his socks and his small leather boots.
With light sparkling on their silver whiskers and bright fur-tips, the cats led the way down the dark passages and narrow steps, while James hurried after them. At last he came to the wide staircase leading down into the hall. Here the cats’ worried mewing became loud and urgent, and James hesitated before he descended into the vast moonlit room.
Henry was not there. His marbles lay scattered on the stone floor, winking in the bright frosted light from the windows. As James moved slowly down the stairs, the cats ran before him, wailing and growling.
James reached the bottom step and walked to the chalked circle. He could see that Henry had been playing Ring Taw, his favourite game.
‘Henry!’ James called. ‘Henry, where have you gone?’
Never had a place appeared so vast and empty to small James Yewbeam. Never had his brother’s absence seemed so utterly complete. He wouldn’t try to call again. It was quite clear that Henry was gone. And he hadn’t even said goodbye.
Before the tears could fall again, the three cats pounced into the white circle, drawing the boy’s attention to four words chalked on the floor. A message? If only James could read. Henry had been patiently trying to teach him for weeks but, so far, James hadn’t managed a single word.
Perhaps he hadn’t really tried. Now, when it was a serious matter . . .
‘S . . . s . . . s . . .’ murmured James as the cats paced along the row of letters.
Next came an ‘o’ and then two ‘r’s, and further on his own name. And all at once James found he could understand the words his brother had left for him.
‘SORRY, JAMES,’ he read, ‘THE MARBLES . . .’ There the message ended.
Obviously Henry wanted his brother to keep the marbles safe for him. James picked up the leather bag but before he could reach the blue taw, the orange cat tapped it playfully and it sped across the hall. The yellow cat raced after it while the copper cat swept another three marbles out of the ring.
Now the great hall was alive with the sound of clinking glass and joyful purring. James was surrounded by dancing, glistening spheres of colour. The cats were playing a game and, as he watched them, a big smile broke over the boy’s face.
‘Stay with me,’ James begged the cats.
The cats would stay. For as long as he was in that cold, dreary building, they would keep James Yewbeam as warm and safe as any small boy had a right to expect.
Grandma slams a door
Winter held the city in an iron fist. Roofs, trees, chimneys and even things that moved, were covered in a thick crust of frozen snow.
Charlie Bone had been looking forward to an extra day of Christmas holiday. The new term surely couldn’t start in this weather? But Grandma Bone had dashed his hopes.
‘No shirking for you,’ she said in her usual sneering way. ‘Bloor’s Academy opens come rain, wind or snow. The snowploughs have cleared the main road, and the school bus will stop at the top of Filbert Street on Monday morning at eight o’clock sharp.’ Her lips made a nasty backfiring noise as she said the last word.
Charlie was a weekly boarder at Bloor’s Academy and on Sunday nights he had to pack a bag for five days away from home. On this particular Sunday, Charlie was paying more attention to the snowflakes brushing his window than his packing.
‘Pyjamas, toothbrush, pants,’ Charlie muttered to himself. ‘Socks, clean shirts . . .’ He scratched his head. He was supposed to wear a blue cape to school but he hated putting it on before he got to the academy. The other children in Filbert Street sniggered at him. Bloor’s was a rather unusual school. Only children who were talented in music, art or drama could get in. Charlie had none of these talents. He was one of the twelve endowed children who were there because of unique other gifts. In his case, it was a gift he often thought he would rather be without. He could hear photographs, or rather the people in them. As soon as Grandma Bone and her three nasty sisters found out they had packed him off to Bloor’s. Theirs was a family of clairvoyants, hypnotisers, werewolves, witches and worse. They were descended from a mysterious red king, a magician of amazing powers and, like all endowed children, Charlie must be watched, his talent nurtured.
The doorbell rang and Charlie ran downstairs, eager to escape the dreary packing. As soon as he opened the door, his friend Benjamin’s dog, Runner Bean, pushed past Charlie and began to shake wet snow off his back. His feathery tail sent sprays of water flying across the hall, straight into the path of Charlie’s other grandma, Maisie Jones.
‘You’d better dry that dog in here,’ said Maisie cheerfully, as she stepped back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll fetch his towel.’ She kept a special towel for Runner Bean, who was a frequent visitor.
The big yellow dog bounded after her while Charlie took Benjamin’s coat and hung it on the hall stand.
‘Are you on for building a snowman tomorrow?’ Benjamin asked Charlie. ‘Our school definitely won’t open.’
‘Mine will,’ said Charlie gloomily. ‘Sorry, Ben.’
‘Aw!’ Benjamin’s face fell. He was a small straw-haired boy with a permanently anxious expression. ‘Couldn’t you pretend to be ill or something?’
‘No chance,’ said Charlie. ‘You know what Grandma and the aunts are like.’
Benjamin knew only too well. Charlie’s aunt, Eustacia, had once been Benjamin’s minder. It was the worst two days of his life: disgusting food, early bedtimes and no dogs in bedrooms. Benjamin shuddered at the memory. ‘OK,’ he said sadly. ‘I guess I can make a snowman on my own.’
A door opened on the landing above them and a voice called out, ‘Is that you, Benjamin Brown? I can smell dog.’
‘Yes, it’s me, Mrs Bone,’ said Benjamin with a sigh.
Grandma Bone appeared at the top of the stairs. Dressed all in black and with her white hair piled high on her head, she looked more like the wicked queen from a legend than someone’s grandmother.
‘I hope you don’t intend to stay more than ten minutes,’ said Grandma Bone. ‘Charlie has to have an early night. It’s school tomorrow.’
‘Mum says I can have another hour,’ Charlie shouted up to his grandmother.
‘Oh? Oh, well, if that’s the case, why should I bother to take an interest in your welfare. I’m clearly wasting my time.’ Grandma Bone swept back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
Whether it was this door-slamming or a minor earth tremor, Charlie would never know, but something caused a small picture to fall from its hook in the hall.
Charlie had never studied the faded old photographs that adorned the walls of the dark hallway. In fact, since he had discovered his unwelcome talent, he had positively avoided them; he didn’t want to hear what a group of crusty-looking forebears had to say.
‘Well!’ exclaimed Benjamin. ‘How did that happen?’
Charlie realised this was a photograph he wouldn’t be able to avoid. As he picked it up and turned it over, he felt a strange fluttering
