When Mrs. Kettle reappeared, she was carrying two large pairs of coveralls and two pairs of thick, woolen socks. "These won't be a perfect fit," she warned. "Just roll up the parts that are too long."
Grinning shyly, Emma pulled on her coveralls and socks. Olivia took her time, sizing up the huge garment and wondering how she could jazz it up a bit. "Have you got a brooch or something?" she asked Mrs. Kettle.
The big woman hooted with laughter. "I don't go in for such things. Pretend you're a princess in disguise." She hung their wet clothes on a wooden rack above the stove.
Olivia grimaced and stepped into the coveralls, rolling up the sleeves until her pink and silver cuffs were revealed.
"I can see you're a bit of a fashion queen," said Mrs. Kettle, with a chuckle. "Cup of tea, girls?"
Before they could reply there was a loud and urgent knock on the shop door.
"I hope it's not that blasted fish boy again," said Mrs. Kettle, striding back into the shop.
"Well, well, it's you," they heard her say. "What's up, young man?"
There was a mumbled reply and the next minute Charlie Bone walked into the room.
"Good grief!" Charlie blinked at the girls in disbelief. "What an outfit, Liv. Is that the latest fashion?"
"I think it suits me," Olivia said haughtily.
Emma burst out laughing. Charlie joined in, and then Olivia began to giggle. Mrs. Kettle laughed loudest of all. Still spluttering with mirth, she went through her metal door to make some tea.
It was only then that Emma noticed Charlie was carrying his old black kettle. "You've brought it back," she said.
"Yes." Charlie put the kettle on the floor. "I wanted Mrs. Kettle's advice."
"What's it for?" asked Olivia.
"Mrs. Kettle gave it to me." Charlie explained how the liquid in the kettle warmed up when trouble was brewing. "It got so hot last night it was almost boiling."
"Last night?" said Emma thoughtfully.
"And how come you're both dressed like plumbers?" Charlie asked them. "Are there any burst pipes around here?"
"You could say so." Olivia told Charlie about Dagbert and the water.
Charlie frowned. "I hoped he wouldn't use his power like that," he said quietly. "I just can't figure him out."
Mrs. Kettle walked in with a tray of tea, and as they pulled their chairs up to the table, she asked, "So, what brings you here, girls? I know you weren't just escaping from the fish boy when you burst in. You were coming to see me, weren't you?"
Olivia looked at Emma, and Emma said, "Yes."
"So what's the story?" Mrs. Kettle filled four mugs with tea and handed them around, while Emma hesitated, wiped her nose, and cleared her throat.
"Er, are these your coveralls, Mrs. Kettle?" Emma asked.
"Of course. There's no one else living here."
"Oh." Emma stared into her mug. "No one at all?"
"Not a soul," said Mrs. Kettle.
"Oh." Emma looked around the room, searching for words. It seemed a bit rude to ask a homely person like Mrs. Kettle if she were a blacksmith.
Olivia had no such qualms. Losing patience, she asked, "Are you a blacksmith, Mrs. Kettle?"
"Indeed I am," said Mrs. Kettle evenly. "And are you a bird, Emma?"
Emma reddened. "Yes. I can be. Sometimes."
"So you were sitting on my windowsill, watching me at work last night?"
"I wasn't spying," Emma said quickly. "I was just - exploring."
"Of course you were, my dear. Don't worry. There's no harm in watching a blacksmith at work."
"We came around," Olivia blurted out, "to find out about the sword you were making."
"Sword!" Charlie stared at Mrs. Kettle.
"Ah, the sword." She suddenly looked very grave. "You're not to breathe a word of this to anyone you can't trust with your lives." She studied each of them with an expression that was both fierce and solemn.
"We won't," said Charlie earnestly.
Mrs. Kettle's features softened. "I have inherited certain skills from my ancestor Feromel. I seldom use them, if ever. By that, I mean that I do not use the magic side of my talent, although I still make tools, harnesses, and even iron furniture. I have never been asked to make a sword before - a very, special, unbeatable sword - so, naturally, I was overjoyed by the request."
Charlie leaned eagerly toward Mrs. Kettle and said, "Who asked you?"
Mrs. Kettle smiled. "A knight with a red crest on his silvery helmet."
"It sounds like the one we saw on the bridge," said Charlie.
Both speaking at once, the girls asked Mrs. Kettle, "What did he say? Who was he? When did he come?"
Mrs. Kettle put up her hand. "Hush, my dears. I can't answer three questions at once. He came a few nights ago, very late. He wore a tunic of chain mail and a shining helmet with scarlet feathers, all streaming in the moonlit breeze. His face was covered by a visor, and he spoke not a word."
"How did you know he wanted a sword?" Charlie leaned so far forward he knocked over the sugar bowl.
Mrs. Kettle set the bowl upright and spooned the sugar back into it.
"Sorry," said Charlie, "but, please, how did you know what he wanted?"
Mrs. Kettle put her hand into the deep pocket of her cardigan. She withdrew a folded piece of paper, opened it, and put it on the table. "That's how I knew."
The children stared at the single word on the paper.
Caledfwlch
"I can't even say it," said Charlie. "It doesn't make sense."
"It does to me," said Mrs. Kettle. "That word told me that the knight was no ordinary knight, and certainly not a trickster or a hoaxer."
"But what does it mean?" Charlie persisted.
"Are you sure you don't know, Charlie Bone? Doesn't it sing out at you?" Mrs. Kettle looked earnestly into his face.
Charlie stared at the word. "No. I'm sorry. It doesn't mean anything - unless ... is it Welsh?"
"There you are," said Mrs. Kettle. "You knew it all along. It is indeed a Welsh word. It is the name of King Arthur's sword, but it's mentioned only in the old Welsh legends. Their words have remained a secret code, used by those who can be trusted."
"Wow!" Olivia sighed. "I feel honored."
"Not a word of this to a soul." Mrs. Kettle put a finger to her lips.
The three children vigorously shook their heads, and Charlie murmured, "Only to someone I could trust with my life."
"When's the knight coming back for his sword?" asked Emma, thinking she might do a little more night-flying.
"No idea. I'll just have to wait. The hilt needs working on. I think I shall use some gold, and maybe silver." Mrs. Kettle gazed over their heads. "I might even use a pearl or two."
Charlie suddenly remembered why he'd come to the shop. "I almost forgot." He lifted Feromel's kettle onto the table. "This got boiling hot last night."
"Did it, indeed?" Mrs. Kettle put her hand on the blackened iron. "It's cool now. But last night was a dangerous time. A few doors away the stone men began to move."
Emma's mouth dropped open. "You know about that?"
"I've been watching that boy," said the blacksmith. "Him and his dreadful companion. I suppose you saw them, too, while you were out flying."
"I couldn't believe it," said Emma. "Eric stared at the door and this huge stone man came walking out. It was horrible."
"I THOUGHT it was Eric," Charlie murmured.
Mrs. Kettle stood up and put their empty mugs on the tray. "Time for work," she said. "Your clothes are dry, girls."
Charlie decided to leave before the coveralls came off. He arranged to meet the girls at the Pets' Cafe in the afternoon. Picking up his kettle, he left the shop, thanking Mrs. Kettle as he went.
Charlie had just turned onto Filbert Street when he saw Benjamin running up the road toward him.
"Charlie! Charlie! Have you seen Runner?" cried Benjamin.
"No."
"He's run off. He tugged his leash out of my hand an
d then he was gone." Benjamin's face was creased with worry. When he reached Charlie he bent over, panting heavily. "I've got a cramp now."
"It's not like Runner to go off like that," said Charlie.
"He's never, ever done it before. Where could he have gone, Charlie?"
Charlie tried to think of all the places Runner Bean might want to go without Benjamin. Only one place came to mind. "Chattypatra," he said.
Benjamin straightened up. "Chattypatra? Do you mean he might have gone to Darkly Wynd?"
"That's where Runner's girlfriend lives. He was really goofy about that little dog, wasn't he?"
"Yes, he was," Benjamin agreed.
"Let's go, then," said Charlie.
"Oh, no, not Darkly Wynd," groaned Benjamin. "I hate that place."
"So do I," said Charlie. "But if you want to find Runner, I bet that's where he'll be."
As they jogged up to Darkly Wynd, Charlie realized he was still holding his black kettle. It was beginning to make his arm ache and he wished he'd left it at home. He told Benjamin about his meeting with the girls and Dagbert's efforts to drown them. He didn't mention the sword, however. Even though he trusted his friend, Benjamin was not endowed.
Benjamin's anxious frown had grown deeper. "Dagbert tried to drown us too, didn't he?"
"I think so."
When they reached the alley leading to the three number thirteens, the boys slowed down. Charlie wasn't surprised to feel the kettle heating up. The temperature in Darkly Wynd was always several degrees lower than anywhere else and the warmth from the kettle was rather comforting.
Ahead of them stood the tall block of houses with their black balconies, their pointed roofs, and the stone beasts that framed the long windows.
"I don't think Runner's here," said Benjamin in a low voice, "unless they've taken him inside." He gave an involuntary shudder.
Charlie caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Was it a curtain, or was the house shifting very slightly? Benjamin gasped for air, and croaked, "Charlie, something moved. One of those stone creatures above the window."
They stood where they were, fearfully watching Great-aunt Venetia's house. Suddenly, the door was flung open and Miranda ran down the steps with a dog on either side of her, both barking like mad.
"Runner!" cried Benjamin, rushing toward the big dog.
"I saw you coming," said Miranda. "My m... m... she wanted to lock your dog in the cellar. But I kept him safe for you. She doesn't like dogs, my m... m..."
Benjamin flung his arms around the big dog, who licked his master with such enthusiasm, Benjamin's happy face began to glisten.
Charlie noticed that Miranda's eyes were swollen and two red streaks ran down her cheeks. "Are you OK, Miranda?" he asked.
Miranda gave Charlie a desperate look. "No. I don't think I am," she whispered. "My m . .. m..." She obviously found it impossible to say the word "mother."
"What's my great-aunt been doing to you?" said Charlie.
"She doesn't like me." Miranda cast a fearful look behind her. "She only likes Eric, and Eric, he ... he isn't my brother anymore."
"What? What has he... ?"
Runner Bean gave a sudden yelp of warning. As he leaped up the steps, the troll beside the door gave a hideous grin and sprang into the air.
"Look out, Miranda!" cried Charlie. He tried to pull her out of the path of the flying troll, but unbelievably, the troll twisted in midair and came straight for Miranda, thumping her on the back.
The little girl slumped to Charlie's feet, and then fell onto the sidewalk, her face as white as a sheet.
15
THE STOLEN CLOAK
Charlie and Benjamin were both too shocked to speak, or even to move. Chattypatra licked Miranda's hair, whining pitifully, and then Runner Bean began to howl. The dog's mournful voice brought the boys to their senses. Charlie knelt down and gingerly touched Miranda's shoulder. Very softly, he spoke her name.
Miranda's eyelids fluttered. She moaned.
A man appeared in the doorway. He had receding brown hair and wore glasses. When he saw Miranda he gasped and ran down the steps.
"What happened?" the man shouted at Charlie.
"I... ," Charlie began.
"Miranda! Miranda!" The man bent over her. "Thank goodness. She's alive." He picked her up in his arms. "Tell me what happened?" he demanded.
Charlie could only tell him the truth, ridiculous as it might sound. "That troll..." He whirled around. The troll was back in its place by the door, mute and unblinking. Just a lump of stone. Charlie took a deep breath and said, "I know you're not going to believe this, sir, but that troll flew down and hit Miranda on the back."
The man stared gravely at Charlie. "I believe you," he said. "I'm Mr. Shellhorn, Miranda's father. I think you must be Charlie." He turned to Benjamin. "And you're Benjamin, because of the dog. Miranda told me about you."
"I suppose you're my great-uncle," said Charlie.
Mr. Shellhorn looked rather surprised. "I suppose I am. Look, Charlie, can you take Chattypatra away from here?"
Charlie was taken aback. "I can't, sir. What will Miranda do without her?"
"She'll miss Chatty, of course. But I'm afraid something might happen to the dog if she stays here. I can bring Miranda around to see her, from time to time, if I... if my wife..." He glanced nervously at the open door. "I must get Miranda indoors. Please, boys. Please, take the dog."
Miranda's eyes blinked open and she said, "Something thumped me in the back. It hurts."
"Yes, darling. Let's get you inside." Mr. Shellhorn carried Miranda up the steps and into the house. Chattypatra rushed after them, but the door closed before she could reach it.
"Now what?" Benjamin sighed.
"We take Chattypatra," said Charlie. "What else can we do?"
Chattypatra set up a steady brokenhearted whine. The troll watched her. Charlie watched the troll. It turned its stony, malignant gaze in his direction.
"All right, troll. Do your worst!" Handing Benjamin the kettle, Charlie bounded up the steps, seized Chattypatra, and jumped to the sidewalk in one leap. "Run!" he shouted.
Benjamin ran. Charlie raced after him, with Chattypatra wriggling and squealing under his arm. Runner Bean bounded beside them, urging them on with encouraging barks. If they had been anywhere else in the city, windows would have been flung open and angry voices would have demanded to know what was going on. Not in Darkly Wynd. Most of the houses were deserted. The few people who did live there kept their heads down and minded their own business. They didn't want to know what was going on in the three number thirteens.
"I wish Billy was here," Charlie panted. "He could have had a word with this silly dog."
"Don't... call... her... silly," Benjamin puffed. He came to a halt, breathing heavily. "Look!"
Coming toward them were three cats. They walked side by side, copper, orange, and yellow. Their big tails were held aloft and their golden eyes were fixed on Charlie. Runner Bean sat back and gazed at them. Chattypatra fell silent. She stopped wriggling and watched the bright creatures until they stood beside Charlie, purring rhythmically.
"Hi, Flames!" said Charlie. "Would you mind having a word with this dog?"
The Flames needed no encouragement. Leo, the orange cat, lifted his head and directed a loud meow straight at the little dog's nose. Aries, the copper cat, took up the call, and then the yellow cat, Sagittarius, trilled a finale.
Chattypatra was entranced. She sniffed the Flame cats and vigorously wagged her tail.
"I think they've done it," said Benjamin. "Put her down, Charlie, and let's see if she runs back."
Charlie put Chattypatra on the sidewalk. She sat down, happily sweeping her feathery tail back and forth across the ground.
"Whatever they said, it's done the trick," said Charlie.
The Flame cats' work had only just begun. Their voices fell silent and they walked on, toward the three thirteens. There was deadly purpose in their strong swift
pacing. They had come to keep a child safe, to protect her against a stone troll, a wicked stepmother, and a spell-making brother.
"I don't feel so bad now." Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. "If anything can keep that troll in its place, it's the Flames."
The three cats had reached Great-aunt Venetia's house. They climbed up to the troll and gazed steadily at him. Satisfied that he had not moved, they took up their positions: Aries on the top step, Leo by the door, and Sagittarius on the porch wall.
"Let's go home," said Charlie.
When the boys walked out of the dark alley, Chattypatra obediently followed them.
"WHAT'S THAT CREATURE DOING HERE?" shouted Grandma Bone.
The last person Charlie hoped to meet when he got home was his bad-tempered, dog-hating grandmother.
"That dog belongs to my sister. You've stolen it!" Grandma Bone gave Chattypatra a poke with her shiny black shoe.
"Don't!" cried Charlie. "She's not your sister's dog. She belongs to Miranda. I'm looking after her because Great-aunt Venetia doesn't like dogs."
"Nor do I," said Grandma Bone. "Put it out. Get rid of it." She lunged at the little dog, who rushed under a chair in the hall.
"I won't have it, do you hear?" screeched Grandma Bone. "Get the filthy thing out of here."
Charlie shouted, "Uncle Paton. Help!"
"He's not here," said Grandma Bone, with satisfaction. "Nor's your other grandma. You're all on your own with me, Charlie Bone. So get that dog out, or I'll kill it."
"Ahhhh!" screamed Charlie. He knelt on the floor, reached under the chair, and pulled out the trembling Chattypatra. Tucking her under one arm, he ran for the door, while Grandma Bone went for her secret weapon: a sword-stick disguised as a black umbrella.
"Aieeee!" Charlie pulled open the front door and leaped down the steps.
Benjamin was standing outside his house. Hearing the screams, he was about to rush over to number nine, when Charlie burst out of the door and came running across the road.
"Grandma Bone!" yelled Charlie. "She's on the warpath. Says she's going to kill Chattypatra."
Grandma Bone. Runner Bean knew that name. He gave a hearty growl and would have leaped over to number nine if Benjamin hadn't grabbed his collar.