Jenny Nimmo - Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock

‘We can deal with that later, Em.’ Fidelio stepped round the girls. ‘Something worse has happened to Charlie.’

‘And Runner Bean,’ Benjamin added. ‘They’ve both gone. Vanished. Utterly disappeared into a painting.’

Emma lowered her basket, from which a loud quacking could be heard. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘We won’t know till we get to Charlie’s house,’ said Fidelio, anxiously watching the departing figure of Uncle Paton.

‘We’ll come!’ Olivia was never one to be left out of things. ‘Let’s leave our pets at the bookshop, Em.’

‘Wouldn’t go in the shop if I were you,’ Fidelio called over his shoulder. ‘Old Mr Bloor is there.’

The two boys ran on while the girls stood making up their minds. Eventually, Emma decided she couldn’t leave her Auntie Julia alone with Mr Bloor. She carried on up the street with her pet duck, Nancy, while Olivia hastened after the boys with her white rabbit, George.

It was a tricky time for Uncle Paton. He had emerged into the High Street, where lights blazed in every shop window. Paton pulled the brim of his black hat well down over his face, trying vainly not to glance at the windows. But today was Saturday and the High Street teemed with shoppers. Leaden clouds had covered the sun and raindrops were beginning to fall, softly at first, and then with a vengeance. Umbrellas were hastily put up and, being so tall, Paton was immediately at risk. ‘Watch it!’ he gasped, as he nearly lost an eye. Leaning sideways, he found himself looking into a window full of prancing mannequins.

‘BANG!’ The plate glass window shattered.

Amid screams of shock and disbelief, Paton hurried on. He failed to notice a red light as he sailed over the crossing, and a blue Volvo almost ran him down. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ called Uncle Paton, glancing at the car’s side-lights. This time the explosion was quieter, a mere pop. The driver didn’t even notice, and Uncle Paton was able to reach the kerb undetected.

Unfortunately, another car, unable to brake fast enough, had crashed into the back of the Volvo. Both drivers leapt out and ugly words rose into the damp air.

Suspecting that Uncle Paton might have something to do with the cracked window, the two boys pushed their way through the crowd and were just in time to see Paton, bent almost double, running away from the scene of his latest ‘accident’. He had nearly reached number nine, Filbert Street, by the time they caught up with him.

‘Was that you, Mr Yewbeam?’ asked Benjamin. ‘The window thing, I mean.’

‘’Fraid so, Benjamin. I’d be grateful for your silence in the matter.’

‘Course, Mr Yewbeam.’

They ascended the steps of number nine, Uncle Paton leading the way. As he opened the door, he raised a finger to his lips and whispered harshly, ‘Not a sound. My sister may be at home.’

‘She is,’ Benjamin whispered back.

There was a shriek from the street and Olivia came flying up to them, the basket swinging wildly from her hand. ‘Wait for me!’ she called.

‘Ssssh!’ hissed the boys.

‘Sorry,’ said Olivia, catching her breath. ‘Is the demented grandma about?’

Benjamin nodded. Olivia scrambled up the steps and hopped into the hall with the others. Uncle Paton quietly closed the door, and Olivia plonked her basket beside the coat-stand.

They tiptoed into the kitchen, where Maisie was waiting anxiously. ‘Nothing’s happened,’ she said. ‘Not a sign. I keep taking a look, but the wretched picture just sits there, looking back at me. D’you know what? I can feel a kind of smugness coming from it.’

‘We’ll take a look.’ Uncle Paton removed his hat.

Benjamin’s stomach gave a loud bleat.

‘Goodness,’ Maisie exclaimed. ‘I’ve even forgotten lunch. That’s a first. I’ll get a bit ready while you lot go down into the cellar.’

Uncle Paton thought it unnecessary for them all to visit the cellar. Telling Fidelio and Olivia to wait in the kitchen, he chose just Benjamin to accompany him. Benjamin had, after all, seen Runner Bean vanish, and he could tell if the painting had changed at all.

Paton lit three candles in a tall candelabrum that stood on the dresser. ‘Don’t, whatever you do, turn the light on in the cellar,’ he told Benjamin.

‘Course not, Mr Yewbeam,’ Benjamin said emphatically.

Paton descended the steps backwards with the candelabrum in his right hand. Benjamin followed.

‘Ye gods, what a grim place!’ Paton declared as the flickering candlelight played over the surface of the painting.

Benjamin shuddered. Badlock had looked sinister before. In candlelight it looked terrifying. He could hardly bear to think what might have become of Runner Bean in such an awful place. And then he saw it. At the bottom of the painting, peeping round the corner of one of the towers, was a dog. Runner Bean. His mouth was open in a silent howl.

Benjamin screamed.

‘What the –’ Uncle Paton almost dropped the candelabrum.

‘Look, look, Mr Yewbeam!’ Benjamin pointed a shaking finger at Runner Bean.

Paton bent closer to the dog’s head.

Benjamin’s scream had brought the others rushing to the cellar door.

‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Maisie demanded.

‘Can I come down, please ?’ begged Olivia. ‘I can’t stand not knowing.’

‘Runner’s h-h-here . . .’ Benjamin quavered.

‘Here?’ said Fidelio.

‘Here . . . but, not here . There ,’ moaned Benjamin.

‘In the painting.’ Uncle Paton’s tone gave the already tense atmosphere an edge of menace. This was too much for Olivia, who began to scramble down the steps. She was stopped by a shout from the hall.

‘RABBIT!’ screamed Grandma Bone.

Grandma Bone was scared of most animals, but harmless rabbits were her bêtes noires.

Olivia reluctantly climbed back, while Fidelio said calmly, ‘It’s all right, Mrs Bone. It won’t hurt you.’

‘It’s EVIL,’ shrilled Grandma Bone, and then she saw Olivia. ‘What are you doing here, you harpy?’

Olivia had never been called a harpy before. She was rather pleased. Her rabbit, George, had escaped from his basket and was now halfway up the stairs, happily grazing the carpet. Grandma Bone was standing at the top; one of her small black eyes was screwed shut, the other watched the rabbit’s progress in horror.

Olivia leapt up the stairs, grabbed her rabbit and carried him back to his basket. ‘He honestly wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ she said, fastening the basket lid.

‘I asked you what you were doing here.’ Feeling safer, Grandma Bone slowly descended the stairs.

Before Olivia could think of a reply, Uncle Paton emerged from the cellar and said, ‘I think it’s about time you answered a few of my questions, Grizelda.’

‘Such as?’ Grandma Bone tossed her head imperiously.

‘Such as – what is that painting doing in the cellar, and where has it come from?’

‘None of your business.’ With a wary glance at George’s basket, Grandma Bone swept down the stairs and crossed the hall into the sitting room. Uncle Paton followed her and the three children trooped after him. Maisie, however, sank on to the hall chair with a baffled sigh.

‘It is my business,’ Uncle Paton insisted.

Grandma Bone settled herself in an armchair and picked up a newspaper.

‘Are you listening to me, Grizelda?’ roared Uncle Paton, and then, to the concern of the three children hovering by the door, he said, ‘Your grandson has vanished into that painting.’

Benjamin muttered, ‘We’re not supposed to tell . . .’

Grandma Bone lowered her newspaper. Her long, grumpy face was momentarily transformed by a look of pure delight. ‘But that’s what he does,’ she said.