Charlie wondered if Grandma Bone had hidden the painting in her bedroom. It was unlikely, but there was a chance. If she had, she would probably have locked her door. But...
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Charlie said to himself as he left his room.
He could hardly believe his luck. His grandmother's door was not locked. Charlie slipped into her room. It was extremely untidy and reeked of stale perfume. Articles of clothing overflowed from every drawer. Black stockings hung from the bedpost, a hat sat on the pillow, and underwear was scattered over the quilt. The dresser was covered in messy bottles and the mirror hung heavy with beads and bracelets.
Where to look? The painting was large and would not be easy to hide. Charlie looked under the bed. He counted ten pairs of shoes, but no painting. He looked in the closet: more shoes, ancient dresses, two fur coats smelling of mothballs, and too many skirts for Charlie to count. He was about to close the door when something caught his eye -
Grandma Bone's second-best handbag lay on top of a pair of suede boots.
Charlie pulled the bag into the light. It was made of patchworked leather and stuffed with scarves, gloves, and handkerchiefs. There was also a handful of bobby pins, lipstick, and a white card with yesterday's date at the top. Printed below were the words:
Meeting of sympathizers to our cause
The Old Chapel, Piminy Street
Saturday 8:00
Bring card
""T."T.," Charlie murmured. ""IT is for Tilpin, and didn't someone say that Mrs. Tilpin's first name was Titania? He quickly memorized the message on the card, replaced it, and put the bag back into the closet.
Running to his room, Charlie jotted down the words he'd memorized in exactly the same order as he'd seen them. "About postcard-size," he muttered, "and the print is like a newspaper." He realized that he would never be able to attend the meeting himself. He needed an accomplice. An adult. No child would be able to get into the meeting.
Charlie knew exactly who to ask. He decided to wait until Benjamin came home. Mr. and Mrs. Brown would be working until then. In the meantime, there was more homework to do.
At precisely four o'clock, Charlie looked out of his window and saw Benjamin ambling down the street with his backpack slung across his shoulder. Charlie banged on the windowpane and waved violently. Benjamin looked up and waved back. He pointed at Charlie and then to number twelve. Charlie nodded and gave him a thumbs-up.
Two minutes later, Charlie walked downstairs and took his jacket from the hook in the hall. "I'm going to see Ben," he called out.
"You are not," said a voice from the kitchen. Grandma Bone appeared in the doorway. "You are not going anywhere until you've finished your homework."
"I have finished it," said Charlie.
Grandma Bone stared at him through narrowed eyes. "I suppose you cheated."
"How could I cheat?" asked Charlie. "It was all memorizing stuff. You can test me if you like."
His grandmother's eyes became even tinier slits. Her lips pursed into a wrinkled bud. She did not want to test Charlie because her favorite program was coming up on the radio.
"So I'm going, OK?" Charlie gave her a forced sort of grin.
The wrinkled bud of his grandmother's mouth relaxed and she said, "Fish for dinner."
"Great!" Charlie made for the door. Fish was his least favorite food and Grandma Bone knew it. She must have bought it specially to punish him. But he had far more important things to worry about.
Benjamin and Runner Bean gave him a great welcome, and as luck would have it, Mr. and Mrs. Brown had just returned from a very satisfactory bit of detective work. Flushed with success, they were now celebrating with a festive cup of tea in the kitchen.
While snacking on some tasty treats, Charlie told the Browns everything that had happened at Bloor's Academy before he'd been suspended. He kept his voice very steady while they gasped and exclaimed and paced about, because he knew that if he stopped talking, his eyes would fill with tears, and before that happened, he wanted to get to the real reason for his visit: the vanished painting and tonight's meeting on Piminy Street.
"Murder!" shouted Mr. Brown when Charlie had come to the end of his shocking account. "We can't let them get away with it."
"I feel like going to see that disgraceful excuse for a headmaster right now," said his wife.
Charlie shook his head. "They'll say it was an accident.
No one will be able to prove that Tancred was drowned on purpose."
Mrs. Brown patted her husband's hand. "Charlie's right. The police will never believe this Dagbert Endless boy has a ... a drowning power."
Charlie pulled the hastily scribbled note from his pocket and spread it out on the table. "This is the message I found in Grandma Bone's handbag. I thought if we copied it, someone could take it to the meeting and find out what's going on."
Mr. and Mrs. Brown studied the note.
"Sympathizers?" muttered Mr. Brown, stroking the stubble he'd had to grow on his chin for his last case. "Sympathizers with what?"
"The cause," said Benjamin. "You know, Dad. All the bad stuff that's been going on."
"Ah." Mr. Brown scratched his stubble even more fiercely. "And you think we might learn something of their future plans, Charlie? Get one step ahead, as it were."
"That's part of it," said Charlie. "But, actually, I thought you might find out where they've put the painting."
"Oh, yes. I could take a recorder. Get proof of the drowning. I've an excellent little instrument that fits into the arm of a pair of glasses."
Something about this device worried Charlie. There were people on Piminy Street who were gifted in ways that he could only begin to imagine. There might well be a clairvoyant among them, or someone with superhuman powers of detection. He explained this to the Browns, who reluctantly agreed that it would be safer to leave the recorder behind.
"Obviously, I can't go as myself," said Mr. Brown. "I would be instantly recognized as a non-sympathizer."
"I don't think you should go at all," said his wife. "Even in a disguise you would be recognized by people like that. It's your height and the way you move."
After a brief argument, which Mr. Brown lost, Mrs. Brown went upstairs and returned fifteen minutes later looking nothing whatsoever like her old self. Three inches had been added to her height, not with high heels, but with ingeniously built-up boots. Her fair hair was tucked into a severe gray wig, and her face given a dusting of dark pink powder that made her look hot-tempered and irritable. Her eyebrows were thick and black, her nose was larger, and her lips had been reduced to thin, grayish lines.
For a moment Charlie actually believed that some evil-looking woman had broken into the house. When he realized who it was, he joined in with Benjamin's applause. Mrs. Brown's transformation was truly amazing.
"Trish, you've surpassed yourself," congratulated Mr. Brown. "You've even fooled the dog."
Runner Bean had rushed out of the room and was now howling dismally in the hallway. It took a good long sniff of Mrs. Brown's hand to convince him that the grim-looking stranger was none other than Benjamin's mother.
It was decided that Mr. and Mrs. Brown (as herself) should drive to a quiet corner, not too far from Piminy Street. Once there, Mrs. Brown would change back into her disguise, and making sure that no one was watching, she would leave the car and make her way to Piminy Street. Mr. Brown would drive around for a bit, and then return to the same quiet corner and wait for Mrs. Brown to leave the meeting.
"I'll remove my disguise in the car," said Mrs. Brown, who was getting quite excited, "and we'll drive back to Filbert Street, just like an ordinary couple who've been to the movies."
"Maybe Ben could sleep over at my house," Charlie suggested.
"Excellent," said Mr. Brown. "We'll leave Runner Bean to guard the house."
Runner Bean pricked up his ears, but didn't appear to object.
Mr. Brown printed out an exact replica of the invitation card Cha
rlie had described, and at half past five, Charlie and Benjamin wished Mrs. Brown good luck and walked over to number nine.
Maisie was alone in the kitchen when the boys walked in. She was pleased to see Benjamin and only too happy to let him stay the night.
Grandma Bone was not. A few minutes after the boys had arrived, she marched in and demanded to know why there was an overnight bag sitting in the middle of the kitchen, ready to trip someone up.
"Ben's staying the night," Charlie told her.
"Oh, is he? And who says?" asked Grandma Bone.
"He won't be any trouble, Grizelda," said Maisie.
"Maybe not" - Grandma Bone kicked Benjamin's bag aside - "but I like to be asked. What I don't like is irresponsible parents dumping their offspring, willy-nilly, on long-suffering neighbors."
Benjamin scowled and Maisie said, "Really, Grizelda! You take the cake."
Ignoring her, Grandma Bone demanded, "So what's the excuse this time?"
Making a superhuman effort to keep calm, Charlie said, "Sorry, Grandma, but Ben's parents were given tickets for this great movie, just half an hour ago, and Ben can't go because it's for adults only, so I thought he could come here for the night."
Grandma Bone glared at Charlie for several seconds before saying, "Fish for both of you," and sweeping out.
Maisie said quietly, "You don't have to have fish, boys. Grandma Bone won't be here. She's going out for the evening. I'll give the fish to next door's cat."
Charlie and Benjamin were upstairs when Great-aunt Eustacia's car came snorting and squealing down Filbert Street. Peeping furtively over the win-dowsill, the boys saw Grandma Bone, dressed all in purple, climb into the passenger seat. The back of the car appeared to be rather full, and when it bumped off the curb and screeched down the road again, they saw a small pale face staring out of the rear window.
"They must be taking Eric to the meeting," said Charlie.
"Poor thing," said Benjamin.
After a very good dinner of scrambled eggs and beans and an hour watching television, the boys returned to Charlie's room just in time to observe Mr. and Mrs. Brown leaving number twelve. Mrs. Brown gave them a cheery wave and swung herself into the car. Mr. Brown grinned at the boys in the window and then drove off, rather more expertly than Great-aunt Eustacia.
"I hope Mom'll be all right," Benjamin said anxiously.
"Of course she will," Charlie reassured him. "Your mom's the best private eye in the country."
Which was probably true.
Mr. Brown had chosen Argos Avenue, where the gardens and houses were hidden from the road by tall evergreen hedges. He parked beside the broad trunk of a plane tree and watched the road with an expertise that only the most skilled detectives possess. Meanwhile, Mrs. Brown swiftly applied her makeup, pulled on her wig, and exchanged her everyday winter coat for a moth-eaten and rather smelly fur coat. A plastic bag containing a rag soaked in chloroform was pushed into one pocket; in the other she had a pair of very sharp scissors and a bottle of smelling salts. The smelling salts were to help her recover from any fainting that might overcome her, after too much excitement.
The intrepid detective squeezed her feet into her built-up boots, gave her husband a kiss, and jumped out of the car.
"How do I look?" Mrs. Brown mouthed through the windshield at Mr. Brown.
Mr. Brown lifted his thumb. Reluctant to lose sight of his wife, he drove very slowly behind her as she walked down the road. She was approaching the turn onto Piminy Street when a group of three stepped out of a side street and hid Mrs. Brown from her husband's view. Mr. Brown was worried. The three people following his wife were all extremely wide and walked with clumsy, uneven strides.
Mr. Brown stopped the car at the top of Piminy Street. He dared not drive any farther, for fear of drawing attention to himself and thus arousing their suspicions. "Good luck, brave Trish!" he whispered.
Other groups now began to emerge from the houses on Piminy Street. They slid from behind trees, wafted through gates and out of doorways - silent, undefined figures, muffled in furs and hoods - all moving toward the Old Chapel.
Mrs. Brown was aware of the strangers accompanying her down Piminy Street. She had a momentary flutter of panic, and then sternly told herself that even if her true identity were discovered, no one would dare to harm her, unlike poor Tancred and little Billy.
People were now moving onto the dimly lit porch of the chapel. Mrs. Brown joined the throng and held out her card. It was grabbed by a tall man with elephants printed on his jacket. Mrs. Brown was convinced she had seen the man before, but couldn't place him. He gave her an odd look and she quickly moved on. Finding a seat at the end of a row, close to the back, she sat down, breathing fast. Beside her sat a woman with lank red ringlets and over-rouged cheeks. She looked about ninety.
The sympathizers were unusually quiet people. They moved to their seats in wordless shufflings, only acknowledging one another with soft grunts and mumbles.
The Old Chapel was no longer used for worship. It had been standing derelict for as long as Mrs. Brown could remember. The windows had been boarded up and the altar removed. In its place green-velvet curtains hung from a long brass pole. The pulpit was now a stage.
The two wooden railings that had once separated the altar from the congregation were still in place and gleamed with polish. Deep green ivy twined its way along both rails and fell in long strands down each side of the steps, onto the cracked slate floor.
At the top of the steps, slightly to one side, a stone gargoyle squatted. It was a hideous thing with bulging eyes, long pointed ears, and a wide toothless mouth. Mrs. Brown tried not to look at it.
When every seat had been taken, the man in the elephant jacket closed the door. There was a moment's silence before footsteps could be heard tapping down the side of the hall. A woman emerged at the front. She climbed the five steps to the stage and turned to face her audience.
Mrs. Brown saw a woman whose age could only be guessed at. She could have been anywhere between forty and eighty. Her hair fell in thin gray strands to her shoulders and a string of ivy encircled her head. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes, her nose was a pale mauve, and her gaunt face was ash gray. She was wearing a sparkling black cloak and a long dress that glimmered as she moved.
"Welcome!" said the woman in the sparkling cloak. "How gratifying to see that so many of you answered my call. For those of you who do not know me, I am Titania Tilpin. Like you, I am a direct descendant of the shadow, Harken the Enchanter."
A murmur of approval rippled through the audience. Mrs. Brown joined in. "Ahh," she said.
"As you know," Titania continued, "the shadow managed to return, very briefly, last year. He might have stayed with us if it had not been for the interference of a wayward boy named Charlie Bone. Charlie and his infernal uncle discovered a spell that sent our beloved ancestor tumbling back to Badlock, and now he cannot enter our world again because the mirror that assisted his entrance was broken by that same Charlie Bone."
A rumble of dismay broke out in the hall, and once again Mrs. Brown joined in with a disgruntled "Huh!" This time she felt the woman beside her turn and frown in her direction. Mrs. Brown hoped she had not overdone things.
"Don't lose heart, my friends," Titania sang out. "I want to show you something." She walked to the side of the stage where a large painting stood facing the wall. Seizing the painting, Titania pulled it to the center of the stage. The dark towers and barren mountains of Badlock drew a gasp of admiration from the crowd. Mrs. Brown remained silent.
A curious sound came from the painting. Mrs. Brown could hardly believe her ears. It was wind. Several people in the front row actually clutched their hats as a cold breeze whistled across the stage.
"Behold Badlock!" Titania said proudly. "The shadow painted it himself, and it has an awful power. It can draw into itself any living thing." Before anyone could gasp again, she held up her hand for silence. "And would you believe, THERE IS A B
OY IN THERE" - she tapped the painting - "RIGHT NOW. A boy the shadow is holding for some friends. And, in return, these friends have agreed to help me in my quest, our quest" - she threw her arms out to the audience - "to fix the Mirror of Amoret, so that the shadow may come back to guide and protect us, to rid us of our enemies and to rule this land as it should be ruled."
Vigorous applause broke out. A few gruff voices said, "Hear, hear!" Mrs. Brown glanced at her neighbor and clapped politely. The woman with red ringlets appeared not to notice. She was staring at the stage, where Titania Tilpin had been joined by a tall woman with black hair and a bright scarlet coat. She was holding the hand of a small, fragile-looking boy in a blue jacket. Mrs. Brown instantly recognized Charlie's great-aunt Venetia.
Venetia told the audience that she was there on behalf of the Bloor family, who had agreed to assist Titania in her mission to bring back the shadow. "And now I want to introduce my little treasure," she said, pushing Eric to the front of the stage. "This is Eric, my stepson. He has a truly remarkable talent. It has already been put to use by Mr. Melmott, the stonemason, whose father was ruined by the lawyer Hector Bittermouse." She paused while a gruff voice from the front emitted a kind of growl. "Mr. Bittermouse has been well and truly punished, I would say, wouldn't you?" She smiled at the growler, and continued, "If any of you have a family score to settle or a grievance unavenged, Eric and Mr. Melmott make a fine team, and they would be glad to help. In return we would welcome your assistance in fixing the Mirror of Amoret. I know there are wizards among you" - her black eyes darted over the faces in front of her - "magicians, scaremongers, poisoners, shape-shifters, heart-stoppers."
Some members of the audience shifted in their seats, coughed, and blew their noses.
"Perhaps your power has been dormant for too long," Venetia suggested. "Perhaps you are afraid to use it in the present day. But look what Eric can do for you." She grabbed the small boy and pulled him back to stand in front of her. "Eric - the gargoyle."
All eyes turned to the hideous creature crouching at the front of the stage. Eric stared at it. His small face contorted and a low hum came from him. The gargoyle lifted itself on thin stone legs, lurched down the steps, and stopped at the bottom.