Charlie Bone and the Red Knight. Jenny Nimmo
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shadow words over great distances. She is descended from the Red King’s grandson who was abducted by pirates and taken to China.
The endowed are all descended from the ten children of the Red King: a magician-king who left Africa in the twelfth century, accompanied by three leopards.
Prologue
The Red King arrived in the North nine hundred years ago. He was an African magician and each of his ten children inherited a small part of his power. These powers were passed down, through their descendants, to the inhabitants of an ancient city. But not all the inheritors use their powers wisely. Some of them are bent on evil, and Charlie Bone strives constantly to thwart them.
Charlie’s parents are on their second honeymoon. They have been away for more than a month. Postcards arrive for Charlie, describing his parents’ wonderful adventures on the world’s oceans. Although Charlie is happy for them, he wishes they would return. The city is becoming a dangerous place for him and his friends. One of them was almost drowned and their favourite meeting place, the Pets’ Café, has been closed. Charlie is afraid that the Red King’s old enemy, Count Harken, will try and enter the city once again. The count, an enchanter, has already abducted the orphan, Billy Raven, and now keeps him in Badlock, a world that exists in the far distant past.
If only the Red King could return to keep the city safe. But that is too much to hope for. And yet, deep in the ruins of the Red King’s castle, a heart still beats within a tall red tree. The king can watch with the eyes of birds that settle on his branches; he can listen with the ears of creatures that graze beside him; sometimes he can even move. But he who was once mighty is now powerless to help the children who need him. His last spell has been cast. He can only hope that his cloak and sword will protect the man who has chosen to take his place. One thing is certain: the white mare that was once the king’s beloved queen will do all in her power to carry their champion to victory.
The enchanted sword
To the small man hurrying through the city, the dark buildings that rose about him had never appeared so menacing.
‘Menaced,’ muttered Orvil Onimous. ‘That’s what we are, my dears, menaced.’ He was speaking to three cats that paced about him, magnificent creatures with fire-bright coats, from the deep copper of the cat that leapt ahead, to the flame orange and starry yellow of the two that ran on either side of him.
‘You are a comfort, Flames,’ sighed the little man, ‘you know that, don’t you?’
They turned off the High Street and made their way down Frog Street, a narrow alley that led to the ancient city walls. It was a cold, damp night and the cobblestones were wet with melting frost. Every step the small man took became more laboured. He rounded a corner and came within sight of an unusual-looking shop, built into the very fabric of the old walls. Above a large, latticed window, the words ‘The Pets’ Café’ could just be made out on a sign filled with the paintings of animals.
Mr Onimous seemed unable to continue. He hung his head, gasping for air. With his whiskery face and furry brown head he resembled a large vole in an ill-fitting tweed coat.
The cats gathered round him, mewing encouragement, but Orvil Onimous let out a mournful sob and pointed to a sheet of paper nailed to the green painted door.
These premises are closed, said the notice, by order of the city councillors, in accordance with Section 238 of the Public Health Act.
The cats could not read the notice but they were well aware of its meaning. Their friend’s livelihood had been stolen from him. The Pets’ Café, where every customer was obliged to bring a pet, was now closed. The joyful twittering, the braying, barking and mewing that once had welcomed every visitor was now gone, leaving only a bleak silence.
Inside the café, chairs were piled on empty tables, the lights were out in the coloured lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and in the kitchen Mrs Onimous endlessly filled the stove with cakes and cookies that no one would eat.
Thinking of his wife, Mr Onimous took a firm step towards the green door, and then hesitated. A sound at the far end of the alley made him peer cautiously round the corner.
A figure came striding towards him.
‘We’re closed,’ called Mr Onimous. ‘It’s no use coming down here. Besides,’ he added sadly, ‘you haven’t got a pet – unless it’s in your pocket. Go away.’
The stranger paid no attention. He marched purposefully closer. A boy, thought Mr Onimous, noting the slim build and youthful stride. A yellow scarf covered the lower half of the boy’s face, and the hood of his blue coat was pulled well down over his forehead.