Charlie Bone and the Shadow Page 18

  This time the applause was slightly restrained. It would never do to let a small boy's, admittedly impressive, talent go to his head.

  Venetia smiled forgivingly. "I'm sure many of you have equally formidable talents. But if you need Eric, you can contact me at number thirteen Darkly Wynd. Now..." She spoke the last word with an expressive sigh. "Titania will treat you to something rather special."

  Venetia and Eric stepped aside and Titania Tilpin strode to the center of the stage. You could tell by the excited glitter in her eyes that she had saved the best part of her presentation until the end. She treated her audience to a broad smile, unhappily revealing several missing teeth. And then, from the folds of her cloak, she withdrew a mirror. Holding it up with a dramatic flourish, she cried, "The Mirror of Amoret"

  It was an astonishingly beautiful object. The jewel-encrusted frame sparkled with a thousand colors, and the glass itself, though cracked, had an unearthly radiance. Holding the handle in her right hand, Titania gently laid the mirror across her left palm and gazed into the glass. "We cannot have the count among us yet," she said in a harsh whisper, "but, friends" - she looked out at the audience - "I can reach him."

  A profound silence settled on the audience.

  Titania's gaze returned to the mirror. "Count Harken," she called in a floaty voice, "I beseech you - favor your humble descendants."

  Like everyone else, Mrs. Brown stared at the mirror. What she saw there shook her to the very core of her being. A green mist seeped from the mirror. As it drifted upward, it swelled into a thick, evil-smelling cloud. Titania waved the mirror several times until the cloud parted. She smiled into the glass and held it out to face the audience. The head and shoulders of a man began to form in the glass; he wore a green jacket and his thick brown hair was touched with gold. His face was so cruel and arrogant, Mrs. Brown couldn't hold back a tiny gasp. The shadow seemed to be looking directly at her; she was sure he could see her.

  Mrs. Brown began to feel faint. She put her hand in her pocket and accidentally drew out the bag of chloroform. Having almost anesthetized herself, she suddenly realized her mistake, pushed back the chloroform, and thrust the smelling salts under her nose. Her neighbor jabbed Mrs. Brown's arm and the smelling salts fell to the floor.

  "SPY!" shouted the woman with the red ringlets. "FRAUD! IMPOSTOR! ENEMY!"

  Mrs. Brown leaped out of her seat and rushed to the door. Several burly figures stood up.

  "Stop her!" screamed Titania.

  The man in the elephant jacket grabbed Mrs. Brown's arm just as she reached for the door handle. She quickly stuck the scissors into his thigh with one hand and shoved the chloroform over his mouth and nose with the other. The big fellow staggered back with a groan, and Mrs. Brown wrenched open the door.

  By now, some of the larger members of the audience were close on her heels. Mrs. Brown bounded out of the chapel and raced down the street. Even in built-up boots she was as swift as a rabbit. Her fast feet had rescued her from many a sticky situation, but too late, she realized that she was running away from Argos Avenue rather than toward it. All was not lost, however, for Piminy Street curved sharply in the middle, and Mrs. Brown saw that if she could draw ahead sufficiently, she might be around the bend before her pursuers could see her duck behind a wall or a hedge.

  But there were no walls and no hedges. Apart from a few small porches, most of the doors opened directly onto the street. Mrs. Brown could hear shouting. The voices grew louder. They were angry, deep, murderous voices and their owners were gaining on her.

  All at once, before she had time to draw breath, Mrs. Brown was seized around the middle and carried into a darkened house. She screamed.

  The door slammed and a quiet female voice said, "Hush, my dear. I'm rescuing you, not murdering you."

  CHAPTER 17

  TRAVELING WITH THE BOA

  Benjamin woke up very early. He could hear Runner Bean barking. Something was wrong. It was still dark and Charlie was sound asleep. Benjamin found his clothes and dressed quickly. He was about to open the door when Charlie woke up.

  "Ben, is that you?" Charlie said sleepily.

  "I'm going home," Benjamin whispered. "Runner's barking. I want to see if Mom's OK."

  Wide awake now, Charlie leaped out of bed and flipped on the light. "Don't go without me, Ben. I want to know what happened."

  When Charlie had pulled on his clothes, the boys crept downstairs and left the house. Filbert Street was deserted and silent. Runner Bean had stopped barking, but there was a light in the hall at number twelve.

  In all the excitement of the previous night, Benjamin had forgotten his front door key. He rang the bell and Runner Bean started barking again. A few moments later, Mr. Brown opened the door with the chain still on. He looked out through a three-inch gap and said, "Who's there?" in a loud, challenging voice.

  "It's only us, Dad." Benjamin shoved his face into the gap. "Let us in, please."

  "Who's us?" demanded his father.

  "Charlie and me. We want to know if Mom's OK."

  "It is me, Mr. Brown." Charlie stood on tiptoe and looked over Benjamin's head.

  "I see. All right." Mr. Brown took off the chain and opened the door. "Quick as you can. Come on. They might be on to us."

  "Who?" asked Charlie, as he followed Benjamin and Mr. Brown into the kitchen.

  "Them," said Mr. Brown. "I can't say any more than that."

  Mrs. Brown was sitting at the kitchen table. She was dressed in her usual skirt and sweater, but she hadn't removed her makeup very well. Her forehead was covered in gray swirls and one cheek was striped pink and white. "It's only five o'clock," she said with a yawn. "What are you doing over here, boys?"

  "Runner woke me up," said Benjamin. "And we wanted to know what happened to you, Mom."

  The kettle boiled and Mr. Brown filled the teapot, saying, "It's a long story, boys. Your mom was discovered, Ben. She had to spend half the night with a blacksmith named Mrs. Kettle."

  "Mrs. Kettle?" Charlie exclaimed. "She's a friend."

  "She is, indeed, Charlie," said Mrs. Brown. "I wouldn't be here now if she hadn't rescued me."

  Mr. Brown handed everyone a mug of tea, and while she sipped and stirred, Mrs. Brown began to talk about her terrifying adventure. At last, Charlie learned where the painting had gone and how, dressed in Mrs. Kettle's coveralls and cloth cap, Mrs. Brown had eventually managed to evade the gruesome sympathizers and reach her husband waiting, in an agony of suspense, for her return.

  "I don't know who those people were," said Mrs. Brown, draining her cup, "but I can tell you they were a mighty sinister bunch.- Mrs. Kettle believes they have been lying low on Piminy Street for years. Biding their time, waiting for someone like Mrs. Tilpin to stir them into action."

  "They are certainly stirred up now," said Mr. Brown.

  "So the painting is in the Old Chapel," Charlie said thoughtfully.

  "Charlie, you can't go there," Mrs. Brown declared. "It isn't safe."

  "But I have to," argued Charlie. "I've got to rescue Billy from the painting."

  Mrs. Brown threw up her hands and looked at her husband.

  "We'll think of another way, Charlie," said Mr. Brown. "We'll talk it through and come up with a solution for you. We always find a solution when we put our minds to things, don't we, Trish?"

  "Of course we do." Mrs. Brown beamed at Charlie.

  "The best thing you can do, Charlie, is to go back home and get some more sleep. You can come and see us later, when we've all had a bit more time to think." She closed her eyes and gave a long yawn.

  Charlie took the hint. "OK." He stood up and Benjamin saw him to the front door.

  "Don't do anything without me, will you, Charlie?" Benjamin begged.

  "Not if I can help it," Charlie said.

  Number nine was still in darkness. Charlie let himself in and tiptoed up to his room. He lay on his bed, fully dressed, knowing he wouldn't get to sleep again until the following night. His
mind was made up. He had to go into the painting before it was moved again. But how could he walk up Piminy Street without all those menacing sympathizers seeing him? And that was the least of his problems. The Old Chapel would be locked, no doubt, and even if Charlie managed to break in through a window, there was no certainty of his actually getting into the painting again.

  "But I know that I can," Charlie whispered into the darkness. "Because you're going to help me, Claerwen."

  A soft light moved through the air above him and landed on his arm. Was she merely answering to her name, or was she telling Charlie that she could help?

  "I've got an idea," Charlie told the moth. He slid off the bed and, turning on his light, wrote a short note to Maisie. The note said:

  Me and Benjamin have gone to the bookstore.

  See you later . Love, Charlie.

  Charlie didn't like lying to Maisie, but she would only worry if she thought he was alone. He just hoped that Benjamin wouldn't come looking for him after breakfast.

  Charlie left the note on the kitchen table where Maisie was bound to see it. She was always up before Grandma Bone.

  Dawn was slowly approaching. There was a thin light on the horizon, but the streets were still dark and the air was bitterly cold. Charlie began to run. Before he reached the bookstore, he would have to pass the end of Piminy Street and he dreaded it. He was nearing the turn to Cathedral Close when he sensed that something was following him. He stopped and turned, very slowly. And there they were - Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius - their big paws pounding the cobblestones, their heads up and their tails erect, their fiery colors brightening the morning.

  "Hi there, Flames!" Charlie called softly. "Thanks for the escort." He passed the turn to Piminy Street with confidence and pressed on to the bookstore.

  The cathedral clock chimed seven just as Charlie emerged into the square. Ingledew's didn't open until nine o'clock. Charlie began to feel foolish. But when he peered into the darkened store, he was sure he could hear voices. He rang the bell.

  The Flames padded across the cobblestone square and looked back at Charlie from a distance. Miss Ingledew, wearing a red bathrobe, came into the store and stood behind the counter. She stared at Charlie through the window, not recognizing him.

  "It's me, Charlie," called Charlie.

  Miss Ingledew crossed to the door and unlocked it. "Whatever are you doing here at this time of the morning?" she asked, not unkindly.

  The Flames, satisfied that Charlie was safe, went about their business.

  Charlie bounded down the steps into the store. "It'll take me a while to explain," he said.

  "You'd better come and have some breakfast." Miss Ingledew led him through her living room and into the small kitchen at the back of the house. Charlie was surprised to see Olivia and Emma eating boiled eggs. Or rather, Olivia was eating. Emma hadn't touched her egg.

  "Wow! You're having breakfast early for a Saturday," Charlie remarked.

  "And you're having a walk early for a Saturday," said Olivia.

  Emma lifted a wan face and said, "I can't sleep and that makes it difficult for anyone else to sleep. Do you want an egg, Charlie?"

  Charlie was so shaken by Emma's mournful expression he didn't know what to say. "No... er, yes... urn, just toast," he mumbled.

  "Don't look so shocked, Charlie," Olivia barked. "How would you feel if someone you really cared for was... well, that you were never going to see them again?"

  "I'd feel bad," he said, taking the chair between them. "I do feel bad," he added. "That's why I'm here."

  "It's about Billy, isn't it?" Emma might have been grief-stricken, but she was still aware of other people's troubles.

  "It's just," Charlie began awkwardly, "that Billy still has a chance."

  "And Tancred hasn't," said Emma.

  "I don't mean that." Charlie leaned sideways as Miss Ingledew put a stack of toast on the table. He suddenly realized that he couldn't speak about the sympathizers' meeting. If Miss Ingledew heard about Mrs. Brown's hair-raising escape from Piminy Street, she was bound to stop Charlie from attempting to get into the Old Chapel.

  "What do you mean?" asked Olivia, frowning at Charlie.

  "Don't look at me like that," begged Charlie. "You probably think it was all my fault, Tancred's... drowning. But I didn't know he was going to meet Dagbert in the sculpture room. I was locked up. I couldn't do anything about it."

  "We don't blame you, Charlie," Emma said gently. "Have you tried to reach Billy again?"

  Charlie hesitated. He couldn't mention the Old Chapel with Miss Ingledew hovering behind him. "Not since I found Claerwen," he said.

  "You found her? Why didn't you say?" Olivia scolded.

  "I forgot." Charlie put his hand in his pocket and felt the moth's delicate feet touch his forefinger. "Here she is." He lifted her out and set her on the marmalade jar, where her silvery wings caught the light from the overhead lamp.

  Both girls smiled at last. "Awww!" they breathed.

  "She really is beautiful," said Miss Ingledew, sitting opposite Charlie. She swept back her long chestnut hair and asked, "Is your uncle back, Charlie?"

  "No. We don't know where he is." Charlie shrugged. "Maisie's tried to call his cell, but there's never an answer. We think he's hundreds of miles away, where there isn't a signal. Actually, I wish he would come back."

  "So do I." Miss Ingledew stared at the moth in a dreamy way for a moment, and then she stood up and said brusquely, "I must get dressed. I've work to do."

  As soon as her aunt had left the room, Emma whispered, "I think she misses your uncle more than she's letting on."

  "Definitely," Olivia agreed. "Why don't they get married?"

  Charlie didn't know the answer to this. "I think I'd better be going now," he said. "I'll leave by the back door if that's OK."

  "Why do you want to go that way?" asked Emma.

  "Why did you come here in the first place?" said Olivia. "What for? Just to show us the moth?"

  "I'm going to the Old Chapel on Piminy Street," said Charlie in a low voice. "I want to go the back way so that no one sees me. The painting's there."

  Olivia raised her eyebrows. "I suppose that'll have to do for now."

  The girls followed him to the back door at the far end of the kitchen.

  "You can lock it again, after I've gone," said Charlie, stepping into the small yard behind the store.

  "Won't you be coming back this way?" asked Emma.

  "Urn. Don't know. I'll knock if I do." Charlie made his way past empty book boxes to the gate in the wall. The gate was rusty from lack of use and made a loud screech when Charlie opened and closed it.

  He was now in the narrow alley that ran between the backyards of Piminy Street and Cathedral Close. The girls could hear him picking his way over the slippery, uneven cobblestones, long after the dark morning had swallowed him up.

  Emma whispered, "I don't like it, Liv. It isn't light yet and the Piminy Street people are ..."

  "Dangerous," finished Olivia. "I think we ought to contact the others."

  "Who? Fidelio will be at a concert somewhere, Gabriel's running around the city with his petition, Tancred's ..." - Emma gave a little sigh - "not an option, and Lysander... ah, Lysander!"

  "Definitely," said Olivia.

  "Yes, of course, Lysander." Emma followed Olivia back into the kitchen, feeling a little less anxious.

  Charlie was passing the yard behind the Kettle Shop when a blue flame suddenly lit the window of the workshop. Mrs. Kettle obviously started work early. It was comforting to know that she was close by. Charlie wondered why he hadn't thought of Mrs. Kettle before. He went up to the workshop window and looked in.

  The blacksmith, in her coveralls and visor, appeared to be welding a handle onto a large iron kettle. When she saw Charlie, she give a little start, then put down her welding iron and came to the back door.

  "What the dickens are you doing here, Charlie Bone?" she asked, pulling up her visor.

/>   Charlie looked furtively over his shoulder and whispered, "I was on my way to the Old Chapel."

  "I can guess why," said Mrs. Kettle. "Mrs. Brown spilled the beans. Come in for a minute, Charlie."

  Charlie stepped into the warm workshop. It was here that Mrs. Kettle had forged the invincible sword the Red Knight now carried at his side. There were other swords hanging on her walls, Charlie noted with satisfaction, and large tools that could, no doubt, do serious damage.

  Mrs. Kettle gathered some of her smaller implements together and put them in a canvas tool bag. "You'd given no thought to the method of entering that chapel, now had you, Charlie?"

  "I had, but I didn't come to a definite conclusion," Charlie admitted.

  "No, you were going to wait till you got there and then be caught, most probably while you were just standing around thinking. Well, you'll need these for a start." She held up a formidable-looking pair of pliers.

  Charlie was impressed. Not only had Mrs. Kettle made no attempt to dissuade him from entering the chapel, she was actually going to help him. He couldn't stop himself from smiling.

  "This is a serious business, Charlie," Mrs. Kettle warned him. "We'll have to be very, very careful."

  "Yes, Mrs. Kettle."

  "There's something else. Wait here." She went through the heavy door into the Kettle Shop and returned a moment later, carrying a large lidded basket. "Solomon," she said. "You'll need him."

  "The boa?" Charlie stepped back a pace. "Why?"

  "Why, d'you think? Invisibility would be a great advantage in a place like Badlock, would it not?"

  "Of course," Charlie agreed. "Yes, it would. But I can't talk to Solomon. Only Billy can do that."

  "Use your moth. They understand each other. Both are ancient, both have known the Red King."

  Mrs. Kettle looked so grave and resolute, Charlie found himself taking the basket without another word. They left the safety of the workshop and made their way cautiously along the alley. The houses on either side loomed against a sky that was already lighter.