Charlie peered over the stove. "It's a very small hole," he observed.
"Then we'll make it bigger." Mrs. Kettle marched through the metal door into her work space and returned, almost immediately, with a very large hammer. Squeezing herself between the wall and the stove, she gave a mighty push with her large bottom. The stove moved back another foot at least, giving the blacksmith enough room to swing her hammer against the chimney.
Crack! One blow was enough to shatter the bricks above the hole. Enveloped in a cloud of black dust, Mrs. Kettle took another swing, and then another. At the third blow, a pile of bricks tumbled out of the chimney, burying Mrs. Kettle up to her knees.
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"Aha!" the blacksmith cried triumphantly. "Charlie, it's your turn. You saw where Feromel put the precious object."
Kicking the fallen bricks out of her way, she moved from behind the stove and pointed to the large hole she had made. "What do you think, my dear?"
Charlie didn't know what to think. He tried to imagine the dark room where he had helped Feromel to hide the sword hilt. Could this really be the very same chimney?
"Go on, Charlie!" Tancred's enthusiasm blew little clouds of dust into the air, and Charlie began to cough.
"Cool it, Tancred!" Mrs. Kettle said reprovingly. "Here, Charlie, put these on." She handed him a pair of oversized gloves.
Charlie cautiously pulled them on. His movements were slow and almost reluctant, for he was filled with misgiving. Perhaps such a precious object should never be found, and certainly not by someone like himself,
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a boy who had never proved himself worthy to touch such a great king's possession.
"What's holding you back, Charlie?" Mrs. Kettle asked gently.
"The gloves are too big," he muttered.
"Take them off, then. There's no fire in the chimney today." Mrs. Kettle laughed and Tancred joined in. Their laughter seemed out of place on such a solemn occasion.
Charlie removed the right glove and laid it on the stove. He pushed several bricks aside with his feet and then knelt before the wide hole in the chimney. He could see the bricks at the back, patched with tar and soot. He leaned forward and ran his gloved hand over the surface of the wall. One of the bricks wobbled slightly beneath his fingers. Charlie told himself he hadn't noticed it. He was thinking of the stolen cloak. If the Red Knight was a thief, should he be given a magic sword?
"I'm not sure if this is the right place," he said.
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"It must be. Feromel lived here. The house was hardly altered." Mrs. Kettle gave Charlie a long hard look. "Are you sure, my dear? Try again."
Once more Charlie ran his hand over the wall. The loose brick made a light, grating noise, but he took no notice.
"What was that?" Tancred exclaimed. "I heard something." He knelt beside Charlie. "Sounded like something kind of wobbling."
"It was just loose mortar," Charlie insisted.
Tancred wasn't convinced. Putting his head and shoulders right into the chimney, he felt the wall with both hands. "Here it is!" He pulled the loose brick away and brought it into the light.
"Well!" Mrs. Kettle clapped her big hands against her cheeks. "I can hardly believe it. What's in there, Charlie? What's behind the brick? Go on, FEEL, my dear."
Charlie put his right hand into the cavity. His fingers closed on a hard object wrapped in cloth. For a moment he hesitated and then slowly he pulled the bundle
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out of the wall. Beneath a film of dust, a dull red cloth could be seen. Charlie found he could hardly breathe. The only sound in the room seemed to come from his racing heart. He handed the bundle to Mrs. Kettle.
"Oh, Charlie!" She gasped. "Shall I?"
"Of course," said Tancred impatiently. "Open the cloth. Let's see it."
For a moment, Mrs. Kettle was too overcome to move. She gazed reverently at the dusty bundle and then very slowly unwrapped it.
In the bright light of the kettle room, the sword hilt looked even more magnificent than Charlie remembered it. Speechless with awe, they all gazed at the golden patterns, the shining birds, and sapphire-studded leopards.
"That is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my entire life," said Tancred.
"Not only beautiful, but invincible," said Mrs. Kettle. Lowering her voice so they could hardly hear her, she added, "And magical."
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"Supposing it doesn't fit your sword?" asked Tancred, who could be surprisingly practical at times.
Mrs. Kettle threw back her shoulders. "Follow me!" she commanded.
The boys followed her through the metal door into the room she called her smith. Lying on a rough worktable was a long metal box. Mrs. Kettle raised the lid and they beheld the gleaming sword. Even though it was unfinished, a shiver of dread ran down Charlie's spine; it looked so very dangerous.
The sword tapered to a treacherous point, but the top ended in a narrow strip of metal about six inches long.
"No handle," Tancred observed. "I mean, no hilt."
Once again, Mrs. Kettle unwrapped the dusty bundle. She gazed solemnly at the magnificent sword hilt and then very carefully lifted it closer to her face. Peering beneath the two winged leopards, she happily exclaimed, "There!" and turned the end of the sword hilt toward the boys.
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They saw a dark space in the center, a narrow cavity made to fit something very like the top of the sword.
"Charlie," said Mrs. Kettle, "lift the sword."
Charlie rubbed his sooty hands on his trousers and then gently lifted the narrow strip of metal at the top of the sword.
"Good. Hold it steady," commanded Mrs. Kettle.
She smiled at them, but Charlie could tell that she was nervous and only half-believed the hilt would fit the sword. "Higher, Charlie," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Charlie lifted the sword another few inches, and Mrs. Kettle slowly eased the hilt over the top. It slid into place so smoothly it seemed as if an irresistible force were drawing the winged leopards down onto the shining blade.
"Made for each other." Tancred sighed.
Almost as he spoke, a great wind rushed across the floor of the smith, and a long sigh came from somewhere deep within the ancient walls.
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Charlie looked at Tancred. "Wasn't me," said Tancred, anxiously looking around the room.
"It was Feromel," said Mrs. Kettle, and a tear shone in her eye. "Thank you, Charlie. He is at peace." She laid the now complete sword back in its box and closed the lid.
"I didn't do anything, really," said Charlie, a little embarrassed. "It just happened."
"You did a great deal, and now you must run along." She glanced at the window. "It's getting dark and they may be lurking about already."
"Who?" asked Tancred, raising his shoulders nervously.
"Manfred and his cronies, whatever or whoever they are." Mrs. Kettle's face was grim as she led the boys back through the ocean of kettles. And when Tancred and Charlie stepped into the dusky street, a low whisper followed them through the closing door. "Don't do anything foolish until the Red Knight has his sword."
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"And how will we know that?" asked Tancred as the two boys hurried down the badly lit street.
"Perhaps she'll get a message to us."
Both boys speeded up. They felt that eyes were watching through cracks in the darkened windows. But when they passed the fish shop, Tancred stopped again and stared up at the window above the sign. "Dagbert's not there," he said. "I can't smell fish."
Charlie walked on to the Stone Shop. He squinted into the shadows beyond the window. The stone man was there: the very sa
me figure that had stormed into Feromel's house and crushed the life out of him. Charlie stepped back from the blank stare of the protruding stone eyes. "Let's get away from here," he murmured huskily.
"You're on," said Tancred, running up to Charlie and then overtaking him.
When they got to the end of Piminy Street, Charlie decided to take a chance and visit Ingledew's bookstore. It was closer than Filbert Street and, with any luck, Uncle Paton would be there.
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Tancred scooted off through the dark, calling, "See you tomorrow, Charlie."
Charlie grinned to himself. He sprinted happily around the corner and into Cathedral Close. There was a light on in the bookstore. Charlie knocked and two seconds later Emma opened the door.
"Where've you been?" she said. Your uncle's here."
Charlie bounced down into the shop. It felt so good to be surrounded by soft lights and thousands of books, to be enveloped in warmth, and to see Uncle Paton gazing pensively over the top of his half-moon glasses.
"I've got so much to tell you," Charlie said.
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THE SHRIVELING SHROUD
Billy had regretted his decision to spend the weekend at school almost as soon as the other children had left. He watched Mr. Weedon lock and bolt the heavy doors and he was overcome with loneliness. Now he didn't even have Rembrandt to keep him company. Perhaps Cook could find a way to get the rat into school. This thought cheered Billy and he went in search of Cook.
Billy looked in every cafeteria and kitchen, even the green kitchen, where Mrs. Weedon was banging saucepans onto the counter.
"Have you seen Cook?" Billy asked timidly.
"I have not!" snapped the beefy woman.
On some days this reply might have sent Billy scuttling away. Mrs. Weedon always made him uneasy, but today he stood his ground. "Do you know where she might be?"
"Not at all. I'm in charge today."
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Billy gave a nervous cough. "Urn, will I get supper?"
"An egg," she said grudgingly. "In here. Six o'clock sharp. I wasn't expecting you. No one told me."
"Sorry," said Billy. He backed out.
More than an hour to go before supper. And then what? Bed, he supposed. Billy went to his dormitory and began to read The Children of the New Forest for the fifth time. He had just got to the part where the children's family home is burnt down, when he heard something scratching the door.
"Blessed!" Billy jumped up and ran to open the door. He was so pleased to see the old dog he went down on his knees and hugged him.
"Where's Cook?" Billy asked in slow grunts.
"Frightened!" barked Blessed.
"I know. She's frightened of the fish boy. But where is she?"
Blessed's head dropped.
"Is she in her room in the east wing?"
The old dog wheezed, or was it a sigh? Billy wasn't sure. "Come on, let's go and look."
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Billy was never sure which door, out of the many on the fourth floor, belonged to Cook, but he knew that Blessed would lead him to the right one. After climbing two staircases and wandering down several dark and echoing hallways, they came at last to an unpainted door with a pair of small walking shoes beside it.
Billy knocked. There was no reply. He opened the door just a crack and peeked in. A clean apron lay on a very tidy bed. There was a chair, a chest of drawers, and a cupboard. A threadbare carpet beside the bed was the only comfort for bare feet on the splintery floorboards. A pair of slippers had been placed at the end of the bed. They looked unworn.
Billy looked at Blessed. "I don't believe Cook lives in this room," he said in a series of light barks that he knew Blessed would understand.
Blessed's only reply was to hang his head.
"What is it? You look worried, Blessed. There's something you're not telling me. Aren't we friends anymore?"
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"Friends! Friends, yes," barked Blessed. "Hide-and-seek!"
"OK. We'll play for a bit."
Hide-and-seek was Blessed's favorite game, probably because he was very good at it. His nose always led him straight to Billy's hiding place, although, sometimes, just to make things more exciting, he pretended that his sense of smell had temporarily deserted him.
Billy and Blessed played in the empty hallways and dormitories until just before six o'clock, when Billy hurried down to the green cafeteria.
The egg was waiting for him, a hard-boiled egg, sitting on a plate with a thin piece of bread beside it. A note on the table said, Wash the plate when finished.
Billy peeled the cold egg and thought of the hot runny eggs that Maisie gave him when he stayed with Charlie. Blessed watched with a sad expression as Billy ate the cold egg and thin bread.
"Nice?" the old dog asked.
"Horrible," said Billy. He went into the kitchen, washed his plate, and put it on the counter.
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"What next?" Billy asked Blessed.
"Hide-and-seek," said Blessed.
It was better than sitting alone in the dormitory.
Blessed chose to hide first. They began in the hall. Billy closed his eyes while he counted to a hundred. He could hear Blessed's claws pattering up the main staircase. On the landing Billy was certain the claws turned left, and then they faded into the huge silence that filled the building.
"One hundred," said Billy under his breath, and he set off up the stairs.
Blessed couldn't open doors, and he seldom bothered to close them; this led Billy to ignore all the doors on the second and third floors. Only the bathrooms were accessible to Blessed and he was not in any of them.
As Billy trudged up one of the many staircases, he became aware that he was approaching the attics, and his heart sank. Mr. Ezekiel used to give him cocoa in a gaslit room up in the attics. He would bribe Billy with chocolate and promise that soon nice, kind parents
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would come and adopt him. They never came. And the cocoa and promises had stopped when Billy made friends with Charlie Bone.
Billy reached the top of the staircase and sniffed the air. It was muggy and stale. Gaslights in iron brackets sent weak flickering beams down a narrow hall.
"I'm not going down there," Billy said to himself. But then he saw a shadow move across a half-open door. I'll give you one more chance, Blessed, he thought, and he tiptoed as softly as he could into the dark room behind the door.
To Billy's astonishment, he found that the floor of the room was lit by thin lines of light. Cracks in the ancient floorboards were letting in light from the room below. Curious to see what lay beneath, Billy carefully lowered himself to the floor and put one eye to a large crack. What he saw made him gasp with horror.
Directly below him Manfred Bloor lay on a red velvet sofa. His head was propped on a silk cushion, and his face was covered in orange bugs. Stifling another
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gasp, Billy stared at the tiny moving creatures. Behind their writhing, Manfred's pale face was changing. If Billy could believe his eyes, Manfred's scars were fading.
"Magic bugs," Billy whispered to himself.
Slowly and shakily Billy lifted his head, but before he could get to his feet, a voice from the doorway said, "What have we got here?"
"A spy," came the icy reply.
Suddenly, a ghostly gray shroud came flying toward Billy, smothering him in smoky folds, choking him until he felt he would never breathe again, blinding him with impenetrable darkness, deafening him with a thousand silences, and pinning him to the floor in a net of steel.
Sometime later, when Billy was not certain that he could really be aliv
e, he smelled, through his smoky cage, a distinct and doggy scent.
"Blessed," rasped Billy. "Is that you?"
The reply was a desperate howl that made no sense at all to Billy. There followed a series of grunts, barks, and whines. Billy could understand none of it.
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"Help me, Blessed," he croaked. "Pull this awful thing off me."
He waited. There were no more barks. No howls. Not even a whimper, and Billy knew that the old dog had abandoned him.
He can't understand me, thought Billy, and I can't understand him. They've stolen my endowment, the only thing I had, the only thing that made my life worth living.
In her secret apartment beneath the kitchens, Cook awoke from an uneasy sleep. She could hear a dog whining in the distance. Cook got out of bed, put on her slippers, and opened her bedroom door. The whine continued, low and urgent.
Cook pressed a switch and soft light illuminated a cozy sitting room. Snug armchairs with plump cushions were gathered around a small stove. The walls were hung with bright pictures, and gold-patterned china twinkled reassuringly from the shelves of an old oak dresser.
Cook crossed the room and opened a small door
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in the corner. A dark cupboard was revealed. She opened another door at the back of the cupboard and saw Blessed sitting at the bottom of a flight of steps. Cook's room was very secret indeed.
"Well, what is it?" Cook yawned. "You've woken me up all for nothing, I suppose."
Blessed barked. Cook couldn't speak his language, but she recognized the urgency in his voice.
"Come in, then, you blessed dog."
Blessed didn't want to come in. He turned his back and began to waddle up the steps.
"I'm not following you at this time of night," Cook whispered harshly.
The old dog looked back at her and gave such a mournful howl, Cook realized that something was very wrong indeed.
"Wait a minute, then." She rushed back to get her bathrobe. Slipping it on, she put a flashlight in her pocket and followed Blessed through the two doors, carefully closing each one behind her. As she climbed the steps she told herself she was being very foolish.