Jenny Nimmo - Charlie Bone and the Time Twister

‘Here,’ said the boy. ‘Just now I was here, but,’ he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed up at the row of electric lights illuminating the hall, ‘it wasn’t like this. How did it get so bright?’

‘Electricity,’ said Charlie. He was beginning to recognise the boy. ‘Are you . . . ?’ he began. ‘I mean, have you . . . well, the thing is, I’ve seen you in a photo. Are you Henry Yewbeam?’

‘That’s me,’ said Henry, beaming. ‘I think I’ve seen you too. Somewhere. Who are you?’

‘I’m your . . . erm . . . sort of cousin, Charlie Bone.’

‘No! This is very good news. A cousin, well, well.’ Henry marched over and shook Charlie’s hand. ‘Very glad to meet you, Charlie Bone.’

‘The news isn’t that good,’ said Charlie. ‘What was the date when you . . . just now?’

‘January 12th, 1916,’ said Henry. ‘I always know the date.’

‘I’m afraid it isn’t that now.’

‘No?’ Henry’s smile began to fade. ‘So . . . ?’

‘You’re almost ninety years ahead of where you were,’ said Charlie.

Henry’s mouth opened but no words came out. Instead, there was a sharp ping as something dropped out of his hand and hit the floor.

Charlie saw a large glass marble rolling across the hall. ‘Wow!’ he exclaimed, but before he could pick it up, Henry shouted, ‘Careful, Charlie. Don’t look at it.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s what brought me here.’

Charlie stood back from the shining glass marble. ‘You mean it brought you through time?’

Henry nodded. ‘It’s a time twister. My mama told me about it, but I’d never seen it until just now. I should have guessed what it was. I knew Zeke would try and punish me.’

‘Zeke?’

‘My cousin, Ezekiel Bloor.’ Henry suddenly grinned. ‘I say, he’s probably dead by now.’ And then a sad and solemn expression crossed his face. ‘They’re probably all dead: Mother, Father, my sister, and even my brother, James. There’s no one left.’

‘There’s me,’ said Charlie, ‘and I think your brother is . . .’

At that moment, a dreadful howl came from the stairs above them. The boys looked up to see a squat, ugly-looking dog standing at the top of the stairs. It howled again, raising its long nose towards the roof, while folds of almost hairless skin shook beneath its whiskery chin.

‘What an ugly beast,’ Henry whispered.

‘It’s Cook’s dog, Blessed.’ Charlie didn’t wait for the dog to howl again. ‘Quick,’ he said, grabbing Henry’s arm. ‘You’ve got to hide. This isn’t a good place for you to be right now. There are people here who might – do something nasty, if they find out who you are.’

‘Why?’ asked Henry, his eyes widening.

‘Just a feeling,’ said Charlie. ‘Come on.’ He dragged Henry towards the door into the west wing.

‘Where are we going?’ said Henry, scooping up the Time Twister and slipping it into his pocket.

For a moment Charlie had no idea why he was taking Henry into the west wing. He turned the heavy brass ring in the door and pushed his new friend into the dark passage beyond.

‘I know this place,’ whispered Henry. ‘I never liked it.’

‘Nor me,’ said Charlie. ‘But we have to go this way to find somewhere safe.’ He closed the door behind him just as Blessed gave another mournful howl.

The two boys made their way along the passage until they reached an empty, circular room. A dim light, hanging from the ceiling, showed an ancient wooden door and, opposite the door, a flight of stone steps.

‘The tower?’ Henry looked at the steps and pulled a face.

It was then that Charlie realised why he had brought Henry to this place. ‘You’ll be safe at the top,’ he said.

‘Will I?’ Henry looked doubtful.

‘Trust me,’ said Charlie.

As Henry began to mount the steps, Charlie noticed his peculiar tweed breeches. They reached only to the knee, where a button held them in place over loose grey socks.

Henry’s boots looked distinctly feminine: black and shiny, they were neatly laced just above the ankle.

‘We’d better find you some more clothes,’ Charlie muttered as they reached a second circular room. A door led off this room into the west wing, but Charlie urged Henry up a second flight of steps. ‘The Bloors live through there,’ he said.

‘Interesting,’ said Henry. ‘Some things haven’t changed then.’

They kept climbing upwards but long before they reached the top of the tower, the sound of a piano could be heard, echoing down the narrow stairwell.

Henry stopped. ‘There’s someone up there.’

‘It’s the piano teacher, Mr Pilgrim,’ said Charlie. ‘No one else comes up here, and Mr Pilgrim doesn’t really notice things. He won’t be a problem, promise!’

Another two sets of stairs brought them to the small room at the top of the tower. Sheets of music lay scattered on the floor and the shelves that ran from floor to ceiling were crammed with huge leather-bound albums, and thick dog-eared scores.

‘It’ll be warm here,’ said Charlie, moving a few piles away from the bookcase. ‘You see, if we put some paper on the floor like this,’ he spread several sheets of music between the bookcase and a wall of piled scores,‘it’ll make a sort of bed, and you can hide here till morning.’

‘And then what?’ asked Henry.

‘Well . . .’ Charlie scratched his head. ‘Then I’ll find a way to get you some breakfast, and maybe some new clothes.’

‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ Henry gave an anxious frown.

‘They’re just different. We don’t wear that kind of stuff now.’

Henry glanced at Charlie’s long grey trousers and thick-soled shoes. ‘No. So I see,’ he said.

‘I’d better be getting back,’ said Charlie. ‘The head boy, Manfred Bloor, will be after me, and I don’t want to get on the wrong side of him. He hypnotises.’

‘Oh. One of those.’ Henry had heard about the hypnotisers in his family. ‘Are you one of them?’ he asked Charlie. ‘The endowed?’

‘’Fraid so,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s how I knew you.’

‘What about him?’ Henry pointed to the door behind which the piano music flowed on.

‘He won’t bother you,’ said Charlie. ‘’Bye now.’ He gave a wave and backed out of the small room feeling inexplicably guilty.

In the King’s room, a boy with a long, sad face glanced anxiously at Charlie’s empty seat. The boy’s name was Gabriel Silk, and he worried about Charlie. He should have gone after Tancred, not let Charlie go. Charlie was younger and likely to land in some sort of trouble. He was the kind of boy unfortunate things happened to.

And then the howling began. At first they all tried to ignore it, but in the end Manfred flung down his pen and exclaimed, ‘Bloody dog! Billy, go and shut it up.’

‘I’ll go,’ Gabriel offered.

‘I said Billy.’ Manfred gave Gabriel one of his horrible stares and then turned his piercing black gaze on Billy. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘You can talk to the wretched thing. Ask it if it’s got a bellyache.’

‘Yes, Manfred.’ Billy scuttled to the door.

As he ran down the chilly stairwells and dark corridors, he talked to himself. He hated it when everyone else was shut away doing homework. He was afraid of meeting the ghosts. He knew they were there – gliding about in the dark. Billy never went home. He had no home to go to. Sometimes he stayed with an aunt. But not often.

He had reached the wide landing where a grand staircase led down into the hall. Blessed was sitting at the top of the stairs, still howling.

Billy sat beside the dog and put one hand on its plump back. ‘What’s the matter, Blessed?’ The words came out in a series of little grunts and sniffs. A language that Blessed could understand.