Charlie Bone and the Wilderness Wolf. Jenny Nimmo
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But did you know that he turned those leopards into cats? Immortal cats, their coats as bright as flames, cats that turn up every generation to keep company with the children who refuse to be controlled.’ Ezekiel’s voice rose to a furious screech. ‘They did it. Those cats destroyed my grandson.’
‘Why?’ asked Dagbert, undaunted by the old man’s fury.
‘Charlie Bone,’ answered the rasping voice in the shadows.
‘Indeed, Charlie Bone,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘Granted he was trying to save his father, but to do this . . .’ The headmaster flung out his hand towards his son.
‘And have you found a way to punish Charlie Bone?’ asked Lord Grimwald.
‘We’re hoping that you can help us.’ Dr Bloor gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Charlie has friends, you see, friends with powerful endowments. They stick together like glue.’
‘Glue can be dissolved,’ said Dagbert quietly.
A surprised silence followed this remark. The Bloors regarded Dagbert with renewed interest. But the boy’s gaze was held by the scarred eyes that watched him from the shadows, and everyone in the room felt the invisible bond that was instantly formed between Dagbert Endless and Manfred Bloor.
Ezekiel smiled with satisfaction. Many endowed children had studied at Bloor’s Academy; some had been gratifyingly evil, but he was certain that none had been as deadly as this Northern boy with his iceberg eyes.
Lord Grimwald got to his feet and began to move about the room in his peculiar swaying walk. ‘So you will educate my son, and what am I to do for you?’
‘Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter,’ Ezekiel said eagerly. ‘You can control the oceans, Lord Grimwald. A towering talent, if I may say so.’
Lord Grimwald inclined his head as he continued to swing about the room.
Dr Bloor said, ‘Charlie’s father, Lyell Bone, is at this moment upon the ocean. He is taking a second honeymoon with his wife, Amy. And they have decided to go whale-watching.’
‘Whale-watching!’ Ezekiel cackled. ‘Silly fools. They’re going on a little boat, and the waves will rock the little boat from side to side, and then the highest, tallest, widest wave there’s ever been will take the little boat to the bottom of the ocean, where Lyell and Amy will rest forever. What d’you think about that, Lord Grimwald?’
‘I can do that for you.’ Lord Grimwald stopped pacing and sat down. ‘But may I ask, apart from punishing Charlie Bone, is there another reason why you want to drown Lyell Bone?’
‘The WILL!’ said Ezekiel and Dr Bloor in unison.
‘The will?’ asked Lord Grimwald.
‘It’s old, very old, but still legal probably,’ said Ezekiel. ‘It was made by my great-grandfather, Septimus Bloor, in 1865, shortly before he died. He left everything: house, garden, the ruined castle in the grounds, priceless treasures, all . . . all to his daughter Maybelle and her heirs. But my great-auntie, Beatrice, was a witch, you see, and hated Maybelle, so she poisoned her, and forged another will. This will, the false one, left everything to my grandfather, Bertram. And he left it all to my father, and then to me. Beatrice wanted nothing for herself; she was content to see Maybelle dead and her children become paupers.’
‘Forgive me for being slow, Mr Bloor, but where’s the problem?’ Lord Grimwald spread his hands. ‘It would appear that the original will no longer exists.’
‘But it does, it does,’ cried Ezekiel. ‘Someone found it, you see: Rufus Raven, Maybelle’s great-grandson. It was given to his wife, Ellen, on her wedding day.’
‘A will?’ questioned Lord Grimwald.
‘No, no, not the will, exactly. She was given the box that contained it,’ explained Dr Bloor. ‘The key was lost and she couldn’t open it, but Ellen was endowed with an instinct for certain . . . things. She guessed that it contained something of great importance.’
‘We believe that Rufus gave it to Lyell Bone for safekeeping,’ said Ezekiel. ‘They were the best of friends, he and Rufus. We tried to bargain, we tried threats. “Give us the box,” we said, “and you’ll have half our fortune.” Of course we didn’t mean it.’ A sly smile twisted Ezekiel’s meagre lips. ‘But Rufus wouldn’t give it up, anyway. So we had to get rid of him, and his silly wife. A nasty accident arranged by a car mechanic on my payroll. Their baby survived, but he doesn’t know a thing.’
‘His name’s Billy,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘We have him here. He’s eight years old and can communicate with animals.’
‘That’s useful,’ Dagbert said with interest.
Ezekiel giggled. ‘Billy’s endowment hasn’t been very helpful to him so far. Take Percy, for instance.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Percy, come here.’
An old dog appeared from behind the desk. Its eyes were hidden behind rolls of loose skin and its short legs were barely able to support its heavy body. Dagbert’s lips curled in disgust as the creature grunted and dragged its slobbery mouth against Ezekiel’s blanket.
‘Billy calls him Blessed,’ said Ezekiel. ‘Heaven knows why. The dog can understand Billy’s gibberish but he knows nothing of our conversation. We could be talking about butterflies,’ Ezekiel fluttered his crooked hands in the air above his head, ‘or . . . or birthday parties, for all he knows. So he can’t tell Billy a thing about our little chat, or his inheritance.’
‘Are you sure?’ Dagbert eyed the dog suspiciously.
‘Absolutely,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘The only words that dog knows are his names: Percy or Blessed.’
This wasn’t strictly true. Blessed might not have been able to comprehend every word that was said, but he understood the current of feeling in the room. He knew they were talking about his friend, Billy, and he was aware that the two strangers brought trouble. They smelt of mists and rotting wood. Their skins were cold and slippery, and behind their voices waves could be heard, beating on a stony shore. The boy’s eyes glimmered like frozen water and the man’s face told of wrecked ships and pitiless drownings. Blessed would describe all this to Billy and Billy would tell Cook. And Cook would give Blessed a large bone, Blessed hoped. The old dog made for the door, wagging his bald tail and slobbering badly as he thought of the longed-for bone.
There came a loud knock on the door and, as it opened, Blessed hurried past Weedon into the passage.
‘Cook’s put a bit of supper on the table,’ Weedon announced grumpily.
‘Ah!’ Dr Bloor rubbed his hands together. ‘The dining room is just down the passage. This way, everyone.’
As the two visitors followed Dr Bloor a small woman emerged from the dining room. Cook was rounder than she had once been and her dark hair was touched with grey, but her rosy face still held traces of her former beauty. When she saw Dr Bloor and his guests approaching she stood aside to let them pass.
‘Thank you, Cook,’ said Dr Bloor.
Cook nodded and then gave a small involuntary shudder. She pressed a handkerchief to her face and hastened away. Her heart was pounding so fast that Blessed could hear it as she ran down the stairs behind him.
‘Oh, grief! Oh, horrors! It’s him. It’s him. Oh, Blessed, what am I to do? Why here? Why now?’
Cook burst into the blue canteen with Blessed hard on her heels. The handkerchief was still pressed to her mouth as though the very air she breathed was poisoned.
‘Cook, what’s the matter?’
Cook hadn’t noticed the white-haired boy sitting at a corner table.
‘Oh, Billy, love. I’ve had a dreadful shock.’ She pulled out a chair and sat beside him. ‘A man is here. He . . . he . . .’ She