by Jenny Nimmo
"No, they don't. Your family needs you. I need you. And there's an end to it." Maisie pulled up a chair and sat opposite Charlie, watching him eat.
It would be useless to try and explain, Charlie realized. He could hardly explain it to himself, this instinctive need to be with the others: Gabriel, Emma, Olivia, and Lysander. Because only if they were together, could they stop the shadow from returning to the city and... And what? Charlie didn't even dare to think about that.
"Claerwen!" he cried. "She's in my pocket."
Maisie caught the plate that would have rolled off Charlie's knees as he leaped up and ran into the hall. The white moth had climbed out of his pocket and now sat on top of the coat hook, sending tiny rays of light across the dark hall. She immediately flew onto Charlie's arm and he carried her into the kitchen.
Maisie watched Charlie settle back into the rocker and handed him his plate. "Don't think you can go traveling again," she said, eyeing the moth. "Grandma Bone's taken the key to the cellar door. So you can't get into that painting, Charlie, with or without your little moth."
"Oh?" Charlie gave Maisie a sideways look. "Billy is in Badlock, Maisie. He wasn't at school."
"Whatever you say, Charlie." Maisie folded her arms across her chest. "Now you eat up that sandwich and go to bed, or your other grandma will be down here telling me to pack my bags, or else."
Charlie didn't want that to happen. If Maisie went, number nine wouldn't be a home at all. So he wolfed down the rest of the very delicious sandwiches and dutifully went up to his room.
In a last, long, mournful rumble, the thunder rolled away and the storm's heavy tears became a thin drizzle. The troubled citizens fluffed their pillows, closed their eyes, and fell asleep at last. But if any of them had been watching the Heights, they would have seen three bright lights - red, orange, and yellow - moving swiftly up the hill toward the Thunder House.
When the great cathedral clock chimed two, Charlie was still wide awake. How could he have slept after such a dreadful day? He put his hand under his bed and touched the iron kettle. He had expected it to be hot, but it was barely warm.
Claerwen appeared to be asleep. She lay with folded wings at the end of Charlie's bed. A few hours ago Charlie had been more afraid than at any other time in his life. And yet here, in his room, the danger seemed to have receded. The city was quiet, except for a sound, quite close. A light, rhythmic beat.
Charlie went to the window and looked out. Was that a horse, trotting down the street? He must be mistaken. But when a white horse moved into the circle of light thrown out by the streetlight, Charlie saw the rider; he saw the red feathers, lifting in the breeze, like a halo around the silver helmet. And he saw the jeweled scabbard at the knight's side, and the glint of the Red Knight's sword hilt.
Charlie watched the Red Knight and his horse move slowly down the street. He watched until they had disappeared from sight, then he lay on his bed and fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER 14
THE PAINTING VANISHES
Bloor's Academy was in shock. Something had happened to Tancred Torsson, that much was certain. But very few people knew what it was. The Children of the Red King knew and they weren't telling.
There had been a thunderstorm. The sculpture room was flooded; the school had been in darkness for twenty-four hours. The coatroom signs were scorched and a strong smell of burning lingered in the hall.
Rumors abounded. Some said that Tancred had drowned. Students kept their distance from Dagbert Endless. The staff carried out their duties but most of them seemed distracted. They lost their lesson notes, forgot their books, and on occasion, even went to the wrong classroom.
Lysander Sage was in danger of exploding into violence. His mind was in a turmoil; his thoughts full of vengeance for his lost friend. Such passion was bound to wake his spirit ancestors, and the sound of their drumbeats followed Lysander wherever he went. Dr. Bloor knew better than to rebuke him, aware that it would probably make things worse.
Only Mrs. Tilpin, in her flooded rooms, threatened to "do something" about Lysander Sage. With water underfoot and drumming overhead, she complained to Manfred that she was losing her mind. "And then where would you be?" she snarled. Manfred told her to bide her time.
Dr. Saltweather spent more and more time in the blue cafeteria. He was frequently seen in Cook's company. They both looked worn out with talking.
Two days after the thunderstorm, Gabriel and Fidelio reached the cafeteria five minutes before lunchtime. As they had hoped, Cook and Dr. Saltweather were sitting at a table in the corner. They were deep in conversation and didn't notice the two boys enter the cafeteria. Cook had her back to them.
Fidelio gave a slight cough as he approached the corner table. He didn't want to give Cook a fright.
Dr. Saltweather looked up and said, "What do you boys want? You're five minutes early."
"We wanted to ask you something, sir." Gabriel looked over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed them.
Cook swung around quickly and smiled with relief. "I'm glad it's you two," she said.
"We know what happened to Tancred," Fidelio said solemnly. "Emma told us. And that's bad enough ..."
"It's about the worst thing that's ever happened" - Gabriel brushed his floppy hair out of his eyes- "and I still can't really believe it. There are so many rumors flying around. But what we can't figure out is -"
"What's happened to Charlie, sir?" Fidelio said in a rush. "He was here on Monday, then he was sent to the headmaster, and we haven't seen him since."
"He's been suspended." Dr. Saltweather gave a wry smile. "For damaging a valuable painting. But he'll be back next week."
"Don't worry, boys. Dagbert hasn't got to him yet." Cook suddenly grabbed Gabriel's arm. "Perhaps I can ask you something now. Do you know what's happened to little Billy Raven?"
Gabriel looked at Fidelio before saying, "Yes. Emma told us. Charlie thinks Billy is in Badlock."
"What?" Cook jumped up and looked hard at Gabriel. "That can't be true. Billy's not a traveler. And why would Charlie think that?"
"There's a painting in Charlie's cellar," Gabriel told her. "His great-aunt put it there. It's a picture of Badlock, Charlie says, where the shadow lives. Billy went into the cellar... and never came out."
Cook and Dr. Saltweather looked so shocked Fidelio added quickly, "Dr. Bloor says Billy came back here, but we haven't seen him."
"And nor have I." Cook spoke so quietly they could hardly hear her. "Nor have I."
"What should we do, sir?" Gabriel asked Dr. Saltweather.
The large music teacher stood up. "Keep me posted," he said. "That's all I can suggest. Let me know everything you think I should know, and I'll do my best to find out what's going on."
Dr. Saltweather marched out of the cafeteria just as a crowd of music students came rushing in. They began to line up beside the counter, and Cook hurried into the kitchen.
Fidelio and Gabriel went to the back of the line. Neither of them wanted to stand directly behind Dagbert Endless. Fidelio allowed a gap to form until he was several feet away from Dagbert.
"What's the matter?" Dagbert turned and gave Fidelio one of his icy blue-green stares. "What have I done?"
"You tell me," said Fidelio, bravely closing the gap.
Dagbert shrugged and moved on.
No one wanted to sit with Dagbert. But he didn't seem to care. He took his plate of spaghetti to a far corner and started eating. He didn't look up once during the whole meal. But he walked out without having dessert, even though it was treacle tart. He'd been summoned by the talents master. But Dagbert didn't want anyone else to know that. He was going to be late, but he didn't see why he should go without a bit of spaghetti to keep up his strength.
Manfred was in his study eating when Dagbert knocked on the door.
"You're late," called Manfred. "Come in, then, Dagbert."
"Sorry, sir." Dagbert pressed the knot of wood and the door swung inward.
&nbs
p; "I told you to come before lunch," said Manfred, without looking up from his plate.
"I'd have missed the spaghetti." Dagbert eyed the slice of tart on Manfred's plate. "I went without my treacle tart, anyway."
"Don't think you can have mine." Manfred gave Dagbert a spiteful glance. "Going without lunch was supposed to be part of your punishment."
"Punishment?" Dagbert looked extremely offended. "What have i done?"
"Now you're being stupid." Manfred pushed the last of his tart into his mouth and washed it down with a glass of water.
Dagbert waited, inwardly fuming, but not confident enough to show it.
"The flood," Manfred said at last. "You didn't have to go that far. Fairy Tilpin's furious. The water seeped into all her rooms. Now she's demanding to be relocated."
Dagbert's arctic eyes roved around Manfred's study. "It's a big house," he said. "I'm sure you could squeeze her into a room in the west wing."
"Not enough bathrooms," said Manfred. "Dad and I don't like sharing."
"She'd only need a sink and a..."
"Stop talking about bathrooms." Manfred's fist came down hard on his desk. "I'm disappointed in you, Dagbert. I thought we had an understanding. I'm afraid you're getting detention. The headmaster has ordered it. No going home on Saturday."
Dagbert smiled. He hated his temporary home in the fish shop, where an elderly guardian cooked unappetizing food, washed his clothes, snored in bed, and never spoke to him.
"And you can stop smiling," said Manfred. "You've drowned someone. You were not supposed to do that. You were only supposed to scare him. What possessed you?"
Dagbert let his gaze drift down to his feet. He wasn't afraid of Manfred, but he knew the talents master could probably hypnotize him, if he wanted to. "I couldn't stop myself. I suppose I was trying to prove I was as strong as my father."
"Ah, the family curse." Manfred lifted an eyebrow. "Do you believe it, then?"
Dagbert shuffled his feet. "I have to. It's written in the annals of the North, and they have never lied.
When the Lord Grimwald's first son is in his thirteenth year, he attains full power, and either he or his father dies. In eight hundred years the prophecy has never failed. My mother gave me the sea-gold charms to help me overcome my father." Dagbert lifted his head and his eyes flashed defiantly. "But Tancred Torsson got under my skin, he taunted me, he stole a sea-gold creature ... he ... he ... had to be stopped."
The talents master listened to Dagbert and a thin smile softened his gaunt features. "You shouldn't have done it, though. You'll have to make amends to Fairy Tilpin."
Dagbert shrugged. "I'll clean out a room for her or carry her stuff upstairs, if you like."
"Good idea. I daresay we can find somewhere in the attics. She seems to like the dark." Manfred smiled again, this time to himself. "You can go now." He waved his hand. * "Thank you, sir." Dagbert walked over to the door and, turning to Manfred, added, "I always try to do what you want. Always."
"I know you do," said the talents master. "And very soon you'll be called upon to perform the hardest task of your life. Until that time comes, you must keep an eye on Charlie Bone."
"A picture traveler?" Dagbert snorted. "What can he do?"
"Don't underestimate him." A look of hatred crossed Manfred's face. "The blood of a Welsh wizard runs in Charlie Bone's veins. And something tells me that he has reclaimed his wand."
Charlie had been confined to the house for almost a week. He longed to talk to his friends and worried about the schoolwork he was missing. How would he catch up when he returned to Bloor's? He'd have to work all day and all night, if he didn't want to get detention.
On Friday morning Grandma Bone carried a pile of books up to Charlie's room. Attached to the books were several lengthy notes from his teachers.
"You're to do all this work before Monday," she said, plunking the books on Charlie's table.
Charlie looked at the notes and sighed. They were from Mr. Carp, English; Mr. Pope, history; Madame Tessier, French; and Mrs. Fortescue, biology. "All of it? It's much more than I usually have in a whole week. I can't do it."
"You can and will," said Grandma Bone, and strode out.
Charlie sat at his table and began with history. There were so many dates to memorize. He would need help.
"Claerwen!" Charlie called softly.
The white moth flew down from the curtain and settled on Charlie's wrist.
"Helpu ji," said Charlie, using the language his Welsh moth preferred. "Help me."
Claerwen crawled quickly up Charlie's arm and came to rest on his shoulder, just beneath his right ear. Charlie read the dates aloud; once, twice, three times, then he closed his eyes and let Claerwen's gentle presence seep into his mind. Opening his eyes, he covered half a page with his hand, so that only the questions were visible. He found that he could remember every single date.
"Thank you, Claerwen." Charlie closed his book with a smile. Not for the first time, he wondered about his Welsh ancestor, the magician who had made a wand of ash wood, a wand so cunning it could transform and survive all attempts to destroy it.
The front door slammed and Charlie looked out of the window. Grandma Bone was walking briskly up Filbert Street. She wore her gray shopping hat and carried a large black basket.
"I think it's time for you and me to go and find Billy," Charlie said to the white moth.
Maisie was in the kitchen with the volume turned up high on the television. It would be difficult to convince her that he must try, just once more, to rescue Billy. Charlie would have to distract her, somehow, so that he could get the cellar key. And then his heart sank as he remembered that Grandma Bone had taken the key away. He was about to open the kitchen door when Claerwen suddenly left his arm and flew down the passage toward the cellar.
"What is it?" Charlie followed the moth.
The cellar door appeared to be open, just a fraction. An invitation, perhaps, for Charlie to enter the painting again and be trapped forever. Or did Grandma Bone know that the shadow would block any attempt to reach Billy, and therefore locking the cellar was an unnecessary precaution?
Charlie stood at the top of the cellar steps, pondering. He descended one, two, three steps and peered down into the dimness of the dank-smelling room. It had changed in some way. He went down another three steps until he could see the whole cellar.
The painting was gone.
"No!" Charlie rushed up the steps and along the passage, crying, "Maisie, Maisie, it's gone. Where did it go?"
He burst into the kitchen where Maisie was sitting in her favorite armchair, enthralled by a sappy movie.
"What's wrong?" she muttered, wiping a tear from her eye.
"The painting!" Charlie shouted. "The one in the cellar? Where is it, Maisie?"
"How should I know?" she said, still held by the drama on the screen.
"But I can't get into Badlock," cried Charlie.
"If you ask me," said Maisie with a sigh, "it's all for the best."
CHAPTER 15
THE SHADOW'S PALACE
Billy's journey into Badlock had been swift. One minute he had been putting out his hand to touch the painted Runner Bean, and the next something had seized his arm and dragged him forward, past the howling dog and into a mist that fell around him like the softest rain. On and on, through a forest of silver trees and shining lakes. Sometimes he flew and sometimes he gently walked a path that whispered like silk beneath his bare feet.
And now here he was, standing before a door as tall as a lamppost - an iron door with small sharp spikes protruding from it; they ran down each side, across the top, and all along the bottom. There was no handle and no lock, which suggested that the door must be opened either by some heat-sensitive device - or by magic.
As soon as Billy realized that he wasn't dead, or even hurt, that he could breathe just as easily as he had before the painting had kidnapped him, he forgot to be frightened, and curiosity took over. He stepped back to get a
better look at the building that spread into the mist on either side of the iron door. It was like a fortress, but the walls appeared to be made of marble: smooth, glossy black marble whose surface had an oily gleam in the moist air. Halfway up the walls, iron brackets had been set into the marble. There must have been at least twenty of them, and in every one a smoky, tarry fire blazed.
Badlock was not how Charlie had described it. There was a wind that Billy could hear moaning and howling in the distance, but it did not touch him in any way. His smooth white hair remained unruffled, his face and hands merely warmed by the flames above him.
Billy turned around and found that, if he had taken just one step more, he would have fallen to his death, for he was standing at the very edge of a steep cliff. Below him a vast plain stretched to the horizon where strange narrow towers pointed at the sky. On either side of the plain, barren gray mountains rose endlessly into the purple clouds that rushed in every direction above the bleak and seemingly deserted land.
A voice, slippery as satin, said, "Well now, Billy Raven!"
Billy swung around with a gasp. The iron door had opened soundlessly, and there stood a man Billy had seen only once before, but whose image had burned in his memory ever since.
Count Harken, the shadow, was of average height, but he gave the impression of being much, much taller. His shining, gold-flecked hair rose high from his forehead; his eyes were brown one moment, the next a deep olive green. He had prominent cheekbones and a high-bridged, imperious nose. He was dressed entirely in emerald-green velvet.
Billy opened his mouth, and closed it uselessly.
"Enter." The count stood back and made a mocking bow. "Welcome to my palace."
Billy stood frozen to the ground. Beyond the count he could see a long hallway carpeted with furs. Rush lights flared from the black marble walls, and worst of all, to Billy, the ceiling was hung with the heads of many animals, their glassy eyes still reflecting the terror of their capture.
"What ails you, boy? Come." Count Harken seized Billy by the arm and dragged him inside. The iron door closed silently behind him.