Читать книгу Charlie Bone and the Blue Boa - Jenny Nimmo - Страница 11

The invisible boy

The rest of lunch was eaten in stony silence. Even Maisie seemed lost for words. But just as Charlie was clearing the plates there was a series of loud barks from the garden, and Runner Bean’s head appeared at the bottom of the window.

Grandma Bone, who had her back to the garden, swung round just as the dog bobbed out of sight.

‘What was that?’ she said.

‘Obviously a dog, Grizelda,’ said Maisie. ‘A stray has probably jumped into the garden.’

‘I’ll go and shoo it out,’ Charlie offered.

As he left the room he noticed that Belle looked worried.

Charlie ran to open the back door and Runner Bean came leaping in.

‘Sssh!’ said Charlie urgently. ‘Not a sound!’ He put a finger to his lips.

Runner Bean appeared to understand this and obediently followed Charlie up to his room.

‘You’ve got to be quiet, or it’s curtains for you.’ Charlie drew a finger across his throat.

Runner Bean grunted and curled up on the bed.

‘Did you catch it?’ asked Belle, when Charlie returned to the dining room.

‘No, I just shooed it away,’ said Charlie.

Belle stood up. ‘I want to go home now,’ she said to Grandma Bone.

‘Very well, dear.’ With surprising speed, Grandma Bone walked into the hall and put on her coat and hat.

Charlie was amazed. His grandmother always had a nap after lunch, even if it was just a snack. The golden-haired girl seemed to have some sort of power over her.

‘Where is home, exactly?’ he asked Belle.

‘Don’t you know where your great-aunts live?’ she said.

Charlie had to confess that he didn’t. He’d never been invited to their home, and never been told where it was.

‘I expect you’ll find out soon enough,’ said Belle mysteriously.

‘There’s no need for him to know,’ said Grandma Bone, helping her into a smart green jacket.

‘Bye-bye, then, Charlie!’ said Belle. ‘I’ll see you at Bloor’s on Monday. I’m going to be on the green bus. Watch out for me.’

‘I’ll be on the blue bus. But I expect I’ll see you some time.’

The strange girl smiled and tossed her golden curls. Her eyes were blue again.

When Belle and Grandma Bone had gone, Charlie went to help Maisie with the washing-up.

‘Where do the aunts live?’ he asked Maisie.

‘Some big house at the end of one of those creepy alleys,’ said Maisie. ‘Darkly Wynd, I think the road’s called. Funny name – perhaps it’s winding and twisty.’

‘I’ve never been there.’

‘Nor me,’ said Maisie. ‘And I jolly well wouldn’t want to.’ She handed him a bowl of leftovers. ‘Here, take this to Runner. I don’t know how long we’re going to be able to keep this up. Grandma Bone’s bound to smell a rat, you know.’

‘As long as it’s not a dog,’ said Charlie, trying to make light of the problem.

Maisie just shook her head.

On Sunday, Charlie managed to sneak Runner Bean in and out of the house before Grandma Bone woke up. They had a good race round the park and then Charlie fried bacon and eggs for their breakfast. Apart from a brief run in the garden after dark, Runner Bean spent the rest of the day on Charlie’s bed.

On Monday morning Charlie’s mother promised to take the dog for a walk when she got back from work, and Maisie agreed to keep him fed. But as Charlie got ready for school he began to worry.

‘You must keep quiet,’ he told Runner Bean. ‘No barking, understand? I’ll see you on Friday.’

With mournful eyes the big dog watched Charlie close the door between them.

* * *

As Charlie and his friend, Fidelio, walked up the steps to Bloor’s Academy, Fidelio said, ‘There’s a very pretty girl trying to get your attention.’

‘Oh.’ Charlie turned to see Belle looking up at him from the bottom of the steps.

‘Hullo, Belle. This is Fidelio,’ he said.

Belle gave Fidelio a dazzling smile. ‘I see you’re in Music. Violin?’ She nodded at the case Fidelio was carrying.

‘Yes,’ murmured Fidelio. He seemed rather lost for words, which was unusual for him.

‘See you later.’ Belle skipped into the hall. ‘I remember,’ she whispered, ‘no talking.’ And off she waltzed, towards the pencil and paintbrush sign. Her green cape floated round her in a particularly stylish way as she bobbed into the green cloakroom.

‘Wow!’ said Fidelio, as soon as they had passed under the two trumpets. ‘Who is she, Charlie?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Charlie muttered. ‘She’s staying with my great-aunts. What colour would you say her eyes were?’

‘Blue,’ said Fidelio. ‘Bright blue.’

‘Well, the next time you see her, they’ll probably be green or brown,’ said Charlie.

‘Really?’ Fidelio looked interested. ‘I can’t wait to see that.’

They went into assembly where Fidelio joined the school orchestra and Charlie took his place beside Billy Raven, the youngest child at Bloors. He was an albino, with snow white hair and spectacles that made his round red eyes look permanently surprised.

After assembly Charlie had a trumpet lesson with old Mr Paltry. He hadn’t practised over the holiday and found himself out of breath and out of tune. Mr Paltry rapped his knuckles, shouting, ‘No, no, no! A flat, not sharp!’ His squeaky voice almost deafened Charlie, and when the bell went he was so eager to escape he almost fell over Olivia Vertigo as he raced for the garden door.

Today her hair was striped black and gold, her face was covered in white powder and her eyes were ringed with black. She looked more like an exotic racoon than anything else, though Charlie refrained from saying so.

Unfortunately, Fidelio didn’t. ‘Hi, Olivia! Are you playing a racoon this term?’ he asked as he strolled up.

‘Who knows,’ said Olivia. ‘Manfred’s writing the end-of-term play – with Zelda’s help, of course.’ She nodded at a group of sixth formers on the other side of the playing field. Manfred, the head boy, was talking earnestly to Zelda Dobinski, a tall, skinny girl with a large nose.

Charlie noticed that Manfred’s sidekick, Asa Pike, was staring at Belle walking arm in arm with Dorcas Loom. Asa broke away from the group of sixth formers and walked across to the two girls. He had a crooked smile on his pale, weaselly face and, as he approached the girls, he ran his fingers through his red hair, almost as if he were trying to tidy himself up.

Charlie grabbed Fidelio’s arm. ‘Look!’ he said. ‘Asa’s speaking to a junior. I bet that’s never happened before.’

‘Except when he’s been telling them off,’ said Fidelio.

‘That girl with Dorcas is really pretty,’ muttered Olivia.

‘Her name’s Belle,’ Charlie told her. ‘She’s living with my great-aunts.’

Olivia whistled. ‘I can’t imagine any child living with them. By the way, have you seen Emma?’

The boys shook their heads and Olivia sauntered off to look for her friend. She eventually found Emma sitting on a log by the old castle walls. She was holding what appeared to be a small, neatly-written letter.

‘What’s up, Em?’ said Olivia, perching beside her.

‘I found this by Mr Boldova’s desk.’ Emma held up the letter. ‘It must have fallen out of his pocket. I didn’t mean to read it. I meant to give it back, but then I saw something and . . . well, look.’

Olivia took the letter and read,

My dear Samuel,

We have it on good authority that the shifter is heading your way. What form it will take God only knows. But it will recognise you, so get out of that place, Samuel, as soon as you can. I have resigned myself to losing Ollie, although your mother still grieves. She can’t stop herself from buying the jam he so loved. We have a room full of the stuff now, and it breaks my heart to see it. I know you feel your brother’s loss as deeply as we do, but you must give up the search. We could not bear to lose you, too. Come home soon.

Dad

‘What d’you think?’ said Emma.

‘Interesting,’ said Olivia. ‘But I think you should put the letter back on Mr B’s desk. It’s none of our business who he is, or what he’s up to.’

‘But it is.’ Emma pushed her long blonde hair out of her face. She was very agitated. Olivia knew her friend liked Mr Boldova. He was young for a teacher, but he was good at art, and he seemed to be on the children’s side whenever there was trouble.

‘You remember when Manfred locked me in the attic, well someone let me out, and whoever it was had a passion for jam. I heard Manfred teasing him about it. I know this sounds peculiar but he, or she, seemed to be invisible. And then there was this boy, Ollie Sparks, who was lost in the attics ages ago. He got out eventually and everyone thought he’d gone home, but maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was punished. Maybe he’s still up there.’ She glanced up at the tiled roof of the academy.

‘Hmm. So what d’you want to do about it?’ asked Olivia.

Emma shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

A hunting horn sounded across the garden and the two friends agreed to talk again in the afternoon break.

Emma’s next lesson was French, but first she ran to the art room. It was empty and she was just sneaking the letter on to Mr Boldova’s desk, when he walked in.

‘Emma?’ He looked surprised. ‘Shouldn’t you be in another lesson?’

‘French, sir. But, it’s just that I . . .well, I’m really sorry, but I read your letter and . . .’ Suddenly Emma found herself telling Mr Boldova about the invisible presence in the attic, the person who liked jam.

Mr Boldova listened intently and then he sat at his desk and said, ‘Thank you, Emma. Thank you very much. Will you promise not to tell anyone else about this?’

‘But I’ve already told Olivia Vertigo, and she might tell some of our friends.’

‘Can you trust them, Emma?’

‘With my life,’ said Emma.

Mr Boldova smiled. He looked a rather outdoor sort of person for an artist. His face was tanned and his dark brown hair was drawn back in a ponytail, somewhat like Manfred Bloor’s, only Manfred’s hair was black and stringy.

Emma said, ‘What happened to Ollie, sir? We thought he’d gone home after he escaped from the attics.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ sighed the teacher. ‘Our parents live a long way from here. Dr Bloor agreed to put Ollie on a train in the company of the matron’s sister, a Miss Yewbeam. She told us that Ollie went to get an orange juice from the station cafeteria, and never came back.’

‘I bet he never even got as far as the train,’ said Emma hotly. ‘Those Yewbeams are evil. They’re Charlie Bone’s great-aunts, you know, and they make his life a misery.’

‘Ah, Charlie Bone,’ Mr Boldova said thoughtfully.

‘I’d like to help Ollie,’ Emma went on. ‘He helped me, you see, and I could probably find the place where he’s kept.’

‘Better leave it to me, Emma. It could be dangerous.’

‘Sounds like it could be dangerous for you too, sir.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ Mr Boldova said cheerfully. ‘Now run along to your French lesson.’

Emma went, but she didn’t hurry. She had too much on her mind. She was ten minutes late for her French lesson, and Madame Tessier was furious. She was an excitable woman and always hated the first day of term. She missed the sunny French city where she had been born, and complained constantly about the gloomy, grey academy, with its creaking floorboards, erratic heating and poor lighting. She was only there because Dr Bloor offered her a salary she couldn’t resist.

‘Go! Go!’ she shrieked at Emma. ‘You don’t want my lesson, you don’t come in. It eez too late. So allez – allez!’ She waved her long fingers at Emma. ‘Get out!’

Emma got out – quickly.

‘You too,’ came a husky whisper.

Emma looked down the corridor and saw Charlie Bone standing outside the history room. He had just said that Napoleon was the Emperor of Russia. Mr Pope, the history teacher, had screamed at Charlie, telling him he was an ignoramus, and he didn’t want to see him in his class a minute longer.

‘I didn’t really hear the question.’ Charlie’s loud whisper echoed across to Emma. ‘I was thinking about a dog.’

Emma glanced up and down the corridor. There was no one about. ‘What dog?’ she whispered.

In as quiet a voice as he could manage, Charlie told Emma about Benjamin and Runner Bean. ‘Why were you sent out?’ he asked.

‘I was just late,’ said Emma. She recounted her conversation with Mr Boldova.

Charlie’s eyes gleamed with interest. Yet another mention of someone dangerous on the move. Was it possible that they were one and the same?

‘So you reckon Ollie Sparks is in the attics?’ He paused and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. ‘Let’s go and look, shall we?’

Emma was horrified. ‘What, now?’

‘I can’t think of a better time,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ve got half an hour before the end of the lesson. Everyone else is in class, so who’s going to see us? I’m bored stiff hanging around out here.’

Before Emma could think of an excuse, Charlie had sprinted off towards a staircase at the end of the corridor. Emma wished she hadn’t told Charlie about the attics. He was inclined to rush into things without thinking them through. But she felt she had no choice but to follow.

They crept up one staircase after another. Once they bumped into Dr Saltweather, who interrupted his humming to ask where they were going. ‘We’ve been sent to get books from the library,’ said Charlie. And Dr Saltweather waved them on, although they were nowhere near the library. But Dr Saltweather was oblivious to everything but his precious music.

They ran along dark passages and through empty, creaking rooms and, as they drew near to the west wing of the building, Emma became increasingly nervous. She still had nightmares about the time when her only escape was to become a bird and fly.

Memory, or instinct, led her to the cell-like room where Manfred Bloor had once imprisoned her. Light from a tiny window showed dark walls patched with green slime, a narrow bed covered in filthy blankets and black, broken floorboards.

‘What an awful place,’ Charlie murmured.

‘Manfred locked me in,’ said Emma. ‘But then someone turned the key on the other side, and the door opened. I rushed to see who it was but there was no one there. Manfred caught me and brought me back, but – and this is the strange part – he said to someone, “Any more trouble and you won’t get jam for a week.” That’s why I thought it might be Mr Boldova’s brother, Ollie. Because he liked jam.’

‘Perhaps he’s been locked in some other gruesome room like this one.’ As Charlie turned to the door it suddenly slammed shut. Charlie lifted the latch and pulled. Nothing happened. The door appeared to have jammed. ‘Must have been a draught,’ muttered Charlie.

‘There isn’t any draught,’ said Emma.

‘But what else could it have been? No one came in. We’d have seen them.’

‘Maybe they were invisible.’

‘Hey!’ called Charlie. ‘Is anyone there?’

No reply.

‘What on earth are we going to do?’ cried Emma. She looked at her watch. ‘We’ve only got twenty minutes.’

‘This is stupid.’ Charlie rattled the door while Emma pulled the latch.

‘It must be Ollie,’ said Emma. ‘Ollie! Ollie Sparks, are you there?’

Silence.

‘Ollie, we’ve come to help,’ Charlie explained. ‘If you’re there open this door, please!’

Emma and Charlie waited. There was a soft creak. A key turned in the lock. Charlie pulled the door and it swung inwards. There was no one in the passage outside.

The two children stepped out. They squinted down the shadowy passage, searching for a door, a recess, any place where someone could be hiding. Emma’s foot touched an empty jar and it rolled away, filling the passage with a loud rumble. When the jar finally came to rest, faint footfalls could be heard receding into the distance.

‘He’s running away,’ Emma whispered.

They chased the footfalls down the passage, up a rickety set of steps and into a long room with a narrow skylight. The floor was littered with empty jam jars and comic books. At the far end of the room there was a bed with a clean-looking pillow and a patchwork cover. An oil lamp sat on a small bedside table and a huge cupboard stood just inside the door. There was nothing else in the room except a spindly chair and a battered desk that had been placed beneath the skylight.

‘Ollie,’ Emma said softly. ‘Ollie Sparks, are you here?’

‘What if I am?’ said a rather mournful voice.

‘Why can’t we see you?’ asked Charlie.

There was a pause before the voice replied, ‘Cos I’m invisible, aren’t I?’

‘What happened to you?’ asked Emma.

‘The blue boa got me.’

‘Boa?’ said Charlie and Emma.

‘Snake,’ went on the mournful voice. ‘Awful thing. I saw it, see. No one’s meant to see it. It’s a secret. A secret weapon.’ There was a croaky laugh. ‘Once I’d seen it, they weren’t going to let me tell about it, so they brought me back here, and it – well, I was like a guinea pig – they let the boa squeeze me, only I didn’t die, I just got invisible.’

‘Hell!’ gasped Charlie.

‘It didn’t get all of me.’ A breathless sort of giggle shivered on the air. ‘It missed my big toe.’

In horrified fascination Charlie’s eyes were drawn towards the floor. Emma couldn’t help screaming. She had already seen it: a small pink blob, lying just a few steps away from them.

‘Sorry,’ said the voice. ‘It used to have a bit of sock and shoe on it, but the shoe got too small, and the sock wore out. A toe’s a bit disgusting on its own, isn’t it?’

‘Not at all,’ said Charlie cheerfully.

‘They tried to get all of me back,’ said the voice. ‘They made me drink revolting potions, and threw smelly liquid over me, and once they covered my bed in spiderwebs while I was asleep.’

‘That is so gruesome,’ said Emma.

Charlie said, ‘Ollie, why don’t you escape? The door’s not locked. You could easily run away. No one would see you.’

‘You try it.’ The voice sounded very aggrieved. ‘I came out once. People walked into me, knocked me down – some of them screamed. I couldn’t get out of the main doors, no one can. I didn’t feel safe, so I came back here.’

‘It must be so horrible, all alone,’ said Emma. ‘What do you eat?’ She was actually wondering how Ollie ate, but was too polite to ask.

‘The food’s mostly disgusting, but Manfred gives me nice jam. I suppose he does it to keep me quiet. And, in case you’re wondering, I eat just like anyone else. Only you can’t see the food once it’s inside me.’

Emma hoped Ollie couldn’t see her blush.

Charlie had an idea. ‘If you come down to the dining hall at suppertime, we’d all be sitting still. No one would bump into you, and I could make room for you between me and my friend, Fidelio. The food’s not so bad on the first day of term.’

Silence. Perhaps Ollie was thinking.

Emma remembered the most important thing of all. ‘Ollie, your brother’s here,’ she said. ‘He’s come to look for you.’

‘What? Samuel? I can’t believe it. Wow!’ Suddenly the pink toe jumped into the air and there was a small thud as two feet landed back on the floor.

‘So, if you come down to supper, you can see him,’ said Charlie.

‘Yes. Oh, yes . . .’ A pause. ‘But I won’t know the time. I haven’t got a watch.’

Charlie took off his watch and held it out. ‘You can borrow this.’

It was disturbing to see a watch gradually disappear into thin air.

‘Don’t worry, it’ll come back when I take it off. Everything I wear becomes invisible,’ Ollie explained. ‘Everything I eat or hold or put on.’

Emma glanced at her own watch and cried, ‘We’ve only got five minutes. We’ll never make it.’

She dashed out of the room and down the steps while Charlie followed, calling, ‘Sorry, Ollie. Got to get back to class. Hope to see – er – hear you later!’

Emma and Charlie tore down the empty passages, often taking the wrong turn, or the wrong staircase, but ending up, at last, on the landing above the entrance hall. Their relief was short-lived. Approaching them from the other side of the landing was Dr Bloor.

The big man strode towards the children. ‘Why aren’t you two in class?’ he boomed.

Emma and Charlie froze. They couldn’t think of an explanation.

Dr Bloor stared down at them with cold, pale eyes. Suspicion was written all over his big face with its dull grey skin and thick, bluish lips. ‘Well, I’m waiting.’

‘We – er . . .’ Charlie floundered.

‘Ah, there you are,’ said a voice, and Mr Boldova appeared behind the headmaster. ‘I’ve been looking for these two,’ said the art teacher. ‘Did you find it?’

Charlie swallowed, ‘Um . . .’

‘That rat’s such a rascal.’ Mr Boldova turned to the headmaster. ‘I brought it along for the children to draw, but it keeps escaping. When I saw these two idling away I asked them to look for it. Any luck, Charlie?’

‘No, sir.’

‘And now we’re late for our next lesson,’ said Emma meaningfully.

‘Dear, oh dear,’ said Mr Boldova. ‘I’d better explain to your teachers. All my fault. Come along, kids. Sorry about this, Dr Bloor.’

Mr Boldova propelled the two children past Dr Bloor towards the corridor that led to the classrooms.

Dr Bloor swivelled round to watch them go. ‘That rat must be found,’ he shouted. ‘See to it, Mr Boldova.’

‘Of course, Headmaster.’

As soon as they were out of earshot, Charlie whispered, ‘Thanks, sir. I think we were heading for detention.’

‘Keep walking,’ the art teacher said quietly.

But Emma couldn’t remain silent any longer. ‘We found Ollie,’ she said softly.

Mr Boldova almost tripped. He gripped the children’s shoulders and said, ‘What? Tell me how – where?’

As they hurried on to their classrooms, Charlie and Emma took turns to tell the teacher about poor Ollie and his invisibility.

‘Ollie’s going to try and get down to supper tonight, sir,’ said Charlie. ‘So you might . . . well, he might be able to talk to you.’

‘I can hardly believe it,’ murmured Mr Boldova. ‘Invisible or not, Ollie’s here, and he’s alive. I thought they’d taken him to one of those awful castles of theirs. I’ve spent almost a year trying to find out which one.’

‘Do they have many, sir?’ asked Charlie.

‘At least five,’ said Mr Boldova. ‘This is so incredible. I shall take Ollie home at the first opportunity. We’ll find a way to cure him when we get home.’

They had reached Madame Tessier and Mr Pope, who stood fuming outside their classrooms. Mr Boldova quickly explained that he had borrowed Emma and Charlie to search for his rat, Rembrandt, who had escaped from his cage. The two teachers grudgingly accepted his apologies and told the children to hurry along to lunch.

‘I’ll see you two at suppertime,’ said Mr Boldova, giving the children a big smile. And he walked away, whistling merrily.

Would Charlie’s plan for Ollie work? He was sure it wouldn’t be as easy as Mr Boldova seemed to think.