Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors. Jenny Nimmo
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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