by Jenny Nimmo
“Yes, he was,” Benjamin agreed.
“Let’s go, then,” said Charlie.
“Oh, no, not Darkly Wynd,” groaned Benjamin. “I hate that place.”
“So do I,” said Charlie. “But if you want to find Runner, I bet that’s where he’ll be.”
As they jogged up to Darkly Wynd, Charlie realized he was still holding his black kettle. It was beginning to make his arm ache and he wished he’d left it at home. He told Benjamin about his meeting with the girls and Dagbert’s efforts to drown them. He didn’t mention the sword, however. Even though he trusted his friend, Benjamin was not endowed.
Benjamin’s anxious frown had grown deeper. “Dagbert tried to drown us too, didn’t he?”
“I think so.”
When they reached the alley leading to the three number thirteens, the boys slowed down. Charlie wasn’t surprised to feel the kettle heating up. The temperature in Darkly Wynd was always several degrees lower than anywhere else and the warmth from the kettle was rather comforting.
Ahead of them stood the tall block of houses with their black balconies, their pointed roofs, and the stone beasts that framed the long windows.
“I don’t think Runner’s here,” said Benjamin in a low voice, “unless they’ve taken him inside.” He gave an involuntary shudder.
Charlie caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Was it a curtain, or was the house shifting very slightly? Benjamin gasped for air, and croaked, “Charlie, something moved. One of those stone creatures above the window.”
They stood where they were, fearfully watching Great-aunt Venetia’s house. Suddenly, the door was flung open and Miranda ran down the steps with a dog on either side of her, both barking like mad.
“Runner!” cried Benjamin, rushing toward the big dog.
“I saw you coming,” said Miranda. “My m … m … she wanted to lock your dog in the cellar. But I kept him safe for you. She doesn’t like dogs, my m … m …”
Benjamin flung his arms around the big dog, who licked his master with such enthusiasm, Benjamin’s happy face began to glisten.
Charlie noticed that Miranda’s eyes were swollen and two red streaks ran down her cheeks. “Are you OK, Miranda?” he asked.
Miranda gave Charlie a desperate look. “No. I don’t think I am,” she whispered. “My m … m …” She obviously found it impossible to say the word “mother.”
“What’s my great-aunt been doing to you?” said Charlie.
“She doesn’t like me.” Miranda cast a fearful look behind her. “She only likes Eric, and Eric, he … he isn’t my brother anymore.”
“What? What has he …?”
Runner Bean gave a sudden yelp of warning. As he leaped up the steps, the troll beside the door gave a hideous grin and sprang into the air.
“Look out, Miranda!” cried Charlie. He tried to pull her out of the path of the flying troll, but unbelievably, the troll twisted in midair and came straight for Miranda, thumping her on the back.
The little girl slumped to Charlie’s feet, and then fell onto the sidewalk, her face as white as a sheet.
Charlie and Benjamin were both too shocked to speak, or even to move. Chattypatra licked Miranda’s hair, whining pitifully, and then Runner Bean began to howl. The dog’s mournful voice brought the boys to their senses. Charlie knelt down and gingerly touched Miranda’s shoulder. Very softly, he spoke her name.
Miranda’s eyelids fluttered. She moaned.
A man appeared in the doorway. He had receding brown hair and wore glasses. When he saw Miranda he gasped and ran down the steps.
“What happened?” the man shouted at Charlie.
“I …,” Charlie began.
“Miranda! Miranda!” The man bent over her. “Thank goodness. She’s alive.” He picked her up in his arms. “Tell me what happened?” he demanded.
Charlie could only tell him the truth, ridiculous as it might sound. “That troll …” He whirled around. The troll was back in its place by the door, mute and unblinking. Just a lump of stone. Charlie took a deep breath and said, “I know you’re not going to believe this, sir, but that troll flew down and hit Miranda on the back.”
The man stared gravely at Charlie. “I believe you,” he said. “I’m Mr. Shellhorn, Miranda’s father. I think you must be Charlie.” He turned to Benjamin. “And you’re Benjamin, because of the dog. Miranda told me about you.”
“I suppose you’re my great-uncle,” said Charlie.
Mr. Shellhorn looked rather surprised. “I suppose I am. Look, Charlie, can you take Chattypatra away from here?”
Charlie was taken aback. “I can’t, sir. What will Miranda do without her?”
“She’ll miss Chatty, of course. But I’m afraid something might happen to the dog if she stays here. I can bring Miranda around to see her, from time to time, if I … if my wife …” He glanced nervously at the open door. “I must get Miranda indoors. Please, boys. Please, take the dog.”
Miranda’s eyes blinked open and she said, “Something thumped me in the back. It hurts.”
“Yes, darling. Let’s get you inside.” Mr. Shellhorn carried Miranda up the steps and into the house. Chattypatra rushed after them, but the door closed before she could reach it.
“Now what?” Benjamin sighed.
“We take Chattypatra,” said Charlie. “What else can we do?”
Chattypatra set up a steady brokenhearted whine. The troll watched her. Charlie watched the troll. It turned its stony, malignant gaze in his direction.
“All right, troll. Do your worst!” Handing Benjamin the kettle, Charlie bounded up the steps, seized Chattypatra, and jumped to the sidewalk in one leap. “Run!” he shouted.
Benjamin ran. Charlie raced after him, with Chattypatra wriggling and squealing under his arm. Runner Bean bounded beside them, urging them on with encouraging barks. If they had been anywhere else in the city, windows would have been flung open and angry voices would have demanded to know what was going on. Not in Darkly Wynd. Most of the houses were deserted. The few people who did live there kept their heads down and minded their own business. They didn’t want to know what was going on in the three number thirteens.
“I wish Billy was here,” Charlie panted. “He could have had a word with this silly dog.”
“Don’t … call … her … silly,” Benjamin puffed. He came to a halt, breathing heavily. “Look!”
Coming toward them were three cats. They walked side by side, copper, orange, and yellow. Their big tails were held aloft and their golden eyes were fixed on Charlie. Runner Bean sat back and gazed at them. Chattypatra fell silent. She stopped wriggling and watched the bright creatures until they stood beside Charlie, purring rhythmically.
“Hi, Flames!” said Charlie. “Would you mind having a word with this dog?”
The Flames needed no encouragement. Leo, the orange cat, lifted his head and directed a loud meow straight at the little dog’s nose. Aries, the copper cat, took up the call, and then the yellow cat, Sagittarius, trilled a finale.
Chattypatra was entranced. She sniffed the Flame cats and vigorously wagged her tail.
“I think they’ve done it,” said Benjamin. “Put her down, Charlie, and let’s see if she runs back.”
Charlie put Chattypatra on the sidewalk. She sat down, happily sweeping her feathery tail back and forth across the ground.
“Whatever they said, it’s done the trick,” said Charlie.
The Flame cats’ work had only just begun. Their voices fell silent and they walked on, toward the three thirteens. There was deadly purpose in their strong swift pacing. They had come to keep a child safe, to protect her against a stone troll, a wicked stepmother, and a spell-making brother.
“I don’t feel so bad now.” Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. “If anything can keep that troll in its place, it’s the Flames.”
The three cats had reached Great-aunt Venetia’s house. They climbed up to the troll and gazed steadily at him. Satisfied that he had not moved
, they took up their positions: Aries on the top step, Leo by the door, and Sagittarius on the porch wall.
“Let’s go home,” said Charlie.
When the boys walked out of the dark alley, Chattypatra obediently followed them.
“WHAT’S THAT CREATURE DOING HERE?” shouted Grandma Bone.
The last person Charlie hoped to meet when he got home was his bad-tempered, dog-hating grandmother.
“That dog belongs to my sister. You’ve stolen it!” Grandma Bone gave Chattypatra a poke with her shiny black shoe.
“Don’t!” cried Charlie. “She’s not your sister’s dog. She belongs to Miranda. I’m looking after her because Great-aunt Venetia doesn’t like dogs.”
“Nor do I,” said Grandma Bone. “Put it out. Get rid of it.” She lunged at the little dog, who rushed under a chair in the hall.
“I won’t have it, do you hear?” screeched Grandma Bone. “Get the filthy thing out of here.”
Charlie shouted, “Uncle Paton. Help!”
“He’s not here,” said Grandma Bone, with satisfaction. “Nor’s your other grandma. You’re all on your own with me, Charlie Bone. So get that dog out, or I’ll kill it.”
“Ahhhh!” screamed Charlie. He knelt on the floor, reached under the chair, and pulled out the trembling Chattypatra. Tucking her under one arm, he ran for the door, while Grandma Bone went for her secret weapon: a sword-stick disguised as a black umbrella.
“Aieeee!” Charlie pulled open the front door and leaped down the steps.
Benjamin was standing outside his house. Hearing the screams, he was about to rush over to number nine, when Charlie burst out of the door and came running across the road.
“Grandma Bone!” yelled Charlie. “She’s on the warpath. Says she’s going to kill Chattypatra.”
Grandma Bone. Runner Bean knew that name. He gave a hearty growl and would have leaped over to number nine if Benjamin hadn’t grabbed his collar.
Charlie practically fell up Benjamin’s steps and together they jumped into number twelve.
“Keep the noise down, boys,” shouted Mr. Brown from his study. “We’re very busy.”
“Isn’t Maisie going to give you lunch today?” called Mrs. Brown in a disappointed voice.
“I’m not going home for a bit,” Charlie replied. “It isn’t safe.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Brown didn’t sound very worried. As a detective she was used to unsafe places. Grandma Bone had a bad reputation, of course, but she had never actually killed anyone — as far as Mrs. Brown knew.
Benjamin had an idea. He looked into the study. His father was sitting at the desk and his mother was writing at a small table, littered with papers. When she finally became aware of Benjamin, Mrs. Brown looked up. “We’ve been given another case,” she told her son. “It’s so intriguing we couldn’t turn it down.”
“Any news of the wolf boy?” asked Mr. Brown. “I called the mayor, you know, but he said Wilderness Wolves were out of his jurisdiction. A bad business, Ben, very bad.”
“Well, there’s no news, exactly,” said Benjamin, adding, “I don’t suppose you’ll be having lunch today?”
Mrs. Brown looked slightly guilty. “I think there’s some bread …”
“It’s OK, Mom,” said Benjamin cheerfully. “We’ll go to the Pets’ Café.”
“What a good idea.” Mrs. Brown smiled with relief. “There’s lots of money in the sugar bowl.”
The sugar bowl hadn’t seen sugar since Mr. and Mrs. Brown decided to give it up. It was now used for spare cash, which could mount up considerably when the Browns were on a job that required many quick-change disguises.
At that moment, Chattypatra chose to introduce herself. She came bouncing up to Mrs. Brown, trustfully wagging her fluffy tail.
“Not another dog!” moaned Mrs. Brown, melting slightly as she stroked Chattypatra’s silky head. “She’s very cute, but we really can’t …”
Charlie popped his head around the door. “It’s OK, Mrs. Brown. We’re taking her to the Pets’ Café.”
“Is she a stray?” asked Mr. Brown.
“No, but her story is tragic,” said Charlie. “Ben will explain later. And please, can you tell Grandma Maisie where we’ve gone?”
The Pets’ Café was not as crowded as it had been on Saturday. There were plenty of dishes full of delicious-looking food set out on the counter. Charlie and Benjamin were the only two in the line and they were able to have a quick chat with the Onimouses. When they heard Chattypatra’s woeful history, they agreed to keep her at the café until her fate was decided.
“But what about the little girl?” asked Mrs. Onimous. “I’m sorry to say this, Charlie, but those aunts of yours should be locked up — and your grandma.”
“I agree,” said Charlie grimly.
Mr. Onimous leaned over the counter and, cupping his hand around his mouth, said softly, “And you say the brother is a … a stone animator?”
“Looks like it,” said Charlie.
“Nasty business. Something must be done. Mrs. Pike’s perked up a bit. But she’d be a lot better if she could find her son.” Mr. Onimous moved farther along the counter as a small white-haired woman and her miniature pony joined the line. “Miss Blankhoff, good to see you,” said Mr. Onimous. “And how’s Brunhilda today?”
Charlie carried two plates of cheese straws, gooseberry tarts, and cinnamon cookies to a table by the window. Benjamin followed with a large bowl of beef treats, chicken drops, and kidney chips. He put the bowl on the floor and was surprised to see Runner Bean sit politely beside the bowl while Chattypatra bolted down every one of his favorite treats.
Chattypatra withdrew her head, happily licking her lips, but Runner Bean didn’t attempt to move in on the bowl until he was quite certain that Chattypatra had had her fill.
“Will you look at that?” said Benjamin. “I mean that has to be love.”
Charlie agreed but his attention was held by something else. From his position in the window he had a very good view of Frog Street and, although he couldn’t be certain, he thought he saw a familiar figure dart along the side of the wall and disappear into a group of fast-approaching goats.
“Five goats,” Benjamin observed. “Will there be room for them all?”
“They’re tiny,” Charlie murmured. “Benjamin, I think I saw Joshua Tilpin out there.”
“It’s not so surprising. He’s always spying on you, Charlie.”
“Let him.” Charlie bit into a cheese straw.
They had to prolong their meal for another hour. The girls weren’t expected until the afternoon, and by the time they turned up, Charlie had eaten twenty-five cheese straws, according to Benjamin. Charlie hadn’t been counting. He felt a bit queasy.
“Chrysanthemum tea,” Mrs. Onimous suggested, when Charlie staggered up to the counter, hiccupping constantly.
Charlie took the mug of tea and sniffed it suspiciously. Flowers floated on the top. They did smell rather nice. He’d just sat down again when Lysander arrived with Gabriel Silk. Lysander hadn’t been able to persuade Tancred to part from his girlfriend. His own relationship with Lauren was far more easygoing, he informed them. Lauren had asked Lysander to say hi to everyone for her, because she always went to see her grandmother on Sundays.
“Lauren’s cool,” said Benjamin appreciatively.
Charlie hadn’t spoken to Gabriel since the nasty incident with Dagbert. He felt slightly uncomfortable when Gabriel came and sat beside him.
“How are you doing, Gabe?” Charlie cast a sideways look at Gabriel’s long, permanently sad face.
Gabriel couldn’t help his expression. He might look sad but today he was feeling quite upbeat. “I’m doing all right,” he said, putting Rita, his favorite gerbil, on the table.
“Look, you didn’t believe all that stuff Dagbert said, did you?” asked Charlie.
“Of course not.” Gabriel gave a melancholy smile. “I’m not stupid, you know, Charlie. I know what that fish boy’s trying to d
o: drive us all apart so we don’t help each other anymore. Well, it didn’t work with me.”
“Well done, Gabriel Silk!” Olivia gave him a congratulatory thump on the back.
Gabriel went pink. “Are you going to tell me what’s been going on, then?”
So much had happened. First they had to bring Gabriel up to date with the search for Asa and the death of Mr. Pike. And then Gabriel and Lysander listened incredulously to Charlie’s description of the moving troll and the rescue of Chattypatra. When Olivia repeated Mrs. Kettle’s account of the knight and the sword, Lysander could contain himself no longer.
“Who is he? And what’s he going to do with that sword?” Desperate curiosity caused Lysander’s deep voice to squeak like a parrot’s.
“Even Mrs. Kettle doesn’t know that,” said Emma.
Gabriel seemed puzzled. “Hold on,” he said, putting Rita back in his top pocket.
“What do you mean, ‘hold on’?” said Olivia.
“Hold on! Hold on! Hold on!” screeched Homer from Lysander’s shoulder.
“Shhh!” Lysander tapped the parrot’s foot.
“Shhh!” said the parrot.
Gabriel waited until the parrot was silent and then said, “The knight was definitely wearing a red cloak when you saw him?”
“Definitely,” said Olivia. “And he had red feathers in his helmet.”
“That’s interesting,” said Gabriel.
“Why?” asked everyone else.
“Because the Red King’s cloak has vanished.” Gabriel looked around the circle of bemused faces. “You know the one I mean, don’t you?”
Could there be any doubt? Charlie’s immediate worry was that the cloak had fallen into the wrong hands. He had always wondered how such a precious garment had survived for nine centuries. He knew that Guanhamara, the Red King’s daughter, had taken the cloak to Italy when the king disappeared. It had been passed down through her descendants, ending up in a battered trunk in Gabriel Silk’s dilapidated house in the hills. And just once, Charlie had witnessed the cloak’s extraordinary magic. For Gabriel had worn it in a battle with Harken the Enchanter. Mild, weedy, passive Gabriel had withstood the enchanter’s murderous attack and come away completely unscathed.