Читать книгу Charlie Bone and the Red Knight - Jenny Nimmo - Страница 16

Gabriel Silk had a secret. He wanted to tell Charlie about it, but there was never an opportunity. They were in different dormitories now, and different classes. The canteen was too public, and out in the grounds they were never alone. There might, however, be a chance when Charlie was on his way to a music lesson.

Gabriel had been waiting in the corridor of portraits, hoping to waylay Charlie as he crossed the hall. He had intended to stand just inside the corridor, but found himself wandering further down, studying the portraits on the wall. He passed them every day but had never really studied them. The subjects were mostly stern-looking men and women, though occasionally you could find a smiling person. If you knew your history well enough, you could tell by their clothes what century they had lived in. Gabriel had been told that every one of them was descended from the Red King. There was even a Silvio Silk, in a black velvet suit and a white curled wig. He might have been Gabriel’s ancestor, but he bore no resemblance to him.

If Gabriel wore someone else’s clothes, he immediately knew what sort of person had worn them before. He could sometimes picture them, see what they had done and even hear their voices. But portraits could tell him nothing. ‘If I was Charlie, I could go right in and talk to you,’ Gabriel whispered to Silvio Silk. ‘And you could talk to me.’

Silvio Silk didn’t bat an eyelid. He wore the same resigned expression that he had worn when the artist painted him, two hundred years before.

Gabriel wandered further down the corridor. He passed men in sober black suits, in rich red jackets and glittering gold waistcoats; he passed women whose necks were hung with diamonds and pearls, whose hair was garlanded with flowers, and whose shoulders were draped in velvet and fur. And then he stopped before a full-length portrait of a cavalier. Gabriel’s eye was drawn to the sword at the man’s side. It had a delicately wrought golden hilt, and the man’s gloved fingers rested on it almost lovingly. As Gabriel stared at the intricate gold curves they glinted suddenly, as though the sun had caught them. And then Gabriel found his gaze lifting to the face above the wide lace collar. The man had shoulder-length black hair, and between the black moustache and pointed beard, the fleshy lips had an unpleasant grin.

Gabriel stepped back to get a better view, and now he noticed that the eyes seemed wrong. There was no light in them. It was as if the man’s spirit had left the painted face.

A cold shudder ran down Gabriel’s spine. It was dark in the passage. There were no lights, no sunlit windows. Had he imagined the sudden bright glint on the gold sword-hilt? Was the lack of light in the man’s eyes or merely Gabriel’s own shadow? No. There was something different about this painting. The name on the bronze plaque at the base of the frame read Ashkelan Kapaldi. The plaque had come loose, it hung at an angle and there were fingerprints on the shiny surface of the paint. Someone had touched the portrait very recently; pressed and prodded it repeatedly.

‘Gabriel Silk, what are you doing?’ Manfred’s voice came ringing down the corridor of portraits.

Gabriel turned guiltily, although, as far as he knew, he had nothing to feel guilty about. He must make sure that Manfred didn’t guess what was on his mind. The Talents Master had been using hypnotism a great deal recently.

‘What are you doing here?’ Manfred came up to Gabriel and stared at him.

‘Nothing, sir.’ Gabriel looked away from the narrow black eyes. Beneath his black cape, Manfred was wearing a bright green waistcoat. Surprising for one who was usually so soberly dressed.

‘Nothing?’ The Talents Master glared at Gabriel, forcing him to look up. ‘Nothing?’

Gabriel felt dizzy. ‘Going to a music lesson, sir,’ he said faintly.

‘Go then! And stop hanging about!’

Gabriel was about to turn away when he saw two figures coming down the corridor behind Manfred. One of them was limping, the other lurching. Gabriel’s eyes widened in surprise, for the limping man bore a strong resemblance to the man in the portrait: Ashkelan Kapaldi.

The surprise in Gabriel’s eyes caused Manfred to whirl round. ‘Go!’ he shouted at Gabriel. ‘This instant!’

Gabriel walked away quickly, but not so quickly that he didn’t hear the Talents Master say, ‘It’s not wise, sir, for you to leave the west wing during the day. Pupils will recognise you . . . and wonder.’

‘Let them wonder.’ The stranger’s voice had a foreign lilt. ‘Let them be amazed . . .’

‘It’s not the time, Ashkelan.’ This second voice had a cavernous, echoing sound. Something in the ebb and flow of it reminded Gabriel of Dagbert Endless. He hastened into the hall, which was full of children on their way to different classrooms. Occasionally someone would whisper to a companion, while glancing anxiously about in case a prefect was watching. Silence in the hall was the rule.

Gabriel spotted Charlie’s wild mop of hair. He wore a slight frown and his thoughts were obviously miles away. Gabriel waved, trying to get Charlie’s attention, but Charlie didn’t see him. And then Dagbert Endless walked between them. He followed Charlie doggedly across the hall and into the passage that led to Señor Alvaro’s music room. Gabriel pursued them.

Safely out of the hall, Gabriel called, ‘Charlie!’

Dagbert swung round and snapped, ‘What do you want?’

Gabriel was momentarily taken aback by Dagbert’s sharp tone. ‘I want to speak to Charlie,’ he said.

‘Hi, Gabe!’ Charlie had noticed Gabriel at last. ‘What is it?’

Gabriel saw that Dagbert wasn’t going to leave them. ‘It’s nothing,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll catch you later.’

Charlie watched Gabriel slouch away, his shoulders hunched, his hands in his pockets. Obviously he didn’t want Dagbert to hear what he had to tell Charlie.

‘Why d’you keep following me?’ Charlie demanded. ‘Shouldn’t you be in a lesson?’

Dagbert shrugged. ‘I’ve lost my flute. I thought Señor Alvaro might have it.’

‘Why? Mr Paltry teaches flute.’ Charlie walked faster, trying to shake Dagbert off.

Dagbert caught up with him. ‘OK. The truth is . . . my father’s here.’

‘I know,’ said Charlie irritably. ‘We’ve been through that. What d’you want me to do about it?’

‘I want you to keep my sea-gold creatures for a while.’

‘What?’ Charlie stopped dead in his tracks. He could hardly believe his ears. ‘Are you seriously asking me to keep something that you almost k–’ he quickly corrected himself, ‘something that you drowned Tancred for taking?’

‘I’ve told you,’ Dagbert said desperately. ‘I didn’t mean to drown him. It was an accident.’ He dug into his pocket and brought out a handful of tiny charms: five golden crabs, a fish and a miniature sea urchin. ‘Please, keep them safe for me.’ He held the charms out to Charlie. ‘My father’s looking for them.’

‘Why?’

‘I can’t explain right now.’ Dagbert pushed the charms at Charlie.

Charlie stepped back. ‘Why me?’

‘You’re the only person I can trust.’

Charlie found this hard to believe. ‘What about your friends: Joshua, Dorcas, the twins? What about Manfred?’

Dagbert shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no, no.’ He grabbed Charlie’s wrist and attempted to press the charms into his hand. ‘Please!’

‘No.’ Charlie snatched his hand away and the sea-gold creatures spilled on to the floor. The sea urchin rolled towards Señor Alvaro’s door which, at that very instant, began to open.

Señor Alvaro stood in the doorway regarding the sea urchin at his feet. He gave it a small kick.

‘No!’ Dagbert pounced on the charm as it rolled across the floor. ‘You could have broken it.’ He hastily gathered up the five crabs and the golden fish as well and shoved them into his pocket.

‘What’s going on?’ Señor Alvaro frowned at the wall behind the boys. It was now a rippling bluish-green; silvery bubbles rose from a shell that floated just behind Charlie’s ear, and fronds of seaweed waved gently from the skirting board.

Charlie glanced at the scowling Dagbert. ‘It’s what happens, sir,’ he told the music teacher. ‘He can’t help it.’

‘Can’t help it?’ Señor Alvaro raised a neat black eyebrow. He was young for a teacher and his clothes were always interesting and colourful. He had permanently smiling brown eyes, a sharp nose and shiny black hair. He didn’t appear to be too surprised by the watery shapes on the wall.

As Dagbert shuffled away, the weeds and shells and bubbles gradually faded, and the wall took on its usual greyish colour.

‘Come in, Charlie,’ said Señor Alvaro.

Charlie always enjoyed his music lessons now. He knew he wasn’t talented but Señor Alvaro had convinced him that music could be fun, as long as you blew with conviction and hit the right notes, more or less. Charlie had even managed half an hour’s practice the previous evening, and Señor Alvaro was pleasantly surprised.

‘Excellente, Charlie!’ The music teacher’s Spanish accent was soft and compelling. ‘I am astounded by your improvement. A little more practice and that piece will be perfect.’

The lesson was at an end but Charlie was reluctant to leave. Señor Alvaro was one of the few teachers at Bloor’s whom Charlie felt he could trust. He had an overwhelming urge to confide in him.

‘Do you understand about Dagbert?’ he asked as he put his trumpet in its case.

‘I know about the boy’s father, if that’s what you mean, Charlie. I’m aware of the curse placed upon the Grimwald dynasty and I know that Dagbert believes the charms his mother made can protect him.’ Señor Alvaro’s tone was very matter-of-fact. Charlie was surprised he knew so much.

‘Do you know about . . . about . . . my talent?’ Charlie was unsure of putting this question and found himself stuttering.

‘Of course!’ Señor Alvaro gave one of his heartwarming smiles. ‘I’ll see you on Friday, Charlie. Usual time.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Charlie left the room.

When he closed Señor Alvaro’s door he felt slightly dizzy. Perhaps it was the darkness of the passage, coming so soon after the bright lights in the music room. He closed his eyes for a moment and a rushing, foggy grey seeped behind his lids; it was the sea, and in the churning grey waves there was a small boat bobbing among the foam. Charlie saw this boat in his mind’s eye whenever he thought of his parents, somewhere on the ocean, watching whales. But today he could just make out a name on the side of the boat: Greywing.

Charlie opened his eyes. Why had the name come to him so suddenly? Did anyone else know about it? His grandmother Maisie? Uncle Paton? The company that arranged his parents’ whale-watching holiday?

‘Charlie!’

Gabriel came running down the passage just as the bell went for lunch. ‘Can we talk outside, Charlie, after lunch?’

‘Why not now?’ asked Charlie.

‘I can’t explain. It’s too complicated,’ said Gabriel.

‘Give us a clue!’

‘It’s about the Red Knight.’

‘Now I’m really interested.’ Charlie hurried into the hall where the usual crowd of children were rushing to their cloakrooms: blue for music students, purple for the actors and green for the artists. Gabriel hovered beside Charlie while he washed his hands and then they walked together across the hall and down the corridor of portraits towards the blue canteen. As they passed Ashkelan Kapaldi, Gabriel nodded at the portrait and whispered, ‘I saw him today.’

‘I think I saw him last night,’ Charlie whispered back.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. ‘What’s going on?’

Charlie shrugged.

Fidelio had kept two places for them at a corner table. While they ate their macaroni cheese, Charlie bent close to his friend and, as quietly as he could, described the swordsman both he and Gabriel had seen outside his portrait.

‘I wouldn’t be in your shoes,’ Fidelio remarked with a grin.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Gabriel asked in an offended tone. ‘This man isn’t after me and Charlie particularly.’

‘Sorry.’ Fidelio often forgot how touchy Gabriel Silk could be. ‘But you’re both endowed, Gabe. These weirdos are always after you lot; by and large they leave normal people like me alone.’

Gabriel had to admit that this was true. He realised that he would have to take Fidelio into his confidence as well as Charlie. Best friends always stuck together during break.

After lunch the three boys jogged round the grounds. It was one of those dreary March days when the sky is a dark grey slab and the cold air sneaks into your very bones. Sixth-formers were allowed to stay indoors, but the rest of the school, almost three hundred children from eight years old to sixteen, were trying various ways to keep warm.

Some of the boys were playing a rather half-hearted game of football, others were being violently active in an athletic kind of way, and yet more were doing formal exercises, presided over by an enthusiastic outdoor type called Simon Hawke.

Most of the girls were walking around in pairs or large groups. Someone had put up an umbrella, even though the rain wasn’t more than a damp mist. It was a very bright umbrella, printed with red and yellow butterflies. The girl beneath it had almost white hair and wore a scarlet coat. She was holding her umbrella high enough to cover the head of a very tall African.

‘Is that Lysander?’ Gabriel pointed at the boy beneath the umbrella.

‘Must be,’ said Fidelio. ‘Who’s the girl?’

‘Never seen her before,’ said Charlie.

The girl turned towards them and Charlie recognised Olivia Vertigo. He had never seen her as a bleached blonde before. Her hair colour changed frequently from purple to green to indigo – she’d even gone stripy – but never white. He wondered why she and Lysander were together. They were both endowed, but they had little else in common. And then he remembered that their best friends were both missing. Lysander was seldom apart from Tancred Torsson, while Olivia and Emma were practically inseparable.

Charlie waved at Olivia and she leapt forward, catching Lysander’s head in her brolly. ‘Ow!’ he yelled. Olivia flapped her hand at him and came bouncing over the grass in her red fur-tipped boots. Lysander stood looking around for another companion for a moment but, finding none, he followed Olivia over to the group.

Gabriel groaned to himself. Now he would have to tell his story to four people instead of one. It was such a small incident, it might mean nothing or everything. He hadn’t wanted to broadcast it this way; in fact, he decided, he probably wouldn’t tell anyone at all, because what he had seen wasn’t that important. His mind had simply exaggerated its significance.

‘We’ve been talking about the Pets’ Café,’ said Olivia, obligingly closing her umbrella, ‘and you – know – who.’ She glanced at Lysander.

‘Shhh!’ Lysander looked over his shoulder as the Branko twins passed behind them.

The Branko twins were now lingering just within earshot. They had pale, impassive faces and the fringes of their shiny black hair touched the tips of their long thick eyelashes. The eyes beneath those lashes were dark and inscrutable. If the twins were to get the slightest hint that Tancred was still alive, they would pass the news straight to Manfred, and that would be a disaster. The Bloors would be furious that his survival had been kept a secret, and Dagbert might even make a second attempt on Tancred’s life.

‘Let’s move,’ Lysander suggested, nodding at an ancient wall standing at the top end of the grounds.

The massive red walls surrounded a castle built by the Red King nine centuries ago. It had been a vast and beautiful building but today it lay in ruins, its thick walls crumbling, its stone floors lined with moss and weeds, its roofs fallen and its once sturdy beams mildewed and rotting. But just inside the great arched entrance was a paved courtyard surrounded by thick hedges, and facing the entrance were five smaller arches, each one leading into the castle. Four were like the mouths of dark tunnels. Only one gave a view of the green hill beyond.

‘Smells a bit fusty in here,’ said Olivia. She planted herself on one of the stone benches placed between the arches.

The others squeezed in beside her, but Fidelio suddenly jumped up and ran to the entrance. He stood beneath the arch where he could get a good view of the rest of the school. ‘Don’t want any snoops,’ he said.

A low grunt came from beneath the bench beside them. Everyone stared at it until a grey paw emerged, followed by a long-nosed, overweight, short-legged dog.

‘Blessed!’ they cried.

Olivia held her nose. ‘I might have known.’

‘He can’t help being smelly,’ Gabriel reproved her.

‘He looks so sad,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m sure he misses Billy.’

At the mention of Billy’s name, Blessed waddled over to Charlie, wagging his bald tail. Charlie stroked the dog’s rough head, saying, ‘Billy will come back, Blessed, I promise you.’

The dog grunted a couple of times and then waddled away through the arch.

‘How are you going to keep that promise, Charlie?’ said Gabriel. ‘Billy doesn’t even want to come back.’

‘He will.’ Charlie looked pointedly at Gabriel. ‘You wanted to tell me something, Gabe.’

Gabriel grimaced. ‘I said you, Charlie, not everyone.’

‘We’re not everyone, Gabe.’ Olivia dug her elbow into his side. ‘Or is it just very, very private?’

Gabriel shifted uneasily on the cold stone bench. ‘Not private exactly. I mean, I suppose it concerns you as much as anyone, being endowed.’

‘Come on, Gabe. I can’t bear the suspense,’ said Lysander.

Gabriel stared at his hands rather than meeting anyone’s eye. ‘It’s about the Red Knight,’ he muttered.

No one spoke. It was as if Gabriel had dropped a spell into the chilly air. He looked up and saw that they were taking him very seriously.

‘What about him?’ asked Charlie with a catch in his voice.

‘I think you’re the only one who’s seen him,’ said Gabriel, playing for time.

‘I’ve seen him,’ Olivia said quietly.

‘Oh, yes. I forgot.’ Gabriel had seldom seen such an earnest expression on Olivia’s face. It was encouraging. ‘As you know,’ he continued, ‘my family inherited the Red King’s cloak. It was kept in a chest under my parents’ bed and, as I told you before, the cloak disappeared just before the knight was seen.’

Charlie nodded. ‘He was on the iron bridge, and he saved Liv and me from drowning. He’s saved my life twice now.’

‘The cloak was billowing all around him, like a great red cloud,’ Olivia said, elegantly demonstrating with her arms, ‘but we couldn’t see his face because of the helmet and the visor. We thought it might be the Red King himself, or his ghost.’

‘No,’ said Gabriel. ‘It wasn’t. I’ve thought and thought about it. I’ve gone over it in my mind, trying to remember every little detail –’

‘Buck up, Gabe,’ said Fidelio. ‘Some of the others are leaving the grounds. It’s nearly the end of break.’

Fidelio’s interruption flustered Gabriel. He frowned with concentration while the others waited for him to continue.

‘It was one morning,’ Gabriel began, ‘very early, still night really, because the moon was up. Something woke me, I don’t know what. I went to the window to see if a fox had crept in and got one of our chickens. And I saw this figure in our yard in the moonlight. He was wearing a navy duffel coat with the hood up, so I couldn’t see his face. The funny thing was my dad was down there, talking to him in a very low voice, almost whispering really. And then my dad handed the man a parcel. Quite a big parcel, tied up with string. And then the man left. He crossed our yard and when he reached the gate, he gave my dad a wave, and then he was gone. And the next day I found that the cloak had disappeared, and I thought it must have been the man in the duffel coat who took it. And if my dad gave it to him, he must have trusted him.’

‘Or he was under some kind of spell,’ muttered Charlie.

‘It might not have been the king’s cloak, Gabe,’ said Lysander, standing up and rubbing his cold bottom. ‘I mean, we know your dad writes thrillers. It could have been a manuscript or a load of books.’

Gabriel shook his head. ‘It was the cloak.’

‘What makes you so sure?’ asked Lysander.

‘Because the horse was there,’ said Gabriel, ‘the white mare: Queen Berenice. She was standing just beyond the hedge, waiting for the man, whoever he was.’

The others stared at him for a moment, and then Lysander said, ‘Come on, we’d better get going.’

They left the castle courtyard and began to run across the grass towards the school door. Just before they stepped into the hall, Charlie said, ‘Did you ask your dad about the stranger, Gabe?’

‘He told me I’d been dreaming,’ Gabriel said.