"I don't know what to suggest," Uncle Paton said at length. "Yes, keep him in the spare room for a while, by all means. But he can't stay there forever."
"It won't be forever, will it, Uncle P.?" said Charlie.
"Because something is going to happen very soon. Something that will change EVERYTHING forever."
"Indeed," agreed his uncle without much enthusiasm.
It was an odd day, quiet and still. The fog had crept closer and the city was holding its breath. Benjamin and his parents came over at teatime and, with the exception of Grandma Bone and Billy, they all gathered in the kitchen to hear what Mr. Brown had to say. Being a private detective meant that he had managed to discover the truth of some of the rumors that had been flying around.
The mayor and some of the councillors had left the city. Part of the police force could not be located, though Officer Singh and Officer Wood had been spotted patrolling High Street. All the schools would be closed on Monday except for Bloor's Academy. The post office and all the banks would be closed. One or two buses might run. There were no taxis to be had.
"So we're on our own, more or less," said Mrs. Brown cheerfully. "I've got enough food for a couple of weeks, and fogs never last longer than that."
No one liked to say that this particular fog might carry something that could last forever.
The Browns stayed for dinner, and when they had gone home, a bed was made up for Billy in the spare room. With Rembrandt on his pillow, he was soon fast asleep.
In the middle of the night a deafening explosion ripped through the house.
The building shook to its very foundations; china slid off the dresser, and furniture groaned and slithered out of place.
Tumbling out of bed, Charlie met his uncle clutching the railings on the landing. Maisie and Alice appeared on the landing above and ran down to meet them. The front door was open and a cold wind swept through the house.
"Was it an earthquake?" cried Maisie.
"More like a meteor strike," said Uncle Paton.
"A bolt of lightning?" Charlie suggested.
Alice said quietly, "Or the sound of a fly turning into something much larger."
They looked at her in horror, and Charlie whispered, "Rembrandt's fly!"
19. RESCUING SOLOMON
There were few to see the dark figure striding up the road; his magnificence was wasted on the creatures of the night, who quickly fled. Emeralds glinted at the stranger's neck, his gold cloak rippled like a waterfall, his black tunic was encrusted with pearls, and his hair was dusted with gold.
From the roof of number nine, the bright eyes of three vibrant cats watched the enchanter's progress through the fog. When he reached the end of the road, the cats climbed down and began to follow him. Soon he sensed their presence and turned with a hiss that would have chilled the blood of any ordinary cat. But these flame-colored cats were not ordinary. They had the hearts and minds of leopards. As soon as the enchanter had resumed his course, they followed, keeping to the shadows but never losing sight of their prey.
It soon became clear that the enchanter was making for Bloor's Academy. The cats watched him climb the steps between the two towers and cross the
courtyard to the entrance. The cats ran past the steps and along the side of the building until they reached a high stone wall. Up they went, the three bright forms. They paced along the top of the wall, watching the frosted field below and the woods beyond, where the great red arch led into the castle ruins.
A stirring in the naked winter trees alerted them. They moved closer together, as though each cat knew his senses would be enhanced by the nearness of the others. They saw the white mare first, and then her rider: a knight in a silver helmet, his suit of chain mail glimmering in the frail light of a fogbound moon. A deep purr rose in the throats of the three cats.
They leaped from the wall and ran to the mare's side.
The enchanter didn't wait for an answer to his knocking. He seized the bronze handle in fingers ringed with emerald and gold, and with one twist, he shattered the lock, letting loose a shower of sparkling, splintered wood.
The heavy doors crashed open and the enchanter swept into the hall.
A heavyset man in plaid pajamas flung himself, trembling, to the floor in front of the enchanter. "I was coming, my lord... sire... Count Harken," he declared. "Forgive ... I didn't know..."
"Get up, Weedon." Count Harken kicked the prostrate body in the ribs, causing a violent shudder to run through it.
Weedon stumbled to his feet. He couldn't quite bring himself to stand upright but remained bent at the waist in an untidy sort of bow. "We didn't know," he muttered, "though Mrs. Tilpin told us to be ready."
"Where are they?" the count demanded.
"In the west wing, my lord, asleep."
"Not for long," said the enchanter. "Take me there."
Weedon straightened up a fraction and tottered over to the door to the west wing. Holding back the door, he let the enchanter sweep past him, the gold robe scratching his knuckles as it brushed against his hand. Weedon suppressed a sob of pain and hurried after the count.
"I'll have to wake them, my lord," the porter mumbled. "Forgive me, but it's well past midnight. It might take a while to gather them."
"Ring a bell. Bang a gong!" the count commanded. "There must be one." He began to mount the stairs to the first floor.
"Oh, indeed there is," said Weedon, scrabbling behind the scratchy gold-threaded cloak.
The huge brass gong hung in an oak frame outside the headmaster's study. A hammer with a round leather head lay beneath it. Weedon had never hit the gong. He wouldn't have dared. In fact, he had only heard it once, when Manfred in a teenage tantrum had pounded it so hard, the head of the hammer had split in two. The sound had been deafening. It reached into every part of the building and took fifteen minutes to subside. The hammer had been mended and Manfred forbidden ever to touch the thing again.
The enchanter regarded the gong with interest, pronouncing it excellent for his purpose. "I'll do it myself," he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Lifting the hammer, he drew back his gold-spangled arm and beat the gong with such force, Weedon's left eardrum was perforated.
The sound reverberated through the building, even reaching Cook in her underground rooms. And for Cook, that sound spelled the end of an era. For many years she had kept the balance in Bloor's Academy. She called herself the lodestone of the house, keeping a watchful eye on the endowed children and doing whatever she could to make sure those who used wickedness did not overcome the others: the children who refused to let the Bloors corrupt them.
Cook knew no one who would strike the massive gong in the middle of the night. Something told her that the Shadow of Badlock had broken into the city again. And this time it would be hard to banish him. This time he had made sure he had followers in the city. Even as Cook sat there wondering what to do, an army from the past was coming to life.
"So why am I sitting here?" Cook muttered to herself. She pulled her suitcase from a closet and began to pack.
Up in the west wing a motley group had assembled in the headmaster's study.
They were all standing except for the enchanter, who sat behind the headmaster's desk, and Titania Tilpin, who had fainted at the sight of her ancestor the count.
Dr. Bloor wore a tweed robe that wouldn't have looked out of place in a hunting lodge. Manfred had appeared in purple silk pajamas, much to his father's disapproval, and Ezekiel wore a red nightcap, a plaid jacket, and a too-short nightshirt (another embarrassment for Dr. Bloor). Titania, lying beside the door, was wearing a black kimono, while Joshua, in an ordinary green bathrobe, was trying to revive his mother by patting her cheeks.