‘They’re called de Grey. Mr and Mrs de Grey. They’re a bit older than I expected, actually. Manfred showed me a photo. But he says they’re nice, and very kind. And they’ve got a lovely house. I shall have my own room with everything I could want, even a TV, he says. Imagine, my own TV.’
Charlie would have liked to see the de Greys’ photo. He might have been able to learn a little more about them, if he’d heard their voices. ‘Did Manfred give you the photo?’ he asked.
Billy shook his head.
‘Well, it’s great news, Billy.’
Charlie was about to dash on when Billy suddenly asked, ‘Did you bring your wand to school with you?’
‘Yes, I –’ Charlie stopped. ‘Why d’you want to know?’
‘I just thought, you know, it would be good if you had it with you – to protect you, kind of thing. D’you keep it in your bedside cupboard?’
‘No.’ Charlie kept his precious wand under his mattress, but he wasn’t going to tell Billy. He’d said enough already.
‘No. It’d be too long for the cupboard,’ said Billy. ‘Under the mattress, then?
Charlie felt uncomfortable. Was Billy still spying for the Bloors? ‘I’ve got to dash, Billy,’ he said quickly. ‘Got to get my lines to Manfred’s study. See you later.’
Charlie hurried on. All the activity in the school had shifted to the dormitories, and the great flagstoned hall echoed with Charlie’s solitary footsteps. For the second time that day, he opened the ancient door leading to the Music tower. He stepped into the dark passage and surveyed the rough stone walls. Halfway down, on his right, he saw a small recess. Charlie crept along in the gloom until he came to a narrow set of shelves, crammed with drab, serious-looking books.
‘Hm. Are you a door, then?’ Charlie pushed one side of the bookcase, then the other. Nothing moved. Perhaps it wasn’t a door at all. One by one, Charlie began to remove the books, searching for a knob or a handle to open the supposed door. But there was nothing.
‘What are you doing?’
Charlie almost jumped out of his skin. A figure in a purple cape came gliding towards him. ‘Why are you here?’ asked Tantalus Ebony.
‘I was looking for Manfred’s study,’ stammered Charlie.
‘I see.’ Mr Ebony gave Charlie a look of such overwhelming hatred, Charlie had to step back, dizzy with shock. A suffocating brew of smells filled his nostrils: stale air, candle grease, rotting things, mildew and soot.
‘You do well to be afraid, Bone,’ said the teacher coldly. ‘You’re a troublesome little devil, aren’t you?’
Before Charlie could reply, the man’s features seemed to dissolve and an array of completely different expressions crossed his pale face. For a fraction of a second, Charlie felt that, from behind the changing masks, someone gazed out at him with infinite tenderness. He was sure that he had imagined this, however, when the look of haughty indifference returned to the teacher’s face.
‘You wanted the study.’ Mr Ebony pressed a knot in the wood at the top of the bookcase. Immediately it swung aside, revealing the dim interior of a small study.
‘Thank you.’ Nervously, Charlie stepped inside.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then. Toodle-oo.’ The extraordinary teacher’s voice changed completely. He waved his long fingers and rushed away, humming a slightly familiar tune.
Charlie looked round the room. It was very tidy. A photograph of a younger-looking Dr Bloor, with a small boy and a dark-haired woman, hung above the mantlepiece. Manfred and his parents. Beneath the window there was a desk, and an adjustable leather chair that faced the courtyard beyond. Charlie stepped up to the desk and put his lines on a stack of papers. He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. A small print of a horse lay beside the papers. Charlie picked it up. There were other pictures beneath: prints of horses’ skeletons.
At this point, Charlie should have left the room, but he had noticed a packet of photographs lying at the end of the desk. Charlie was not the sort of boy to hold back when he saw something interesting. And he was always interested in photographs. As he carefully lifted the packet, he failed to hear the soft swish behind him.
The photos were disappointing. There were only two people in them: a man and a woman. They were both middle-aged and rather ordinary. The man had thinning hair and spectacles; the woman’s face was round, her hair short and straight, and her teeth very long. In all the photographs she was smiling. No, not smiling, Charlie decided. It seemed rather that she was holding something invisible between her teeth.
In most of the photographs the couple were sitting side by side on a sofa, but there were two taken in a garden and two more in a kitchen. Charlie was scrutinising the empty-looking kitchen when he suddenly heard the woman speak.
Smile, Usher. We want to put the boy at ease.
I don’t like children. The man’s voice was light and slightly nasal. Never have.
It won’t be for long.
How long?
Until he does what they want. You’ll have to use your talent – you know – to stop him getting out.
Talent? said the man in a whiney voice. What use . . .
Charlie heard footsteps. He quickly put the photos back into the packet and replaced it at the end of the desk. But when he went to the door, he found that it was stuck. There was no handle, no keyhole, no latch. He was caught.
Charlie banged on the door. ‘Hi! Anyone there? It’s me, Charlie Bone.’
There was no answer.
Charlie banged again. ‘Hi, Mr Ebony, sir. Are you there? Manfred?’
Charlie continued to knock and call for several minutes, and then he gave up.
It began to get dark. Charlie sat in the chair and thought about the photographs. All at once, it came to him. They were Billy Raven’s new parents. Billy had always longed to have nice, kind parents and a real home. How could Charlie tell him the truth?
As he sat in the gloom, wrestling with his dilemma, the lights across the courtyard went out, one by one, until Charlie was left in complete darkness. He made his way round the room, fumbling for a light switch. There didn’t seem to be one. He pushed at the door. He knocked and called, but no one came. The cathedral clock struck nine. Charlie sat on the floor and dozed.
A sound from the courtyard woke him up. Clop! Clop! Clop! Charlie shook his sleepy head. Hooves. There was a horse in the courtyard. Charlie stood up. He could just make out the window’s pale rectangle of light, but it was impossible to see anything in the yard beyond.
The cathedral clock struck ten and the hoofbeats faded. Charlie was about to shout again when the door swung open and a fierce light was beamed in his face.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
