They had crossed a paved courtyard and were now climbing another flight of steps. At the top, two massive bronze-studded doors stood open to receive the throng of children.
Charlie's stomach gave a lurch as he passed through the doors. He had enemies in Bloor's Academy and, as yet, he wasn't quite sure why. Why were they trying to get rid of him? Permanently.
A door beneath two crossed trumpets led to the music department. Olivia waved and disappeared through a door under two masks, while the children in green made their way to the end of the hall where a pencil crossed with a paintbrush indicated the art department.
Charlie and Fidelio went first to the blue coatroom and then on to the assembly room.
As one of the smallest boys Charlie had to stand in the front row, beside the smallest of all, a white-haired albino called Billy Raven. Charlie asked him if he had enjoyed Christmas but Billy ignored him. He was an orphan and Charlie hoped he hadn't had to spend his holiday at Bloor's. A fate worse than death in Charlie's opinion. He noticed that Billy was wearing a pair of fur-lined boots. A Christmas present, no doubt.
They were only halfway through the first hymn when there was a shout from the stage.
"Stop!"
The orchestra ground to a halt. The singing died.
Dr. Saltweather, head of the music department, paced across the stage, arms folded across his chest. He was a big man with a lot of white, wiry hair. The row of music teachers standing behind him looked apprehensive. Dr. Saltweather was just as likely to shout at them as the children.
"Do you call that singing?" roared Dr. Saltweather. "It's a horrible moan. It's a disgraceful whine. You're musicians, for goodness sake. Sing in tune, give it some life! Now — back to the beginning, please!" He nodded to the small orchestra at the side of the stage and raised his baton.
Charlie cleared his throat. He couldn't sing at the best of times, but today the assembly room was so cold he couldn't stop his jaw from shaking. The temperature had affected the other children as well, even the best singers were hunched and shivering under their blue capes.
They started up again, and this time Dr. Saltweather couldn't complain. The old paneled walls vibrated with sound. Even the teachers were doing their best. Merry Mr. O'Connor threw back his head and sang heartily Miss Chrystal and Mrs. Dance smiled and swayed, while old Mr. Paltry frowned with concentration. The piano teacher, Mr. Pilgrim, however, did not even open his mouth.
Charlie realized that Mr. Pilgrim was not standing up. He was next to Mrs. Dance, who was extremely small, and being very tall himself, it was not immediately apparent that he was still sitting down. What was wrong with him? He never looked you in the eye, never spoke, never walked in the grounds like other teachers. He seemed to be completely unaware of his surroundings, and his pale face never showed the slightest flicker of emotion.
Until now.
Mr. Pilgrim was staring at Charlie and Charlie had the oddest sensation that the teacher knew him, not as a student, but someone else. It was as if the dark, silent man was trying to recognize him.
There was a sudden, violent crack from beyond the window It was so loud they could hear it above their boisterous singing. Even Dr. Saltweather paused in his conducting. Another crack resounded over the snow outside, and then a tremendous thump shook the walls and windows.
Dr Saltweather put down his baton and strode to one of the long windows. When some of the children followed he didn't bother to stop them.
"Good grief!" exclaimed Dr. Saltweather. "Look at the old cedar!"
The huge tree now lay halfway across the garden; its branches broken and its tangled roots pulled clear off the ground. There was another crack as a long branch supporting the crown of the tree finally broke, and with a horrible groan the trunk sank into the snow.
So many games had been played under its sweeping branches, so many whispered secrets kept safe by its wide shadow It was every child's favorite tree, and now it was gone, and in its place there was only a wide expanse of snow and an unbroken view to the ramparts of the ruined castle. Snow encrusted the top of the walls and clung to the uneven surfaces, but the blood red of the great stones stood out ominously in the white landscape.
As Charlie stared at the castle walls, something happened. It could have been a trick of the light, but he was sure another tree, smaller than the cedar, appeared in the arched entrance to the castle. Its leaves were red and gold and yet other trees had lost their autumn colors.
"Did you see that?" Charlie whispered to Fidelio.
"What?"
“A tree moved," said Charlie. "Look, now it's standing by the castle wall. Can't you see it?"
Fidelio frowned and shook his head.
Charlie tried to blink the tree away But when he looked again it was still there. No one else appeared to have seen it. Charlie had a familiar fluttery feeling in his stomach. It always happened when he heard the voices, but this time there had been no voices.
A bang from the stage made him look back. Mr. Pilgrim had gotten to his feet very suddenly knocking over his chair. He gazed over the heads of the children into the garden beyond the window He could have been looking at the fallen tree, but Charlie was sure he was staring past to the red walls of the castle. Had he seen the strange, moving tree?
Dr. Saltweather swung away from the window. “Next hymn, children," he said as he marched back to the stage. "You'll never get to your classes at this rate."
After assembly Charlie had his lesson with Mr. Paltry—Wind. Mr. Paltry was an impatient, elderly flautist. Teaching Charlie Bone to play the recorder was like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it, he complained. The old man sighed frequently polished his glasses, and wasn't above whacking the recorder while Charlie was in midblow Charlie reckoned that if Mr. Paltry continued attacking him in this way he would eventually lose his teeth and then perhaps he would he released from his horrible music lessons.
"Go, Bone, go!" Mr. Paltry grunted after forty minutes of mutual torture.
Charlie went very happily Next it was on with the hoots and out into the snowy garden. In cold weather the children were allowed to wear their capes outside; in summer, capes had to be left in the coatroom.
Fidelio was late arriving from his violin lesson, so when the two boys finally ran outside, the snow had already been trampled by three hundred children. Snowmen were being built, snowball fights were in progress, and Mr. Weedon, the gardener, was trying to shoo children away from the fallen tree.
"1 want to see something by the castle," Charlie told Fidelio.
"You said you didn't want to go near it," his friend reminded him.
"No, but . . . it's like I said, I saw something. I want to know if there are any footprints."
"OK." Fidelio gave a good-natured shrug.
As they ran past the fallen cedar, Billy Raven called out, "Where are you going, you two?"
Almost without thinking, Charlie shouted, "None of your business."
The albino scowled and shrank against the dark branches of the tree. His ruby-colored eyes flashed behind the thick lenses of his glasses.
"Why did you say that?" Fidelio asked as they hurried on.
"I couldn't help it," said Charlie. "There's something wrong with Billy Raven. I don't trust him."
They had reached the entrance to the ruined castle. The snow beneath the huge arch was clear and smooth. No one had been in or out of the ruin.
Charlie frowned. "I saw it," he murmured.
"Let's go in," said Fidelio.
Charlie hesitated.
"It doesn't look so bad in daylight," said Fidelio, peering through the arch. He bounded in and Charlie followed. They tramped across a courtyard and took one of the five passages that led deeper into the ruin.
After several minutes of shuffling through the dark, they emerged into another courtyard. That's where they saw the blood. Or something like it. A few deep red flecks lay in the snow beside a patch of red-gold leaves.
"The beast!" cried Charlie
. "Let's get out."
It was only when they were standing safely outside the walls again that Fidelio said, "It might not have been the beast."
"There was blood," said Charlie. “And it was the beast. It's killed something. Or wounded it."
"But there were no other marks, Charlie. No sign of a fight, or footprints . . . or . . ."
Charlie didn't wait to hear the rest of his friend's very reasonable doubts. He raced away from the ruin as if he were reliving the long night when a yellow-eyed beast had chased him through the endless passages and cold, echoing chambers. When he reached the fallen tree he waited for Fidelio to catch up with him.
"Clear off you!" said a deep voice behind him.
Already nervous, Charlie jumped and swung around. Mr. Weedon's red face appeared through the mesh of broken branches; he was wearing a shiny black helmet and Charlie caught the glint of a saw held in the big man's black gauntlet.
"This tree's dangerous," said Mr. Weedon. "I've told you kids not to play here."
"I wasn't playing," said Charlie. Fidelio had caught up with him and he felt a little more confident.
"Oh, no. Not you, Charlie Bone. You never play do ya? A very serious boy aren't cha?"
"You don't know anything about me," Charlie said angrily "You can't . . ."
There was a loud roar followed by a grinding noise as Mr. Weedon made his way through the tangle of branches toward Charlie. Twigs flew in all directions as the saw bit through wood and foliage.
"Come on!" Fidelio pulled at Charlie's cape. "Let's get out of here."
"That man's dangerous," Charlie muttered as they ran away from the tree. "How does he know who I am?"
"You're famous," said Fidelio breathlessly They were now far enough from Mr. Weedon to take a rest. "Getting lost in that old ruin last term was quite an event. Everyone knows who you are."
Charlie wished it wasn't so.
The sound of a hunting horn rang out across the grounds, a signal for the end of break.
The temperature was still falling. After supper the twelve endowed children went, as usual, to the King's room, to do their homework. It was there that a very nasty argument broke out between two great friends: Tancred Torsson and Lysander.
Lysander was feeling the cold more than most, but being a good-humored person his complaints were made in a friendly almost jokey way What he actually said to Tancred, was, " Tanc, what have you done to the weather?"
"Not you, too!" Tancred jumped up and stamped his foot. "I thought that you, of all people, would know better."
Before Lysander could reply Manfred Bloor spoke up. "Come on, Tancred! Spare a thought for our friend, here. You're freezing him to death."
"I'm not!" screeched Tancred, tearing at his crackling hair.
"He's only joking, Tanc," said Lysander with a smile.
By this time some of the children were beginning to feel uncomfortable. Charlie was particularly concerned. Lysander and Tancred had saved him from the ruin. Together they were a powerful force against the darker powers that lurked in Bloor's Academy He couldn't bear to see them quarreling.
"Are you on his side now?" Tancred demanded, glaring at his old ally.
"Everyone's on my side," sniggered Manfred.
Lysander silently shook his head, but unfortunately Zelda Dobinski chose that moment to show off her particularly nasty gift for moving things. She was staring at a huge reference book on the shelves behind Tancred. The book launched itself across the room and caught Tancred in the back just as he whirled toward the door.
" Owww!" roared Tancred.
Six children burst into wild laughter, while five looked on in horror.
Tancred didn't notice the sympathetic faces. He was only aware of the mocking laughter. Wind rushed furiously around the room as the stormy boy swept through the door, leaving it banging violently against the wall.
Charlie couldn't stop himself. "Wait!" he cried, leaping after Tancred.
“And where do you think you're going, Bone?" said Manfred.
"I've left my pens in the coatroom," lied Charlie.
A scrawny red-haired boy looked up and sneered, “Always forgetting things, aren't you, Bone?"
"Not always, Asa." Charlie was scared of Asa Pike. He was Manfred's sidekick and had a very nasty talent for changing his shape.
"Close the door," said Asa, as Charlie stepped outside.
Charlie pulled the door shut behind him. The passage outside was deserted. Charlie decided to try the hall.
As he descended the wide staircase a blast of arctic air almost rocked him off his feet. He stepped down into the stone-slated hall and stood very still. Something was happening to his eyes. He was seeing things that should not be there. A cloud of sparkling particles swirled in the very center of the long room. Was it an ice storm?
Gradually the pale fragments grew more vivid. Now they were forming a blurred shape, blue with a touch of black beneath it. Before Charlie's astonished gaze, a figure in a blue hooded cape was materializing.
Charlie had no doubt that he was seeing a ghost. But when the figure turned to face him, he found, to his horror, that he was looking at . . . himself.
CHAPTER 3
HIDING HENRY.
It was the other Charlie who spoke first.
"What a joke," said the boy. "I haven't traveled very far at all."
He had such a normal sort of voice Charlie was reassured. This wasn't a ghost. But if not a ghost, what was it? Clearing his throat, he asked, "Where have you come from, exactly?"
"Here," said the boy "Just now I was here, but," he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed up at the row of electric lights illuminating the hall. "It wasn't like this. How did it get so bright?"
"Electricity" said Charlie. He was beginning to recognize the boy “Are you . . .?" he began. "I mean have you . . . well, the thing is, I've seen you in a photo. Are you Henry Yewbeam?"
"That's me," said Henry beaming. "I think I've seen you, too. Somewhere. Who are you?"
"I'm your . . . erm . . . sort of cousin, Charlie Bone."
"No! This is very good news. A cousin, well, well." Henry marched over and shook Charlie's hand. "Very glad to meet you, Charlie Bone."
"The news isn't that good," said Charlie. "What was the date when you . . . just now?"
"January 12, 1916," said Henry "I always know the date."
"I'm afraid it isn't that now"
"No?" Henry's smile began to fade. "So . . .?"
"You're almost ninety years ahead of where you were," said Charlie.
Henry's mouth opened but no words came out. Instead there was a sharp ping as something dropped out of his hand and hit the floor.
Charlie saw a large glass marble rolling across the hall. "Wow!" he exclaimed, but before he could pick it up, Henry shouted, "Careful, Charlie. Don't look at it."
"Why?"
"It's what brought me here."
Charlie stood back from the shining glass marble. "You mean it brought you through time?"
Henry nodded. "It's a Time Twister. My mom told me about it, but I'd never seen it until just now 1 should have guessed what it was. I knew Zeke would try and punish me."
"Zeke?"
"My cousin, Ezekiel Bloor." Henry suddenly grinned. "I say he's probably dead by now." And then a sad and solemn expression crossed his face. "They're probably all dead: Mother, Father, even my brother, James. There's no one left."
"There's me," said Charlie, "and I think your brother is . . ."
At that moment a dreadful howl came from the stairs above them. The boys looked up to see a squat, ugly-looking dog standing at the top of the stairs. 11 howled again, raising its long nose toward the roof while folds of almost hairless skin shook beneath its whiskery chin.
"What an ugly beast," Henry whispered.
"It's Cook's dog, Blessed." Charlie didn't wait for the dog to howl again. "Quick," he said, grabbing Henry's arm. "You've got to hide. This isn't a good place for you to be right now There are
people here who might — do something nasty if they find out who you are."
"Why?" asked Henry his eyes widening.
"Just a feeling," said Charlie. "Come on." He dragged Henry toward the door into the west wing.
"Where are we going?" said Henry scooping up the Time Twister and slipping it into his pocket.
For a moment Charlie had no idea why he was taking Henry into the west wing. He turned the heavy brass ring in the door and pushed his new friend into the dark passage beyond.
"I know this place," whispered Henry "I never liked it."
"Nor me," said Charlie. "But we have to go this way to find somewhere safe." He closed the door behind him just as Blessed gave another mournful howl.
The two boys made their way along the passage until they reached an empty circular room. A dim light hanging from the ceiling showed an ancient wooden door and, opposite the door, a flight of stone steps.
"The tower?" Henry looked at the steps and made a face.
It was then that Charlie realized why he had brought Henry to this place. "You'll be safe at the top," he said.
"Will I?" Henry looked doubtful.
"Trust me," said Charlie.
As Henry began to mount the steps, Charlie noticed his peculiar tweed pants. They reached only to the knee, where a button held them in place over loose gray socks.
Henry's boots looked distinctly feminine: black and shiny they were neatly laced just above the ankle.
"We'd better find you some new clothes," Charlie muttered as they reached a second circular room. A door led off this room into the west wing, but Charlie urged Henry up a second flight of steps. "The Bloors live through there," he said.
"Interesting," said Henry "Some things haven't changed, then."
They kept climbing upward but long before they reached the top of the tower, the sound of a piano could be heard, echoing down the narrow stairwell.
Henry stopped. "There's someone up there."
"It's the piano teacher, Mr. Pilgrim," said Charlie. "No one else comes up here, and Mr. Pilgrim doesn't really notice things. He won't be a problem, promise!"
Another two sets of stairs brought them to the small room at the top of the tower. Sheets of music lay scattered on the floor and the shelves that ran from floor to ceiling were crammed with huge leather-bound albums, and thick dog-eared scores.