small, furry little man, and then Uncle Paton said, ‘Orvil, I think you should give it a go. For the life of me I can’t imagine where we’re going to find another child of the Red King under twenty.’ He rose from the table. ‘Orvil, Onoria, I thank you for your hospitality. Boys, we must be on our way.’
‘It’s been a pleasure as always, Mr Paton,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘But I nearly forgot something. The bird-girl, Emma, said she was going to look for the white horse tonight.’
‘The white horse?’ Charlie frowned.
Mr Onimous shrugged. ‘She said the horse would know where the king was.’
Charlie uttered a cry of understanding. ‘The white horse is the queen. She’s bound to be close to the king.’
‘I do hope the dear girl will be safe,’ Paton said anxiously.
‘Nothing we can do about it now.’ Mr Onimous lifted the candelabra and led his visitors out of the kitchen and through the dark café.
Norton-the-bouncer had already gone home, and Mr Onimous could be heard locking and bolting his door, as Uncle Paton, the two boys and Runner Bean made their way up Frog Street.
A light was on in the sitting room at number nine. Believing that Grandma Bone was watching TV, Charlie and his uncle avoided the room. They went straight to the kitchen where they immediately lit several candles.
‘Better not talk about tomorrow,’ Uncle Paton warned, as he set about making a plate of ham sandwiches.
Charlie nodded. He poured himself a glass of milk and sat at the table. The figure in the doorway took him by surprise and he gave a loud yell, spilling some of the milk.
‘What the –?’ Uncle Paton turned to the door. ‘Amy?’ he said. ‘Is that you?’
Charlie’s mother stepped into the room. Even in candlelight her skin looked icy white. Her hair was as colourless as thistledown and only a hint of blue showed in her huge pale eyes. Her ghostly appearance was emphasised by a long white gown with a thread of silver at the hem.
‘Mum,’ Charlie said, with a catch in his voice. ‘I thought you were out.’
‘Mr Noble was very busy today.’ She gave a dreamy smile. ‘But tomorrow he’s going to take me somewhere wonderful.’
‘Care for a sandwich, Amy?’ Paton asked in a loud voice.
‘No thank you.’ She twisted the huge emerald ring on her finger. ‘I’m not at all hungry these days.’
‘You look as if you haven’t eaten for weeks,’ said Paton, hoping his gruff tone would drag Amy back to reality.
But Charlie’s mother just smiled. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she giggled. ‘I’m going to get married. How about that?’
Charlie’s mouth fell open, but he couldn’t speak. Even Uncle Paton seemed lost for words. They watched Amy drift away, heard her mount the stairs and then listened to a door closing at the top of the house.
‘She didn’t even look in on Maisie,’ Charlie said miserably.
‘Bear up, dear boy,’ Uncle Paton squeezed his shoulder. ‘Tomorrow the Red King will have his day!’
Not far from Filbert Street, Emma and Miss Ingledew were standing outside the bookshop. The temperature was falling fast; already the cobbles were dusted with frost. The moon was rising over the cathedral and an early star shone in the deep blue sky.
‘I wish you didn’t have to do this.’ Miss Ingledew laid a hand on Emma’s blonde head. ‘You will take care.’
‘I will, Auntie. Gabriel says the king is a tree. He saw it when he put on the cloak. It’s all up to me now. I feel so – I don’t know – excited, I suppose. I know I’ll find them.’ Emma gave her aunt a quick kiss. ‘I’m going now. Don’t worry.’ She began to run down the narrow alley that led away from the square.
In a dark corner, where two trees grew close to the wall of the city library, Emma stood very still and thought of a bird. She had decided to take the form of a barn owl, a bird she considered to be the most beautiful of all night owls. Her fingers tingled as they gradually changed into feathers, and she couldn’t restrain a hoot of joy when her creamy wings lifted her into the air.
The sky had looked so calm, but once Emma was flying she was hit by a wave of turbulence. Someone was sending a surge of fury through the air. Tracing the path of anger to its source, Emma found herself outside a window at the very top of Kingdom’s store.
She perched on the sill and cautiously peeped inside. A man in a green robe paced across an ocean of white fur. Emma shivered. The man held a beautiful mirror; its gold frame was studded with jewels but the glass itself was scarred by a crack that ran from top to bottom. The man stopped and looked at a painting on the wall behind him. The painting showed a strange landscape of dark mountains and tall, shadowy towers. A place where nightmares begin, thought Emma. The man turned the mirror to face the painting. He chanted in a deep, toneless voice. Suddenly he cursed the mirror and swung round, flinging it against the wall.
The owl gave a hoot of surprise and flew away.
Did he see me? Emma wondered. Did he know who I was?
She flew on, tilting dangerously through the violent night air. It took all her strength to avoid being thrown against tall trees and telegraph wires, but, at last, she was flying over the garden of Bloor’s Academy. Below her, she could see the walls of the ruined castle. And then, with a cry of pain, she found herself falling. A stone had hit the owl’s snowy neck and she dropped to the ground, her wings spread against the earth, her head twisted to the sky.
A few metres away from her stood Joshua Tilpin and someone in a black hooded cloak. Joshua was clutching a catapult.
‘Look at the owl,’ said Joshua. ‘Will our ancestor be pleased, Mother?’
‘Very pleased.
’ The woman’s hood fell back.
Emma’s slanting owl eyes blinked as she recognised Miss Chrystal.
‘It’s not dead, but it soon will be.’ Joshua leapt forward and Emma closed her eyes.
But the blow she expected never came. Instead she heard a low growl, and then a soft thump as a four-footed creature landed behind her. She could feel its warm breath on her back, and then the grow turned into a threatening snarl.
‘Good beast,’ said Miss Chrystal in a commanding tone. ‘Give us the owl.’
The beast continued to snarl, and when Joshua attempted a second move, it leapt over the owl and rushed at Joshua, who fled from the scene, screaming with fear.
When Emma opened her eyes again, the boy and the witch had gone. But the beast sat close by, beneath the tree. It was a dreadful-looking creature, with a humped back and luminous yellow eyes.
‘Asa?’ Emma called softly. ‘Asa, is it you?’
The beast whined softly and ran into the undergrowth.
Like every frightened creature, Emma lay as still as possible, until she was sure the beast was really gone. When at last she tried to move, she found that she was not injured at all. Shock had brought her down. She stood up, lifted her wings and soared into the sky. Keeping her eyes trained on the ground, she sailed over the ruined castle until a movement caught her eye. A white horse was trotting round a large, circular glade. Emma flew down and perched on a wall close to the horse. When she saw the owl, the white horse came to a halt and stared anxiously at the bird.
‘Your Majesty.’ Emma bowed her head. ‘I need your help.’
‘Bird-child!’ The queen trotted over to Emma. ‘How good it is to see you. How can I help?’
‘I’m looking for the king,’ said Emma.
‘Then you have found him.’ The queen moved aside and Emma saw that a large tree grew in the centre of the glade. At first it had seemed a dark and shapeless tower but, all at once, colour seeped into it, and Emma found herself gazing at a tree of astonishing beauty. Its leaves were red and gold, and when they moved in the night air they seemed to burn with a fiery light. From its small glistening crown, the branches grew in ever-widening waves until, close to the ground, the base of its broad trunk could be seen – a trunk that was furrowed with streams of wine-dark liquid.