“Yes, Mrs. Bone,” said Benjamin, almost inaudibly.
Maisie couldn’t stand having one of her meals interrupted in this way. “For goodness’ sake, Grizelda.” She banged down the empty chair. “If you don’t want to eat, leave us in peace. These boys are cold and hungry and I won’t have you putting them off their nice hot meal. The dog’s not doing any harm.”
“You watch it, Maisie Jones.” Grandma Bone was enjoying her very bad mood. You could tell by the nasty smile on her face. “If you keep defying me,” she continued, “you’ll be out on your ear. This is my house and you’re only here on sufferance.”
A voice from behind her said, “OUR house, Grizelda.”
Grandma Bone nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t heard Uncle Paton creep up behind her.
“Stop talking nonsense and let us eat in peace.” Uncle Paton seized his sister’s shoulders.
She wriggled out of his grasp, muttering under her breath, then rushed upstairs.
Uncle Paton walked into the kitchen and took his place at the end of the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he said as though nothing at all had happened.
The boys felt like cheering, but restrained themselves in case Grandma Bone found a nasty way to get back at them. Benjamin already had indigestion. It was the only drawback to visiting Charlie, the gut-churning scenes with Grandma Bone.
The rest of the meal passed very pleasantly. By the time they’d reached the plum pudding, Charlie had told his uncle all about the visit to Mrs. Kettle and the rescue of Chattypatra.
“Let’s have a look at this kettle,” said Uncle Paton, when the last bit of plum pudding had gone.
Charlie lifted the kettle onto the table.
“Dirty thing,” grumbled Maisie, stacking the empty plates.
Uncle Paton put on his glasses and pulled the kettle toward him. He lifted the lid. “Mmmm.” He sniffed the dark liquid. “Smells of nothing at all,” he remarked, “but this is certainly very, very old.” He tapped the side. “Iron. Yes. Quite cold.”
“That’s because there’s no danger,” said Billy.
“I bet it was hot a moment ago,” said Benjamin, looking at the spot where Grandma Bone had been standing.
“She’s not dangerous,” said Charlie. “She’s just mean. But something in Aunt Venetia’s house was dangerous, unless …” He hesitated.
“Unless what, Charlie?” Uncle Paton looked over the top of his half-moon glasses.
“Nothing.” Charlie didn’t know how to explain the troll’s blink. After all, it could have been his imagination.
Uncle Paton told him to keep the kettle in his room. “Somewhere out of sight, if I were you, Charlie,” his uncle added. “You don’t want to lose it.”
Ordinarily, Charlie would have gone to the Pets’ Café on a Sunday afternoon. But today didn’t feel ordinary. He didn’t want to meet up with Olivia again, and the word was out that Tancred and Lysander would be with their girlfriends. Somehow, Charlie didn’t see the Pets’ Café as a likely place to take one’s girlfriend. The atmosphere was hardly what you would call romantic.
So the boys watched TV in the kitchen, until the light left the sky, and a night full of stars covered the city.
When Benjamin went home, Runner Bean still had a yearning look in his big brown eyes.
“I’ll have to take him back to see Chattypatra,” Benjamin called across the street. “Next weekend, maybe.”
“Maybe,” said Charlie. He thought of the two small children in Darkly Wynd. He hoped Chattypatra would be allowed to sleep with them.
Charlie watched Benjamin go through his front door and turned to climb the steps of number nine. A movement down the street caught his eye. Something bobbed behind a tree, a low, shapeless thing. He quickly stepped inside and closed the door.
It was time for candles. Maisie switched off the kitchen lamp and Charlie turned out the light in the hall. Grandma Bone was the only person in the house who forgot the routine. You’d think she would remember Paton’s endowment, considering the number of times she’d been showered with broken glass.
“I like candlelight,” said Billy, who had brought his rat down to enjoy a snack. “So does Rembrandt.”
“So do I,” said Charlie.
Indeed, it was a very cozy scene, with the warm stove humming quietly in the background and the candle flames bathing the room in a comforting glow. And then Charlie had to go and close the curtains, and the safe, snug mood was banished in an instant for, staring up at the window, were two faces; their pale, yellowish eyes had an animal gleam, and their low brows were covered in tufts of hair.
Charlie screamed.
“What’s that all about?” said Uncle Paton, hurrying into the kitchen.
“It’s them,” said Charlie in a shaky voice. “The things we saw outside Diamond Corner.”
The two, hooded figures began to back away from the window.
Uncle Paton ran to the front door and flung it open. “What do you want?” he called.
Glowing eyes turned toward him, and then the two strangers began to slink away, up the street.
“Hold it!” shouted Uncle Paton. “Identify yourselves.”
The hooded figures increased their pace.
“Oh, no, you don’t!”
Charlie reached the door just in time to see his uncle leap down the steps and pursue the strangers. At this moment, they dropped on all fours and put on a tremendous burst of speed. But Uncle Paton’s legs were the longest in the city. In three bounds he had caught up with them.
“Gotcha!” he cried, grabbing one of the strangers by the scruff of the neck.
Charlie wasn’t quite sure what happened next, because the street light above Uncle Paton suddenly exploded and glass fell in a silvery shower over all three figures.
A howl of fury echoed down the street, followed by a cry of pain from Uncle Paton.
“Ye gods, it bit me!”
“We are not ‘its’, Mr. Yewbeam,” hissed a voice. “We are human.”
“Who …,” Uncle Paton began.
But the two creatures had vanished into the shadows.
Up and down Filbert Street, doors and windows began to open, some boldly, some cautiously. Voices called into the night.
“What’s going on?”
“Who’s there?”
“It’s Mr. Yewbeam from number nine.”
“You all right, Mr. Yewbeam?”
Someone said, “Was it the wolf?”
Before Paton could reply, Agnes Prout, the Yewbeam’s next-door neighbor, cried, “It must have been the wolf! It’s come into the city.”
At this, several doors were hastily slammed shut.
Clasping his wrist, Uncle Paton reeled back down the road. As Charlie ran to meet him, Benjamin and his mother rushed across the road, led by an excited Runner Bean.
“Are you OK, Charlie?” Benjamin cried.
“Yes, I’m OK, but my uncle’s not.”
Mrs. Brown stared in horror at the blood seeping through Paton’s fingers. “Paton, what happened? Can I help?”
“It’s nothing,” Paton said gruffly. “Maisie will patch me up.”
“But you’re covered in glass!” Mrs. Brown picked helplessly at the glittering splinters on Paton’s shoulders.
“Please, Patricia,” Paton begged. “You’ll cut yourself.” He began to mount the steps of number nine with Charlie supporting his elbow.
Benjamin’s mother refused to go home. She stood resolutely on the sidewalk, determined to get to the bottom of a mystery that was almost on her very doorstep. “It was the beast, wasn’t it?” she said gravely. “Everyone’s talking about it. They call it the Wilderness Wolf. You can hear it howling every night. It must live in the wilderness across the river.”
“Patricia,” Paton said firmly. “I was not attacked by a wolf.”
“What, then?”
“It was HUMAN!” Without looking back, Paton strode into the house.
Charlie thought he shou
ld apologize. “Sorry,” he said, turning to Benjamin and Mrs. Brown. “My uncle’s hurt. ’Night, Ben. ’Night, Mrs. Brown.”
“’Night, Charlie,” Benjamin said anxiously. His mother was getting one of her I’m-going-to-get-to-the-bottom-of-this looks.
Mrs. Brown marched purposefully back to number twelve with Benjamin and his dog at her heels. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” she said.
“Whatever’s happened?” cried Maisie as Uncle Paton lurched into the kitchen.
“Uncle Paton’s been bitten.” Charlie helped his uncle into a chair.
Paton rolled up his sleeve. “Can you get me a bowl of clean water, Maisie, and some disinfectant?”
“You’ve never been bitten by a dog!” Maisie rushed to the sink and began to fill a bowl. “You could get rabies, Paton.”
“It wasn’t a dog,” Paton said wearily. “No, it most certainly wasn’t a dog.”
“Thank goodness for that.” Maisie came to Paton’s side with her bowl. Taking his wrist she began to dab it with a clean cloth.
Charlie flinched when he saw the teeth marks. Maisie’s constant dabbing was having an effect. As the blood was wiped away, the wound on Uncle Paton’s wrist could clearly be seen.
“Looks like a wolf bite to me,” Maisie observed as she examined Paton’s wrist. “Those marks, like fangs they are — it’s not the front teeth that went the deepest, it was those two on either side, the canines.”
“I can’t explain it.” Paton allowed Maisie to bind his wrist with a length of white muslin. “The creature spoke to me. What’s more — it knew my name.”
“Well, I never.” Maisie straightened up and took her bowl back to the sink.
All this time, Billy had been sitting perfectly still, hugging Rembrandt to his chest. He looked frightened, but also puzzled.
“What is it, Billy?” asked Charlie. “Do you know something about those beings?”
“Not exactly.” Billy’s frown deepened. “I was just thinking.”
“Thinking what?” Charlie sat beside him.
“Well, I was wondering, really.”
“Wondering what?”
“It was the voice; when it howled it sounded like the voice we hear at night. It’s difficult to explain, but it was using the same kind of language.”
“But it’s a wolf we hear at night, Billy love,” said Maisie. “People call it the Wilderness Wolf.”
“And the one that attacked me was most certainly human,” added Uncle Paton.
Billy made a politely stubborn face. “They were the same,” he insisted.
Uncle Paton gave a huge shrug. “In that case, we must conclude that they are related. In truth, I am too battle-weary to ponder these riddles any longer. I am going to bed. And you boys should be on your way too very soon. School tomorrow.” He stood up, wincing slightly as his left hand grasped the back of his chair.
Maisie listened to Paton dragging his feet up the stairs. She shook her head. “Your uncle’s not quite right, Charlie, if you know what I mean. I hope that bite wasn’t poisonous.”
Charlie didn’t have a chance to find out if Uncle Paton had recovered from his bite. Monday mornings were always a scramble. Clothes were hastily flung into bags, breakfast was eaten at breakneck speed, and then Charlie and Billy were off, running up Filbert Street to catch the Academy bus.
Maisie waved them off, shouting, “I’ll let you know if your uncle’s any worse. Take care now, boys.”
Academy students were not allowed access to telephones, radios, or televisions. Several homesick children had tried to smuggle in cell phones, but there were spies in the academy, ready to betray a friend just to gain favor with the Bloors. The cell phones were always discovered and confiscated, their owners put in detention.
Cook was Charlie’s only link with the outside world, but he wondered if fear of Grimwald would deter her from giving him a message.
Cook didn’t appear in the cafeteria all day. At tea time, Charlie leaned over the counter and very quietly asked one of the kitchen assistants if Cook was ill.
“She looks all right to me,” said the woman, a friendly person called Valerie. “I expect she’s too busy to come out to the counter.”
Charlie was worried. “Could you, er, give her my regards?”
“Of course, love.” Valerie grinned.
A voice said, “Is Cook a friend of yours, then?”
Charlie swung around. Dagbert had sneaked up behind him so softly, Charlie had no idea he was there.
“N-not especially,” Charlie stammered. “It’s just that the food is better when Cook’s on.”
Dagbert’s blue-green eyes flashed. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Charlie.”
Charlie hurried away from the counter. He’d lost his appetite. Billy followed him out of the cafeteria.
“Is there any news about your uncle?” Billy asked.
“Of course not,” Charlie said impatiently. “I haven’t seen Cook, have I?”
Billy walked off, looking offended.
When Cook didn’t appear at breakfast time on Tuesday, Charlie began to feel frantic.
Fidelio ran up to Charlie as he marched around the grounds during first break. “You look as if a black cloud has settled right there on your shoulders,” Fidelio said, giving him a friendly punch.
“Don’t!” Charlie pushed his friend’s hand away.
“You’re touchy.”
Charlie apologized. “I’m just worried about my uncle. He was bitten by a, well — a thing, and I haven’t seen Cook, so I’m worried about that, too, because of Dagbert …”
“Charlie, stop!” Fidelio protested. “Calm down and tell me what’s going on.”
Fidelio was a great listener. Charlie realized he should have confided in him before. He described his weekend, beginning with the visit to Mrs. Kettle and ending with the attack on his uncle. “People kept saying it was the Wilderness Wolf, the one we hear howling at night, but Uncle P. says it was quite definitely human. And — this is the weirdest bit — Billy says their voices are the same.”
“Hmmm …” Fidelio stopped in his tracks. “The same?”
Charlie was suddenly distracted by a very interesting scene. Tancred was walking beside an extremely pretty girl; glossy blond hair rippled over her purple cape, falling almost to her waist. Her complexion was flawless, her lips full and pink, and her gray eyes fringed with long, curling lashes. “Hey, is that Tancred’s …”
“Girlfriend,” said Fidelio. “Tracy Morsell.”
“Really? You know a lot.”
“I do,” Fidelio agreed. “I keep my ear to the ground. And over there is poor Emma Tolly, whose heart is breaking.”
Following Fidelio’s gaze, Charlie saw Emma sitting alone on a log in a far corner of the grounds. She had a pile of books on her knees, and even from a distance, Charlie could tell that she was upset.
“Does she …?” Charlie turned to Fidelio.
“Does she like Tancred? I’ll say. Haven’t you noticed?”
“I’m an idiot.” Charlie slapped his head. “It’s obvious, now that you mention it. Poor Em.”
The sound of the hunting horn echoed across the grounds, calling them back to class, and Charlie ran over to help Emma with the books that had tumbled off her knees. They lay scattered around her feet, their pages flapping like white wings in the icy breeze.
Emma took the books from Charlie with a grateful smile. “Silly of me to try and work out here,” she said in a small voice. “I had this crazy idea that if I got all my homework done, I wouldn’t have to go to the King’s room tonight.”
Charlie shook his head. “Wouldn’t work, Em. They’d find something else for you to do.”
“I know,” she said.
Fidelio joined them as they walked back into school. They were the last to leave the grounds.
That night Charlie waited for the sound of distant howling. The grunts and heavy breathing of the sleeping boys around him seemed even louder t
onight. And then he saw that Billy was awake, too. Charlie could just make out the white blur of his head as he sat up in the bed beyond Dagbert’s.
“Billy?” Charlie whispered. “Can you hear anything?”
“I heard the howling once,” Billy said softly. “But it was very faint.”
“What did it say?”
“I’m not sure …” Billy hesitated. “It might have been ‘father.’”
They heard, then, the distant but unmistakable sound of gunfire.
With a little moan, Billy dived under the covers.
Charlie lay back on his pillow. I hope they haven’t killed it, he thought.
At number twelve Filbert Street, Benjamin Brown was still wide awake. He wished Charlie could have shared the past two days with him. So much had happened. It had all begun with a hastily arranged meeting in the town hall. Mr. and Mrs. Brown decided to take Benjamin along with them. “It will be good for you,” said Mr. Brown. “You might learn something.”
Benjamin doubted it until he heard that the subject for discussion would be the Wilderness Wolf. And he did, indeed, learn something. He learned that people lied when they were afraid. Fear was rife in the large hall that night. You could see it in people’s eyes; you could hear it in their hushed and nervous chatter. Benjamin sat between his parents, right at the front. The Browns liked to observe the minutest details on occasions like this.
There were five people on the platform. They sat behind a long table; each had a clipboard and a glass of water set before them. Benjamin recognized the chairman, Mr. Marchwell, a prominent councilman who often visited his school; he also recognized Charlie’s next-door neighbor Agnes Prout.
Mr. Marchwell opened the proceedings with a short speech. He told his audience that they were all there for the same reasons: one, to discuss ways and means of identifying the “unusual utterances” (a long-winded description of howling, Benjamin reckoned) coming from across the river, and two, to decide whether the creature responsible for the utterances was a threat to the citizens.
At this point, Agnes Prout rudely interrupted Mr. Marchwell with a shout of, “Threat? Of course, it’s a threat. It’s a wolf, for heaven’s sake!”