"You must stay here," said Uncle Paton, springing up. "I insist."
Maisie came into the room just as Paton was about to run and fetch her. She listened to Alice's story with the resigned expression that she frequently wore these days. And yet Charlie could see her warming to Olivia's godmother, and it wasn't long before she was offering her cake and then shooting upstairs to make up a bed in the room where Charlie's mother had slept.
In all this time, there was no sign of Grandma Bone. She didn't even put in an appearance at dinner. Charlie knocked on her door, but there was no reply.
Had she gone out? Or was she still sleeping?
"She's asleep," said Maisie, tiptoeing out of Grandma Bone's room at nine o'clock. "Can't you hear the snoring?"
Charlie took himself off to bed. It was school tomorrow. Will Olivia be there? he wondered. And what will she do? Whose friend will she become?
In spite of the questions filling his mind, Charlie found himself drifting easily into sleep. He thought of Alice Angel in the room above him. It was comforting to know that she was in the house, even if she was someone else's guardian angel.
"We're borrowing her," Charlie said to himself, "just for a while, until Olivia wants her." And then his thoughts turned to Billy Raven pulled nine hundred years through time to the enchanter's palace. No wonder Billy didn't want to come home; his companion was the most beautiful girl in the world—a girl with dark curls and a gentle smile, a girl named Matilda whom Charlie would give anything to see again.
Billy wasn't having such a good time as Charlie imagined. He was being punished, and he blamed Rembrandt. Rembrandt was Billy's rat; he was sleek and black, with shining eyes and long, impressive whiskers. He happened to be in Billy's pocket when Billy was whisked into the painting of Badlock. A nasty spell of the enchanter's (or Count Harken of Badlock, to give him his full title).
Life in Badlock had been very good to Billy. He had fine clothes to wear, delicious food to eat, and a jungle of animal enchantments to visit every day. There was also Matilda, Count Harken's granddaughter, the kindest friend Billy had ever known. But Rembrandt wanted to go home. He nagged and complained and chewed Billy's new shoes and generally made himself a terrible nuisance. Billy could communicate with animals.
He understood every squeak, whine, purr, twitter—and a lot more.
One day Rembrandt went too far. It was during dinner, the worst time he could have chosen. Dinner in the enchanter's palace was a very important affair. It was served in a vast black marble hall. False stars shone down from the vaulted ceiling, and the walls were hung with glittering weapons.
The glass-topped table was twenty feet long, and the count and his wife, sitting at opposite ends, had to converse in shouts that made Billy's head ache.
Billy and Matilda sat next to each other, facing Edgar, Matilda's brother, a hard-faced boy who liked to frighten Billy by appearing suddenly through a wall or a door. The diners only had to utter the name of the food they wanted and it would instantly be conjured up. Billy usually chose whatever Matilda was having. He tried to feed Rembrandt as much as he could without Edgar catching sight of him. Edgar loathed the rat; he called Rembrandt an abomination not fit to walk the earth, let alone live in a palace.
So when Rembrandt, tired of the usual tidbits, leaped onto the table and made a dash for Edgar's plate, Edgar jumped up with a yell, seized a knife from the wall, and flung it at the rat. Luckily, it missed Rembrandt and slid across the table, but Billy was already on his feet, screaming at Edgar.
"You vile, mean, horrible boy," Billy cried. "You nearly killed my rat."
"It's a pity he didn't," the countess remarked.
The dreadful coldness in her voice stunned Billy. Rembrandt jumped into his arms and he sat down abruptly.
"The creature must be killed," the countess continued. "Don't you agree, Harken?"
Billy stared at the countess's long face. Her small black eyes rested on the rat he was clutching to his chest.
"Well, Harken, say something!" the countess demanded, raising her voice.
Billy turned to look at the enchanter, who until that moment had been ignoring the drama and carrying on with his meal as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Taking a sip of wine from a golden goblet, he regarded Billy with a thoughtful expression and stood up.
Billy cowered under the enchanter's chilly gaze. His green robe glittered with diamonds and emeralds, and his abundant hair shone with a dusting of powdered gold. Sometimes Billy was so overawed by his host's magnificence, he could barely look at him. He waited, fearfully, for the count's pronouncement. At last it came.
"We shall not bother with the rat," said the enchanter.
Billy's heart gave a flutter of relief. His hopes were dashed, however, by the enchanter's next words. "The creature can keep the boy company in the dungeons."
"Sir, you can't do that!" cried Matilda. "Billy is our guest."
"I am tired of guests!" the count roared at her. "Guards, take the boy away."
Before Billy could think what might be coming next, two guards stepped forward and grabbed his arms. Rembrandt dropped to the floor and scuttled at Billy's heels as he was marched out of the hall. He could hear Matilda's protesting cries receding into the distance as he was taken farther and farther down the long dark passages that led to the dungeons.
12. THE SEA-GOLD CHARMS
When Charlie went down to breakfast the next morning, he found Alice in the kitchen. A pot of tea had been made, oatmeal was cooking on the stove, and slices of golden-brown toast filled the toast rack on the table.
"Good morning, Charlie," Alice said brightly. "Watch the oatmeal for me; I'm going to take Maisie a cup of tea." She spoke as if she had lived at number nine for much longer than a night.
"Morning, Alice." Charlie took up a wooden spoon and began to stir the oatmeal while Alice slipped out, carrying a cup of tea with two biscuits on the saucer. Her footsteps were so light they could hardly be heard on the stairs.
By the time Alice came back, Charlie had eaten his oatmeal. The plows had been working through the night and the roads were clear, although the side streets were still covered in snow. The sky was bright blue and the sun made
roofs, walls, trees, and hedges blaze with light. Alice opened the window and breathed in deeply. "I love the smell of snow," she said.
Charlie sniffed the cold air and agreed with her. The world smelled deliriously fresh. He ran upstairs to fetch his schoolbag. As he pulled on his blue school cape, he found that he was glad of its warmth. Sometimes other children in the street would tease him for attending Bloor's Academy and wearing a fancy cape. And Charlie would stuff the embarrassing garment in his bag, trying not to draw attention to himself. But today he felt warm and confident.
The house was still very quiet, almost as if it were buried in snow. There wasn't a sound from Grandma Bone's room.
Alice came to the kitchen door just as Charlie was leaving. "Watch Olivia for me, Charlie," she said. "Don't let anything... anyone ... I hardly know what I'm saying because it's obvious that she's become one of THEM now.
But I'd like to know how it happened, so that I can deal with it."
"I'll do my best," Charlie promised. He still couldn't believe that the Olivia he knew would allow herself to be TAKEN OVER.
On the other side of the road, Benjamin was throwing snowballs for Runner Bean to fetch. "No school for me today," he called happily. "School's closed
'cause of the snow."
"Lucky thing," Charlie shouted back. He knew the blue bus would be waiting for him at the top of the road. Only an avalanche would close Bloor's Academy.
Charlie hardly saw Olivia during the day. Sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of a bleached blond head above a purple cape, but then she'd be gone, swallowed in a sea of purple. Drama students surrounded her like bees around a honeypot.