but, well, he was just – brilliant.’
No one could deny this. Mr Pilgrim’s piano playing was often to be heard echoing down the Music Tower. Charlie realised he would miss it. And he would miss seeing Mr Pilgrim staring into space, his black hair always falling into his eyes.
Fidelio turned to Billy. ‘So how was your holiday, Billy?’ he asked carefully. For how could anyone spend their whole holiday in Bloor’s Academy without going mad?
‘Better than usual,’ said Billy cheerfully. ‘Cook looked after Rembrandt like she promised, and I saw him every day. And Manfred went away for a bit and so it was OK here, really, except . . . except . . .’ a shadow crossed his face, ‘something happened last night. Something really weird.’
‘What?’ asked the other three.
‘I saw a horse in the sky.’
‘A horse?’ Fidelio raised his eyebrows. ‘D’you mean a cloud that looked like a horse?’
‘No. It was definitely a horse.’ Billy took off his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve. His deep red eyes fixed themselves on Charlie. ‘It sort of hung there, outside the window, and then it just faded.’
‘Stars can do that,’ said Gabriel, who had perked up a bit. ‘They can create the illusion of animals and things.’
Billy shook his head. ‘No! It was a horse.’ He replaced his glasses and frowned at his plate. ‘It wasn’t far away. It was right outside the window. It reared up and kicked the air, like it was fighting to be free, and then it just – faded.’
Charlie found himself saying, ‘As if it was receding into another world.’
‘That’s right,’ said Billy eagerly. ‘You believe me, don’t you, Charlie?’
Charlie nodded slowly. ‘I wonder where it is now?’
‘Wandering round the castle ruin with all the other ghosts?’ Fidelio wryly remarked. ‘Come on, let’s get some fresh air. We might see a horse galloping round the garden.’
Of course he was only joking but, as soon as the four boys walked through the garden door, Fidelio realised that his words held a ghostly ring of truth. He was the only one of the four who was not endowed. Fidelio might be a brilliant musician, but his endowment was not one that could be classed as magical.
It was Charlie who noticed it first: a faint thudding on the dry grass. He looked at Gabriel. ‘Can you hear it?’
Gabriel shook his head. He could hear nothing, but there was a presence in the air that he couldn’t define.
Billy was the most affected. He stepped back suddenly, his white hair lifting in a breeze that no one else could feel. He put up his hand as if to ward off a blow. ‘It went right past,’ he whispered.
Fidelio said, ‘You’re having me on, aren’t you?’
‘’Fraid we’re not,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s gone now. Maybe it just wanted us to know it was here.’
They began to cross the wide expanse of grass that Dr Bloor liked to called his garden. It was really no more than a field, bordered by near-impenetrable woods. At the end of the field the red stones of an ancient castle could be glimpsed between the trees: the castle of the Red King. The four boys almost instinctively made their way towards the tall red walls.
Charlie’s Uncle Paton had told him how, when Queen Berenice died, five of the Red King’s children had been forced to leave their father’s kingdom forever. Brokenhearted, the king had vanished into the forests of the north and Borlath, his eldest son, had taken the castle. He had ruled the kingdom with such barbarous cruelty most of the inhabitants had either died or fled in terror.
‘Well?’ said Fidelio. ‘D’you think the phantom horse is here?’
Charlie looked up at the massive walls. ‘I don’t know.’ He looked at Billy.
‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘It’s here.’
The others listened intently. They could hear the distant shouts and chatter of children on the field, the thump of a football, the call of wood pigeons, but nothing else.
‘Are you sure, Billy?’ asked Charlie.
Billy hugged himself. He was shivering. ‘I think it would like to speak, but it’s caught on the wrong side.’
‘Wrong side of what?’ asked Fidelio.
Billy frowned. ‘I can’t explain.’
Charlie became aware that someone was standing behind them. He turned round, just in time to see a small figure dart away and join a group of new boys, playing football together.
‘Who was that?’ asked Gabriel.
‘New boy,’ said Charlie.
It was impossible to tell whether the boy was in Art, Drama or Music because he wasn’t wearing a cape. Today, it was warm and sunny. Summer was not yet over.
The sound of the horn rang out across the field and the four boys ran back into school.
For Charlie, the afternoon was no better than the morning. He found Mr Paltry at last, but too late for his lesson. ‘What’s the point of coming to a lesson without your trumpet?’ grumbled the elderly teacher. ‘You’re a waste of time, Charlie Bone. Endowed, my foot. Why don’t you use your so-called talent to locate your trumpet? Now get out and don’t come back until you’ve found it.’
Charlie left quickly. He had no idea where to look. ‘The Music Tower?’ Charlie asked himself. Perhaps one of the cleaners had found his trumpet and put it in Mr Pilgrim’s room at the top of the tower.
The way to the Music Tower led through a small, ancient-looking door close to the garden exit. Charlie braced himself, opened the door and began to walk down a long, damp passage. It was so dark he could barely see his own feet. He kept his eyes on a distant window in the small circular room at the end of the passage.
As he got closer to the room he began to hear voices, angry voices; men arguing.
There was a clatter of footsteps. Charlie stood still until whoever it was had reached the bottom of the long, spiralling staircase. A figure appeared at the end of the passage. It loomed towards Charlie and raised its purple wings, blocking out the light.
Plunged in darkness, Charlie screamed.
The boy with paper in his hair
‘Quiet!’ hissed a voice.
Charlie shrank against the wall as the person, or thing, swept past and whisked itself through the door into the hall.
Charlie didn’t know what to do. Should he go back the way he had come, or on towards the tower? The hissing person might be in the hall, waiting for him. He chose the tower.
As soon as he emerged in the round sunlit room at the end of the passage, Charlie felt better. Those purple wings had been the arms
