“Sir, thank you.”
“Ah, yesssss. It is my pleasure,” the Prime Minister said, stopping in the shadow of the doorway. “Now, Charlie, it is important that you sleep tonight. This journey will push you to the limits of who you truly are . . . perhaps to the very limits of your soul. You will find yourself face-to-face with your greatest fears. Trust me, they are here.”
The Prime Minister turned to leave but caught himself. “Oh, and thank you for the chocolate last night. It does help to stave off . . . certain unfortunate cravings. A necessity, I am afraid, in keeping up with this more palatable appearance. Well then, again I thank you for your company this evening.”
With that, the Prime Minister bowed gracefully before exiting, leaving Charlie alone at the long dining table. As the clock in the hall struck midnight, Charlie heard the familiar jingle of Ringo’s collar and was relieved to see his old friend entering the room.
“What do you think?” Charlie dropped to his knee to bury his head in the dog’s thick coat. “You’ll come with me, won’t you, eh, boy? You’re always ready for an adventure, right?”
Charlie helped Mrs. Winthrope and Oscar clear the rest of the dishes. Then Oscar showed him back to his room by way of the stairs in the kitchen. They passed through more endless corridors, and other great halls, somehow finding their way back to the top of the grand stone staircase. As they walked the landing, Charlie looked down the long row of paintings and was surprised to see the Prime Minister standing before the last portrait, the one with the smiling girl.
“It’s how he tracks the years, I suppose, a tradition from a bygone era,” Oscar observed as he continued down the corridor. “But I wouldn’t concern yerself too much with the Prime Minister’s affairs. It’s rude and, from what I hear, unwise. Come on. Mrs. Winthrope said you have a busy morning ahead . . .”
So Charlie followed Oscar to his room, where the boy left him with a plate of cookies, a warm glass of milk, and Mrs. Winthrope’s hopes of pleasant dreams. Oscar took Ringo back to the kitchen, to feed him again he said, promising to have the dog curled up next to the bed by morning.
Alone in the room, Charlie wandered around, eventually selecting a book from the shelves titled The Nicest Monster to keep him company. He dressed in the clean, pressed pajamas that Mrs. Winthrope had left for him and went to the window to look at the mountains and the moon that filtered through the breaking rain clouds. Once again, he could hear dogs howling from within the castle and out somewhere in the night.
As the moon disappeared behind the blanket of clouds, Charlie peered down to the stone drive that led over the moat at the front of the Prime Minister’s castle. There in the shadows he saw a dog appear, stopping in his tracks playfully. Even from this distance Charlie knew it was Ringo.
Charlie watched as he went back into the shadows and then reappeared with the large wolfish dog from the kitchen. Charlie couldn’t miss the larger dog’s graying red hair a second time.
“Mrs. Winthrope? It couldn’t be . . .”
The large dog ran down the bridge, followed by Ringo, and then, almost on cue, a wolf howled, followed by a large splash. Charlie stared at the moat that circled the Prime Minister’s castle. There was a small boy swimming in the moonlight. The boy appeared to be covered in furry scales of some kind and did not seem to be affected by the frigid temperatures.
“Oscar?” Charlie whispered.
Vampires, werewolves, a fish boy*—it was all too strange. Charlie sighed, suddenly overwhelmed thinking of the journey that lay ahead. I guess it’s not too late to ask the Prime Minister to just take me back to the tunnel. Back home.
Then Charlie pulled the photo from his pocket. If Billy were here, he thought, maybe he didn’t have a way to get back home. Maybe he was just truly lost. Lost in a place that just so happened to be inhabited by, as Mrs. Winthrope was reluctant to say, monsters.
Charlie got into bed and stared at the photo. He knew it didn’t matter how scared he was; he had to find out what happened to Billy. He could feel the tears swelling in his eyes again but still he would not cry. Instead, he drifted off to sleep and for the second night in a row, Charlie slept soundly.
— chapter 11 —
The First Step
THE MORNING WAS busy, just as Mrs. Winthrope said it would be. Charlie found a breakfast of eggs, sausages, and piles of hotcakes waiting for him in the kitchen. He ate while Mrs. Winthrope packed food and dry stores in wooden crates. She then brought out a waxed canvas rucksack, a thick homespun sweater, a wool coat, and stiff work trousers.
“You’ll blend in better this way,” she said, stuffing his sneakers in his pack and handing him a pair of heavy leather boots. “You’ll need these for the mountains.”
She also added a wool cap, socks, mittens, long underwear, a bar of soap, a tin of tooth powder, and a wooden toothbrush with horsehair bristles.
“An adventure is no excuse for poor hygiene,” Mrs. Winthrope advised, cinching the top of the rucksack.
As the wagon was loaded with the supplies, Charlie wrote a letter to his mother explaining he would be gone for some time looking for Billy but not to worry, though he felt he wasn’t being entirely honest on that last line. He asked Mrs. Winthrope if she would see to its delivery.
“I’ll make sure to drop yer letter in the post right away,” Mrs. Winthrope promised. “Our system may be a bit antiquated, but it is reliable.”
She assured Charlie that he would see the Prime Minister again soon, explaining that he had his own modes of transportation and that he would be joining them for dinner that very evening.
Before he knew it, Charlie had already waved good-bye to Oscar and was in the wagon bouncing down the road and into the valley below, Mrs. Winthrope giving him bits of history as they traveled and pointing out areas of interest along the way.
Despite the roughness of the road, Ringo managed to stay asleep on the heavy canvas tarp that covered their belongings. When Charlie pointed out Ringo’s weariness, Mrs. Winthrope told him how Ringo had run with wolves last night, admitting she had been there in wolf form to ensure the dog’s safety. And then, as they moved along with the dust and commotion of the wagon, Mrs. Edith Winthrope told Charlie the story of how she was turned.
“Before the war—the second one, mind ya—I was a librarian living just south of Cork, back in me beloved Ireland. But when the fighting broke out, my, how everything changed.
“With my background, I applied for the clerical staff of the Secret Intelligence Service, was immediately hired, and, after a bit of training, was sent toward the German front. The clerical work assigned to me was mundane, yet it was exciting, Charlie, to be there in the midst of it all, feeling as if ya were at least doing something to keep the horrors of war at bay.”
The horses reached a steady pace as the road leveled a bit, allowing Charlie glimpses of the valley below.
“But one night, one fateful night, my life changed forever. We were working late and I stepped out of the office to take in the evening air. There was a park of sorts nearby and a warm breeze, so I suppose I’d wandered a bit . . . and then, well . . . that’s when I met the German deserter known as Jurgen, Jurgen Schmidt. Only I wouldn’t garner that information for years to come . . .” Mrs. Winthrope pulled back on the reins as they approached the next steep grade.
“Jurgen wasn’t himself that night, and after the attack, I was never quite myself again either, but I learned to cope with my affliction. Control it almost, unlike poor Jurgen. I stayed on with the SIS, and as they soon learned, I had become more useful. At first, they didn’t ask how I was able to obtain the information I did, but they were all too eager to accept it.”
“You were a spy?” Charlie asked. “As a wolf?”
“Aye, as a wolf, Charlie. Although it wasn’t long before I was discovered, until most of us were discovered, and in 1949, the authorities in West Berlin picked me up
. I met yer host, the Prime Minister, shortly after, and have been in his employ here in this valley ever since.”
Here in this valley, this strange place tucked away just over the mountains from Old Joe’s orchards the whole time; it was all so fantastical that Charlie could hardly believe it. But between the conviction in Mrs. Winthrope’s words and the long cobblestoned road ahead, with its odd rock farmhouses and curious signs, it all seemed very real. And monsters, he thought, monsters had built all of it.
“When I got here I couldn’t control my transformations as well as I can now, but when the moon was full, the Prime Minister still allowed me to roam. He would find me later, cold and shivering, wandering lost somewhere on the moors. Later on, he taught me how to gain better control over the animal inside, to harness it. Somehow, with all he’s been through, the Prime Minister has still maintained some semblance of a benevolent soul, I would think.”
“He’s been awfully nice to me,” Charlie said. He had to admit, after all of the movies he had seen, meeting a vampire had gone better than he ever would have expected.
“Aye, and there are perks,” Mrs. Winthrope said with a wink. “I’ve never felt better, seem to age slower, actually, and you know, Charlie, it is a unique perspective to see the world through two different sets of eyes.” Mrs. Winthrope smiled at Charlie and continued. “You see, you’ve nothing to fear with me. We all have choices to make. And I have chosen control. I’ve chosen to be a master of my impulses, not a slave to them.”
Mrs. Winthrope put her arm on Charlie’s shoulder.
“I won’t harm ya and I think I can speak the same for the Prime Minister,” she said, and then abruptly took the reins back into both hands and turned the team to avoid a particularly treacherous slide. “But I can’t say the same for what else roams these lands. You still have tonight to decide, Charlie, but after tomorrow, once you’ve entered the wilds, it will be hard to turn back.”
“Oh, I’ve already made my decision,” Charlie said, determined to continue despite his fears. “Thank you, though.”
“Have ya, now?” Mrs. Winthrope replied, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps it’s best to wait until you’ve met your guide.”
Charlie looked out to the other side of the valley. Up on a particularly barren mountaintop stood another castle. But it was not like the Prime Minister’s, and it was like nothing Charlie had ever seen. While still under construction, the castle seemed to be carved into the stone and clung to the rocky crags as if it were one with the mountain.
“Ah, that’s where we’re going, Charlie, the Charnel House, as he calls it. Now that we’re down, it’s time to go back up,” Mrs. Winthrope said, returning her attention to the horses. “And up we go . . .”
— chapter 12 —
The Horseman
“CHARLIE, WAIT HERE,” Mrs. Winthrope instructed. “Get down and stretch your legs, but don’t wander off too far.”
Charlie followed her orders, hopping down from the wagon with a thump. It had been a long day and he was stiff from the bumpy ride. He left Ringo asleep in the back and walked a little way down the stone drive until it wound around the side of the giant rock outcrop. There, carved from the stone in similar fashion to the castle, he found a carriage house, a stable, and two corrals. Although aesthetically they were nothing alike, there was something about the layout that reminded Charlie of Old Joe’s barn back home. Then he wondered how his grandfather was getting along without him, and if anyone had thought to see to his chores in his absence, something he wished he had noted in his letter.
He followed a stacked stone fence to the first of the two horse pens. There, he saw a large, cloaked figure leading a giant black Clydesdale up toward the stable. The man brought the horse under the portico, whispering quietly in its ear, and as it lowered its head, he brushed back its long black mane. Charlie, not wanting to disturb them and also not sure of what else to do, stepped back into a stall and hid as best he could.
The cloaked figure was the biggest man Charlie had ever seen, much bigger than Old Joe or his dad. By the looks of the roof of the stable and the horse, the man appeared to be at least eight feet tall. His shoulders were broad and his heavy arms hung like tree trunks at his sides. The giant man threw an armload of hay into the horse’s trough and then reached out to shut the gate. From his hiding place, Charlie saw that the man’s huge hands dwarfed the latch, causing him trouble securing it. A scar, with crude stitching, circled his entire wrist and this simple motion seemed to tug at the sutures, pulling them to their very limit.
The giant started to leave but hesitated. He pulled back the hood of his cloak and turned his head, letting Charlie catch a glimpse of his gruesome features. The yellowing brown-green skin on his face was also pulled taut, so much so that it revealed each and every contour of the bone below. Hard lines of dead, white scar tissue divided his face in raised stitches of twisted skin, and his coal-black eyes were sunk back into the darkness of his visible eye sockets.
“You, you there in the shadows. Show yourself,” the giant said in a gruff, rasping voice.
Charlie closed his eyes, hoping the giant wouldn’t see him, but in two steps the giant man was already standing over the stall. He smelled of livestock and woodsmoke, of earth, death, and decay.
“Come now. I see you there.”
Charlie edged forward from the shadows, realizing he had little choice but to comply.
“Who are you, then?”
“I-I-I’m Charlie,” he said weakly. “Charlie Cooper.”
“Charlie who? I’ve never heard that name. What are you doing in here?”
“I’m sorry. I was over by the wagon and saw the horses.”
“The wagon? What wagon is that?”
“Mrs. Winthrope’s. We just got here,” Charlie said.
“Mrs. Winthrope? You have come with Mrs. Edith Winthrope?”
“Yes, sir.”
The giant towered over Charlie. “So you must be the boy I have been hearing about . . .”
“I’m not sure,” Charlie said.
“I would bet you are. Well, off with you. Back to the wagon. It’s not safe to be wandering around here by yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” was all Charlie could think to say as he hurried toward the stable door. But then he stopped and looked back at the big black horse. “Excuse me, sir.”
“Yes, what’s that?”
“The horses, sir. Do you take care of the horses?”
The giant turned to Charlie, pulling the hood over his scarred face. “What kind of question is that?”
“It’s just we have horses back home, but I’ve never seen horses like this . . . They’re magnificent.”
The gruffness in the giant’s voice softened. “Ah, yes. They are . . .”
“Yes, sir, they are. I like horses.”
“Charlie, where have you gotten to?” Mrs. Winthrope called.
Charlie pushed the door open, and the giant man stepped back from the harsh light of the setting sun.
“Thank you and nice to meet you, sir,” Charlie said, closing the door behind him. The giant man just grunted.
“Who was that you were talking to?” Mrs. Winthrope asked when Charlie returned to the wagon.
“The horseman, he takes care of the horses. You should see them. They’re huge. Almost as big as he is.” Charlie paused to catch his breath. He looked out over the mountaintop, realizing that this castle was at a much higher elevation than the Prime Minister’s.
“The horseman?” Mrs. Winthrope repeated, ushering him up the oversize front steps. “This way, Charlie. I’ll show ya to your room and ya clean up for dinner. The Prime Minister will be here shortly after sundown.”
She led Charlie and Ringo inside and up a wide staircase that was carved out of the side of the mountain and then down a hall to his room. At one end of the hall there was an open window, which blew
cold with the mountain air. At the other end, there was a candle stand with stacked rows of unlit dusty votives.
“This way, Charlie,” Mrs. Winthrope said, opening the door’s heavy lock.
The room was large and brighter than the one at the Prime Minister’s castle, though it also had shelves upon shelves of heavy leather-bound books.
“Here you go. See if you can’t get a little rest before dinner. It’s been a big day for you. Maybe go through your things, let me know if you need anything more for the journey.”
“I will, Mrs. Winthrope. Thank you,” Charlie said, scratching Ringo behind the ear.
He watched them leave and then dumped his pack out on the bed, wondering if the giant man from the stables would show Old Joe the horses he cared for someday. Old Joe would get a real kick out of that, he thought. Well, out of all of this, really. Looking over his supplies, he figured that Old Joe would be proud of him for continuing their search, but also that it would be a lot easier if he, or at least his mom or dad, were traveling with him. But Charlie knew they weren’t. Going forward, he would have to rely on himself—well, that and this guide, and whatever could be expected from his old pal Ringo.
— chapter 13 —
The Tip of the Iceberg
CHARLIE WAS DREAMING again. The sun was lower now out on the plain, and he could see Billy was farther away, almost on the horizon. The birds were there again too, but this time they were quiet and closer to Billy, off in the distance. Charlie moved fast, trying to follow his cousin, but had trouble keeping up through the deep sand. He called to him, but as usual, Billy did not answer. Then Billy, followed by the dark swirling birds, disappeared over a far-off dune. In an instant, he was gone.
Charlie sat up with a start, realizing he must have dozed off. The sun was starting to set and a bell was ringing somewhere in the castle. Worrying he might be late for his second dinner with the Prime Minister, Charlie straightened his new clothes and quickly retraced his steps from his room back to the entranceway. He reached the stairs and found it was much harder to go down the giant steps than up them. As he wound his way into the foyer, he heard the clang of what sounded like steel on stone. When he looked up to investigate, he lost his footing and fell down the remaining steps, arriving on the landing with a heavy thud.
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