by Jenny Nimmo
“’Fraid so,” said Charlie.
“What do you think Skarpo will do, if he’s here — somewhere?”
“We’ll just have to wait and see. Billy, you won’t tell anyone about this, will you?”
Billy shook his head. “I won’t tell about Skarpo, but I think they already know about you going into pictures and that. I heard them talking once, about the painting, old Mr. Ezekiel and Matron. They said, ‘Do you think Charlie will go in?’ I didn’t understand what they were talking about then.”
Charlie perched beside the small albino. “I know you couldn’t help being a spy,” he said, “but it’s time you chose sides, Billy. I’ve got to know if I can trust you.”
Billy hung his head. “Mr. Ezekiel said he’d found some really kind people who wanted to be my parents, but it was a lie. I’ll never trust him again.”
“The Bloors lie about everything,” said Charlie. “But when this is all over, I’m sure someone will find some parents for you.”
“Cook said she would, but when all what’s over?”
Charlie wasn’t sure, himself. Perhaps he meant when Ollie Sparks had been rescued, and Belle, or Yolanda, had disappeared. When Uncle Paton was himself again, and Lyell, Charlie’s father, had been found. Or perhaps he meant the struggle between those who ruined lives if they didn’t get what they wanted and others who couldn’t help trying to stop them. “The children of the Red King,” Charlie murmured. “It’s a battle between all of us. I meant when that was over.”
Billy looked dubious. “Perhaps it will never be over. Or maybe it will be a long, long time. I think I could wait quite a long time. Maybe a year. But I don’t want to be grown-up before I get parents. I wish I could remember my real parents. I wish I knew how they really died. No one would ever explain it to me.”
Charlie thought of his own father. Everyone pretended that he was dead. But Charlie knew it was a lie. At least Billy had a photo. Charlie didn’t even have that. “You showed me a photo of your parents once,” he said. “They looked nice.”
“Yes,” said Billy sadly.
“Come on, let’s get dressed,” said Charlie on a brighter note.
They found Mrs. Bone in the kitchen, cooking two large breakfasts. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to leave you on your own,” she said, “but there’s plenty of food in the fridge and I’ll be back before lunch. Thank goodness Paton is better.” Charlie wasn’t so sure about Paton.
“We’re not exactly on our own,” said Charlie as a door slammed upstairs. Grandma Bone was on the move.
Amy glanced up at the ceiling and said, “You know what I mean. Enjoy your breakfasts. ’Bye now.” And she was off.
By the time Grandma Bone came marching into the kitchen, Charlie and Billy had eaten their breakfast, and Billy had managed to slip some toast and bacon into his pocket.
“A bit of starving wouldn’t hurt you,” she said, glaring at Charlie, “after eating everything in sight.”
Charlie almost told her that Runner Bean had eaten the pâté, but he thought better of it. He wanted a peaceful weekend.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I made a mistake. We’re going to the park now, Grandma.” He took his plate to the sink, but when he turned around his grandmother gave him one of her mean smiles.
“No, you’re not,” she said. “Someone very important is coming to visit us.”
“Who?” asked Charlie.
“That’s for me to know,” she retorted. “Clean yourselves up and look nice, they’ll be here in half an hour.”
Billy scuttled nervously to the sink with his plate.
“Wash it up, dear,” said Grandma Bone.
Charlie waited while Billy dutifully cleaned his plate and put it in the rack.
Back in the bedroom, Billy fed the hungry rat and then began to grunt to it. Rembrandt squeaked back.
“He says the mouse ought to go home,” Billy told Charlie. “It’s not good for him here.”
“It’s not good for us either,” said Charlie. “But even if we found the mouse, I wouldn’t know how to get it back into the painting. Unless I took it myself, and I don’t want to go in again. I don’t trust Skarpo. He might make it impossible for me to get out.”
“If he’s still in there,” said Billy.
“He must be,” said Charlie desperately. “I mean if he was out, we’d know by now. He’s dangerous. He only deals in destruction. He told me once that he liked to maim, poison, burn, shrink, and drive people mad.”
Billy’s mouth had fallen open. He uttered a soft “Oooo” of horror.
The two boys waited anxiously for their important visitor to arrive. Occasionally, they looked down into the street, but no one grand or imposing walked up to the door. No flashy or expensive car stopped close by.
And then Billy suddenly shivered and said, “There it is. It’s him.”
Charlie saw a black car with smoked-glass windows gliding to a halt in front of the house. He recognized the car immediately. It had come once before, when Billy had stayed with him. Charlie had never seen the passenger. When he had gone to look in the car, a long cane had whipped through the open door and whacked him on the knees — something he wasn’t likely to forget.
A powerful-looking man in a black suit got out of the driver’s seat and walked around to the passenger door. A black chauffeur’s hat hid the cropped head, but Charlie knew the broad nose, red face, and small slanting eyes. It was Weedon, the gardener and handyman.
Weedon opened the passenger door very wide and then leaned into the car. After a moment of maneuvering, he stood up with a weird bundle in his arms. Most of it was covered by a woolen blanket, but Charlie could see a hideously wizened face under a black skullcap and two scrawny legs in white socks with red velvet slippers on the feet.
“Is that who I think it is?” said Charlie
Billy nodded miserably. “Mr. Ezekiel. He’s come for me.”
“Maybe not. Let’s wait and see.” As Charlie said this a third person got out of the car, slammed all the open doors, and followed Weedon and his bundle.
“I should have known she’d come, too,” said Charlie as he watched his great-aunt Lucretia mount the steps.
“Charlie! Billy! You’re wanted,” shouted Grandma Bone.
Billy put Rembrandt in his box and followed Charlie downstairs. Grandma Bone was waiting for them outside the living room door. “Come in, boys. Come in,” she said, smiling as though they’d won tickets to a soccer match.
Charlie went in first and found himself facing the oldest-looking man he’d ever seen. He was sitting in the biggest armchair, still wrapped in his woolen blanket. His face was so withered it looked like a skull, and his thin white hair hung to his shoulders in waxy strands. His mouth had all but disappeared beneath a long, knobbly nose, but his black eyes glittered with a frightening intensity.
“Charlie Bone — at last.” The old man held out a stringy, mottled hand.
Charlie looked at the hand, wondering if it ate things. He decided he’d better shake it but, before he knew it, his fingers were being pulverized by something that felt like a nutcracker. He retrieved his hand with a gasp of pain, and Mr. Weedon, who was sitting in an upright chair beside the old man, gave a malicious grin.
“We know Billy,” said Ezekiel. “In fact, we know each other very well, don’t we, Billy?” He picked up a cane propped against his chair and tapped the floor by Billy’s feet.
Billy gave a silent nod.
“Sit down, boys!” Ezekiel’s voice sounded rather like a rusty saw.
Charlie and Billy made for the nearest chair and shared it, both perching on the edge. Grandma Bone sat beside Lucretia on the sofa, and Lucretia said, “Well, isn’t this nice?”
Charlie thought, Hardly.
“Now.” Ezekiel rubbed his hands together. “To begin with, I’m very pleased to see you two boys have made friends. We’ve all got to work together, haven’t we? The more of us the better. Isn’t that so?”
Charlie sai
d, “It depends.”
Ezekiel frowned, and Grandma Bone and her sister muttered, “Insolence! Behave yourself.”
“You’re not going to be like your father, are you?” said Ezekiel, raising his voice and glaring at Charlie. “I expect you’ve noticed I can’t walk. Do you know who’s responsible? Your father, darn him. He did this to me. He deserved to die.”
Charlie gritted his teeth. He was so angry he was afraid he might do something violent. Instead he muttered, “He isn’t dead.”
“What?” cried the old man. “What did you say?”
“I said my father isn’t dead!” Charlie shouted.
The old man’s black eyes flashed. He stared at Charlie for several seconds and then he gave a shrill cackle. “Prove it,” he snickered.
Charlie said nothing.
“No, you can’t, can you?” said Ezekiel. He was suddenly overcome by a bout of coughing, and Grandma Bone rushed out to fetch him a cup of tea. While she was gone, Aunt Lucretia snarled, “You’re a very stupid boy, Charlie Bone. Why can’t you see sense? Why can’t you do the right thing?”
Charlie remained silent and Billy squashed himself farther back into the chair.
Grandma Bone returned with three cups of tea and a plate of cookies. She handed the tea and cookies to Ezekiel, Lucretia, and Mr. Weedon, but when Charlie put a hand toward the plate, Lucretia gave him a hard slap.
“Ouch!” Charlie withdrew his stinging hand.
Ezekiel said, “Aw, we mustn’t hit Charlie. We want him on our side, don’t we?”
“I sometimes wonder if he’s worth the trouble,” sniffed Grandma Bone.
Charlie couldn’t stop himself. “If you want me on your side, you’ve got a funny way of going about it.”
Grandma Bone raised her eyebrows. Ezekiel slurped his tea. Lucretia stirred hers. At last the old man said, “We never meant to do you any harm, Charlie. Not permanent harm. We just had to teach you a lesson, now and again. You have to be shown the way.”
“And what way is that?” asked Charlie.
Ezekiel shook his head. “I want us all to be on the same side, Charlie. Think how powerful we could be. All you bright, gifted children — children of the Red King. Think what you could do. Billy understands, don’t you, Billy?”
Billy squirmed in his seat.
“Billy’s a good boy,” said Grandma Bone. “Billy does what he’s told. He doesn’t break the rules.”
“Rules,” said Charlie. “My father broke your rules and you did something horrible to him. And my uncle Paton went where you didn’t want him to go, and now he’s all — ruined. That’s not fair!”
Mr. Weedon leaned forward. “All’s fair in love and war,” he announced in a commanding voice.
The other three adults looked at him in surprise, and Charlie had an odd feeling that, of all the people in the room, Mr. Weedon was the one he should fear most.
Ezekiel gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m tired of this. I don’t like arguing with little boys. Just behave yourself, Charlie Bone. You know what I can do to people who don’t.”
Charlie was trying to think of a clever reply when a mouse suddenly appeared on the mantelpiece. Everyone watched it scuttling around the candlesticks and china ornaments. And then it stood on its hind legs beside the clock and began to squeak.
Grandma Bone and Aunt Lucretia had already begun to shriek when Ezekiel shouted, “What’s it saying, Billy? Tell us.”
“It says it’s lost,” said Billy, although the mouse was actually saying, “I’m going out of my mind with worry. Where am I? I don’t understand how I got here!”
Billy was about to say something reassuring to the little creature when Mr. Weedon brought his hat down, bang, over the mouse. “Got the little creep,” he said.
Billy and Charlie watched in dismay as the big man turned his hat over and put his hand on top of the mouse. But then he gave a grunt of fury and dropped both hat and mouse. “He bit me!” he yelled.
Charlie whispered to Billy, “With any luck he’ll get the plague.”
The mouse leaped out of the hat and raced under the sofa.
“Get me out of here!” shrieked Ezekiel. “Weedon, leave the darn mouse. Billy, fetch your bag, you’re coming home with me!”
“But I’m staying with Charlie,” said Billy, “for the weekend. I don’t want to go back to Bloor’s.”
“Don’t argue,” shouted Ezekiel. “He’s a bad influence. Go and get your stuff.”
Billy wriggled out of the chair and left the room with a look of despair.
“It’s not fair,” said Charlie. “Billy’s alone every weekend.”
“Not fair! Not fair!” mimicked Grandma Bone. “Nothing’s fair with you, is it?”
“No.” Charlie was so disgusted with everyone, he walked out of the room, growling softly. “And it’s not fair to keep invisible boys locked up.”
“What did you say, you insolent boy?” his grandmother shouted.
Billy came downstairs with his bag and Rembrandt in the box. Charlie was about to advise him to hide the box when Mr. Weedon burst out of the living room carrying the old man.
“What’s in there?” said Ezekiel, tapping the box with his cane.
“A — a rat!” said Billy, too frightened to lie.
“What? Get rid of it.”
“But it’s a friend,” said Billy faintly.
“It’s not coming into my house,” declared Ezekiel.
“But it belonged to Mr. Boldova,” said Billy, making things worse for himself. “And now that he’s gone, there’s no one else to look after it.”
Grandma Bone and Aunt Lucretia had come into the hall and both began shouting at once, “In the house?” “A rat?” “Someone kill it!”
Billy’s eyes began to fill with tears. “You c-can’t …” he sobbed.
“I’ll look after it,” cried Charlie, seizing the box. “Don’t worry, Billy.”
“You will not!” roared Grandma Bone. “I won’t have it in the house. Weedon, bang it on the head!”
But Weedon had his hands full with Ezekiel and before anyone else could make a move, Charlie had opened the front door.
“’Bye, Billy,” he shouted as he raced down the steps. “I’m taking Rembrandt somewhere where he’ll be safe.”
“Come back!” called Grandma Bone.
“That boy’s out of control,” bellowed Aunt Lucretia.
“Not for long!” said Ezekiel.
Charlie didn’t hear this. He ran up Filbert Street and on into the city, stopping only once to look into the box. Rembrandt stared out fearfully, his nose twitching at least a hundred times a second.
“Sorry, Rem,” Charlie panted. “I hate to do this to you, but you didn’t stand a chance back there.” He raced up Frog Street and sped down the alley to the Pets’ Café.
“Hello, Charlie. You look winded,” said Norton, the bouncer, as Charlie leaped through the door.
“I’ve got to see Mr. Onimous,” said Charlie. “Is he around?” He held up the box. “Rat,” he said. “In a bit of trouble.”
“Orvil’s in the kitchen,” said Norton. “Just go around the counter.”
Leaping over a birdcage and two dachsunds, Charlie hastily made his way around the counter and through the door at the back. Mr. and Mrs. Onimous were having a cup of tea at the long kitchen table. Several large saucepans were bubbling away on the stove, and they both looked very flushed.
“Well, if it isn’t Charlie,” said Mr. Onimous, dabbing his face with a red handkerchief. “Sit down my friend, and have a cup of tea.”
“Thanks, but I’m in a bit of a rush,” said Charlie.
There was a joyful bark and Runner Bean erupted from under the table. Charlie put his box on the table and allowed his face to be licked while he rubbed the big dog’s rough hair. When he looked around Rembrandt was sitting beside Mrs. Onimous’ cup of tea.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” she said. “A very pretty rat indeed.”
Run
ner Bean growled and Charlie asked him if he would please be quiet because the rat was already in quite a state.
“I brought him here because Grandma Bone would have killed him,” Charlie explained. “I thought he’d be safe with you. Can you look after him, Mrs. Onimous, please?”
“You’d better tell us what all this is about, young Charlie,” said Mr. Onimous.
“And have some cake while you do it,” said Mrs. Onimous. “Sit down, Charlie, and make yourself at home.”
Charlie hadn’t intended to stay. He was worried that his mother would get home from work and find Grandma Bone in a fury. But the smell of freshly baked cakes, and the Onimouses’ welcoming smiles, were too hard to resist. So he sat between them at the table and munched his way through an enormous slice of chocolate cake, while he told his friends everything, about Ollie Sparks, the blue boa, and the terrible loneliness of Ollie’s invisibility. And then the final dreadful scene with Ezekiel and poor Billy.
“Billy wanted to keep the rat,” said Charlie, feeding Rembrandt a crumb. “It’s a friend, you see. It can understand what Billy says. But that revolting old man said he couldn’t have it, and Grandma Bone told Mr. Weedon to bang it on the head.”
“The poor, dear creature.” Mrs. Onimous clutched her chest. “Come to me, my love!”
Rembrandt leaped over a plate and landed in Mrs. Onimous’ lap. Obviously, Billy wasn’t the only person he could understand.
“You say your uncle has a mystery illness,” said Mr. Onimous, who had great respect for Paton Yewbeam. “And you have no idea what caused this strange affliction?”
“All I know is that he met someone in Yewbeam Castle,” said Charlie. “And this person did something to him.”
The Onimouses stared at Charlie, equally horrified.
“That’s a terrible place,” said Mr. Onimous at last.
“Have you been there?” asked Charlie.
“Never.” Mr. Onimous shook his head. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me there. It’s an evil place, Charlie. Your uncle was lucky to get out alive.”