Charlie Bone and the Beast

by Jenny Nimmo

  “He’s not afraid, he’s just confused,” said Benjamin, trying to sound polite.

  The sound of barking came from the café; this was followed by several catcalls, a low whinny, and a voice that kept repeating, “Dog ahoy! Dog ahoy!”

  There was no mistaking the familiar call. It had to be Lysander’s parrot, Homer. Charlie, Benjamin, and Olivia said good-bye to Mrs. Pike, Charlie promising that whatever happened, Asa would be rescued.

  “And you’ll be quite safe here, Mrs. Pike.” Olivia gave the forlorn woman’s arm a squeeze. “They’re brilliant, the Onimouses.”

  The three children trooped out of the kitchen, emerging behind the counter in the café. Standing on the other side of the counter were Lysander and a very pretty girl with a parrot on her shoulder. Lysander’s parrot was sitting on his head.

  “Hi, everyone,” said Lysander. “This is Lauren, oh, and Cassandra.”

  “I’m Lauren; she’s Cassandra,” said the girl, tapping the parrot’s foot. “Are you going to sit with us?”

  It seemed a very good idea. The other three walked around the counter and joined the line.

  “You owe me a chocolate fudge,” Olivia reminded Charlie.

  “You deserve two,” said Charlie, checking his pocket for the right money.

  The Pets’ Café was remarkably busy. Perhaps on gloomy days, pets needed to socialize as much as their owners. Before they could reach the only empty table, the five children had to jump over cats and rabbits, squeeze past a giant dog and a miniature pony, and duck under a low-flying owl.

  “Phew!” Lysander dropped into a chair and wiped a hand across his brow. “What a crowd. This place is becoming almost too popular. Homer’s favorite foods have already sold out.” He passed a chunk of cake up to his parrot. “Try that, Homer.”

  Homer took the cake in his beak, placed it under one foot, and pecked at it very daintily.

  “What a great place,” Lauren declared, gazing around the café. “I wish you’d brought me here before, Lysander.”

  Charlie had been trying to place the girl. She was so pretty, with her dark, wavy hair and dimpled cheeks, he was sure he would have noticed her at Bloor’s. “You don’t go to our school, do you?” he said.

  Lysander laughed. “No fear of that. She goes to a nice, normal school, don’t you, Lauren?”

  “Actually, you go to my school,” Benjamin said shyly. “But I don’t suppose you would have noticed me.”

  “Hang on.” Lauren studied Benjamin closely. “Yes, of course. You’re Benjamin Brown. Your parents are famous detectives, aren’t they?”

  “Well, not really famous.” Benjamin blushed and leaned down to give Runner Bean a second beef treat.

  Lysander wanted to know what Charlie and his friends were doing in the Onimouses’ kitchen.

  “It’s a long story,” Charlie said uncertainly. He knew Lysander could be trusted but wasn’t so sure about Lauren.

  There was no stopping Olivia, however. Hardly pausing to draw breath, she recounted almost every moment of their near-disastrous morning, from the time they reached the wilderness until Benjamin appeared with Runner Bean and the red feather.

  While Lysander remained silently pensive, Lauren praised Olivia for her excellent storytelling.

  “Not that I think it’s a story,” Lauren told Olivia. “But it’s so incredible. I mean, I know you guys at Bloor’s are very, well … interesting to say the least but, hey” — she lowered her voice — “a not-quite-human person right here, in the kitchen?”

  “As a matter of fact, she is human,” Charlie said gravely. “Look, you mustn’t tell anyone about all this, Lauren. It’s very secret, very private.”

  “He’s right,” said Lysander as though waking from a dream. “Lauren, you must promise never to repeat a word of what you’ve heard here today, even to your best friend.”

  Lauren stared at him reproachfully. “Lysander Sage, YOU are my best friend. And I promise never, ever to tell a soul.”

  Lauren looked so earnest, it was impossible to doubt her. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. “Have you got any ideas, Lysander?” he asked.

  Lysander passed another piece of cake up to Homer. “You said Mr. Onimous might know where Asa has been taken. We’ll have to wait until he tells us. And then we’ll bring Tancred in.”

  “Tancred?” Olivia scowled. “What can he do?”

  “Tancred will be essential, and so will your moth, Charlie.” Lysander glanced at the white moth resting just above Charlie’s left ear. “She saved your lives today, and I’m sure she will again.”

  “And the Red Knight,” Benjamin said quietly. “He saved us, too.”

  “Indeed, the Red Knight,” Lysander agreed.

  It was decided that they should all meet up again the following afternoon. Lysander would try and persuade Tancred to come to the café, but he wasn’t hopeful. Tracy Morsell didn’t like animals, and Tancred was reluctant to be out of her company for more than a minute.

  Olivia remarked that she found this really silly. Lysander shrugged and grinned at his girlfriend.

  When Lysander and Lauren left the café, their parrots’ heads bobbed up and down in time with each other, as though they too were dating.

  “I used to think Lysander was so cool,” Olivia said sadly.

  Benjamin and Charlie set off for Filbert Street, while Olivia made her way up to Ingledew’s bookstore. She had almost reached Cathedral Close when she saw a familiar figure dart up Piminy Street. Anyone else might have registered the appearance and passed on. Not Olivia.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “Where are you going, Dagbert Endless?”

  Several pedestrians looked at Dagbert, who froze in his tracks and slowly turned to face Olivia.

  “Hi!” yelled Olivia. “Do you live up there?”

  Dagbert stared at her. The expression in his blue-green eyes was so chilly it made Olivia’s skin prickle.

  “OK,” she said, annoyed with her voice for sounding so shaky. “Who cares where you live?” She continued into the square and entered Ingledew’s bookstore.

  Miss Ingledew had two customers, both interested in the same rare book. She smiled at Olivia and pointed to the curtain that screened off her living room.

  Olivia found Emma at her aunt’s desk, writing a list of titles in a large black book. She brightened visibly when she saw Olivia. “I was worried about you, Liv, going into that wilderness when it was still practically dark.”

  “You’d have been more worried if you’d been there,” Olivia said cheerfully.

  Miss Ingledew popped her head around the curtain to tell them that she had just made the best sale in years. Her two customers had bid against each other until the price of the rare book became so high, one of them had to pull out. “Let’s celebrate,” she said. “I’ll close the shop for a while.”

  When the front door had been locked, Emma’s aunt poured three glasses of sparkling cider and passed them around. Miss Ingledew was one of the few people Emma and her friends could trust, and as soon as Olivia had gulped down her cider, she hiccupped three times and then launched into an account of her adventure in the wilderness.

  Olivia had a tendency to embellish the facts a little more every time she repeated them, but, to be fair, her story was more or less accurate.

  When Olivia had finished, Miss Ingledew knocked back her cider and exclaimed, “Good grief, Olivia. The trouble you children get yourselves into. I seriously hope you won’t return to that wilderness. Anything could happen.”

  “We definitely won’t cross the iron bridge again,” Olivia said evasively. “By the way, I saw one of the new boys running up Piminy Street. Dagbert-the-drowner. I know this sounds weird, but Charlie thinks he might have had something to do with the water rising so fast.”

  “It doesn’t sound weird, Olivia. We all know what can happen in this place.” Miss Ingledew poured herself another glass of cider. “I don’t like Piminy Street. Too much happened there, in the past.”
r />   “Tell us, Auntie,” said Emma.

  Miss Ingledew looked at her watch. “I ought to open the store again soon. I don’t want to miss another sale.”

  “But what happened on Piminy Street? Tell us, please,” begged Olivia.

  Miss Ingledew regarded her empty glass. She picked up the bottle of sparkling cider and put it down again. “It’s the oldest street in the city,” she said with a tiny shiver. “The great fire of the eighteenth century never touched it. Some said it was because so many magicians lived there. People like Feromel, the blacksmith, and Melmott, the stonemason. There was also a cobbler who made heart-stopping shoes, and several others whose talents I can’t remember. They were usually at each other’s throats, but the fire brought them together, just for a day, and their combined efforts were enough to ward off the flames. They’ve all gone now, of course.”

  “There’s a kettle shop,” Emma said thoughtfully. “Charlie got a very unusual kettle from there.”

  “Did he now?” Miss Ingledew looked interested, but someone was rapping on the front door and she reluctantly left the girls while she went to attend to her next customer.

  Olivia often stayed over at the bookstore on a Saturday night. Her mother, a famous actress, couldn’t always get home when she was working. Olivia hardly minded at all. She enjoyed sharing Emma’s tiny bedroom, with its sloping ceiling and low oak beams.

  That night, the girls fell asleep early, but the stirring events of the day kept breaking into Olivia’s dreams until she found herself waking, with a bump, on the bare floorboards beside her bed.

  “What was that?” cried Emma, sitting up.

  “Only me,” groaned Olivia. “I can’t sleep, Em. I keep thinking about all the stuff that happened this morning. It does my head in, knowing that Piminy Street is so close, with all its bewitchery maybe still going on.”

  “I know what you mean.” Emma drew the covers up to her chin. “Especially if Dagbert-the-drowner lives there.”

  “Shall we take a look, just to satisfy our curiosity?”

  Not wanting to sound like a wimp, Emma reluctantly whispered, “OK.”

  A small window was set between the beams behind Emma’s bed. To anyone less than six feet tall, it only afforded a view of the sky, but when Emma stood on her pillow she could see the backs of the houses on Piminy Street.

  Olivia climbed onto Emma’s bed and they stood, on tiptoe, on the pillow.

  A narrow alley ran between the backyards of the houses on Piminy Street and Cathedral Close. A single streetlight cast a dim glow over brick walls, trash cans, bags of garbage, and untidy patches of weeds. As the girls scanned the dismal scene for anything of interest, one of the yards caught their attention. The small cobblestoned space was filled with gray forms that cast eerie shadows across the walls.

  “They’re bits of people,” said Olivia, “made of stone.”

  “All broken,” Emma observed.

  “Or unfinished,” said Olivia. “A man without a head, a woman without arms …”

  “And animals,” Emma added with excitement. “A lion’s head, a horse that looks perfect, except …”

  “It hasn’t got a tail,” said Olivia. “I like the giant dog with only two legs.”

  “He’s sitting down. Look, you can see one of his back feet.”

  “Oh, yes.” Olivia clutched her friend’s arm. “Em, do you think they were made by that old stonemason, Melmott, or whatever he was called?”

  “Well, if they were, he can’t be around to bring them to life.” Emma’s laugh was slightly hollow, for she wasn’t absolutely sure that this was true.

  A bright orange flare suddenly lit a wall a few houses down from the stonemason’s yard.

  “What was that?” Olivia climbed up on the headboard to get a better view. “I think someone’s started a fire. I wish I could see more. Look, there’s another flash.” Olivia jumped down onto the pillow. “Shall we go and have a look?”

  Emma shook her head. “It’s too late. We can’t go snooping around in the dark. Anyway, it’s probably someone’s log fire. It’s not against the law to burn logs in a fireplace.”

  “At this time of night? What if there is a fire? These old houses would burn like firewood. We ought to find out what’s going on.”

  “I could find out,” said Emma.

  Olivia could only just make out her friend’s face. Emma looked deadly serious.

  “You mean … fly?” whispered Olivia.

  “Yes. You must hold the window open as wide as you can.” Emma took Olivia’s place on the headboard. Her head and shoulders were now above the windowsill. She took a deep breath and imagined herself soaring up toward the stars. She imagined black wings beating in the blue velvet sky — and now she could feel them, strong and pliant, lifting her up, up, up!

  Standing with her arms extended against the wide-open window, Olivia heard the soft crackle of newly formed feathers. She felt a rush of air sweep past her face, and then saw two black wings beating in the midnight sky. “Good luck, Em,” she called.

  Emma flew above the alley, until she came to a yard illuminated by intermittent bursts of brilliant light. She perched on a wall, gazing at a small window, bright with sparks and flashes. If she were to find the source of these pyrotechnics, Emma would have to fly closer.

  Taking another breath, this time for courage as much as anything, Emma swooped across the yard and alighted on a narrow sill outside the fiery window. The glass pane glistened with drops of condensation. Beyond the shining droplets, an extraordinary scene appeared to Emma. In the center of the room stood a tall figure, its head covered by a metal helmet with a glass visor. It wore dusty blue coveralls and long leather gauntlets, but it was quite definitely female.

  A blazing furnace belched smoke and flames as the woman thrust a pair of giant tongs into its heart. She withdrew a long, flat object, every inch glowing a brilliant red. Clamped in the tongs, the object was held by the woman on an iron block with concave sides — an anvil, Emma presumed.

  Reaching up to a shelf, the woman found a large hammer and began to beat the glowing metal. Clang, clang, clang! The sound reverberated around the walls, while shadows grew and vanished with the leaping and dying of the flames.

  Metal on metal wasn’t the only sound that Emma heard. Beneath the clanging, a voice had begun to chant, not tunefully, but somehow in rhythm with the beats, a low, humming, indecipherable chant, like a spell.

  And now Emma could see clearly what lay on the anvil. Taking shape beneath the hammer was a gleaming sword; its sides were razor thin, its tip so sharp it seemed to melt into the shadows.

  “A sword,” breathed Emma.

  Who, in this day and age, would want a sword? Who would need a sword? This blacksmith clearly wasn’t Feromel, so who was she?

  Emma lifted off the windowsill and flew onto a wall. Happily, there was no imminent danger to the surrounding houses. The fire was contained in the furnace. They could all sleep peacefully in their beds. But there was much to ponder.

  Emma could see Olivia waiting patiently by the window, and flew up to tell her about the blacksmith and the sword.

  “A sword?” In her excitement, Olivia slipped off the headboard. “Ouch.” She climbed up again. “Are you coming in now, Em?”

  “I want to see what’s on the other side of those houses,” said Emma. “I don’t often get the opportunity to be a bird. I might as well take advantage of it.”

  Olivia wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. If enchanters still lived on Piminy Street, there might be one who could recognize a girl in bird feathers. But tonight Emma was in an adventurous mood. Before Olivia could say another word, Emma had swept up and over the blacksmith’s crooked slate roof and down onto Piminy Street.

  The front of the blacksmith’s was quite a surprise. Displayed in the window were a variety of homely looking kettles; the largest, made of copper, gleamed so brightly it cast a pinkish glow on the cobblestones. There was nothing to suggest that a bl
acksmith worked at a fiery furnace on the other side of the building.

  Emma perched on a streetlight and surveyed the row of ancient houses. Piminy Street held a curious energy. The air crackled with unheard sounds and strong emotions. Emma was tempted to fly back to the safety of the bookstore, but found herself drawn farther down the street. She fluttered between trees, glancing at windows and tiny mice scuttling for cover. Somewhere a cat pounced, somewhere else a dog barked. Didn’t Olivia say that she saw Dagbert Endless running down here? And wasn’t that a fish shop, with a badly painted sign hanging on the wall? Perching on the dilapidated sign, Emma looked through the window above it. A slight gap between the curtains gave her a narrow view of the room beyond. Emma caught her breath. Eerie, underwater colors swirled across the wall, and on the bed lay someone whose face was shining.

  Holding back a cry, Emma flew to a tree and sat there, ruffling her feathers and listening to the wild beat of her heart. “Dagbert. Dagbert-the-drowner,” she twittered to herself.

  An owl sitting in a tree on the other side of the road hooted, as if to say, “You should be asleep. Nights are exclusively for owls.”

  Emma fell silent. Gradually, she calmed down. She had seen more than enough for one night. If there were other houses that held sinister enchantments, she didn’t want to know about them. She rose out of the tree — and plummeted back in astonishment. She would have fallen to the earth if she hadn’t managed to cling to a branch at the last minute.

  Directly beneath Emma stood a boy she recognized. Eric Shellhorn. He was not alone. As Emma peered down through the naked branches, a figure moved out of the tree’s shadow. Its face was covered by a mask with glittering, silvery eyes.

  “Now!” commanded the masked figure.

  “Now!” Eric repeated in a small voice.

  The little boy walked toward one of the shops. Emma couldn’t see what lay beyond its darkened window. Eric had stopped now. He was staring at the door. His concentration was so fierce, tiny shock waves rippled through the night air.

  Suddenly, the door opened and a stone man walked out. His gait was slow and awkward, his legs lifting too high and his knees bending with a groan. When his stone feet hit the ground, a dull thud rumbled through the earth, like distant cannon fire.