Charlie came to stand beside him. A feathery mist covered the sea and Charlie remembered that this had happened before. "It is there, I promise you, Otus," he said. "When the sun burns through the mist, we'll see it."
"It's happening." Uncle Paton had joined them, and in a few minutes, all three saw an island emerge half a mile out to sea. "The Island of a Thousand Blues," said Uncle Paton. "Soon we'll see its crown."
The giant clutched his chest. His heart was beating so fast and loud, Charlie was afraid that it might stop altogether. Gradually, the mist evaporated and small patches glittered in the light. As the sun rose higher, the last traces of mist melted away and the castle of shining glass appeared.
"Ahh!" breathed the giant. "It is there." He began to stride down the perilous path to the beach while
Charlie and his uncle slipped and staggered in his wake.
"There is a boat, kept in a cave," said Uncle Paton, "but" - he looked at the giant - "I'm not sure that it'll take your weight, Otus."
The giant opened his mouth and let forth a great gust of laughter. "A boat? I do not need a boat, Paton," he roared, and without another word, he rushed into the sea. His joyful laughter echoed back to the beach as he strode through the waves, and then he was treading water, his white head bobbing among the seagulls that floated on the surface.
"We'd better get that boat," said Uncle Paton.
The boat was just where Charlie had found it before - at the back of a deep cave. They soon had it afloat and Uncle Paton, his back to the castle, rowed as fast as he could while Charlie gave directions. When they reached the island, the giant was sitting on the shell-covered beach, wringing water out of his shoes.
Uncle Paton chose to stay with the boat, while
Charlie took Otus up to the castle. The sun had risen, and Charlie and the giant could not look at the blazing glass as they tramped through the stony scrubland that surrounded the castle. They walked around to the north, where the sun couldn't reach the mirrored walls, and the giant had another good laugh at their reflections, one almost twice the size of the others.
There was no door. They had to squeeze through a narrow tunnel that led under the walls. Twice the giant got stuck, but his laughter only increased as he heaved and struggled to get himself free. At last they stood in a wide courtyard paved with shining cobblestones. In the center, a flight of steps led up to a door in the keep: a tall square tower.
"The walls of history are up there." Charlie pointed to the top of the tower.
"And that is where we shall say farewell," said Otus.
The steps were made of coarse glass and they climbed up to the door without slipping. The room they entered was walled in long rectangles of misty glass, and their reflections became colored fragments that wavered and parted whenever they moved.
Beside the door a staircase led to the top of the tower. "I'll go first," said Charlie. "It's a long climb."
The giant smiled and tapped Charlie's shoulder. "Lead on, Charlie."
The steps were narrow and uneven, and Charlie wondered how the giant would manage as the stairway wound upward. Claerwen flew out of Charlie's pocket and lit the way, or they would have been climbing in the dark. Charlie could hear the giant grunting and shuffling as he hauled himself up the rough glass steps, and then, at last, they were in the extraordinary room at the top of the tower where Claerwen's light was reflected a thousand times, bouncing from wall to wall, on and on, through the shining glass.
"Where is Amoret?" Otus whispered.
Charlie wanted to tell the giant to have patience, but couldn't bring himself to utter a word. He felt anxious and afraid. Suppose the walls had lost their memory, suppose there was nothing there? "I can travel," he' told himself, "and Claerwen is Mathonwy's wand."
Deep in the shimmering glass before him a fragment of color moved, a soft red. A hint of green appeared, followed by a brown and a mellow gold. And now the fair-haired Amadis could be seen in his silver-gray armor.
Still gazing at the wall, Charlie reached for Otus with his left hand. The giant's fingers closed over his. Now holding out his right hand, Charlie said, "Claerwen, dwi isie mynd mewn."
The white moth fluttered onto Charlie's forefinger, and he began to move closer and closer to the tantalizing shapes and colors through a fog of stifling air, through clear then stormy weather, on and on, his face now warmed by the sun, now brushed with snow. He could feel the giant's fingers crushing his own, and then as though breaking through the surface of a frozen pond, Charlie found himself in that ancient room again.
They were sitting at a table, just as they had been before: Prince Amadis at the head, his wife and daughter gazing at Charlie. Another child sat with his back to Charlie; the third, with hair as white as snow, turned to look at him. And then Charlie saw Amoret; she was standing beside Amadis, her black hair framing a sad, pale face.
High above him Charlie heard a voice call, "Amoret!"
She looked up and a smile of astonishment lit her face.
Charlie felt the giant's fingers slipping away from him and he knew he must go back. "Let's go," he said, bringing Claerwen closer to his face. "Gad'nifynd."
As he floated away from the scene, he saw a tall young man take Amoret in his arms. He swung her around and the hem of her red dress swirled over his hands. She buried her head in his shoulder and he laughed with happiness. The man had chestnut hair and strong, handsome features. He was exceptionally tall - a giant, in fact.
Before Charlie lost sight of them, the giant caught his eye and deep, muffled words broke through the waves of time. "I thank thee."
And then Charlie was alone in the room where the shining walls of history kept their secrets. He should have felt elated. He did, he told himself, for he had been successful, and yet as he stumbled down the narrow stairway, a sense of failure spoiled his happiness. The last time he had been in the Castle of Mirrors, Billy had been with him.
Charlie stepped into the room where he had met the man he had mistakenly thought to be his father. "Why are you never here, Dad?" he said to his own reflection in the mirrored walls.
Claerwen fluttered to the door and Charlie followed her, down the rough glass steps, across the glittering courtyard, and into the tunnel under the walls.
Uncle Paton was sitting on a rock, close to the boat. When he saw that Charlie was alone, he stood up and waved. "You were successful, then," he called.
Charlie nodded.
"You seem unsure," said Uncle Paton when Charlie reached the boat. "Didn't things go according to plan?"
"Yes," said Charlie. "It was fantastic. Otus was young again and Amoret was smiling."
"Well done." His uncle patted him on the shoulder. "I have to admit I had my doubts. It was an extraordinary undertaking. You're tired, I expect."
"A bit," said Charlie.
They got into the boat and Uncle Paton began to row away from the island. They hadn't gone far when a huge wave slapped the side of the boat, tipping it dangerously. The sun had disappeared and the sky was filled with dark, angry clouds. There was a sudden crack of thunder, followed by a torrent of rain.
"Dagbert didn't follow us, did he?" Charlie looked at the heaving waves.
"Could be the other one, his father," said Paton. "Mrs. Tilpin and the shadow have been gathering their forces, no doubt."
And they'll be angry about what I've done, thought Charlie.
The waves rose higher; great walls of water lifted the flimsy boat and tossed it down as though it were a toy.
"I should have thought of life jackets," shouted Uncle Paton through the roar of water.
The next wave sent the boat rolling onto its side. Charlie lost his grip and felt himself sliding into the sea. He's not going to let me get away with it, he thought as the waves closed over his head. But at least I got one thing right.
"Charlie! Charlie, hang on!"
As he came up for air, Uncle Paton grabbed his wrist. "Come on, come on, Charlie. Don't let go," he shouted. "We'l
l get there, don't give up."
Charlie felt his uncle's hands pulling the back of his jacket, but the waves kept washing over his head, and he knew that they wanted to drown him. And then, beneath his feet, the water began to force him upward. A strong current wrapped itself around his legs and held him steady. Gradually, his body was carried upward, and as he scrambled to get a hold on the boat, he was firmly thrust over the side.
Uncle Paton picked up the oars and smiled down at Charlie, who was lying on the bottom of the boat. "We'll get there, Charlie," he said.
Hauling himself onto the seat, Charlie saw that they were moving through a wide path of smooth, tranquil sea. On either side the waves still rose and fell in threatening banks of water, but they seemed incapable of touching the boat.
The sea around the boat sparkled in sunlight, and in the same bright rays, Charlie suddenly saw the figure on the cliff. His windblown cloak and feathers looked like a burning cloud.
"The Red Knight," cried Charlie.
"What was that?" called Uncle Paton, pulling on the oars. His coat was soaking, Charlie noticed.
"It's the knight. The Red Knight. I think he saved us."
Uncle Paton looked over his shoulder. "I can see him now. Perhaps you're right, Charlie."
I know I am, thought Charlie. The Red Knight saved us.
Their passage was smooth from then on. They reached the shore and drew the boat into the cave. Charlie felt he would never make it up the steep cliff path, but with Uncle Paton's persuasive voice urging him on, he eventually tumbled onto the wet grass at the top.
The Red Knight had gone.
"What happened to his horse?" Uncle Paton wondered aloud.
"She can't look at the island where her children died," Charlie told his uncle.
Uncle Paton frowned. "How would you know that?"
"Billy understands her."
"Ah, Billy," said Uncle Paton.
"I wish I could have brought him back, Uncle P., but he's spellbound. I know it."
"Spells can be broken," his uncle said.
When they got to the camper van, they dried themselves and had a rest. Paton made Charlie change into some of the traveling clothes he kept in the van. Charlie rolled up the long pants and tucked them into the thick woolen socks. He hoisted up the shirt with a belt, but Uncle Paton's spare jacket hung on him like an oversize overcoat.
"You'll do," said Uncle Paton. "At least you're dry. If we set off now, we'll be in the city by dinnertime."
It wasn't something that Charlie looked forward to. He missed the giant and he missed Billy. But most of all he dreaded returning to the place where his mistake had caused a drowning; a place where he would never see Tancred again.
They made a stop at a country inn and bought fish and chips. Charlie, in the grown-up, oversize clothes, received a few odd looks from the locals, but their attention was diverted when the lights above the bar exploded, and Uncle Paton apologized for the inconvenience.
"Tis only a power cut, sir," said the barman.
"I think you'll find that's not the case." Uncle Paton gave the man a warm smile and he and Charlie marched out, clutching their fish and chips.
As they sat in the van, eating their delicious hot food, Charlie asked his uncle what had taken him so far away, and for so long.
"I've been following a trail," Uncle Paton replied. "It's taken me to places I never knew existed, but I think I've discovered something quite... well, sensational."
Charlie looked up, expectantly. "What?"
"I believe that Billy Raven should have inherited the Bloor fortune. It's a long and complex story, and I know we will have trouble in proving it. But I relish the challenge. Billy shall have his fortune."
"Then I'll have to bring him back," said Charlie, determined.
Uncle Paton regarded his great-nephew fondly. "I'm sure you will, Charlie."
After they had eaten, Charlie fell into a deep sleep while Uncle Paton drove. He didn't wake up until they were approaching the city. Glancing in the side mirror, he saw the Red Knight and his horse stop at the end of the stone bridge. And then Uncle Paton turned off the main road and the knight disappeared from view.
"Where are we going?" Charlie sat up and looked at his uncle, for they were driving up the hilly road they called the Heights.
"We've been invited to dinner," said Uncle Paton. "Received a call on my cell. I'm told it's a celebration."
"A celebration of what?" asked Charlie.
"I imagine we'll find out when we get there," said his uncle.
They passed the Looms' house, where their headlights were reflected in the glassy eyes of two Rottweilers staring through the barred gate. And then they were beside the walls of the Sage mansion where Lysander lived, on and on, up and up, until they reached the yard leading to the ramshackle house and barns, where Gabriel and his family kept ducks and geese, goats and gerbils. Charlie expected his uncle to turn into the driveway, but he kept going up the steep road until a dark forest came into view.
Charlie could see the gate leading to the Thunder House. As they drew nearer, the headlights picked out four, no five, figures leaning against the fence rails. Lysander towered above the others, but Charlie quickly made out the rest: Gabriel, Fidelio, Olivia, and Emma. And then he saw a sixth, perched at the very end of the gate, his arms waving, his jacket swirling in a breeze that wasn't there and his blond hair as bright as a crown of stars.
"Tancred!" Charlie shouted.
I was born in Windsor, Berkshire, England, and educated at boarding schools in Kent and Surrey from the age of six until I was sixteen, when I ran away from school to become a drama student/assistant stage manager with Theater South East. I graduated and acted in repertory theater in various towns and cities.
I left Britain to teach English to three Italian boys in Amalfi, Italy. On my return, I joined the BBC, first as a picture researcher, then assistant floor manager, studio manager (news), and finally director/adaptor with Jackanory (a BBC storytelling program for children). I left the BBC to marry Welsh artist David Wynn-Millward and went to live in Wales in my husband's family home. We live in a very old converted water mill, and the river is constantly threatening to break in, which it has done several times in the past, most dramatically on my youngest child's first birthday. During the summer, we run a residential school of art, and I have to move my office, put down tools (typewriter and pencils), and don an apron and cook! We have three grown-up children, Myfanwy, Ianto, and Gwenhwyfar.
Jenny Nimmo, Charlie Bone and the Shadow
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