Charlie Bone and the Shadow

by Jenny Nimmo

  "Wot sort of unusual?"

  "Oh, you know," Manfred said impatiently. "Anything that isn't glass: a fly maybe, or a moth."

  "Ah!" grunted Weedon. "Now I get it."

  The janitor continued to sweep for another half hour, but the temperature was falling fast, and soon the cobblestones began to sparkle with frost.

  "It's no good, Mr. Manfred," Weedon grumbled. "I can't tell glass from frost. I'm giving up." He poured his final haul into the plastic bag and went through a door into the west tower.

  Manfred straightened up, rubbing his back. His leg still ached from the wounds the leopards had given him. But he wasn't prepared to give up just yet. He refused to believe the moth had escaped him entirely. Limping around the edge of the courtyard he stared at each and every cobblestone; not one eluded his piercing, coal-eyed gaze.

  Claerwen waited. She might have been a dead thing: the vein of a leaf, a thread of grass. When Manfred had given up his search at last, she crawled out of her hiding place and moved toward the wall of the chapel. There she lay, in the pool of bright colors that fell from the stained-glass window.

  She knew she must reach Charlie before he was tempted to travel again, but the route to his dormitory was steep and perilous for the tiny caterpillar that she had become. To escape Manfred, Claerwen had changed shape once more. It would take her some time to become a moth again. No matter. She would find a way to reach him.

  On Friday afternoon, when the children went to pack their bags for home, Claerwen was still missing.

  Charlie had used every spare minute to search for his moth, but there was no sign of her. And then, as he and Billy lined up behind the great oak doors, waiting for Weed on to open them, Tancred came flying up behind Charlie and whispered, "Charlie, Dagbert says he's got your moth."

  "What!" Letting his bag fall to the floor, Charlie swung around and searched the line of students behind him.

  "He's not here," said Tancred. "He's having an extra lesson with the talents master."

  "I don't care where he is," Charlie said loudly.

  "Shhh! You'll get detention," Tancred warned. "Wait till we're outside."

  Weedon had appeared. Puffing and groaning, he drew back the huge iron bolts and rattled the oversize key in the lock. At last the doors were open and the sullen janitor stood aside while students swept past him and out into freedom.

  The three buses were waiting in the square. Charlie stood by the steps as the other music students climbed ahead of him onto the blue bus. When Tancred appeared, Charlie grabbed his arm.

  "So where's my moth, then?"

  "I told you" - Tancred hitched his green cape further onto his shoulders - "Dagbert said he'd got it. He's offered to swap it for his sea urchin."

  "What d'you mean?" cried Charlie.

  Striding toward the green bus, Tancred said, "I mean that he'll exchange your moth for that gold charm I took the night he tried to drown you."

  "So when are you going to swap it?" Charlie dogged Tancred's steps until they reached the green bus.

  "That's just it, Charlie. I don't think I can let him have his sea urchin. He's not as dangerous without it." Tancred began to climb into the bus.

  "You've got to!" Charlie leaped onto the bottom step.

  "You'll miss your bus," Tancred told him. "Get off quickly, Charlie. This one goes in the wrong direction."

  "I don't care."

  "We'll find another way to get your moth," said Tancred as he moved to the back of the bus.

  "Get off, blue cape," ordered the driver, "or I'll get the school janitor to remove you."

  Charlie jumped off the step as the green bus rumbled out of the square. His own bus had already started moving, and he only just managed to catch it.

  He was hauled inside by Gabriel and Fidelio and lay in the aisle breathing heavily, while the driver complained about kids who didn't have the sense they were born with.

  Gabriel lifted Charlie's bag onto the rack as Charlie pulled himself to his feet and fell into the seat beside Fidelio.

  "What's going on?" Billy's anxious face peered around the back of Charlie's seat.

  "Tell you later," said Charlie, sinking back. He turned to Fidelio and whispered, "Dagbert's got my moth, but he's offered to swap it for something Tancred took."

  Fidelio stared at Charlie. "I wish there was somewhere we could all meet. I've got rehearsals with the youth orchestra all weekend, but I'll be free on Sunday night. What are you going to do now that the Pets' Cafe is closed?"

  From the seat behind them, Gabriel said, "Get the cafe to open again. I'm going to see Mr. Onimous."

  "But he's ... ," Charlie began.

  "Not dead yet," said Gabriel solemnly.

  The bus meandered around the city while children jumped off at their stops and disappeared into the dusk. The streetlights had come on, but even they couldn't penetrate the dark, winding alleys that led off High Street.

  Gabriel lived on the Heights, a steep cliff road that overlooked the city. He was usually the first to leave the bus, getting off at a stop at the bottom of the cliff road, but today he waited until they reached the narrow street that led to the Pets' Cafe.

  "My mom will be there," he said. "She wouldn't leave Mrs. Onimous on her own after everything that's happened."

  Charlie watched Gabriel turn onto Frog Street and begin to run. Of all of them, Gabriel was probably the closest to the Onimouses. His mother helped in the cafe, and his large family of gerbils was always welcome there.

  Charlie and Billy got off the bus at the top of

  Filbert Street and walked down to number nine. As they drew closer, Charlie saw Benjamin standing on the top step of number twelve. He was staring across the road at Charlie's house. As soon as he saw Charlie, he went inside and slammed his front door.

  Charlie sighed. "He's not going to speak to me until he sees Runner Bean again."

  "Maybe I could just take a look at the painting," said Billy.

  "Forget it, Billy. If you got caught in Badlock, I'd never get you out. Not without Claerwen." And then Charlie thought of the giant. Without Claerwen he could never reach his ancestor again.

  The two boys stepped into the hall and headed straight for the kitchen. Maisie was cooking something that smelled so delicious their mouths were already watering.

  Unfortunately, Maisie wasn't the only person in the kitchen. Grandma Bone sat in the rocking chair beside the stove.

  "Ahh!" Grandma Bone's grim face broke into a smile. "Billy Raven, at last. I wondered when you would be coming to see us again."

  "Hello, Mrs. Bone," Billy said nervously.

  "Hang your capes in the hall, boys." Grandma Bone pointed to the door. "And take your bags upstairs. We don't like bringing the outdoors into our cozy kitchen, do we, Maisie?"

  "Doesn't bother me," said Maisie, heaving a large dish out of the oven.

  Grandma Bone scowled at her. "Nevertheless." She waved the boys away.

  "Maisie, has Runner Bean... ?" Charlie began.

  "As far as I know, nothing has come out of that cellar," said Maisie. "Your other grandma could maybe tell you if she's seen anything."

  "Boys, your capes," barked Grandma Bone.

  Billy backed into the hall and Charlie followed, just managing to stop himself from saying something rude. Hanging their blue capes on the coat stand, the boys rushed upstairs, dumped their bags in Charlie's room, and ran down to the kitchen.

  "Set the table, Charlie," Grandma Bone ordered, rocking her chair back and forth. She seemed excited about something.

  Charlie dutifully set the table for five.

  "Four," said his grandmother. "Your uncle Paton's not here, thank goodness. Eating by candlelight gives me indigestion."

  Charlie removed a set of knives and forks, and they all sat down while Maisie brought her lamb casserole to the table and began to ladle it out. It was just as delicious as Charlie had hoped, but the meal was spoiled by Grandma Bone's looming presence; by the slurping noise she mad
e, the rumbling of her stomach, and the way she darted quick looks at everyone else's plate.

  The meal was almost over when Charlie heard a large vehicle maneuvering on the road outside. Through the gap in the curtains he could see that a white camper van had parked in front of the kitchen window. He was surprised when Uncle Paton jumped out, quickly slammed the door, and rushed toward the house, his black fedora pulled well down over his face. Charlie crossed his fingers and watched the streetlight. It didn't explode.

  "Phew!" Charlie exclaimed as the front door banged.

  "Can someone please turn out the lights?" Uncle Paton called from the hall.

  Maisie obligingly lit the candles while Charlie sprang for the light switch.

  "Where on earth have you been all week?" Grandma Bone demanded as Paton came in.

  Ignoring her question, Uncle Paton said, "Something smells good." He placed a well-worn briefcase beside the door and pulled a chair up to the table.

  "I asked you a question," said Grandma Bone.

  "So you did, Grizelda." Paton rubbed his hands together as Maisie put a steaming dish of lamb before him.

  "And I see no reason to answer you. What I do is my business."

  "Research! Research!" snarled his sister, leaving the table. "Poking your nose into other people's affairs. Where d'you think that will get you?"

  "Personally, nowhere, dear sister. Though what I unearth may be of great benefit to others." Paton glanced at Billy Raven.

  He turned to Charlie. "Has the dog appeared yet, Charlie?"

  Charlie shook his head. "Runner's still stuck."

  "But I might be able to talk to him," said Billy.

  Paton frowned. "Not you, Billy." He began to eat his lamb.

  "But maybe..." Billy leaned forward eagerly.

  "No," said Uncle Paton firmly. "We'll find another way. Though I confess, in my research I have yet to come across any mention of dogs caught in paintings."

  Charlie watched his grandmother march to the door. Here she hesitated, her right hand almost on the light switch. He could see that she was hugely tempted to turn on the lamp hanging above the table. If she did, Paton would be bound to shower himself and his meal with shattered glass. But she resisted and, with a resigned shrug, left the room.

  "What exactly is your research, Mr. Yewbeam?" asked Billy.

  "Ah, my research." Uncle Paton smiled, almost to himself. "I am writing a history of our family, Billy. The Yewbeams. But digging and delving into the past has led me deep into the lives of others. There isn't another city in the country like this one, you know. It was built by a magician, for one thing, and a king at that. The magic, good and bad, is now part of the fabric of the place. It is like a seam that runs through the soil, the rock and clay, the marl and loam beneath our feet."

  Maisie uttered a soft "tsk!" She shook her head and said, "Was it really necessary to buy a big van, Paton?"

  "Our ancestors litter the country," was Paton's reply. "I've been traveling to graveyards, libraries, historic homes, council offices, you name it. At nightfall, I often find myself far from home. I could hardly go to a hotel, with all those lights. My only option would be to sleep on a park bench."

  "And get mugged," said Billy.

  "Mugged, indeed. Exactly, Billy." Paton scooped up his last mouthful, declared it to be the best casserole he'd ever tasted, and sat back with a sigh of contentment.

  "And have you found out anything interesting, Mr. Yewbeam?" asked Billy.

  Uncle Paton stared at Billy for a moment, as though he were deciding whether or not to confide in him. At length he replied, "I have, Billy. I have, indeed. But at present the clues are a little foggy. In time I shall unravel some of the more puzzling details, and then..." He paused. "And then, lives will be changed - dramatically."

  Charlie got the impression that his uncle's words were meant for Billy alone, and that it was his life that would be changed dramatically. Had Uncle Paton discovered something about Billy's parents?

  Uncle Paton would say no more about his research. Changing the subject, he asked Maisie whether anything had happened to the painting while he'd been away.

  "You don't think I've looked in the cellar, do you?" she retorted. "After what happened to the poor dog. Anyway, your sister keeps the door locked."

  "Just wondered, you know, if you'd heard a bark, or a whine... anything," said Uncle Paton.

  "No." Maisie collected the dishes and carried them to the sink. "But I have seen Benjamin Brown, gazing over here as if his heart would break."

  "What am I going to do?" cried Charlie, covering his face with his hands. "I'll have to try and rescue Runner Bean, even without Claerwen."

  "You've lost the moth?" Uncle Paton looked concerned.

  "I know where she is," said Charlie, "but I won't be able to get her back just yet."

  "And why not?" asked his uncle.

  "It's too complicated to explain."

  Paton accepted this answer reluctantly. "Don't so much as look in that cellar until you find her. That's an order." He stood up and pushed in his chair. Bidding them all a good night's sleep, he tucked his briefcase under his arm, took a candle from the dresser, and went up to his room.

  When Maisie heard Paton's door close, she turned on the kitchen light and held up a dishcloth. "OK, boys. Who's going to dry?"

  Billy chose to dry, Charlie to put away. Maisie was best at cleaning the pans.

  Half an hour later, as Charlie and Billy were mounting the stairs, a cold draft swept through the hall. The coats on the stand swung in the breeze; two pictures swiveled sideways on the wall; the doormat lifted at one end; and Uncle Paton's fedora flew up to the ceiling, turned over, and dropped to the floor.

  "What was that?" Billy clung to the railing.

  "Dunno." Charlie went to pick up his uncle's hat. He could hear no wind in the road outside, no doors rattled, no trees sighed. He looked down the hallway leading to the cellar. He could guess where the evil breeze was coming from, but decided not to tell Billy.

  Could the shadow reach them, even here?

  CHAPTER 8

  DESTRUCTION IN THE KETTLE SHOP

  Piminy Street ran directly behind Ingledew's Bookstore. Its leaning, Tudor buildings looked to be in danger of toppling into the street - their crooked doors were marked by arrowheads and their slate roofs rippled like waves - yet the great fire of the eighteenth century had never touched these ancient houses. According to Miss Ingledew, it was because at that time almost every house in the street had been occupied by a magician - of one sort or another.

  Piminy Street, however, was home to Mrs. Kettle, and there was nothing sinister about her. Unusual, maybe, but not threatening. She had once given Charlie a kettle that had been made five hundred years ago by her ancestor Feromel. It contained a dark liquid that could never be poured away. This timeless liquid was usually cool, but Mrs. Kettle had warned Charlie that when the kettle felt hot to the touch, he would be in danger.

  On Friday night Charlie hadn't been surprised to find the kettle so hot he could barely touch it. He felt it again as soon as he woke next morning. It had cooled a little, but was still warm.

  Billy knew about Feromel's kettle. "Is it hot?" he asked.

  "Not too hot." Charlie pushed the kettle under his bed.

  "We'll go and fetch Rembrandt from Mrs. Kettle right after breakfast, alright?" Billy swung his legs out of bed and put on his glasses.

  "Hmmm. Wish I could get hold of Tancred," said Charlie.

  Neither Charlie nor Billy owned a cell phone. They weren't allowed in school, and Grandma Bone disapproved of them. Charlie didn't like the thought of speaking to Tancred from the phone in the hall with Grandma Bone listening in.

  The white camper van was gone when the boys went down to breakfast.

  "Your uncle must have left before dawn," said Maisie, placing large slices of bacon on each of their plates. "He's on the scent of something - goodness knows what."

  After another slice of bacon an
d several pieces of toast and honey, Charlie and Billy set off for the Kettle Shop.

  "You can always bring your rat here, Billy," said Maisie, as she let them out of the front door. "She'll never know," she added, glancing up the stairs, where Grandma Bone was having her morning gargle.

  "Thanks, Mrs. Jones." Billy raced after Charlie.

  Charlie was anxious to get away from number nine as fast as possible. He didn't want to see Benjamin again before he had rescued Runner Bean.

  As soon as they began to walk up Piminy Street, the sense of menace that Charlie often felt there seemed to be even stronger. He always imagined that someone was watching him from a dark window beneath the eaves.

  The Kettle Shop was near a curious fish shop where there were never any fish. Before they reached the fish shop, however, they had to pass the Stone Shop. Of all the houses on Piminy Street, this was the most sinister. In the dark interior, carved stone figures brandished clubs and axes. There were stone soldiers, horses, and dogs. But the mounted knight that had once attacked the boys was gone - broken in two by the Red Knight and now lying, with his stone horse, at the bottom of the river.

  "Let's keep going." Billy plucked at Charlie's jacket. "I hate that place."

  Charlie's nose was almost touching the window-pane. He expected to see someone and, yes, there he was: Eric Shellhorn, Great-aunt Venetia's stepson. Charlie could just make out his face, peering from behind a tall, robed figure - a Druid, perhaps.

  "I knew he'd be in there," Charlie muttered.

  Billy tugged Charlie's sleeve. "Let's go, Charlie. One of those things might start moving again."

  "I don't think Eric would do that in broad daylight," said Charlie.

  "He might. Come on. I want to see Rembrandt."

  Just before Charlie backed away from the window, he saw Eric dart across the back of the shop. "What's he going to do next, I wonder."

  Billy was already racing up the road and Charlie started to follow him, but then he found himself lingering outside the fish shop. The door to this peculiar place was always closed, always locked, and yet a strong smell of fish seeped from the building, as though the very bricks were made of cod or mackerel.