Something quite ..."—she raised her hands—"quite dreadful is going on at Bloor's. And if I hadn't suffered personally at the hands of a certain person, I wouldn't have believed such a thing could happen."
Their eyes wide with apprehension, the two girls sank onto the sofa, while Cook and Miss Ingledew took chairs on either side of the dying fire. And Cook told them of Lord Grimwald's great Sea Globe, describing in graphic detail the gravity-defying waves, the eerie sea light, and the way the water responded to the Lord of the Ocean's scaly hands. "Only his son can stop him," she said. "But if you ask me, Dagbert Endless doesn't stand a chance against a father like that. Someone must get a message to Lyell Bone," she went on earnestly. "Surely, Paton Yewbeam knows where he is. Wireless messages can be received. There are numerous ways of contacting people at sea. Lyell must put to shore at once. I know, only too well, the consequences of being on the ocean when the Lord of the Oceans has decided to eliminate you."
"I feel I should go there tonight." Miss Ingledew twisted her hands together.
"But we would only be waylaid by Charlie's grandmother. She seems to bear a grudge against her own son. And it would be the same with the telephone. If only Paton would answer his cell phone—but he won't."
"Try again, Auntie," urged Emma.
Miss Ingledew took her cell out of a pocket, dialed a number, and waited.
"Nothing," she said flatly.
"In that case I suggest we all have a good night's sleep and contact Charlie first thing in the morning." Cook stood up and pulled on her woolly hat.
"I've heard that Grandma Bone is usually in bed till noon on a Sunday morning. So you shouldn't have any trouble. As for me, I'd be missed at the
academy. They're demanding big breakfasts these days, especially that wretch with the sword."
"Treasure, take care!" Miss Ingledew suddenly stood up, her voice harsh with misgiving. "It is not just a matter of a will and a box; it is not just a problem of a Sea Globe and a storm. There is much more at work here."
Everyone looked at her expectantly.
"Have none of you noticed it? The creaks, the whispers and murmurs from another world. The wickedness beneath the city is waking, slowly, called by a distant voice." She turned her gaze from the flickering embers in the grate to a shadowy corner shelf. "What I have managed to glean from the Latin texts in those ancient books tells me that if the Enchanter of Badlock cannot rule this city, as he once tried to do, then he will encircle it with his loathsome army and take it into another world. His world."
"Badlock?" said Emma, in a frightened voice.
Miss Ingledew nodded. "If that's what it's called."
"He could do that?" Olivia said angrily.
"Oh, yes."
Cook looked extremely indignant. "What? And do we have no say in the matter?"
Cook's down-to-earth manner caused Miss Ingledew to smile in spite of herself. "From what I can understand"—she glanced at the books again—"we have a chance if one of the Red King's descendants is brave enough to face the enchanter's army."
"Alone?" said Olivia. "Surely, he'll have other people to help him."
"Of course," said Miss Ingledew. She gave them a grave smile. "If he can find any."
"There's us," said Emma in a small voice.
Cook gave a little shiver. "There are plenty of people who would fight for the Red King's city," she said confidently. "I'm off now, my dears. Don't forget to lock the door after me."
Olivia and Emma were already yawning, and when Cook had gone, they took themselves off to bed. Miss Ingledew, however, put another log on the fire and sat watching the flames for a while. But her gaze kept drifting toward the far bookcase where her oldest books stood, their gold tooling glittering faintly in the low firelight, their leather spines appearing as soft as velvet. And Miss Ingledew felt compelled to go to them, knowing the comfort their touch would bring. She chose the largest and carried it back to the armchair, where she sat and laid it on her lap, opening it at a page she had studied many times. But as she ran her hand over the thick vellum, a soft whine echoed down the chimney, and the wind outside carried the sound of distant, menacing voices.
Olivia woke up before dawn. She blamed the chimes from the cathedral clock.
It was dark and she tried to go to sleep again. On Sundays she and Emma usually stayed in bed until after ten o'clock. But try as she might, Olivia could not sleep. She screwed her eyes tight shut, pulled the covers over her head, and counted sheep. But she succeeded only in making herself feel more and more awake.
A thin light began to creep through the curtains, and Olivia remembered that her parents were coming home today. They'd been on location in Morocco and
were bound to have found something special for her. A necklace, perhaps, or an embroidered vest or some silk trousers.
It was no use just lying in bed and thinking, Olivia decided. She would go home and start to cook something special for her parents' lunch. They had told her that they would be in the city by midday.
Olivia sprang out of bed and began to put on her clothes. Her bag was filled with an assortment of tops, jackets, hats, and scarves. Today she chose a scarlet dress to wear over her tight black jeans, a white scarf with a glittering fringe, a fur-lined denim jacket, and a black felt hat. Her red gloves exactly matched her boots.
She made quite a noise throwing on her clothes, but Emma didn't wake up.
Olivia wrote her a brief note and left it on the nightstand. In the bathroom she splashed her face with water, brushed her teeth, and, figuring that her tangled hair looked distinctly cool, carried her bag downstairs and left the shop.
It was a gray, misty day, but that didn't take the spring out of Olivia's step. She swung along, humming lightly to herself. There was no one about, and the voice that suddenly called out took her by surprise.
"Olivia!"
Recognizing the voice, Olivia hurried on. There came a second call, which she ignored.
"Olivia, hold on!"
"Bother him," Olivia said to herself. She swung around and faced Manfred Bloor. He was strolling toward her, his hands deep in the pockets of a long, green coat with a small cape attached to it.
"What do you want?" Olivia demanded.
"You're out early, Miss Vertigo."
"So are you," she retorted. "What do you want? I'm in a hurry."
"Are you?" Manfred came right up to Olivia and stared into her face, his dark eyes glinting. "This is so opportune," he said. "I was coming to visit you at the bookstore."
Olivia frowned. "Why?"
"Why do you think? I want to discuss your wonderful endowment with you."
"There's nothing to discuss." Olivia turned away and began to run toward High Street, where she could see an elderly couple walking their dog.
"Off to see your godmother?" Manfred called. "Alice the Angel."
Olivia stopped in her tracks. Without turning around, she said, "My godmother isn't here."
"Oh, but she is." Manfred's voice was silky smooth. "I'm surprised she hasn't been in touch with you."
Against her will Olivia found herself moving, very slowly, to face Manfred.
She could see the thin green figure, swathed in mist, his dark hair shining with dew, his eyes like black coals. "What... ?" she croaked. Her voice seemed to have disappeared.
Manfred waved a hand at her. "Don't let me keep you. We can have our chat another time."
"Yes ... a chat." Olivia took a few steps backward and then turned and walked on toward High Street. She passed a man with a newspaper under his arm. The man smiled pleasantly and said, "Morning."
Olivia frowned as if she hadn't heard him, which made the man shake his head and murmur, "These young things; anyone would think I was the man in the moon."
A boy and a large yellow dog came running up the road. No one could fail to recognize Runner Bean.
"Hi, Olivia!" called Benjamin Brown. "Are you going to see Charlie? He's not up yet."