time Charlie’s gone right in – he’s disappeared – vanished.’
Uncle Paton raised his eyes to peer at them over the top of his half-moon spectacles. ‘Vanished?’
‘Yes, Mr Yewbeam. Completely gone,’ said Benjamin, on the edge of tears. ‘There was this painting in your cellar, and Charlie’s grandma, the nice one, asked me to go down and help because Charlie had disappeared. So I went down and Runner Bean followed me, and then he . . . went in, too.’
Uncle Paton frowned. ‘What sort of painting was this, Benjamin?’
‘Horrible,’ said Benjamin. ‘Lots of dark towers and mountains. It had a name at the bottom. Badlock, I think it was.’
‘Badlock!’ Uncle Paton sprang up so rapidly his chair fell over and all the paper fluttered off the desk.
‘Is it a dangerous place?’ Benjamin asked breathlessly.
‘The worst place in the world,’ said Uncle Paton. ‘Though I can’t be certain that it was ever actually in this world.’
Benjamin’s mouth fell open. He gaped at Paton Yewbeam, trying to make sense of what he had said. Even Fidelio was lost for words.
‘No time to lose. Come on, boys.’ Uncle Paton brushed aside the curtain and marched into the shop, quickly followed by Fidelio and Benjamin.
Squirra stew
Julia Ingledew was anxiously watching Ezekiel Bloor as he thumbed through her precious book. She didn’t like to wrest it away from him in case even more damage was done. When he saw Paton Yewbeam, however, the old man looked up.
‘Aha! Paton Yewbeam!’ Ezekiel declared. ‘Thought you didn’t go out in daylight.’
‘I go out when I please,’ Uncle Paton retorted, snatching his fedora from a hat stand in the corner.
‘Hm,’ sniffed the old man as Paton strode to the door. ‘I suppose that’s why this oldey worldey shoppey is so dark. You could do with a bit of electricity in here, Mrs Books.’
Uncle Paton stopped mid-stride, causing Benjamin to walk straight into him. ‘Watch your tongue, Ezekiel Bloor,’ growled Paton.
‘Or else . . .?’ sneered Ezekiel. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of asking this good lady to marry you, Paton. She’d never have you, you know.’ He broke into a fit of cackling.
The boys watched uneasily as both Miss Ingledew and Paton Yewbeam turned very pink. Ezekiel had let go of the book to wipe his mouth and Miss Ingledew took the opportunity to slide the rare book away from him. Mr Weedon pulled it back again.
Recovering his composure, Paton said, ‘Kindly keep your nose out of my business, Mr Bloor.’
‘And you run along about yours.’ Ezekiel waved his wet hand dismissively.
Paton hovered, glaring at the old man. ‘I hope you’re not damaging a rare book.’ He looked at Miss Ingledew. ‘Ju . . . Miss Ingledew, do you want me to . . .?’
‘No, no,’ said Miss Ingledew, still very pink. ‘You go, Pa . . . Mr Yewbeam. I can see it’s urgent.’
‘It is rather.’ Paton was now in an agony of indecision. He clearly wanted to stay and protect Miss Ingledew, but Benjamin was already halfway up the steps, and tugging at his sleeve.
‘I’ll ring you,’ Miss Ingledew picked up her mobile, ‘if anything goes wrong.’
‘You do that.’ Paton gave her a meaningful look and stepped through the door that Benjamin was impatiently holding open.
‘What are you going to do, Mr Yewbeam?’ asked Fidelio, as they sped down the street.
‘It depends what is called for,’ said Paton.
‘Look!’ Benjamin pointed down the street.
Running towards them were two girls: Emma Tolly, in a blue anorak with her blonde hair flying over her face, was struggling with a large basket, while beside her, Olivia Vertigo also carried a basket, this one smaller and obviously easier to hold. Olivia looked quite spectacular in an outsized sweater with STAR picked out in gold sequins on the front. She also wore a sparkly white hat and a gold scarf. Her hair was a deep purple.
‘Mr Yewbeam,’ called Olivia. ‘You’ve got to help.’
‘Please, please, please,’ cried Emma. ‘Something awful has happened.’
The two parties met in the middle of the street.
‘We’re extremely busy, girls.’ Uncle Paton brushed past them and continued on his way.
‘What’s your awful happening?’ asked Benjamin, stopping in spite of himself.
‘The Pets’ Café has been closed,’ wailed Emma. ‘Permanently. It’s awful. We could see Mr Onimous sitting at a table. His head was in his hands. He looked so depressed.’
‘We can deal with that later, Em.’ Fidelio stepped round the girls. ‘Something worse has happened to Charlie.’
‘And Runner Bean,’ Benjamin added. ‘They’ve both gone. Vanished. Utterly disappeared into a painting.’
Emma lowered her basket, from which a loud quacking could be heard. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘We won’t know till we get to Charlie’s house,’ said Fidelio, anxiously watching the departing figure of Uncle Paton.
‘We’ll come!’ Olivia was never one to be left out of things. ‘Let’s leave our pets at the bookshop, Em.’
‘Wouldn’t go in the shop if I were you,’ Fidelio called over his shoulder. ‘Old Mr Bloor is there.’
The two boys ran on while the girls stood making up their minds. Eventually, Emma decided she couldn’t leave her Auntie Julia alone with Mr Bloor. She carried on up the street with her pet duck, Nancy, while Olivia hastened after the boys with her white rabbit, George.
It was a tricky time for Uncle Paton. He had emerged into the High Street, where lights blazed in every shop window. Paton pulled the brim of his black hat well down over his face, trying vainly not to glance at the windows. But today was Saturday and the High Street teemed with shoppers. Leaden clouds had covered the sun and raindrops were beginning to fall, softly at first, and then with a vengeance. Umbrellas were hastily put up and, being so tall, Paton was immediately at risk. ‘Watch it!’ he gasped, as he nearly lost an eye. Leaning sideways, he found himself looking into a window full of prancing mannequins.
‘BANG!’ The plate glass window shattered.
Amid screams of shock and disbelief, Paton hurried on. He failed to notice a red light as he sailed over the crossing, and a blue Volvo almost ran him down. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ called Uncle Paton, glancing at the car’s side-lights. This time the explosion was quieter, a mere pop. The driver didn’t even notice, and Uncle Paton was able to reach the kerb undetected.
Unfortunately, another car, unable to brake fast enough, had crashed into the back of the Volvo. Both drivers leapt out and ugly words rose into the damp air.
Suspecting that Uncle Paton might have something to do with the cracked window, the two boys pushed their way through the crowd and were just in time to see Paton, bent almost double, running away from the scene of his latest ‘accident’. He had nearly reached number nine, Filbert Street, by the time they caught up with him.
‘Was that you, Mr Yewbeam?’ asked Benjamin. ‘The window thing, I mean.’
‘’Fraid