Charlie Bone and the Wilderness Wolf. Jenny Nimmo
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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.
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