"Can't you ask your questions here?" Charlie knew the answer as soon as he saw the cold, closed-in look on Grandma Bone's hard face. They couldn't risk being interrupted by Maisie or Uncle Paton. And that meant they were going to give him a real grilling.
Charlie knew it would be useless to resist. He could kick and scream, but they would get him to Darkly Wynd in the end and he would have wasted precious energy. He needed all his strength to fight Great-aunt Eustacia's clairvoyance. And now that he thought about it, he almost looked forward to the challenge.
The four sisters frog-marched Charlie out of the house and down the steps. He was bundled into the back of Great-aunt Eustacia's car, where he sat squeezed uncomfortably between the bony thighs of Lucretia and Venetia.
Eustacia drove very badly. She was forever bumping onto the curb and lurching recklessly around corners. After driving much too fast down a narrow alley, she braked, with a screech, in front of a long cobblestone yard. They had reached Darkly Wynd.
Three tall houses stood in a row at the far end of the yard. They had steep turrets and wrought-iron balconies, and their narrow arched windows were framed by carved stone creatures: gnomes, gargoyles, and unlikely beasts. All three houses were numbered thirteen.
The smaller houses on either side of the courtyard appeared to be deserted; their windows were boarded up, their steps covered in moss. Some grim force had driven the occupants away, a force that was evidently not strong enough to dislodge the Yewbeam sisters, unless it was they themselves who had caused the exodus.
Venetia's house, on the right, looked in better condition than the other two.
Since the fire in her house a year ago, the slates on the steep, sloping roof had been replaced and her front door had been freshly painted.
At the top of the steps stood a squat stone troll. Charlie kept an eye on it as he passed. Eric liked to animate the thing, and Charlie didn't want to be knocked flat before his interrogation began.
Venetia unlocked the door and led the way into a dark hall. It had a pungent, bitter smell. A huge gold-framed mirror, hanging on one side, reflected the long coatrack on the other. The rack was filled with garments of every size and description, and Charlie didn't need reminding that Venetia could bewitch her victims with clothing. The collars and cuffs, buttons and belts of these exotic-looking outfits were, in all probability, impregnated with poison.
Charlie gave a shudder and kept as far away from them as possible.
They walked in single file down a long corridor beside the staircase. Venetia led the way, followed by Charlie, who was prodded in the back by Grandma Bone's sharp nails every time he hesitated.
Charlie had never been inside any of the three number thirteens. He had looked through their windows and, secretly, crept into their back gardens, but none of his great-aunts had ever asked him into their home. And Charlie had certainly never wanted an invitation.
"Here we are!" Venetia opened a door on the left of the hallway, and Grandma Bone pushed Charlie into a large, gloomy room. An oval table stood in the center, and huge glass-fronted cabinets filled the entire wall opposite the door. Charlie gave an involuntary gasp when he saw the figure standing in the bay window.
Manfred Bloor wore an expression of malicious amusement. "Didn't expect this, did you, Charlie?" he said.
So that's why they brought me here, thought Charlie. They needed Manfred's help. And he wondered how often Manfred visited the Yewbeams. Grandma Bone was prodding him again. His back probably resembled a Dalmatian's by now, with all those black bruises. In spite of his precarious situation, Charlie couldn't help grinning.
"What are you smiling at?" Manfred asked coldly.
"It's not a smile, actually," said Charlie. "It's a wince."
Having prodded her grandson into a chair at the table, Grandma Bone and her sisters began arguing over the seating arrangements. Eustacia was going to be working, therefore her needs were a priority. So Charlie found himself
sitting opposite Manfred and beside Eustacia, who was at the head of the table with her back to the window. Grandma Bone sat on Charlie's other side, with Venetia directly opposite. Lucretia didn't sit, because she hadn't gotten the chair she wanted. She stood by the glass cabinet, regarding the shelves of labeled bottles and talking to herself.
"Where's Eric?" asked Charlie, hoping to delay the proceedings.
A forlorn hope.
"He's outside," snapped Venetia.
Charlie craned sideways, tipping his chair, and looked down into the lamplit garden. What he saw there gave him another shock.
Lumbering between bushes of bright winter berries were stone figures, pale as ghosts: hideous beings carrying stone clubs, knights in armor, horses, goblins, trolls, and massive dogs all moving in slow deliberate steps. And there was Eric, sitting on a stone head, a small, skinny boy with a sickly color. His head twisted this way and that, and his right hand swung back and forth across his body, as though he were orchestrating the movements of an army.
"Sit up!" Eustacia ordered, and Charlie lurched back, almost tipping his chair too far in the other direction.
"Impressive, eh?" said Manfred with a smile. "Our little Eric's coming on a treat."
Charlie didn't bother to reply. Manfred's black eyes held a chilling shine, and Charlie knew that all the will his mind possessed must be used in the next few minutes.
He lifted his gaze to the top shelf of the cabinet and started counting bottles.
"Look at me," Manfred demanded.
Charlie kept his eyes on the row of dark bottles: green, red, brown, and blue. How many fatal potions did Venetia keep? One, two, three...
"Look at me." Manfred's voice had taken on a fatal silkiness. Try as he might, Charlie couldn't resist it. He found his gaze drifting down to Manfred again, and he remembered the first time that Manfred had tried to hypnotize him. Charlie had fought him then. He had looked into the treacherous black eyes and then into the mind behind them.
Charlie met Manfred's gaze. He looked at him steadily and tried to read his thoughts.
"Stop that!" said Manfred.
"What?" said Charlie.
"You're trying to block me. Well, you won't get away with it this time."
Manfred leaned across the table. His face came closer and closer. So close that Charlie could see the deadly glitter at the center of those dark eyes.
He felt as though he were falling into them. All he wanted was to escape, to close his eyes, to sleep. Desperately, he tried to avoid the images that crowded into his head. I mustn't, I mustn't, he thought. But it was no use.
He saw the boat Greywing. He saw the heaving foamy sea and a night sky crammed with stars.
"What does he see?" Grandma Bone's voice was very faint.
Eustacia's answer was even fainter. "A boat called Greywing... sunrise...
whales calling ... a night sky, but... aha... the constellations are upside down."
The voice droned on and on, and Charlie was powerless. He could neither move nor open his eyes. They were asking him another question now. A question he couldn't answer.
"Who is the Red Knight, Charlie?"
"I don't know."
"We think you do."
"No."
"Who is he?"
"The Red King."
"Not true. Concentrate, Charlie."
Charlie's head drooped. He tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. He found himself thinking of the stranger that came to Gabriel's moonlit yard, the stranger in a dark, heavy coat who carried the Red King's cloak away. Did Charlie know anyone who wore a coat like this? No. No one, except...
except... Manfred's grandfather Bartholomew Bloor. He was utterly different from the other Bloors. He had even helped Charlie to find his father. Before Charlie could prevent it, an image came into his mind. The last time he had seen Bartholomew Bloor, he had been wearing a similar dark blue, thick coat.
Eustacia's muffled voice said, "Aha!"