Mrs. Kettle stood up and began to pace about the room, her copper hair looking more like a helmet than ever. Even her shiny bomber jacket gave the appearance of armor. "But we must stay and fight," she said. "Or the shadow will drag this city into the past, and the Red King and all he stood for will not even be a memory."
"Fight?" said Emma in a small voice. "What with?"
"With whatever comes to hand, my dear." Mrs. Kettle gave her an encouraging smile. "Unfortunately we have no way of knowing when or how Count Harken will make his move. But it will be soon. The swelling ranks of the residents of Piminy Street, the increase in stone creatures, the fog, all these things suggest that he will arrive very soon. His conduit, the Mirror of Amoret, is cracked, that is true, but he will find a way. We maybe sure of that. He is an enchanter after all."
Miss Ingledew got up and patted her cushions. "Mrs. Kettle and I have made some arrangements. She will stay here with me and Emma. Dagbert, you, too.
We'll make up some beds down here. Piminy Street is too dangerous now."
"There's something I have to do," Charlie said suddenly, "before it's too late."
They all looked at him. Mrs. Kettle wore a forbidding frown. "I hope it's not a dangerous task," she said.
Charlie shrugged. "Not really. I have to get Billy out of Badlock. I promised Cook."
Frowns turned to disconcerting stares.
"It's not a very good time, Charlie," Miss Ingledew remarked.
"I think it's kind of now or never," he replied. "But I've got to find that painting of Badlock or I'll never get in. Mrs. Tilpin has moved it from the old chapel, but I don't know where she has put it."
"It'll be in the academy," said Mss Ingledew.
Charlie shook his head. "Nope. I've looked everywhere. Everywhere I can, that is. The Bloors don't like it, so it won't be in the west wing."
"It could be in Darkly Wynd," Tancred suggested. "In fact, I'll bet that's where it is. In one of your great-aunts' dingy basements."
Charlie figured that Tancred could be right. But which great-aunt had the painting, and how was he to get into any of those awful houses without being seen? "I'll sleep on it," he said.
Night was falling. It was time for Charlie and Benjamin to go home. They didn't want to be on Piminy Street in the dark, even with Runner Bean.
Tancred volunteered to walk with them as far as High Street. Emma stood outside the store and watched the three boys make their way down Cathedral Close. "Take care," she called. Tancred turned and waved. He almost blew her a kiss, at least that's what it looked like to her, but he obviously thought better of it.
When they parted on High Street, Charlie anxiously watched Tancred stride alone toward the Heights. He had a long way to go. And then he took something from his pocket, and a flash of silver told Charlie that the storm boy was phoning his father. In a few minutes, Mr. Torsson's roaring whirlwind of a car would be swooping down from the Heights. But before that happened, three bright forms leaped out from a dark alleyway and encircled Tancred's legs so closely that he almost tripped over them.
"The Flames," said Benjamin. "He'll be OK now."
"And so will we." Charlie grinned at Runner Bean, who gave an appreciative bark.
Although the boys felt safe, they were both aware of the curious whispers that seemed to float through the air above them. And they could feel sounds through the soles of their shoes, as though underground creatures were moving beneath the sidewalk. The fog seemed to have crept closer, and the houses on the other side of the road looked blurred and distant.
It was almost dark when Charlie got home. Maisie was watching the road from the kitchen window. Benjamin and Runner Bean ran across to number twelve and Benjamin shouted, "See you tomorrow."
Filbert Street seemed to be completely deserted. Number twelve and number nine were the only houses where lights showed.
"I'm glad you're back, Charlie." Maisie shut the front door behind him and leaned against it. "It's bad out there."
Charlie knew what she meant. There was no other way to put it. "Bad," he agreed.
"Alice wants to see you," Maisie told him. "She's up in the spare room."
Charlie took off his jacket and hurried up to the top of the house. A row of candles stood on the spare room's windowsill, and Alice explained that Uncle Paton had been helping her to tidy up. Charlie noticed a small black vest lying on the sewing machine.
"It'll be finished by Sunday," Alice told Charlie when she saw him looking at the vest. "First I had to find enough silver sequins. This room is a real treasure trove."
Charlie guessed that the vest wasn't the real reason for Alice wanting to see him. He was right.
"Something rather"—she paused—"strange would be a way to describe it, but it was more than strange. Wonderful would be better. Yes, something wonderful happened up here just before you came back from school, Charlie. There wasn't time to talk about it then, but I think you should know someone has been...
calling you."
"Calling?" Charlie sat down rather quickly on the edge of the rocker, and a thread of cane snapped beneath him.
"I touched the window, just here"—Alice laid her hand on a pane a few inches from her shoulder—"and I felt another."
Charlie waited for her to continue, but she merely gave him an enigmatic smile.
"Another what?" he asked.
"Another person, Charlie. And then I heard her voice. She asked me if you were here, and I had to tell her no but that you might be later on."
"What sort of voice?" asked Charlie, hardly daring to breathe.
"Faint, but very sweet. I believe I was speaking to someone many hundreds of years distant."
"Matilda!" Charlie's voice was almost as faint as that faraway girl's.
Alice stood away from the window so Charlie could touch the same pane of glass. He took a breath and laid his hand on the window. The glass felt hard and cold. But he let his hand rest there for several minutes.
After a while, Alice said gently. "I must warn you, Charlie, that you may never feel the girl's touch. I am peculiarly sensitive to the past."
"I'll wait," he said. "I'll wait until she comes back."
Alice left him leaning against the window, his hand beginning to turn blue on the cold glass. As she closed the spare room's door, she felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps she had given Charlie false hope, telling him about that distant girl, and yet how could she have kept it from him?
An hour later Alice brought Charlie a mug of cocoa and some cookies. He made her put them on a rickety table beside him, so that he could reach it with one hand.
"The girl might be asleep now, Charlie." Alice carefully lifted his hand and laid her own on the glass. "Perhaps your Matilda can't reach the gate between our worlds just now," she suggested. "I think you should go to bed, Charlie, and try again tomorrow."
Charlie shook his head. "I'll wait," he insisted.
When Alice had gone, he sipped his cocoa and quickly changed hands.
"Matilda!" He spoke close to the glass, his breath steaming up the window.
"I'm here. It's Charlie. I'm coming to Badlock."
But how could he get there?
Charlie sat back in the rocker, and with one hand still touching the window, he fell asleep.
17. EAGLE THIEF
Emma had gone to bed feeling useless. She lay awake for a long time, her thoughts divided between Olivia and Tancred. And then she began to worry about her aunt. Paton Yewbeam had woefully neglected her with his sudden changes of plan, his lack of attention, and his forgetfulness. As for the enchanter, could that ancient book be right? Was it possible that Count Harken could surround the city with a mist of enchantment and drag it back into the past?
Already, the city was beginning to change. Parts of it were deserted while the inhabitants of Piminy Street appeared to have doubled in a week.
Emma thought of Billy alone in that bleak and dangerous place, and she suddenly sat bolt upright. There was something she could do. She could help Charlie to rescue Billy before it was too late. They should all be together; they stood abetter chance that way.