Midnight for Charlie Bone

When the line was fifteen mice long, the cats appeared to have finished the job. They sat down and vigorously washed their immaculate fur.

‘How about a cup of coffee?’ said Mr Onimous. ‘I feel quite exhausted.’

As far as Charlie could tell, Mr Onimous had hardly lifted a finger, let alone done anything exhausting. The cats had done all the work. But Mr Onimous was now sitting at the kitchen table, looking eagerly at the coffee tin, and Charlie didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. He was still holding the photograph, so he put it down and went to fill the kettle.

‘Ah,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘Here we have it. This explains everything.’

‘What does?’ Charlie looked at the photograph which Mr Onimous was now holding up to the light.

Mr Onimous pointed to the cat at the bottom of the photograph. ‘That’s Aries,’ he said. It was quite a few years ago, but he doesn’t forget. He knew you’d spotted him. That’s why he led me here.’

‘Pardon?’ Charlie felt weak. He sat down. ‘Are you saying that Aries,’ he pointed at the copper-coloured cat, ‘Aries knew I’d seen his photo?’

‘It wasn’t quite like that.’ Mr Onimous scratched his furry-looking head. His pointed nails were in need of a good cut, Charlie noticed. Maisie would never have let anyone get away with nails as long as that.

The kettle boiled and Charlie made Mr Onimous his coffee. ‘What was it like, then?’ he asked, putting the cup before his visitor.

‘Three sugars, please,’ said Mr Onimous.

Charlie impatiently tossed three spoonfuls of sugar into the coffee.

Mr Onimous beamed. He took a sip, beamed again and then, leaning close to Charlie, he said, ‘He knew you were connected, Aries did. And so you are; you have the photograph. These cats aren’t ordinary. They know things. They chose me because I’ve got a special way with animals. They lead me here and there, trying to undo mischief, and I just follow, helping where I can. This case,’ his finger came down on the man holding the baby, ‘this is one of the worst. Aries has always been very angry about it. Time and again he’s tried to put it right, but we needed you, Charlie.’

‘Me?’ said Charlie.

‘You’re one of the endowed, aren’t you?’ Mr Onimous spoke softly, as if it were a secret, not to be spoken out loud.

‘They say so,’ said Charlie. He couldn’t help but look at the photograph, with Mr Onimous’ finger stuck so accusingly on the man’s face. And as soon as he looked, he began to hear the baby crying.

Aries ran over to him and, placing his paws on Charlie’s knees, let forth an ear-splitting yowl. His cry was immediately taken up by orange Leo and yellow Sagittarius. The noise was so painful, Charlie had to press his hands over his ears.

‘Hush!’ commanded Mr Onimous. ‘The boy’s thinking.’

When the yowling had died down, Mr Onimous said, ‘You see. You are connected, Charlie. Now tell me all about it.’

Although decidedly odd, Mr Onimous looked kind and trustworthy, and Charlie was badly in need of help. He told Mr Onimous about the mix-up with the photographs, the voices, the horrible Yewbeam aunts and their assessment, and their decision to send him to Bloor’s Academy. ‘And I really don’t want to go there,’ finished Charlie. ‘I think I’d almost rather die.’

‘But, Charlie boy, that’s where she is,’ said Mr Onimous, ‘the lost baby. At least, that’s what the cats seem to think. And they’re never wrong.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, cats, we’ve got to go.’

‘You mean the baby in the photograph was lost?’ said Charlie. ‘How can you lose a baby?’

‘It’s not for me to say,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘You take that photo where it belongs, and perhaps they’ll tell you.’

‘But I don’t know where it belongs,’ said Charlie, beginning to panic. Mr Onimous was slipping away without helping at all.

‘Use your loaf, Charlie. That’s an enlargement, isn’t it? Find the original and you’ll find a name and address.’

‘Will I?’

‘Without a doubt.’ Mr Onimous smoothed the pile on his coat, turned up his collar and made for the front door.

Charlie stood up, uncertainly, questions bubbling in his head. By the time he reached the open door, all that could be seen of his visitor was a small disappearing figure, followed by a flash of hot colours, like the bright tail of a comet.

Charlie closed the door and ran upstairs. Seizing the orange envelope, he shook it fiercely and out fell a small photograph; the original of the enlargement downstairs. He turned it over and there, sure enough, was a name and an address, written in bold, flowing letters:

Miss Julia Ingledew 3, Cathedral Close.

Where was Cathedral Close, and how was he to get there? He would have to leave the house before Maisie and his mother got home. They would never agree to his roaming off on his own, to a place he didn’t know. And if he didn’t act now, he might not get back in time for Benjamin’s party. But he’d have to leave a message, or his mother would worry.

As far as he could remember, Charlie had never been inside his uncle’s room before. A DO NOT DISTURB sign hung permanently on the door. Recently, Charlie had begun to wonder what Paton did inside all day. Sometimes a soft tapping could be heard. Usually there was silence.

Today, Charlie would have to ignore the notice.

He knocked on the door, hesitantly at first, and then more vigorously.

‘What?’ said a cross voice.

‘Uncle Paton, can I come in?’ asked Charlie.

‘Why?’ queried Paton.

‘Because I have to find somewhere, and I want you to explain to Mum.’

There was a deep sigh. Charlie didn’t dare open the door until his uncle said coldly, ‘Come in, then, if you must.’

Charlie turned the doorknob and peered inside. He was surprised by what he saw. His uncle’s room was overflowing with paper. It hung from shelves, dripped from piles on the windowsill, covered Paton’s desk and lapped like a tide round his ankles. Where was the bed? Under a blanket of books, Charlie guessed. Books lined the walls, from floor to ceiling, they even climbed round the desk in tottering towers.

‘Well?’ said Paton, glancing up from a mound of paper.

‘Please can you tell me where Cathedral Close is?’ Charlie asked nervously.

‘Where d’you think? Beside the cathedral of course.’ Paton was a different person in daylight. Chilly and forbidding.

‘Oh,’ said Charlie, feeling foolish. ‘Well, I’m going there now. But could you tell Mum. She’ll want to know, and . . .’

‘Yes, yes,’ murmured Paton, and with a vague wave, he motioned Charlie away.

‘Thanks,’ said Charlie, closing the door as quietly as he could.

He went to his room, hurriedly pulled on his anorak and tucked the photos, in their orange envelope, into his pocket. Then he left the house.

From his bedroom window, Benjamin saw Charlie walking past with a determined expression.

Benjamin opened his window and called, ‘Where are you going?’

Charlie looked up. ‘To the cathedral,’ he said.

‘Can me and Runner Bean come?’ asked Benjamin.

‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m going to get your present, and it’s got to be a surprise.’

Benjamin closed the window. He wondered what sort of present Charlie could buy in a cathedral. A pen with the cathedral’s name on it? Benjamin had plenty of pens.

‘Still, I don’t really mind,’ he told Runner Bean. ‘As long as he comes to my party.’

Runner Bean thumped his tail on Benjamin’s pillow. He was lying where he wasn’t supposed to, on Benjamin’s bed. Luckily, no one but Benjamin knew about it.

The cathedral was in the old part of the city. Here the streets were cobbled and narrow. The shops were smaller, and in their softly lit windows, expensive clothes and jewellery lay on folds of silk and velvet. It seemed a very private place, and Charlie felt almost as though he were trespassing.

As the ancient cathedral began to loom above him, the shops gave way to a row of old half-timbered houses. Number three Cathedral Close, however, was a bookshop. Above the door a sign in olde worlde script, read INGLEDEW’S. The books displayed in the window were aged and dusty-looking. Some were bound in leather, their leaves edged in gold.

Charlie took a deep breath and went in. A bell tinkled as he stepped down into the shop, and a woman appeared through a curtained gap behind the counter. She wasn’t as old as Charlie expected, but about the same age as his mother. She had thick chestnut hair piled up on her head, and kind brown eyes.

‘Yes?’ said the woman. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I think so,’ said Charlie. ‘Are you Julia Ingledew?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded.

‘I’ve come about your photograph,’ said Charlie.

The woman’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Goodness!’ she said. ‘Have you found it?’

‘I think so,’ said Charlie, handing over the orange envelope.

The woman opened the envelope and the two photos fell on to her desk. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to have these.’

‘Have you got mine?’ asked Charlie. ‘My name’s Charlie Bone.’

‘Come through,’ said Miss Ingledew, motioning Charlie to follow her through the curtain.

Charlie walked cautiously round the counter and through the curtain in the wall of books. He found himself in a room not unlike the shop. All books again, packed tight on shelves, or lying in piles on every surface. It was a cosy room, for all that; it smelled of warm, rich words and very deep thoughts. A fire burned in a small iron grate and table lamps glowed through parchment-coloured shades.

‘Here we are,’ said Julia Ingledew, and from a drawer she produced an orange envelope.

Charlie took the envelope and opened it quickly. ‘Yes, it’s Runner Bean,’ he said. ‘My friend’s dog. I’m going to make a birthday card with it.’

‘A lovely idea,’ said Miss Ingledew. ‘More personal. I always like “personal”. It shows one cares doesn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Charlie uncertainly.

‘Well, I’m very grateful to you, Charlie Bone,’ she said, ‘I feel you should have a reward of some sort. I haven’t got much cash about, but I wonder . . .’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Charlie, a little embarrassed, though he could have done with some money, to buy Benjamin’s present.

‘No, no really. I think you’re just the person. In fact I feel that these have been waiting just for you.’ She pointed to a corner and Charlie saw that his first impression of the room had been mistaken. It was not filled entirely with books. A table in one corner was piled high with boxes: wooden boxes, metal boxes and big cardboard cartons.

‘What’s in those?’ asked Charlie.

‘My brother-in-law’s effects,’ she said. ‘All that is left of him. He died last week.’

Charlie felt a lump rising in his throat. He said ‘Um . . .’

‘Oh, dear. No, not his ashes, Charlie,’ said Miss Ingledew. ‘They’re his – what shall I call them – inventions. They only arrived yesterday. He sent them by courier, the day before he died. Goodness knows why he left them to me.’ She fetched one of the boxes, removed the lid and took out a metal robotic-looking dog. ‘It’s no good to me,’ she said. ‘Do you want it?’

Charlie thought of Runner Bean, and then of Benjamin. ‘Does it do anything?’ he asked. Because inventions usually did something.

‘Of course. Let me see.’ She pulled down the dog’s tail. It barked twice, and a voice said, ‘I am number two. You have already pulled my tail, so you know how to make me play. To fast forward press my left ear. To rewind press my right ear. To record press my nose. To stop pull my right foot up. To replace tapes open my stomach.’ The voice that gave these instructions was familiar to Charlie.

‘Any use to you?’ asked Miss Ingledew. ‘Or would you like to see the others?’

‘It’s perfect,’ said Charlie. ‘Brilliant. But the voice, is it your . . .?’

‘Yes. My brother-in-law, Dr Tolly. It was one of his earliest, but he never bothered to sell it. Once a thing was made, that was it. He was a lazy man, Charlie. Clever, but lazy.’

‘It’s him in the photo, isn’t it?’ Charlie didn’t mention that he’d recognised the voice. How could he?

‘Yes, that’s Dr Tolly. He did something terrible once.’ Miss Ingledew’s mouth closed in a grim line.

‘Why did you want his photo, then?’ asked Charlie.

The bookseller darted him a quick look, as if she were sizing him up. ‘It’s the baby I want,’ she said at last. ‘It’s all I have to remember her by.’ And suddenly Miss Ingledew was telling Charlie about the dreadful day when her sister Nancy died, just before her daughter’s second birthday, and how a few days later, Nancy’s husband, Dr Tolly, had given his daughter away.

‘I didn’t think you could give children away,’ said Charlie, horrified.

‘You can’t,’ said Miss Ingledew. ‘I was sworn to secrecy. I should have taken her, you see. But I was selfish and irresponsible. I didn’t think I could cope. Not one day has passed, since then, when I haven’t regretted my decision. I tried to find out who she’d been given to, where she had gone, but Dr Tolly would never tell me. She was lost in a system of lies and tricks and forgery. She’d be ten years old now, and I’d give anything to get her back.’

Charlie felt very uncomfortable. He was being drawn into a situation he didn’t much like. If only he hadn’t heard the voices in the photograph. How could he possibly tell Miss Ingledew that three cats thought the lost baby was in Bloor’s Academy. She would never believe him.

In a shadowy corner, a grandfather clock struck twelve and Charlie said, ‘I think I’d better go home now. Mum’ll be worried.’

‘Of course. But take the dog, Charlie, and –’ she suddenly darted to the table and withdrew a long silver case from the bottom of a pile, ‘will you take this one as well?’

She didn’t wait for an answer, but plunged it into a bag marked INGLEDEW’S BOOKS. Handing the bag to Charlie, she said, ‘You can pop the dog in as well, there’s just enough room.’

The bag was unbelievably heavy. Charlie carefully placed the dog, in its box, on top of the metal case. Then he trundled to the door, wondering how on earth he would manage to heave the bag all the way home.

Julia Ingledew helped him up the step and opened the shop door, which gave another melodious ring.

‘I hope you don’t mind my asking,’ said Charlie, ‘but what’s in the case?’

The answer was rather surprising. ‘I don’t know,’ said Miss Ingledew. ‘And I’m not sure I want to. Dr Tolly exchanged it for his baby. Whatever it is, it can’t be worth as much as a baby, can it?’

‘N-no,’ said Charlie. He put the bag on the ground.

‘Please take it, Charlie. You look just the right person. I’ve got to get it out of the house, you see.’ She lowered her voice and darted a quick look down the street. ‘And can I ask you to keep it a secret, for now?’

‘That’s a bit difficult,’ said Charlie, even more reluctant to take the strange case. ‘Can’t I even tell my best friend?’

‘Tell no one who you wouldn’t trust with your life,’ said Miss Ingledew.

The inventor’s case

Before Charlie could think of anything to say, the bookseller gave him a brief wave and then closed her door. He was alone in the shadowy street with something that had been exchanged for a baby.

Why hadn’t Miss Ingledew opened the case? What could be inside? Charlie began to talk to himself as he struggled over the cobbles and several people glanced at him suspiciously. Perhaps they thought he had stolen the bag. He turned a sharp corner and nearly fell over a big, shaggy dog.

‘Look out!’ cried Charlie, dropping the bag. ‘Runner Bean, it’s you!’

Runner Bean jumped on the bag and licked Charlie’s face.

‘Get off!’ said Charlie. ‘That’s valuable.’

Benjamin came hurrying up to them. ‘Sorry,’ he panted. ‘I couldn’t stop him.’

‘Were you following me?’ asked Charlie, who was quite pleased to see Benjamin.

‘Not really. I was just taking Runner for a walk. I think he must have got your scent.’ Benjamin stared at the impressive black bag. ‘What’s in there?’

‘Your birthday present,’ said Charlie, ‘but you’ll have to help me carry the bag. It weights a ton.’

‘Wow. What? No I mustn’t ask,’ said Benjamin shyly.

Charlie had to confess that there was a mysterious something else in the bag, but after a quick peek, Benjamin said he didn’t mind at all that he was going to get the small cardboard box, instead of the large metal case.

‘It’s a funny place to come for a present,’ Benjamin remarked, with a backward glance at the looming cathedral.

‘I didn’t know I would find one,’ said Charlie. ‘I came here to look for Runner Bean’s photo.’ He told Benjamin about the strange lady bookseller, and the mysterious case the lazy inventor had sent her.

Taking a handle each, the boys began to carry the black bag home. They didn’t notice that they were being followed. If they had looked behind them, they might have seen that a weasly red-haired boy, badly disguised as an old man, was hiding in doorways and then creeping up on them.

Runner Bean growled softly and nudged the bag, trying to hurry the boys. It was very troubling to the dog. There was something behind him, and something in the bag, that wasn’t right.

As Charlie and Benjamin turned into Filbert Street, Runner Bean whirled round and ran towards the stalker, barking furiously. The red-haired boy jumped away from him and fled up the street.

‘What was that all about?’ said Benjamin as the dog came bounding back.

Runner Bean couldn’t explain.

When they reached Benjamin’s house, Charlie asked his friend if he would take the bag inside with him. He didn’t want Maisie or Grandma Bone poking their noses into it.

Benjamin looked dubious. ‘I don’t know. Where will I put it?’

‘Under the bed or something. Please, Benjamin. My grandmas are always in my room, but no one seems to hassle you.’

‘OK,’ he said.

‘Don’t open your present until I come back,’ he told Benjamin. ‘I’d better go home now, or there’ll be trouble.’

Charlie was about to turn away when he heard a hollow knocking from inside the bag. Benjamin looked up, rather scared, but Charlie pretended he hadn’t heard and ran down the steps. He walked into the kitchen where his two grandmothers were arguing fiercely. When Charlie appeared they glared at him.

‘Charlie Bone!’ screamed Maisie. ‘How could you? You awful boy. How did this happen?’ She pointed at the row of dead mice. Charlie had completely forgotten them.

He explained how Mr Onimous and the cats had leapt into the house before he could stop them. ‘And then I had to rush out and exchange the photo,’ he waved the orange envelope. ‘I’m sorry I forgot about the mice.’

‘Yellow cats, red cats?’ said Grandma Bone, with a catch in her voice. Charlie could have sworn that she was afraid.

‘Well, I suppose they did a good job,’ said Maisie, beginning to forgive Charlie. ‘I’d better tidy the little bodies.’

Grandma Bone was not in a forgiving mood. ‘I knew it,’ she muttered angrily. ‘You brought them here, you wretched boy. You’re like a magnet. Bad blood mixed with endowed. It never works. I shan’t rest easy until you’re shut up in Bloor’s.’

‘Shut up? You mean I won’t be coming out?’

‘Weekends,’ snapped Grandma Bone. ‘Unfortunately.’ Out she swept, her black boots rapping on the floor like drumsticks.

‘I didn’t know that I would be shut up,’ cried Charlie.

‘Nor did I, love,’ puffed Maisie, busily disinfecting the floor. ‘What do I know of these fancy schools? Your mother shouldn’t bring home so much fruit and veg. Beats me how the Pest Control knew about it. I never told them.’

‘The cats,’ said Charlie. ‘They knew.’

‘You’ll be telling me next that cats can fly,’ muttered Maisie.

Perhaps those cats can, thought Charlie. Aries, Leo and Sagittarius were not ordinary cats, that was for sure. And Charlie had a suspicion that Grandma Bone knew this. But why was she afraid of them?

He went to his room to make the birthday card. But he found it hard to concentrate. The card went crooked, he left the ‘h’ out of birthday, and then the speech-balloon slipped over Runner Bean’s ear. Charlie flung down the scissors. Ever since he’d discovered he could hear photographs, his world had been turned upside down. If only he’d been able to keep quiet about the voices, he wouldn’t have had to go to a horrible school where he’d be imprisoned for weeks at a time, with a lot of weird children who did peculiar things.

He heard his mother come in and call to Maisie. If only she would take his side and fight the Yewbeams. But she seemed to be afraid of them. Somehow, Charlie would have to fight them himself.

Maisie had cooked vegetable spaghetti for lunch. Charlie wondered about the mice in the larder, but kept his thoughts to himself. His mother had brought him a sapphire blue cape, which she made him try on as soon as the spaghetti was finished. The cape reached almost to Charlie’s knees. It had slits at the sides for his arms and a soft hood hung down the back.

‘I’m not going to wear a cape in the street,’ said Charlie, ‘and that’s final. Everyone’ll laugh at me.’

‘But Charlie, there’ll be other children wearing them,’ said his mother. ‘And some will be in purple or green.’

‘Not in our part of town,’ said Charlie, pulling off the cape. ‘They’ll all be from the Heights.’

The Heights sprawled up the side of a wooded hill that looked down on the city. The houses were tall and grand and the people in them lacked for nothing. The large gardens were full of flowers that seemed to bloom all year.

‘I know for a fact that not every child will come from the Heights,’ said Charlie’s mother. ‘There’s a girl just two streets away, Olivia Vertigo, she was in the papers. She’ll be in Drama, so you’ll see her in a purple cape.’

‘Huh!’ muttered Charlie. ‘If you mean Dragon Street, that’s just as smart as the Heights.’ He decided he’d tuck the cape under his anorak until he reached the academy.

Even Maisie was beginning to give in. ‘It’s really cute,’ she said of the blue cape. ‘Such a nice colour.’

Charlie grudgingly took the cape up to his room and stuffed it in a drawer. (Later his mother would come up and carefully hang it in the wardrobe). Then he put Benjamin’s birthday card in the orange envelope and ran downstairs. ‘I’m going to Benjamin’s birthday now,’ he called to his mother.

Runner Bean greeted him with a loud barking. He wouldn’t even let Charlie through the front door.

‘What’s the matter with Runner?’ he shouted as Benjamin came bounding down the stairs.

‘It’s that case you left,’ said Benjamin. ‘He hates it. I pushed it under the bed like you said, but Runner growled and snarled and tried to pull it out again. He’s chewed up the bag and scratched the lid with his claws.’

Charlie managed to squeeze past the door while Benjamin hauled Runner Bean away. At length the dog gave a great howl, ran down the passage and banged through his dog-flap into the back garden.

Now that Charlie had arrived, Benjamin wanted to open his present. He ran upstairs to get it.

There was absolutely no sign that a party was about to take place. Benjamin’s parents worked every day of the week and Saturdays as well. Charlie wished he’d asked Maisie to make a cake for his friend, but he’d had too much on his mind.

‘It looks really exciting,’ said Benjamin, shaking the box. ‘Come on, let’s go into the living-room.’

No sign here of a party either.

Benjamin sat on the floor and opened the box. ‘Wow! A dog!’ he said.

Charlie pulled the dog’s tail and Dr Tolly’s voice rapped out the instructions.

Benjamin was so excited he could hardly speak. At last he managed to say, ‘Thanks, Charlie. Thanks. Wow, thanks!’

‘I should have got you a new tape,’ said Charlie, ‘then you’d have . . .’

He was interrupted by Runner Bean, who tore into the room barking madly. He paced round the metal dog, glaring at it, and then he began to whine.