Читать книгу Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors - Jenny Nimmo - Страница 8

The phantom horse

On the first day of the autumn term, Charlie Bone dashed down to breakfast with a comb sticking out of his hair.

‘What do you think you look like?’ said Grandma Bone from her seat beside the stove.

‘A dinosaur?’ Charlie suggested. ‘I pulled and pulled but my comb wouldn’t come out.’

‘Hair like a hedge,’ grunted his bony grand mother. ‘Smarten yourself up, boy. They don’t like untidiness at Bloor’s Academy.’

‘Come here, pet.’ Charlie’s other, more tender-hearted, grandmother put down her cup of tea and tugged at the comb. Out it came with a clump of Charlie’s hair.

‘Maisie! Ouch!’ cried Charlie.

‘Sorry, pet,’ said Maisie. ‘But it had to be done.’

‘OK.’ Charlie rubbed his sore head. He sat at the kitchen table and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

‘You’re late. You’ll miss the school bus,’ said Grandma Bone. ‘Dr Bloor’s a stickler for punctuality.’

Charlie put a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and said, ‘So what?’

‘Don’t speak with your mouth full,’ said Grandma Bone.

‘Leave him alone, Grizelda,’ said Maisie. ‘He’s got to have a good breakfast. He probably won’t have a decent meal for another five days.’

Grandma Bone snorted and bit into a banana. She hadn’t smiled for three months; not since her sister Venetia’s house had burned down.

Charlie gulped back a mug of tea, flung on his jacket and leapt upstairs to fetch his school bags.

‘Cape!’ he said to himself, remembering it was still hanging in the wardrobe. He pulled out the cape and a small photograph fluttered to the floor. ‘Benjamin,’ he smiled picking it up. ‘Where are you?’

The photograph showed a fair-haired boy kneeling beside a large yellow dog. Charlie had taken the photo himself, just before Benjamin’s tenth birthday. There was no point in Charlie using his endowment to visit the scene of the photo. It could tell him nothing that he didn’t already know.

In his eagerness to use his strange talent, Charlie often forgot that the people he visited could see him, too. Wherever they were, when Charlie looked at their photos, they would see his face floating somewhere nearby. So Benjamin, who was having a drink in Hong Kong, saw Charlie’s smiling face in his orange juice.

Benjamin took Charlie’s magical appearances in his stride, but Runner Bean, his dog, could never get used to them.

The big dog was about to have his breakfast in the Pets’ Café when Charlie’s face looked up from a bowl of Chappimix.

Runner Bean leapt in the air with a howl; this sent a blue snake slithering under a cupboard and caused a very tall woman called Onoria Onimous to drop a plate of freshly baked scones. But the three colourful cats lying on top of the fridge merely yawned and closed their eyes.

Charlie put the photo in his pocket, shoved the blue cape in his bag and ran downstairs.

‘Don’t forget . . .’ Maisie shouted, but Charlie dashed out of the front door and ran to the top of Filbert Street.

A blue school bus was about to drive off, when the door suddenly opened and a boy with a mop of curly chestnut hair popped his head out. ‘I saw you coming,’ said the boy. ‘The driver said he couldn’t wait but I made him.’

‘Thanks, Fido.’ Charlie handed one of his bags up to his friend, Fidelio, and climbed the steps into the bus.

‘Got your cape?’ asked Fidelio.

Charlie pulled the rumpled garment out of his bag. ‘I hate wearing it when I walk up Filbert Street. People laugh. There’s a boy at number twenty who always shouts, “Here he comes, Little Boy Blue, off to Bloor’s, like a posh cockatoo!” But I didn’t ask to go to Bloor’s, did I?’

‘You’re not a posh cockatoo,’ laughed Fidelio. ‘I bet you forgot to comb your hair again this morning.’

‘I tried.’

The bus had come to a halt and the two boys joined the crowd of children jumping down into a cobbled square. They walked past a fountain of stone swans and approached the steps leading to Bloor’s Academy.

As Charlie walked into the shadow of the music tower, he found himself looking up at the steep roof of the turret. It had become a habit of his and he scarcely knew why he did it. Once, his mother had told him she felt someone watching her from the small window under the eaves. Charlie gave an involuntary shiver and followed Fidelio through the wide arched entrance.

Surrounded by children in capes of blue, purple and green, Charlie looked for Emma Tolly and Olivia Vertigo. He saw Emma in her green cape, her long blonde hair in two neat plaits, but he was momentarily baffled by the girl beside her. He knew the face but . . . could it be Olivia? She was wearing a purple cape, like everyone else in Drama, but Olivia’s face was usually covered in make-up, and she always dyed her hair a vivid colour. This girl had a scrubbed look: rosy cheeks, grey eyes and short brown hair.

‘Stop staring, Charlie Bone,’ said the brown-haired girl, walking up to him.

‘Olivia?’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘What happened?’

‘I’m auditioning for a part in a movie,’ Olivia told him. ‘Got to look younger than I really am.’

They climbed another set of stone steps, and then they were walking between two huge doors studded with bronze figures. As soon as all the children were safely inside, Weedon, the porter and handyman, closed and locked the doors. They would remain locked until Friday afternoon, when the children were allowed home for the weekend.

Charlie stepped into the vast stone-flagged hall of Bloor’s Academy. ‘What’s the movie?’ he asked Olivia.

‘Sssh!’ hissed a voice from somewhere near Charlie’s ear.

Charlie looked up into a pair of coal-black eyes and nearly jumped out of his skin. He thought Manfred Bloor had left the school.

‘I hope you haven’t forgotten the rules, Charlie Bone!’ barked Manfred.

‘N. . . no, Manfred.’ Charlie didn’t sound too sure.

‘Come on then . . .’ Manfred clicked his fingers and glared at Charlie who looked down at his feet. He didn’t feel like fighting Manfred’s hypnotising stare so early in the day.

‘Come on, what are the rules?’ Manfred demanded.

‘Erm . . .

Silence in the hall,

Talking not at all,

Never cry or call,

Even if you fall,

‘Erm . . .’ Charlie couldn’t remember the last line.

‘Write it out a hundred times and bring it to my study after tea!’ Manfred grinned maliciously.

Charlie didn’t know Manfred had a study, but he had no intention of prolonging the conversation. ‘Yes, Manfred,’ he mumbled.

‘You should be ashamed of yourself. You’re in the second year now. Not a very good example for first-formers are you, Charlie Bone?’

‘Nope.’ Charlie caught sight of Olivia, rolling her eyes at him, and only just managed to stop himself from giggling. Luckily Manfred had spotted someone without a cape and strode away.

Olivia had disappeared into a sea of purple capes whose owners were crowding through a door beneath two bronze masks. Beyond the open door Charlie glimpsed the colourful mess that was already building up inside the purple cloakroom. He hurried on to the sign of two crossed trumpets.

Fidelio was waiting for him just inside the blue cloakroom. ‘Whew! What a shock!’ breathed Fidelio. ‘I thought Manfred had left.’

‘Me too,’ said Charlie. ‘That was the one good thing about coming back to Bloor’s. I thought at least Manfred wouldn’t be here.’

What was Manfred’s new role? Would he be permanently on their tails, watching, listening and hypnotising?

The two boys discussed the problem of Manfred as they walked to Assembly. On the first day of every school year, Assembly was held in the theatre, the only space large enough for all three hundred pupils. Charlie hadn’t joined Bloor’s Academy until the middle of the last autumn term; it was a new experience for him.

‘Yikes! I’d better hurry,’ said Fidelio, looking at his watch. ‘I should be tuning up.’

Dr Saltweather, head of Music, gave Fidelio a severe nod as he climbed up to the stage and took his place in the orchestra. Charlie joined the end of the second row, and found himself standing directly behind Billy Raven. The small albino turned round with a worried frown.

‘I’ve got to stay in the first year for another twelve months,’ he whispered to Charlie, ‘but I’ve already done it twice.’

‘Bad luck! But you are only eight.’ Charlie scanned the row of new children in front of him. They all looked fairly normal, but you could never tell. Some of them might be endowed like himself and Billy; children of the Red King.

For the rest of the morning, Charlie tramped around the huge, draughty building, finding his new classroom, collecting books and looking for Mr Paltry (who was supposed to be giving him a trumpet lesson).

By the time the horn sounded for lunch, Charlie was utterly exhausted. He slouched down to the canteens, averting his eyes from the portraits that hung in the dimly lit corridor – just in case one of them wanted a conversation – and arrived at the blue canteen.

Charlie joined the queue. A small, stout woman behind the counter gave him a wink. ‘All’s well then, Charlie?’ she asked.

‘Yes, thanks, Cook,’ said Charlie. ‘But it’ll take me a while to get used to the second year.’

‘It will,’ said Cook. ‘But you know where I am, if you need me. Peas, Charlie?’

Charlie accepted a plate of macaroni cheese and peas and wandered round the tables until he found Fidelio, sitting with Billy Raven and Gabriel Silk. Gabriel’s floppy brown hair almost obscured his face, and there was a forlorn droop to his mouth.

‘What’s up, Gabe?’ asked Charlie. ‘Are your gerbils OK?’

Gabriel looked up sadly. ‘I can’t do piano this term. Mr Pilgrim’s gone.’

‘Gone?’ Charlie was unexpectedly dismayed. ‘Why? Where?’

Gabriel shrugged. ‘I know Mr Pilgrim was peculiar, but, well, he was just – brilliant.’

No one could deny this. Mr Pilgrim’s piano playing was often to be heard echoing down the Music Tower. Charlie realised he would miss it. And he would miss seeing Mr Pilgrim staring into space, his black hair always falling into his eyes.

Fidelio turned to Billy. ‘So how was your holiday, Billy?’ he asked carefully. For how could anyone spend their whole holiday in Bloor’s Academy without going mad?

‘Better than usual,’ said Billy cheerfully. ‘Cook looked after Rembrandt like she promised, and I saw him every day. And Manfred went away for a bit and so it was OK here, really, except . . . except . . .’ a shadow crossed his face, ‘something happened last night. Something really weird.’

‘What?’ asked the other three.

‘I saw a horse in the sky.’

‘A horse?’ Fidelio raised his eyebrows. ‘D’you mean a cloud that looked like a horse?’

‘No. It was definitely a horse.’ Billy took off his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve. His deep red eyes fixed themselves on Charlie. ‘It sort of hung there, outside the window, and then it just faded.’

‘Stars can do that,’ said Gabriel, who had perked up a bit. ‘They can create the illusion of animals and things.’

Billy shook his head. ‘No! It was a horse.’ He replaced his glasses and frowned at his plate. ‘It wasn’t far away. It was right outside the window. It reared up and kicked the air, like it was fighting to be free, and then it just – faded.’

Charlie found himself saying, ‘As if it was receding into another world.’

‘That’s right,’ said Billy eagerly. ‘You believe me, don’t you, Charlie?’

Charlie nodded slowly. ‘I wonder where it is now?’

‘Wandering round the castle ruin with all the other ghosts?’ Fidelio wryly remarked. ‘Come on, let’s get some fresh air. We might see a horse galloping round the garden.’

Of course he was only joking but, as soon as the four boys walked through the garden door, Fidelio realised that his words held a ghostly ring of truth. He was the only one of the four who was not endowed. Fidelio might be a brilliant musician, but his endowment was not one that could be classed as magical.

It was Charlie who noticed it first: a faint thudding on the dry grass. He looked at Gabriel. ‘Can you hear it?’

Gabriel shook his head. He could hear nothing, but there was a presence in the air that he couldn’t define.

Billy was the most affected. He stepped back suddenly, his white hair lifting in a breeze that no one else could feel. He put up his hand as if to ward off a blow. ‘It went right past,’ he whispered.

Fidelio said, ‘You’re having me on, aren’t you?’

‘’Fraid we’re not,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s gone now. Maybe it just wanted us to know it was here.’

They began to cross the wide expanse of grass that Dr Bloor liked to called his garden. It was really no more than a field, bordered by near-impenetrable woods. At the end of the field the red stones of an ancient castle could be glimpsed between the trees: the castle of the Red King. The four boys almost instinctively made their way towards the tall red walls.

Charlie’s Uncle Paton had told him how, when Queen Berenice died, five of the Red King’s children had been forced to leave their father’s kingdom forever. Brokenhearted, the king had vanished into the forests of the north and Borlath, his eldest son, had taken the castle. He had ruled the kingdom with such barbarous cruelty most of the inhabitants had either died or fled in terror.

‘Well?’ said Fidelio. ‘D’you think the phantom horse is here?’

Charlie looked up at the massive walls. ‘I don’t know.’ He looked at Billy.

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘It’s here.’

The others listened intently. They could hear the distant shouts and chatter of children on the field, the thump of a football, the call of wood pigeons, but nothing else.

‘Are you sure, Billy?’ asked Charlie.

Billy hugged himself. He was shivering. ‘I think it would like to speak, but it’s caught on the wrong side.’

‘Wrong side of what?’ asked Fidelio.

Billy frowned. ‘I can’t explain.’

Charlie became aware that someone was standing behind them. He turned round, just in time to see a small figure dart away and join a group of new boys, playing football together.

‘Who was that?’ asked Gabriel.

‘New boy,’ said Charlie.

It was impossible to tell whether the boy was in Art, Drama or Music because he wasn’t wearing a cape. Today, it was warm and sunny. Summer was not yet over.

The sound of the horn rang out across the field and the four boys ran back into school.

For Charlie, the afternoon was no better than the morning. He found Mr Paltry at last, but too late for his lesson. ‘What’s the point of coming to a lesson without your trumpet?’ grumbled the elderly teacher. ‘You’re a waste of time, Charlie Bone. Endowed, my foot. Why don’t you use your so-called talent to locate your trumpet? Now get out and don’t come back until you’ve found it.’

Charlie left quickly. He had no idea where to look. ‘The Music Tower?’ Charlie asked himself. Perhaps one of the cleaners had found his trumpet and put it in Mr Pilgrim’s room at the top of the tower.

The way to the Music Tower led through a small, ancient-looking door close to the garden exit. Charlie braced himself, opened the door and began to walk down a long, damp passage. It was so dark he could barely see his own feet. He kept his eyes on a distant window in the small circular room at the end of the passage.

As he got closer to the room he began to hear voices, angry voices; men arguing.

There was a clatter of footsteps. Charlie stood still until whoever it was had reached the bottom of the long, spiralling staircase. A figure appeared at the end of the passage. It loomed towards Charlie and raised its purple wings, blocking out the light.

Plunged in darkness, Charlie screamed.