Charlie Bone and the Invisible Boy Page 15

  Skarpo grabbed the painting and shoved Charlie through the door. He was gabbling away but Charlie could hardly recognize a single word. Still muttering, the sorcerer pushed him up the stairs and along the landing to his bedroom. Once inside, Skarpo sat on the bed with the painting on his knee, facing Charlie.

  It was rather odd seeing him sitting there with his silver-black beard bobbing up and down as he spoke, while the painted Skarpo stood perfectly still in a candlelit room.

  “Now!” thundered Skarpo. “We go!”

  “Actually, it’s not going to work like that,” said Charlie. “You’ve got to do something for me first.”

  “Ach!” Skarpo flung down the painting.

  “And you’d better not break that or you’ll never get back.”

  The sorcerer glowered at Charlie.

  Choosing his words very carefully, Charlie explained Ollie’s predicament.

  Skarpo frowned. “What the snake hath done, the snake must undo.”

  There was no mistaking his words this time, but just to make sure, Charlie asked, “The snake? The snake must do it?”

  “Aye, aye. The snake,” said Skarpo. He beckoned Charlie. “Thou maun tak me awa frae here.”

  “Hold on,” said Charlie. “There’s another thing …”

  “Nae mooa!” shouted Skarpo.

  Charlie stood his ground. “Yes, more. You said you could help my uncle if you saw him. Well, he’s in the room next door.”

  “Ach!” grumbled Skarpo, but without more ado he jumped up and walked out of the room.

  “Wait!” cried Charlie, fearing Skarpo would meet Grandma Bone. But the sorcerer had already marched through Paton’s door. Charlie found him noisily examining the objects on the bedside table while Paton gaped at him from the bed.

  Without moving his lips, Paton muttered, “Charlie, is this who I think it is?”

  “Er — yes,” said Charlie. “He might be able to help you.”

  “And how’s he going to do that?” Paton nervously inquired.

  All at once, Skarpo reached into his voluminous robes and brought out a chain. He smiled at Paton and twirled the chain in the air.

  “Ye gods! You are not going to chain me to the bed!” yelled Paton.

  Skarpo’s smile grew wider. He put the chain back and brought out a small silver bell, which he rang just above Paton’s feet. It tinkled pleasantly as the sorcerer began to chant.

  “What’s that? My death knell?” groaned Paton.

  “I don’t think so, Uncle,” said Charlie. “You know, it’s funny, but when I was in the painting I knew what he was talking about, but now, I can hardly understand a thing he says.”

  “Nor can I. I imagine that when you ‘go in,’ as you put it, you acclimatize to where you’ve gone; bound to happen, when you think about it.”

  “I see,” said Charlie thoughtfully.

  Skarpo was now walking around the room, ringing his bell and chanting in a deep singsong voice. All at once, he came to rest beside Paton and commanded, “Show thy tongue!”

  Paton scowled up at him and obliged.

  The sorcerer recoiled, saying, “Wha hast thou been?”

  “If you mean what I think you mean, I’ve been to Yewbeam Castle,” said Paton.

  “God’s teeth!” the sorcerer exclaimed. “A dritful family — rogues, scoundrels, murderers. Woe to yee!”

  “Woe indeed,” Paton murmured.

  “Vervain!” said the sorcerer. “The sacred herb. Bathe, wash thy heed, drink, take it on thy breath.”

  At that moment the door handle turned, and before Charlie could stop him, Skarpo sprang to open it. The door swung open revealing Grandma Bone. For a brief second, she stared wordlessly at the sorcerer, and then she closed her eyes and slowly sank to the ground.

  “A swoon!” Skarpo declared.

  “What’s happening?” asked Paton, who couldn’t see beyond the door.

  “Grandma Bone,” said Charlie. “She’s fainted. Seeing Skarpo in the flesh must have been a shock!”

  “Put her on her bed,” said Paton. “She’ll think she’s had a nightmare.”

  Skarpo was one step ahead of them. He had already thrown Grandma Bone over his shoulder and, while Charlie led the way, he carried the unconscious woman to her room, where he flung her on the bed.

  “Watch it!” said Charlie. “Old bones, you know.”

  Skarpo gave a loud cackle and then demanded, “Now. Tak me hame!”

  “OK,” said Charlie.

  When they were back in his bedroom, however, he began to have doubts. “You will let me come out again, won’t you?” he asked the sorcerer. “I don’t want to be stuck with you forever.”

  “Nae moor do I,” said the sorcerer. “I will give thee a poosh.”

  “Right,” said Charlie doubtfully.

  He put the painting against his bedside light and stared into the painted eyes of the sorcerer. Nothing happened. But then, how could it? Charlie realized that the real Skarpo was here, beside him, clinging to his arm. Beyond those painted eyes there was no soul, no will to draw him into the painting.

  “I think you’ll have to want me to go in,” Charlie said.

  “Aye.” Two bony hands sank into Charlie’s shoulder blades. He took a step nearer the painting, and then another.

  “Poosh, thou wretch, thou mean beastie,” said a voice behind Charlie’s ear.

  “Do you mind, I’m trying to hel —” Charlie suddenly found himself flying forward. It was the oddest sensation, for the hands at his back seemed to reach right through his body so that they were pulling as well as pushing. Charlie was traveling so fast, he couldn’t get his breath. He began to choke on the clouds of dust that streamed into his face. He closed his eyes and sneezed violently.

  The familiar mixture of candle wax and decay filled Charlie’s nostrils. He wiped his eyes and saw, far ahead, the flicker of candlelight. Closer now, and there was the sorcerer’s room, the long table, the symbols on the wall, the skull on the floor. And in the center, Skarpo himself, with a blank stare in his dark yellow eyes.

  Expecting to fall into the sorcerer’s room, Charlie was surprised to find it suddenly receding. He reached out, trying to grab the man in the painting, but his hands met empty air. He thrust his feet forward in an effort to touch the ground, but with a sickening jolt, he was turned upside down and bowled backward.

  He landed with a painful thud, facedown on the floor of his own room. Beside him, the sorcerer was kneeling on all fours, with his outer black robe right over his head. From beneath this came a muffled moan.

  “What happened?” gasped Charlie.

  The sorcerer pulled his robe away from his face and sat back. He shook his head for a while, and then said, “Moosie!”

  “What?” Rather unsteadily Charlie got to his feet. “What do you mean? We were almost there. What happened?”

  “Nae moosie,” said Skarpo, pointing angrily at Charlie. “Thou hast stolen the moos.”

  “Moos?” For a moment Charlie stared stupidly at the sorcerer, trying to make sense of his speech, and then at last, it came to him. “Oh, the mouse. Of course, you can’t get back without your mouse. I suppose things have to be exactly the same as they were when you came out.”

  “Aye,” groaned Skarpo.

  “The last time I saw it was in my uncle’s room. Won’t be a sec.”

  Skarpo leaped to his feet, anxious not to let Charlie out of his sight. They burst into Paton’s room, both talking at once about the lost mouse and the unsuccessful traveling.

  “Do be quiet,” groaned Paton. “My head is splitting. Why is that man still here?”

  Charlie explained. “We have to find the mouse or he won’t be able to get back.”

  “Ridiculous,” said Paton. “That mouse is long gone. You won’t find it in here. It’s somewhere under the floorboards. There are probably enough crumbs down there to keep it going for months.”

  Skarpo dropped into a chair, put his head in his hands, and beg
an to rock back and forth, wailing like a siren.

  “For pity’s sake.” Paton clamped his hands over his ears. “Charlie, find my phone.”

  Paton had bought himself a mail-order cell phone, which he used primarily for ordering books, although, now and again, ill-fitting garments would arrive, only to be hastily sent back.

  Charlie eventually found his uncle’s phone buried under a mound of paper on the desk. “What are you going to do?” he asked, handing his uncle the phone.

  “I’m going to call Mr. Onimous,” Paton said, dialing a number. “The cats will sort this out.”

  “The cats? They’ll kill it,” said Charlie.

  His uncle took no notice. “Ah, Mr. Onimous,” he said. “Paton Yewbeam here. We have a problem, Charlie and I, and ah — someone else. I should be very grateful if you could bring the famous flames to see us. If they are available, of course.” He paused, while a light, musical voice came leaking out of the phone. “They are? Splendid.” Paton glanced at the sorcerer. “Speed would be appreciated. Thank you!”

  Skarpo had stopped wailing and was now watching Paton with interest. “Thy fingers hath a magic touch,” he said, wagging his own finger at the cell phone.

  “Yes, you could say that,” Paton agreed, avoiding Charlie’s eye. “Now then, Mr. — Skarpo? Patience is required. Very soon a good friend of ours will arrive — with help. In the meantime, I would be very obliged if you would keep quiet. As you are aware, I am none too well, and any more noise might finish me off. Thank you!”

  The sorcerer listened attentively to Paton’s speech. He was obviously impressed. Now and again he hummed under his breath, but apart from that the room was so quiet you could hear a clock Paton had mislaid ticking from the inside of a cupboard.

  The house was quiet too, until Amy Bone came home from work. Charlie went down to the kitchen to let his mother know what was going on. He spoke so fast it all came out in rather a muddled rush, but Mrs. Bone soon got the gist of what Charlie was trying to say. She dropped her shopping bag and sat down, saying, “How amazing, Charlie. Do you mean to say a medieval sorcerer is actually — in the flesh — sitting in Paton’s room?”

  “I think he’s probably more Tudor than medieval,” said Charlie. “His father had something to do with Mary, Queen of Scots.”

  “I can’t get over it. I mean, I’d no idea your talent would lead to this. Does your grandmother know?”

  “Yes. But she fainted when she saw him.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  The bell rang and Charlie ran to open the door.

  “Here we are, Charlie. At your service.” Mr. Onimous leaped into the hall, followed by the three cats. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he said, when Amy Bone popped her head around the door.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” she said, retreating into the kitchen.

  The presence of the cats always made Charlie feel unaccountably happy. It was like watching the sun come out after a gray, rainy day. They paced around his legs, rubbing their heads against his knees and filling the hall with their loud purring, while Charlie explained the situation to Mr. Onimous. “Uncle Paton thought the flames would find the mouse,” said Charlie. “But surely, they’ll kill it, won’t they?”

  “Of course they won’t. Not if they know what’s wanted,” said Mr. Onimous. “Upstairs with you, my beauties!”

  The cats bounded up the stairs, Aries leading, with orange Leo close behind, and yellow Sagittarius bringing up the rear like a bolt of brilliant light.

  Unfortunately, Grandma Bone chose that moment to open her door. “Cats!” she screamed.

  Aries spat at her, Leo hissed, and Sagittarius growled.

  Grandma Bone stepped back into her room and slammed the door. “I’m not coming out until those creatures have left the house,” she shouted.

  “That’s fine by me,” muttered Charlie.

  He led Mr. Onimous and the cats into Paton’s bedroom, where Mr. Onimous bent over the invalid’s bed and said, “I heard of your affliction, Mr. Yewbeam. Rest assured we’ll do all we can to help.”

  “Thank you, Orvil,” said Paton, “but it is that man whose needs are most pressing.” He pointed at Skarpo.

  Mr. Onimous gave a little jump. He hadn’t noticed the sorcerer, hunched in an armchair beyond Paton’s desk. “Mercy! Forgive me, sir. What an honor. Orvil Onimous.” He held out a pawlike hand.

  The sorcerer allowed his own hand to be shaken, but he seemed hardly aware of Mr. Onimous. His gaze was fixed on the three bright cats. “Beautiful beasties,” he murmured. “Ancient creatures. Leopards, no doubt. Thine, sir?”

  “They belong to no one,” said Mr. Onimous. “Though, once, they were the King’s. I’m speaking of the Red King, of course.”

  “The Red King. Aye.” Skarpo nodded, his eyes still on the cats, watching them hungrily.

  “You can’t take them back with you,” said Charlie sternly.

  Skarpo’s beard quivered. “I am not a thief, boy.”

  “Actually …” Charlie just stopped himself from mentioning the stolen wand. The situation was delicate enough.

  “Where’s this painting then, Charlie?” asked Mr. Onimous.

  Charlie fetched the painting from his room, and Mr. Onimous, putting a finger on the painted mouse, said, “See that, flames? That mouse there, peeking out of a pocket?”

  The cats watched Mr. Onimous’ finger, and then turned their earnest gaze toward Skarpo. Their bright eyes traveled from his face to a dark pleat on the side of his robe, where there was, now, no mouse. Their quick understanding was astonishing. In a second they had darted around the room, under the bed, and out of the door.

  Charlie looked into the passage to see what the cats would do. The house was filled with golden light, and a soft pattering, a gentle scratching, a mewing, and a purring could be heard. Clever paws turned handles, opened cabinets, lifted carpets, papers, curtains, covers; pulled out drawers, boxes, shoes, clothing. And then the trio stopped and sniffed and listened.

  Charlie held his breath and listened with them. Not for long. There was a sudden thump, a squeak, and a yowl. And then up the stairs they came, Sagittarius first, holding a mouse in his jaws.

  The flames ran into Paton’s room and Sagittarius, meowing loudly, laid the terrified but unharmed mouse in the sorcerer’s lap.

  “Moosie!” cried Skarpo, grabbing the mouse. “’Tis well done, brave creature.” He stroked the yellow cat’s head. “I thank thee.” Putting the mouse in his pocket, he stood up and made a little bow to Paton and Mr. Onimous. “Gentlemen, fare thee well!” Then he propped the painting against a stack of books on Paton’s desk and turned Charlie to face it. “Now!” he commanded.

  “OK.” Charlie looked at his uncle and Mr. Onimous. “Could you help me back — if I get stuck?”

  “The flames will keep you safe,” said Mr. Onimous. And the cats moved closer to Charlie as the whole uncomfortable business of being pushed and pulled began all over again.

  But this time, while Charlie traveled, he felt a comforting warmth enfolding him, and as he watched the blank eyes of the sorcerer, he kept glimpsing flashes of red and gold beside him. When the sorcerer’s eyes began to glow with life, Charlie knew he had succeeded in bringing him home. Now he must retreat before Skarpo started playing tricks.

  However, it seemed that Skarpo had no intention of tricking Charlie. “Go now, Charlie Bone,” he said, waving his hand. “And mind the herb for thine visual’s affliction.”

  What happened next was certainly not Skarpo’s fault. Behind the sorcerer’s table there was a window, and Charlie’s gaze was drawn to a stretch of glittering sea beyond. Before he could tug himself away, he found himself flying through the window.

  As he sailed over the moonlit water, Charlie sensed again the warm presence of bright creatures, and he wasn’t afraid. The dark mass of a forest loomed in the distance, and he felt breathless with anticipation as he drew closer. Now he was floating above the trees to a place where the topm
ost leaves were touched with firelight.

  He looked down into a glade where a man stood tending a fire. The man wore a red cloak and his skin was the color of warm, brown earth. Charlie felt him to be the saddest man in the world.

  Sparks from the fire began to float up to the sky, and when the man followed them with his eyes, he saw Charlie. Sadness left the man’s face and he gave a sudden, joyful smile. In a deep, melodious voice, he called three names and three creatures stepped out of the shadows. The firelight danced on their pale, spotted coats, and they looked up at Charlie with eyes of gold.

  “Flames,” Charlie murmured.

  “Are you back, Charlie?” asked a voice.

  A silvery mist surrounded Charlie and when he blinked, he found himself caught in the gaze of six golden eyes. “Oh,” he said.

  The loud purring that had filled his ears began to fade, and he bent to stroke the three bright heads.

  “That was quite something, Charlie. I won’t forget it for the rest of my life.”

  The mist receded, and Charlie could see Mr. Onimous in the chair that Skarpo had recently vacated.

  “What happened?” asked Charlie.

  “There you were, and there was the sorcerer,” said Mr. Onimous leaning forward excitedly. “And the sorcerer — well, he went right through you. He faded first, like, until he was just a bit of shadow, and then he vanished. Phew!”

  “And what happened to me?”

  “You? You just stayed where you were, Charlie. Standing like a stone and staring at that picture. But the cats, now that’s a different story. Never stopped moving. Around and around your legs they went, purring and singing like I never heard before.”

  “I think they came with me,” said Charlie. “Came with my mind, I mean, when I traveled.”

  “Did they now? Well, I wouldn’t put it past them.”

  Charlie didn’t mention his encounter with the leopards and the man in the red cloak. It was so intimate and precious he didn’t have the words for it. Instead he turned to his uncle and found he was asleep.

  “Didn’t Uncle Paton see what happened?” he asked.