Charlie Bone and the Invisible Boy Page 5

  “I’ve got relations there,” said Charlie.

  The woman leaned over the counter, staring at Charlie. “What sort of relations?” she asked.

  “Aunts. Great-aunts. I’m sure I’ll be all right. Please tell me where it is.”

  The woman sighed and said, “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Turn right at the top of this road, then go on till you get to Greybank Crescent. It’s off there somewhere.”

  “Thanks.” Charlie left the shop before the woman could utter any more gloomy warnings.

  Greybank Crescent was what it sounded like, a crescent of tall, gray buildings facing a semicircle of dusty grass. A huge fir tree stood in the center, lending an air of shadowy menace to the place.

  Exactly halfway around the crescent was a gap in the terraced houses, and a faded sign nailed to a side wall read DARKLY WYND. Charlie turned into a narrow, murky alley. On either side, grimy windowless walls towered up to the sky. A damp wind swirled into his face and it was hard to believe that only a moment ago he’d been standing in sunlight.

  The alley broadened into a courtyard surrounded by gaunt, ancient-looking houses. Like giant walls they seemed to lean inward, blotting out the light. Above them hung the darkest cloud Charlie had ever seen.

  He shivered and began to walk past the houses, counting the numbers on the doors. Nearly every house appeared to be deserted. Windows had been boarded up, peeling doors nailed shut. Someone or something had driven away all the former residents. At number five a group of youths burst out of the door, fighting and screaming. Charlie hurried on. At number nine, a rough-looking man emerged from the basement. He bellowed at Charlie, who began to run. At number eleven a trash can lid crashed to the pavement and a rat ran between Charlie’s legs.

  Darkly Wynd didn’t lead anywhere. At the end of the courtyard a block of buildings, taller than the others, stood facing Charlie. They had strange turrets and iron-framed balconies, tall arched windows with pediments of gnomish faces and unlikely beasts. The first house was number thirteen.

  Charlie mounted the stone steps. On the black door at the top a brass knocker, shaped like a hand, hung above the number thirteen. Charlie didn’t knock. Of course he didn’t. Instead he leaned over the railings and peered into a long window. The room beyond was filled with dark, looming furniture. He looked through the window on the other side of the porch and saw portraits of grim and serious people, hanging three deep on every wall. The house was silent. It appeared to be empty.

  As Charlie retraced his steps he noticed that the next house was also numbered thirteen and so was the next. “Poor mailman,” muttered Charlie. The second house was also silent and gloomy, but from the third came a whirring, ticking sound.

  To get a better view, Charlie ran down the basement steps and climbed onto a narrow ledge beneath the long window. Standing on tiptoe he could just see into the room beyond.

  What he saw there was more interesting than he could have hoped for. A long oval table almost filled the room. It was covered with scraps of cloth, sparkling sequins, feathers, buttons, tiny squares of mirror, velvet, leather, and bolts of cotton. A row of lights in bell-like brass shades hung over the table, illuminating three figures. Belle sat at a sewing machine, while Aunt Venetia and Dorcas Loom stood side by side, watching her. Aunt Venetia was holding a long hatpin with a black beetle on the tip. Belle said something and Venetia stuck the hatpin into a piece of red velvet. The velvet immediately became a writhing mass of shiny black beetles.

  Dorcas gasped — and so did Charlie.

  Belle looked at the window and her violent blue stare sent Charlie toppling back onto a row of trash cans. Looking down at him, from the front door, was Asa Pike.

  “Wh-what on earth are you doing here?” asked Charlie, picking himself up.

  “I could ask you the same question.” Asa, who usually went around wearing a tattered disguise, looked extremely sharp. He wore a leather jacket, white shirt, blue-checked tie, and stone-colored trousers. As if this weren’t surprising enough, he was carrying a bunch of tulips.

  “My aunts live here,” said Charlie.

  “So why are you spying instead of going in?” asked Asa.

  “Mind your own business.”

  Asa shrugged and rang the doorbell, while Charlie leaped up the basement steps. When he reached the pavement, a sound from above made him glance up. A man looked out from a high barred window; he had dark hair and a solemn face. Charlie felt sure he knew him. He got the impression that the man was a prisoner.

  Charlie ran on, down Darkly Wynd, trying to get the horrible picture of crawling beetles out of his mind.

  “Have you been to a horror movie?” said Emma as Charlie leaped into Ingledew’s. “You look awful.”

  “I’ve been somewhere horrible, all right,” said Charlie. He told Emma about the beetles and Darkly Wynd.

  Emma’s eyes widened and then she said, “To tell the truth, it doesn’t surprise me. Your great-aunts are so gruesome. My auntie’s making sandwiches. Do you want some?”

  Charlie certainly did. Julia Ingledew made delicious sandwiches with very exotic fillings. Today was no exception. Unfortunately, Saturday was Ingledew’s busiest day, so they all had to eat sitting behind the counter and Miss Ingledew kept jumping up to help the customers.

  A man with expensive taste in books and suits, by the look of it, had just left the shop with a rare book on fish. But Miss Ingledew didn’t look as happy as she should have, considering the huge sum of money she’d been given. She nibbled a sandwich, cleared her throat, and said, “Charlie, what’s happened to your uncle?”

  “I don’t know. He’s gone off somewhere.”

  Miss Ingledew looked anxious. “It’s just that he usually comes to the shop at least twice a week, and there’s been no word.”

  Charlie was pleased to see that she reddened slightly. It meant that his uncle’s crush on Miss Ingledew wasn’t entirely hopeless.

  “He left a note saying the aunts were plotting,” Charlie explained. “And he had to stop someone dangerous from arriving.”

  “Wow!” exclaimed Emma. “I wonder if he succeeded.”

  “Me, too,” said Charlie.

  “I do hope he’s all right,” said Miss Ingledew anxiously. “I don’t know what I’d do without … I mean, he’s so dependable, isn’t he, Charlie?”

  “Certainly is,” agreed Charlie.

  Charlie got home in time for lunch, but wished he hadn’t. Grandma Bone decided to put in an appearance, which meant that he had to eat a disgusting vegetable pie instead of his usual potato chips.

  There had been no word from Uncle Paton, but Grandma Bone didn’t seem worried anymore. “I’m sure he’s having a lovely vacation,” she said.

  This convinced Charlie that the opposite was true. He also had a sneaking suspicion that his grandmother now knew where Paton had gone. Her smug expression could only mean one thing. His uncle was in danger.

  After a painful half hour, Grandma Bone left Charlie and his mother to do the dishes.

  Charlie gave a sigh of relief. “Mom, I’m worried about Uncle Paton. How can we find out where he’s gone?”

  “We can’t, Charlie. Your uncle knows what he’s doing.” She glanced at herself in the mirror and brushed her shoulders.

  “You haven’t got another boyfriend, have you?” Charlie asked.

  His mother’s answer wasn’t very reassuring. “What makes you think that?”

  “Please don’t forget Dad,” said Charlie.

  She smiled pensively. “Of course I won’t, Charlie.”

  On Sunday afternoon, Charlie went to the Pets’ Café as usual. It was a good place for friends to meet, as long as they didn’t forget to bring a pet.

  Today, the manager, Norton Cross, let Charlie in without a pet. “Mr. Onimous told me all about Runner Bean,” said the big man. “Your pet’s waiting for you, Charlie.” He pointed to a table where Gabriel sat, feeding dog biscuits to Runner Bean.

  The
yellow dog gave a happy bark when he saw Charlie and jumped up, almost knocking Charlie over. After making a big fuss over Runner, Charlie sat beside Gabriel, whose lap was covered with gerbils.

  “I’m surprised Runner didn’t eat those,” Charlie remarked.

  “I don’t think he eats things that move,” said Gabriel.

  The Pets’ Café door clanged open and three more customers came in. Olivia and a white rabbit, Emma carrying a strange-looking bird in a cage, and a surprising visitor: Mr. Boldova. He held up his black rat, Rembrandt, and Norton Cross waved him into the café.

  While the girls came over to Charlie’s table, Mr. Boldova went to the counter.

  “Mr. B came into the bookshop yesterday,” Emma explained. “He wants to talk about Ollie and the boa thing, Charlie. So I brought him here.”

  Mr. Boldova arrived at the table with a tray of cookies and orange juice. “My treat,” he said. “Pass them around.”

  The art teacher took a seat between the girls while the cookies were divided as fairly as possible.

  “Emma says you want to talk to me, sir,” said Charlie, biting into a giant cookie.

  Mr. Boldova lost his cheerful expression. “Yes, Charlie. I’ll come straight to the point. There’s a new girl in art. Belle Donner. Apparently, she’s staying with your aunts. Does that mean she’s related to you, Charlie?”

  Charlie choked on a crumb. “I hope not,” he croaked.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” asked Olivia. “Is there something we ought to know?”

  “Yes, what do you know about Belle?” said Mr. Boldova.

  “Nothing,” said Charlie, “except her eyes keep changing color and … and … I saw …”

  “What?” said Olivia impatiently.

  Charlie told them about Darkly Wynd and the beetles. “It was one of my aunts who did the beetle thing, but I’m sure Belle had something to do with it. She’s got some sort of power over them.”

  “It must be her.”

  “Her who?” said Olivia.

  Mr. Boldova gave a grim smile. “Emma has probably told you by now that my younger brother, Ollie, was a pupil at Bloor’s. Just over a year ago he disappeared. When I came to Bloor’s to try and discover what had happened to him, I had to take on a new identity. There are people in Bloor’s who would certainly want to get rid of me if they knew who I was.”

  “Get rid of you!” said Emma.

  “I’m afraid so.” Mr. Boldova took a thoughtful bite of his cookie. “One way or another.”

  “About Belle …” Charlie prompted.

  “Ah, Belle.” Mr. Boldova wiped his mouth on a brown Pets’ Café napkin and began. “Beyond the mountains in the northeast there’s a castle. It was built in the twelfth century and once it had another name. Now it’s known as Yewbeam Castle.” He looked at Charlie.

  Charlie muttered, “Yewbeam,” but he didn’t interrupt.

  Mr. Boldova continued. “For centuries the descendants of the Red King have lived in Yewbeam Castle. Most of the owners have been endowed. In the year 1900, a baby was born in the castle. She was named Yolanda. Her father was a shape-shifter, her mother a hypnotist. On her twenty-first birthday, Yolanda inherited the castle, although …” Mr. Boldova glanced at the children’s expectant faces. “… although it cannot be said that her father was thoroughly dead.”

  “‘Thoroughly dead,’” squeaked Olivia. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that one can never be sure when a shape-shifter has ceased to exist. Yolanda is now more than a hundred, and she can still take the shape of a twelve-year-old girl.”

  “You mean,” breathed Charlie, “that Yolanda is — Belle?”

  “I’m fairly certain,” said Mr. Boldova. “And I’m afraid that she’s recognized me. My home isn’t far from hers, and she has always resented the people in Sparkling Castle. There used to be so much fun, so much sparkle, but since Ollie went we don’t enjoy making things glitter anymore, my father and I. Yes, we both have the talent. Sadly, Ollie doesn’t. His gift is musical; he was also blessed with boundless curiosity, and I was always afraid this would lead him into trouble.”

  “There’s a portrait of Selena Sparks, sir. Was she a sparkler?” Charlie asked.

  “Selena — ah, yes, a wonderful lady, by all accounts. We’re descended from her brother, who didn’t have the gift. Selena never married. Having too much fun, no doubt.”

  Charlie longed to ask how the sparkling happened, but he thought that the time wasn’t quite right. Olivia had no such qualms.

  “What do you do, sir?” she asked. “How do you make things sparkle?”

  “Never mind about that,” said the teacher. And then, seeing the disappointed faces, he said, “Oh, well,” and reached into his pocket. He brought out a fistful of small stones and, holding them over the table, he let the stones roll gently in his open palm. Four heads bent closer, and suddenly the stones began to sparkle. The children could feel the heat from the dazzling radiance the stones threw out, and Runner Bean, the rabbit, the parrot, and the gerbils all began squeaking and barking in unison.

  The rat, Rembrandt, being used to such spectacles, watched in silence.

  Mr. Boldova closed his fist and the sparkle died. Emma’s bird immediately cried, “I’ll be darned.”

  “They can be dangerous,” said Mr. Boldova, slipping the stones into his pocket.

  “How can you hold them, sir, when they’re so hot?” asked Gabriel.

  “To tell the truth, I’ve no idea,” said the teacher.

  Mr. Onimous appeared beside the table, wanting to know what had been going on. “Who’s been upsetting my customers?” he said, meaning the animals.

  Mr. Boldova was about to confess when Mr. Onimous suddenly put a finger to his lips. “No. Don’t tell me. You’re one of them, aren’t you, sir?” He winked at Charlie and went on, “What do you think of old Runner Bean? Looks happy enough, doesn’t he?”

  “He looks great, Mr. Onimous. How’s he getting on with the cats?”

  “No problems, Charlie. They’re pals. Speaking of the flames, they’ve been showing a lot of interest in that school of yours just lately. Is everything OK there?”

  For a moment, Charlie hesitated, then, looking at Mr. Boldova, he said softly, “No it isn’t.” He lowered his voice and told Mr. Onimous about Belle and invisible Ollie.

  “Well, I’ll be me!” murmured Mr. Onimous. “No wonder the cats are curious.”

  At that moment a group of very noisy customers arrived: four black dogs with square muzzles and dangerous eyes. The two youths who accompanied them looked mild enough, but Charlie sensed something awkward about them. They were both overweight with sandy hair and pink, freckled faces. You could tell that they hadn’t spent much time training their dogs.

  “Rottweilers,” muttered Gabriel. “You’d better watch Runner. They’re nasty fighters.”

  Mr. Onimous hopped away to attend to the barking that had broken out, while Runner Bean began one of his low growls. He would have liked to get closer to the rottweiler gang but didn’t dare chance it.

  The children finished their tea and, after several hugs, Charlie led Runner Bean to safety behind the counter. “See you next week,” he said to the yellow dog.

  As he walked toward the door the rottweilers moved into his path. Their growls had a menacing edge, and for a moment Charlie didn’t dare pass them.

  “Sorry.” One of the youths gave a reluctant grin and pulled the rottweilers out of the way.

  Gabriel already had the door open and Charlie sprinted through it, almost knocking over the girl standing outside: Dorcas Loom.

  “Hi!” said Charlie. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I’m waiting for my brothers,” said Dorcas.

  “Haven’t you got an animal?” asked Gabriel.

  “Don’t like them,” said Dorcas.

  At that moment Mr. Boldova came through the door, followed by Emma and Olivia.

  “Oh!” Dorcas’ eyes grew very round.
“Imagine seeing you here, sir.”

  The art teacher gave a slight smile. “Hello, Dorcas.”

  And then Dorcas caught sight of Emma’s bird. “How cute,” she said, “What is it?”

  “A mynah. I wouldn’t …” She was too late to stop Dorcas from poking her finger into the cage.

  “Coochie! Coochie!” said Dorcas.

  The mynah pecked her finger and Dorcas gave an earsplitting shriek.

  One of the rottweiler youths stuck his head out of the door and said, “What’s the matter, Dorcy? What happened?”

  “Beastly, rotten, vile, smelly bird bit me!” cried Dorcas.

  “You shouldn’t keep vicious pets,” said the youth, glaring at Emma.

  Mr. Boldova said, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d say four rottweilers posed more of a threat than a mere mynah.”

  The youth raised his fist, thought better of it, and withdrew behind the door, saying, “We’ll be out in a sec, Dorc.”

  Dorcas had by now calmed down a little, but when Emma apologized for her mynah’s behavior, Dorcas wouldn’t even look at her.

  “’Bye, Dorcas,” the others called as they walked away.

  Dorcas turned her back and sucked her finger.

  When they reached the main street, Mr. Boldova said, “Now look. I don’t want any of you to try and rescue Ollie again.”

  “But …” Charlie began.

  “No. It’s too dangerous,” Mr. Boldova said forcefully. “Believe me. I’m grateful for your help, Charlie and Emma, but it’s up to me now. OK?”

  The children grudgingly agreed and the art teacher walked off in the direction of Bloor’s Academy. Emma and Olivia took a street that led to Ingledew’s Bookshop, and Gabriel and Charlie headed up to the intersection.

  Before they parted, Charlie said, “Do you think Dorcas was spying on us? She’s changed a lot lately. Ever since I saw her in the house in Darkly Wynd I’ve had this feeling that she’s not what we all thought she was.”

  “She’s certainly lost weight,” said Gabriel.

  “It’s not just that,” Charlie said with a grin.

  “Well, she’s endowed. But we don’t know how — yet. As for spying, I thought Billy Raven was the spy. We all know he’s in league with Manfred and that horrible old Mr. Ezekiel.”