Jenny Nimmo - Charlie Bone and the Red Knight

‘Well, he did, in a sense,’ Tancred agreed. ‘I was just about gone when Emma rescued me. And then, soon after my father had carried my lifeless body home, we had visitors.’ Tancred sat at the table and stroked the head of the yellow cat, Sagittarius, drawing a deep purr from his silky throat. ‘I thought you had sent them.’

‘The cats!’ cried Mr Onimous, clapping his hands. ‘I should have known it. But they lead a mysterious life. I never know where they are off to.’

‘They saved your life too, Orvil,’ said his wife, pouring tea for their visitor. ‘It’s a miracle how they always know when a child of the Red King is in trouble.’

‘I’m no child,’ chuckled Mr Onimous, lifting orange Leo into his arms.

‘You’re a descendant; that’s good enough for them.’ Onoria smiled as Aries, the copper cat, wound himself round her legs.

‘They sat on my bed all through the night.’ Tancred’s eyes took on a faraway gleam as he began to describe the warmth and comfort the cats had brought to his aching limbs, and how their voices had soothed the pain in his head and steadied his faltering heart.

‘I know, I know.’ Mr Onimous thought of his own miraculous recovery.

Mrs Onimous sat down and pushed same tarts across to Tancred. ‘Empty the plate, there’s a good boy,’ she said. ‘And take some home to your mother. We don’t see enough of her down here.’

‘She doesn’t have a pet,’ said Tancred through a mouthful of tart. ‘She’s tried dogs and cats, guinea pigs and rabbits, even a pony, but they all ran away. They couldn’t take my dad’s thunder.’

Tancred’s father was known as the Thunder Man, on account of the violent weather that constantly attended him.

‘Does Charlie Bone know that you survived?’ asked Mr Onimous, biting into one of his wife’s tarts.

Tancred nodded vigorously. ‘So do the others: Lysander, Gabriel and co, but no one else must know. I can do more to help them if Dagbert and the Bloors think that I’m dead.’

‘We won’t tell a soul.’ Mr Onimous lowered his voice as though the Bloors might be outside the door that very moment. ‘I feel so sorry for poor Charlie. His parents have been away for more than a month now, and although I don’t like to criticise a fine person like Lyell Bone, it’s a long time to leave your only child when you’ve already been apart for more than ten years.’

‘I agree,’ said Tancred, ‘but Charlie’s such a great –’ A loud knocking caused him to stop mid-sentence and stare over his shoulder.

‘Whoever can it be?’ Mr Onimous opened the kitchen door and stared across the café at a large figure framed in the window. ‘Bless me, it’s Norton. I’ll –’

‘NO, Mr Onimous!’ Tancred leapt up and pulled the little man back into the kitchen. ‘Charlie asked me to warn you. That’s why I came. Norton Cross has betrayed you, Mr Onimous.’

‘What?’ Mr Onimous frowned at Tancred in disbelief. ‘How can you say such a thing? Norton? He’s the best doorman we’ve ever had.’

‘You have to believe me, sir,’ said Tancred in a low voice. ‘He’s been seen in the company of the Witch Tilpin and others. Some of the villains from Piminy Street, in fact.’

‘Norton?’ Clutching the edge of the table, Mr Onimous sank on to a chair. ‘What’s the world coming to?’

‘Well, at least we’ll be on our guard, Orvil,’ said his wife. She shook her head. ‘Who can have turned our dear Norton to wickedness?’

No one could answer her.

The knocking had ceased at last and, peering into the dark café, Tancred caught a glimpse of two figures walking down the alley. Norton was unmistakable, his bulky form clad in a green padded jacket printed with yellow elephants. His companion was shorter and wore a black cloak and a hat with a drooping feather. The hat was an odd shape, soft and velvety. It reminded Tancred of another hat he’d seen. Was it in a book or in a painting? He couldn’t yet place it.

‘Think I’d better be going now,’ Tancred told the Onimouses.

‘Do take care, my dear.’ Mrs Onimous came and gave him a hug. ‘You’re young to be out alone on such a dark night.’

Tancred was fourteen and accustomed to being out alone on dark nights. His endowment was the only protection he needed, or so he thought. A bolt of lightning or a blast of gale-force wind had always been enough to deter any would-be assailant. ‘I can look after myself,’ he said, extricating himself from Mrs Onimous’s embrace.

A violent gust of wind blew through the kitchen and the cups hanging on the dresser rattled and clinked in a wild tune.

‘All right, Weather-boy, you don’t have to prove it,’ chuckled Mr Onimous.

Tancred walked briskly through the café, calling, ‘Goodnight, Onimouses. Keep safe!’

Stepping into the alley, he closed the café door and stood listening for a moment. Footfalls could be heard turning right on to the High Street. Pulling up his hood, Tancred tiptoed swiftly up the alley and looked round the corner.

The two figures were walking briskly in the direction of Bloor’s Academy. Tancred drew his scarf over the lower part of his face and hurried after them. At first, Norton and his companion seemed unaware of their stalker, but all at once the man in the black cloak swung round. Tancred leapt into a doorway. He stood with his back against the door, breathing heavily.

He must have seen me, thought Tancred, for I saw him.

It was a face Tancred had instantly recognised. Framed in shoulder-length black curls, the stranger’s pale features were dominated by large dark eyes and heavy arched eyebrows. He had a small pointed beard and the tips of his fine moustache curled up to each cheek.

If the man had seen Tancred he was apparently unconcerned, for the footsteps resumed their brisk walk.

It was several minutes before Tancred could bring himself to move again and, by the time he emerged on to the High Street, the two figures were nowhere to be seen. They had evidently taken the side street that led to the Academy.

Keeping close to the buildings, Tancred flew after them. He reached the square in front of the Academy just in time to see Norton climb the steps up to the school.

A cold shudder ran down Tancred’s spine. He had spent three years at the Academy and, in spite of the friends he had made, he had always been aware that at any moment old Ezekiel Bloor and the children he controlled might do something irrevocably evil. And then Dagbert-the-drowner had arrived, and the evil had finally shown its hand. Dagbert thought he had drowned Tancred Torsson; indeed, if it hadn’t been for the cats’ miraculous powers, Tancred would be dead.

He watched Norton climb to the top step, then turn and look back at the fountain in the centre of the square. A circle of swans, their beaks upraised, blew silvery streams into the lamplit air. Tancred pressed himself against a wall, where the light from the street lamps couldn’t reach him. Norton made an odd sign with his hand: a sort of thumbs up, with all his fingers. And then, before Tancred realised what was happening, Norton’s hand had twisted round so that his forefinger was now pointing straight at him. Tancred cursed himself for being such a fool. He had forgotten Norton’s companion.

The man now emerged from behind the fountain and advanced towards Tancred.

‘Who are ye? Give us thy name.’ The voice was deep and husky. ‘Speak!’

With his back to the wall Tancred shuffled sideways, attempting to slide back into the alley.

‘Stop!’ roared the man, and Tancred froze as, from beneath the folds of his cloak, the man drew out a gleaming sword. ‘Spy! Give thy name!’

Tancred found he couldn’t breathe; his legs felt so weak he feared they would give way at any moment. He tried to summon up a wind, to fill the air with hailstones, but in the stranger’s presence he could only muster up a damp breeze. The man was almost upon him, his sword slicing the air in shining arcs of light.