Midnight for Charlie Bone

‘He’s jealous,’ said Benjamin. ‘That’s all.’ He flung his arms around Runner Bean, saying, ‘I love you, Runner. You know I do. I couldn’t live without you.’

The big dog licked Benjamin’s face. He was everything to Benjamin: mother, father, brother and grandparent. He was always there when Benjamin’s parents were out. And the boy could go anywhere, at any time of day or night. As long as Runner Bean was with him, he was safe.

Charlie gave Benjamin the birthday card. ‘I made it after all,’ he said.

Benjamin didn’t notice any of Charlie’s mistakes. Gazing at the picture, he told Charlie it was the best card he’d ever had in his life. And then Runner Bean looked up at the ceiling and howled.

Tap! Tap! Tap! The sound was faint but definite. Benjamin’s room was right above them.

‘It’s that metal case,’ said Benjamin. ‘I wish you’d take it away. There could be a bomb in it, or something.’

‘Miss Ingledew didn’t look like a terrorist,’ said Charlie. ‘Nor did Dr Tolly.’

‘How d’you know?’ said Benjamin. ‘Terrorists are good at disguises. Let’s go and have a look.’

Runner Bean followed the boys upstairs, growling softly. This time he wouldn’t even come into the bedroom.

Charlie pulled the bag from under the bed and, together, the boys drew out the metal case. The tapping had stopped. Charlie undid the clasps on either side of the handle, but the case wouldn’t open. It was locked, and the key was missing.

‘Didn’t that woman tell you what was inside?’ said Benjamin.

Charlie shook his head. ‘She said she didn’t want to know. Whatever it is, it was swapped for a baby. Her very own niece.’

‘A baby?’ Benjamin’s mouth dropped open. ‘That’s terrible.’

Charlie was beginning to feel guilty. ‘We’ll put it in the cupboard under the stairs,’ he said. ‘You won’t hear it there. And then I’ll go back to Miss Ingledew and ask her for the key.’

They dragged the bag downstairs and hid it behind a pile of old clothes Benjamin’s mother had dumped in the cupboard. When they’d closed the door, Runner Bean stood beside the stairs howling mournfully. Benjamin could only stop him by saying ‘Walkies!’ very loudly.

It was getting dark but there was still no sign of Benjamin’s parents. Benjamin seemed more resigned than upset. ‘I’ll make my own cake,’ he said. And he did. It was a chocolate sponge and he stuck ten candles in the top, and then he and Charlie sang ‘Happy Birthday’. The cake was a bit crumbly but very good.

It was half past seven when Charlie looked at his watch. He knew he should be going home, but he didn’t want to leave Benjamin alone, not on his birthday. So he stayed another hour, and they played hide and seek with Runner Bean, who was brilliant at it.

At half past eight, Benjamin’s parents still hadn’t come home, so Charlie decided to take his friend back for one of Maisie’s hot meals. There was only one egg and a pint of milk left in Benjamin’s fridge.

‘How was the party?’ asked Maisie, when two boys and a dog walked in.

‘Great,’ said Charlie, ‘but we’re still a bit hungry.’

‘There was a peculiar boy round here a couple of hours ago,’ said Maisie. ‘He was pretending to be an old man but anyone could see he was a boy. He said you’d got some case of his mixed up in the wrong bag and he wanted it back. Well, I looked in your room but all I could find was a bag of shoes. The boy was very put out. He wouldn’t believe me. A nasty piece of work, he was. Now you two run off, while I get some food on the table.’

Outside the kitchen door, Charlie whispered, ‘Don’t tell anyone about the bag, and specially not the case.’

‘Why not?’ asked Benjamin.

‘Because it was given to me and I feel sort of responsible,’ said Charlie. I think we should keep it safe until we know more about it.’ He decided not to tell Benjamin about Mr Onimous and his cats, just yet.

At that moment Grandma Bone appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘What’s that dog doing here?’ she said, glaring at Runner Bean.

‘It’s Benjamin’s birthday,’ said Charlie.

‘So?’ she said coldly.

Runner Bean barked up at her and before she could say anything more, Charlie dragged Benjamin back into the kitchen.

‘Grandma Bone’s in a mood,’ Charlie told Maisie.

‘Isn’t she always?’ said Maisie. ‘She’ll calm down once you’re at Bloor’s.’

Charlie hadn’t wanted to break this news to Benjamin on his birthday, but now it was out and Charlie felt like a traitor.

Benjamin stared at him accusingly. ‘What’s Bloor’s?’ he asked.

‘It’s a big school near the Heights,’ Charlie explained. ‘I don’t want to go there, Ben.’

‘Then don’t.’

‘He has to, dear. His mum’s bought the uniform,’ said Maisie. She put two plates of baked beans and sausages on the kitchen table. ‘Now come and eat. It may be your birthday but you look half-starved, Benjamin Brown.’

Benjamin sat down, but he had lost his appetite. He slipped a sausage to Runner Bean when Maisie wasn’t looking.

‘I won’t be going until after half-term,’ Charlie told his friend.

‘Oh.’ Benjamin stared at his plate, unsmiling.

Unfortunately, Charlie’s mother chose that moment to walk in with Charlie’s pyjamas. ‘No more patched pyjamas for you, Charlie,’ she said. ‘The Yewbeams are providing a whole new set of clothes for the academy.’

‘Pyjamas?’ Benjamin looked up. ‘Are you going to sleep there?’

‘I’ll be back at weekends,’ said Charlie.

‘Oh.’ Benjamin shovelled a few beans into his mouth and then stood up. ‘I’d better go home now. Mum and Dad’ll be back.’

‘Shall I come . . .?’ Charlie began.

‘No. It’s OK. I’ve got Runner.’

Before Charlie could say another word, Benjamin and Runner Bean walked out. The dog’s tail and ears drooped dejectedly, always a sign that his master was in low spirits.

‘Funny boy,’ Maisie remarked.

‘I think I ought to see if he’s OK,’ said Charlie. ‘After all, it is his birthday.’

But when he opened the front door, he was just in time to see Uncle Paton walking away from the house. And this gave Charlie an idea.

‘Uncle Paton, can I come with you?’ called Charlie, racing after his uncle.

‘Why?’ Paton had stopped to put a large bundle of letters into a post-box.

‘Because . . . because . . .’ Charlie caught up with his uncle, ‘Well, I wanted to ask you to come somewhere with me.’

‘And where is that?’

‘To a bookshop. It’s near the cathedral, and I don’t want to go there on my own – it’s a bit spooky.’

‘A bookshop?’ Paton was interested, as Charlie hoped he would be. ‘But, Charlie, even a bookshop will be closed at this time of night.’

‘Yes, but I think there will be someone in this shop, even if it’s closed,’ said Charlie and he found himself telling his uncle about Miss Ingledew and the locked case. After all, he had to trust someone, and instinct told him that Paton was on his side, even if he was a Yewbeam.

A mysterious gleam had entered Paton’s dark eyes. ‘So you want this lady bookseller to give you a key? Tell me, Charlie, where is the case?’

Charlie hesitated. ‘I don’t want anyone to know,’ he said. ‘Someone’s already come looking for it. But if you really . . .’

Paton held up his hand. ‘You’re wise to keep it a secret, Charlie. Only tell me when you feel the time is right. Now, let’s get on and find this bookshop.’

They travelled through narrow side streets, where Paton’s talent for boosting the lights wasn’t so conspicuous. As they entered the deserted streets near the cathedral, lamps flickered rhythmically, now bright, now dim, as if they were part of a magical display.

A CLOSED sign hung behind a glass panel in Ingledew’s door, but there was a low light in the window, illuminating the antique leather-bound books. Paton gazed at them, hungrily. ‘I ought to get out more,’ he murmured.

Charlie pressed the bell.

A distant voice said, ‘We’re closed. Go away.’

‘It’s me, Charlie Bone,’ said Charlie. ‘Could I see you for a moment, Miss Ingledew?’

‘Charlie?’ Miss Ingledew sounded surprised, but not too cross. ‘It’s rather late.’

‘It’s urgent, Miss Ingledew – about the case.’

‘Oh?’ Her face appeared at the small glass panel in the door. ‘Wait a minute, Charlie.’

The light in the shop went on. A chain clanked, bolts slid back and the door opened with a familiar tinkle.

Charlie stepped down into the shop, followed closely by his uncle.

‘Oh!’ gasped Miss Ingledew, retreating. ‘Who is this?’

‘My uncle, Paton,’ said Charlie and, looking at his uncle, realised why Miss Ingledew seemed a little put out. Paton was very tall and very dark, and in his long black coat he did look rather sinister.

‘I do hope I haven’t alarmed you,’ said Paton, extending his hand. ‘Paton Yewbeam at your service.’

Miss Ingledew took the hand, saying nervously, ‘Julia Ingledew.’

‘Julia,’ repeated Paton. ‘Lovely. My nephew asked me to accompany him.’

Charlie couldn’t decide whether his uncle sounded pompous or shy. Perhaps a bit of both. ‘I’ve come about the key, Miss Ingledew,’ he said. ‘The key to that case you gave me.’

‘Key? Key?’ She seemed confused. ‘Oh, I think they came with the, er . . . I’ll have a look. You’d better come through to my, er . . . Or people will think we’re open again.’ She gave a flustered laugh and disappeared through the curtains behind the counter.

Charlie and his uncle followed. The little room behind the bookshop glowed with mellow colours, and Paton’s eyes roamed excitedly over the rows of books. Miss Ingledew had obviously been reading when they arrived, for a large book lay open on her desk.

‘The Incas,’ observed Paton, reading the chapter heading. ‘A fascinating subject.’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Ingledew, still agitated. She had found a small tin of keys which she proceeded to empty on to the desk. Most of the keys had labels attached to them, but some did not. ‘How am I to tell?’ she said. ‘There are so many. Charlie, I think you’d better take all the keys that aren’t marked and see which one fits. I’m afraid that’s all I can suggest.’

‘All that could be expected,’ said Paton.

Miss Ingledew frowned at him, put a pile of keys in a plastic bag and handed them to Charlie. ‘There. Bring them back when you’ve tried them,’ she said.

‘Thanks, Miss Ingledew.’ Charlie took the keys and, as there seemed to be nothing left to say, or do, he led the way back through the curtains.

Miss Ingledew came after them, to bolt and lock the door, but as Charlie and his uncle stepped into the street, Paton suddenly asked, ‘May I call again, Miss Ingledew?’

‘Of course,’ said Miss Ingledew, taken aback. ‘It’s a shop. I can hardly stop you.’

‘No.’ Paton smiled. ‘But, after dark?’

Miss Ingledew looked rather alarmed. ‘On Fridays, I’m open until eight,’ she said, and closed the door.

For a moment Paton stared at the door as if he were transfixed, and then he turned, suddenly, exclaiming, ‘What a very charming woman.’ And his huge, soundless humming caused the nearest lamp to burn so fiercely, a fine shower of glass fell out. It landed on the cobbled street with a soft, musical tinkle.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.