Читать книгу Charlie Bone and the Wilderness Wolf - Jenny Nimmo - Страница 16

It was one of the other boys who passed on the news about Dagbert. It certainly wasn’t Bragger. Falling on your back in terror is nothing to brag about.

Word spread fast. Soon even the doziest first-former had heard the rumour: Dagbert Endless drowned people.

But how? That was the question on everyone’s mind. On bath night it was noticeable how shallow the bath water was in every bath. Some of the children decided against bathing altogether and opted for a cold shower in the unheated changing rooms. In February. That’s how worried they were.

‘What’s the matter with you all?’ grumbled the matron. ‘You usually complain that you can’t get enough water. Now, all at once, you don’t want any. You’ve barely got enough to clean your knees.’

People began to avoid Charlie because Dagbert was always at his side. In team games Charlie was always the last to be picked, as though the new boy were permanently attached to him, and if you got Charlie, you were saddled with Dagbert-the-Drowner as well.

There were exceptions, of course. You couldn’t keep Joshua, Dorcas and the twins away from Dagbert. So Charlie had to put up with their company as well. He found it exhausting, listening to them boasting about their peculiar talents. However, he did manage to learn something very interesting.

They were sitting in the King’s Room, waiting for homework to begin. Lysander and Tancred hadn’t arrived, Billy was searching for a reference book, Emma was late and Gabriel was in the sanatorium with a virus.

Charlie had opened his history book and was pretending to make notes on the American War of Independence. The conversation on the other side of the table was being conducted in harsh whispers, with the occasional giggle thrown in by Dorcas. And then, all at once, Charlie caught the phrase: ‘She taught me everything I know about bewitching clothes.’

Dorcas was talking about Charlie’s Great Aunt Venetia. He lowered his head and opened his ears.

‘Anyway, she told me about this man,’ Dorcas went on. ‘She wanted to marry him because, for one thing, he’s rich, and for another his little boy is endowed – at least Venetia thinks he is . . .’ She stopped and Charlie felt her eyes on him. He kept his head down but Dorcas continued in such a soft whisper he could only catch the odd word. Words like ‘Arthur Shellhorn, poison, beads, heart-failure . . . herbs of infatuation . . . wedding . . .’

It was easy enough to guess the rest, and it didn’t take Charlie long to work out what his great-aunt had done. Uncle Paton had warned him that Venetia wasn’t above murder, and he was right. She had poisoned Arthur Shellhorn’s wife with a string of beads that stopped her heart, then soaked Arthur’s coat in a brew of infatuating herbs. And poor, deluded Arthur, desperately in love, had begged Venetia to marry him.

At this point Lysander and Tancred breezed in, the latter looking even more blown about than usual.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ said Lysander. ‘We were in a meeting. Glad to see you’re all getting on with your work. Where’s Billy?’

‘Here. I’m here.’ Billy shuffled through the door with Emma a few paces behind him.

Silence fell. Everyone bent their head towards their books. Homework began.

Charlie stared at the pages of his history book without seeing them. His mind roamed elsewhere. He was trying to imagine what it would be like to have a stepmother like Great Aunt Venetia: poisoner, bewitcher, murderer. He could hardly wait to see Uncle Paton. One more night to go, he thought, and then he’d be free of Dagbert Endless. He would be sitting at home, eating one of Maisie’s delicious suppers.

It was not to be.

On Thursday night, only five minutes after lights out, Dagbert decided to tell a bedtime story.

‘It’s against the rules to talk after lights out.’ Charlie’s whispered warning made no impression on Dagbert, so he raised his whisper another notch. ‘You’ll get detention.’

‘Who says?’ asked Dagbert.

‘Let him tell the story,’ said Bragger, keen to keep on the right side of Dagbert.

‘Yes, let him,’ squeaked Rupe. ‘You’re a spoilsport, Charlie Bone.’

Fidelio muttered, ‘You won’t be seeing your fish shop on Friday night, Bertie boy.’

‘Want to bet?’ sneered Dagbert. ‘And don’t call me Bertie.’

Fidelio turned over and punched his pillow into shape.

In a loud voice Dagbert continued his story. It was boring and badly told. It certainly wasn’t funny, even though Bragger and Rupe kept giggling. Stories about mermaids always made Charlie yawn. He yawned and closed his eyes.

Two seconds later the door opened and Matron marched into the room. She turned on the light. Charlie opened his eyes and blinked.

‘Who was talking?’ Matron demanded.

‘I was,’ Dagbert said cheerfully. ‘I was telling a story.’

‘You’re breaking the rules,’ said Matron.

‘Am I?’ Dagbert sounded incredulous. ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.’

Matron gave a sigh of annoyance. ‘Charlie, you’re responsible for the new boy. You’re supposed to tell him the rules.’

‘Yes, well, I –’ Charlie began.

‘Detention for you,’ snapped his great-aunt. ‘You won’t be going home until Saturday.’

‘But I did tell him,’ Charlie protested.

Matron switched off the light and marched out, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that followed was broken by a snort from Bragger and a snigger from Rupe.

Charlie lay on his back staring into the darkness. He told himself that he didn’t care. What was one more day after all? He lay awake long past midnight and then, just as he was drifting into sleep, a sound came stealing through the night. A far, far distant howl.

There was a rustle of bedclothes and Charlie saw the rounded shape of Billy Raven’s white head. He was sitting up – listening. He knows what the howl means, thought Charlie, and soon he’ll tell me.

The last thing Charlie expected was an apology, but at breakfast next morning, he got one.

‘Sorry about last night,’ said Dagbert, swallowing a spoonful of cornflakes. ‘I couldn’t afford to get detention. The people I live with won’t understand if I don’t turn up tonight.’

‘You didn’t have to talk after lights out, though, did you?’ said Fidelio. ‘Charlie warned you.’

Dagbert frowned. ‘It’s hard to keep stories to yourself,’ he murmured.

Charlie almost felt sorry for him. ‘Well, you won’t get away with it a second time. Matron’s told you now, so you’ll have to keep your stories bottled up.’

‘Yes, I will,’ Dagbert said pensively. ‘Imagine. Stories in a bottle.’

Not for the first time Charlie wondered what was going on in Dagbert’s head.

Charlie spent the rest of the day in a state of suspense. All he wanted was to hear what Billy had to tell him. What did it matter if he had to spend another night in school?

At four o’clock Weedon unlocked the main doors and children piled out of the Academy. From their dormitory, Charlie and Billy could hear the shouts that began immediately pupils were released from the gloomy hall. Charlie peered out of the window overlooking the courtyard. He saw Dagbert Endless following the crowd. He was the only one who didn’t look happy. His expression was solemn, almost apprehensive. He was the last to leave the courtyard.

Charlie turned from the window. ‘They’re all gone, Billy.’

Billy was sitting on his bed with his knees drawn up to his chin.

‘Before we talk about Dagbert I want to know what you heard last night,’ said Charlie.

‘A howl,’ Billy replied.

‘I heard it too. You know what it meant, don’t you?’

Billy nodded. He hunched his shoulders and hugged himself. ‘It was a call for help. It was frightened and lonely.’

Charlie looked into Billy’s wine-dark eyes, magnified by the round lenses of his glasses. ‘Do you know where the voice – the howl – came from?’

‘Not exactly. It’s far, far away, maybe underground. It says it’s trapped.’

‘Trapped?’ said Charlie. ‘Who trapped it, I wonder.’

Billy shrugged. ‘Charlie, I want to tell you about Dagbert,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying all week, but he’s always there, right behind you. He calls me a freak.’

‘And Gabriel a loser, and he told Olivia and Emma they looked a mess. An absolute lie.’

Billy leaned forward. ‘Cook knew Dagbert’s father. He drowned her parents, swept away her home and murdered her fiancé. All because she wouldn’t marry him.’

‘Wait a minute!’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘I remember. Cook told me. His name is Grimwald.’

‘Lord Grimwald,’ said Billy. ‘Blessed says he smells of rust and seaweed and shipwrecks and drownings. And there’s a cold pearl in his heart, trapped like sand in an oyster shell. Cook’s going to leave. She’s frightened.’

Charlie slid to the floor. ‘Cook, leave? She can’t. She keeps the balance here. She’s the lodestone of the house. Why should she leave? No one knows who she really is.’

‘Dagbert might find out,’ Billy said gravely.

Charlie resolved to change Cook’s mind. He would see her at supper and convince her that she must stay. Otherwise, who would care for Billy during the long school holidays? He had no home, no parents, no one else in the world to turn to. The Bloors kept promising him that he would be adopted but it had never happened, unless you counted the de Greys, who had treated Billy like a servant and kept him locked up.

Children in detention could usually expect a cold supper in the canteen. But when Billy and Charlie went downstairs at six o’clock, the blue canteen was deserted. Chairs had been piled on to tables and a blue check cloth covered the counter.

Charlie opened the door into the kitchen and looked around. There wasn’t a soul in sight. The heavy saucepans were all hanging in place, the ovens were closed and cold, and there wasn’t even a whisper of steam.

‘What are you doing?’ said a voice.

Charlie swung round. He came face to face with Weedon’s wife. Mrs Weedon was a wide, grim-faced, goggle-eyed person who was usually in charge of the green canteen.

‘I’m looking for Cook,’ said Charlie.

‘Cook’s out.’ Mrs Weedon’s bloodless lips smacked unpleasantly.

‘We wanted some supper.’ Charlie looked at Billy, standing hopefully beside a chair-covered table.

Mrs Weedon glanced at Billy. ‘And I suppose you’ve got detention, Charlie Bone?’

‘That doesn’t mean I’m not to be fed,’ Charlie said defiantly.

‘Tch!’ Mrs Weedon turned her back and walked out. ‘You’d better come with me,’ she called back to them.

The green canteen was in the same state as the blue: chairs on tables, counter covered in a cloth – a green one this time.

‘Baked beans is all I’ve got,’ snorted Mrs Weedon. ‘You can sit there,’ she pointed to a table. ‘I’m not supposed to be on duty but Cook rushed off, goodness knows where, and the Bloors want their supper which I’ve got to carry all the way over to the west wing, if you please.’

Charlie had never known Mrs Weedon to say so much. ‘Cook hasn’t left, has she?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Left? Of course not.’ Mrs Weedon’s goggle eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Why? What makes you think she’s left?’

‘I don’t. It’s just . . . well, we just wondered.’

Mrs Weedon frowned and shook her head. ‘You wonder more than is good for you.’ She stomped through the door into the kitchen.

Charlie and Billy removed two chairs from the table Mrs Weedon had indicated, and sat down.

The beans, when they arrived, were barely warm. The toast was burnt and there wasn’t a smidgen of butter. Charlie decided to try for a second helping. Telling Billy to follow him, he went to the door of the green kitchen and looked in. There was no sign of Mrs Weedon.

‘Come on,’ Charlie whispered. ‘Let’s look for some food. I’m starving.’

They crept into the kitchen. A row of tins caught Charlie’s eye. Sure enough they contained biscuits: chocolate Bourbons and garibaldis. The boys took two of each, stuffing them into their mouths as they moved further into the room. Billy found a box of shortbread and slipped a piece into his pocket. Charlie found some gingerbread and broke off a chunk. He was beginning to feel better already. They reached the door at the back of the kitchen and stepped into a yard where a narrow flight of stone steps led up to the road.

‘You know, we could get out this way,’ said Charlie. ‘We could go into the city and find a nice café and –’

Billy’s elbow dug into Charlie’s ribs. ‘Look!’ he whispered.

At the far end of the yard two people squatted in a dark corner. Really, they were not quite people. They had the shining eyes of a predatory animal and their faces were dotted with patches of hair. For a few seconds they were so still they could almost have been taken for statues but, all at once, they emitted a faint whimper and scuttled towards the steps. They climbed the flight of steps on all fours, bounding to the top as fast as cats. The iron gate on to the street gave a light clang as the two figures pushed it open and disappeared.

Billy gripped Charlie’s arm. ‘What were they?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Charlie. ‘But they’ve been following me.’ He noticed something in the corner where the strangers had been squatting. Could it be a pudding bowl? He walked over to it.

‘Look!’ he called. ‘This bowl’s half full of muesli-type stuff. Nuts and oats and bananas and things. It looks as if someone’s been feeding them. Come and see.’

Before Billy could move a hand shot out of the doorway behind him.

Mrs Weedon grabbed the back of Billy’s collar, almost choking him. ‘Now what have you done?’ She glared at Charlie.

‘We were hungry,’ he said.

‘That’s no excuse for snooping.’ Mrs Weedon released Billy and gave him a little push. ‘Did you see anyone here?’

‘We –’ Billy began, but Charlie quickly cut him off with a loud, ‘No. No one.’

‘Hmm.’ She regarded Charlie with her suspicious, bulging eyes. ‘Get inside.’

They meekly obeyed.

‘I shall tell Dr Bloor about this,’ said Mrs Weedon as she followed them through the canteen. ‘You’d better go straight to bed.’

‘We haven’t done anything wrong,’ Charlie protested.

‘I’ve only got your word for that,’ she grunted.

They heard the lock click as they walked away from the canteen door. Charlie felt for the gingerbread in his pocket, glad that he’d managed to grab something before he was caught.

Matron looked in on the boys when she came to turn off the light. ‘Your uncle will pick you up tomorrow,’ she said coldly. ‘What a nuisance you are, Charlie Bone.’

‘Billy’s coming home with me,’ said Charlie.

The matron pursed her lips but she didn’t argue. Uncle Paton had forced the Bloors to sign a document, promising that Billy could spend the weekend with anyone he wished.

It was a bitterly cold night and they huddled under the blankets to eat the food they’d taken from the kitchen. Charlie soon fell asleep. He dreamed of his parents, riding the waves in their sturdy boat, while whales sang in the ocean. ‘They do sing, you know,’ his mother had said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’

Charlie had found himself shaking his head. His parents needed their time alone. They had lost ten years of being together; besides, instinct warned Charlie that he must remain in the city, the place where so many people had wanted his father ‘out of the way’, where plots were hatched and where Charlie’s friends were constantly in danger.

In Charlie’s dream the whales’ song gradually changed into a sad lament, and as he listened to it he became aware that he was awake, and listening to the distant, desperate howl again.

‘Billy, can you hear it?’ Charlie whispered.

‘Yes,’ said Billy. ‘It keeps repeating the same words, over and over. “Help me!” It kind of knocks against my heart, Charlie. What are we going to do?’

‘Help it,’ Charlie replied, though he had no idea how.