Charlie Bone And The Red Knight (Children Of The Red King, Book 8) (10 page)

It was a gray, misty day, but that didn't take the spring out of Olivia's step. She swung along, humming lightly to herself. There was no one about, and the voice that suddenly called out took her by surprise.

"Olivia!"

Recognizing the voice, Olivia hurried on. There came a second call, which she ignored.

"Olivia, hold on!"

"Bother him," Olivia said to herself. She swung around and faced Manfred Bloor. He was strolling toward her, his hands deep in the pockets of a long, green coat with a small cape attached to it.

"What do you want?" Olivia demanded.

"You're out early, Miss Vertigo."

"So are you," she retorted. "What do you want? I'm in a hurry."

"Are you?" Manfred came right up to Olivia and stared into her face, his dark eyes glinting. "This is so opportune," he said. "I was coming to visit you at the bookstore."

Olivia frowned. "Why?"

"Why do you think? I want to discuss your wonderful endowment with you."

"There's nothing to discuss." Olivia turned away and began to run toward High Street, where she could see an elderly couple walking their dog.

"Off to see your godmother?" Manfred called. "Alice the Angel."

Olivia stopped in her tracks. Without turning around, she said, "My godmother isn't here."

"Oh, but she is." Manfred's voice was silky smooth. "I'm surprised she hasn't been in touch with you."

Against her will Olivia found herself moving, very slowly, to face Manfred. She could see the thin green figure, swathed in mist, his dark hair shining with dew, his eyes like black coals. "What... ?" she croaked. Her voice seemed to have disappeared.

Manfred waved a hand at her. "Don't let me keep you. We can have our chat another time."

"Yes ... a chat." Olivia took a few steps backward and then turned and walked on toward High Street. She passed a man with a newspaper under his arm. The man smiled pleasantly and said, "Morning."

Olivia frowned as if she hadn't heard him, which made the man shake his head and murmur, "These young things; anyone would think I was the man in the moon."

A boy and a large yellow dog came running up the road. No one could fail to recognize Runner Bean.

"Hi, Olivia!" called Benjamin Brown. "Are you going to see Charlie? He's not up yet."

Olivia didn't stop when Benjamin reached her. She didn't even smile, but kept on walking.

"GOOD MORNING, Olivia!" Benjamin shouted after her. "Nice of you to stop."

"Good-bye," she called over her shoulder.

Benjamin looked at his dog and shrugged. "She's in a funny mood," he said, and Runner Bean barked in agreement.

As Olivia drew closer to her home, she began to think about her godmother, Alice Angel. Alice kept a flower shop in a place called Steppingstones. It was Alice who had helped Olivia to discover her endowment. Alice knew things instinctively. She always knew when Olivia needed her. Alice was a white witch and Olivia recalled her warning, "Where there is a white witch, there is always another of a darker nature." And so it had proved, when Mrs. Tilpin had revealed her true identity.

And now Olivia found herself passing the turn to her own street and walking on toward the park. She turned the corner onto Park Road, murmuring, "Number fifteen." The houses in this street were half hidden behind tall hedges and overgrown shrubs. The gate of number fifteen had come off its hinges and stood propped against the fence. The path was overgrown with moss, and the white paint on the door had all but peeled away. Ivy covered the walls and had even made its way across the windows.

Alice Angel had lived here once. Had she returned, as Manfred said? The house looked deserted. Olivia walked up the mossy path and pulled a rusty chain that hung beside the door. A soft chime could be heard within the house.

Olivia waited. A lace curtain twitched in the window that overlooked the garden, and a voice came whispering out of the house. Was it a voice or the rustle of evergreens?

"Come in, my dear!"

Olivia tried the door handle. It turned smoothly and the door creaked open. She stepped inside a chilly hall. Was Alice living here? The house felt as though it had been empty for a very long time. At the end of the hall a door opened into Alice's living room.

The ivy covering the windows made the room so dark, Olivia could barely make out the furniture. It was so cold her breath condensed into tiny clouds.

Olivia blew on her hands. Even in gloves her fingers were freezing.

"Alice?" she said tentatively.

"Here, my dear!"

The voice made Olivia jump. She peered into the corner where the voice had come from. A woman sat in an armchair; her hair was smooth and white, just like Alice's. Her face was pale and her eyes had a greenish tinge. It must be Alice, and yet... The face wavered and almost disappeared. One moment the features were clear and then they became vague and incomplete.

"Alice, is it really you?" asked Olivia, her throat contracting in the cold air.

"Of course it is, my dear." Alice's voice was little more than a whisper. "I haven't been too well. Come and kiss me."

Olivia hesitated.

"What is it? You're not afraid, are you?" Alice's voice was stronger now, but... was it her voice?

Olivia walked over to the armchair. She looked down at the woman resting against a faded blue cushion. It was Alice... although how thin she had become.

"Oh, Alice, I've missed you!" Olivia bent and kissed the cold cheek. Immediately her heart flooded with love for this frail woman, the godmother who had watched over her from far away.

"I've got a present for you." Thin fingers pushed at Olivia's arms. "It's on the table over there. Try it on, dear."

Olivia saw a white package on the table. Tissue paper wrapped around something soft and sparkling. She peeled back the paper and drew out a black velvet vest covered in tiny circles of mirrorlike silver.

"Oh, it's beautiful!"

"Try it on."

Olivia slipped out of her denim jacket and put on the glittering garment. The silver was so bright she could hardly look at it, and for some reason, the featherlike fabric pressed heavily on her shoulders, as though it were weighted with stones. And yet she could not bear to take it off.

Three hundred miles away, Alice Angel was arranging flowers at the back of her shop. She liked to do this very early on a Sunday morning when the shop was closed. As soon as she had made up a dozen or so small bouquets, she would display them on a stand outside, where she would wait beneath a white canopy for people visiting relatives or friends in the hospital.

Alice sold only white flowers. She was surrounded by tall vases of blooms whose pale petals ranged from deepest cream to bluest white. It was cool in the shop but Alice kept warm, moving through her flowers, snipping, twisting, wrapping, and binding. The sweet fragrance made her sing.

A petal fell onto her arm, and then another. Alice looked up from her work, surprised that her fresh flowers were shedding petals already. A white rose dropped from its stalk, and then another and another. Petals began to fall like snow. They became a white storm, showering Alice with the scent of dying flowers. She dropped the bouquet she had been holding and pressed her hands to her face. "Olivia!" she cried. "What has happened to you?"

10

TIGERFIELD STEPS

Charlie sat in the kitchen, eating oatmeal. He felt as though he'd run a marathon. He ached all over and could hardly keep his eyes open. On the other side of the table Emma was drinking tea. She had just told Charlie about her aunt's unwelcome visitors and now, in a rush, she repeated Cook's description of the Sea Globe.

Charlie's eyes widened just a fraction. "So that's how he does it?" he mumbled through a yawn.

"You don't seem very surprised." Emma looked disappointed.

"After yesterday, nothing surprises me," said Charlie. "I've been prodded and interrogated, hit by gargoyles, burned by a mad person, and chased by a sword, and I've fallen off a ten-foot wall."

Maisie paused in her ironing and gave a huge sigh. "We've got to leave this city," she declared. "It's not a normal place. It's too dangerous. As soon as your parents come back, Charlie, we should pack up and leave."

"You can't," said Emma. "Not until it's all sorted out. And we've got to do that."

"We?" Maisie banged down her iron on a hapless shirtsleeve. "I suppose you mean you Children of the Red King. Well, it seems to me that half you lot are causing all this trouble."

"Only half," Emma pointed out. "That's why the other half must stop them."

"Humph." Maisie continued ironing, banging down her iron with more force than was absolutely necessary.

Emma watched her for a moment, then turned her gaze on Charlie, who was now leaning his head against his hand and yawning again. "Anyway," she said sharply. "We've got to do something today, before it's too late. We'll be back at school tomorrow and things will get more and more difficult. I don't know how we're going to tackle Lord Grimwald.

I've just had to put that at the back of my mind until we've sorted out this box problem."

Charlie reflected that Emma had been off from school for a whole week. No wonder she was so perky. "Have you seen Tancred?" he asked.

Emma blushed. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Charlie shrugged but couldn't stop himself from grinning. "I only asked."

Emma's blush spread to the roots of her hair, but she continued, rather fiercely, "Well, are you coming to see Mr. Bittermouse with me?"

"What?" Charlie said slowly. "Why?"

Emma leaned across the table, looking more animated than Charlie had ever seen her. "I had this idea, you see. Mr. Bittermouse is a lawyer and he knew your dad, so maybe your dad gave him this box, with the will in it. I mean" -- she spread her hands -- "what could be more obvious? Auntie Julia agrees with me."

"Don't you think they will have thought of that?"

For a moment Emma's determined look wavered, and then she said, "Maybe. But it's worth a try."

Charlie sighed and licked his spoon. He could have done with another bowl of oatmeal, but he contented himself with a large spoonful of honey, which he sucked very slowly while Emma reeled off the names of all the people she'd phoned before coming to him. Olivia was spending the day with her parents, Fidelio was playing the violin at a concert, and Gabriel was "doing something important" with Lysander and Tancred up at Lysander's grand house on the Heights.

"So there's only us," Emma finished breathlessly.

"OK." Reluctantly, Charlie stood up. "I'll get my coat."

"You will not, Charlie Bone. And it is not OK." Maisie plunked down her iron and walked over to stand in front of the kitchen door. "I forbid you to leave this house today. Your parents would never forgive me if something happened to you."

"But Mrs. Jones... ," Emma began.

"Don't you Mrs. Jones me, Emma Tolly," said Maisie. "I'm surprised at you, forcing our Charlie into dangerous streets after all that he's been through."

This embarrassed Charlie. "Maisie," he cried, "I'm not a child!"

"Yes, you are," Maisie retorted.

Charlie didn't like arguing with Maisie, but he hated being made to look like a sissy, and a nasty scene might have followed if Uncle Paton's camper van hadn't arrived outside the house.

Charlie's uncle looked tired when he came in. Maisie asked him where he had been, but he merely shook his head and told her it was a long story and not a very satisfactory one. "I shall have to go to Ireland," he muttered, before gulping down a large cup of black coffee.

Charlie noticed that his uncle had a familiar "don't ask me any more questions" look on his face, so he sat beside him at the table and related everything that had happened on the previous day. And now, at last, he got a reaction from his uncle, who quickly helped himself to another cup of coffee, exclaiming, "I shouldn't have left, I see that now. They're getting too bold, those villains, and yet" -- he scratched his unshaven chin -- "I must find out more about that will."

"I've got an idea," said Emma. But before mentioning Mr. Bittermouse, she repeated Cook's description of the Sea Globe and Lord Grimwald's terrible power.

"I never imagined that was how he did it," Paton murmured, and an anguished look passed across his face. "I can't reach Lyell. Every contact I had seems to have gone dead. There was a harbormaster but he left his post, and the captain of the ship that carried your parents' mail hasn't been seen for a month. But there is a ray of hope. The sailor who was with them on one of their journeys says he's received word from Lyell, very recently, and will try and contact him again."

"I had a card from them," said Charlie. "Just a week ago.

Another whale. The date on it was smudged."

"But don't you see," said Emma, wringing her hands fretfully, "if we find the box, then there'll be no need for Lord Grimwald to drown anyone."

"Unless he just likes doing it," said Charlie.

"We've got to try." Emma groaned with impatience. "Please, Mr. Yewbeam, please, please will you come with us to see Mr. Bittermouse? He's a lawyer. He knew Charlie's dad. Lawyers deal with wills, don't they?"

"It's a long shot, Emma." Paton gave her a rueful smile. "But I was going to the bookstore this morning, so we could pop in to see Mr. Bittermouse on the way."

"Thank --" Emma began.

"But" -- Paton held up his hand -- "not before I've had my breakfast and a shower."

"Thank you." Emma sat down, exhausted by her efforts. "So now can Charlie come?" she asked Maisie.

"We'll see." Maisie set about cooking Paton's breakfast while he went upstairs. He came down looking very clean and dressed in his blue velvet jacket and a new red tie.

Emma and Charlie waited patiently while Uncle Paton ate a large plate of bacon, tomatoes, asparagus, mushrooms, eggs, and beans. After two slices of toast and marmalade, a croissant, and a third cup of coffee, Paton rose from the table, saying, "Bless you, Maisie," and made for the hall, where he wound a gray scarf around his neck and put on his black fedora and long woolen coat.

Light snowflakes were drifting through the air, and frost still lingered on the grass and hedgerows. Charlie huddled into the thick scarf that Maisie had bought him for Christmas. He would have preferred to stay at home, but how could he possibly ignore any attempt to save his parents? And again he was beset by worrying, unpleasant thoughts. Why was his father so far away when the city was in trouble? Had he been in a trance for so long that now he was too weak to face any danger? No. For the ocean was a dangerous place.

Charlie had been so lost in thought, he was surprised to find they were already approaching the street where Mr. Bittermouse lived. A large moving van was parked outside the lawyer's house, the wheels on one side resting on the pavement and blocking their way. The cobblestone street was so narrow, they had to squeeze by the van on the other side of the road.

"I'm sure this is illegally parked," puffed Uncle Paton as he shuffled sideways, trying to avoid the mud spattered on the side of the van.

When they had all gotten through, they discovered that the van was not parked outside Mr. Bittermouse's house but standing in front of the house next door to his. Here there was much activity. The doors at the back of the van were wide open and several moving men in brown overalls were pushing furniture up a ramp and into the van's depths.

"Is someone moving?" Charlie realized that this was a silly question because someone was very obviously moving.

"We are." A young woman with a baby in her arms stood in the doorway. "And not a moment too soon for my liking."

Uncle Paton touched his hat. "Paton Yewbeam," he said. "What's been going on?"

"What hasn't," said the young woman. She nodded at the turn to Piminy Street, almost opposite. "Those ruffians in Piminy Street have made our lives a misery. I just can't take it any longer. Stone creatures banging on the door at night, unearthly singing, laughter like I've never heard. Bats in the chimney. Glowing eyes at the window. It's... it's..."

"A nightmare," said Emma.

The woman winced. "Yes, a nightmare."

"I'm so sorry." Uncle Paton looked very concerned. "If there's anything... ? But, of course, you'll soon be away from all this."

"Yes." The young woman smiled at last. She stood aside as a baby's crib was maneuvered through the door. "I'm Lucy Palmer and this is Grace." She held up the baby's hand. "We've found a nice little place a hundred miles away from here and we won't ever come back."

A cheerful-looking young man came through with a rocking chair. "It's all done, Luce," he said. "We can be off soon.... Oh, hello!" He grinned at Uncle Paton and the children.

After introductions were made all around, Uncle Paton explained that they were intending to visit Mr. Hector Bittermouse, who lived next door.

"Not anymore," said the young man, whose name was Darren. "He moved a week ago, along with half the neighbors. Who'd want to live in a place with THEM on the doorstep?" He too nodded at the turn to Piminy Street.

This was bad news, especially for Emma. She'd had such high hopes. But all was not lost, because

Charlie remembered that Hector Bittermouse had a brother, a Mr. Barnaby Bittermouse, who lived at number ten Tigerfield Street.

"Charlie, what an excellent memory you have," Uncle Paton remarked in surprise.

"It's not the sort of thing you can forget," muttered Charlie.

Darren thought he knew a Tigerfield Street. He pointed to the cathedral square, telling them it could be one of the small alleys leading off the road at the back. "I can't be sure," he said. "I thought it had another name, like Tigerfield Way, or Steps, or something."

They said good-bye to Lucy, Darren, and Grace and wished them good luck in their new home. Then they made their way up to Cathedral Close. They had to pass the bookstore on the way, and Uncle Paton was about to stop and look in on Miss Ingledew, when Emma grabbed his arm and said, "Not now, Mr. Yewbeam. Let's find the other Mr. Bittermouse first."

Uncle Paton frowned. Emma's tone seemed to suggest that something was amiss. "Is your aunt all right?" he asked.

"Yes, but..." Emma hesitated. "She's been sort of burgled."

"What?" Paton stood stock-still. "How could you forget to tell me? I must go to her at once." He began to stride toward the bookstore.

"NO!" cried Emma, so loudly that Uncle Paton was halted in his tracks. "Auntie doesn't want... doesn't need you right now. She wasn't really burgled, she was just..."

"What?" Paton demanded. "Burgled or not burgled?"

"Not," said Emma lamely. "Just visited by ruffians. But she's OK. Please, can we go on to Tigerfield Street?"

Charlie swung from foot to foot, rubbing his hands together. "It's so cold, Uncle Paton. Can we move on?" He began to walk across the wide square in front of the cathedral, with Emma hurrying beside him.

Uncle Paton followed them reluctantly. Glancing back, Charlie saw that his uncle looked troubled, and wondered if it was because Emma had implied that her aunt didn't want to see him.

A small wrought-iron gate led out of Cathedral Close and onto a road called Hangman's Way. Charlie remembered that Billy Raven had once been kept in one of the dark alleys leading off Hangman's Way. Emma remembered, too. She shivered at the thought of poor Billy, held fast behind the force field of a sinister man named Mr. de Grey.

"There it is!" Uncle Paton announced. He pointed to the sign on a wall that curved into a dark gap little more than a few feet wide.

"Tigerfield Street," said Charlie.

"This must be the place," said Paton.

They crossed the road and stood at the entrance to Tigerfield Street.

"It's hardly a street." Emma stared doubtfully at the flight of stone steps that led up into the darkness.

The tops of the buildings leaned so dangerously, they appeared almost to touch one another.

"Come on." Charlie began to mount the steps. They climbed in single file, their footsteps echoing in the confined space, the only sound for miles, it seemed. Charlie counted the numbers on the thick oak doors. Some were missing altogether. There was a sixteen, then nothing until twelve was reached, with an eleven opposite.

"Here!" cried Charlie. "Number Ten."

The single bronze numbers hadn't been cleaned for years and were now green with mildew. Beneath them was a large bronze door knocker in the shape of a tiger's head. Charlie lifted the head and knocked.

There wasn't a sound within the house. Charlie knocked again. And again. After the third knock, something curious happened. The door creaked open, just an inch.

"It's not even latched," Uncle Paton observed, pushing the door until it swung right back, revealing a small marble-tiled hall. "Hello there!" he called. "Anyone home?"

There was no answer.

A tingle of foreboding ran down Charlie's spine. Something had happened in this house. Was there a ghost in the place or was it worse than that?

Uncle Paton stepped inside and the others followed. They opened a door at the side of the hall and looked into a small kitchen, where pots and pans were heaped on the drainboard. A brown teapot was warm to the touch, and there was steam on the window but no sign of the person who had recently made a cup of tea.