Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock (Children of the Red King, Book 7) (16 page)

"And what's he?" squeaked Rembrandt, staring at the trembling Dorgo.

"A person," whispered Billy. He gently pushed the terrified Dorgo away, saying to the creature, "He really won't hurt you, but I need to put him in something, so that I can carry him with me."

Dorgo nodded. Without raising his eyes from the floor, he walked over to the oak chest and lifted the lid. He proceeded to rummage in the chest, like a burrowing rabbit, sending shoes and clothing flying out in all directions. After a few seconds he reached the bottom and pulled out a leather belt with a gold-braided pouch attached to it. He held it out, still with his eyes lowered.

"Perfect. Thank you," said Billy, fastening the belt around his waist. He grabbed Rembrandt and popped him into the pouch.

"Now what?" squealed Rembrandt.

"Food," Billy replied. "I hope."

Dorgo had closed his eyes. Billy touched him on the shoulder. "I believe the people here eat rats," he said, "so please don't tell anyone else about it."

"Never, never, never," said Dorgo. He opened his eyes, rushed to the chest, flung back its contents, and closed the lid. "Follow, please. Master dine now," he said.

To be called "master" was rather satisfying. It made Billy feel instantly taller and more confident. "Lead the way," he said, more pompously than he intended.

"Oh dear!" came the muffled remark from the gold pouch.

Dorgo shuddered and scurried out of the room. He led Billy down the marble stairway, along the hallway of heads and furs, and into the most astonishing room Billy had ever seen. Although, to call it a room would hardly be accurate. It was a vast black-marble hall, with a high vaulted ceiling of glittering stars. The walls were hung with weapons and precious objects: spears, shining swords, shields decorated with mythical creatures, tiger skins, painted masks, a golden wheel, horns of ivory, gilt-framed mirrors, tapestries embroidered with pearls, diamonds, and emeralds, and things that Billy had never seen but could only assume were used in warfare. He stood in the doorway with his mouth agape.

The count was sitting at the far end of a glass-topped table at least twenty feet long. "Be seated, Billy Raven," he called, and his voice echoed up to the glittering ceiling, increasing the light from the golden stars.

Lilith had her back to the door, Edgar and Matilda sat facing each other, halfway down the table. Billy was relieved to see an empty place setting beside Matilda's. As he made his way toward her, Dorgo followed - pulling out Billy's chair and pushing it in once he was seated. Matilda gave Billy a reassuring smile.

Billy noticed that they all had a version of Dorgo standing behind them. And there were other servants standing at intervals around the room. They each held a golden tray. Almost everything on the table was made of gold: the candelabra, the plates, bowls, cups, knives, and spoons. There was so much shine, Billy had to remove his glasses and rub his eyes.

"Have you ever had an enchanted dinner, Billy Raven?" boomed the count from the end of the table.

Billy shook his head.

"You are about to," said the count. "What do you wish to eat?"

"Urn, spaghetti, please," said Billy.

"Spaghetti," said the count to a tall servant, dressed more grandly than the others.

There was a long silence while the tall servant stared at his empty tray. Then he cleared his throat and, lifting his head, sang out, "Not known."

"Not known! Not known! Not known!" repeated the other servants.

Billy was embarrassed.

"Another," the count commanded.

Billy tried to think of something that everyone throughout the ages must have eaten. "Bread," he said.

"Bread," boomed the count.

The tall servant's tray instantly filled with black loaves. Dorgo grabbed Billy's plate, rushed over to the man with the tray of loaves, put them all on Billy's plate, and brought it back to him.

"Countess?" This time the count's voice filled the hall. It had to, in order to reach his wife.

Lilith recited a list of peculiar names. The count repeated them, and the tall servant's tray filled with peculiar-looking fruits - or were they vegetables? Lilith's servant rushed to receive them and delivered them to his mistress.

Edgar chose raggots, maggots, cabbage, and cheesum - all of which looked disgusting. Matilda chose Cordioni soup, which smelled delicious, and the count went for the same stuff as his wife.

Billy felt very self-conscious with his plate of black bread. He had no idea how to eat it.

"Dinner?" Rembrandt said hopefully.

Before Rembrandt's squeaks became too loud, Billy attacked a loaf. Tearing it apart with his bare hands, he managed to get a sizeable chunk into the pouch on his lap.

When Rembrandt squeaked his thanks, Matilda giggled. Edgar glared at his sister and said, "The boy is giving food to a creature. That is rude and wasteful."

Count Harken waved his hand dismissively. "No matter, Edgar. It occupies our guest."

Edgar sullenly pushed a spoonful of food into his mouth. But from the other end of the table, the countess continued to stare at Billy, even while she ate her unpronounceable meal. Her look was so heartless, Billy wished he were a thousand miles away, back in Charlie Bone's house, even if he wasn't wanted there.

The second course was much better than the first. Matilda advised Billy to ask for pears sweetened in wine. They were delicious, just as she had promised.

After dinner, Dorgo led Billy back to his room. The little servant turned down the bedcovers and left Billy with a single candle burning in a metal saucer on the chest. Billy changed into his pajamas and got into bed. He watched the candle flame burn lower and lower and wondered if he would ever sleep. He was very tired but his mind continued to wander through the glittering rooms below.
Charlie will come get me,
he thought,
because he can travel.

Outside, the distant wind moaned across the plain. And then, above the wind, came the sound of heavy feet, dragging themselves across the ground. They were accompanied by a scuffling and shuffling and the rattle of chains.

Billy jumped out of bed and looked into the hallway. Dorgo was sitting beside the door. His head lolled forward, but he was not asleep.

"What, master?" asked Dorgo.

"I heard something," said Billy. "Footsteps."

"The giant, master."

"Giant?" said Billy.

"They bring him to dungeon. He bad. Punished he must be."

"What did he do?"

Dorgo sighed. "He hide boy-from-future, like you."

Charlie!
thought Billy.
Charlie's ancestor was a giant.

"Sleep now, master," said Dorgo.

Billy stepped back into his room and closed the door.

CHAPTER 16

THE SPY

It was Saturday morning. Charlie sat in his room feeling impatient and helpless. His thoughts kept returning to Tancred. How could someone with such a powerful endowment have been overcome? Charlie could not bring himself to believe that he would never again see Tancred's cheerful face and shock of blond, spiky hair, or the billowing green cape as Tancred's volatile nature brought on the wind and the rain. And then there was Billy.

If only the painting of Badlock could be found, Charlie was sure that his moth could help him reenter the shadowy, sinister world. He had no idea how he would find Billy, if he ever got to Badlock. He supposed he would figure out what to do when he got there.

Charlie wondered if Grandma Bone had hidden the painting in her bedroom. It was unlikely, but there was a chance. If she had, she would probably have locked her door. But...

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Charlie said to himself as he left his room.

He could hardly believe his luck. His grandmother's door was not locked. Charlie slipped into her room. It was extremely untidy and reeked of stale perfume. Articles of clothing overflowed from every drawer. Black stockings hung from the bedpost, a hat sat on the pillow, and underwear was scattered over the quilt. The dresser was covered in messy bottles and the mirror hung heavy with beads and bracelets.

Where to look? The painting was large and would not be easy to hide. Charlie looked under the bed. He counted ten pairs of shoes, but no painting. He looked in the closet: more shoes, ancient dresses, two fur coats smelling of mothballs, and too many skirts for Charlie to count. He was about to close the door when something caught his eye -

Grandma Bone's second-best handbag lay on top of a pair of suede boots.

Charlie pulled the bag into the light. It was made of patchworked leather and stuffed with scarves, gloves, and handkerchiefs. There was also a handful of bobby pins, lipstick, and a white card with yesterday's date at the top. Printed below were the words:

Meeting of sympathizers to our cause

The Old Chapel, Piminy Street

Saturday 8:00

Bring card

""T."T.," Charlie murmured. ""IT is for Tilpin, and didn't someone say that Mrs. Tilpin's first name was Titania? He quickly memorized the message on the card, replaced it, and put the bag back into the closet.

Running to his room, Charlie jotted down the words he'd memorized in exactly the same order as he'd seen them. "About postcard-size," he muttered, "and the print is like a newspaper." He realized that he would never be able to attend the meeting himself. He needed an accomplice. An adult. No child would be able to get into the meeting.

Charlie knew exactly who to ask. He decided to wait until Benjamin came home. Mr. and Mrs. Brown would be working until then. In the meantime, there was more homework to do.

At precisely four o'clock, Charlie looked out of his window and saw Benjamin ambling down the street with his backpack slung across his shoulder. Charlie banged on the windowpane and waved violently. Benjamin looked up and waved back. He pointed at Charlie and then to number twelve. Charlie nodded and gave him a thumbs-up.

Two minutes later, Charlie walked downstairs and took his jacket from the hook in the hall. "I'm going to see Ben," he called out.

"You are not," said a voice from the kitchen. Grandma Bone appeared in the doorway. "You are not going anywhere until you've finished your homework."

"I have finished it," said Charlie.

Grandma Bone stared at him through narrowed eyes. "I suppose you cheated."

"How could I cheat?" asked Charlie. "It was all memorizing stuff. You can test me if you like."

His grandmother's eyes became even tinier slits. Her lips pursed into a wrinkled bud. She did not want to test Charlie because her favorite program was coming up on the radio.

"So I'm going, OK?" Charlie gave her a forced sort of grin.

The wrinkled bud of his grandmother's mouth relaxed and she said, "Fish for dinner."

"Great!" Charlie made for the door. Fish was his least favorite food and Grandma Bone knew it. She must have bought it specially to punish him. But he had far more important things to worry about.

Benjamin and Runner Bean gave him a great welcome, and as luck would have it, Mr. and Mrs. Brown had just returned from a very satisfactory bit of detective work. Flushed with success, they were now celebrating with a festive cup of tea in the kitchen.

While snacking on some tasty treats, Charlie told the Browns everything that had happened at Bloor's Academy before he'd been suspended. He kept his voice very steady while they gasped and exclaimed and paced about, because he knew that if he stopped talking, his eyes would fill with tears, and before that happened, he wanted to get to the real reason for his visit: the vanished painting and tonight's meeting on Piminy Street.

"Murder!" shouted Mr. Brown when Charlie had come to the end of his shocking account. "We can't let them get away with it."

"I feel like going to see that disgraceful excuse for a headmaster right now," said his wife.

Charlie shook his head. "They'll say it was an accident.

No one will be able to prove that Tancred was drowned on purpose."

Mrs. Brown patted her husband's hand. "Charlie's right. The police will never believe this Dagbert Endless boy has a ... a drowning power."

Charlie pulled the hastily scribbled note from his pocket and spread it out on the table. "This is the message I found in Grandma Bone's handbag. I thought if we copied it, someone could take it to the meeting and find out what's going on."

Mr. and Mrs. Brown studied the note.

"Sympathizers?" muttered Mr. Brown, stroking the stubble he'd had to grow on his chin for his last case. "Sympathizers with what?"

"The cause," said Benjamin. "You know, Dad. All the bad stuff that's been going on."

"Ah." Mr. Brown scratched his stubble even more fiercely. "And you think we might learn something of their future plans, Charlie? Get one step ahead, as it were."

"That's part of it," said Charlie. "But, actually, I thought you might find out where they've put the painting."

"Oh, yes. I could take a recorder. Get proof of the drowning. I've an excellent little instrument that fits into the arm of a pair of glasses."

Something about this device worried Charlie. There were people on Piminy Street who were gifted in ways that he could only begin to imagine. There might well be a clairvoyant among them, or someone with superhuman powers of detection. He explained this to the Browns, who reluctantly agreed that it would be safer to leave the recorder behind.

"Obviously, I can't go as myself," said Mr. Brown. "I would be instantly recognized as a non-sympathizer."

"I don't think you should go at all," said his wife. "Even in a disguise you would be recognized by people like that. It's your height and the way you move."

After a brief argument, which Mr. Brown lost, Mrs. Brown went upstairs and returned fifteen minutes later looking nothing whatsoever like her old self. Three inches had been added to her height, not with high heels, but with ingeniously built-up boots. Her fair hair was tucked into a severe gray wig, and her face given a dusting of dark pink powder that made her look hot-tempered and irritable. Her eyebrows were thick and black, her nose was larger, and her lips had been reduced to thin, grayish lines.

For a moment Charlie actually believed that some evil-looking woman had broken into the house. When he realized who it was, he joined in with Benjamin's applause. Mrs. Brown's transformation was truly amazing.

"Trish, you've surpassed yourself," congratulated Mr. Brown. "You've even fooled the dog."

Runner Bean had rushed out of the room and was now howling dismally in the hallway. It took a good long sniff of Mrs. Brown's hand to convince him that the grim-looking stranger was none other than Benjamin's mother.

It was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Brown (as herself) should drive to a quiet corner, not too far from Piminy Street. Once there, Mrs. Brown would change back into her disguise, and making sure that no one was watching, she would leave the car and make her way to Piminy Street. Mr. Brown would drive around for a bit, and then return to the same quiet corner and wait for Mrs. Brown to leave the meeting.

"I'll remove my disguise in the car," said Mrs. Brown, who was getting quite excited, "and we'll drive back to Filbert Street, just like an ordinary couple who've been to the movies."

"Maybe Ben could sleep over at my house," Charlie suggested.

"Excellent," said Mr. Brown. "We'll leave Runner Bean to guard the house."

Runner Bean pricked up his ears, but didn't appear to object.

Mr. Brown printed out an exact replica of the invitation card Charlie had described, and at half past five, Charlie and Benjamin wished Mrs. Brown good luck and walked over to number nine.

Maisie was alone in the kitchen when the boys walked in. She was pleased to see Benjamin and only too happy to let him stay the night.

Grandma Bone was not. A few minutes after the boys had arrived, she marched in and demanded to know why there was an overnight bag sitting in the middle of the kitchen, ready to trip someone up.

"Ben's staying the night," Charlie told her.

"Oh, is he? And who says?" asked Grandma Bone.

"He won't be any trouble, Grizelda," said Maisie.

"Maybe not" - Grandma Bone kicked Benjamin's bag aside - "but I like to be asked. What I don't like is irresponsible parents dumping their offspring, willy-nilly, on long-suffering neighbors."

Benjamin scowled and Maisie said, "Really, Grizelda! You take the cake."

Ignoring her, Grandma Bone demanded, "So what's the excuse this time?"

Making a superhuman effort to keep calm, Charlie said, "Sorry, Grandma, but Ben's parents were given tickets for this great movie, just half an hour ago, and Ben can't go because it's for adults only, so I thought he could come here for the night."

Grandma Bone glared at Charlie for several seconds before saying, "Fish for both of you," and sweeping out.

Maisie said quietly, "You don't have to have fish, boys. Grandma Bone won't be here. She's going out for the evening. I'll give the fish to next door's cat."

Charlie and Benjamin were upstairs when Great-aunt Eustacia's car came snorting and squealing down Filbert Street. Peeping furtively over the win-dowsill, the boys saw Grandma Bone, dressed all in purple, climb into the passenger seat. The back of the car appeared to be rather full, and when it bumped off the curb and screeched down the road again, they saw a small pale face staring out of the rear window.

"They must be taking Eric to the meeting," said Charlie.

"Poor thing," said Benjamin.

After a very good dinner of scrambled eggs and beans and an hour watching television, the boys returned to Charlie's room just in time to observe Mr. and Mrs. Brown leaving number twelve. Mrs. Brown gave them a cheery wave and swung herself into the car. Mr. Brown grinned at the boys in the window and then drove off, rather more expertly than Great-aunt Eustacia.

"I hope Mom'll be all right," Benjamin said anxiously.

"Of course she will," Charlie reassured him. "Your mom's the best private eye in the country."

Which was probably true.

Mr. Brown had chosen Argos Avenue, where the gardens and houses were hidden from the road by tall evergreen hedges. He parked beside the broad trunk of a plane tree and watched the road with an expertise that only the most skilled detectives possess. Meanwhile, Mrs. Brown swiftly applied her makeup, pulled on her wig, and exchanged her everyday winter coat for a moth-eaten and rather smelly fur coat. A plastic bag containing a rag soaked in chloroform was pushed into one pocket; in the other she had a pair of very sharp scissors and a bottle of smelling salts. The smelling salts were to help her recover from any fainting that might overcome her, after too much excitement.

The intrepid detective squeezed her feet into her built-up boots, gave her husband a kiss, and jumped out of the car.

"How do I look?" Mrs. Brown mouthed through the windshield at Mr. Brown.

Mr. Brown lifted his thumb. Reluctant to lose sight of his wife, he drove very slowly behind her as she walked down the road. She was approaching the turn onto Piminy Street when a group of three stepped out of a side street and hid Mrs. Brown from her husband's view. Mr. Brown was
worried.
The three people following his wife were all extremely wide and walked with clumsy, uneven strides.

Mr. Brown stopped the car at the top of Piminy Street. He dared not drive any farther, for fear of drawing attention to himself and thus arousing their suspicions. "Good luck, brave Trish!" he whispered.

Other groups now began to emerge from the houses on Piminy Street. They slid from behind trees, wafted through gates and out of doorways - silent, undefined figures, muffled in furs and hoods - all moving toward the Old Chapel.

Mrs. Brown was aware of the strangers accompanying her down Piminy Street. She had a momentary flutter of panic, and then sternly told herself that even if her true identity were discovered, no one would dare to harm her, unlike poor Tancred and little Billy.

People were now moving onto the dimly lit porch of the chapel. Mrs. Brown joined the throng and held out her card. It was grabbed by a tall man with elephants printed on his jacket. Mrs. Brown was convinced she had seen the man before, but couldn't place him. He gave her an odd look and she quickly moved on. Finding a seat at the end of a row, close to the back, she sat down, breathing fast. Beside her sat a woman with lank red ringlets and over-rouged cheeks. She looked about ninety.

The sympathizers were unusually quiet people. They moved to their seats in wordless shufflings, only acknowledging one another with soft grunts and mumbles.

The Old Chapel was no longer used for worship. It had been standing derelict for as long as Mrs. Brown could remember. The windows had been boarded up and the altar removed. In its place green-velvet curtains hung from a long brass pole. The pulpit was now a stage.