Charlie Bone and the Red Knight. Jenny Nimmo

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      A family tree

      Tancred got to his feet. Had he known it was Charlie’s Uncle Paton standing there in the dark, he wouldn’t have taken fright. He brushed the knees of his jeans, feeling rather foolish. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said.

      ‘On the contrary, Tancred,’ Paton said in a low voice, ‘it is I who must apologise. My wretched affliction compels me to walk in the shadows. I’m afraid I’ve already distressed at least three other people tonight.’

      ‘There’s a man with a sword . . . a sword that . . .’ Tancred hesitated, unsure how to describe the scene that had so unnerved him.

      ‘I know, I saw him too,’ said Paton, ‘and the knight.’

      ‘I didn’t know where to go, what to –’

      ‘Come with me.’ Paton took Tancred’s arm and hurried him away from Frog Street. ‘I was on my way to the bookshop. We can discuss things there. Hurry! And tread softly if you can.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      They walked together down the High Street, their footsteps light and brisk. Every so often Paton would stop and hold Tancred still so that he could listen for any following sounds. But there were none. And yet something accompanied them. A hoarse whisper seemed to echo down the street, a faint groan came from a shifting manhole cover, and there was a soft whine in the air above them, either from overhead cables or TV aerials. And then there was the smell, strong and salty, that clung to their hair and faces.

      ‘The father of the boy who tried to drown you is here,’ murmured Paton.

      ‘I know. I can taste him,’ Tancred said.

      They reached a row of ancient half-timbered buildings standing in the shadow of the great cathedral. Ingledew’s Bookshop was one of a dozen small, rather exclusive shops on a paved walk that ran beside the cathedral square. There was a lamp post standing immediately outside the window, but the lamp at the top was unlit. The council had given up replacing the bulb as it exploded so frequently. The councillors were all aware of Paton Yewbeam’s unfortunate talent, and guessed that he was responsible for the power surges. But none of them could bring themselves to mention it, for fear of being ridiculed. They pretended to believe that the constant shattering of glass was caused by hooligans.

      Soft candlelight illuminated the bookshop window, where large, leather-bound books lay on folded velvet. Paton rang the bell and a tall woman appeared so quickly behind the glass in the door it seemed likely that she had been waiting for him. She withdrew the bolts, unlocked the door and opened it, saying, ‘Paton, come in.’

      There was tenderness in the woman’s voice, and the sort of intimacy that made Tancred feel a little uncomfortable. And then she saw him and uttered a little gasp of surprise.

      ‘Julia, it’s Tancred,’ Paton reassured her. ‘I thought it best to bring him here.’

      ‘Sorry, Miss Ingledew,’ Tancred mumbled. ‘Hope I’m not intruding.’

      ‘Of course not.’ She gave him a warm smile and walked down the three steps into her shop.

      Tancred followed her while Paton locked and bolted the door again. Miss Ingledew led the way round the shop counter, where three candles in bronze saucers burned with a sudden brightness as the visitors stirred the air.

      Behind the counter, a thick velvet curtain hid Miss Ingledew’s cosy sitting room. Here, a log fire burned in the grate, and shelves of books lined the walls right up to the ceiling. Tancred was surprised to see Miss Ingledew’s niece, Emma, kneeling before the fire. She had her back to him, while she brushed her pale gold hair over her head. Tancred gave a polite cough and said, ‘Em?’

      The girl tossed back her long hair and stared at Tancred, her cheeks reddening.

      ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’ve . . . erm . . . got a cold, or a sore throat that might soon be a cold. So I didn’t go back to school.’

      ‘Me neither.’ Tancred grinned.

      ‘Well, you can’t go back, can you?’ Emma wrapped a hank of hair around her hand. ‘I mean you can’t ever, now they think you’re dead.’

      Paton and Miss Ingledew had disappeared through the door into the kitchen, and the clink of crockery could be heard above the low murmur of their voices.

      Tancred eased himself on to the sofa behind Emma. ‘I suppose I could turn up and give everyone a fright,’ he said.

      ‘Not a good idea.’ Emma came to sit beside him, and he noticed that her hair was still damp. It was very fine, silky hair and he had a sudden urge to touch it. This thought made him blush for some reason, and he stared into the flames, not quite knowing how to continue the conversation.

      Miss Ingledew saved him the trouble by carrying a tray of tea into the room. She set it down on her desk, every other available surface having been taken over by books and candlesticks.

      ‘I’ve told Julia about the things you saw tonight.’ Paton handed Tancred a mug of tea.

      ‘Thanks, Mr Yewbeam!’ Tancred clutched the warm mug. ‘But you saw them too,’ he added anxiously. ‘You know I didn’t imagine it.’