his chin. ‘My poor father. Suddenly, he was an only child. He idolised his brother.’
‘Vanished,’ murmured Charlie.
‘My father always suspected his cousin, Ezekiel, had something to do with it. He was jealous of Henry. Ezekiel was a rotten magician, but Henry was just naturally clever.’
‘Is that the Ezekiel who’s . . . ?’
‘Yes. Dr Bloor’s grandfather. He’s still there, festering away somewhere in the academy, surrounded by gas lamps and bad magic.’
‘Wow! So he’s about a hundred years old.’
‘At least,’ said Paton. He leaned forward. ‘Tell me, Charlie, these voices you hear, do they ever say anything that isn’t directly connected to that moment in time when they were being photographed?’
‘Erm, no,’ said Charlie. ‘Not yet. I don’t like looking at them for too long.’
‘Mm, pity,’ said Paton. ‘Could be interesting. Here you are then.’ He held out the photograph.
‘No thanks,’ said Charlie. ‘You keep it.’
Paton looked disappointed. ‘My father would be so happy to know a little more.’
‘Is he still alive, then?’ Charlie was surprised. He’d never seen his great-grandfather. In fact, he’d never heard anyone speak of him.
‘He’s a grand old fellow,’ said Paton. ‘He’s in his nineties now, but he still lives in that very same cottage by the sea.’ He tapped the photograph. ‘I visit him every month. If I start at midnight I can be there before sun-up.’
‘What about Grandma and the aunts. They’re his daughters, aren’t they?’
Uncle Paton made one of his here-comes-a-bit-of-scandal expressions. His thin lips compressed and his long black eyebrows arched up towards his hairline. ‘There was a rift, Charlie. A terrible quarrel. Long, long ago. I can hardly remember what caused it. For them, our father doesn’t exist.’
‘That’s awful!’ But somehow Charlie wasn’t surprised. After all, Grandma Bone wouldn’t even speak of Lyell, her only son and Charlie’s father. When he vanished, she had simply sliced him out of her heart.
Charlie said goodnight to his uncle and went to bed. But as he lay awake, trying to imagine his first day back at Bloor’s, Henry Yewbeam’s mischievous face kept breaking into his thoughts. How had he disappeared? And where did he go?
A tree falls
The temperature dropped several degrees during the night. On Monday morning, an icy wind sent clouds of sleet whipping down Filbert Street, blinding anyone brave enough to venture out.
‘I can’t believe I’ve got to go to school in this,’ Charlie muttered as he struggled through the wind.
‘You’d better believe it, Charlie, there’s the bus! Good luck!’ Amy Bone blew Charlie a kiss then turned into a sidestreet and made her way towards the greengrocer’s. Charlie ran up to the top of Filbert Street where a blue bus was waiting to collect Music students for Bloor’s Academy.
Charlie’d been put in Music only because his father had been in it. His friend, Fidelio, on the other hand was brilliant. Fidelio had saved a seat for Charlie on the bus, and as soon as Charlie saw his friend’s bright mop of hair and beaming face, he felt better.
‘This term’s going to seem very boring,’ sighed Fidelio, ‘after all that excitement.’
‘I don’t think I mind a bit of boringness,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m certainly not going in the ruined castle again.’
The bus parked at one end of a cobbled square with a fountain of stone swans in the centre. As the children left the bus, they noticed that icicles hung from the swans’ beaks and their wings were laced with frost. They appeared to be swimming on a frozen pool.
‘Look at that,’ Charlie exclaimed as he passed the fountain.
‘The dormitory’s going to be like a fridge,’ Fidelio said grimly.
Charlie wished he’d packed a hot water bottle.
Another bus had pulled up in the square. This one was purple and a crowd of children in purple capes came leaping down the steps.
‘Here she comes!’ said Fidelio, as a girl with indigo-coloured hair came flying towards them.
‘Hi, Olivia!’ called Charlie.
Olivia Vertigo clutched Charlie’s arm. ‘Charlie, good to see you alive. You too, Fido!’
‘It’s good to be alive,’ said Fidelio. ‘What’s with the Fido?’
‘I decided to change your name,’ said Olivia. ‘Fidelio’s such a mouthful and Fido’s really cool. Don’t you like it?’
‘It’s a dog’s name,’ said Fidelio. ‘But I’ll think about it.’
Children in green capes had now joined the crowd. The Art pupils were not as noisy as the Drama students and not so flamboyant, and yet when their green capes flew open, a glimpse of a sequinned scarf, or gold threaded into a black sweater, made one suspect that more serious rules would be broken by these quiet children than by those wearing blue or purple.
The tall grey walls of Bloor’s Academy now loomed before them. On either side of the imposing arched entrance, there was a tower with a pointed roof and, as Charlie approached the wide steps up to the arch, he found his gaze drawn to the window at the top of one of the towers. His mother said she had felt someone watching her from that window, and now Charlie had the same sensation. He shivered slightly and hurried to catch up with his friends.
They had crossed a paved courtyard and were now climbing another flight of steps. At the top, two massive bronze-studded doors stood open to receive the throng of children.
Charlie’s stomach gave a lurch as he passed through the doors. He had enemies in Bloor’s Academy and, as yet, he wasn’t quite sure why. Why were they trying to get rid of him? Permanently.
A door beneath two crossed trumpets led to the Music department. Olivia waved and disappeared through a door under two masks, while the children in green made their way to the end of the hall where a pencil crossed with a paintbrush indicated the Art department.
Charlie and Fidelio went first to the blue cloakroom and then on to the assembly room.
As one of the smallest boys, Charlie had to stand in the front row beside the smallest of all, a white-haired albino called Billy Raven. Charlie asked him if he had enjoyed Christmas but Billy ignored him. He was an orphan and Charlie hoped he hadn’t had to spend his holiday at Bloor’s. A fate worse than death in Charlie’s opinion. He noticed that Billy was wearing a pair of smart fur-lined boots. A Christmas present, no doubt.
They were only halfway through the first hymn when there was a shout from the stage.
‘Stop!’
The orchestra ground to a halt. The singing died.
Dr
