Jenny Nimmo - Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock

‘No, no.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘It’s just something that I inherited from my other ancestor, a Welsh wizard. It’d take too long to explain.’

Too long, indeed, for, at that moment, the eerie sound of a wailing horn echoed round the giant’s tower.

‘Oh, mercy, what’s to be done?’ The giant strode round and round, clenching his fists and glaring at the high window. ‘I shall defend you with my last breath, Charlie. But I am only one. I cannot prevail. Oddthumb will take you. Oh, poor boy, what is to become of you?’

The giant’s mournful voice was too much for Runner Bean. He leapt up with a dreadful howl – and something astonishing happened. From inside one of the dog’s ears, a white moth fluttered out. She came to rest on Charlie’s arm.

‘Claerwen,’ breathed Charlie. ‘My wand.’

‘In my day, we called such things moths,’ said the baffled giant.

‘Yes, yes. She is a moth, but she was once a wand,’ Charlie told the giant. ‘Mr Yewbeam, Otus – we can go now. Thank you, thank you . . .’

‘Then go,’ said Otus, ‘for I can hear troll feet. Swiftly, swiftly, Charlie Bone.’

‘Maybe I could take you with me, Otus?’

The giant sadly shook his head. ‘An impossibility. Go now, Charlie.’

Charlie flung his arm round Runner Bean. ‘I’ll came back, Otus, I promise. I’ll find a way to get you out of Badlock.’ Gazing at the moth, he cried, ‘Claerwen, take me home.’

The room about him began to jerk and jolt. Defying gravity, the table, chair and bed tumbled sideways, then became airborne. Charlie was treading air. Now he was upside down. His ears were bombarded with a thousand sounds. He felt Runner’s coarse hair melting under his fingers and tried to grip it tighter, but something, or someone, was trying to tear the dog from his grasp. And then his hand was empty and he was whirling away.

Charlie caught one last glimpse of his ancestor’s kind, incredulous face before he was thrust through time, through a sparkling, shifting web of sounds, smells and sensations.

He landed with a light bump on the cold cellar floor of number nine, Filbert Street. The painting of Badlock stood against the wall behind him. Giving it one brief glance, Charlie ran to the steps and climbed up to the hall. He could hear voices arguing above him.

‘Mercy on us!’ yelled Maisie, jumping out of her chair. ‘Charlie’s back!’

There was a sudden silence in the sitting room. Uncle Paton stepped out, followed by Fidelio, Benjamin and Olivia.

‘Charlie!’ cried Benjamin. ‘Have you got Runner?’

Charlie still felt unsteady. Grasping the banister for support, he said, ‘Bit of a problem there, Ben.’

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