Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors

by Jenny Nimmo

  The Bloors' dining room was two doors down from Dr. Bloor's office in the west wing. It was a narrow room with a long window overlooking the garden. The walls were covered in red-and-gold-striped paper, and the ceiling was so high that Billy could barely make out the strange shapes surrounding the light fixture. He thought they might be gargoyles.

  A chandelier hung above the oval mahogany table, and although it was a warm day a fire burned behind the grate of a dark marble fireplace. Even in summer, Mr. Ezekiel wrapped himself in a woolen blanket. He was old and cold right through to his soul.

  Today the old man sat at the head of the table, with his back to the window He chewed with his mouth open, and sometimes bits of food fell into his lap. At the other end of the table, Dr. Bloor kept up a loud nonstop conversation with the de Greys, in an effort to divert attention from his grandfather's unpleasant eating habits.

  Billy was squeezed between the matron and Manfred, facing his parents-to-be. The steaming food on his plate had fogged up his glasses, and when he attempted to wipe them with his napkin, the matron hissed, "Handkerchief!"

  Billy didn't have a handkerchief. He blinked at the oversize dishes piled with meat and vegetables. The Bloors were obviously trying to impress their visitors. Billy grew bored with the dreary conversation. He cast furtive looks across the table at his new "mother," and she returned his gaze with quick, toothy smiles that never succeeded in crinkling her eyes.

  Smiling was too much of a struggle for Mr. de Grey He could manage only a lopsided smirk. Billy wondered if he were a disappointment to his new "father." Perhaps this morose-looking man had hoped for a boy with shiny brown hair and a healthy complexion, a boy with ordinary eyes who didn't need to wear glasses.

  If it were true that the de Greys had always wanted to adopt a child, as they said, then why had they only just now got around to it? And why hadn't it occurred to the Bloors before that Billy would be a suitable candidate?

  "Eat up, Billy," said Lucretia Yewbeam. "We want our dessert."

  Billy stuffed another piece of potato into his mouth and tried to swallow it. There seemed to be a wall inside his stomach that wouldn't let the food go down. He gave up and laid his knife and fork neatly across his plate.

  The matron gave a sigh and removed his plate. "He's excited," she told the de Greys. "Give him an egg tonight. He loves eggs."

  Billy wondered what could have made the matron say such a thing. How did she know what he liked? They had never even sat at the same table.

  Lucretia continued clearing the plates, and there was a murmur of pleasure as Mr. Weedon appeared with a large chocolate meringue pie. Billy loved chocolate, but he couldn't eat the pie. Not a bite. He gazed at the large portion the matron had plunked in front of him. He wished he could give it to Rembrandt, but he didn't dare mention the rat. He wasn't supposed to have one. The Bloors would have killed it.

  The matron removed Billy's untouched pie with a look of irritation. And then the table was completely cleared. People got up and sat down while Billy stayed where he was, the wall in his stomach getting heavier by the minute.

  Mrs. de Grey put a gray bag on the table. She drew out three sheets of paper and laid them before Billy.

  "Now for your oath, Billy" said Dr. Bloor in a solemn tone.

  "Oath?" said Billy weakly

  "Indeed," boomed Dr. Bloor. "Adoptions don't just happen. They have to be arranged. Promises must be made."

  Ezekiel leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his fists bunched into his cheeks. "Mrs. de Grey is an oath-keeper, Billy Know what that is?"

  Billy shook his head.

  "She keeps the papers!" Ezekiel chortled unpleasantly "Before you go to this nice new home of yours, you must sign an oath to do certain things that are spelled out on those forms in front of you. Understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Check the boxes marked ‘Yes' and sign your name at the bottom," said Mrs. de Grey in a businesslike tone. With a long fingernail, she touched a dotted line at the bottom of one of the forms, and then she remembered to smile.

  "Do I have to?" Billy asked boldly

  "If you want to be adopted," said Manfred, his dark eyes fixed on Billy's face.

  Mrs. de Grey handed Billy a pen and he began to read the first form.

  NO YES

  1. I PROMISE ALWAYS TO TELL THE TRUTH.

  2. I PROMISE TO BE SILENT AFTER SEVEN O 'CLOCK (MY PARENTS NEED TEN HOURS' SLEEP).

  3. I PROMISE TO WEAR THE CLOTHES CHOSEN FOR ME (AND VERY NICE THEY ARE, TOO).

  4. I PROMISE NEVER TO ASK FOR FOOD (BECAUSE I WILL BE GIVEN PLENTY).

  5. I PROMISE NEVER TO DISCUSS WITH OTHER CHILDREN WHAT OCCURS IN THE PASSING HOUSE.

  6. I PROMISE TO ANSWER TRUTHFULLY ANY QUESTIONS CONCERNING THE CHILDREN OF THE RED KING, ESPECIALLY CHARLIE BONE.

  Billy looked up. "Why?" he asked. "Why do I have to answer questions about Charlie, specifically?"

  "It's a condition, Billy," said Dr. Bloor. "Check the box."

  Billy checked it.

  7. I PROMISE TO BATHE ON FRIDAY, SATURDAY, AND SUNDAY.

  "You don't have to read the whole list," said Mrs. de Grey "Just check off the boxes . . . dear."

  The paper had an odd feel to it. The edges were hard and almost hot to the touch.

  Billy completed his task and pushed the papers away from him. Florence de Grey quickly put them into her bag, which Billy saw was already stuffed with forms just like his. She patted the bag with satisfaction. "Safe and sound," she said, and then leaning forward, she told Billy "I keep the oaths, / And thus they are kept. / No breaking of oaths, / Of which I am the keeper."

  And this time the smile did crinkle her eyes.

  "You'd better watch out, Billy" said Ezekiel with a snicker. "People have tried to break the oaths kept in that bag, and oh my how they suffered for it."

  "Really?" Billy said nervously

  Events moved swiftly after that. Everyone stood up except Ezekiel, who insisted on shaking Billy's hand and congratulating him. "Off you go, my boy" he said, giving Billy a push.

  Dr. Bloor led the way down to the hall, where he patted Billy on the back and told him he was extremely fortunate to have found such good parents. Weedon opened the main doors, and Manfred lifted the large suitcase and gave it to Billy who followed his new parents across the square to a small gray car.

  Billy climbed into the back of the car with his suit case, and as soon as Florence was in the passenger seat, Mr. de Grey drove off. Usher was a careful driver ant Billy 's journey across the city was a lot more comfort able than Charlie's had been.

  They parked at the bottom of a dark cobblestoned alley and Billy was told to get out. A thick mist had fallen, and he almost lost sight of the de Greys as they walked briskly up the steep alley Billy hurried after them. He passed a rusty sign that said CROOK'S PASSAGE. Farther on, a large notice tacked to a doorway said VAGRANTS ARE ADVISED NOT TO LINGER.

  Crook's Passage became steeper and steeper. Occasionally Billy tripped over a shallow step, and the large suitcase bumped on the cobblestones. It seemed much heavier now, and Billy began to drag it behind him — thump, thump, thump! The de Greys appeared not to notice.

  The wall inside Billy's stomach had moved up to his chest. He had imagined his new home to be a sunny house with a wide lawn, not somewhere dark and secret like this. A wooden sign creaked above his head and he stepped back to read it. The words " PASSING HOUSE TEN METERS" had been painted in black on a red background. Those ten meters were the steepest of all. Billy's breathing turned into a quiet groan as he heaved his suitcase up to a door, where his new parents stood watching him.

  "Here we are, Billy," said Florence.

  Above the door the words "THE PASSING HOUSE" had been carved in the stone. Usher fitted an enormous iron key into an equally enormous lock. There was a loud clunk and the door swung inward. Billy climbed two steps and walked into the house.

  The hall was surprisingly large for a house that began in
a dark alley It was tiled in black-and-white marble, and its gray walls were decorated with plaster figures. A huge gilt-framed mirror hung above an empty glass cabinet, but when Billy looked into the mirror, he saw only a blob of white. His hair? The rest of him was swallowed up in a gray fog. Had the mist followed them in or was it always here?

  Tunic on, Billy!" called Florence, beckoning from a stone staircase.

  Billy pattered across the marble tiles. His suitcase slithered and squeaked behind him. He walked between two tall marble columns and began to climb the staircase. One, two, three. He paused for breath, clinging to the iron railing. Usher de Grey had vanished through a door on the ground floor.

  "Come on, come on!" Florence called from the landing. "You'll just love your room."

  Billy puffed up the remaining steps and followed Florence down a long corridor. When they had reached the very end, she opened a door, saying, "Here we are!"

  Billy stepped into his room: the very first room that had ever been truly his and no one else's. It was even better than he had expected. He put down his suitcase and gazed around him.

  The bed was much larger than the narrow beds at Bloor's Academy It had a blue checkered duvet and pillowcase and a pine headboard. There was a tall pine wardrobe and a matching chest of drawers, but Billy barely took in these details. He was staring at a TV on its black stand, and then at a computer, sitting on a pine desk. His?

  "Mine?" asked Billy breathlessly

  "All yours," said Florence. She was still carrying the hag, and she tapped it briefly while she gave Billy one of her strange smiles. "As long as you keep your promises."

  "My oaths?" said Billy

  "Exactly Now, you make yourself at home, Billy. There's a sink in your room. See, behind that screen?" She pointed to a white screen in the corner. "So there's no excuse to come to meals with dirty hands. Understood?"

  Billy nodded.

  "Dinner is at six." She indicated a clock above the computer. "So, no excuses for being late, either." Florence turned on her heels and walked out, closing the door behind her.

  Billy sat on his bed. It was too much to take in. H e wanted to tell someone about it. Charlie. Maybe Charlie could come over. He would be so surprised.

  It was only four o'clock. There would be plenty of time before dinner. Billy decided to ask Florence if he could have a friend over. He ran downstairs and looked into the rooms on the ground floor: a kitchen, a dining room, a very fancy living room, and an office. The de Greys were nowhere to be seen.

  "Excuse me!" called Billy

  There was no reply

  Billy crept toward the front door. Maybe he should just go out and find Charlie. As he drew level with the hall mirror, something very odd happened. He found that he couldn't move any farther. An invisible barrier held him back. Again and again, Billy tried to slide his feet forward, but they met a solid wall of — nothing. It was impossible to reach the front door. He attempted to push his hands through the unseen barrier, but it was like pushing against a wall of iron.

  Billy retreated and sat on a chair beside the empty cabinet. He couldn't believe what was happening. He wondered if he waited a few minutes, the ghostly barrier would melt away

  As he gazed around the hall, he noticed that there were no coats hanging on the hall stand; there were no hats on the pegs, no walking sticks, umbrellas, boots, or bags tucked into the space beneath the pegs. It was almost as if no one lived in the Passing House. And then Billy became aware of something black at t he foot of the stand.

  He got up and went to take a look. It was a very small cat with a gray muzzle and a thin tail. At last, something that Billy could talk to. He knelt beside the little creature and said, "Hello! I'm Billy I've come to live here."

  "Welcome, Billy" said the cat in a frail voice. "I am Clawdia. For myself I am happy that you are here, but for you, I am very sorry"

  ALICE ANGEL

  When Charlie left Darkly Wynd, he didn't go straight home but instead turned onto a road that led to Ingledew's bookstore.

  Ingledew's stood in a row of old, half-timber buildings that bordered the cathedral square. As Charlie walked over the ancient cobblestones toward the bookstore, he heard the sound of an organ being played deep inside the huge, domed building. His father had been the cathedral organist, until one day he had vanished from this very place. Maybe Charlie was standing exactly where his father had last been seen. Lyell Bone had tried to stop the Bloors from kidnapping Emma Tolly and for this he had been horribly punished: hypnotized, trapped, hidden, and lost to his wife and child. They said that Lyell was dead, but Charlie knew better.

  He gave a big shrug, told himself not to have too many gloomy thoughts, and marched over to the bookstore.

  Emma stood behind the counter, examining a pile of large leatherbound books. She looked up when the shop door tinkled and Charlie walked in.

  "Hi, Charlie. You got out of detention early"

  "They didn't want me around," said Charlie. "It's Billy's adoption day"

  "Oh, of course. Did you see his new parents?"

  "Yes, and I don't like the look of them. They don't really want Billy I saw some photos on Manfred's desk and . . . well . . . I'm worried, Em. I'm sure it's not normal, the way those people just turned up and took Billy away"

  "The Bloors do a lot of abnormal things," said Emma grimly "But they get away with it because they’re the oldest family in the city and everyone's scared of them, even the mayor and the councilors."

  They think Manfred and Ezekiel can do anything, but they're wrong," Charlie muttered. "By the way, someone stole my wand."

  "What?" Emma dropped a book. "Charlie, what are you going to do?"

  "I don't know yet. I shouldn't have taken it to school, but I thought 1 might need it to kind of help me learn things."

  "But still . . ." Emma shook her head. "Oh, Charlie, this is serious."

  "You're telling me, but it's mine, Em. Truly mine. It's got nothing to do with the Yewbeams or the Bloors, and it won't work for them."

  "But if they can't use the wand, they'll destroy it."

  "That's what I'm afraid of."

  Before Charlie could say any more, a very tall man with black hair and dark glasses walked through the curtained door behind the counter.

  “Ah, Charlie, I thought I heard your voice." He suddenly looked at the light hanging over the counter, said, "Oh, darn," and began to back out.

  Emma rushed to the light switch beside the curtain, but it was too late. There was a loud pop, and the lightbulb shattered, sending a shower of glass onto the antique books.

  "Oh, Paton, really!" came an exasperated female voice from behind the curtain.

  "Sorry Julia! Sorry!" said Paton Yewbeam. "How was I to know the light was on? The sun's shining in there."

  "I put it on to see the books better," Emma said plaintively "Don't worry I'll clean it up." She reached under the counter for the dustpan and brush, which had been kept handy ever since Paton's first visit to the bookstore.

  Emma's aunt, Julia, now appeared behind the counter. "It could have been worse, I suppose."

  Charlie was very surprised to see his uncle in the store so early in the day As a rule, Paton never went out in daylight. He was embarrassed about his talent and afraid that he would be seen accidentally exploding traffic lights or the illuminations in store windows — even lights in private houses were at risk.

  There must have been something very urgent to summon Uncle Paton to the bookstore. Unless, of course, it was Julia Ingledew. She was a very beautiful woman and Uncle Paton had fallen under her spell the moment he first saw her.

  "Can I help?" offered Charlie, as he watched Emma and Miss Ingledew sweep up the tiny fragments of glass.

  "Just go and talk to your uncle," said Miss Ingledew, "and keep him out of mischief." She gave a wry smile.

  Charlie made his way past the curtain into Miss Ingledew's back room. Here, shelves crammed with books lined every wall. Books were piled on tables, on
the floor, on chairs, and on Miss Ingledew's large mahogany desk. The whole room glowed with the warm colors of old bindings and gold tooling; it smelled of leather and very old paper. Candles had been lit on every spare surface because the small window let in very little light, and today Julia didn't want to put the table lamps at risk.

  Uncle Paton sat on a small sofa surrounded by newspapers, folders, and yet more books. When Charlie appeared, his uncle removed his dark glasses and rubbed his eyes. "No darn use," he said in a troubled tone. “Although, I swear these glasses have prevented a few accidents." He put the glasses in the top pocket of his black corduroy jacket. "So, Charlie, your mother tells me you got detention again."

  "Yes, and Aunt Eustacia had to pick me up," Charlie said reproachfully

  Paton shrugged. "Sorry dear boy But you know I can't drive in daylight."

  "At least I'm still alive," said Charlie. "I'm surprised to find you here, Uncle P."

  "Ah! I came before sunrise," said Uncle Paton, avoiding Charlie's eyes. "Julia phoned me last night. Someone put a letter through her door, addressed to me. All very intriguing. So I came by as soon as I decently could. As a matter of fact, the letter concerns a pal of yours, Charlie."

  Which one?" Charlie sat beside his uncle.

  "Billy Raven. It's very odd." Uncle Paton pulled a crumpled envelope out of his pocket. It was addressed to Mr. Paton Yewbeam in frail, rather elegant handwriting. "I'd like to know what you make of it, Charlie."

  Paton withdrew two sheets of paper. As he did so, a small candle fell out. Charlie caught it and held it up. "This is exactly like the candles Billy has. He doesn't know where they came from."

  "Obviously from the man who wrote this letter. It proves their connection." Paton peered at the candle. "It's beautiful."

  At that moment, Emma walked in. She was told to sit down and listen. Uncle Paton cleared his throat and began to read the mysterious letter.

  “Dar Mr. Yewbeam,