Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors

He quickly left the room, and the thread was broken.

The sculpture studio rang with the sound of steel on stone. Tancred and Lysander weren’t the only ones chipping away at lumps of rock. Charlie flourished his trumpet in the air, ‘Got it,’ he sang out.

‘Knew it,’ said Tancred.

Charlie’s next priority was the hundred lines. Where should he write them? He decided on his new classroom. As he crossed the hall he was swamped by groups of children, some coming in from games, others rushing down the stairs, still more emerging from the cloakrooms. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going, except Charlie. Something had gone horribly wrong with his timetable. He hurried on, hoping to find at least some of his year group in the classroom.

There was a note pinned to the classroom door. It was printed in the same old-fashioned script as the words on Mr Pilgrim’s door:

Tantalus Ebony

Music, Mime and Medieval History

Charlie put his ear to the door. Not a sound came from the other side. He went in. There were no children in the room, but there was a teacher. He sat at a high desk in front of the window; a teacher with a long, narrow face and black eyebrows that met across the bridge of his nose. His dark hair covered his ears, and a heavy fringe ended just above his eyebrows. He wore a purple cloak.

‘Yes?’ said the teacher, looking up from his book.

Charlie swallowed. ‘I’ve come to write out some lines, sir.’

‘Name?’ The man’s voice rumbled as though it came from underground.

‘Charlie Bone, sir.’

‘Approach!’ The teacher beckoned with a long, white finger.

Charlie walked up to the desk. The man stared at him for a full minute. His left eye was grey and his right eye was brown. It was most disconcerting. Charlie was tempted to look away but he held his ground and looked first into one eye, and then the other. An angry frown crossed the man’s face and he leaned back, almost as though he feared that Charlie had seen some part of himself that he wished to keep secret. Eventually, the teacher said, ‘I am Tantalus Ebony.’

‘I guessed that, sir.’

‘How presumptuous. Stand still.’

Charlie was about to say that he hadn’t moved, when Mr Ebony went on, ‘Why are you not with the rest of your form?’

‘I got a bit muddled, sir.’

‘Muddled? Muddled is for first formers. Not a very promising beginning for your second year, is it, Charlie Bone? And you say you have lines already. I wonder why?’

‘I was talking in the hall, sir.’

Mr Ebony’s response was amazing. He roared with laughter. He rocked with unrestrained giggles.

‘Ahem.’ The teacher gave a little cough. ‘Go and write your lines, then. And don’t disturb me. I’m going to sleep.’ Mr Ebony pulled his purple hood over his head and closed his eyes. Still sitting bolt upright, he began to snore.

Is it possible to be watched by someone who isn’t looking at you? Charlie had the impression that the strange teacher was still awake. Or rather that someone else, behind the sleeping face, was still on guard.

After waiting a few seconds, Charlie tiptoed to his desk, got out an exercise book and began to write out the hall rules. He had just completed the last line when the bell went for tea. Mr Ebony opened his eyes, threw back his hood and cried, ‘OUT!’

‘Yes, sir.’ Charlie gathered up his paper and hurriedly left the room.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ asked Fidelio, when he saw Charlie in the canteen.

‘Where have you been?’ said Charlie.

‘I had English, then games.’

Charlie saw a weekend of detention looming ahead. Mr Carp, the English teacher, wouldn’t forgive him for missing a lesson. ‘I was writing out my lines for Manfred,’ he said gloomily. ‘And I still haven’t found out where his study is.’

Fidelio couldn’t help, nor could Gabriel when he arrived at their table. ‘What’s with the pigtail, then?’ he said, munching a bar of Choclix. ‘I mean, what’s Manfred supposed to be? He’s not Head Boy any more, and he’s not a teacher. So what is he?’

‘He’s a hypnotiser,’ said Charlie grimly. ‘Always has been and always will be. He’ll probably stay here for ever and ever, perfecting his skills until he becomes a musty old magician like his great-grandfather.’

‘As long as he keeps out of my way, I don’t care what he is.’ Gabriel swallowed the rest of his Choclix and wiped his fingers on his sleeve. ‘By the way, I’ve decided to take piano with Mr Ebony. I can’t give it up, and he’s quite good, actually.’

For some reason this worried Charlie.

‘I’d go to Miss Chrystal, if I were you,’ he advised Gabriel. ‘Mr Ebony isn’t – isn’t what he seems. I think he’s dangerous.’

The others looked at him questioningly, but Charlie couldn’t explain his feeling.

After tea, Charlie took his trumpet to Mr Paltry’s room. The elderly teacher was having a quiet cup of coffee. ‘I can’t give you a lesson now,’ he said irritably. ‘Put your trumpet on the shelf and leave me in peace.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Charlie placed his trumpet on a shelf with five others, hoping it wouldn’t get lost or stolen again. ‘Excuse me, sir, but do you know where Manfred Bloor’s study is?’

‘I don’t know every single room in the building, do I?’ Mr Paltry fluttered a freckled hand. ‘Now, shoo.’

Children were advised to leave their capes indoors on sunny days because, believe it or not, it was colder in the dark academy than it was outside. So, putting his cape in the cloakroom Charlie went into the garden and asked as many people as he could grab if they knew the whereabouts of Manfred’s study. Nobody had heard of it. Charlie ran indoors again. As he put on his blue cape, he slipped his fingers in his pocket. The three pages of lines had gone.

‘No!’ yelled Charlie, just as Gabriel walked in.

‘What’s up?’ asked Gabriel.

Charlie told him, and for the next fifteen minutes Gabriel helped him to search the cloakroom, but the three pages were nowhere to be found. Fidelio appeared and joined in the hunt. They looked in empty classrooms and even went down to the canteen. And then the gong went for supper.

‘Someone’s determined to get me into trouble,’ moaned Charlie. ‘I’m losing everything, my trumpet, my lines . . . what’s going on?’

‘Come and have supper,’ said Fidelio. ‘Food helps the brain.’

‘Huh!’ Charlie grunted.

The three boys made their way to the long, cavernous dining-hall and took their places at the end of the Music table.

The staff sat at a table on a raised platform at the end of the room, and Charlie noticed that Manfred was sitting next to his father. So he was now, officially, a member of staff. At least he won’t be doing his homework with us, thought Charlie.

Supper was almost over when Dr Bloor stood up and clapped his hands. There was instant silence. The big man walked to the front of the platfom and surveyed the lines of children below him. He was an impressive figure in his black cape, his shoulders wide, his grey hair neatly cropped and his moustache as straight as a ruler. His eyes were almost hidden beneath thick folds of flesh, and it was difficult to tell what colour they were. Now they looked black, yet Charlie knew they were grey.

It was some moments before the headmaster spoke. The children looked up at him expectantly. At last he said, ‘A word to those of the new children who are endowed. You know who you are, so I shall not mention you by name. You will do your homework in the King’s Room. Someone will show you the way. Do you understand?’

Charlie heard three thin voices utter the words, ‘Yes, sir.’ He couldn’t see where they came from, but they certainly didn’t belong to anyone on the music table.

Dr Bloor suddenly shouted, ‘DISPERSE!’

Children sprang into action like clockwork. Benches squeaked on the tiled floor, plates were collected into piles, glasses clinked, cutlery clanged, and then everyone made for the doors. As Charlie climbed up to the first floor, he was joined by Gabriel and Billy; Emma Tolly was ahead of him, and Tancred and Lysander could just be seen flying up another flight to the second floor.

Emma waited for Charlie to catch up with her. ‘I found these on the floor of our cloakroom,’ she said, holding out three crumpled sheets of paper. ‘I heard you were looking for them.’

‘My lines,’ cried Charlie, grabbing the paper. ‘Thanks, Em. But how did they get in the Art cloakroom?’

‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Emma.

Charlie shoved the pages into his bag. The sound of heavy footsteps behind him made him look back and he saw Dorcas Loom trudging slowly up the stairs. She was a plump girl with fair curly hair and a healthy complexion. Dorcas was a fervent admirer of Charlie’s great-aunt, Venetia, and with her endowment she could make clothes that had a deadly magic.

‘What are you staring at?’ she said sullenly.

‘A cat may look at a queen,’ replied Charlie.

Dorcas gave a ‘Hunh!’ of disgust, and continued to plod up the stairs.

Charlie and his friends stepped into the strange, circular King’s Room with its round table and curving, booklined walls.

Manfred was standing on the far side of the table, staring straight at the doors. Charlie’s heart lurched, and then disappointment washed over him in a sickening wave as he saw a hunched figure sitting beside Manfred. It was Asa Pike, Manfred’s devoted slave; the boy who could become a beast at dusk. He should have left school. Why was he was still here? There were also three new children in the room. Joshua Tilpin was one of them.

‘Come on, come on,’ ordered Manfred impatiently. ‘Stop crowding in the door. I have an important announcement to make.’

Charlie pulled himself together and walked round the table until he came to a place beside Tancred. From here he could see the Red King’s portrait. An old painting of a misty figure in a red cloak and a slim gold crown. Gabriel, Billy and Emma followed Charlie, while Dorcas stomped in and closed the door with her foot.

‘Show some respect for my father’s house!’ barked Manfred.

Dorcas glowered, but didn’t dare to look Manfred in the eye. ‘Someone’s sitting in my place,’ she muttered.

‘Don’t be stupid, Dorc,’ said Manfred.

Asa sniggered, ‘Dork. That’s good.’

Manfred ignored him. ‘Just sit anywhere, girl, and hurry up about it.’

If Dorcas had wanted to sit on Manfred’s other side she was out of luck. Squeezed in, between Manfred and Joshua Tilpin, were two extraordinary-looking girls They both had very shiny black hair, cut just below their ears, a deep fringe and a complexion that was so pale and smooth it looked like porcelain.

Twins, obviously, thought Charlie. If they’re real. For the girls’ faces were so blank, and their bodies so still, they might have been dolls.

Dorcas shuffled round the table and put her books next to Joshua’s. He gave her one of his beaming crooked-toothed smiles, and Dorcas actually smiled back.

‘Now that we’re all here,’ said Manfred, glancing at Dorcas, ‘I want to explain a few things. First of all, you probably didn’t expect to see me again. Well, you’re stuck with me.’ No one made a sound except Asa, who snorted.

‘I’m now a teaching assistant,’ Manfred went on importantly. ‘My job description is to supervise your homework, monitor your progress, invigilate exams, and to help with any personal or work-related problems.’ He paused to take a breath and Charlie wondered who on earth would want to ask the ex-head-boy for help.

‘Now, for introductions.’ Manfred named everyone at the table until he came to the inscrutable girls beside him. ‘And these are the twins, Inez and Idith Branko.’

As soon as their names were mentioned, the twins bent their heads and stared at the books in front of them. With alarming speed the books flew across the table. One pile landed in Charlie’s lap, and the other in Tancred’s.

‘Oh, no!’ Tancred grunted. ‘Telekinetics.’ The sleeves of his cape ballooned out, his blond hair crackled and a draught sent a shiver through the loose sheets of paper lying on the table.

‘I see that the summer holidays haven’t improved your self-control, Tancred,’ said Manfred in a mocking tone.

Tancred and Charlie stood up and handed the twins’ books back across the table. The girls didn’t say a word, and their faces remained completely blank.

Charlie couldn’t resist remarking, ‘It’s polite to say thank you.’

Idith and Inez remained silent, but one of them, who knows which, shot him a very nasty look.

‘Try and be pleasant to the new girls, Bone,’ said Manfred. ‘The twins are related to Zelda Dobinsky, who has left us. Apparently, she is a mathematical genius, so she’s gone to university at a very early age. Unfortunately, Asa here is the opposite of a genius. He’s still with us because he failed all his exams.’

Scowling with embarrassment, Asa hunched even further down in his seat and Charlie felt a rare twinge of sympathy for him. To be ridiculed by someone he admired must have been very painful.

‘Last, but not least, we have Joshua Tilpin,’ Manfred announced.

On hearing his name, Joshua leapt up and made a bow. Anyone would have thought he was a prince. And yet he looked a mess. His green cape was covered in dust, there were leaves and grass in his hair, and a cobweb hung from one ear.

‘Sit down, Joshua,’ said Manfred. ‘You’re not a pop star.’

Joshua beamed at him and, to everyone’s amazement, Manfred smiled back. Getting a smile out of Manfred was like getting jam out of a stone.

Whatever next? thought Charlie. He was just about to start his homework when Manfred said, ‘Charlie Bone, you didn’t bring me your lines.’

‘Oh, sorry, Manfred. I’ve got them here.’ Charlie fumbled in his bag.

‘I asked you to bring them to my study.’

‘But . . . I don’t know where it is,’ Charlie confessed.

Manfred sighed. He looked at the ceiling and declared,

‘I am behind words

on the way to music

beneath a wing

and before trumpets, masks and brushes.’

He paused for effect and brought his gaze back to Charlie. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

In any other circumstances, Charlie would have said, ‘Clear as ditchwater,’ but as the situation was already pretty grim, he decided to say, ‘Yes, Manfred.’

‘Good. Then bring your lines to my study before bedtime, or it’s detention for you.’

Detention for Charlie

Charlie was lucky to have a friend like Lysander Sage. Lysander always finished his homework early, and today, as soon as his work was done, he applied himself to Manfred’s riddle.

As Charlie was leaving the King’s Room, Lysander grabbed his arm. ‘I think I know where Manfred’s study is,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s go and find our dorms and I’ll explain.’

Billy Raven had crept up on them. ‘Can I come with you?’ he asked Charlie.

‘Billy Raven, I want a word with you.’ Manfred stood outside the King’s Room, looking at the three boys.

Billy gave a resigned shrug and walked back to Manfred.

‘Poor kid,’ said Lysander, under his breath. He began to explain how he had interpreted Manfred’s riddle.

‘I started at the end,’ he said. ‘Trumpets, masks and brushes must refer to the signs above our cloakrooms. So Manfred’s study is before you get to them. If it’s on the way to music, then it must be somewhere down that long passage to the music tower, and that’s beneath the west wing – get it?’

‘Mm,’ said Charlie. ‘But what about the words? Behind words, he said.’

‘Words are in books,’ said Lysander. ‘I reckon if you can find a bookcase in that passage, Manfred’s study will be behind it. Bookcases are often used as doors to secret rooms.’

‘Wow! You’ve got it, Sander. I did see a bookcase down there. Brilliant! Thanks!’

‘You’re welcome. Hope it works.’

They had reached the first dormitories and began to scan the lists of names pinned to each door. Lysander found that he was still sharing with Tancred, and to Charlie’s relief he saw his own name on a list with Fidelio’s. Billy’s name was at the bottom.

Fidelio was already unpacking his bag. He’d saved a bed beside his for Charlie. The dormitory was almost exactly the same as last year’s. Six narrow beds on each side of a long bleak room, with a single dim light bulb hanging in the centre.

Charlie quickly shoved all his possessions in a bedside cabinet and hung his cape on its hook. ‘I’m going to try and find Manfred’s study,’ he told Fidelio. ‘Can you cover for me if Matron comes in?’

‘I’ll say you’re in the bathroom,’ said Fidelio. ‘Good luck.’

Charlie was halfway down the passage when he met an excited Billy Raven coming the other way.

‘I’m being adopted,’ said Billy. ‘Manfred just told me.’

‘That’s great!’ cried Charlie. Billy had always longed to be adopted.

The small boy touched his white hair. ‘I wonder why they want me. I mean, they could have chosen any boy. Someone nicer looking, someone different.’

‘Who are they? asked Charlie, suddenly concerned for Billy.

‘They’re called de Grey. Mr and Mrs de Grey. They’re a bit older than I expected, actually. Manfred showed me a photo. But he says they’re nice, and very kind. And they’ve got a lovely house. I shall have my own room with everything I could want, even a TV, he says. Imagine, my own TV.’

Charlie would have liked to see the de Greys’ photo. He might have been able to learn a little more about them, if he’d heard their voices. ‘Did Manfred give you the photo?’ he asked.

Billy shook his head.

‘Well, it’s great news, Billy.’

Charlie was about to dash on when Billy suddenly asked, ‘Did you bring your wand to school with you?’

‘Yes, I –’ Charlie stopped. ‘Why d’you want to know?’

‘I just thought, you know, it would be good if you had it with you – to protect you, kind of thing. D’you keep it in your bedside cupboard?’

‘No.’ Charlie kept his precious wand under his mattress, but he wasn’t going to tell Billy. He’d said enough already.

‘No. It’d be too long for the cupboard,’ said Billy. ‘Under the mattress, then?

Charlie felt uncomfortable. Was Billy still spying for the Bloors? ‘I’ve got to dash, Billy,’ he said quickly. ‘Got to get my lines to Manfred’s study. See you later.’

Charlie hurried on. All the activity in the school had shifted to the dormitories, and the great flagstoned hall echoed with Charlie’s solitary footsteps. For the second time that day, he opened the ancient door leading to the Music tower. He stepped into the dark passage and surveyed the rough stone walls. Halfway down, on his right, he saw a small recess. Charlie crept along in the gloom until he came to a narrow set of shelves, crammed with drab, serious-looking books.

‘Hm. Are you a door, then?’ Charlie pushed one side of the bookcase, then the other. Nothing moved. Perhaps it wasn’t a door at all. One by one, Charlie began to remove the books, searching for a knob or a handle to open the supposed door. But there was nothing.

‘What are you doing?’

Charlie almost jumped out of his skin. A figure in a purple cape came gliding towards him. ‘Why are you here?’ asked Tantalus Ebony.

‘I was looking for Manfred’s study,’ stammered Charlie.

‘I see.’ Mr Ebony gave Charlie a look of such overwhelming hatred, Charlie had to step back, dizzy with shock. A suffocating brew of smells filled his nostrils: stale air, candle grease, rotting things, mildew and soot.

‘You do well to be afraid, Bone,’ said the teacher coldly. ‘You’re a troublesome little devil, aren’t you?’

Before Charlie could reply, the man’s features seemed to dissolve and an array of completely different expressions crossed his pale face. For a fraction of a second, Charlie felt that, from behind the changing masks, someone gazed out at him with infinite tenderness. He was sure that he had imagined this, however, when the look of haughty indifference returned to the teacher’s face.

‘You wanted the study.’ Mr Ebony pressed a knot in the wood at the top of the bookcase. Immediately it swung aside, revealing the dim interior of a small study.

‘Thank you.’ Nervously, Charlie stepped inside.

‘I’ll leave you to it, then. Toodle-oo.’ The extraordinary teacher’s voice changed completely. He waved his long fingers and rushed away, humming a slightly familiar tune.

Charlie looked round the room. It was very tidy. A photograph of a younger-looking Dr Bloor, with a small boy and a dark-haired woman, hung above the mantlepiece. Manfred and his parents. Beneath the window there was a desk, and an adjustable leather chair that faced the courtyard beyond. Charlie stepped up to the desk and put his lines on a stack of papers. He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. A small print of a horse lay beside the papers. Charlie picked it up. There were other pictures beneath: prints of horses’ skeletons.

At this point, Charlie should have left the room, but he had noticed a packet of photographs lying at the end of the desk. Charlie was not the sort of boy to hold back when he saw something interesting. And he was always interested in photographs. As he carefully lifted the packet, he failed to hear the soft swish behind him.

The photos were disappointing. There were only two people in them: a man and a woman. They were both middle-aged and rather ordinary. The man had thinning hair and spectacles; the woman’s face was round, her hair short and straight, and her teeth very long. In all the photographs she was smiling. No, not smiling, Charlie decided. It seemed rather that she was holding something invisible between her teeth.

In most of the photographs the couple were sitting side by side on a sofa, but there were two taken in a garden and two more in a kitchen. Charlie was scrutinising the empty-looking kitchen when he suddenly heard the woman speak.

Smile, Usher. We want to put the boy at ease.

I don’t like children. The man’s voice was light and slightly nasal. Never have.

It won’t be for long.

How long?

Until he does what they want. You’ll have to use your talent – you know – to stop him getting out.

Talent? said the man in a whiney voice. What use . . .

Charlie heard footsteps. He quickly put the photos back into the packet and replaced it at the end of the desk. But when he went to the door, he found that it was stuck. There was no handle, no keyhole, no latch. He was caught.

Charlie banged on the door. ‘Hi! Anyone there? It’s me, Charlie Bone.’

There was no answer.

Charlie banged again. ‘Hi, Mr Ebony, sir. Are you there? Manfred?’

Charlie continued to knock and call for several minutes, and then he gave up.

It began to get dark. Charlie sat in the chair and thought about the photographs. All at once, it came to him. They were Billy Raven’s new parents. Billy had always longed to have nice, kind parents and a real home. How could Charlie tell him the truth?

As he sat in the gloom, wrestling with his dilemma, the lights across the courtyard went out, one by one, until Charlie was left in complete darkness. He made his way round the room, fumbling for a light switch. There didn’t seem to be one. He pushed at the door. He knocked and called, but no one came. The cathedral clock struck nine. Charlie sat on the floor and dozed.

A sound from the courtyard woke him up. Clop! Clop! Clop! Charlie shook his sleepy head. Hooves. There was a horse in the courtyard. Charlie stood up. He could just make out the window’s pale rectangle of light, but it was impossible to see anything in the yard beyond.

The cathedral clock struck ten and the hoofbeats faded. Charlie was about to shout again when the door swung open and a fierce light was beamed in his face.