Books by Jenny Nimmo

Midnight for Charlie Bone

Charlie Bone and the Time Twister

Charlie Bone and the Blue Boa

Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors

Charlie Bone and the Hidden King

Charlie Bone and the Wilderness Wolf

Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock

Charlie Bone and the Red Knight

The Secret Kingdom

The Stones of Ravenglass

The Snow Spider trilogy

For Max and Molly Philo - one day.

First published in Great Britain 2007 by Egmont UK Limited

This edition published 2010

by Egmont UK Limited

239 Kensington High Street

London W8 6SA

Text copyright © 2007 Jenny Nimmo

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

ISBN 978 1 4052 3317 0

eISBN 978 1 7803 1207 1

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Egmont is passionate about helping to preserve the world’s remaining ancient forests. We only use paper from legal and sustainable forest sources, so we know where every single tree comes from that goes into every paper that makes up every book.

This book is made from paper certified by the Forestry Stewardship Council (FSC), an organisation dedicated to promoting responsible management of forest resources. For more information on the FSC, please visit www.fsc.org. To learn more about Egmont’s sustainable paper policy, please visit www.egmont.co.uk/ethical.

Contents

Cover

Title page

Books by Jenny Nimmo

Copyright

The endowed children

Prologue

1. Not-quite-humans

2. Strangers from the sea

3. Dagbert Endless

4. The howling

5. The altering bugs

6. Feromel’s kettle

7. A stone troll

8. Hunting the Wilderness Wolf

9. Asa’s disguise

10. The perilous bridge

11. Merromals

12. Lysander and Lauren

13. The street of magicians

14. An unbeatable sword

15. The stolen cloak

16. Charlie makes a dangerous journey

17. The hidden sword hilt

18. The shrivelling shroud

19. The rescue begins

20. The Red Knight

21. Charlie gets a postcard

About Egmont Press

The children of the Red King, called the endowed

Manfred Bloor | Talents Master at Bloor’s Academy. Previously head boy. A hypnotiser. He is descended from Borlath, eldest son of the Red King. Borlath was a brutal and sadistic tyrant.
Naren Bloor | Adopted daughter of Bartholomew Bloor, Naren can send shadow words over great distances. She is descended from the Red King’s grandson who was abducted by pirates and taken to China.
Asa Pike | A were-beast. He is descended from a tribe who lived in the Northern forests and kept strange beasts. Asa can change shape at dusk.
Billy Raven | Billy can communicate with animals. One of his ancestors conversed with ravens that sat on a gibbet where dead men hung. For this talent he was banished from his village.
Lysander Sage | Descended from an African wise man. He can call up his spirit ancestors.
Tancred Torsson | A storm-bringer. His Scandinavian ancestor was named after the thunder god, Thor. Tancred can bring rain, wind, thunder and lightning.
Gabriel Silk | Gabriel can feel scenes and emotions through the clothes of others. He comes from a line of psychics.
Emma Tolly | Emma can fly. Her surname derives from the Spanish swordsman from Toledo, whose daughter married the Red King. He is therefore an ancestor to all the endowed children.
Charlie Bone | Charlie can travel into photographs and pictures. Through his father he is descended from the Red King, and through his mother, from Mathonwy, a Welsh magician and friend of the Red King.
Dorcas Loom | Dorcas can bewitch items of clothing. Her ancestor, Lola Defarge, knitted a shrivelling shawl whilst enjoying the execution of the Queen of France in 1793.
Idith and Inez Branko | Telekinetic twins, distantly related to Zelda Dobinsky, who has left Bloor’s Academy.
Joshua Tilpin | Joshua has magnetism. He is descended from Lilith, the Red King’s oldest daughter, and Harken, the evil enchanter who married her.
Una Onimous | Mr Onimous’s niece. Una is five years old and her endowment is being kept secret until it has fully developed.
Olivia Vertigo | Descended from Guanhamara, who fled the Red King’s castle and married an Italian Prince. Olivia is an illusionist. The Bloors are unaware of her endowment.
Dagbert Endless | Dagbert is the son of Lord Grimwald who can control the oceans. His mother took the gold from drowned men’s teeth, and made them into charms to protect her son. Dagbert is a drowner.

The endowed are all descended from the ten children of the Red King: a magician-king who left Africa in the twelfth century, accompanied by three leopards.

Prologue

Charlie Bone lives in a city that holds many secrets. They are hidden in the walls and buried under centuries of dust.

The city began nine hundred years ago, with a castle. It was built by Charlie’s ancestor, the Red King, so-called because of his red cloak and the burning sun emblazoned on his shield. The Red King was an African; he was also a magician.

When the king’s beloved queen, Berenice, died, he went to grieve in the forest. He believed that his ten children were safe in the hands of wise councillors and kindly nurses. Besides, each child had been endowed with an extraordinary power.

At that time, the country was a violent and lawless place; murder and robbery were rife. On his way home, the king found that his considerable powers were needed to help the poor and oppressed. He donned a suit of chainmail and a helmet with a plume of red feathers. Then, conjuring up an invincible sword, he rode out to defend the troubled and helpless people.

For five years the Red King fought tyrants, murderers and plundering nobles. When he finally returned to his castle, he found that five of his children were gone and the other five were using their endowments to wreak havoc on the surrounding countryside. It was these children and their heirs who began the city’s history of dreadful magic and wickedness. Unable to fight his own children, the broken-hearted king left his castle forever.

Charlie’s grandmother and her three sisters all have a part in the evil. While his father was spellbound they sent him to Bloor’s Academy, a school run by a family with an especially violent past. Charlie is often afraid of the Bloors and their allies, but, so far, he has resisted all their attempts to crush him, for he has friends among the descendants of the Red King, friends who use their unusual endowments to help him.

With his own talent for travelling into the past, Charlie is beginning to learn the city’s secrets. It is a dangerous pursuit, but Charlie has his friends to support him and a firm trust in the enduring power of the Red King.

Not-quite-humans

You might think it was rather careless of Charlie Bone to lose his father a second time, especially when he had only just found him. They had been apart for ten long years; spellbound years for Lyell Bone, a time spent in deep forgetfulness, when he could remember nothing of his past or even recall his name.

This time, at least Charlie knew where his father had gone. He was taking Charlie’s mother on a second honeymoon. What could be better than to get away from cold, dark February days, to watch whales and dolphins roll through a sunlit sea? They had asked Charlie to join them, of course, but he had politely declined. His parents needed to be alone and, besides, there were things that he had to attend to at home. A few mysteries to clear up.

At that moment Charlie was standing by the gate of the house where he was born. It was an old red-brick building, with a steep slate roof and four steps up to a blue front door. Charlie and his mother had left the house when he was two, and he couldn’t remember it at all. Even the name was unfamiliar to him: ‘Diamond Corner’ – it stood on the corner of Diamond Street and Lyme Avenue.

Charlie was twelve now; a boy of medium height with dark, unruly hair and walnut brown eyes. A boy who was ordinary in every way except one: he was a picture-traveller, a talent he had inherited from the legendary Red King.

Beside Charlie stood a very tall man with strong, finely chiselled features and straight black hair that almost touched his shoulders. He wore a long, dark coat and the brim of his black hat had been pulled well down, as though to shade his eyes, though there was not the slightest glimmer of sunlight on this murky Saturday afternoon.

‘Needs a lot of repair,’ the man remarked, looking at the dark holes where slates had fallen from the roof.

‘I wish I could move in right now, Uncle Paton,’ said Charlie.

‘You won’t have to wait long,’ said his great-uncle. ‘They’re starting work next week: builders, painters, plumbers and roofers.’

‘Let’s have a look.’ Charlie opened the gate and walked up the overgrown path. His uncle followed, jangling a bunch of keys. As they drew closer they noticed a light in one of the lower windows.

‘Someone’s in there.’ Charlie ran up to the door. His uncle, only a pace behind, leapt up the steps and fitted one of his keys into the lock. The blue door swung open and Charlie stepped inside.

A stale, mildewy smell filled the hallway. The floorboards were damp and dusty and strips of ragged wallpaper hung from the dark, stained walls. Charlie trod as lightly as he could, but the bare boards creaked with every step he took. He quickly opened a door to his left and looked into the room where he had seen the light. It was empty. Uncle Paton nodded at a half-open door on the other side of the room. ‘The kitchen,’ he whispered.

A shuffling sound could be heard. It was difficult to make out where it came from. Charlie sprang across the room, his uncle’s heavy footsteps pounding after him. But the kitchen, too, was empty. A sharp bang sent Charlie bounding through the kitchen and into the passage. The back door swung open, hitting the wall behind it with another loud bang. A blast of cold air hit Charlie as he squinted outside. He was just in time to see two figures slip through a broken fence at the end of the garden.

‘Hey!’ cried Charlie, running through a sea of long dried grass and weeds. When he reached the fence he peered into the narrow gap. But the intruders had vanished.

‘Could have been tramps.’ Uncle Paton kicked at a pile of newspapers in a corner. ‘Let’s go, Charlie.’

‘Can’t I go upstairs?’ begged Charlie. ‘I want to see if I can remember the room where I slept.’

‘Go on then.’ Uncle Paton followed Charlie up the stairs. When he reached the top Charlie stood and stared at the two doors in front of him. There were two more leading off a passage to his left, and another on his right. He chose this one.

‘You did remember, Charlie!’

‘I just guessed,’ said Charlie. He pushed open the door. ‘OH!’

It was impossible to move any further into the room. Every floorboard had been lifted. Some stood against the walls, others lay scattered on the narrow joists that supported the floor.

‘How very odd!’ Uncle Paton peered over Charlie’s shoulder. ‘I didn’t know the builders had started already.’

They looked in the other rooms. Every one was in the same state: floorboards wrenched up and thrown carelessly into corners or strewn across the thin joists.

‘Looks like someone’s been searching for something,’ Charlie remarked.

‘A pretty desperate search,’ his uncle agreed. ‘I imagine they did the same downstairs, but re-laid the boards in case anyone looked through the windows.’

‘I don’t like to think of strangers coming in and trashing my old home,’ said Charlie.

As they went downstairs they kept an eye open for any sign that the treads might have been pulled up. And this time they noticed the splintered wood, the nails that had been pulled up, and the slight wobble in the banisters.

‘It might be a good idea to change the locks,’ said Uncle Paton, when they were standing in the street again. ‘I’ll tell the agents.’

They began the walk home to number nine, Filbert Street. Uncle Paton was thinking about the intruders and failed to notice that the street lights had come on. Before Charlie had time to warn him he carelessly glanced upwards and the lamp over his head gave a loud pop and exploded.

Uncle Paton ducked as a shower of glass rained down on his head. ‘Bother! Bother! Bother!’ he cried. ‘Who’d be a power-booster?’

Paton Yewbeam, another of the Red King’s descendants, had inherited an unfortunate endowment. If he so much as glanced at a light that was on, whether it was in a window, a house, on the street or at home, the element would reach such intense heat that the bulb inevitably exploded. So Paton rarely left home in the daytime. Traffic lights, brake lights and shop windows were all at risk from his unhappy talent. And he found it very embarrassing.

This time Uncle Paton’s accident had revealed something. In the bright flash that momentarily filled the street, two figures could be seen cowering beside a hedge. The moment lasted less than a second but their faces were printed sharply in Charlie’s mind. They looked – not quite human.

Charlie had blinked against the shower of glass that fell on to his uncle. When he opened his eyes again, the figures had vanished.

‘Come on, Charlie, let’s get out of here before someone sees us.’ Uncle Paton took Charlie’s arm and pulled him away from the scene of his crime.

‘Someone did see us, Uncle P,’ said Charlie. ‘I think it might have been them. You know, the intruders. But they weren’t exactly people. If you know what I mean.’

‘I do not.’ Uncle Paton gripped Charlie even tighter. ‘Quick, quick! Over here.’

Charlie found himself being dragged across the street. A fast-approaching car gave a warning hoot and Uncle Paton hauled him on to the pavement.

‘What did you say about not-exactly-people?’ Uncle Paton tugged the brim of his hat. Now even his nose was hidden.

‘They were weird, Uncle P,’ Charlie panted. ‘I can’t explain.’

‘Try,’ commanded his uncle. ‘I want to know what kind of creatures we’re up against.’

Uncle Paton set off again at his usual breakneck speed. Charlie had to make little skipping movements in order to keep up with him. ‘It’s not fair,’ Charlie complained. ‘Your legs are twice as long as mine.’

‘I want to put distance between myself and the street lamp,’ Uncle Paton snapped. He turned a corner and slowed his pace. ‘Now, try again. What made these things inhuman, Charlie?’

‘They were a bit hairy for one thing,’ said Charlie. ‘And their eyes – their eyes, well, I think they were too far apart for a human. They were more like dogs – or, or –’

‘Wolves?’ his uncle suggested.

‘Maybe,’ Charlie said cautiously. ‘If wolves have yellow eyes.’

‘Hmm. Why do I think that the Bloors have something to do with this? Tell me, did your father mention anything that he might have left at the old house?’

‘Nothing,’ said Charlie. ‘But then there were so many things that he’d forgotten.’ He smiled to himself. It was enough that his father had remembered his mother and himself. ‘His memory is coming back, though. Every day something new pops into his head. Maybe when he comes home again, he’ll be completely recovered.’

‘And that’s what they’re afraid of.’ Uncle Paton came to a standstill.

‘Who? What?’ asked Charlie.

‘Listen, Charlie. We believe that Manfred Bloor hypnotised your father, because he caused old Ezekiel’s accident. But I have come to think that there was more to it. I believe your father was hiding something that the Bloors wanted. Perhaps they hoped that under hypnosis he would reveal its hiding place. But this never happened. And now they’re afraid that he will remember, and find whatever it is before they do.’

Charlie couldn’t imagine what had led his uncle to this conclusion. But Paton Yewbeam had an enquiring mind. He was writing a history of the Red King, and his room was crammed with huge books that covered every subject Charlie had heard of, and a lot more that he hadn’t.

Diamond Street lay on the outskirts of the city and it took Charlie and his uncle nearly an hour to get home. By that time dusk had fallen and a thick mist was creeping through the streets. Curiously it smelled of salt, though the sea was at least thirty miles away.

Charlie’s grandmother, Maisie, met them at the door. She had the look of someone who’d had a nasty shock. ‘Grandma Bone’s back,’ she whispered, turning out the hall light, in case of a Paton accident.

‘Back?’ said Paton loudly. ‘Why on earth . . .’

‘Sssh!’ Maisie put a finger to her lips. ‘Come in here.’

Charlie and his uncle followed Maisie into the kitchen. The table had been laid and while Maisie ladled mushroom soup into three bowls she told them about Grandma Bone’s dramatic arrival.

Grandma Bone was Paton’s sister. She was twenty years older than him and they’d never got on. She didn’t even get on with her only son, Charlie’s father. As soon as he’d come home after ten long years imprisoned in Bloor’s Academy, Grandma Bone had moved out. She’d gone to live with her three sisters at the end of a grim and gloomy alley called Darkly Wynd. Charlie had hoped he would never see her again.

‘She’s still got a key,’ Maisie told them. ‘She marched in, dumped her bag in the hall and said, “I’m back!” “Why?” I asked. Well, that was wrong for a start. “Anyone would think you were sorry,” she said. “I am,” I said. “I thought you’d gone for good.”’

Charlie began to giggle.

Paton asked, ‘But what is her reason, Maisie? Why has she returned?’

‘A wedding!’ said Maisie.

‘Whose?’ begged Paton.

‘Your youngest sister, Venetia. She’s getting married next week.’

Charlie choked on his soup. ‘Great Aunt Venetia? Who on earth would want to marry her?’

‘Who indeed, Charlie love,’ said Maisie. ‘But some poor man is soon going to rue the day.’

‘How extraordinary.’ Paton stared at Maisie in disbelief.

‘Grandma Bone is very put out,’ Maisie went on, ‘but her sisters are all for it apparently.’

‘Phew.’ Paton blew on his soup, which couldn’t have been that hot because he’d already swallowed several spoonfuls without a murmur. He was trying not to show it but anyone could see that he was utterly baffled and extremely shocked.

Uncle Paton’s four sisters were all as bad as each other. They loathed their only brother and spent their lives tormenting him, just because he didn’t agree with their morals and made very sure they knew it. All four of them were mean, spiteful, arrogant, dishonest and greedy. In fact, Charlie couldn’t find enough words to describe how horrible they were. None of them had ever given Charlie a kind word, let alone a birthday present, not even Grandma Bone.

Maisie had saved the best part of her announcement till last. ‘The worst of it is, he’s got children,’ she said dramatically. ‘What do you think of that?’

‘Children!’ Charlie shuddered. ‘Poor things. Imagine Great Aunt Venetia being your mother!’

‘Impossible.’ Paton suddenly looked up.

Charlie had his back to the door and failed to see Grandma Bone walking up behind him.

‘I’m glad I’m not your mother,’ said Grandma Bone testily. She marched over to the fridge and opened it. ‘There’s nothing in here,’ she complained. ‘Nothing but cheese and old bones. No pâté, no mayonnaise and not even a sniff of salmon.’

Maisie gave a huge sigh. ‘How was I to know you’d come hunting in here, with your fussy stomach and your dainty mouth? Sit down, Grizelda, and I’ll give you some mushroom soup.’

‘No thank you.’ Grandma Bone plonked herself in the rocker by the stove.

Paton frowned. He had been meaning to get rid of the rocker. No one else ever used it. It had been a constant reminder of Grandma Bone’s gloomy presence. If only he’d thought ahead and chopped it up for firewood a day earlier.

Creak! Creak! Creak! There she went, with her eyes closed and her head nestled into her chin. Rock! Rock! Rock! The sound was enough to curdle the soup.

‘So,’ Paton found a voice at last. ‘I hear you’ve fallen out with your sisters, Grizelda.’

‘They’re your sisters too,’ she snorted. ‘Marriage indeed! I never heard of such rubbish. Venetia’s fifty-two. She should’ve given up that sort of thing years ago.’

‘What sort of thing?’ asked Charlie.

‘Don’t be insolent,’ his grandmother replied.

Charlie finished his soup and stood up. ‘I bet you’ll leave when my dad comes back,’ he said.

‘Oh, but you’re all going to live in that cosy little Diamond Corner.’ She gave Charlie one of her chilly stares. ‘But then whale-watching can be very dangerous. He may never –’

Charlie didn’t wait to hear what his grandmother might say next. ‘I’m going to see Ben,’ he cried, rushing into the hall and flinging on his jacket.

Maisie called, ‘Charlie, it’s dark, love. Don’t pay any attention to Grandma Bone. She didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘She did,’ muttered Charlie. He left the house, ran across the road to number twelve and rang the bell. Filbert Street was always quiet at this time on a Sunday. There were very few cars about and the pavements were deserted. And yet Charlie felt a prickling at the back of his neck that told him someone was watching him.

‘Come on, come on.’ Charlie pressed the bell a second time.

Benjamin Brown opened the door. He was a few months younger than Charlie and a lot smaller. His scruffy yellow hair was exactly the same colour as the large dog that stood beside him, wagging its tail.

‘Can I come in?’ asked Charlie. ‘Grandma Bone’s back.’

Benjamin understood immediately. ‘What a disaster! I’m just taking Runner Bean for a walk. Want to come?’

Anything was better than spending the evening in the same house as Grandma Bone. Charlie fell into step beside Benjamin as he headed towards the park. With joyful barks, Runner Bean ran circles round the boys then darted down the dark street. Benjamin didn’t like to lose sight of his dog. He knew he worried unnecessarily. His parents were always telling him to lighten up, but Benjamin couldn’t help being the way he was. Besides, a mist was beginning to creep into the street; an unusual, salty sort of mist.

Charlie hunched his shoulders. There it was again. That odd prickling feeling under his collar. He stopped and looked back.

‘What is it, Charlie?’ asked Benjamin.

Charlie told his friend about the not-quite-humans that he’d seen near Diamond Corner.

‘Nothing’s normal tonight,’ Benjamin said shakily. ‘I never tasted salt in the mist before.’

And then they heard the howl; it was very distant, but a howl nevertheless. A sound that was almost human, and yet not quite. For the first time since his parents had left, Charlie wished they hadn’t gone whale-watching.

Runner Bean came racing back to the boys. His coarse hair was standing up like a hedgehog’s.

‘It’s the howling,’ said Benjamin. ‘I’ve heard it before. It makes Runner nervous, though he’s never usually scared of anything.’

It wasn’t until much later that Charlie made the connection between the distant howling and the not-quite-humans that seemed to be following him.

As for the salty mist, that was another thing entirely.

Strangers from the sea

Two strangers had entered the city on that chilly Sunday afternoon. They came on the river. Leaving their boat moored beneath a bridge, they climbed the steep bank up to the road. They moved with an odd, swaying motion as though they were balancing on the deck of a ship. A mist accompanied them: a cloying, salty mist that silenced the birds and gave passers-by unexpectedly chesty coughs.

The smaller of the two strangers was a boy of eleven with aquamarine eyes, like an iceberg underwater. His shoulder-length hair was a dull, greenish brown with a slight crinkle. He was tall for his age and very pale, his lips almost bloodless. He lurched across the cobbles with an expression of grim determination on his thin face.

The boy’s father had the same cold eyes, but his long hair was streaked with white. His name was Lord Grimwald.

When they reached the steps up to Bloor’s Academy, the boy stopped. His eyes took in the massive grey walls and travelled up the two towers on either side of the entrance. ‘It’s a long way from the sea,’ he said in a surprisingly tuneful voice.

‘You must learn to live without the sea for a while.’ The man’s voice had the echo of a damp cavern.

‘Yes.’ The boy put his hand in his pocket. A restful look came into his face at the comforting touch of sea-gold. In his pocket he carried a golden fish, a sea urchin and several golden crabs. They were gifts from his dead mother who had made them from gold found in wrecks beneath the sea. ‘These sea-gold creatures will help you to survive,’ she had whispered to Dagbert. ‘But never let your father know of them.’

As the boy began to mount the steps his father said, ‘Dagbert, remember what I said. Try to restrain yourself.’

Dagbert stopped and looked back at his father. ‘What if I can’t?’

‘You must. We are here to help.’

‘You are to help. I am to learn.’ Dagbert turned and leapt up to the top step. His long legs carried him across the courtyard in a few swaying strides, and then he was pulling a chain that hung beside the tall oak doors. A bell chimed somewhere deep within the building. Dagbert peered at the bronze figures that studded the doors.

‘They are older than the house.’ Lord Grimwald ran his fingers over the figure of a man holding what appeared to be a bolt of lightning. ‘Our ancestor, Dagbert. Remember. We talked about Petrello, the Red King’s fifth child.’

One of the doors creaked open and a man appeared. He was a burly fellow, completely bald and with a square face and small, expressionless eyes. ‘Yes?’ he said.

‘We’re expected,’ Lord Grimwald announced imperiously.

‘Name of Grimwald?’ The man’s eyes narrowed.

‘Were you hoping it might be someone else?’

The man muttered, ‘Tch!’ and opened the door wider. ‘Come in, then.’

Father and son followed the burly figure down a long stone-flagged hall to a door set into one of the oak-panelled walls. ‘The music tower,’ announced their guide, turning a metal ring. The door swung open and he ushered the visitors into a dimly lit passage. At the end of the passage they passed through a circular room and then up a spiralling staircase. On reaching the top of the first flight they turned to their right and entered a thickly carpeted corridor.

‘The doctor’s study is second left,’ said the bald porter. ‘As you said, you’re expected. The Bloors are there. All three of them.’

‘Your name?’ Lord Grimwald demanded. ‘I like to know these details.’

‘Weedon: porter, chauffeur, handyman, gardener. Is that enough for you?’ He stomped back down the stairs.

‘Insolent fellow.’ Lord Grimwald’s greenish complexion turned a nasty shade of terracotta. When he got to the study door he gave it several hard bangs with his fist, instead of the polite knock he might otherwise have used.

‘Yes!’ answered two voices, one deep and haughty, the other an eager screech.

Lord Grimwald and his son went in. They found themselves in a gloomy book-lined room, where a large man stood behind a desk. To one side of the desk an ancient creature sat in a wheelchair. He was wrapped in a tartan blanket and wore a round black hat on his bony head. A few white hairs fell to his shoulders like waxy string. Behind him a log fire lent warmth to the room and a welcome touch of colour.

‘Lord Grimwald.’ Dr Bloor walked round his desk and shook his visitor’s hand. ‘It’s good to meet you. I am Dr Bloor, the headmaster. I trust your journey wasn’t uncomfortable.’

‘We came by sea.’

‘Impossible. We’re miles from the sea,’ said the creature in the wheelchair.

‘We came as far as we could, then took a boat up the river.’ Lord Grimwald shook the clawlike hand that thrust its way out of the tartan blanket.

‘I’m Mr Ezekiel,’ said the ancient man. ‘I’m a hundred and one. What about that, eh? Don’t look it, do I?’ Without waiting for a reply he went on, ‘And this is the boy.’ He made a grab for Dagbert’s hand.

‘His name is Dagbert,’ Lord Grimwald told the old man. ‘He has many other names, but we have decided on the surname Endless.’

‘Because my names are as endless as the ocean.’ Dagbert didn’t flinch when his fingers were crushed in the skeletal hand. In fact, he hardly looked at Ezekiel. His gaze was drawn to a figure in the corner; hunched and dark, its face was averted from the visitors, though it gave the impression that it was listening intently to every word. Dagbert was so taken with this sinister form he forgot to restrain himself.

The flames in the grate flickered and died. A damp mist filled the room and the musty-coloured books that lined the walls were bathed in eerie sea-light.

‘What the dickens?’ uttered Ezekiel, drawing his blanket closer.

‘It’s what he does,’ Lord Grimwald said impassively. ‘Soon Dagbert will achieve his full power, and it will be greater than mine.’

‘Indeed?’ Dr Bloor regarded the boy. ‘An uncomfortable thought for you, Lord Grimwald.’

‘Not at all. Dagbert will not disobey. If he does, he will die. He knows this.’ Lord Grimwald spoke as if his son were not in the room. ‘I didn’t want a child,’ he went on, ‘but then this miracle happened,’ he indicated Dagbert, ‘and I found I couldn’t be parted from it. Our family is cursed, you see. Every time a boy has achieved full power, he has turned against his father and one of them has died. But we have made a pact, Dagbert and I, to work together always. Haven’t we, Dagbert?’

Dagbert gave his father a curt nod.

‘Now, Dagbert, control yourself !’

Dagbert smiled. The sea-light faded and the logs in the grate gave a damp hiss and burst into flame.

‘Interesting.’ Dr Bloor frowned at the boy. ‘As long as he uses his endowment in the right places.’

‘Keep an eye on him for me,’ said Lord Grimwald, ‘and I’ll do what you want.’

‘We’ll put him in Charlie Bone’s dorm,’ Ezekiel said gleefully.

‘Please, take a seat, both of you,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘Dagbert, fetch those chairs by the bookshelf.’

The boy pulled two chairs up to the desk while Dr Bloor continued, ‘Charlie Bone is getting too strong. He needs reining in.’

‘I can do that, sir.’ Dagbert took a seat beside his father.

For the first time since the visitors arrived, the figure in the shadows turned his face to the light. Lord Grimwald gave an involuntary gasp but his son stared at the ruined face of Manfred Bloor with a mixture of awe and fascination. Four great scars ran from the youth’s hairline to his chin. His eyelids were puckered with stitches and his top lip dragged upward in two places, giving the face a permanent grimace.

‘Terrible, isn’t it?’ Ezekiel looked round at his great-grandson. ‘But we’ll get even with them, Manfred.’

‘How did it happen?’ asked Lord Grimwald.

‘Cats,’ said Dr Bloor.

‘Cats?’ Lord Grimwald repeated in disbelief.

‘Leopards,’ came a husky croak from the corner.

‘They lacerated his throat,’ said Dr Bloor in an undertone. ‘Every word he utters causes him pain.’

‘Leopards.’ Dagbert’s eyes hadn’t left the ravaged face.

‘The Red King’s leopards,’ came the dreadful croak.

Dagbert turned to his father. ‘We’re descended from the Red King.’

His father nodded. ‘It’s why we’re here.’

‘So you know the story of the Red King?’ Ezekiel wheeled himself closer to Dagbert. ‘You know that when his wife died, the King went to grieve in the forest with only his leopards for company. But did you know that he turned those leopards into cats? Immortal cats, their coats as bright as flames, cats that turn up every generation to keep company with the children who refuse to be controlled.’ Ezekiel’s voice rose to a furious screech. ‘They did it. Those cats destroyed my grandson.’

‘Why?’ asked Dagbert, undaunted by the old man’s fury.

‘Charlie Bone,’ answered the rasping voice in the shadows.

‘Indeed, Charlie Bone,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘Granted he was trying to save his father, but to do this . . .’ The headmaster flung out his hand towards his son.

‘And have you found a way to punish Charlie Bone?’ asked Lord Grimwald.

‘We’re hoping that you can help us.’ Dr Bloor gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Charlie has friends, you see, friends with powerful endowments. They stick together like glue.’

‘Glue can be dissolved,’ said Dagbert quietly.

A surprised silence followed this remark. The Bloors regarded Dagbert with renewed interest. But the boy’s gaze was held by the scarred eyes that watched him from the shadows, and everyone in the room felt the invisible bond that was instantly formed between Dagbert Endless and Manfred Bloor.

Ezekiel smiled with satisfaction. Many endowed children had studied at Bloor’s Academy; some had been gratifyingly evil, but he was certain that none had been as deadly as this Northern boy with his iceberg eyes.

Lord Grimwald got to his feet and began to move about the room in his peculiar swaying walk. ‘So you will educate my son, and what am I to do for you?’

‘Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter,’ Ezekiel said eagerly. ‘You can control the oceans, Lord Grimwald. A towering talent, if I may say so.’

Lord Grimwald inclined his head as he continued to swing about the room.

Dr Bloor said, ‘Charlie’s father, Lyell Bone, is at this moment upon the ocean. He is taking a second honeymoon with his wife, Amy. And they have decided to go whale-watching.’

‘Whale-watching!’ Ezekiel cackled. ‘Silly fools. They’re going on a little boat, and the waves will rock the little boat from side to side, and then the highest, tallest, widest wave there’s ever been will take the little boat to the bottom of the ocean, where Lyell and Amy will rest forever. What d’you think about that, Lord Grimwald?’

‘I can do that for you.’ Lord Grimwald stopped pacing and sat down. ‘But may I ask, apart from punishing Charlie Bone, is there another reason why you want to drown Lyell Bone?’

‘The WILL!’ said Ezekiel and Dr Bloor in unison.

‘The will?’ asked Lord Grimwald.

‘It’s old, very old, but still legal probably,’ said Ezekiel. ‘It was made by my great-grandfather, Septimus Bloor, in 1865, shortly before he died. He left everything: house, garden, the ruined castle in the grounds, priceless treasures, all . . . all to his daughter Maybelle and her heirs. But my great-auntie, Beatrice, was a witch, you see, and hated Maybelle, so she poisoned her, and forged another will. This will, the false one, left everything to my grandfather, Bertram. And he left it all to my father, and then to me. Beatrice wanted nothing for herself; she was content to see Maybelle dead and her children become paupers.’

‘Forgive me for being slow, Mr Bloor, but where’s the problem?’ Lord Grimwald spread his hands. ‘It would appear that the original will no longer exists.’

‘But it does, it does,’ cried Ezekiel. ‘Someone found it, you see: Rufus Raven, Maybelle’s great-grandson. It was given to his wife, Ellen, on her wedding day.’

‘A will?’ questioned Lord Grimwald.

‘No, no, not the will, exactly. She was given the box that contained it,’ explained Dr Bloor. ‘The key was lost and she couldn’t open it, but Ellen was endowed with an instinct for certain . . . things. She guessed that it contained something of great importance.’

‘We believe that Rufus gave it to Lyell Bone for safekeeping,’ said Ezekiel. ‘They were the best of friends, he and Rufus. We tried to bargain, we tried threats. “Give us the box,” we said, “and you’ll have half our fortune.” Of course we didn’t mean it.’ A sly smile twisted Ezekiel’s meagre lips. ‘But Rufus wouldn’t give it up, anyway. So we had to get rid of him, and his silly wife. A nasty accident arranged by a car mechanic on my payroll. Their baby survived, but he doesn’t know a thing.’

‘His name’s Billy,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘We have him here. He’s eight years old and can communicate with animals.’

‘That’s useful,’ Dagbert said with interest.

Ezekiel giggled. ‘Billy’s endowment hasn’t been very helpful to him so far. Take Percy, for instance.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Percy, come here.’

An old dog appeared from behind the desk. Its eyes were hidden behind rolls of loose skin and its short legs were barely able to support its heavy body. Dagbert’s lips curled in disgust as the creature grunted and dragged its slobbery mouth against Ezekiel’s blanket.

‘Billy calls him Blessed,’ said Ezekiel. ‘Heaven knows why. The dog can understand Billy’s gibberish but he knows nothing of our conversation. We could be talking about butterflies,’ Ezekiel fluttered his crooked hands in the air above his head, ‘or . . . or birthday parties, for all he knows. So he can’t tell Billy a thing about our little chat, or his inheritance.’

‘Are you sure?’ Dagbert eyed the dog suspiciously.

‘Absolutely,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘The only words that dog knows are his names: Percy or Blessed.’

This wasn’t strictly true. Blessed might not have been able to comprehend every word that was said, but he understood the current of feeling in the room. He knew they were talking about his friend, Billy, and he was aware that the two strangers brought trouble. They smelt of mists and rotting wood. Their skins were cold and slippery, and behind their voices waves could be heard, beating on a stony shore. The boy’s eyes glimmered like frozen water and the man’s face told of wrecked ships and pitiless drownings. Blessed would describe all this to Billy and Billy would tell Cook. And Cook would give Blessed a large bone, Blessed hoped. The old dog made for the door, wagging his bald tail and slobbering badly as he thought of the longed-for bone.

There came a loud knock on the door and, as it opened, Blessed hurried past Weedon into the passage.

‘Cook’s put a bit of supper on the table,’ Weedon announced grumpily.

‘Ah!’ Dr Bloor rubbed his hands together. ‘The dining room is just down the passage. This way, everyone.’

As the two visitors followed Dr Bloor a small woman emerged from the dining room. Cook was rounder than she had once been and her dark hair was touched with grey, but her rosy face still held traces of her former beauty. When she saw Dr Bloor and his guests approaching she stood aside to let them pass.

‘Thank you, Cook,’ said Dr Bloor.

Cook nodded and then gave a small involuntary shudder. She pressed a handkerchief to her face and hastened away. Her heart was pounding so fast that Blessed could hear it as she ran down the stairs behind him.

‘Oh, grief! Oh, horrors! It’s him. It’s him. Oh, Blessed, what am I to do? Why here? Why now?’

Cook burst into the blue canteen with Blessed hard on her heels. The handkerchief was still pressed to her mouth as though the very air she breathed was poisoned.

‘Cook, what’s the matter?’

Cook hadn’t noticed the white-haired boy sitting at a corner table.

‘Oh, Billy, love. I’ve had a dreadful shock.’ She pulled out a chair and sat beside him. ‘A man is here. He . . . he . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Billy, I’ll have to tell you. He drowned my parents, swept away my home and murdered my fiancé, all because I wouldn’t marry him.’

Billy’s wine-coloured eyes widened in alarm. ‘Here? But why?’

‘That I couldn’t tell you. Something to do with the boy he’s brought, I imagine.’ Cook blew her nose and tucked the handkerchief into her sleeve. ‘Grimwald’s his name. It was forty years ago, and I don’t know if he recognised me. But if he did . . .’ She closed her eyes against unimaginable horrors. ‘If he did, I’ll have to leave.’

‘Leave? You can’t leave, Cook!’ Billy leapt to his feet and flung his arms round Cook’s neck. ‘What will I do without you? You can’t leave. Please say you won’t. Please, please.’

Cook twisted her head from side to side. ‘I just don’t know, Billy. There’ve been some pretty awful people in this place, but he’s the worst. And if the boy is anything like him, we’re in for a rough ride, believe me.’

Blessed suddenly put his paws on Cook’s lap and, throwing back his head, let out such a mournful howl that Billy had to cover his ears.

‘He knows,’ Billy whispered. ‘He wants to tell me something, but I’m not sure that I want to hear it.’

Dagbert Endless

On Monday morning a new boy appeared in Bloor’s Academy. He wore the compulsory blue cape of a music student. Charlie met him for the first time in Assembly. The music students had their own orchestra and today Charlie’s friend, Fidelio, was lead violin. He waved his bow at Charlie just as the Head of Music, Dr Saltweather, came on to the stage.

‘Who’s that, then?’ said a voice in Charlie’s ear.

Charlie looked round to see a boy a few inches taller than himself, with long, wet-looking hair and aquamarine eyes.

‘Who’s who?’ asked Charlie.

‘The boy with the violin.’

‘He’s called Fidelio Gunn,’ said Charlie. ‘He’s a friend of mine.’

‘Is he? And is he a good violinist?’

‘Brilliant,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m Charlie, by the way.’

Dr Saltweather raised his hand for silence, and the orchestra struck up.

Thirty minutes later the new boy caught up with Charlie as he left Assembly. He handed Charlie a letter. Charlie didn’t like the look of it. He recognised the Bloors’ headed writing paper. Printed in large, ornate script were these words:

Charlie Bone has been designated official monitor to Dagbert Endless. He will show him all locations relevant to a music student in the second year. He will also acquaint Dagbert with the rules and regulations of this academy, and impart to him any information regarding compulsory attire and equipment. If Dagbert Endless infringes any academy rule, Charlie Bone will be held responsible.

Charlie swallowed hard.

‘That’s me,’ said the boy, pointing to his name on the letter. ‘Dagbert Endless.’

Charlie was baffled. ‘I wonder why they’ve chosen me.’

‘Because you’re endowed,’ Dagbert told him. ‘So am I. Don’t know a thing about music. Wouldn’t mind having a go at the drums, though. What about you?’

‘Me? Oh, I play the trumpet,’ Charlie replied. He wondered why the boy had arrived so late in the school year. They were almost halfway through the second term.

‘I come from the North,’ Dagbert informed him. ‘The far, far North. I was in Loth’s Academy but they expelled me.’

Charlie was instantly intrigued. ‘What for?’

‘There was a drowning,’ the boy said airily. ‘Not my fault, of course, but you know what parents are. They wanted retribution and someone gave them my name.’ Dagbert lowered his voice. ‘He didn’t last long, I can assure you.’

‘Who?’

‘The snitcher.’

They had reached the hall and Charlie was so keen to hear the gruesome details of the drowning, he quite forgot the rules. ‘So what happened then?’

‘Silence in the hall, Charlie Bone,’ called one of the prefects, a cheerful girl who rarely gave detention.

‘This way,’ Charlie whispered, nudging Dagbert’s arm.

They walked to a door beneath a carving of crossed trumpets. Once through the door Charlie said, ‘I’m glad Fiona’s on duty and not Manfred Bloor.’

‘What’s wrong with Manfred?’ asked Dagbert.

Charlie didn’t like the look that Dagbert shot at him. ‘Never mind.’ Quickly changing the subject, Charlie explained that they were in the blue cloakroom. ‘Drama students wear purple capes, their cloakroom door is under two masks; crossed paintbrushes show where the Art students go. They wear green. We have our own canteens, too. But we all work together, except when we do music, art or drama.’

Children began to crowd round Dagbert. Where did he come from? Why was he here? Did he live in the city?

Charlie noticed Billy Raven sitting in a corner. As soon as he saw Dagbert he gave Charlie one of his worried looks and ran out. Dagbert glanced at the small albino before talking to the others. He told none of them what he had told Charlie. He would only say that he lived above a fish shop.

‘I like fish, you see.’ He gave Charlie a private smile.

‘He’s an odd fish,’ Fidelio whispered in Charlie’s ear.

Charlie grinned. Dagbert saw Fidelio’s head close to Charlie’s and the smile left his face. His eyes suddenly became so icy they sent a shiver down Charlie’s spine.

‘It’s English next,’ Charlie said. ‘We’d better get to Mr Carp’s room.’

‘You should enjoy that, eh, Dagbert?’ said Fidelio. ‘A carp is a very fine fish.’

Dagbert was not amused. ‘Show me the way,’ he commanded.

They left the blue cloakroom and made their way through groups of children in blue, green or purple capes, all heading in different directions.

Mr Carp was stout and red-faced. He was always dressed very neatly in a striped waistcoat and smart grey suit. He found Charlie Bone irritating, partly because of his messy hair, and partly because his mind always seemed to be elsewhere. He didn’t pay attention and sometimes gave silly answers that made the class laugh.

‘You boy, sit there,’ he told Dagbert. ‘That’s right, next to Charlie Bone. He is to be your monitor, I’m told. Though he needs one himself, if you ask me.’ Mr Carp laughed at his own joke while the rest of the class remained silent.

Dagbert took the desk next to Charlie. On the other side of Charlie, Fidelio raised an eyebrow. With a scraping of chairs the class sat down and a lesson on punctuation began.

For the rest of the day Dagbert stuck to Charlie like a limpet. It wasn’t Dagbert’s fault, Charlie reasoned, but he was beginning to affect Charlie’s social life badly. His friends Emma and Olivia approached during break but things took a bad turn when Olivia suggested that Dagbert smelt fishy. Charlie had assumed that the smell was wafting up from the kitchens but now he realised that Olivia was right.

Dagbert’s response caught Charlie off guard. ‘We think you stink of cheap perfume, don’t we, Charlie?’ He winked at Charlie, who opened his mouth to protest, when Dagbert continued, ‘and we think you both look a mess. Those ridiculous hairdos for one thing.’

‘I . . . didn’t . . .’ Charlie stuttered.

Emma stared at him in dismay, while Olivia said, ‘I see. Well, we know where we stand, don’t we?’ She grabbed Emma’s arm and dragged her away. They’d only gone a few steps when Olivia turned back and called, ‘I always knew you were a fraud, Charlie Bone. A fraud and a liar.’

Charlie would have run after the girls, but Olivia’s hurtful words stopped him in his tracks. Had she always thought him a fraud? He watched the two girls walk across the grounds. In her red coat and black tights, Olivia looked anything but a mess. Her brown hair was streaked with black and gold and topped with a small black velvet beret. Charlie had been about to compliment her when Dagbert made his fatal remark. Even Emma looked elegant today, with her blonde hair piled on top of her head.

‘Let them go,’ said Dagbert. ‘We know their sort. Airheads.’

‘Don’t keep saying “we”,’ Charlie said irritably. ‘We don’t have the same opinions at all. And those girls aren’t airheads.’

Dagbert ignored this. ‘You promised to show me the red castle. I can see the walls from here. Come on.’

At the far end of the grounds, the deep red walls of a castle could be glimpsed between the trees. Now a ruin, it was difficult to believe that the Red King had once held court there. At times, Charlie had found the ruin a refuge, but always there was a feeling of unease behind the great walls, a hint of the castle’s troubled past, when the king’s family had turned against each other.

‘You go ahead,’ Charlie told Dagbert. ‘I want to talk to someone.’ He had seen his friend Gabriel Silk wandering towards them.

As Gabriel got closer, Dagbert said loudly. ‘You’re right, Charlie. What a loser.’

It was unfortunate that Gabriel happened to be passing Bragger Braine, the worst bully in the second year. Bragger, and the group of boys surrounding him, took one look at Gabriel’s long, sad face and burst into malicious laughter.

‘Gabe!’ Charlie shouted.

But Gabriel had fled. Charlie scanned the grounds and eventually saw Gabriel running for the garden door.

‘Dagbert, why did you say that?’ Charlie demanded angrily. ‘Gabriel’s very sensitive. I don’t know how I’m going to explain things to him.’

‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Dagbert said casually. ‘Who wants a friend like that? He can’t even wear old clothes.’

‘He can’t help it. He gets all the feelings of the people who’ve worn the clothes before him.’ Charlie stamped his foot. ‘And if you want to see the ruin, go by yourself.’

Furious, Charlie stormed away from Dagbert and made for the school. The smell of fish suddenly became so overpowering he almost retched. It was a relief to get inside the hall and close the door against the choking odour. Charlie ran along to the blue cloakroom where Gabriel often took refuge when things weren’t going well. But instead of Gabriel, he found Billy Raven, huddled at the end of a bench.

‘Billy, have you seen Gabriel?’ Charlie asked.

Billy shook his head. He looked very troubled.

‘What is it?’ Charlie sat beside the smaller boy.

‘You need to know some things,’ said Billy, ‘about that boy, Dagbert. Blessed told me –’

‘There you are!’ Dagbert stood in the doorway, his face blank and the fish smell under control. It seemed to be something he could send out or stop at will. ‘You’ve got some freaky friends, Charlie Bone.’

‘Look,’ said Charlie, trying hard to keep his temper. ‘I don’t mind being your monitor but leave my friends alone or –’

‘Or what?’ Dagbert’s expression hardened.

Charlie couldn’t think of a reply.

‘Or nothing,’ Dagbert answered for him. ‘You’re powerless, Charlie Bone. So you might as well make the best of things.’

Charlie was thinking, He’s seen off three of my friends. But there’s always Tancred and Lysander. He stared at Dagbert, but whatever the fish boy was, he didn’t appear to be a mind-reader.

After supper, while the other children went to their classrooms, Charlie led Dagbert up to the King’s Room.

‘What is the King’s Room?’ asked Dagbert as they climbed the narrow staircase at the far end of the building.

‘It’s where the Red King’s portrait hangs. All endowed children have to do their homework there. Because we’re the Red King’s descendants.’

‘So now I’ll get to meet the rest of you.’ Dagbert leapt ahead of Charlie. By the time Charlie reached the tall black doors of the King’s Room, Dagbert was already inside. Charlie found him gazing at the shelves of books that lined the curving walls.

‘A round room,’ Dagbert observed with satisfaction, ‘and a round table. How Arthurian.’

Four children came in: Joshua Tilpin, Dorcas Loom and the twins, Inez and Idith.

‘Now let me see,’ Dagbert stared at Joshua. ‘Magnetism?’

Joshua beamed.

‘Good, good.’ Dagbert turned to Dorcas, who was setting her books in order on the table. ‘And you can bewitch clothing?’

‘How can you tell?’ asked Dorcas, a large girl with a puffy face and tangled yellow hair.

‘I can’t,’ Dagbert admitted. ‘Someone told me.’

‘And we are telekinetic,’ one of the twins announced. No one could tell them apart. They both had pale, doll-like faces and shiny black hair. Their fringes ended in a sharp line just above their eyes – dark eyes that never showed a trace of emotion. ‘Who are you?’ the same twin asked.

‘I am a boy whose name is as endless as the ocean.’ Dagbert smiled at them. ‘My name is Dagbert.’

The twins gaped at him. Neither of them asked any more questions.

Charlie felt uncomfortable, alone in the room with four children who had made no secret of being his enemies, and a fifth who certainly couldn’t be described as a friend. He heaved a sigh of relief when Tancred and Lysander appeared.

Tancred was in a particularly boisterous mood; his green cape billowed round him like a cloud, his blond hair stood up in spikes and books kept fluttering out of his hands. As he placed his homework on the table a gust of wind whistled round the room, carrying loose paper into the air and rolling pens and pencils across the round table.

‘For goodness’ sake, can’t you learn to control yourself, Tancred Torsson?’ Dorcas grumbled as she bent to retrieve a book.

Before Tancred could reply, Dagbert cried, ‘A storm boy! Good to meet you. I’m Dagbert Endless.’ He walked over to the two older boys and shook their hands. ‘And you must be Lysander Sage, the spirit-caller.’

Lysander, the African, gave Dagbert a cool smile.

Dagbert ignored the last three children to arrive. Avoiding Charlie, Emma took a seat close to Tancred, and Gabriel sat on his other side. Only Billy chose to sit beside Charlie. For this he received one of the new boy’s chilly stares.

There should have been a twelfth member of the group, but Asa Pike had not been seen for several weeks. Charlie found that he missed the weedy sixth-former with his wispy red hair and the wolfish yellow eyes that gave away his terrible endowment.

Lysander was now the oldest member of the endowed, and so he had been put in charge of the homework room. He had inherited a natural air of authority from his father, the famous Judge Sage. Joshua, Dorcas and the twins might try to test Lysander’s position, but they were a little in awe of the tall African and, so far, no one had openly defied him.

‘Where’s our number twelve?’ asked Dagbert. ‘I was told there was a wolf boy.’

‘Was,’ said Lysander quietly. ‘He’s no longer with us. Get on with your work, now.’

Dagbert meekly opened one of his books and began to read.

Charlie couldn’t concentrate. He gazed up at the Red King’s portrait and then at the clock on the wall. When Manfred had presided over the King’s Room he would command Charlie to look away from the painting and concentrate on his homework. Charlie had always longed to travel into the painting to talk to the king, but it was impossible. Behind the king stood Harken the Enchanter, a shadowy figure who blocked Charlie’s every attempt to reach his ancestor.

Once the shadow had escaped, but now he was trapped again – an angry, brooding presence whom Charlie could almost feel watching him. But I don’t need to reach the king any more, he told the shadow silently, because I’ve found my father and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Someone else was watching Charlie. Dagbert’s aquamarine eyes were fixed on him. Charlie quickly dropped his gaze and tried to concentrate on his homework.

At eight o’clock everyone closed their books and began to file out of the King’s Room.

Before Dagbert could catch up with them, Charlie whispered to Billy, ‘Want to come home with me at the weekend?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Billy. ‘I’ve got so much to –’

‘Hey! Wait for me!’ Dagbert’s voice came ringing after them. ‘You’re supposed to show me the dorms, Charlie Bone.’

‘I thought Matron would have shown you,’ said Charlie.

‘She did, but I’ve forgotten.’ Dagbert grinned and came up to Charlie in his peculiar lurching and pitching motion.

Billy Raven crept away.

‘That boy gives me the creeps,’ Dagbert remarked as he watched the retreating albino.

‘You probably do the same to him,’ said Charlie.

‘Why?’ Dagbert looked genuinely surprised.

Charlie hurried on without answering. He wondered where Dagbert would be sleeping. Every bed in his own dormitory was occupied. So there was no danger of the new boy moving in. Or was there? Ahead of him, he could see Gabriel Silk standing in the passage. He looked distraught. Charlie called out to him, but he turned away and went through a door further down the passage.

‘What’s going on?’ Charlie walked into his dormitory, Dagbert dogging his steps.

Fidelio was sitting on the bed next to Charlie’s. ‘They’ve moved Gabriel,’ he said. ‘Poor old Gabe. It’s not fair. They’ve put him in with Damian Smerk.’

Charlie gasped. ‘His worst enemy!’

Dagbert made his way over to the bed that had once been Gabriel’s.

‘Now we know the reason for Gabriel’s banishment,’ Fidelio muttered, turning his head in Dagbert’s direction.

Charlie lowered his voice. ‘I’m supposed to be looking after him. I guess that’s why Matron put him in here.’

Other boys began to arrive: three first-formers and five second-formers led by Bragger Braine and his devoted slave Rupe Small. Dagbert ignored them. This was surprising, considering that he had gone out of his way to make friends with most of the endowed. Perhaps he considered these ordinary boys not worth the effort, thought Charlie.

Bragger Braine stopped at the end of Dagbert’s bed and commanded the new boy to introduce himself. Dagbert continued to transfer clothes from his bag into the cabinet beside his bed.

‘I’m talking to you, boy,’ Bragger shouted, his wide pug-like face reddening.

‘Answer!’ squeaked Rupe Small.

‘Answer, answer, answer!’ chimed the others.

Charlie suddenly realised he would have to defend the new boy. ‘Leave him alone,’ he said.

‘Who asked you, Charlie Bone?’ snarled the beefy third-former.

‘I’m responsible for him,’ Charlie said in a reasonable tone. ‘His name is Dagbert Endless.’

‘I suppose he’s one of you peculiar “endowed” people,’ Rupe piped up with a giggle.

Charlie found Rupe even more annoying than Bragger. He had such a whiney, high-pitched voice. He followed Bragger’s every move with his big doggy eyes, and never said a word unless he was quite sure that Bragger would approve.

‘They’re not peculiar,’ Fidelio said evenly.

‘OK. So what do you do, new boy?’ Bragger climbed on to the rail at the foot of Dagbert’s bed. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but Endless isn’t a name.’

All at once Dagbert straightened up. He fixed Bragger with his aquamarine eyes and said, ‘My name is as endless as the ocean, and I drown people.’

Bragger’s feet slipped off the rail and he landed on his back on the floor.

Nobody laughed.

The howling

It was one of the other boys who passed on the news about Dagbert. It certainly wasn’t Bragger. Falling on your back in terror is nothing to brag about.

Word spread fast. Soon even the doziest first-former had heard the rumour: Dagbert Endless drowned people.

But how? That was the question on everyone’s mind. On bath night it was noticeable how shallow the bath water was in every bath. Some of the children decided against bathing altogether and opted for a cold shower in the unheated changing rooms. In February. That’s how worried they were.

‘What’s the matter with you all?’ grumbled the matron. ‘You usually complain that you can’t get enough water. Now, all at once, you don’t want any. You’ve barely got enough to clean your knees.’

People began to avoid Charlie because Dagbert was always at his side. In team games Charlie was always the last to be picked, as though the new boy were permanently attached to him, and if you got Charlie, you were saddled with Dagbert-the-Drowner as well.

There were exceptions, of course. You couldn’t keep Joshua, Dorcas and the twins away from Dagbert. So Charlie had to put up with their company as well. He found it exhausting, listening to them boasting about their peculiar talents. However, he did manage to learn something very interesting.

They were sitting in the King’s Room, waiting for homework to begin. Lysander and Tancred hadn’t arrived, Billy was searching for a reference book, Emma was late and Gabriel was in the sanatorium with a virus.

Charlie had opened his history book and was pretending to make notes on the American War of Independence. The conversation on the other side of the table was being conducted in harsh whispers, with the occasional giggle thrown in by Dorcas. And then, all at once, Charlie caught the phrase: ‘She taught me everything I know about bewitching clothes.’

Dorcas was talking about Charlie’s Great Aunt Venetia. He lowered his head and opened his ears.

‘Anyway, she told me about this man,’ Dorcas went on. ‘She wanted to marry him because, for one thing, he’s rich, and for another his little boy is endowed – at least Venetia thinks he is . . .’ She stopped and Charlie felt her eyes on him. He kept his head down but Dorcas continued in such a soft whisper he could only catch the odd word. Words like ‘Arthur Shellhorn, poison, beads, heart-failure . . . herbs of infatuation . . . wedding . . .’

It was easy enough to guess the rest, and it didn’t take Charlie long to work out what his great-aunt had done. Uncle Paton had warned him that Venetia wasn’t above murder, and he was right. She had poisoned Arthur Shellhorn’s wife with a string of beads that stopped her heart, then soaked Arthur’s coat in a brew of infatuating herbs. And poor, deluded Arthur, desperately in love, had begged Venetia to marry him.

At this point Lysander and Tancred breezed in, the latter looking even more blown about than usual.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ said Lysander. ‘We were in a meeting. Glad to see you’re all getting on with your work. Where’s Billy?’

‘Here. I’m here.’ Billy shuffled through the door with Emma a few paces behind him.

Silence fell. Everyone bent their head towards their books. Homework began.

Charlie stared at the pages of his history book without seeing them. His mind roamed elsewhere. He was trying to imagine what it would be like to have a stepmother like Great Aunt Venetia: poisoner, bewitcher, murderer. He could hardly wait to see Uncle Paton. One more night to go, he thought, and then he’d be free of Dagbert Endless. He would be sitting at home, eating one of Maisie’s delicious suppers.

It was not to be.

On Thursday night, only five minutes after lights out, Dagbert decided to tell a bedtime story.

‘It’s against the rules to talk after lights out.’ Charlie’s whispered warning made no impression on Dagbert, so he raised his whisper another notch. ‘You’ll get detention.’

‘Who says?’ asked Dagbert.

‘Let him tell the story,’ said Bragger, keen to keep on the right side of Dagbert.

‘Yes, let him,’ squeaked Rupe. ‘You’re a spoilsport, Charlie Bone.’

Fidelio muttered, ‘You won’t be seeing your fish shop on Friday night, Bertie boy.’

‘Want to bet?’ sneered Dagbert. ‘And don’t call me Bertie.’

Fidelio turned over and punched his pillow into shape.

In a loud voice Dagbert continued his story. It was boring and badly told. It certainly wasn’t funny, even though Bragger and Rupe kept giggling. Stories about mermaids always made Charlie yawn. He yawned and closed his eyes.

Two seconds later the door opened and Matron marched into the room. She turned on the light. Charlie opened his eyes and blinked.

‘Who was talking?’ Matron demanded.

‘I was,’ Dagbert said cheerfully. ‘I was telling a story.’

‘You’re breaking the rules,’ said Matron.

‘Am I?’ Dagbert sounded incredulous. ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.’

Matron gave a sigh of annoyance. ‘Charlie, you’re responsible for the new boy. You’re supposed to tell him the rules.’

‘Yes, well, I –’ Charlie began.

‘Detention for you,’ snapped his great-aunt. ‘You won’t be going home until Saturday.’

‘But I did tell him,’ Charlie protested.

Matron switched off the light and marched out, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that followed was broken by a snort from Bragger and a snigger from Rupe.

Charlie lay on his back staring into the darkness. He told himself that he didn’t care. What was one more day after all? He lay awake long past midnight and then, just as he was drifting into sleep, a sound came stealing through the night. A far, far distant howl.

There was a rustle of bedclothes and Charlie saw the rounded shape of Billy Raven’s white head. He was sitting up – listening. He knows what the howl means, thought Charlie, and soon he’ll tell me.

The last thing Charlie expected was an apology, but at breakfast next morning, he got one.

‘Sorry about last night,’ said Dagbert, swallowing a spoonful of cornflakes. ‘I couldn’t afford to get detention. The people I live with won’t understand if I don’t turn up tonight.’

‘You didn’t have to talk after lights out, though, did you?’ said Fidelio. ‘Charlie warned you.’

Dagbert frowned. ‘It’s hard to keep stories to yourself,’ he murmured.

Charlie almost felt sorry for him. ‘Well, you won’t get away with it a second time. Matron’s told you now, so you’ll have to keep your stories bottled up.’

‘Yes, I will,’ Dagbert said pensively. ‘Imagine. Stories in a bottle.’

Not for the first time Charlie wondered what was going on in Dagbert’s head.

Charlie spent the rest of the day in a state of suspense. All he wanted was to hear what Billy had to tell him. What did it matter if he had to spend another night in school?

At four o’clock Weedon unlocked the main doors and children piled out of the Academy. From their dormitory, Charlie and Billy could hear the shouts that began immediately pupils were released from the gloomy hall. Charlie peered out of the window overlooking the courtyard. He saw Dagbert Endless following the crowd. He was the only one who didn’t look happy. His expression was solemn, almost apprehensive. He was the last to leave the courtyard.

Charlie turned from the window. ‘They’re all gone, Billy.’

Billy was sitting on his bed with his knees drawn up to his chin.

‘Before we talk about Dagbert I want to know what you heard last night,’ said Charlie.

‘A howl,’ Billy replied.

‘I heard it too. You know what it meant, don’t you?’

Billy nodded. He hunched his shoulders and hugged himself. ‘It was a call for help. It was frightened and lonely.’

Charlie looked into Billy’s wine-dark eyes, magnified by the round lenses of his glasses. ‘Do you know where the voice – the howl – came from?’

‘Not exactly. It’s far, far away, maybe underground. It says it’s trapped.’

‘Trapped?’ said Charlie. ‘Who trapped it, I wonder.’

Billy shrugged. ‘Charlie, I want to tell you about Dagbert,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying all week, but he’s always there, right behind you. He calls me a freak.’

‘And Gabriel a loser, and he told Olivia and Emma they looked a mess. An absolute lie.’

Billy leaned forward. ‘Cook knew Dagbert’s father. He drowned her parents, swept away her home and murdered her fiancé. All because she wouldn’t marry him.’

‘Wait a minute!’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘I remember. Cook told me. His name is Grimwald.’

‘Lord Grimwald,’ said Billy. ‘Blessed says he smells of rust and seaweed and shipwrecks and drownings. And there’s a cold pearl in his heart, trapped like sand in an oyster shell. Cook’s going to leave. She’s frightened.’

Charlie slid to the floor. ‘Cook, leave? She can’t. She keeps the balance here. She’s the lodestone of the house. Why should she leave? No one knows who she really is.’

‘Dagbert might find out,’ Billy said gravely.

Charlie resolved to change Cook’s mind. He would see her at supper and convince her that she must stay. Otherwise, who would care for Billy during the long school holidays? He had no home, no parents, no one else in the world to turn to. The Bloors kept promising him that he would be adopted but it had never happened, unless you counted the de Greys, who had treated Billy like a servant and kept him locked up.

Children in detention could usually expect a cold supper in the canteen. But when Billy and Charlie went downstairs at six o’clock, the blue canteen was deserted. Chairs had been piled on to tables and a blue check cloth covered the counter.

Charlie opened the door into the kitchen and looked around. There wasn’t a soul in sight. The heavy saucepans were all hanging in place, the ovens were closed and cold, and there wasn’t even a whisper of steam.

‘What are you doing?’ said a voice.

Charlie swung round. He came face to face with Weedon’s wife. Mrs Weedon was a wide, grim-faced, goggle-eyed person who was usually in charge of the green canteen.

‘I’m looking for Cook,’ said Charlie.

‘Cook’s out.’ Mrs Weedon’s bloodless lips smacked unpleasantly.

‘We wanted some supper.’ Charlie looked at Billy, standing hopefully beside a chair-covered table.

Mrs Weedon glanced at Billy. ‘And I suppose you’ve got detention, Charlie Bone?’

‘That doesn’t mean I’m not to be fed,’ Charlie said defiantly.

‘Tch!’ Mrs Weedon turned her back and walked out. ‘You’d better come with me,’ she called back to them.

The green canteen was in the same state as the blue: chairs on tables, counter covered in a cloth – a green one this time.

‘Baked beans is all I’ve got,’ snorted Mrs Weedon. ‘You can sit there,’ she pointed to a table. ‘I’m not supposed to be on duty but Cook rushed off, goodness knows where, and the Bloors want their supper which I’ve got to carry all the way over to the west wing, if you please.’

Charlie had never known Mrs Weedon to say so much. ‘Cook hasn’t left, has she?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Left? Of course not.’ Mrs Weedon’s goggle eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Why? What makes you think she’s left?’

‘I don’t. It’s just . . . well, we just wondered.’

Mrs Weedon frowned and shook her head. ‘You wonder more than is good for you.’ She stomped through the door into the kitchen.

Charlie and Billy removed two chairs from the table Mrs Weedon had indicated, and sat down.

The beans, when they arrived, were barely warm. The toast was burnt and there wasn’t a smidgen of butter. Charlie decided to try for a second helping. Telling Billy to follow him, he went to the door of the green kitchen and looked in. There was no sign of Mrs Weedon.

‘Come on,’ Charlie whispered. ‘Let’s look for some food. I’m starving.’

They crept into the kitchen. A row of tins caught Charlie’s eye. Sure enough they contained biscuits: chocolate Bourbons and garibaldis. The boys took two of each, stuffing them into their mouths as they moved further into the room. Billy found a box of shortbread and slipped a piece into his pocket. Charlie found some gingerbread and broke off a chunk. He was beginning to feel better already. They reached the door at the back of the kitchen and stepped into a yard where a narrow flight of stone steps led up to the road.

‘You know, we could get out this way,’ said Charlie. ‘We could go into the city and find a nice café and –’

Billy’s elbow dug into Charlie’s ribs. ‘Look!’ he whispered.

At the far end of the yard two people squatted in a dark corner. Really, they were not quite people. They had the shining eyes of a predatory animal and their faces were dotted with patches of hair. For a few seconds they were so still they could almost have been taken for statues but, all at once, they emitted a faint whimper and scuttled towards the steps. They climbed the flight of steps on all fours, bounding to the top as fast as cats. The iron gate on to the street gave a light clang as the two figures pushed it open and disappeared.

Billy gripped Charlie’s arm. ‘What were they?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Charlie. ‘But they’ve been following me.’ He noticed something in the corner where the strangers had been squatting. Could it be a pudding bowl? He walked over to it.

‘Look!’ he called. ‘This bowl’s half full of muesli-type stuff. Nuts and oats and bananas and things. It looks as if someone’s been feeding them. Come and see.’

Before Billy could move a hand shot out of the doorway behind him.

Mrs Weedon grabbed the back of Billy’s collar, almost choking him. ‘Now what have you done?’ She glared at Charlie.

‘We were hungry,’ he said.

‘That’s no excuse for snooping.’ Mrs Weedon released Billy and gave him a little push. ‘Did you see anyone here?’

‘We –’ Billy began, but Charlie quickly cut him off with a loud, ‘No. No one.’

‘Hmm.’ She regarded Charlie with her suspicious, bulging eyes. ‘Get inside.’

They meekly obeyed.

‘I shall tell Dr Bloor about this,’ said Mrs Weedon as she followed them through the canteen. ‘You’d better go straight to bed.’

‘We haven’t done anything wrong,’ Charlie protested.

‘I’ve only got your word for that,’ she grunted.

They heard the lock click as they walked away from the canteen door. Charlie felt for the gingerbread in his pocket, glad that he’d managed to grab something before he was caught.

Matron looked in on the boys when she came to turn off the light. ‘Your uncle will pick you up tomorrow,’ she said coldly. ‘What a nuisance you are, Charlie Bone.’

‘Billy’s coming home with me,’ said Charlie.

The matron pursed her lips but she didn’t argue. Uncle Paton had forced the Bloors to sign a document, promising that Billy could spend the weekend with anyone he wished.

It was a bitterly cold night and they huddled under the blankets to eat the food they’d taken from the kitchen. Charlie soon fell asleep. He dreamed of his parents, riding the waves in their sturdy boat, while whales sang in the ocean. ‘They do sing, you know,’ his mother had said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’

Charlie had found himself shaking his head. His parents needed their time alone. They had lost ten years of being together; besides, instinct warned Charlie that he must remain in the city, the place where so many people had wanted his father ‘out of the way’, where plots were hatched and where Charlie’s friends were constantly in danger.

In Charlie’s dream the whales’ song gradually changed into a sad lament, and as he listened to it he became aware that he was awake, and listening to the distant, desperate howl again.

‘Billy, can you hear it?’ Charlie whispered.

‘Yes,’ said Billy. ‘It keeps repeating the same words, over and over. “Help me!” It kind of knocks against my heart, Charlie. What are we going to do?’

‘Help it,’ Charlie replied, though he had no idea how.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.