Mr Weedon, the gardener, was trying to shoo children away from the fallen tree.
‘I want to see something by the castle,’ Charlie told Fidelio.
‘You said you didn’t want to go near it,’ his friend reminded him.
‘No, but . . . it’s like I said, I saw something. I want to know if there are any footprints.’
‘OK.’ Fidelio gave a good-natured shrug.
As they ran past the fallen cedar, Billy Raven called out, ‘Where are you going, you two?’
Almost without thinking, Charlie shouted, ‘None of your business.’
The albino scowled and shrank against the dark branches of the tree. His ruby-coloured eyes flashed behind the thick lenses of his glasses.
‘Why did you say that?’ Fidelio asked as they hurried on.
‘I couldn’t help it,’ said Charlie. ‘There’s something wrong with Billy Raven. I don’t trust him.’
They had reached the entrance to the ruined castle. The snow beneath the huge arch was clear and smooth. No one had been in or out of the ruin.
Charlie frowned. ‘I saw it,’ he murmured.
‘Let’s go in,’ said Fidelio.
Charlie hesitated.
‘It doesn’t look so bad in daylight,’ said Fidelio, peering through the arch. He bounded in and Charlie followed. They tramped across a courtyard and took one of the five passages that led deeper into the ruin.
After several minutes of shuffling through the dark, they emerged into another courtyard. That’s where they saw the blood. Or something like it. A few deep red flecks lay in the snow besidea patch of red-gold leaves.
‘The beast!’ cried Charlie. ‘Let’s get out.’
It was only when they were standing safely outside the walls again that Fidelio said, ‘It might not have been the beast.’
‘There was blood,’ said Charlie. ‘And it was the beast. It’s killed something. Or wounded it.’
‘But there were no other marks, Charlie. No sign of a fight, or footprints . . . or . . .’
Charlie didn’t wait to hear the rest of his friend’s very reasonable doubts. He raced away from the ruin as if he were re-living the long night when a yellow-eyed beast had chased him through the endless passages and cold echoing chambers. When he reached the fallen tree, he waited for Fidelio to catch up with him.
‘Clear off, you!’ said a deep voice behind him.
Already nervous, Charlie jumped and swung round. Mr Weedon’s red face appeared through the mesh of broken branches. He was wearing a shiny black helmet and Charlie caught the glint of a saw, held in the big man’s black gauntlet.
‘This tree’s dangerous,’ said Mr Weedon. ‘I’ve told you kids not to play here.’
‘I wasn’t playing,’ said Charlie. Fidelio had caught up with him and he felt a little more confident.
‘Oh, no. Not you, Charlie Bone. You never play, do ya? A very serious boy, aren’t cha?’
‘You don’t know anything about me,’ Charlie said angrily. ‘You can’t . . .’
There was a loud roar followed by a grinding noise as Mr Weedon made his way through the tangle of branches towards Charlie. Twigs flew in all directions as the saw bit through wood and foliage.
‘Come on!’ Fidelio pulled at Charlie’s cape. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘That man’s dangerous,’ Charlie muttered as they ran away from the tree. ‘How does he know who I am?’
‘You’re famous,’ said Fidelio breathlessly. They were now far enough from Mr Weedon to take a rest. ‘Getting lost in that old ruin last term was quite an event. Everyone knows who you are.’
Charlie wished it wasn’t so.
The sound of a hunting horn rang out across the grounds, a signal for the end of break.
The temperature was still falling. After supper, the twelve endowed children went, as usual, to the King’s room, to do their homework. It was there that a very nasty row broke out between two great friends: Tancred Torsson and Lysander, the African.
Lysander was feeling the cold more than most, but being a good-humoured person his complaints were made in a friendly, almost jokey, way. What he actually said to Tancred was, ‘Tanc, what have you done to the weather?’
‘Not you too!’ Tancred jumped up and stamped his foot. ‘I can’t change the temperature. Storms are my thing, but I don’t use my talent frivolously. I thought that you, of all people, would know better.’
Before Lysander could reply, Manfred Bloor spoke up. ‘Come on, Tancred! Spare a thought for our African friend here. You’re freezing him to death.’
‘I’m not!’ screeched Tancred, tearing at his crackling hair.
‘He’s only joking, Tanc,’ said Lysander with a smile.
By this time some of the children were beginning to feel uncomfortable. Charlie was particularly concerned. Lysander and Tancred had saved him from the ruin. Together they were a powerful force against the darker powers that lurked in Bloor’s Academy. He couldn’t bear to see them quarrelling.
‘Are you on his side now?’ Tancred demanded, glaring at his old ally.
‘Everyone’s on my side,’ sniggered Manfred.
Lysander silently shook his head, but unfortunately Zelda Dobinski chose that moment to show off her particularly nasty gift for moving things. She was staring at a huge reference book on the shelves behind Tancred. The book launched itself across the room and caught Tancred in the back just as he whirled towards the door.
‘Owww!’ roared Tancred.
Six children burst into wild laughter, while five looked on in horror.
Tancred didn’t notice the sympathetic faces. He was only aware of the mocking laughter. Wind rushed furiously round the room as the stormy boy swept through the door, leaving it banging violently against the wall.
Charlie couldn’t stop himself. ‘Wait!’ he cried, leaping after Tancred.
‘And where do you think you’re going, Bone?’ said Manfred.
‘I’ve left my pens in the cloakroom,’ lied Charlie.
A scrawny, red-haired boy looked up and sneered, ‘Always forgetting things, aren’t you, Bone?’
‘Not always, Asa.’ Charlie was scared of Asa Pike. He was Manfred’s sidekick and could change his shape at dusk.
‘Close the door,’ said Asa, as Charlie stepped outside.
Charlie pulled the door shut behind him. The passage outside was deserted. Charlie decided to try the hall.
As he descended the wide staircase, a blast of arctic air almost rocked him off his feet. He stepped down into the stone-flagged hall and stood very still. Something was happening to his eyes. He was seeing things that should not be there. A cloud of sparkling particles swirled in the very centre of the long room. Was it an ice storm?
Gradually the pale fragments grew more vivid. Now they were forming a blurred shape, blue with a touch of black beneath it. Before Charlie’s astonished gaze, a figure in a blue hooded cape was materialising.
Charlie had no doubt that he was seeing a ghost. But when the figure turned to face him, he found, to his horror, that he was looking at . . . himself?
Hiding Henry
It was the other Charlie who spoke first.
‘What