Charlie Bone and the Invisible Boy Page 7

  “It could,” said Charlie. “In fact it is. And now they say Mr. Boldova’s left, but I think something terrible has happened to him.”

  “Something to do with her?” said Gabriel, eyeing pretty, blonde Belle, who was now combing her curls.

  Olivia suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. “If that girl’s a shape-shifter, it’s going to be hard to know where she is. She could look like anyone.”

  “Or any thing,” said Fidelio darkly.

  This thought was so awful they all fell silent.

  On his way to homework that evening, Charlie caught up with Billy Raven, his arms full of books.

  “Have you got Rembrandt with you?” Charlie asked.

  “No. I put him in the dormitory closet,” Billy said quietly.

  “I think we’d better find a different place for him,” said Charlie. “Matron’ll hear him scratching, and who knows what she would do if she found a rat in the dorm.”

  Billy shuddered. “He’s going to be such a good friend. Already he’s told me a lot of things I didn’t know.”

  “Has he told you why Mr. Boldova left?” asked Charlie.

  Billy’s ruby eyes gazed over the top of his spectacle frames. He shrugged.

  It occurred to Charlie that Billy might have seen what happened to the art teacher. “You know something, Billy, don’t you?” he said.

  They had reached the tall black doors of the King’s room and, ignoring Charlie, Billy pushed at the doors and rushed in. His books spilled out of his arms and tumbled to the floor.

  “Calm down, Billy Raven!” Manfred shouted. “What’s the hurry?”

  From her seat between Asa and Dorcas, Belle smiled at the albino. “Don’t be mean, Manfred. He’s only small,” she said.

  Manfred gave her a surprised look.

  As Charlie bent to help Billy retrieve his books, he noticed that the small boy’s hands were trembling. He was very frightened.

  Once, twelve endowed children had sat evenly spaced at the round table. But gradually their positions had changed. Now there were two distinct groups. Manfred, Asa, Zelda, Belle, and Dorcas sat on one side of the circle while Lysander, Tancred, Gabriel, Emma, and Charlie sat on the other. Billy was the odd one out.

  “Sit next to me, Billy,” Charlie said softly.

  Billy gave him a grateful smile and piled his books next to Charlie’s.

  After homework, Charlie kept close to Billy as they made their way to the dormitory. Gabriel caught up with them and, always interested in animals, wanted to know what had become of Rembrandt. When he heard that the rat was shut in a closet, he suggested they take the rat to the art room, where Mr. Boldova had kept him in a large, airy cage.

  “But could I visit him?” Billy asked. “I don’t belong in art.”

  “Of course you can,” Gabriel assured him. “Emma’s always in the art room. Just ask her.”

  “OK.” Billy rushed off and by the time the others had reached the dormitory he was waiting for them with Rembrandt under his cape.

  The art room was on the same floor as the boys’ dormitories. It was a vast space with a high ceiling and long windows facing north toward the castle ruin. Easels stood in various positions all around the room, and canvases were stacked three or four deep against the walls. Rembrandt’s cage was in a corner beside the paint cabinet.

  There was no one in the art room except Emma. She was painting a large white bird flying through a forest. She left the picture to show the boys where Mr. Boldova had kept Rembrandt’s food, at the bottom of the paint cabinet.

  When the black rat had been made comfortable with fresh water and plenty of grain, Emma secured the cage door.

  “I can’t stop thinking about Mr. B,” she said. “We all miss him in art. He seemed to be, you know, always on our side.”

  Without any warning, tears began to gush down Billy’s cheeks. “I know, I know,” he sobbed. “I saw.”

  “What did you see?” said Charlie.

  Billy ran his sleeve across his face and, in a frightened, choking voice, recounted the terrible events of his eighth birthday: Blessed’s tail, the ancient woman who’d emerged from Belle’s body, the flying coals, and the sudden and dreadful stillness that had fallen over the art teacher.

  “He didn’t want Rembrandt,” sobbed Billy. “He seemed to have forgotten everything — even who he was.”

  “Hypnotized,” Charlie murmured.

  The others stared at him in horror, and Emma said, “There isn’t much that Belle can’t do, is there? How are we going to help Ollie now?”

  “Do you know where he is?” asked Billy.

  Charlie couldn’t decide whether to tell him. He was sorry for the small albino, but he had been Manfred’s spy. It would be better not to give him too much information until they were quite sure he could be trusted. The others had obviously come to the same conclusion.

  “No, we don’t know where he is,” said Gabriel. “I think we’d better get back to our dormitories now, or Matron will be on the warpath.”

  Billy begged to be given a few more minutes with Rembrandt, and the other three left him crouching beside the cage, squeaking softly at the black rat.

  Billy stayed talking to Rembrandt much longer than he had intended. When he finally slipped out of the art room, Matron had already called lights out.

  He tore along the passage, clamping his spectacles to his nose and tripping over his own feet.

  “Where’ve you been, Billy Raven?” Manfred stepped out of a doorway, blocking his path.

  Billy was too scared to lie, but he decided to tell a half-truth. “I’ve … I’ve been feeding Mr. Boldova’s rat,” he said. “I found him in the passage.”

  “I don’t think that’s true, Billy,” Manfred said coldly.

  “It is, it is,” said Billy desperately.

  “I think you saw something, Billy. I think you rescued that black rat when our dear departed art teacher had a little accident.”

  “No, no!”

  Manfred glowered down at Billy. “What did you see?”

  “I didn’t see anything,” mumbled Billy, looking away from Manfred’s dreadful black eyes.

  “Liar. You saw what happened to Mr. Boldova and you told Charlie Bone, didn’t you?”

  Billy had a nasty feeling that if he told the truth it would get Charlie into trouble. “No,” he said defiantly. “I didn’t see anything, and I didn’t tell Charlie anything.”

  Manfred gave a sigh of irritation. “You probably think I’m leaving Bloor’s at the end of this semester, don’t you?”

  Billy hadn’t thought about it. He shook his head.

  “All the seniors will be leaving. It’s the summer semester. We have exams to take. That’s why I’m rather busy at the moment. But I won’t be leaving. I’ll be here, with time on my hands to keep an eye on you.”

  “I see,” said Billy in a small voice.

  “So, you’d better remember who you’re working for, Billy. Or you’ll never get the nice, kind parents that you want.”

  Billy sat on the end of his bed. Everyone else in the dormitory seemed to be asleep, but Billy had never felt more awake. Before his horrible encounter with Manfred, he’d had the most amazing conversation with Rembrandt.

  The black rat had talked of a house full of sparkling light and laughter. A house of books and music and pictures, where once a family had been happy. There had been a boy called Oliver, a gifted flute player. He was expected to develop an even greater gift, like his father and his brother, who could turn stones into fire. But he was sent away to school and never came home again.

  Billy remembered Ollie Sparks. He was in music and used to stay with a friend on weekends. Ollie had been a very nosy boy, and this used to annoy people. He got into trouble for going where he shouldn’t.

  Rembrandt had told Billy that Ollie was still in the academy. The rat had smelled him out and found him in one of the attics. But Ollie couldn’t be seen, except for one toe. There was also a snake up in th
e old part of the building, a dreadful blue thing. It was so ancient Rembrandt’s brain could hardly fathom it.

  “Mind-boggling,” Billy murmured.

  “Billy, are you all right?”

  Billy almost fell off the bed. He hadn’t heard Charlie Bone creep up on him.

  “I was just thinking about Rembrandt,” Billy whispered. “He told me so much. I can’t work it all out.”

  “Do you want to come and stay next weekend?” Charlie asked. “You could bring the rat.”

  “Could I?” said Billy. “OK, thanks.”

  Charlie tiptoed back to bed, while Billy crept under his covers and had the best night’s sleep he’d had in ages.

  Over the next few days, Charlie was made aware of just how seriously the academy took its summer play. Every break Olivia could be seen walking around the field learning her lines. Sometimes, Emma walked beside her, holding a folder that contained the scenes Manfred had printed out.

  Fidelio spent more and more time in the music room, practicing the incidental music for the play, and Charlie found that his breaktime companions were usually Gabriel Silk and Billy Raven. It soon became clear that Billy had learned all there was to know about the invisible boy from Rembrandt. But it seemed that he hadn’t passed on the information to Manfred. Did this mean he could now be trusted? One day he even suggested that he should go and look for Ollie.

  “At night I’m allowed to visit Mr. Ezekiel,” said Billy, “so if I’m caught Matron won’t be surprised.”

  “I don’t like the sound of it, Billy,” Charlie confessed. “Matron’s capable of giving you a very nasty punishment.”

  “Besides, there’s that boa thing lurking around,” said Gabriel. “We don’t want two invisible boys stuck in the attics.”

  “The boa must have got Blessed’s tail,” said Billy thoughtfully. “Rembrandt says it’s so old he can’t fathom it.”

  “Rats can’t understand time,” said Gabriel knowledgeably.

  Charlie muttered, “I’m not sure I can.”

  He was just going indoors at the end of break when Olivia clutched his sleeve. “Wait a minute, Charlie,” she hissed. “We’ve got something to tell you.”

  Charlie hung back as Billy and Gabriel were swept away with a crowd of children surging into the hall.

  “What is it? I’ll be late for my trumpet lesson.”

  “I’m going out tonight, to look for that room where we met Ollie,” Emma said softly. “And I’ll have to be alone.”

  “You’re going to fly?”

  Emma nodded. “I can look in from the outside. Maybe fly in if there’s a window open. I don’t think I can rescue him, yet. I just want him to know that we’re still trying.”

  “It’ll be dark,” said Charlie. “How are you going to see?”

  “It gets light ages before we’re up,” Olivia whispered. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. But we’ve got to make sure there’s an open window on our floor, so Emma can get back in. Can you do that, Charlie? Belle sleeps next to me. She’s bound to close the dormitory window if I open it. She watches me like a hawk.” Olivia glanced at Emma. “Well, perhaps not a hawk. More of a viper — no offense to vipers.”

  Charlie grinned. He lost his smile when Asa looked out at them and shouted, “What are you three doing? You look like a mess. You’ll be late for your classes if you don’t hurry up.”

  The three friends leaped into the hall and separated, each rushing to a different coatroom. Charlie managed to reach Mr. Paltry’s wind room just before the old man turned up, complaining about all the extra work he had to do for the school play.

  “You don’t need to worry, Charlie Bone,” said Mr. Paltry. “It’ll take years for you to reach the standard required for the school band.” And he added in an undertone, “Probably never will.”

  Charlie just grinned. Trumpet playing wasn’t one of his priorities.

  Before dinner that night he met Gabriel and Fidelio coming out of the music room. When he told them of Emma’s intended mission, they were eager to help. Fidelio suggested they leave as many windows open as possible, but Charlie was worried this would be too obvious. Matron Yewbeam and her assistants were bound to go around the building checking all the windows.

  “I just want you to cover for me when I leave the dormitory,” he told them. “Say I’m in the bathroom or something.”

  “Matron never believes a word I say,” Gabriel muttered. “But we’ll do our best.”

  Charlie waited until he heard the cathedral clock strike midnight. The sound of those twelve chimes never failed to send a shiver down his spine. It was on the stroke of twelve, eight years ago, that his father, Lyell, had been put into a trance from which he couldn’t wake. Manfred Bloor was responsible. Even as a small boy he had tremendous power. Lyell’s car had been found at the bottom of a deep quarry and everyone believed that he was dead, but Charlie knew that this wasn’t true. Grandma Bone had destroyed every photo of his father and Charlie couldn’t even remember what he looked like, but he was determined that one day he would use his endowment to find Lyell and wake him. In the meantime, he would do everything he could to stop the Bloors from getting their own way and ruining people’s lives.

  Charlie got out of bed and crept to the door. It was pitch dark in the passage and he kept close to the wall until he found the staircase leading to the girls’ dormitories.

  The old treads creaked under his feet even though he climbed on tiptoe. When he reached the top, Charlie gave a sigh of relief and moved quickly to the faint patch of light coming from a small window. He opened it, just wide enough to admit a small bird, and was about to dash back to the stairs when a shadowy figure caught his eye. It came gliding out of the darkness on the other side of the window, and Charlie was too shocked to move.

  “What are you doing?”

  The voice belonged to one of the last people Charlie would have wanted to meet.

  “Belle!” he said. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d take a walk.”

  “On the girls’ floor?” She moved closer and Charlie could see the glimmer of her horrible changing eyes.

  “Wasn’t thinking,” Charlie murmured.

  “Tsk, tsk! The window’s open. No wonder it’s so cold.” Belle slammed the window shut and latched it. “Better run back to bed before Matron finds you.”

  “Er, yes.” Charlie walked back to the staircase. When he looked over his shoulder, Belle was still standing there. He would have to find a less conspicuous window.

  The art room, thought Charlie. If it was hard to find his way upstairs, it was even worse getting back again.

  Charlie wished he had the flashlight Cook had given him last semester. Matron Yewbeam had confiscated it. She was probably keeping it in Darkly Wynd, Charlie thought. No chance of getting it back from there.

  He found the right door, at last, and crept into the art room. If it hadn’t been for pale starlight filtering through the long windows, Charlie would have crashed straight into a group of easels. As it was, he just managed to step around them and up to the windows. Here, he realized that only a small section, at the top of each window, could be opened. It was impossible for Charlie to reach that high.

  In a far corner, a spiral staircase led down into the sculpture room. Hoping to find an easier window there, Charlie made his way between easels and paint boxes and was just about to descend when he heard a grinding noise and then a squeak. He could just make out Rembrandt’s dark form, standing up at the bars of his cage.

  “It’s OK, Rembrandt, it’s only me.” Charlie wished he could speak the rat’s language, like Billy. But Rembrandt seemed reassured by Charlie’s voice and went back to some serious nibbling.

  Charlie tiptoed down the cold spiral of iron steps. As he reached the bottom he heard tapping and noticed a tiny light coming from a far corner. Someone else was in the sculpture room. Charlie froze. Mr. Mason, the sculpture teacher, was a strange man. It wouldn’t have surprised Charlie to find the teacher still working
at midnight.

  A voice said, “Who’s that?” And a beam of light swung in Charlie’s direction. “Charlie? What are you doing here?”

  “Wh-who’s that?” stuttered Charlie.

  “It’s me, Tancred. Lysander’s here, too.”

  “Phew!” Charlie walked across to the source of light. He found Lysander sitting beside a block of wood, while Tancred stood behind him with a flashlight. They were both wearing green capes over their pajamas.

  “What are you doing?” asked Charlie.

  Lysander explained that he was experimenting. “Gabriel passed on the word about Ollie Sparks,” he said. “Thought if I could, kind of, carve a likeness of Ollie, I might get the ancestors to give the invisible boy a bit of body — you know?”

  Charlie didn’t know. He couldn’t understand what Lysander was talking about. “Do you know what Ollie looked like?”

  “Of course I do,” said Lysander. “I remember him well. Nice kid, but nosy. Too nosy. I can see him like it was yesterday.”

  “Sander can do that,” said Tancred admiringly. “He can remember details perfectly. He’ll carve that piece of wood until it’s so real you can see it breathing.”

  “Really?” The block of wood was already taking on the shape of a boy and yet Charlie didn’t see how it could help Ollie. Lysander’s endowment was truly remarkable if he could turn a block of wood into a living, breathing person. But the real Ollie was trapped in the attics. How could having another Ollie help him? “We don’t need two Ollies,” Charlie said.

  Lysander explained that once his spirit ancestors had seen a perfect likeness of Ollie they could give the invisible boy shape and substance; they could make him visible again.

  “Ah!” said Charlie. “That’s amazing.”

  “And now may we ask why you are here?” said Tancred.

  “Emma’s going out tonight,” Charlie told them. “As a, you know — she’s flying. She’s going to look for Ollie’s room, so he knows we’re still trying to rescue him.”