Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock (Children of the Red King, Book 7) (3 page)

A crowd of squat, ugly beings rushed in and surrounded the giant. They wore metal breastplates over their patched leather jerkins, and strapped to their heads were tall helmets like metal top hats. Axes, knives, catapults, and cudgels hung from their belts, though some had bows slung over their backs and quivers bursting with shiny arrows. Most came up well below the giant's waist, but there was one, somewhat larger than the others who, for some reason, looked familiar to Charlie. Could this be the same carved stone troll that had once sat outside Great-aunt Venetia's gloomy house?

"Why did you lock the door against us?" this larger being demanded.

"Not against you, Oddthumb," said the giant. "Against durgles."

"Durgles," spat Oddthumb.

"Durgles are very destructive," said Otus. "Many a day they have eaten my bread, while I slept."

"Liar," said Oddthumb. "A durgle can no more unlock a door than a diddychick. You've got him, I know it."

"Who?" Otus inquired in a mild tone.

"The boy," snarled one of the smaller beings. "He's here. The watch see'd him a-coming from far off. Caught, he was, by the count's guile."

"Enchanted," said the being beside him.

"Spell-brought," chorused the others.

There was a loud creak as Otus lowered himself on to his bed. He was now out of Charlie's sight, though he could still see a long leather-bound foot.

"Respected soldiers, I have seen no boy," said Otus. "Search this room, if you must."

"We will," grunted Oddthumb. "Up, giant!"

Otus had barely risen from the bed when Oddthumb and his crew pushed it over. They slashed at the blankets, battered the straw mattress, tore off a cabinet door, turned over a thin rush mat, poked up the chimney, pulled charred wood from the fire, and hacked at the floorboards. The frenzied attack lasted no more than ten minutes, and from his hiding place, Charlie saw a growing pile of ash and straw, broken pottery, and chunks of bread.

"Squirras!" cried one of the soldiers suddenly.

Charlie couldn't see what he had found. It must have been on the far side of the room.

"Greedy, greedy," said Oddthumb. "Six squirras for your breakfast, Otus?"

"I'm a giant." Otus sighed.

"We'll leave one, the smallest," Oddthumb said spitefully.

"I thank you," said Otus.

A soldier with a warty face came and stood directly under Charlie's spyhole. "No boy, here, General," he said. "In forest, maybe?"

"No boy, eh? No boy." Oddthumb paced across the room. He stopped beside Wart Face and looked up.

Charlie found himself staring into a stony gray eye. He dared not blink. He dared not breathe. His own eye began to ache as he held it wide open and unmoving. Could Oddthumb see him? Did he sense Charlie's presence, lying above? An urge to sneeze overcame Charlie. He pressed his lips together, brought his fingers slowly up to his face, and clamped them over his nose.

"Dreaded creatures up there," whispered Wart Face. "Blancavamps! Maybe. Let us leave here, General."

"Blancavamps?" Oddthumb stroked his chin with a grotesque thumb, as big as his hand.

Charlie had difficulty in stifling a gasp.

"Have you got blancavamps, Otus?" asked Oddthumb.

"Sadly," said the giant, "they steal my sleep."

Oddthumb threw back his head and gave a hideous burbling chuckle. In a second the room was filled with gurgling laughter as soldiers echoed their general. The dreadful sound stopped abruptly the moment Oddthumb closed his mouth. Without another word the general marched out, followed by his troops.

Charlie listened to the stamp of heavy feet receding down the steps. A door at the foot of the tower clanged shut, and the soldiers began to march down the street. Charlie waited, breathlessly. He dared not move for fear one of the soldiers remained in the room below. He could hear Otus setting his room to rights after the rough intrusion.

Long after the footsteps had faded, the giant finally came and grinned up at Charlie. "You are safe, boy. Be not afraid. I will get you down."

"Thanks," Charlie said huskily.

The giant pushed back the panel, saying, "Step onto my shoulders." He held up his arms and Charlie thrust his legs through the hole. Otus gently lifted him down and set him on the bed.

Charlie wriggled his aching shoulders and rubbed his arms. "I'm not sure how I got here," he said.

The giant pulled his chair up to the bed and sat down. Putting his head to one side, he regarded Charlie quizzically. "Your name?" he asked.

"Charlie Bone, sir."

"You are a traveler?"

"I... yes, I am sometimes. I can travel into photos and paintings." Observing the giant's puzzled frown, Charlie added quickly, "Photos are a bit difficult to explain, but I expect you know what a painting is." The giant nodded. "Anyhow, this time it was different, my traveling, I mean. This time a painting has... kind of... captured me."

"Mmm." The giant nodded again. "My wife had a mirror that took her a-traveling."

"A mirror?" Charlie said excitedly. "My ancestor Amoret had a mirror. It caused a bit of trouble. Someone wanted it... an enchanter."

"Amoret was my wife!" The giant clutched Charlie's hand in his huge fist. "My name is Otus Yewbeam."

"Then... you're my ancestor, too." Charlie's gaze slid over the giant's long frame, from the crown of his head to the tip of his long foot. "Maybe I'll grow a bit."

The giant smiled. "I was this high when I was a boy." He held his hand about six feet from the ground.

"Oh," said Charlie, a little sadly.

"What is your century?" asked Otus.

"Um... twenty-first," said Charlie after a bit of thought.

"There are nine hundred years between us."

Charlie frowned. "I don't get it. I've never, ever come into the past this way. I was just looking at a painting; I saw mountains and towers, but no people, and then, suddenly, it was all around me."

"He is powerful," Otus said gravely. "He wanted you in Badlock."

"Who?"

"Count, enchanter, shadow; he has many names. He brought me here as a captive, twenty years ago, when my wife fled to her brother's castle." The giant's large eyes clouded for a moment, and he looked up at the fading light in the window. "He wanted Amoret. He wanted all the Red King's children. Five he won easily, they already walked the path of wickedness. The others: Amadis, Amoret, Guanhamara, Petrello, and Tolemeo - they fled the evil. It was Tolemeo who rescued my son, Roland, and for that the shadow punished me. His soldiers relish torture. Now they let me bide in peace. I am forgotten, almost."

Charlie reminded the giant that today the soldiers had not let him bide in peace. "I've put you in danger," he said. "If they catch me... ?"

"No." The giant leaned forward, earnestly. "They will not catch you." He got up and strode over to a hearth set into a wide chimney breast. "Presently, we shall dine on squirra, boy."

"Oh, good." A note of anxiety crept into Charlie's voice.
What is a squirra?
he wondered.

The giant opened a small door in the wall and brought out a black, ratlike creature with an extremely long, hairless tail. "Only one." Otus sighed. "But it will suffice."

Charlie's stomach lurched. "If that's a squirra, what's a blancavamp?"

Otus chuckled. "They are what we, in our world, know as bats, but blancavamps are white as snow.

The people of Badlock believe them to be ghosts. But I am not afraid of them."

"Nor me." Charlie darted a quick look in the giant's direction. Otus was already skinning the squ-irra and, hoping it was something he would never need to do, Charlie looked quickly away. "Have you ever tried to get home again?" he asked the giant.

Otus gave a rueful smile. "My wife's brother Tolemeo tried a second time to rescue me, but Oddthumb and his ruffians caught us. Tolemeo was lucky to escape with his life. And knowing my wife had perished, I cared less and less how and where my life should end."

Charlie recalled the fleeting image of a beautiful woman smiling out from a mirrored wall, and a near-impossible plan began to take shape in his mind.

"Badlock is a country no one from our world can find," the giant continued. "No one but clever Tolemeo. It is an awful place. There is the eternal wind, and then in winter there is a deluge. Water fills the land between the mountains, a fathom deep."

"It IS a boat, then." Charlie nodded at the wooden boat shape hanging on the wall.

"Indeed, a boat. There is no other place to live but in a tower."

"And where does the enchanter live?"

"In a dark fortress, a scar on the mountain. I'll show you." Dropping the meat into an iron pot, Otus wiped his hands on a rag tucked into his belt and, before Charlie could protest, lifted him up to the high window.

Night was falling fast, but the mountains were sharply outlined against a ribbon of pale green sky. Close to the top of the tallest mountain, flickering red lights could be seen and, behind them, a black shape capped with steep turrets.

"He is seldom there," said the giant, "but the fires burn constantly to remind his subjects that he is watching them."

Charlie shuddered. It had only just occurred to him that he might be trapped in this hostile world forever. He was about to be lowered to the ground when he shouted, "Stop. I see something."

A few feet away from the base of the giant's tower stood a large yellow dog. It was staring up at the window. When the dog caught Charlie's eye, it began to bark.

"Runner Bean!" cried Charlie.

How had his best friend's dog followed him into a painting? It couldn't happen.

But he had.

CHAPTER 2

THE MELTING DOG

Minutes after Charlie had traveled into Badlock, his best friend, Benjamin Brown, a small, tow-haired, anxious-looking boy, left his house at number twelve Filbert Street and crossed the road to number nine. His dog, Runner Bean, trotted behind him.

When Benjamin rang the bell at number nine, the door was immediately opened by Charlie's grandmother Maisie.

"Benjamin, love," cried Maisie, drawing him into the hall. "I hope you can do something. Charlie's gone."

"Gone, Mrs. Jones? Gone where?" Benjamin dutifully wiped his shoes on the doormat.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be standing here asking you to do something, would I?" Maisie closed her eyes and scratched the back of her neck. "Whatever am I going to tell his parents?"

"I don't expect you'll have to tell them anything," said Benjamin. "Perhaps my mom and dad can help, being detectives."

Benjamin instantly regretted saying this. His parents were working on a very important case. They had just left the house; Mrs. Brown disguised as a man, and Mr. Brown disguised as a woman. Benjamin didn't much like it when his parents dressed like this; they hadn't even explained the circumstances that demanded the fake mustache (for Mrs. Brown) and the blond wig (for Mr. Brown), they had just told Benjamin to go over to Charlie's house, where Maisie would give him lunch.

"Actually, I'm sorry, I don't think my parents can help," Benjamin apologized.

"I'm pretty sure they can't." Maisie turned away and led Benjamin down a dim hallway. "This is one of those disappearances that normal people couldn't hope to solve."

"But I'm normal," Benjamin reminded her.

Maisie sighed. "Well, I know. But you're a friend, and you could get one of the others. The endowed ones - or whatever they call themselves."

"Children of the Red King," Benjamin said quietly.

They had reached the cellar door, which stood wide open. Maisie beckoned to Benjamin and pointed into the cellar. Benjamin looked down into the murky underground room. Maisie nodded encouragingly. Benjamin didn't like cellars, nor did Runner Bean. The big dog began to whine.

"Do I have to?" Benjamin asked.

"It's down there," said Maisie in a hushed voice.

"What is?"

"The painting, dear."

Benjamin uttered a very slow "Ohhh" as he realized that Charlie must be traveling. "He hasn't really disappeared, then."

"This time he has," said Maisie solemnly.

Benjamin stared into the cellar. He descended three or four steps until he could see the whole room. A dim light hanging from the ceiling showed him a unused cabinet, broken chairs, curtain rods, piles of newspapers and magazines, and large black plastic bags filled with bulging objects. And then he saw the painting. It was standing against one of the walls, beside an old rolled-up mattress.

A small shadow flickered over it, and Benjamin saw that a white moth was hovering around the lightbulb. All at once the moth swung away and vanished. Benjamin went to the bottom of the steps and walked over to the painting. Runner Bean scrabbled down after him. He was panting very heavily and occasionally emitted a nervous whine.

The painting gave Benjamin the shivers. He was, as Maisie had admitted, a normal boy, so he experienced none of the insistent tugs that Charlie had felt, nor did he feel or hear the moaning Badlock winds. He did, however, get the impression that the almost photographic reality of the painting showed a place that had not been imagined but copied faithfully. It existed. Or did, once. With its dark towers, sunless sky, and looming mountains, it was certainly a hostile, sinister country.

There was a green scrawl in the bottom right-hand corner of the painting, badlock. If Badlock really was a place, it was not somewhere that Benjamin would have wanted to visit. So why did Charlie go in? It was deserted, and as far as Benjamin could remember, Charlie had always needed first to hear a voice, and then to focus on a face, before he entered a picture. And in all the time Benjamin had known about his friend's endowment, Charlie had never actually disappeared. His physical presence had always remained in the present, while his mind roamed the world behind the pictures.

"What d'you think's going on, Ben?" asked Maisie, from the top of the steps.

Benjamin shook his head. "Don't know, Mrs. Jones. Where's Charlie's uncle?"

"Paton? At the bookstore," said Maisie. "Where else?"

"Think I'll go over there. Mr. Yewbeam will know what to do." Benjamin turned toward the steps.

Runner Bean didn't follow his master but stood before the painting in an odd stance, his head to one side, as though he were listening to something. He gave a low, mournful howl. And then, before Benjamin's very eyes, the yellow dog became a smaller, paler version of himself.

"Runner?" Benjamin leaped toward his dog. He touched the tip of Runner Bean's tail, which was standing out as stiff as a broom, but in less than a second the tail had melted away and with it the whole of Benjamin's beloved dog.

"RUNNER!" Benjamin shrieked, just as the front door slammed.

"Oh my goodness!" Maisie clapped a hand over her mouth.

She was roughly pushed aside by Grandma Bone, who had suddenly appeared beside her.

"What on earth is going on?" demanded Grandma Bone.

Benjamin stared up at the two women. Maisie was shaking her head, her eyes were very wide, and her eyebrows were working furiously up and down. She seemed to be warning him. Distraught as he was, Benjamin began to think, fast. It was always understood by Charlie and himself that Grandma Bone must know absolutely nothing about what went on, especially if it had anything at all to do with Charlie's traveling.

Grandma Bone had caught sight of Maisie's eyebrows wriggling. "What's the matter with you, woman?" she snarled.

"Surprise," said Maisie. "So surprised. Thought we heard a rat, didn't we, Benjamin?"

Benjamin nodded vehemently.

"I thought I heard a bark." Grandma Bone glared suspiciously at Benjamin. "Where's your dog?"

"He... he didn't come with me today," said Benjamin, almost choking with distress. Could Grandma Bone see the unwrapped painting from where she stood? He didn't think so.

"Unusual. Not to bring your dog. Thought it was your shadow?" The tall woman turned on her heel and walked away, adding, "I'd come out of that cellar if I were you. It's more than likely the rats'll get you. Where's Charlie, by the way?"

"Gone to the bookstore," Maisie said quickly. "And that's just where Benjamin's going, isn't it, Ben?"

"Er - yes."

Benjamin dragged himself regretfully up the cellar steps. He felt that he was betraying Runner Bean, leaving him trapped inside the awful painting. But what else could he do? Charlie's Uncle Paton would provide an answer. He usually knew what to do when things went wrong.

Maisie saw Benjamin to the door. "Take care, dear," she said. "I don't like to think of you alone in the city without your dog."

"I am eleven," Benjamin reminded her. "See you later, Mrs. Jones."

"I hope so, dear." Maisie closed the door.

Benjamin had taken only a few steps up the road when he became acutely aware that part of him was missing. The dog part. He'd been without Runner Bean before, when his parents took him to Hong Kong. But this was different. This was in a city where almost nothing was ordinary. Without warning, people could suddenly disappear, streetlights could explode, snow could fall in summer.

Ingledew's Bookstore wasn't far from Filbert Street, but today it felt as though there were a huge gap between Benjamin and safety. He was halfway down High Street when he saw two children on the other side of the road. Joshua Tilpin, a small, untidy, sullen-looking boy, shambled beside his taller companion: a boy with a pale, greenish complexion and an odd, lurching walk. Dagbert-the-drowner.

Pretending he hadn't seen them, Benjamin walked nonchalantly on, but from the corner of his eye he saw Dagbert nudge Joshua and point across the road.

Benjamin lost his nerve. Instead of continuing up the road, he darted down a side street. For a few minutes he stood in the shadows, watching the two boys. He was being silly, he told himself. Why should he be afraid of two boys from Charlie's school? He hardly knew them. All the same, they gave him the creeps. Joshua had a reputation for making people do things against their will, not hypnotism exactly. They called it magnetism. As for Dagbert, he drowned people. Recently, he'd tried to drown Charlie in the river.

Glancing up the street behind him, Benjamin was relieved to find that he knew where he was. He began to run.

"What's up, Benjamin Brown?" called a voice., "Lost your dog?"

Benjamin didn't look back. Joshua and Dagbert must have raced across the road and followed him.

"You're not frightened of us, little Ben, are you?" Dagbert shouted. "Where's Charlie?"

Almost tripping over his own feet, Benjamin bounded into a cobblestoned square. In the center of the square stood an old single-family house. It was surrounded by a low wall and a weedy garden. Nailed to the gate was a weathered board that read Gunn House. The rest of the board was filled with music notes: crochets, quavers, minims, and semibreves, though one hardly needed the musical notation to know that a family of musicians lived here. The noise coming from within the house made it obvious. The walls shook with the sound of drums, violins, flutes, cellos, and singing voices.

Benjamin pressed the doorbell, and a deep recorded voice announced, "DOOR! DOOR! DOOR!"

The Gunns' door-voice always unnerved Benjamin, but then a tinkling bell would have been drowned by the music, and visitors would have waited on the step in vain.

The door was opened by Fidelio Gunn, a violin in one hand and a bow in the other. "Hi, Ben, where's Charlie?" said the freckle-faced boy.

"Hey!" came a shout behind Benjamin.

"Charlie's - er - can I come in, PLEASE?" asked Benjamin.

Catching sight of Benjamin's pursuers, Fidelio said, "You'd better."

Benjamin leaped into Gunn House and Fidelio slammed the door.

"What's going on, Ben?" Fidelio led the way into a chaotic kitchen. A gray cat was eating the remains of a breakfast that still hadn't been cleared from the table, and a woman, in a long colorful skirt, was singing at the sink. A small girl, also freckle-faced, tuned her violin beside her.

"Pianissimo, please, Mom!" Fidelio shouted. "Mimi, take your violin somewhere else."

Mrs. Gunn looked over her shoulder. "Benjamin Brown," she sang. "What a surprise! Can't believe my eyes! Where's the dog of impressive size?"

"Where's Charlie Bone?" asked Mimi, plucking a string.

"Look, Benjamin is a person in his own right," said Fidelio. "He doesn't have to have an appendage."

"A what?" said Mimi, plucking another string.

"An attachment," replied her brother. "Benjamin's dog is not permanently attached to him, nor is Charlie. Sit down, Ben."

Benjamin pulled out a chair and sat down. Feeling hungry, he picked up a piece of dry toast and took a bite out of it.

"Pudding has just licked that," Mimi informed him.

Benjamin eyed the gray cat and sadly replaced the toast.

Fidelio took a chair beside him and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. Mimi stopped plucking at her violin and perched on the other side of the table. Mrs. Gunn hummed softly while she scraped at something in the sink.

"What's happened, Ben?" asked Fidelio. "It's not just those morons outside, is it?"

"No." Benjamin looked at Mimi.

"Mimi always knows what's going on," said Fidelio. "You can't keep secrets from her, but she can keep a secret, can't you, Mims?"

"My lips are already sealed." Mimi gave Benjamin a big, sealed smile.

"OK." Benjamin began his story rather slowly, but then the drama of Runner Bean's disappearance got the better of him, and he poured it all out in a tearful rush.

"I can't believe it." Fidelio sat back. "Charlie's never taken a dog with him before. I didn't know he could."

"He didn't take him," wailed Benjamin. "Runner Bean vanished long after Charlie went in. At least I think so. But Charlie's never gone right into anything, has he? He always stays outside. It's only his mind that goes in."

"Until now," Fidelio remarked. "Perhaps his endowment is developing."

Benjamin shook his head. "Something's wrong, Fido." He got up and walked over to a window that overlooked the square. "My stalkers have gone. I think I'll take a chance and run up to the bookstore. Charlie's uncle will know what to do."

"Has he... has he... has he... popped the question?" sang Mrs. Gunn.

"Excuse me?" said Benjamin.

"Uncle Paton. Mr. Yewbeam." Mrs. Gunn dropped her musical tone temporarily. "He's surely going to make an honest woman of Miss Ingledew. How can he resist? He really ought to marry her. The whole city is waiting."

"You mean, you're waiting, Mom," said Fidelio. He turned to Benjamin. "I'll come with you, Ben. Don't like to think of you alone in this city without your dog."

"I am eleven." Benjamin sighed at having to explain this again.

"And I'm twelve," said Fidelio firmly. "There's a difference."

After weeks of dark skies and frosty winds, today a few rays of frail sunshine had begun to filter into the city. They did nothing to lift Ben's spirits, though. He felt quite resentful toward Charlie for doing something so risky. But that was Charlie all over. He was always rushing into situations without thinking them through.

Fidelio, who seemed to have read Benjamin's mind, said, "It's possible that Charlie never meant to go into that painting. He might have been sucked in, against his will, just like Runner Bean."

"Hmm," Benjamin grunted.

The boys were now entering the narrow cobble-stoned street that led to the cathedral. On either side of them Tudor houses with ancient, crooked roofs leaned over the cobblestones at dangerous angles. The bookstore stood directly opposite the great domed cathedral; a sign above the door read Ingledew's, in old-world script, and in the window two large leather-bound books were displayed against a curtain of dark red velvet. Miss Ingledew sold rare and precious books.