Читать книгу Midnight for Charlie Bone - Jenny Nimmo - Страница 10

The flame cats

Charlie froze. He couldn’t believe his uncle had seen him. But then the question came again, ‘Charlie, why are you following me?’

Charlie walked out from behind a tree. ‘How did you know?’ he asked in a whisper.

Paton turned to look at him. ‘I haven’t got eyes in the back of my head, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘No, I didn’t think that,’ said Charlie.

‘But how?’

‘I saw you, dear boy, as I turned the corner. To tell the truth I was half expecting it. I don’t suppose you could sleep after that dreadful evening.’ Paton gave a grim smile.

‘Is that your talent, Uncle Paton?’ Charlie asked. ‘Brightening the lights?’

‘Pathetic isn’t it? I ask you, what use is it? I wish you hadn’t seen.’ Paton regarded his lean fingers. ‘Come on, let’s get you home; I’ve done enough for tonight.’ He tucked Charlie’s hand through his arm and they began to walk home again.

Charlie saw a new side to his uncle. Not many people could boost a light just by being there. In fact, as far as he knew, no one had ever done such a thing before. Lights played a big part in the night life of a city. Uncle Paton could have a wild time down in the centre, where lights winked and glittered on every surface.

‘Have you ever – you know – done what you just did to lots of lights?’ asked Charlie. ‘Like in a place where all the theatres and cinemas and discos are?’

For a moment Charlie thought that Paton wasn’t going to reply. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. And then his uncle murmured, ‘Once, long ago, I did it for a girl I knew.’

‘Wow! Was she impressed?’

‘She ran away,’ said Paton sadly, ‘and never spoke to me again.’

‘I see. Wouldn’t it be safer if you went out in the daytime, Uncle Paton? I mean, there aren’t so many lights on.’

‘Huh! You must be joking,’ said his uncle. ‘Every shop window has a light in it. There are lights everywhere. And people can see me in the daylight. Besides, it’s become a habit. I just don’t like daylight, and won’t be caught in it.’

They had reached number nine, and Charlie hurried back to bed before anyone else in the house woke up. He fell asleep almost at once, and dreamed that Uncle Paton had turned up the light in every star, until they all exploded, like fireworks.

In the morning, Charlie woke up with a nasty sinking feeling. Whether he liked it or not, he would soon be going to Bloor’s Academy. Just thinking about it made him feel ill. He could only manage one slice of toast for breakfast. The egg and bacon Maisie put in front of him were left untouched.

‘He’s worried, aren’t you, love?’ clucked Maisie. ‘Those miserable Yewbeams. Why should you go to that nasty big school? We’ll get you some chocolate at the shops. That’ll cheer you up.’

Grandma Bone was not present. She always had breakfast in her room. And Paton only ate at night, as far as Charlie knew.

He glanced at his mother who was miles away, in some kind of reverie. ‘Will I have to wear a special uniform?’ he asked.

His mother looked up with a start. ‘A blue cape,’ she said. ‘The musicians wear blue. Sapphire, a lovely colour.’

‘But I’m not a musician,’ said Charlie.

‘Not strictly speaking,’ his mother agreed. ‘But they won’t have a department for your talent, Charlie. You’ll be put into music, like your father. Take your school recorder. I’m sure that will do.’

‘Will it?’ Charlie was doubtful. He’d never been good at music, and only played his recorder when he was forced to. ‘When will I have to start?’

‘After half-term,’ his mother told him.

‘So soon?’ Charlie was horrified. ‘In the middle of a term? Before Christmas?’

‘I’m sorry, Charlie,’ his mother said regretfully. ‘The Yewbeams think it would be best. They say there’s not a moment to be lost, now that you . . . now that they are certain.’

‘Poor mite,’ Maisie muttered.

It had begun to rain again and Maisie pulled on a bright pink mack. Charlie’s mother took an umbrella from the hallstand. She didn’t like wearing a mackintosh.

‘We won’t be long at the shops,’ she told Charlie. ‘Do you want me to take that photograph back?’

Charlie had almost forgotten Benjamin’s birthday card. For some reason he was reluctant to lose the photo just yet.

‘No,’ he said. ‘But could you buy a birthday card for Benjamin? I don’t think I’ll be using Runner Bean after all.’

When Maisie and his mother had gone, Charlie ran upstairs to fetch the orange envelope. He had just opened it and pulled out the photo when the doorbell rang. No one answered it. Grandma Bone was out, apparently, and Uncle Paton wouldn’t even answer the telephone during the day.

Still holding the photograph, Charlie went down to open the door.

A very strange man stood on the step. Stranger still were the three cats, winding themselves round his legs.

‘Onimous and Flames,’ said the man. ‘Pest control.’ He produced a card from the inside pocket of a furry-looking coat.

‘Ominous?’ said Charlie.

‘Not at all,’ said the man. ‘Onimous. Quite different. Orvil. Orvil Onimous.’ He gave Charlie a big smile, revealing sharp, bright teeth. ‘I believe you have a problem here. Mice?’ He gave a funny sort of leap and landed beside Charlie.

‘I don’t know,’ said Charlie. He’d been told never to let a stranger into the house. But this one was in already. ‘Did someone send for you?’

‘Something did. I can’t tell you what it was, just yet. You might not believe me.’

‘Really?’ Charlie was intrigued.

The cats had followed Mr Onimous and were now prowling round the hall. They were most unusual-looking cats. The first was a deep copper colour, the second a bright orange, and the third a fierce yellow. The copper cat seemed to know Charlie. It stood on its hind legs and rattled the kitchen doorknob.

‘Have patience, Aries,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘Will you never learn?’

Aries had managed to turn the knob. The kitchen door swung open and he ran inside, followed by the other two cats.

‘Sorry about this,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘He’s an impetuous fellow, is Aries. Leo’s a bit pushy too, but Sagittarius has lovely manners. Excuse me, I’d better keep an eye on them.’

Before Charlie had time to turn round, Mr Onimous had slipped past him and hopped into the kitchen, calling, ‘Flames, don’t let me down. Do it nicely.’

All three cats were now pacing before the larder. Charlie remembered the rotting fruit, and before the cats could break through another door, he opened it and let them in.

A fierce pouncing, leaping and screaming began. The larder was apparently full of mice. Not for long. The cats despatched one mouse after another, depositing their bodies in a neat line along the wall.

Charlie backed away. He hadn’t known there were any mice at all in the larder. Why hadn’t Maisie or his mother noticed? Perhaps they had all arrived this morning, drawn by the smell of old fruit. Charlie was rather fond of mice and wished he didn’t have to watch the row of little grey bodies grow longer and longer.

When the line was fifteen mice long, the cats appeared to have finished the job. They sat down and vigorously washed their immaculate fur.

‘How about a cup of coffee?’ said Mr Onimous. ‘I feel quite exhausted.’

As far as Charlie could tell, Mr Onimous had hardly lifted a finger, let alone done anything exhausting. The cats had done all the work. But Mr Onimous was now sitting at the kitchen table, looking eagerly at the coffee tin, and Charlie didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. He was still holding the photograph, so he put it down and went to fill the kettle.

‘Ah,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘Here we have it. This explains everything.’

‘What does?’ Charlie looked at the photograph which Mr Onimous was now holding up to the light.

Mr Onimous pointed to the cat at the bottom of the photograph. ‘That’s Aries,’ he said. It was quite a few years ago, but he doesn’t forget. He knew you’d spotted him. That’s why he led me here.’

‘Pardon?’ Charlie felt weak. He sat down. ‘Are you saying that Aries,’ he pointed at the copper-coloured cat, ‘Aries knew I’d seen his photo?’

‘It wasn’t quite like that.’ Mr Onimous scratched his furry-looking head. His pointed nails were in need of a good cut, Charlie noticed. Maisie would never have let anyone get away with nails as long as that.

The kettle boiled and Charlie made Mr Onimous his coffee. ‘What was it like, then?’ he asked, putting the cup before his visitor.

‘Three sugars, please,’ said Mr Onimous.

Charlie impatiently tossed three spoonfuls of sugar into the coffee.

Mr Onimous beamed. He took a sip, beamed again and then, leaning close to Charlie, he said, ‘He knew you were connected, Aries did. And so you are; you have the photograph. These cats aren’t ordinary. They know things. They chose me because I’ve got a special way with animals. They lead me here and there, trying to undo mischief, and I just follow, helping where I can. This case,’ his finger came down on the man holding the baby, ‘this is one of the worst. Aries has always been very angry about it. Time and again he’s tried to put it right, but we needed you, Charlie.’

‘Me?’ said Charlie.

‘You’re one of the endowed, aren’t you?’ Mr Onimous spoke softly, as if it were a secret, not to be spoken out loud.

‘They say so,’ said Charlie. He couldn’t help but look at the photograph, with Mr Onimous’ finger stuck so accusingly on the man’s face. And as soon as he looked, he began to hear the baby crying.

Aries ran over to him and, placing his paws on Charlie’s knees, let forth an ear-splitting yowl. His cry was immediately taken up by orange Leo and yellow Sagittarius. The noise was so painful, Charlie had to press his hands over his ears.

‘Hush!’ commanded Mr Onimous. ‘The boy’s thinking.’

When the yowling had died down, Mr Onimous said, ‘You see. You are connected, Charlie. Now tell me all about it.’

Although decidedly odd, Mr Onimous looked kind and trustworthy, and Charlie was badly in need of help. He told Mr Onimous about the mix-up with the photographs, the voices, the horrible Yewbeam aunts and their assessment, and their decision to send him to Bloor’s Academy. ‘And I really don’t want to go there,’ finished Charlie. ‘I think I’d almost rather die.’

‘But, Charlie boy, that’s where she is,’ said Mr Onimous, ‘the lost baby. At least, that’s what the cats seem to think. And they’re never wrong.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, cats, we’ve got to go.’

‘You mean the baby in the photograph was lost?’ said Charlie. ‘How can you lose a baby?’

‘It’s not for me to say,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘You take that photo where it belongs, and perhaps they’ll tell you.’

‘But I don’t know where it belongs,’ said Charlie, beginning to panic. Mr Onimous was slipping away without helping at all.

‘Use your loaf, Charlie. That’s an enlargement, isn’t it? Find the original and you’ll find a name and address.’

‘Will I?’

‘Without a doubt.’ Mr Onimous smoothed the pile on his coat, turned up his collar and made for the front door.

Charlie stood up, uncertainly, questions bubbling in his head. By the time he reached the open door, all that could be seen of his visitor was a small disappearing figure, followed by a flash of hot colours, like the bright tail of a comet.

Charlie closed the door and ran upstairs. Seizing the orange envelope, he shook it fiercely and out fell a small photograph; the original of the enlargement downstairs. He turned it over and there, sure enough, was a name and an address, written in bold, flowing letters:

Miss Julia Ingledew 3, Cathedral Close.

Where was Cathedral Close, and how was he to get there? He would have to leave the house before Maisie and his mother got home. They would never agree to his roaming off on his own, to a place he didn’t know. And if he didn’t act now, he might not get back in time for Benjamin’s party. But he’d have to leave a message, or his mother would worry.

As far as he could remember, Charlie had never been inside his uncle’s room before. A DO NOT DISTURB sign hung permanently on the door. Recently, Charlie had begun to wonder what Paton did inside all day. Sometimes a soft tapping could be heard. Usually there was silence.

Today, Charlie would have to ignore the notice.

He knocked on the door, hesitantly at first, and then more vigorously.

‘What?’ said a cross voice.

‘Uncle Paton, can I come in?’ asked Charlie.

‘Why?’ queried Paton.

‘Because I have to find somewhere, and I want you to explain to Mum.’

There was a deep sigh. Charlie didn’t dare open the door until his uncle said coldly, ‘Come in, then, if you must.’

Charlie turned the doorknob and peered inside. He was surprised by what he saw. His uncle’s room was overflowing with paper. It hung from shelves, dripped from piles on the windowsill, covered Paton’s desk and lapped like a tide round his ankles. Where was the bed? Under a blanket of books, Charlie guessed. Books lined the walls, from floor to ceiling, they even climbed round the desk in tottering towers.

‘Well?’ said Paton, glancing up from a mound of paper.

‘Please can you tell me where Cathedral Close is?’ Charlie asked nervously.

‘Where d’you think? Beside the cathedral of course.’ Paton was a different person in daylight. Chilly and forbidding.

‘Oh,’ said Charlie, feeling foolish. ‘Well, I’m going there now. But could you tell Mum. She’ll want to know, and . . .’

‘Yes, yes,’ murmured Paton, and with a vague wave, he motioned Charlie away.

‘Thanks,’ said Charlie, closing the door as quietly as he could.

He went to his room, hurriedly pulled on his anorak and tucked the photos, in their orange envelope, into his pocket. Then he left the house.

From his bedroom window, Benjamin saw Charlie walking past with a determined expression.

Benjamin opened his window and called, ‘Where are you going?’

Charlie looked up. ‘To the cathedral,’ he said.

‘Can me and Runner Bean come?’ asked Benjamin.

‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m going to get your present, and it’s got to be a surprise.’

Benjamin closed the window. He wondered what sort of present Charlie could buy in a cathedral. A pen with the cathedral’s name on it? Benjamin had plenty of pens.

‘Still, I don’t really mind,’ he told Runner Bean. ‘As long as he comes to my party.’

Runner Bean thumped his tail on Benjamin’s pillow. He was lying where he wasn’t supposed to, on Benjamin’s bed. Luckily, no one but Benjamin knew about it.

The cathedral was in the old part of the city. Here the streets were cobbled and narrow. The shops were smaller, and in their softly lit windows, expensive clothes and jewellery lay on folds of silk and velvet. It seemed a very private place, and Charlie felt almost as though he were trespassing.

As the ancient cathedral began to loom above him, the shops gave way to a row of old half-timbered houses. Number three Cathedral Close, however, was a bookshop. Above the door a sign in olde worlde script, read INGLEDEW’S. The books displayed in the window were aged and dusty-looking. Some were bound in leather, their leaves edged in gold.

Charlie took a deep breath and went in. A bell tinkled as he stepped down into the shop, and a woman appeared through a curtained gap behind the counter. She wasn’t as old as Charlie expected, but about the same age as his mother. She had thick chestnut hair piled up on her head, and kind brown eyes.

‘Yes?’ said the woman. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I think so,’ said Charlie. ‘Are you Julia Ingledew?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded.

‘I’ve come about your photograph,’ said Charlie.

The woman’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Goodness!’ she said. ‘Have you found it?’

‘I think so,’ said Charlie, handing over the orange envelope.

The woman opened the envelope and the two photos fell on to her desk. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to have these.’

‘Have you got mine?’ asked Charlie. ‘My name’s Charlie Bone.’

‘Come through,’ said Miss Ingledew, motioning Charlie to follow her through the curtain.

Charlie walked cautiously round the counter and through the curtain in the wall of books. He found himself in a room not unlike the shop. All books again, packed tight on shelves, or lying in piles on every surface. It was a cosy room, for all that; it smelled of warm, rich words and very deep thoughts. A fire burned in a small iron grate and table lamps glowed through parchment-coloured shades.

‘Here we are,’ said Julia Ingledew, and from a drawer she produced an orange envelope.

Charlie took the envelope and opened it quickly. ‘Yes, it’s Runner Bean,’ he said. ‘My friend’s dog. I’m going to make a birthday card with it.’

‘A lovely idea,’ said Miss Ingledew. ‘More personal. I always like “personal”. It shows one cares doesn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Charlie uncertainly.

‘Well, I’m very grateful to you, Charlie Bone,’ she said, ‘I feel you should have a reward of some sort. I haven’t got much cash about, but I wonder . . .’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Charlie, a little embarrassed, though he could have done with some money, to buy Benjamin’s present.

‘No, no really. I think you’re just the person. In fact I feel that these have been waiting just for you.’ She pointed to a corner and Charlie saw that his first impression of the room had been mistaken. It was not filled entirely with books. A table in one corner was piled high with boxes: wooden boxes, metal boxes and big cardboard cartons.

‘What’s in those?’ asked Charlie.

‘My brother-in-law’s effects,’ she said. ‘All that is left of him. He died last week.’

Charlie felt a lump rising in his throat. He said ‘Um . . .’

‘Oh, dear. No, not his ashes, Charlie,’ said Miss Ingledew. ‘They’re his – what shall I call them – inventions. They only arrived yesterday. He sent them by courier, the day before he died. Goodness knows why he left them to me.’ She fetched one of the boxes, removed the lid and took out a metal robotic-looking dog. ‘It’s no good to me,’ she said. ‘Do you want it?’

Charlie thought of Runner Bean, and then of Benjamin. ‘Does it do anything?’ he asked. Because inventions usually did something.

‘Of course. Let me see.’ She pulled down the dog’s tail. It barked twice, and a voice said, ‘I am number two. You have already pulled my tail, so you know how to make me play. To fast forward press my left ear. To rewind press my right ear. To record press my nose. To stop pull my right foot up. To replace tapes open my stomach.’ The voice that gave these instructions was familiar to Charlie.

‘Any use to you?’ asked Miss Ingledew. ‘Or would you like to see the others?’

‘It’s perfect,’ said Charlie. ‘Brilliant. But the voice, is it your . . .?’

‘Yes. My brother-in-law, Dr Tolly. It was one of his earliest, but he never bothered to sell it. Once a thing was made, that was it. He was a lazy man, Charlie. Clever, but lazy.’

‘It’s him in the photo, isn’t it?’ Charlie didn’t mention that he’d recognised the voice. How could he?

‘Yes, that’s Dr Tolly. He did something terrible once.’ Miss Ingledew’s mouth closed in a grim line.

‘Why did you want his photo, then?’ asked Charlie.

The bookseller darted him a quick look, as if she were sizing him up. ‘It’s the baby I want,’ she said at last. ‘It’s all I have to remember her by.’ And suddenly Miss Ingledew was telling Charlie about the dreadful day when her sister Nancy died, just before her daughter’s second birthday, and how a few days later, Nancy’s husband, Dr Tolly, had given his daughter away.

‘I didn’t think you could give children away,’ said Charlie, horrified.

‘You can’t,’ said Miss Ingledew. ‘I was sworn to secrecy. I should have taken her, you see. But I was selfish and irresponsible. I didn’t think I could cope. Not one day has passed, since then, when I haven’t regretted my decision. I tried to find out who she’d been given to, where she had gone, but Dr Tolly would never tell me. She was lost in a system of lies and tricks and forgery. She’d be ten years old now, and I’d give anything to get her back.’

Charlie felt very uncomfortable. He was being drawn into a situation he didn’t much like. If only he hadn’t heard the voices in the photograph. How could he possibly tell Miss Ingledew that three cats thought the lost baby was in Bloor’s Academy. She would never believe him.

In a shadowy corner, a grandfather clock struck twelve and Charlie said, ‘I think I’d better go home now. Mum’ll be worried.’

‘Of course. But take the dog, Charlie, and –’ she suddenly darted to the table and withdrew a long silver case from the bottom of a pile, ‘will you take this one as well?’

She didn’t wait for an answer, but plunged it into a bag marked INGLEDEW’S BOOKS. Handing the bag to Charlie, she said, ‘You can pop the dog in as well, there’s just enough room.’

The bag was unbelievably heavy. Charlie carefully placed the dog, in its box, on top of the metal case. Then he trundled to the door, wondering how on earth he would manage to heave the bag all the way home.

Julia Ingledew helped him up the step and opened the shop door, which gave another melodious ring.

‘I hope you don’t mind my asking,’ said Charlie, ‘but what’s in the case?’

The answer was rather surprising. ‘I don’t know,’ said Miss Ingledew. ‘And I’m not sure I want to. Dr Tolly exchanged it for his baby. Whatever it is, it can’t be worth as much as a baby, can it?’

‘N-no,’ said Charlie. He put the bag on the ground.

‘Please take it, Charlie. You look just the right person. I’ve got to get it out of the house, you see.’ She lowered her voice and darted a quick look down the street. ‘And can I ask you to keep it a secret, for now?’

‘That’s a bit difficult,’ said Charlie, even more reluctant to take the strange case. ‘Can’t I even tell my best friend?’

‘Tell no one who you wouldn’t trust with your life,’ said Miss Ingledew.