Charlie Bone and The Blue Boa (Children Of The Red King, Book 3) (8 page)

At that moment the front door slammed. The boys were silent, waiting to hear footsteps in the hall. There were none. Charlie got up and looked out of the window There were several people in the street and a few passing cars. And then, in the distance, he saw a dark shadow traveling very fast against the evening light.

Charlie felt slightly queasy Whether it was from banging his head, or the feeling that somehow things had gone a little bit wrong, he wasn't sure.

"What happened in there?" asked Billy pointing at the picture.

Charlie noticed that the sorcerer was still in the painting. That was reassuring. He laid it facedown on the bedside table. "He wanted to come out," he said.

"Perhaps he did come out," said Billy

"No. Couldn't have. Let's get ready for bed. You can use the bathroom first."

The two boys changed into their pajamas, and Billy took his wash kit to the bathroom. In a few minutes he was back, with toothpaste around his mouth and a black rat in his hands. "Look what I've found!" he cried.

"Rembrandt! Where was he?"

"In the bathroom, under the bath." Billy put Rembrandt on Charlie's bed. "It's so good to see you, Rem!"

"I don't think I want Rem in my bed tonight," said Charlie, and he ran down to the kitchen to look for a box.

Unfortunately Grandma Bone was in the kitchen, slurping up another bowl of prunes. "What are you looking for?" she demanded as Charlie rummaged around in the pantry

“A box," he said.

"What for?”
(Slurp.)

"To put something in." Charlie emerged with a box in his hands and six cookies in his bathrobe pocket.

"What sort of thing? Drat!" Grandma Bone missed her mouth and a prune fell on to the tablecloth.

"Whoops!" said Charlie.

"What are you putting in that box?"

"A monster with six eyes,, four tails, and bad breath," said Charlie, running out of the room.

"Don't be insolent," screeched Grandma Bone. She came into the hall and was about to shout something else when she suddenly changed her mind and said sweetly, "Say good night to that little boy for me."

Charlie was so unnerved by her tone he almost dropped the box. Did his grandmother think she could use Billy against him?

"Phew, Grandma certainly likes you," he said, handing Billy the box. "This is for Rembrandt. And I've got some cookies for his dinner. Billy? Billy!"

Billy's white eyebrows were drawn together in an odd frown.

"What's up?" said Charlie.

"I've been talking to Rembrandt," Billy said in a puzzled voice.

"He gave you some bad news by the look of it," Charlie remarked.

"He said there was a bad smell in the bathroom."

"There's always a bad smell," said Charlie. "It's Grandma."

"No, Charlie. This is different," Billy said gravely "Rembrandt says it smells of bad magic and things that should be dead."

Charlie resisted the temptation to say "Like I said," and marched along to the bathroom, followed by Billy who was still clutching Rembrandt.

"Can't smell a thing," said Charlie, opening the door.

"Look!" Billy whispered. "Under the sink."

Charlie looked. Sitting under the sink was a brown mouse. It began to squeak, almost hysterically and while it squeaked, Rembrandt joined in, squealing even louder than the mouse.

Billy began to translate Rembrandt's shrill words, if they could be called words. "He says . . . the mouse is very scared . . . because it doesn't know . . . where it is . . . or how it got here. Rembrandt says its smell is from a long time ago, so long it's messing up his brain."

"A long time ago?" Charlie looked at Billy who returned his gaze with a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment.

"Skarpo had a mouse in his pocket," Charlie said slowly

"So, where's Skarpo?" Billy whispered.

CHAPTER 9

A VERY OLD MOUSE

When the squeaking had finally died down, Billy said, "Should we let it go or try and keep it?"

Charlie took a step toward the mouse and that decided the matter. The little creature darted under the bath, and when Charlie tried to crawl after it, the mouse leaped through a hole in the floor.

"That's it, then." Charlie stood up and dusted himself off.

"What are we going to do about the sorcerer?" said Billy

"There's nothing we can do. We'll just have to wait."

Charlie was awake for most of that night. Billy grunted and chattered in his sleep while the rat made a peculiar twittering sound. Now and again Charlie would shout, "Shut up, both of you!" but his visitors slept on.

Very early next morning Charlie tiptoed downstairs for a bowl of cereal. The house and the street outside were eerily quiet. And Rembrandt was right, there was a very strange smell around the place. Was that how bad magic smelled? Charlie wondered if the mouse had brought bad luck as well as bad magic into the house.

When he'd finished his cereal, Charlie took a cup of tea and a cookie up to his uncle's room. Paton was sitting propped up against a mound of cushions and pillows. He still looked deathly white but a bit of life appeared to have seeped back into his gray hair.

"Morning, dear boy" Paton's voice was very faint.

"You're looking a bit better, Uncle," said Charlie. "Your hair — it was all gray yesterday"

“Ash," Paton said hoarsely He touched his throat. "Can't talk much."

Charlie noticed that the light was still on. It flickered now and again, but there were none of the bright explosions that Paton usually managed to generate.

"Maybe it's a good thing that you've lost your . . . " Charlie hesitated. "Well, I mean, now that lights don't explode all around you.".

"It crossed my mind," Paton whispered, "but only for a moment. I've realized that it's never a good thing to lose your talent; you lose a bit of yourself along with it."

"I suppose so," said Charlie solemnly "Uncle Paton, what happened to you?"

Paton closed his eyes. "Can't talk now, Charlie. If you see Miss Ingledew tell her . . . tell her . . .”

"Yes," said Charlie eagerly "Tell her what?"

"Tell her I wish —" Paton shook his head. "No, I'm afraid it's too late."

"Too late!" cried Charlie. His uncle's expression scared him. "What do you mean, too late?"

"Never mind. I'd like to be alone now Charlie."

Whatever it was that had happened to his uncle, Charlie was afraid that the effects might be permanent, or fatal. He quietly closed the door and went back to his room. Billy was sitting on the edge of Charlie's bed with Rembrandt on his knee. "I thought it was all a bad dream," he said, rubbing his eyes. "But it really happened, didn't it? The mouse and the sorcerer."

" 'Fraid so," said Charlie.

"What do you think Skarpo will do, if he's here — somewhere?"

"We'll just have to wait and see. Billy you won't tell anyone about this, will you?"

Billy shook his head. "I won't tell about Skarpo, but I think they already know about you going into pictures and that. I heard them talking once, about the painting, old Mr. Ezekiel and Matron. They said, 'Do you think Charlie will go in?' I didn't understand what they were talking about then."

Charlie perched beside the small albino. "I know you couldn't help being a spy" he said, "but it's time you chose sides, Billy I've got to know if I can trust you."

Billy hung his head. "Mr. Ezekiel said he'd found some really kind people who wanted to be my parents, but it was a lie. I'll never trust him again."

"The Bloors lie about everything," said Charlie. "But when this is all over, I'm sure someone will find some parents for you."

"Cook said she would, but when all what's over?"

Charlie wasn't sure, himself Perhaps he meant when Ollie Sparks had been rescued, and Belle, or Yolanda, had disappeared. When Uncle Paton was himself again, and Lyell, Charlie's father, had been found. Or perhaps he meant the struggle between those who ruined lives if they didn't get what they wanted and others who couldn't help trying to stop them. "The children of the Red King," Charlie murmured. "It's a battle between all of us. I meant when that was over."

Billy looked dubious. "Perhaps it will never be over. Or maybe it will be a long, long time. I think I could wait quite a long time. Maybe a year. But I don't want to be grown-up before I get parents. I wish I could remember my real parents. I wish I knew how they really died. No one would ever explain it to me."

Charlie thought of his own father. Everyone pretended that he was dead. But Charlie knew it was a lie. At least Billy had a photo. Charlie didn't even have that. "You showed me a photo of your parents once," he said. "They looked nice."

"Yes," said Billy sadly

"Come on, let's get dressed," said Charlie on a brighter note.

They found Mrs. Bone in the kitchen, cooking two large breakfasts. "I'm sorry I've got to leave you on your own," she said, "but there's plenty of food in the fridge and I'll be back before lunch. Thank goodness Paton is better." Charlie wasn't so sure about Paton.

"We're not exactly on our own," said Charlie as a door slammed upstairs. Grandma Bone was on the move.

Amy glanced up at the ceiling and said, "You know what I mean. Enjoy your breakfasts. 'Bye now." And she was off.

By the time Grandma Bone came marching into the kitchen, Charlie and Billy had eaten their breakfast, and Billy had managed to slip some toast and bacon into his pocket.

“A bit of starving wouldn't hurt you," she said, glaring at Charlie, "after eating everything in sight."

Charlie almost told her that Runner Bean had eaten the pâté, but he thought better of it. He wanted a peaceful weekend.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I made a mistake. We're going to the park now, Grandma." He took his plate to the sink, but when he turned around his grandmother gave him one of her mean smiles.

"No, you're not," she said. "Someone very important is coming to visit us."

"Who?" asked Charlie.

"That's for me to know" she retorted. "Clean yourselves up and look nice, they'll be here in half an hour."

Billy scuttled nervously to the sink with his plate.

"Wash it up, dear," said Grandma Bone.

Charlie waited while Billy dutifully cleaned his plate and put it in the rack.

Back in the bedroom, Billy fed the hungry rat and then began to grunt to it. Rembrandt squeaked back.

"He says the mouse ought to go home," Billy told Charlie. "It's not good for him here."

"It's not good for us either," said Charlie. "But even if we found the mouse, I wouldn't know how to get it back into the painting. Unless I took it myself, and I don't want to go in again. I don't trust Skarpo. He might make it impossible for me to get out."

"If he's still in there," said Billy

"He must be," said Charlie desperately. "I mean if he was out, we'd know by now He's dangerous. He only deals in destruction. He told me once that he liked to maim, poison, burn, shrink, and drive people mad."

Billy's mouth had fallen open. He uttered a soft "Oooo" of horror.

The two boys waited anxiously for their important visitor to arrive. Occasionally they looked down into the street, but no one grand or imposing walked up to the door. No flashy or expensive car stopped close by

And then Billy suddenly shivered and said, "There it is. It's him."

Charlie saw a black car with smoked-glass windows gliding to a halt in front of the house. He recognized the car immediately It had come once before, when Billy had stayed with him. Charlie had never seen the passenger. When he had gone to look in the car, a long cane had whipped through the open door and whacked him on the knees — something he wasn't likely to forget.

A powerful-looking man in a black suit got out of the driver's seat and walked around to the passenger door. A black chauffeur's hat hid the cropped head, but Charlie knew the broad nose, red face, and small slanting eyes. It was Weedon, the gardener and handyman.

Weedon opened the passenger door very wide and then leaned into the car. After a moment of maneuvering, he stood up with a weird bundle in his arms. Most of it was covered by a woolen blanket, but Charlie could see a hideously wizened face under a black skullcap and two scrawny legs in white socks with red velvet slippers on the feet.

"Is that who I think it is?" said Charlie

Billy nodded miserably "Mr. Ezekiel. He's come for me."

"Maybe not. Let's wait and see." As Charlie said this a third person got out of the car, slammed all the open doors, and followed Weedon and his bundle.

"I should have known she'd come, too," said Charlie as he watched his great-aunt Lucretia mount the steps.

"Charlie! Billy! You're wanted," shouted Grandma Bone.

Billy put Rembrandt in his box and followed Charlie downstairs. Grandma Bone was waiting for them outside the living room door. "Come in, boys. Come in," she said, smiling as though they'd won tickets to a soccer match.

Charlie went in first and found himself facing the oldest-looking man he'd ever seen. He was sitting in the biggest armchair, still wrapped in his woolen blanket. His face was so withered it looked like a skull, and his thin white hair hung to his shoulders in waxy strands. His mouth had all but disappeared beneath a long, knobbly nose, but his black eyes glittered with a frightening intensity

"Charlie Bone — at last." The old man held out a stringy mottled hand.

Charlie looked at the hand, wondering if it ate things. He decided he'd better shake it but, before he knew it, his fingers were being pulverized by something that felt like a nutcracker. He retrieved his hand with a gasp of pain, and Mr. Weedon, who was sitting in an upright chair beside the old man, gave a malicious grin.

"We know Billy," said Ezekiel. "In fact, we know each other very well, don't we, Billy?" He picked up a cane propped against his chair and tapped the floor by Billy's feet.

Billy gave a silent nod.

"Sit down, boys!" Ezekiel's voice sounded rather like a rusty saw.

Charlie and Billy made for the nearest chair and shared it, both perching on the edge. Grandma Bone sat beside Lucretia on the sofa, and Lucretia said, "Well, isn't this nice?"

Charlie thought,
Hardly.

"Now." Ezekiel rubbed his hands together. "To begin with, I'm very pleased to see you two boys have made friends. We've all got to work together, haven't we? The more of us the better. Isn't that so?"

Charlie said, "It depends."

Ezekiel frowned, and Grandma Bone and her sister muttered, "Insolence! Behave yourself."

"You're not going to be like your father, are you?" said Ezekiel, raising his voice and glaring at Charlie. "I expect you've noticed I can't walk. Do you know who's responsible? Your father, darn him. He did this to me. He deserved to die."

Charlie gritted his teeth. He was so angry he was afraid he might do something violent. Instead he muttered, "He isn't dead."

"What?" cried the old man. "What did you say?"

"I said my father isn't dead!" Charlie shouted.

The old man's black eyes flashed. He stared at Charlie for several seconds and then he gave a shrill cackle. "Prove it," he snickered.

Charlie said nothing.

"No, you can't, can you?" said Ezekiel. He was suddenly overcome by a bout of coughing, and Grandma Bone rushed out to fetch him a cup of tea. While she was gone, Aunt Lucretia snarled, "You're a very stupid boy Charlie Bone. Why can't you see sense? Why can't you do the right thing?"

Charlie remained silent and Billy squashed himself farther back into the chair.

Grandma Bone returned with three cups of tea and a plate of cookies. She handed the tea and cookies to Ezekiel, Lucretia, and Mr. Weedon, but when Charlie put a hand toward the plate, Lucretia gave him a hard slap.

"Ouch!" Charlie withdrew his stinging hand.

Ezekiel said, “Aw, we mustn't hit Charlie. We want him on our side, don't we?"

"I sometimes wonder if he's worth the trouble," sniffed Grandma Bone.

Charlie couldn't stop himself. "If you want me on your side, you've got a funny way of going about it."

Grandma Bone raised her eyebrows. Ezekiel slurped his tea. Lucretia stirred hers. At last the old man said, "We never meant to do you any harm, Charlie. Not permanent harm. We just had to teach you a lesson, now and again. You have to be shown the way"

"And what way is that?" asked Charlie.

Ezekiel shook his head. "I want us all to be on the same side, Charlie. Think how powerful we could be. All you bright, gifted children — children of the Red King. Think what you could do. Billy understands, don't you, Billy?"

Billy squirmed in his seat.

"Billy's a good boy" said Grandma Bone. "Billy does what he's told. He doesn't break the rules."

"Rules," said Charlie. "My father broke your rules and you did something horrible to him. And my uncle Paton went where you didn't want him to go, and now he's all — ruined. That's not fair!"

Mr. Weedon leaned forward. “All's fair in love and war," he announced in a commanding voice.

The other three adults looked at him in surprise, and Charlie had an odd feeling that, of all the people in the room, Mr. Weedon was the one he should fear most.

Ezekiel gave an exasperated sigh. "I'm tired of this. I don't like arguing with little boys. Just behave yourself Charlie Bone. You know what I can do to people who don't."

Charlie was trying to think of a clever reply when a mouse suddenly appeared on the mantelpiece. Everyone watched it scuttling around the candlesticks and china ornaments. And then it stood on its hind legs beside the clock and began to squeak.

Grandma Bone and Aunt Lucretia had already begun to shriek when Ezekiel shouted, "What's it saying, Billy? Tell us."

"It says it's lost," said Billy although the mouse was actually saying, "
I'm going out of my mind with worry. Where am I? I don't understand how I got here!
"

Billy was about to say something reassuring to the little creature when Mr. Weedon brought his hat down,
bang,
over the mouse. "Got the little creep," he said.