didn’t wait to hear the rest of his friend’s very reasonable doubts. He raced away from the ruin as if he were re-living the long night when a yellow-eyed beast had chased him through the endless passages and cold echoing chambers. When he reached the fallen tree, he waited for Fidelio to catch up with him.
‘Clear off, you!’ said a deep voice behind him.
Already nervous, Charlie jumped and swung round. Mr Weedon’s red face appeared through the mesh of broken branches. He was wearing a shiny black helmet and Charlie caught the glint of a saw, held in the big man’s black gauntlet.
‘This tree’s dangerous,’ said Mr Weedon. ‘I’ve told you kids not to play here.’
‘I wasn’t playing,’ said Charlie. Fidelio had caught up with him and he felt a little more confident.
‘Oh, no. Not you, Charlie Bone. You never play, do ya? A very serious boy, aren’t cha?’
‘You don’t know anything about me,’ Charlie said angrily. ‘You can’t . . .’
There was a loud roar followed by a grinding noise as Mr Weedon made his way through the tangle of branches towards Charlie. Twigs flew in all directions as the saw bit through wood and foliage.
‘Come on!’ Fidelio pulled at Charlie’s cape. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘That man’s dangerous,’ Charlie muttered as they ran away from the tree. ‘How does he know who I am?’
‘You’re famous,’ said Fidelio breathlessly. They were now far enough from Mr Weedon to take a rest. ‘Getting lost in that old ruin last term was quite an event. Everyone knows who you are.’
Charlie wished it wasn’t so.
The sound of a hunting horn rang out across the grounds, a signal for the end of break.
The temperature was still falling. After supper, the twelve endowed children went, as usual, to the King’s room, to do their homework. It was there that a very nasty row broke out between two great friends: Tancred Torsson and Lysander, the African.
Lysander was feeling the cold more than most, but being a good-humoured person his complaints were made in a friendly, almost jokey, way. What he actually said to Tancred was, ‘Tanc, what have you done to the weather?’
‘Not you too!’ Tancred jumped up and stamped his foot. ‘I can’t change the temperature. Storms are my thing, but I don’t use my talent frivolously. I thought that you, of all people, would know better.’
Before Lysander could reply, Manfred Bloor spoke up. ‘Come on, Tancred! Spare a thought for our African friend here. You’re freezing him to death.’
‘I’m not!’ screeched Tancred, tearing at his crackling hair.
‘He’s only joking, Tanc,’ said Lysander with a smile.
By this time some of the children were beginning to feel uncomfortable. Charlie was particularly concerned. Lysander and Tancred had saved him from the ruin. Together they were a powerful force against the darker powers that lurked in Bloor’s Academy. He couldn’t bear to see them quarrelling.
‘Are you on his side now?’ Tancred demanded, glaring at his old ally.
‘Everyone’s on my side,’ sniggered Manfred.
Lysander silently shook his head, but unfortunately Zelda Dobinski chose that moment to show off her particularly nasty gift for moving things. She was staring at a huge reference book on the shelves behind Tancred. The book launched itself across the room and caught Tancred in the back just as he whirled towards the door.
‘Owww!’ roared Tancred.
Six children burst into wild laughter, while five looked on in horror.
Tancred didn’t notice the sympathetic faces. He was only aware of the mocking laughter. Wind rushed furiously round the room as the stormy boy swept through the door, leaving it banging violently against the wall.
Charlie couldn’t stop himself. ‘Wait!’ he cried, leaping after Tancred.
‘And where do you think you’re going, Bone?’ said Manfred.
‘I’ve left my pens in the cloakroom,’ lied Charlie.
A scrawny, red-haired boy looked up and sneered, ‘Always forgetting things, aren’t you, Bone?’
‘Not always, Asa.’ Charlie was scared of Asa Pike. He was Manfred’s sidekick and could change his shape at dusk.
‘Close the door,’ said Asa, as Charlie stepped outside.
Charlie pulled the door shut behind him. The passage outside was deserted. Charlie decided to try the hall.
As he descended the wide staircase, a blast of arctic air almost rocked him off his feet. He stepped down into the stone-flagged hall and stood very still. Something was happening to his eyes. He was seeing things that should not be there. A cloud of sparkling particles swirled in the very centre of the long room. Was it an ice storm?
Gradually the pale fragments grew more vivid. Now they were forming a blurred shape, blue with a touch of black beneath it. Before Charlie’s astonished gaze, a figure in a blue hooded cape was materialising.
Charlie had no doubt that he was seeing a ghost. But when the figure turned to face him, he found, to his horror, that he was looking at . . . himself?
Hiding Henry
It was the other Charlie who spoke first.
‘What a joke,’ said the boy. ‘I haven’t travelled very far at all.’
He had such a normal sort of voice that Charlie was reassured. This wasn’t a ghost. But if not a ghost, what was it? Clearing his throat, he asked, ‘Where have you come from exactly?’
‘Here,’ said the boy. ‘Just now I was here, but,’ he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed up at the row of electric lights illuminating the hall, ‘it wasn’t like this. How did it get so bright?’
‘Electricity,’ said Charlie. He was beginning to recognise the boy. ‘Are you . . . ?’ he began. ‘I mean, have you . . . well, the thing is, I’ve seen you in a photo. Are you Henry Yewbeam?’
‘That’s me,’ said Henry, beaming. ‘I think I’ve seen you too. Somewhere. Who are you?’
‘I’m your . . . erm . . . sort of cousin, Charlie Bone.’
‘No! This is very good news. A cousin, well, well.’ Henry marched over and shook Charlie’s hand. ‘Very glad to meet you, Charlie Bone.’
‘The news isn’t that good,’ said Charlie. ‘What was the date when you . . . just now?’
‘January 12th, 1916,’ said Henry. ‘I always know the date.’
‘I’m afraid it isn’t that now.’
‘No?’
