Kitabı oku: «Charlie Bone and the Red Knight», sayfa 4

Fire in the tunnel

Charlie had often wondered about the Branko twins. He knew where all the other endowed children lived; he even knew about their parents, although he hadn’t actually met them all. But the Brankos were a mystery. This was because they ran a shop called ‘Fine and Fancy’; the sort of shop that Charlie generally avoided.

Mr and Mrs Branko prided themselves that almost anything at all could be purchased in their shop, as long as it wasn’t a live animal, and you didn’t mind your food in a tin. The Brankos didn’t like animals.

Mrs Branko looked like a large, tired version of her daughters. Before she was married she had been Natalia Dobinsky, a woman renowned for her telekinetic powers and a few other, more peculiar talents. Not only could she move things with her mind, she could also produce anything – from tins of Peking duck to breadfruit, boiled cauliflower and curried spiders.

Mrs Branko liked to wander the shop, encouraging her customers to spend more than they could afford, while her husband remained behind the vast oak counter.

Bogdan Branko often wondered how he had come to marry Natalia Dobinsky. He had forgotten how they had met. He was a small, mild man with a slanting-back sort of face, his receding chin blending into a flat nose, and a wrinkled caved-in forehead that disappeared beneath thin strands of sandy hair. Bogdan had been very surprised when the exotic Natalia had chosen him above all her other suitors. Lately he had begun to wonder if it was because of his appalling memory. If you can’t remember how you came to be married, you’re inclined to blame yourself rather than your wife. You’re also likely to forget all the appalling things she has done.

Beneath Bogdan’s counter were boxes containing everything from size 20 ballroom dresses to fur-lined wellingtons. If a customer asked Mr Branko for anything out of the ordinary, such as a pair of rainbow-striped stilts, Bogdan would delve beneath the counter while Mrs Branko stared at it, from wherever she happened to be in the shop, and the stilts would obligingly materialise within an inch of Mr Branko’s desperately delving hands.

Every Saturday morning the Brankos would receive a visit from their benefactor. In other words, the person who had loaned the Brankos enough money to buy their shop, and who would, every now and again, give them a little more money to refurbish the place with fancy lights, brocade seats and extra shelves.

This Saturday, Natalia was even more restless than usual. The benefactor would be coming to inspect the small café that he had suggested the Brankos should open at the back of the shop. ‘Just a few chairs and tables,’ he said, ‘a good coffee machine and some nice herbal teas; I’ll leave the choice of food entirely to you, Natalia.’ He gave her a knowing wink.

The benefactor also suggested that Mr and Mrs Branko should change the name of their shop. From ‘Fine and Fancy’ to ‘Not the Pets’ Café’.

Natalia and the benefactor seemed to find this suggestion absolutely hilarious, although Mr Branko could see nothing at all to laugh about. However, before he forgot the new name, he managed to telephone a signwriter and today the new sign would be going up.

It was now 8.30 a.m. The shop was due to open at 9.00 a.m. Mrs Branko had instructed the twins, Idith and Inez, to tidy the shelves, and they were now sitting on the counter rearranging the tins telekinetically. The twins didn’t always get on with each other, and today they were both becoming increasingly angry, as tins that Idith had just arranged on the bottom shelf were sent flying up to the top shelf by her twin.

Mr Branko sat in a corner reading his newspaper while, outside, two men on ladders hammered the new sign into place.

At that very moment Charlie’s friend Benjamin Brown was walking down Spectral Street with his dog, Runner Bean. They were heading, in a roundabout way, for the park.

Benjamin lived opposite Charlie in Filbert Street. They had been friends since they were four years old, but Benjamin wasn’t endowed, either magically or in any other way, so he didn’t go to Bloor’s Academy, for which he was truly thankful.

Benjamin was almost at the end of Spectral Street when he saw two men on ladders fixing a sign above a shop door. He stopped to watch the men, and remembered that the shop had once been called ‘Fine and Fancy’. Benjamin read the new sign and his mouth dropped open. He rubbed his eyes, not quite able to believe what he was seeing.

‘“Not the Pets’ Café”?’ he said in a loud and shocked voice. Then he repeated himself in an even louder and even more shocked voice, ‘“NOT THE PETS’ CAFÉ”?’

Runner Bean gave three hearty barks in sympathy.

‘What’s your problem?’ said the man on the left-hand ladder.

‘Not . . . not . . . not . . .’ Benjamin stuttered as he pointed to the sign.

‘Shove off!’ said the other man, hammering the last nail into the sign. ‘You’ll give the place a bad name.’

‘It is a bad name,’ cried Benjamin, and Runner Bean barked in agreement.

‘That dog can read,’ said the first man with a nasty laugh. ‘Not the Pets’ Café! Ha! Ha!’

Both men came down their ladders, folded them up and began to fix them on to their van.

Benjamin stared and stared at the sign, and then he became aware that two girls were glaring at him through the shop window. They had very pale faces and very black hair. One of them stuck her tongue out at Benjamin. This brought on a storm of howling from Runner Bean. A woman appeared in the shop doorway. She looked exactly like the girls, except that she was bigger and a lot older.

‘We don’t open until nine o’clock,’ the woman said coldly. ‘If you want to come in you’ll have to wait. And get rid of the dog.’

‘I don’t want to come in!’ Benjamin backed away. He pointed at the sign. ‘Why does it say “Not the Pets’ Café”?’

‘That’s my business,’ the woman replied.

Benjamin suddenly felt compelled to look at the two girls. There was something very odd about them. He could almost feel the intense concentration in their dark eyes. Runner Bean’s hair was standing up like a brush. Benjamin shook his head and shivered. The girls were staring at one of the ladders and the ladder was sliding off the van. It hovered for a moment and then began to move towards Benjamin.

‘STOP!’ roared the black-haired woman, glaring at the girls in the window. ‘Wrong time.’

The ladder gave a shudder and slid back into place.

The two workmen looked at each other in disbelief. ‘What was that?’ one muttered.

‘Wind,’ snapped Mrs Branko and strode back into her shop.

Benjamin had seen enough. He tore down the street, with Runner Bean bounding and barking beside him. They didn’t stop running until they had reached number nine Filbert Street.

Benjamin leapt up the steps and rang the bell, calling, ‘Charlie! Charlie!’

The door was opened by Maisie. ‘Good heavens, Benjamin Brown, what’s the trouble?’ she asked.

‘There’s another café, Mrs Jones,’ Benjamin said breathlessly. ‘Only it’s Not the Pets’ Café.’

Maisie frowned. ‘There are lots of other cafés, Benjamin, dear,’ she said gently.

‘But not Not the Pets’ Café cafés.’

Maisie didn’t know what to make of this. Benjamin was a nice boy but he sometimes got the wrong end of the stick. ‘I think you need to see Charlie,’ she said. ‘He’s gone round to see Mr Onimous.’

‘The Pets’ Café!’ cried Benjamin. ‘That’s where I should be.’ He jumped down to the pavement and tore up the street with his long-legged dog racing in front of him.

Maisie watched them for a moment, shook her head and closed the door.

‘Who was that?’ a voice called from the sitting room. ‘Was it the post? I’m expecting something.’

‘It wasn’t the post, Grizelda,’ said Maisie.

‘Who then?’ Grandma Bone came into the hall. ‘I hate mysteries.’

‘It’s not a mystery,’ Maisie told her. ‘It was just Benjamin Brown. He was rambling on about a café that wasn’t for pets.’

To Maisie’s surprise Grandma Bone began to laugh. ‘Ha, ha, ha!’ she cackled. ‘That’ll teach them.’

It always worried Maisie when Grandma Bone’s laughter turned spiteful. Perhaps Benjamin wasn’t so deluded after all.

Benjamin and Runner Bean were now racing, side by side, along the High Street. It was still early and there were only a few shoppers about. They turned the corner into Frog Street and came upon a dreadful scene. The Silks’ old van was parked halfway down the narrow alley, and Charlie, Gabriel and Mr Silk were piling boxes and furniture into it. The small yard in front of the café was crammed with chairs, cupboards, tables, boxes and a large iron bedstead. Two woebegone figures sat on the bed: Mr and Mrs Onimous. Mrs Onimous was weeping copiously, while her husband held one of her hands and stared stonily ahead.

‘What’s happened?’ cried Benjamin.

‘Bailiffs,’ shouted Charlie as he and Gabriel lifted a roll of carpet into the van.

‘Bailiffs? But I thought . . .’ Benjamin looked at the Onimouses.

‘Yes, Ben,’ Mr Onimous said bitterly. ‘The bailiffs turn you out if you haven’t paid your rent. But we own the Pets’ Café and we’ve paid our rates. We’ve done nothing to deserve this. Nothing.’

‘So why?’ Benjamin approached Charlie and Gabriel.

‘The council,’ said Charlie. ‘They said the café wasn’t safe for the public. And the Onimouses can’t live here any more because the wall at the back is crumbling.’

‘It isn’t crumbling,’ muttered Mr Silk, throwing an angry glance at the bailiff, a sickly-looking creature with thin, sepia-coloured hair. He was throwing bags from the doorway on to the muddy cobblestones. One of the bags burst open and a pile of socks and stockings rolled out.

Mr Onimous jumped up from the bed and ran across to the bailiff, shouting, ‘Have a care, you cur! Those are our belongings.’

The bailiff sniggered and backed into the darkness of the empty café.

‘He doesn’t look like a bailiff, does he?’ Benjamin remarked.

Charlie had to agree. He had never seen a bailiff before, but he was sure that men who spent their lives moving other people’s furniture should be a bit more robust than the skinny individual who was flinging bags into the alley. His assistant, however, was built like a heavyweight boxer. He wore only a string vest and camouflage trousers and his shoulders were as wide as the table he was now manoeuvring through the door.

‘I’ve got something awful to tell you,’ Benjamin said to Charlie.

‘This is awful,’ said Charlie.

Mr Silk closed the doors at the back of the van and said, ‘I’m sorry, Orvil, we can’t get any more in. I’ll run this lot up to the Heights and come back for the rest.’

‘Oh, let me come.’ Mrs Onimous slid from the bed and ran over to the van. ‘Please, Cyrus. I want to make sure there’s a place for everything in your barn. Are you sure we won’t be an inconvenience?’

‘Not at all, Onoria. Hop in!’ Mr Silk opened the passenger door. ‘And you too, Orvil. There’s room for three at the front. The boys’ll watch your stuff, won’t you, boys?’

‘Course!’ said the boys.

‘It’s very good of you, Cyrus,’ cried Mr Onimous, skipping over to the van. ‘I don’t know how we’ll ever –’

‘Only too glad, Orvil.’ Mr Silk got into the driving seat and slammed the door while Mr Onimous climbed in beside his wife.

All at once, the little man jumped out again and ran over to Charlie. ‘Keep this for me,’ he said, pressing a small gold key into Charlie’s palm. ‘You know what it’s for.’ He winked at Charlie and ran back to the car. Mr Silk hooted once and the van rattled down the alley and into the High Street.

‘What was that all about?’ said Gabriel as Charlie tucked the key into his pocket.

‘It’s for the door into the castle tunnel,’ Charlie said quietly.

Gabriel and Benjamin looked at him as though they expected him to say more.

‘It might come in handy,’ Charlie said with a shrug.

‘Are the Onimouses coming to live with you?’ Benjamin asked Gabriel.

Gabriel nodded. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a squash, and my sisters aren’t too happy about it, because they’ve all got to sleep together. But where else can the poor Onimouses go? We’ve got a nice dry barn for their stuff, and some of it can go in my gerbil house, at a pinch. But we couldn’t take the café chairs and tables. They’ve already been taken away.’

‘I wish I could have the Onimouses living with me,’ Benjamin said wistfully. ‘Mrs Onimous makes lovely pet food.’

Just then the bailiff and his assistant walked out of the café, slamming the door behind them. The bailiff produced a bunch of keys and, carefully selecting one, locked the door. He rubbed his hands together and declared, ‘All done!’

As the two men passed the boys, the one in the string vest said, ‘Looks like rain, boys. Hope this stuff doesn’t get wet!’ He jerked a thumb at the bed. ‘Could be ruined.’

The boys glared at him and then, as the men walked down the alley, Charlie muttered, ‘Thinks he’s so macho in his vest, but I can see goose pimples.’

The vest-man came to a halt and looked back with a snarl on his face. Runner Bean gave one of his famous throaty growls and the man hurried after his companion.

‘This is an awful, awful day,’ moaned Benjamin as soon as the men were out of sight.

‘You can say that again,’ agreed Charlie.

‘I mean worse than awful,’ cried Benjamin, and he told them about the Not the Pets’ Café, the peculiar twins and the floating ladder.

‘The Brankos!’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘So that’s where they live!’

‘Brankos?’ Benjamin looked puzzled.

‘They’re telekinetic,’ Charlie explained. ‘I’m sure I’ve told you about them. They’re forever moving stuff when we’re trying to do homework: books, pencils and things. They knocked a wall down once, and nearly buried me. They’re Manfred’s slaves.’

Benjamin was even more glad that he didn’t have to go to Charlie’s school.

‘I bet Manfred put those Brankos up to it,’ Gabriel grunted. ‘I mean, it’s like a slap in the face, isn’t it, calling it Not the Pets’ Café when he knows the Pets’ Café was our favourite place?’

‘Look!’ Charlie suddenly pointed to the sloping roof of the café. Three bright cats had appeared at the very top; Leo, the orange cat, stood on the apex, the other two perched either side of him.

‘They’ve lost their home,’ Gabriel said sadly.

‘No, they’re wanderers,’ Charlie told him. ‘Their home is everywhere and nowhere. I think they’re guarding the place.’

‘There’s nothing left to guard,’ said Gabriel.

‘There’s the secret tunnel that leads under the wall to the castle,’ Charlie reminded him. ‘And I bet those bailiffs are going to come back later and look for it. The Bloors have always wanted to find it, and now’s their chance. My dad hid something very, very precious, that old Ezekiel wants, and now I’m wondering if Dad hid it at the end of that tunnel.’

Gabriel and Benjamin were now regarding Charlie with very puzzled frowns and Charlie realised he would have to tell them a bit more. ‘There’s a box,’ he went on. ‘My uncle told me about it. He thinks there’s a will in it, a will that proves Billy Raven should have inherited Bloor’s Academy and all the money the Bloors have stashed away.’

‘Wow!’ Benjamin collapsed on to the iron bedstead, causing a great rattling of springs.

Gabriel, however, continued to stare at Charlie with a frown that grew deeper every second.

‘What?’ said Charlie. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘Why did your father hide it in the first place,’ Gabriel asked in a slow, deliberate voice, ‘if he knew there was something so important in it?’

‘He didn’t know,’ Charlie said patiently. ‘The box couldn’t be opened. The key was lost. Before Billy’s father died he asked my dad to look after the box. He didn’t tell him what was in it because he didn’t know. And then my dad was hypnotised, as you very well know, and . . .’ Charlie grimaced; it was hard for him to admit that his father had not completely recovered from his long ordeal, and that his memory had not been entirely restored. It meant that Lyell Bone would never again be the brave young man who had once defied the Bloors. Charlie found that difficult to accept.

‘And what?’ Benjamin gently prodded.

‘And he hasn’t remembered everything that happened before,’ said Charlie. ‘But he will,’ he added confidently, ‘when he comes back from his holiday.’

‘Course he will,’ said Benjamin.

‘But the Bloors don’t want him to remember,’ Gabriel said thoughtfully. ‘Do they, Charlie?’

‘No,’ Charlie admitted.

It took Mr Silk another two journeys to get all the Onimouses’ possessions up to the Heights. Gabriel joined his father on the last trip, and Benjamin and Charlie were left in the deserted alley. They gazed sadly at the silent café, and then walked into the High Street, both hoping desperately that it wouldn’t be long before the Pets’ Café would once again be full of joyfully lapping, munching, chewing, pecking creatures and their equally happy owners.

Benjamin’s parents were private detectives and were often working on a Saturday. But today they were at home and Mrs Brown had promised Benjamin he would have lamp chops and mint sauce for lunch. As soon as they reached Filbert Street, Benjamin ran eagerly towards number twelve, while Runner Bean, who sensed that good bones were soon to be had, raced beside his master.

Charlie had carrot soup and cheese for lunch. Grandma Bone was spending the day with her three sisters, and Uncle Paton had left on yet another mysterious journey.

‘Gathering information, that’s what your uncle said,’ Maisie told Charlie. ‘Are you going over to Benjamin’s after lunch?’

‘Yes,’ Charlie lied, although, at the time, it wasn’t really a lie because he might have gone over to Benjamin’s. It was just that the more he thought about it, the more inclined he became to return to the Pets’ Café.

When he had helped Maisie to wash up, Charlie went to his room and did his homework. At half past three, with a shout of, ‘See you later, Maisie,’ he left the house and made his way back to the empty café. Pressing his face close to the window, he looked for a light that might be showing in the kitchen. But the place was dark and silent. Nothing moved. Charlie now had a burning desire to get into the café, but he had no key and he had seen the bailiff lock the door. He tried it, just in case. The handle turned but the door wouldn’t budge. Charlie told himself that he was being foolish; if anyone intended to search the place, they would probably wait until nightfall. And then he heard footsteps in the alley.

Charlie darted round the side of the café and pressed himself into the corner, where the café wall met the great stone edifice of the old city wall. He heard the clink of keys. The door opened and was closed. Charlie waited breathlessly, and then tiptoed round to the front of the building. He looked through the window, but could see nothing. As quietly as he could, he turned the door handle and pushed. The door opened. Charlie was in.

Footsteps creaked above him. Whoever had entered the café, they were beginning their search upstairs. There was a chance that Charlie could reach the place he wanted before anyone saw him. He crept through the kitchen and into a long passage. The further he went the more dark and narrow it became. Soon the stone floor gave way to an earthen path. Now the brick ceiling was so low that Charlie could touch it with his fingers. Eventually he reached a small circular cavern where Mr Onimous stored food for the café. Crates of apples, along with sacks and tea chests were still piled against the walls. Perhaps this place would never be found, thought Charlie. And yet he didn’t hold out much hope of that. Whoever the Bloors had chosen to search the Pets’ Café, they wouldn’t give up until they had explored every room and every passage. They would move the sacks and crates and eventually they would find the door that Charlie was about to open.

Grunting with the effort, Charlie began to push two heavy tea chests away from the wall until he revealed an ancient door, little more than a metre high. Squeezing himself behind the tea chests, Charlie fitted Mr Onimous’s key into the lock. It turned with a light click and the door creaked open. Behind it lay a darkness so intense Charlie hesitated. He had been in the tunnel twice before, but never alone. It was time for the gift from his Welsh ancestor.

Charlie had inherited two strains of magic. His picture-travelling came from the Red King; his wand from Mathonwy, a Welsh magician. The wand was now a white moth; a moth with such bright wings, she could illuminate the deepest darkness.

‘Claerwen!’ Charlie said softly.

Answering to her name, the white moth crawled from beneath Charlie’s collar, where she had been sleeping. In English the name meant ‘brilliant white’. She was nine hundred years old.

The white moth fluttered into the tunnel and Charlie followed, bending his head as he stepped through the low doorway. Before he went any further, he closed the door, hoping that it would not be seen behind the two tea chests. If he had locked the door, things might have turned out differently. But he forgot.

The tunnel was damp and airless. Several times, Charlie slipped on the wet ground. Claerwen’s light gave the damp walls a misty shine. The tunnel began to curve and twist and Charlie had to put one hand on the wall to keep his balance. Halfway down the tunnel a long fissure appeared in the wall. Charlie squeezed through it and into another tunnel, this one so narrow he had to shuffle sideways. The little moth swinging above gave him courage, and after five long shuffling minutes, Charlie emerged into an astonishing room.