Jenny Nimmo - Charlie Bone and the Wilderness Wolf

Charlie Bone lives in a city that holds many secrets. They are hidden in the walls and buried under centuries of dust.

The city began nine hundred years ago, with a castle. It was built by Charlie’s ancestor, the Red King, so-called because of his red cloak and the burning sun emblazoned on his shield. The Red King was an African; he was also a magician.

When the king’s beloved queen, Berenice, died, he went to grieve in the forest. He believed that his ten children were safe in the hands of wise councillors and kindly nurses. Besides, each child had been endowed with an extraordinary power.

At that time, the country was a violent and lawless place; murder and robbery were rife. On his way home, the king found that his considerable powers were needed to help the poor and oppressed. He donned a suit of chainmail and a helmet with a plume of red feathers. Then, conjuring up an invincible sword, he rode out to defend the troubled and helpless people.

For five years the Red King fought tyrants, murderers and plundering nobles. When he finally returned to his castle, he found that five of his children were gone and the other five were using their endowments to wreak havoc on the surrounding countryside. It was these children and their heirs who began the city’s history of dreadful magic and wickedness. Unable to fight his own children, the broken-hearted king left his castle forever.

Charlie’s grandmother and her three sisters all have a part in the evil. While his father was spellbound they sent him to Bloor’s Academy, a school run by a family with an especially violent past. Charlie is often afraid of the Bloors and their allies, but, so far, he has resisted all their attempts to crush him, for he has friends among the descendants of the Red King, friends who use their unusual endowments to help him.

With his own talent for travelling into the past, Charlie is beginning to learn the city’s secrets. It is a dangerous pursuit, but Charlie has his friends to support him and a firm trust in the enduring power of the Red King.

You might think it was rather careless of Charlie Bone to lose his father a second time, especially when he had only just found him. They had been apart for ten long years; spellbound years for Lyell Bone, a time spent in deep forgetfulness, when he could remember nothing of his past or even recall his name.

This time, at least Charlie knew where his father had gone. He was taking Charlie’s mother on a second honeymoon. What could be better than to get away from cold, dark February days, to watch whales and dolphins roll through a sunlit sea? They had asked Charlie to join them, of course, but he had politely declined. His parents needed to be alone and, besides, there were things that he had to attend to at home. A few mysteries to clear up.

At that moment Charlie was standing by the gate of the house where he was born. It was an old red-brick building, with a steep slate roof and four steps up to a blue front door. Charlie and his mother had left the house when he was two, and he couldn’t remember it at all. Even the name was unfamiliar to him: ‘Diamond Corner’ – it stood on the corner of Diamond Street and Lyme Avenue.

Charlie was twelve now; a boy of medium height with dark, unruly hair and walnut brown eyes. A boy who was ordinary in every way except one: he was a picture-traveller, a talent he had inherited from the legendary Red King.

Beside Charlie stood a very tall man with strong, finely chiselled features and straight black hair that almost touched his shoulders. He wore a long, dark coat and the brim of his black hat had been pulled well down, as though to shade his eyes, though there was not the slightest glimmer of sunlight on this murky Saturday afternoon.

‘Needs a lot of repair,’ the man remarked, looking at the dark holes where slates had fallen from the roof.

‘I wish I could move in right now, Uncle Paton,’ said Charlie.

‘You won’t have to wait long,’ said his great-uncle. ‘They’re starting work next week: builders, painters, plumbers and roofers.’

‘Let’s have a look.’ Charlie opened the gate and walked up the overgrown path. His uncle followed, jangling a bunch of keys. As they drew closer they noticed a light in one of the lower windows.

‘Someone’s in there.’ Charlie ran up to the door. His uncle, only a pace behind, leapt up the steps and fitted one of his keys into the lock. The blue door swung open and Charlie stepped inside.

A stale, mildewy smell filled the hallway. The floorboards were damp and dusty and strips of ragged wallpaper hung from the dark, stained walls. Charlie trod as lightly as he could, but the bare boards creaked with every step he took. He quickly opened a door to his left and looked into the room where he had seen the light. It was empty. Uncle Paton nodded at a half-open door on the other side of the room. ‘The kitchen,’ he whispered.

A shuffling sound could be heard. It was difficult to make out where it came from. Charlie sprang across the room, his uncle’s heavy footsteps pounding after him. But the kitchen, too, was empty. A sharp bang sent Charlie bounding through the kitchen and into the passage. The back door swung open, hitting the wall behind it with another loud bang. A blast of cold air hit Charlie as he squinted outside. He was just in time to see two figures slip through a broken fence at the end of the garden.

‘Hey!’ cried Charlie, running through a sea of long dried grass and weeds. When he reached the fence he peered into the narrow gap. But the intruders had vanished.

‘Could have been tramps.’ Uncle Paton kicked at a pile of newspapers in a corner. ‘Let’s go, Charlie.’

‘Can’t I go upstairs?’ begged Charlie. ‘I want to see if I can remember the room where I slept.’

‘Go on then.’ Uncle Paton followed Charlie up the stairs. When he reached the top Charlie stood and stared at the two doors in front of him. There were two more leading off a passage to his left, and another on his right. He chose this one.

‘You did remember, Charlie!’

‘I just guessed,’ said Charlie. He pushed open the door. ‘OH!’

It was impossible to move any further into the room. Every floorboard had been lifted. Some stood against the walls, others lay scattered on the narrow joists that supported the floor.

‘How very odd!’ Uncle Paton peered over Charlie’s shoulder. ‘I didn’t know the builders had started already.’

They looked in the other rooms. Every one was in the same state: floorboards wrenched up and thrown carelessly into corners or strewn across the thin joists.

‘Looks like someone’s been searching for something,’ Charlie remarked.

‘A pretty desperate search,’ his uncle agreed. ‘I imagine they did the same downstairs, but re-laid the boards in case anyone looked through the windows.’

‘I don’t like to think of strangers coming in and trashing my old home,’ said Charlie.

As they went downstairs they kept an eye open for any sign that the treads might have been pulled up. And this time they noticed the splintered wood, the nails that had been pulled up, and the slight wobble in the banisters.

‘It might be a good idea to change the locks,’ said Uncle Paton, when they were standing in the street again. ‘I’ll tell the agents.’