In a luxury apartment at the top of Kingdom’s store, Amy Bone stared at her finger in horror. She opened the window, tore off her emerald ring and flung it at the sky.
‘N-o-o-o!’ roared the enchanter. But a cloud of bright leaves blew into the room and swept him through the window – a ball of green tumbleweed licked by scarlet flames.
Amy heaved a deep sigh, closed the window and left the store.
At number nine Filbert Street, Maisie Jones, fully dressed, sat up in the bath. A white moth with silver-tipped wings sat on her knees.
‘My word!’ Maisie said to the moth. ‘Who left the window open?’ For she was covered in leaves.
Leaves even found their way into Bloor’s Academy. Helped by the wild wind, they forced open the great door and rushed into the hall. They whirled up the ancient stairs, and rustled down the passages, tapping on walls, whistling through cracks and slipping under doors.
‘Stop them! Stop them!’ shrieked old Ezekiel as he tried to wheel himself against the tide of leaves.
‘What’s happening?’ Dr Bloor demanded, looking at his son.
‘How should I know? We’d better stay where we are.’ Manfred seized Ezekiel’s wheelchair, pushed him into Dr Bloor’s study and bolted the door. ‘They can’t get us now,’ he said, rubbing his hands together until the sparks flew.
At the top of the Music Tower, Mr Pilgrim watched leaves dance like fireflies outside his window. Names stirred at the back of his mind. He struggled to remember them. He felt he was swimming up through deep, dark water. He saw a face. And then it was gone.
Outside the Pets’ Café, parents and children had gathered in the open air to watch the fiery leaves stream through the sky.
Bartholomew Bloor was about to slip away with his family when Charlie caught him by the arm. ‘Thank you, Mr Bloor,’ he said. ‘It was the spell in your diary that did it.’
‘Did what, Charlie?’ said the explorer. ‘Better find out what’s happened before you thank me.’
‘OK. But goodnight anyway!’
This time Bartholomew smiled. ‘Goodnight, Charlie.’
When he strode away, Naren skipped round and waved to Charlie. ‘He’s not so bad,’ she called. ‘See you, Charlie Bone!’
Other families were now hurrying away, the children still in very high spirits, their parents pleased, but eager for life to return to normal. A task had been completed, a wish fulfilled, but until Charlie Bone got home, no one would know the outcome.
Promising to call every one of his friends with good news or bad, Charlie and Uncle Paton set off for number nine.
As soon as they saw the candles lined up on the kitchen windowsill, they knew that a change had taken place. Grandma Bone would never have been so considerate. Charlie rushed up the steps, with his uncle striding behind.
They found Amy and Maisie having a nice cup of tea.
‘Where have you been?’ Charlie’s mother hugged him tight. ‘I was so worried.’
He didn’t ask her where she had been. He knew she would never be able to tell him. ‘Good to see you, Mum,’ he murmured.
‘I don’t know what’s happened to the weather,’ said Maisie, ‘but I feel awful queer. It’s so hot in here.’
‘It is NOT hot!’ Grandma Bone shouted from the hall. ‘It is ruddy well freezing. Someone tell that woman she’s mad.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Grizelda,’ said Paton. ‘I find it absolutely boiling.’
The kitchen erupted with joyful laughter, while Grandma Bone stomped back to the sitting room and slammed the door.
Maisie had managed to make a large jam sponge – quite a feat for someone whose temperature an hour ago had been well below freezing.
The four of them sat down to an almost normal family tea, and then, when Paton judged the time was right, he took Amy’s hand and said, very gently, ‘Amy, we have found your husband.’
‘Lyell?’ Amy’s hand flew to her heart. ‘How?’
With Charlie’s help, Paton told her everything that he thought she should know. How Lyell had been hypnotised by Manfred Bloor, at the height of his dreadful childish powers. And how Charlie had found his father with the help of the Mirror of Amoret. The enchanter was not mentioned by either Paton or Charlie and, for the time being, they thought it best not to speak of Maisie’s deep-freezing.
‘Will he wake up?’ asked Amy. ‘What shall we do?’
‘I think he may be very close to waking,’ Paton said solemnly. ‘But something more might have to be done. After all, it’s been ten years.’
Amy stood up. ‘I must go to him, now.’
‘No,’ said Paton. ‘Not yet. Lyell was hypnotised on the stroke of twelve. We must wait until it’s close to midnight. The cathedral clock will help to wake him. But there’s something else.’ He turned to Charlie and asked quietly, ‘The king’s tears?’
‘I’ve got them,’ said Charlie.
‘And Amy,’ Paton took her left hand. ‘Could I ask you to put on your rings?’
Amy stared at her bare fingers. ‘However did they come off?’ She ran upstairs.
At ten minutes past eleven, Grandma Bone was snoozing in front of the television when a noise from the hall woke her up. She found Amy and Charlie putting on their boots and coats. It had started to snow again.
‘Where are you two going at this hour?’ Grandma Bone demanded.
Paton came out of the kitchen and said, ‘We’ve found your son, Grizelda.’
Grandma Bone gave a stifled cry and stared at Paton in horror. Her mouth fell open and she clutched the doorframe.
Paton walked up to her. ‘You hid him from us very well. What diabolical cunning it was, to keep him almost under our very noses. Well, we know where he is now, and Amy and Charlie are going to bring him home.’
Grandma Bone staggered back and dropped into a chair. ‘I see,’ she whispered.
Leopards!
The snow began to fall faster as Amy and Charlie walked towards Bloor’s Academy.
‘Real snow,’ said Charlie, holding out his hand to catch the flakes. ‘Not Tancred’s magical stuff.’
Amy laughed. ‘Come on, Charlie. We’d better run before we’re buried.’
They had decided to knock until the Bloors let them in, but when they crossed the courtyard they saw that the tall doors were wide open. Leaves fluttered round the hall and snow lay on the flagstones. Light streamed into the courtyard through the stained glass windows of the chapel. Someone was playing the organ.
Taking his mother’s hand, Charlie led her round to the chapel entrance. Red and gold leaves drifted round the open doors; inside the chapel they floated in the air like brightly coloured butterflies. Lyell Bone was playing the organ at the far end.
Charlie’s mother ran down the aisle, calling her husband’s name. He looked up but gave no sign of recognition. Charlie followed his mother. They stood side by side while Lyell stared at them in bewilderment. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.
The cathedral clock began to strike twelve. Charlie took out the small glass bottle. He uncorked the top and held it out to his father.
‘For me?’ Lyell frowned at the bottle. ‘What should I do with it?’
Charlie wasn’t sure. He was about to tell his father to pour the water into his palm, when a figure stepped out from behind the organ and, with a yell of triumph, knocked the bottle out of Charlie’s hand.
‘There!’ Manfred kicked the broken bottle across the floor. ‘That’s put an end to your little game, Charlie Bone!’
The smile suddenly left Manfred’s face and he stared in horror at the piles of drifting leaves. They had, somehow, become three huge cats. At first glance, their coats appeared to be dappled with the shadows of floating leaves, but as they moved closer, it became clear that their spots were no mere shadows. The cats were leopards. The three bright creatures ran down the aisle, with their golden eyes fixed on Manfred.
Whimpering in terror, Manfred tore round the pews, pursued by the leopards. With
thunderous roars they chased him out of the chapel and then, above the midnight chimes, there came a single, dreadful scream – followed by silence.
Lyell Bone stood up and shook his head, as though he couldn’t quite understand what he had seen.
‘Lyell!’ Amy said in a desolate voice. ‘Oh, Lyell, will you never wake up?’
Charlie looked at the empty broken bottle. The king’s tears had gone.
Lyell gave a faint smile. His eye had been caught by the glint of wet glass. He bent down to pick up the broken bottle, but cut his finger on the jagged edge.
‘Ouch!’ Lyell sat down and put his bleeding finger into his mouth. He tasted something utterly strange; it was warm and infinitely comforting. He looked at the two people standing before him. One of them he knew, so very well. The other must be . . .
‘Charlie?’ he said. ‘And Amy.’
Charlie watched his parents fall into each other’s arms. He felt that he could stand there forever, just watching. But then his father beckoned to him.
Jenny Nimmo, Charlie Bone and the Hidden King (Children of the Red King)
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