Charlie Bone and the Hidden King Page 3

  "Mr. Onimous would never let that happen." Maisie patted Benjamin's head. "Runner Bean's just fine. You'll see."

  Billy and Charlie wolfed down their breakfasts and followed Benjamin, who was already at the front door.

  "Where's all the snow gone?" said Benjamin as they raced up Filbert Street. "Last night it was so deep we could hardly drive through it."

  "The Flame cats had something to do with it," muttered Charlie.

  "You mean like it wasn't real snow?"

  "Don't know what I mean," said Charlie.

  When they reached the Pets' Cafe they found a CLOSED sign hanging on the door. Charlie pressed his face to the window. Chairs were piled on tables and the counter was bare. But at the back of the cafe, a soft light could be seen coming through the beaded curtain into the kitchen.

  Charlie knocked on the door.

  For a moment he thought no one had heard. He was about to knock again when Mr. Onimous's small figure appeared behind the counter. The three boys waved and Mr. Onimous scurried around the tables to open the door.

  "Well, if it isn't Marco Polo himself," said Mr. Onimous, ushering the boys into the cafe.

  "Marco who?" asked Benjamin.

  "An ancient traveler, Benjy." Mr. Onimous locked the door. "A man who went to China before most people knew it was there."

  "I was in Hong Kong," Benjamin said gravely, "and I'm not ancient. Please, where's my dog?"

  "Ah." Mr. Onimous ran a hand over his stubbly chin. "You'd better come into the kitchen."

  "Where is he?" Benjamin ran around the counter and past the curtain.

  Mr. Onimous shrugged uneasily and whispered, "The dog's gone, Charlie. Goodness knows where."

  "Gone?" Charlie and Billy rushed after Benjamin.

  On entering the Onimouses' kitchen, the boys beheld Emma Tolly, sitting in the only armchair. Her eyelids were red and wet streaks covered her cheeks.

  "Emma, are you OK?" Charlie immediately felt foolish because, clearly, Emma wasn't OK.

  In a desolate voice, Emma said, "I've lost my duck." She gave a deep sob.

  "What?" Charlie exclaimed.

  "Now, now, now. Let's all calm down," said Mrs. Onimous, almost scalding herself as she emptied a kettle of boiling water into a gigantic teapot. "Sit down, boys, and help yourselves to cake."

  "I don't think I can eat." Benjamin pulled out a chair and dropped onto it. "I just want my dog. I've been waiting to see him for seven whole months."

  "Well, you'll just have to wait a tad longer," said Mrs. Onimous somewhat testily. "As a matter of fact, there's been a mass exodus. All the animals have gone and . . ."

  "Even Rembrandt?" squeaked Billy.

  "All means all, even rats, Billy," said Mr. Onimous. "But I'm sure there's a simple explanation. In order to think, we must remain calm. Pour the tea, Onoria, my darling. Tea is restoring."

  Emma joined the boys at the table, while Mr. and Mrs. Onimous each took a seat at either end. Tea and cakes were passed around, but Charlie was the only one to enjoy the cake. His concern for the animals hadn't managed to spoil his appetite. Surely, they couldn't all have disappeared. He looked around the cozy kitchen looking for signs of life: a mouse, a spider, the odd fly. But nothing moved on the copper pans above his head, or on the shelves crammed with jars and tins and brightly painted dishes. Finally his glance fell on a lidded basket in the corner and he asked, "What about the blue boa?"

  "Gone, the dear thing," Mrs. Onimous replied sadly. "They must have left last night, in the snowstorm. I came down early to make a cup of tea and the place was deserted. No welcoming barks, no eager scamperings, no happy slitherings." She blew her very long nose with a loud trumpeting sound.

  "Same happened to me." Emma's blue eyes filled with fresh tears. "Nancy's always, always, always in her duck house in the yard. But it was empty."

  Billy gave a little cough. "The Flame cats came to warn us, but they didn't say anything about animals disappearing."

  "What exactly did they say, dear?" Mrs. Onimous bent her lean frame eagerly toward Billy.

  "They said Charlie must watch his mother and a shadow was waking up. A shadow called Hark."

  "Hark?" Mr. Onimous raised and lowered his bristly eyebrows. He scratched a whiskery cheek with slightly furry hands and said, "I'm in the dark."

  "What was that?" Mrs. Onimous suddenly sat bolt upright, craning her long neck toward the far end of the kitchen.

  "Scratching," said Billy.

  Now they could all hear it: a very, very distant scratching.

  Billy jumped up and rushed to a door that led into the pantry.

  "Billy, no . . ." Mr. Onimous snatched a flashlight from a shelf and hopped after Billy calling, "Come back, Billy. Do you hear me?"

  "It's Rembrandt," said Billy's faint voice.

  Charlie followed Mr. Onimous through a long room lined with shelves of dog food and then down a dark passage with an earthen floor and walls of bare rocks. The ceiling was only inches above Charlie's head, and it was so dark he could barely see Mr. Onimous scuttling ahead of him.

  The Pets' Cafe was built into the ancient city wall, and they were now traveling along an underground passage that led to the very heart of the Red King's castle. By the time Charlie had caught up with Mr. Onimous, Billy had reached a small door at the end of the passage. Before Mr. Onimous could stop him, Billy wrenched open the door and leaped into the space beyond. He was now in a cavern whose curved walls were lined with large crates and lumpy-looking sacks.

  Mr. Onimous stepped into the cavern with Charlie close behind him. In the beam of light from Mr. Onimous's flashlight, Charlie could see that Billy was holding a large black rat.

  Oh, Rembrandt, where've you been? Billy continued with a series of high squeaks and strange little hums.

  The rat responded with a few squeaks of his own, and Billy said, "He's had a bit of an adventure. He went through - oh . . ." As he said this, he turned to see Mr. Onimous closing a very small door. Black and scarred with age, the door nevertheless perfectly fit a gaping hole in the wall.

  "Wow! Where does that go?" asked Billy, staring at the door.

  "It's just a hole," Charlie said quickly.

  Mr. Onimous bent and retrieved a tiny brass key lying on the floor. "Animals," he grunted, fitting the key into a tiny lock in the ancient door. "They're too clever by half. I suppose it was you who unlocked the door, Rembrandt rat." He pocketed the key.

  "Yes, it was him," said Billy. "But where does that lead to?"

  "Billy, I want you to promise me something." Mr. Onimous's genial whiskery features had become almost severe. "I want you to promise never, ever to tell a single soul about this room or that door."

  "Oh." For a moment Billy silently gazed at the door, and then understanding seemed to dawn on his eager face. "It's a secret passage, isn't it?" he whispered. "To the castle?"

  "I'm waiting for your promise, Billy," Mr. Onimous said gravely.

  "I promise never, ever to tell a soul about this place or that door," Billy said in a small voice.

  Mr. Onimous smiled at last. "You don't need to know any more. Forget it. Understand?"

  "Yes," came the whispered reply. Though how could Billy possibly forget such an exciting place?

  The rat began to squeak again and they all trooped back to the kitchen to find out what he had to say.

  "Any news of Runner?" asked Benjamin. "That's some rat, by the way."

  "Name's Rembrandt," said Charlie, "and we think he's got something to tell us."

  Rembrandt was placed in the center of the table, and when everyone had taken a place, Billy gave the rat a light, prompting hum. Rembrandt looked around at the expectant faces. He was a sociable rat and clearly enjoyed being the center of attention. With small squeaks, pauses, grunts, and twitters, he began his story. Gradually the sounds he made formed a pattern that Charlie could almost recognize as speech. Billy sat with his chin on his folded arms, gazing at Rembrandt and listening intently to his voice. When
it was clear that the rat had uttered his last squeak, Billy picked him up and put him in his lap. The exhausted creature curled up and fell asleep.

  "Go on, Billy," said impatient Benjamin. "What did he say?"

  "Some of it's hard to explain," said Billy.

  "Try," urged Charlie.

  "Well - he said that last night something - kind of - woke up. And - and the earth shivered."

  "We didn't notice, did we?" Mrs. Onimous looked at her husband.

  "We're not animals, dear," he replied. "Not quite, anyway."

  "Please," moaned Benjamin, "let him go on!"

  With a shake of her smooth, feathery hair, Mrs. Onimous pointed her very long nose in Benjamin's direction. "I'm sorry to interrupt, I'm sure," she said tartly.

  Benjamin ducked contritely and then quietly begged, "I just wanted to know about my dog."

  Billy took a breath and continued. "Anyway, Rembrandt says that they were very frightened, him and the boa and Runner Bean, and instinct made them want to go - somewhere else. So Rembrandt got a key." Billy paused. "I think he said it was in your bedroom, Mr. Onimous."

  "Little devil," muttered Mr. Onimous.

  "And he unlocked a door," Billy went on quickly, "and they all went into a tunnel and - they went through the castle ruin, and all the mice and squirrels and birds and rabbits, and everything else that lived there, they all went too, and . . . and this is the hard bit, I think they went down a cliff - where the river roars - and over a bridge." Billy took off his glasses, which had steamed up. He rubbed them against his sleeve and put them on again. "Imagine all those animals pattering over a bridge."

  "Maybe some swam," Charlie suggested.

  "And some would fly," added Emma.

  "Yes, birds would." Billy glanced at the frowning Benjamin and hurriedly continued. "And after a bit, they found somewhere safe. And that's where they are now; Runner Bean and the blue boa, and your duck too, I expect, Emma."

  "Where?" Benjamin spread his hands.

  "I don't know, do I?" Billy replied. "I mean, Rembrandt didn't tell me any names. He came back here because he wanted me to know what had happened. But he thinks the others might stay there."

  Benjamin was speechless with dismay. In fact, everyone was silent, until Emma asked, "Why? Why do they want to stay?"

  Billy stroked his rat's glossy coat. "I think Rembrandt was trying to say that it's a kind of - sanctuary."

  " Sanctuary ? I never heard of such a place in this city," said Mrs. Onimous.

  "But it isn't in the city. It's out there, on the other side of the river." Billy gazed over their heads to an imaginary paradise, floating somewhere in space.

  "Billy, there's nothing on the other side of the river," said Mr. Onimous. "It's a wilderness."

  With a cry of despair, Benjamin buried his face in his hands.

  THE GIRL IN THE SUNSHINE COAT

  Wilderness. The word was in everyone's mind but no one would say it out loud, just yet. By now, the city was crowded with Saturday shoppers and when the four children emerged from the Pets' Cafe, they headed for the quiet street that led to Ingledew's bookstore.

  Every weekend Emma helped in the store, where she lived with her aunt Julia. Emma's aunt was wise and kind. She had read almost all the rare and ancient books on her shelves, and her knowledge of the city and its past was prodigious. She was bound to know about the wilderness across the river. There was also a strong possibility that Charlie's uncle Paton would be in the store. And so, without even discussing it, the children gravitated toward the two people who might be able to tell them what had happened to their animals.

  Exhausted by his long journey, Rembrandt had fallen into a deep sleep. He lay curled in Billy's pocket, incapable of uttering another squeak.

  As they drew near to the shop, the noise of the city receded and they became aware that something was wrong. None of them could say what it was, but in one way or another they all felt very uneasy.

  "It's kind of spooky up here." Benjamin wrinkled his nose. "It never used to be."

  There are no birds," said Emma. "They've all gone."

  They had reached the wide cobblestoned square in front of the cathedral where, usually, at least a dozen grackles could be seen, strutting across the cobblestones, or shouting from the rooftops. Today there was not even a pigeon.

  "No cats, either," Charlie observed. "There's always a cat mousing around the cathedral."

  "And dogs." Benjamin spun on his heel, staring around the square. "On Saturdays people walk their dogs here. So, where are they?"

  Billy spoke the words on everyone's mind: "In the wilderness."

  Charlie felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Someone was watching them. He whirled around, just in time to see a figure in yellow disappear into an alley. "We're being followed," he said quietly. "I saw a yellow, floaty thing down there."

  No one looked where Charlie was pointing. They ran for the bookstore as though a monster were on their trail. Charlie followed them, stumbling down the steps into the store and bumping into Benjamin, who let out a yell of warning.

  Distracted by the sudden commotion, Paton Yewbeam, balanced precariously at the top of a step-ladder, began to sway dangerously, and the armful of books he'd been placing on a high shelf almost slipped out of his grasp.

  "Paton, look out!" Julia Ingledew sprinted across the room and steadied the ladder.

  "What's the trouble?" Uncle Paton deposited the books and came down the ladder.

  All four children spoke at once, causing Uncle Paton to cover his ears and exclaim, "For pity's sake, one at a time."

  "Let's take a break," Miss Ingledew suggested.

  They all piled into the small living room at the back of the store, and while the boys made themselves comfortable among the books on chairs and sofa, Emma described her morning, from the discovery of Nancy's empty duck house, to the absence of birds and animals in the city.

  "I knew something was amiss," Uncle Paton said thoughtfully. "But I couldn't put my finger on it. I lose a few details when I'm wearing my dark glasses."

  "But do you know anything about the wilderness across the river?" Charlie asked his uncle.

  "I've never ventured that far," Uncle Paton said regretfully. "And why the animals should choose to go there, I have no idea."

  "They were frightened," said Charlie.

  "But we don't know why," said Emma.

  "Yes, we do," put in Billy. "Rembrandt told us. Something woke up and the ground shivered."

  "I'll never see Runner Bean again," moaned Benjamin. "Oh, why couldn't he have waited for me?"

  Miss Ingledew, who had been tidying small areas of the room, stopped suddenly and looked hard at Billy. "Shivered? Did you say 'shivered'?" she asked Billy.

  "Actually, Rembrandt said it," Billy told her.

  "Ah. You have a theory about the ground, don't you, Julia?" Uncle Paton sat back with a smile.

  They waited for Miss Ingledew to explain.

  "You can make fun of me, but I have my reasons." She bent over her desk and began to shuffle papers into a drawer.

  After a short and anxious interval, Charlie begged, "Please tell us about your theory, Miss Ingledew. We won't make fun of it."

  Miss Ingledew pushed a lock of luxuriant chestnut hair away from her face and straightened up. "Very well, but I'm sure you've heard it all before, Charlie." She sat on the arm of Paton's chair. "As you know, the Red King, from whom you are all descended - except for you, of course, Benjamin - well, when the queen died and the king left to mourn alone in the forest, his ten children fought among themselves until five of them left the castle forever. But the fighting didn't stop. It continued for centuries, yes, centuries."

  There was a buzz of surprise as the children uttered cries of "Wow! Centuries?" "Do you mean like hundreds and hundreds of years?"

  Charlie said, "It's kind of happening now, isn't it? I mean, with the Bloors trying to control everyone, and Uncle Paton fighting them when they go t
oo far . . ."

  "And your ghastly grandma always against you," said Benjamin.

  "Shush!" Uncle Paton lifted his hand. "If you want to hear what Miss Ingiedew has to say, kindly let her continue."

  The children immediately fell silent.

  Miss Ingiedew smiled around at everyone. "As I said, the killing went on for centuries. The land around the castle was a constant battleground, until in the eighteenth century, a fire destroyed almost every building in the city. Only this small area around the cathedral was saved, everything else had to be rebuilt.

  It was at this time that the Bloor family erected a grand mansion on the grounds of the ruined castle."

  "Bloor's Academy!" Charlie proclaimed.

  "Exactly," Miss Ingledew confirmed. "Although at that time it was called Bloor House, I believe."

  Benjamin, who was now scowling with impatience, said, "I don't see what all this has got to do with the ground shivering."

  "No, of course not. I'm sorry. I'll explain," said Miss Ingledew. "It has to do with the history: all the troubled lives, the hatred, the fear, all buried under the ashes, under the ground, and under the city, all . . . She pressed the fingers of her two hands together. "All contained and yet . . . She glanced at Billy's ashen face. "Oh dear, I'm frightening you."

  "You're not. You're not," cried Billy. "Please go on."

  Miss Ingledew continued hesitantly. "Well, it occurred to me that certain of the more evil spirits - could be - er, restless . . .."

  "Like someone turning in their grave," Charlie suggested eagerly.

  "That's one way of putting it." She gave a light chuckle. "But really, Charlie, I meant that something, or someone, might have woken them up."

  "And that's why the ground shivered," Billy broke in. "The Flame cats said they had to stop something being found."

  "A key, no doubt," said Uncle Paton with a small yawn.

  Charlie knew that his uncle's slightly bored tone belied his curiosity and he asked, "You don't mean an actual key, do you?"

  "No, Charlie. More of an artifact, an item that would connect an ancient spirit with our world."