Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors. Jenny Nimmo

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СКАЧАТЬ (Blessed was extremely stout), but Billy quickly put him right.

      ‘He’s upset,’ said Billy, who was trying to pack a battered-looking case. ‘Partly because I’m being adopted, but mostly because he saw a terrible thing happen.’

      ‘Oh?’ Charlie sank on to the bed next to Billy’s. ‘What did he see?’

      Billy glanced at Blessed, who gave a small grunting sort of whine.

      ‘It’s difficult to explain. I keep thinking I’ve got it wrong and he means something different, but then he says, “True! True! Horse fly through wall.”’

      ‘What?’ Charlie’s eyebrows shot up.

      Billy stopped packing and sat on his bed. ‘He says he was at the top of the house in a long, long room. Manfred was there, and old Mr Ezekiel, and your three great-aunts, Charlie. He says there were things on a table: fur and metal things and – very, very old bones.’

      Charlie’s scalp tingled. ‘What sort of bones?’

      ‘Horse bones.’

      Blessed gave a sudden, throaty growl.

      ‘He said that the bones turned into a horse.’ Billy spoke very slowly, as though he were waiting for Charlie to stop him. But Charlie just listened, open-mouthed.

      ‘Two of your great-aunts did things to the stuff on the table,’ went on Billy, ‘and Mr Ezekiel had a tin that made sparks. There was a bang and a lot of smoke and a horse jumped off the table and crashed through the wall.’

      ‘What the hell are they up to? I didn’t know my aunts could do stuff like that.’

      ‘There were four of them, remember? Manfred and Mr Ezekiel as well. Perhaps that made their power stronger.’ Billy frowned and shook his head. ‘It must have been the horse that I saw in the sky.’

      Charlie realised that this strange spell explained a great deal: the pictures on Manfred’s desk, for instance, the ghostly presence in the garden, and the hoofbeats Charlie had heard in the courtyard. ‘But what’s the purpose of it all?’ he muttered.

      Billy shrugged. ‘Perhaps we’ll never know.’

      ‘Oh, I think we will. In fact, you can bet your life on it.’

      ‘If I could see the horse, I could talk to it,’ said Billy.

      ‘Maybe you could talk to it anyway,’ Charlie suggested.

      Billy stared at Charlie through the thick round lenses of his spectacles. ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. He jumped down from the bed and resumed his packing. The small pile of clothes laid out on the bed only half filled the large suitcase.

      ‘I haven’t got any more. That’s it.’ Billy closed the suitcase and heaved it on to the floor.

      ‘Nothing else?’ Charlie was concerned. Where were Billy’s toys, books, games, trainers, weekend clothes? At home the cupboard in Charlie’s room was packed with stuff. Was this all that Billy owned in the world?

      ‘There is something else.’ Billy pulled a plastic bag from his bedside cabinet and emptied it on the bed. As well as the five small books that Cook had given him, there was a pack of cards, a small one-eared bear, and something wrapped in yellowing tissue paper.

      ‘The Bloors usually give me food for presents,’ said Billy, carefully unfolding the tissue paper, ‘so most of my possessions have been eaten.’ He gave a sheepish grin. ‘But I kept these.’ He peeled back the last piece of tissue, revealing four white candles. ‘I found them in my aunt’s cupboard before I was sent to Bloor’s. Her dog told me they came with a birthday cake, but she never put them on the cake, and I never knew who sent it to me.’

      Charlie stared at the four candles lying in Billy’s hand. Each one looked as though it had been made from a coiled feather. The delicate wax filaments curved round the candles in spirals that made them appear mysterious and magical.

      ‘I never lit them,’ said Billy softly.

      ‘I can see that.’ Charlie screwed up his eyes and bent closer to the candles. ‘I wonder who sent them.’

      ‘I wish I knew.’ Billy carefully folded the candles into the tissue paper and slipped them in his pocket.

      It was just as well that he did, because the next minute, Lucretia Yewbeam marched into the dormitory and began to examine Billy’s packing.

      ‘This is a mess,’ she said, throwing everything out on to the floor. ‘Fold your clothes properly, Billy Raven. Your new parents won’t accept slipshod packing.’

      ‘Who are Billy’s new parents?’ asked Charlie.

      ‘None of your business,’ snapped his great-aunt.

      ‘But it is Billy’s business,’ argued Charlie. ‘He only knows their name, not where they’re from, or if they’ve got a family, or if they live . . .’

      ‘You don’t need to know these things,’ said the Matron. ‘Billy will know soon enough. Now brush your hair before supper, boy. You look as though you’ve just crawled out of bed.’

      Charlie gave a grunt of disgust. Trust Lucretia Yewbeam to mention his hair. She’d probably guessed that he’d forgotten to pack his hairbrush.

      When the matron had gone, Charlie helped Billy to repack his suitcase. Not that it looked any neater the second time around.

      ‘It’ll have to do,’ said Billy cheerfully. ‘Just think, I’ve got a home to go to!’

      Charlie wondered if the small boy was as happy as he sounded. That night Billy thrashed about in his sheets. Starting a new life with unknown parents was not exactly any everyday occurrence.

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