called Otus. ‘I was sleeping.’ One step took him to the door, which he unlocked, with much sighing and rattling.
A crowd of squat, ugly beings rushed in and surrounded the giant. They wore metal breast-plates over their patched leather jerkins, and strapped to their heads were tall helmets like metal top hats. Axes, knives, catapults and cudgels hung from their belts, though some had bows slung over their backs, and quivers bursting with shiny arrows. Most came well below the giant’s waist, but there was one, somewhat larger than the others, who looked familiar to Charlie. Couldn’t be the same carved stone troll that had once sat outside Great Aunt Venetia’s gloomy house?
‘Why did you lock the door against us?’ this larger being demanded.
‘Not against you, Oddthumb,’ said the giant, ‘against durgles.’
‘Durgles!’ spat Oddthumb.
‘Durgles are very destructive,’ said Otus. ‘Many a day they have eaten my bread whilst I slept.’
‘Liar,’ said Oddthumb. ‘A durgle can no more unlock a door than a diddycock. You have got him, I know it.’
‘Who?’ Otus enquired in a mild tone.
‘The boy,’ snarled one of the smaller beings. ‘He’s here. The Watch see’d him a’coming from far off. Caught he was, by the Count’s guile.’
‘Enchanted,’ said the being beside him.
‘Spell-brought,’ chorused the others.
There was a loud creak as Otus lowered himself on to his bed. He was now out of Charlie’s sight, though he could still see a long leather-bound foot.
‘Respected soldiers, I have seen no boy,’ said Otus. ‘Search this room if you must.’
‘We will,’ grunted Oddthumb. ‘Up, giant!’
Otus had barely risen from the bed, when Oddthumb and his crew had pushed it over. They slashed at the blankets, battered the straw mattress, tore off a cupboard door, turned over a thin rush mat, poked up the chimney, pulled charred wood from the fire, and hacked at the floorboards. The frenzied attack lasted no more than ten minutes and, from his hiding place, Charlie saw a growing pile of ash and straw, broken pottery and chunks of bread.
‘Squirras!’ cried one of the soldiers suddenly.
Charlie couldn’t see what he had found. It must have been on the far side of the room.
‘Greedy, greedy,’ said Oddthumb. ‘Six squirras for your brekfass, Otus?’
‘I’m a giant,’ sighed Otus.
‘We’ll leave one – the smallest,’ Oddthumb said spitefully.
‘I thank you,’ said Otus.
A soldier with a warty face came and stood directly under Charlie’s spyhole. ‘No boy here, General,’ he said. ‘In forest maybe?’
‘No boy, eh? No boy.’ Oddthumb paced across the room. He stopped beside Wart-face and looked up.
Charlie found himself staring into a stoney grey eye. He dared not blink. He dared not breathe. His own eye began to ache as he held it wide open and unmoving. Could Oddthumb see him? Did he sense Charlie’s presence, lying above? An urge to sneeze overcame Charlie. He pressed his lips together, brought his fingers slowly up to his face and clamped them over his nose.
‘Dreaded creatures up there,’ whispered Wart-face. ‘Blancavamps maybe. Let us leave here, General.’
‘Blancavamps?’ Oddthumb stroked his chin with a grotesque thumb, as big as his hand. ‘Have you got blancavamps, Otus?’
Charlie had difficulty in stifling a gasp.
‘Sadly,’ said the giant. ‘They steal my sleep.’
Oddthumb threw back his head and gave a hideous burbling chuckle. In a second the room was filled with gurgling laughter, as the soldiers echoed their general. The dreadful sound stopped abruptly the moment Oddthumb closed his mouth. Without another word, the general marched out, followed by his troops.
Charlie listened to the stamp of heavy feet receding down the steps. A door at the foot of the tower clanged shut and the soldiers began to march down the street. Charlie waited breathlessly. He dared not move for fear one of the soldiers remained in the room below. He could hear Otus settling his room to rights after the rough intrusion.
Long after the footsteps had faded, the giant came and grinned up at Charlie. ‘You are safe, boy. Be not afeared, I will get you down.’
‘Thanks,’ Charlie said huskily.
The giant pushed back the panel, saying, ‘Step on to my shoulders.’ He held up his arms and Charlie thrust his legs through the hole. Otus gently lifted him down and set him on the bed.
Charlie wriggled his aching shoulders and rubbed his arms. ‘I’m not sure how I got here,’ he said.
The giant pulled his chair up to the bed and sat down. Putting his head on one side, he regarded Charlie quizzically. ‘Your name?’ he asked.
‘Charlie Bone, sir.’
‘You are a traveller?’
‘I . . . yes, I am sometimes. I can travel into photos and paintings.’ Observing the giant’s puzzled frown, Charlie added quickly, ‘Photos are a bit difficult to explain, but I expect you know what a painting is.’ The giant nodded. ‘Anyhow, this time it was different, my travelling, I mean. This time a painting has . . . kind of . . . captured me.’
‘Mm.’ The giant nodded again. ‘My wife had a mirror that took her a-travelling.’
‘A mirror?’ Charlie said excitedly. ‘My ancestor, Amoret, had a mirror. It caused a bit of trouble. Someone wanted it . . . an enchanter.’
‘Amoret was my wife!’ The giant clutched Charlie’s hand in his huge fist. ‘My name is Otus Yewbeam.’
‘Then . . . you’re my ancestor, too.’ Charlie’s gaze slid over the giant’s long frame, from the crown of his head to the tip of his long foot. ‘Maybe I’ll grow a bit.’
The giant smiled. ‘I was this high when I was a boy.’ He held his hand about six feet from the ground.
‘Oh,’ said Charlie, a little sadly.
‘What is your century?’ asked Otus.
‘Um . . . twenty-first,’ said Charlie, after a bit of thought.
‘There are nine hundred years between us.’
Charlie frowned. ‘I don’t get it. I’ve never, ever come into the past this way. I was just looking at a painting; I saw mountains and towers, but no people, and then, suddenly, it was all around me.’
‘He is powerful,’ Otus said gravely. ‘He wanted you in Badlock.’
‘Who?’
‘Count, enchanter, shadow of Badlock; he has many names. He brought me here as a captive, twenty years ago, when my wife fled to her brother’s castle.’ The giant’s large eyes clouded for a moment, and he looked up at the fading light in the window. ‘He wanted Amoret. He wanted all the Red King’s children. Five he won easily, they already walked the path of wickedness. The others – Amadis, Amoret, Guanhamara, Petrello and Tolemeo – they fled the evil. It was Tolemeo who rescued my son, Roland, and for that the shadow punished me. His soldiers relish torture. Now they let me bide in peace. I am forgotten, almost.’
Charlie reminded the giant that, today, the soldiers had not let him bide in peace. ‘I’ve put you in danger,’ he said. ‘If they catch me . . .?’
‘No,’ the giant leaned forward earnestly. ‘They will not catch you.’ He got up and strode over to