Jenny Nimmo - Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock

‘Come on, you half-wit!’ spat the old man.

Fidelio said, ‘He’s Benjamin Brown, sir. Charlie’s friend.’

Mr Weedon decided to enter the conversation. ‘So where’s Charlie Bone today?’ he asked, with a sneer.

Benjamin croaked, ‘Busy.’

Mr Ezekiel gave a nasty chuckle. ‘I know who you are. Your parents are private detectives. Hopeless sleuths. Where’s your dog, Benjamin Brown?’

Benjamin screwed up his face, gritted his teeth and sent Fidelio a helpless look of despair. ‘E – rr . . .’

Fidelio came to his rescue. ‘He’s at the vet. Benjamin’s very upset.’

Mr Ezekiel threw back his head and cackled lustily. Weedon joined in with a deep chortle, while the boys watched them in baffled silence. What was so funny about a dog being at the vet?

The curtains behind the counter parted and an elegant woman with chestnut hair appeared. She was carrying a heavy gold-tooled book, which she laid very carefully on the counter. ‘Hello, boys. I didn’t know you were here,’ said Miss Ingledew.

‘They’re after your little bird,’ Mr Ezekiel sniggered.

Miss Ingledew ignored his remark. ‘I think this might be what you want, Mr Bloor,’ she said, turning the book so that he could see its title.

‘How much?’ snapped the old man.

‘Three hundred pounds,’ Miss Ingledew told him.

‘Three hundred.’ Mr Ezekiel slammed a mottled hand on to the valuable book, causing Miss Ingledew to wince. ‘I only want to know a bit about marquetry. Mother-of-pearl inlaid boxes in particular, dates and sizes, et cetera.’ He began to flip the pages over with his long, bony fingers. ‘Help me, Weedon.’

While the old man was occupied with the book, the two boys moved swiftly across the shop and round the counter. Mr Ezekiel began to whine about the small print as they stepped through the curtains and entered Miss Ingledew’s back room.

Here, there were even more books than in the shop itself. They covered the walls from floor to ceiling: old, faded, mellow books; large on the bottom shelves and very small at the top. They gave the room a musty, leathery smell that was rather comforting. But it was, after all, a sitting room, so there were several small tables, a sofa, two armchairs, an upright leather chair and a desk. Hunched over the desk was a black-haired man who, even sitting down, seemed exceptionally tall.

The man paid no attention to the boys but continued to pore over the papers in front of him.

Fidelio cleared his throat.

Without looking up, the man said, ‘If you want Emma and Olivia, they’ve gone to the Pets’ Café.’

‘Actually, Mr Yewbeam, it’s you we wanted,’ said Fidelio.

‘Ah,’ said Charlie’s uncle. ‘Well, I’m busy.’

‘This is urgent,’ Benjamin blurted out. ‘Charlie’s gone into a painting, and so’s my dog, and they won’t come out.’

‘They will.’ Uncle Paton continued to scrutinise the papers. ‘Eventually.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Fidelio in as urgent a tone as he could muster. ‘This time Charlie’s gone right in – he’s disappeared – vanished.’

Uncle Paton raised his eyes to peer at them over the top of his half-moon spectacles. ‘Vanished?’

‘Yes, Mr Yewbeam. Completely gone,’ said Benjamin, on the edge of tears. ‘There was this painting in your cellar, and Charlie’s grandma, the nice one, asked me to go down and help because Charlie had disappeared. So I went down and Runner Bean followed me, and then he . . . went in, too.’

Uncle Paton frowned. ‘What sort of painting was this, Benjamin?’

‘Horrible,’ said Benjamin. ‘Lots of dark towers and mountains. It had a name at the bottom. Badlock, I think it was.’

‘ Badlock !’ Uncle Paton sprang up so rapidly his chair fell over and all the paper fluttered off the desk.

‘Is it a dangerous place?’ Benjamin asked breathlessly.

‘The worst place in the world,’ said Uncle Paton. ‘Though I can’t be certain that it was ever actually in this world.’

Benjamin’s mouth fell open. He gaped at Paton Yewbeam, trying to make sense of what he had said. Even Fidelio was lost for words.

‘No time to lose. Come on, boys.’ Uncle Paton brushed aside the curtain and marched into the shop, quickly followed by Fidelio and Benjamin.

Julia Ingledew was anxiously watching Ezekiel Bloor as he thumbed through her precious book. She didn’t like to wrest it away from him in case even more damage was done. When he saw Paton Yewbeam, however, the old man looked up.

‘Aha! Paton Yewbeam!’ Ezekiel declared. ‘Thought you didn’t go out in daylight.’

‘I go out when I please,’ Uncle Paton retorted, snatching his fedora from a hat stand in the corner.

‘Hm,’ sniffed the old man as Paton strode to the door. ‘I suppose that’s why this oldey worldey shoppey is so dark. You could do with a bit of electricity in here, Mrs Books.’

Uncle Paton stopped mid-stride, causing Benjamin to walk straight into him. ‘Watch your tongue, Ezekiel Bloor,’ growled Paton.

‘Or else . . .?’ sneered Ezekiel. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of asking this good lady to marry you, Paton. She’d never have you, you know.’ He broke into a fit of cackling.

The boys watched uneasily as both Miss Ingledew and Paton Yewbeam turned very pink. Ezekiel had let go of the book to wipe his mouth and Miss Ingledew took the opportunity to slide the rare book away from him. Mr Weedon pulled it back again.

Recovering his composure, Paton said, ‘Kindly keep your nose out of my business, Mr Bloor.’

‘And you run along about yours.’ Ezekiel waved his wet hand dismissively.

Paton hovered, glaring at the old man. ‘I hope you’re not damaging a rare book.’ He looked at Miss Ingledew. ‘Ju . . . Miss Ingledew, do you want me to . . .?’

‘No, no,’ said Miss Ingledew, still very pink. ‘You go, Pa . . . Mr Yewbeam. I can see it’s urgent.’

‘It is rather.’ Paton was now in an agony of indecision. He clearly wanted to stay and protect Miss Ingledew, but Benjamin was already halfway up the steps, and tugging at his sleeve.

‘I’ll ring you,’ Miss Ingledew picked up her mobile, ‘if anything goes wrong.’

‘You do that.’ Paton gave her a meaningful look and stepped through the door that Benjamin was impatiently holding open.

‘What are you going to do, Mr Yewbeam?’ asked Fidelio, as they sped down the street.

‘It depends what is called for,’ said Paton.

‘Look!’ Benjamin pointed down the street.

Running towards them were two girls: Emma Tolly, in a blue anorak with her blonde hair flying over her face, was struggling with a large basket, while beside her, Olivia Vertigo also carried a basket, this one smaller and obviously easier to hold. Olivia looked quite spectacular in an outsized sweater with STAR picked out in gold sequins on the front. She also wore a sparkly white hat and a gold scarf. Her hair was a deep purple.

‘Mr Yewbeam,’ called Olivia. ‘You’ve got to help.’

‘Please, please, please,’ cried Emma. ‘Something awful has happened.’

The two parties met in the middle of the street.

‘We’re extremely busy, girls.’ Uncle Paton brushed past them and continued on his way.

‘What’s your awful happening?’ asked Benjamin, stopping in spite of himself.

‘The Pets’ Café has been closed,’ wailed Emma. ‘Permanently. It’s awful. We could see Mr Onimous sitting at a table. His head was in his hands. He looked so depressed.’