Charlie Bone and the Red Knight. Jenny Nimmo

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СКАЧАТЬ this mirror was made by the Red King for his daughter Amoret. It is nine hundred years old.’

      ‘And is an aid to travel,’ Lord Grimwald interrupted in a bored tone. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of it.’

      ‘Much more than an aid,’ Mrs Tilpin said indignantly. ‘I have only just begun to understand its many properties. Formerly I have used it to bring my ancestor, the enchanter Count Harken, into the city. He was eventually driven back into his own world – I won’t go into detail – but I have hopes that he can return again. Now, I have something to show you all.’ She turned and, tossing back her sequinned cloak, held the mirror so that its radiant light was beamed on the wall behind her.

      A glowing circle appeared on the wall. It grew to the size of a small table. And then, within the circle, the fuzzy contours of plants and trees appeared. As a green jungle came into focus, a boy could be seen, wandering through the trees with a tiger at his side. The boy had snow-white hair and thick-lensed spectacles. Unfortunately a jagged line ran diagonally across the scene, cutting it in two.

      ‘Your mirror is flawed,’ Lord Grimwald observed.

      ‘Charlie Bone did it,’ snapped Mrs Tilpin. ‘Infernal boy. I had a promise from Ezekiel here that he would help to mend it. But, so far, his promises have come to nothing.’

      ‘I am old, Titania,’ Ezekiel protested. ‘My magic is waning and I must conserve my strength. I told you to consult Dorcas Loom. She can do it, I am certain.’

      ‘It is of no consequence,’ Lord Grimwald said with a yawn. ‘We can see the boy well enough. Continue, Mrs Tilpin.’

      ‘Of no consequence!’ Mrs Tilpin glared at Lord Grimwald. She shook her shoulders like a hen ruffling her feathers and the black cape sparkled. ‘My mirror is of great consequence.’

      ‘Of course, of course, Titania,’ said the headmaster. ‘Tell us more – our audience is waiting.’

      With a defiant look at Lord Grimwald, Mrs Tilpin pointed to the white-haired boy. ‘Billy Raven,’ she said, ‘and a tiger that is not a tiger – an illusion conjured up by the enchanter to entertain the boy.’

      Ezekiel gave a sudden cackle. ‘How delicious to see the little wretch trapped in Badlock, never to return. Never to claim his inheritance. There’s a will, you see, my friends.’ He wheeled himself to the front of the stage and addressed the audience directly. ‘That’s where you come in. The document is signed by my great-grandfather, Septimus Bloor. It leaves all his land, his treasures and even this house, to his oldest daughter, Maybelle, and her heirs. Her only remaining descendant is Billy Raven,’ Ezekiel turned his chair and pointed to the wall, ‘still strolling through the enchanted jungle. Billy is unaware, you see, and only I know the truth because it was told to me by my great-aunt Beatrice, a witch, who poisoned Maybelle and forged a false will leaving everything to my side of the family. But the real will still exists.’ Ezekiel banged the arm of his wheelchair with surprising vigour. ‘And I believe that Lyell Bone, father of Charlie, has hidden it.’

      At this point Manfred stood up and, leaning over the table, declared, ‘It must never be found by anyone outside this room. Do you understand?’

      A low murmur broke out. There were enthusiastic nods and cries of, ‘Never!’ and ‘We’ll see to it!’

      ‘See to it you must,’ said Manfred, his dark, hypnotic gaze travelling over the assembled villains. ‘Find it you must. Destroy it we must. Lyell Bone is at sea, hopefully never to return.’ He glanced at Lord Grimwald. ‘But he might have passed a hint, a clue to his son Charlie. We will deal with the boy. You must find the will.’

      ‘Carefully, mind,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘Nothing violent. We don’t want to cause suspicion or alert the law. The Pets’ Café is a good place to start. Councillor Loom and Norton Cross,’ he looked at Norton in the front row and Norton gave a nod, ‘they have helped us to close the place. Once the owners are evicted you can search the café. There may be a tunnel that leads to the castle ruins. Find it! Investigate!’

      ‘I’ll do it,’ said Amos the arsonist.

      ‘And me,’ called the man in the string vest. ‘I’m very nimble, me.’

      ‘Don’t cause suspicion,’ warned Dr Bloor.

      ‘Rewards?’ piped up Dolores, tossing her red ringlets. ‘What do we get for helping you?’

      ‘Money,’ said Ezekiel. ‘Lots of it. What else would you want?’

      ‘Money’ll do,’ said Dolores. ‘Ten thousand if I find the will.’

      Ezekiel scratched his long nose, wondering if he could eventually go back on his word. ‘Ten thousand,’ he agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

      ‘A thousand for trying!’ demanded a white-haired man in a purple suit; an illusionist by the name of Wilfred Coalpaw.

      Dr Bloor shook his head. ‘Just for trying? It’s rather –’

      ‘Agreed!’ cried Ezekiel, who had decided that going back on his word wouldn’t be too difficult. ‘A thousand for each of you. There’ll be plenty to go round if we find where Septimus hid the rest of his treasure. You can go now.’ He waved his hand dismissively.

      There was a great deal of scraping, stamping and shuffling as the audience rose from their seats and made for the door. A few of them cast curious glances at the white cube. A sound came from it. Waves perhaps. There was the faint rustle of a tide rolling on to a stony shore.

      ‘By the way,’ called Manfred, as though to distract them, ‘Ingledew’s Bookshop. Keep an eye on it. Get in there if you can. Old tomes make good hiding places.’

      The guests murmured among themselves and left the room.

      Six people remained sitting in the front row: Grizelda Bone and her three sisters on one side of the aisle, Norton Cross and the swordsman on the other.

      ‘Bring us some tea!’ Dr Bloor demanded when Weedon poked his head round the door.

      ‘And biscuits,’ added Ezekiel. ‘And cake!’

      ‘For all of you?’ asked Weedon, counting heads.

      ‘All,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘Eleven, to be precise.’

      With a bad-tempered mutter, Weedon withdrew his head and closed the doors.

      ‘At last, the elite.’ Ezekiel beamed down at his six remaining guests. ‘Now we can discuss things more . . . comprehensively. Ashkelan Kapaldi, welcome!’

      The swordsman stood and bowed deeply, first to the stage and then to Grandma Bone and her three sisters. He was a very colourful figure with his wide lace collar and emerald-green tunic, embroidered with gold. His cuffs were made of lace too, and his breeches were green velvet. Wide leather boots reached almost to his thighs, and a scarlet cummerbund encircled his waist. A broad leather belt hung diagonally across his chest from his shoulder to below his waist, and attached to this was a dark green scabbard.

      ‘In the seventeenth century,’ Ezekiel announced, ‘Ashkelan Kapaldi was the greatest swordsman in Europe.’

      ‘Swordsman?’ СКАЧАТЬ