"Your uncle must have left before dawn," said Maisie, placing large slices of bacon on each of their plates. "He's on the scent of something - goodness knows what."
After another slice of bacon and several pieces of toast and honey, Charlie and Billy set off for the Kettle Shop.
"You can always bring your rat here, Billy," said Maisie, as she let them out of the front door. "She'll never know," she added, glancing up the stairs, where Grandma Bone was having her morning gargle.
"Thanks, Mrs. Jones." Billy raced after Charlie.
Charlie was anxious to get away from number nine as fast as possible. He didn't want to see Benjamin again before he had rescued Runner Bean.
As soon as they began to walk up Piminy Street, the sense of menace that Charlie often felt there164seemed to be even stronger. He always imagined that someone was watching him from a dark window beneath the eaves.
The Kettle Shop was near a curious fish shop where there were never any fish. Before they reached the fish shop, however, they had to pass the Stone Shop. Of all the houses on Piminy Street, this was the most sinister. In the dark interior, carved stone figures brandished clubs and axes. There were stone soldiers, horses, and dogs. But the mounted knight that had once attacked the boys was gone - broken in two by the Red Knight and now lying, with his stone horse, at the bottom of the river.
"Let's keep going." Billy plucked at Charlie's jacket. "I hate that place."
Charlie's nose was almost touching the window-pane. He expected to see someone and, yes, there he was: Eric Shellhorn, Great-aunt Venetia's stepson. Charlie could just make out his face, peering from behind a tall, robed figure - a Druid, perhaps.
"I knew he'd be in there," Charlie muttered.165Billy tugged Charlie's sleeve. "Let's go, Charlie. One of those things might start moving again."
"I don't think Eric would do that in broad daylight," said Charlie.
"He might. Come on. I want to see Rembrandt."
Just before Charlie backed away from the window, he saw Eric dart across the back of the shop. "What's he going to do next, I wonder."
Billy was already racing up the road and Charlie started to follow him, but then he found himself lingering outside the fish shop. The door to this peculiar place was always closed, always locked, and yet a strong smell of fish seeped from the building, as though the very bricks were made of cod or mackerel.
This was the home of Dagbert Endless, if you could call it a home. The window above the sign was dark and grimy. The curtains were threadbare, and all that could be seen of the shop beyond the window was an empty counter in a room with walls of cracked white tiles and a floor166of mildewed slate. Charlie wrinkled his nose and walked on. By the time he had reached the Kettle Shop, Billy was inside, making his way through the kettles displayed on stands and tables all around the room.
Charlie closed the store door, which squeaked loudly on its somewhat rusty hinges, and he followed Billy through an archway into yet another room filled with kettles. But here there were four chairs, grouped around an empty table, where customers could sit and examine the ancient kettles. On a stove behind the table, a copper kettle whistled merrily.
"I knew I'd see you today, my dears." The store's owner lifted the whistling kettle and poured boiling water into a large brown teapot.
"Because of my rat," said Billy, eyeing the plate of cookies that Mrs. Kettle now placed on the table.
"Because of your rat, my dear." Mrs. Kettle was a very large, muscular woman, with a crown of smooth, copper-colored hair. She wore dark-blue coveralls and thick leather boots spotted with oil, for Mrs.167Kettle was a blacksmith first and foremost; kettle selling was merely a hobby, a front for her secret profession.
"Where is he?" Billy gazed around, hoping for a black rat to come bounding toward him.
"Guess!" said Mrs. Kettle.
"I can't, I can't," said Billy impatiently. "There are too many places for him to hide."
The blacksmith walked first one way and then another, tapping kettles as she went. She hesitated, then set off again, stopped, and pondered, rubbing her chin. "I do believe I've lost him," she said.
"No-o-o!" cried Billy.
The lid of a huge iron kettle lifted slightly and then slid to the floor with a loud clang.
They waited expectantly, but no black rat leaped out. Instead, the head of a blue snake appeared. It bobbed from side to side, and the beautiful blue feathers adorning its head fluttered like silken banners in the wind.
"Oh, I forgot the boa was here." Billy went toward the swaying head.168"He's a lovely fellow. I've gotten really attached to him," said Mrs. Kettle. "I call him Solomon; he's so wise."
Upon seeing Billy, the blue boa came slithering out of the kettle, slipped to the ground, and began to coil itself around Billy's legs. But Billy lifted the creature and gently curled it across his shoulders, all the while hissing and humming to it. The boa replied with a soft chirruping sound, like a small bird.
"It's OK," said Billy when the boa had settled. "He won't make me invisible."
"It's wonderful how you can do that, Billy, my dear," said Mrs. Kettle. "Solomon was very active before he took that little nap. Spiders, flies, beetles, even a mouse; he's been wrapping them up in his long blue coils and disappearing them all over the place."
Charlie felt something on his foot. Before his very eyes the lace on his sneaker began to disappear. "Billy, I think I've found Rembrandt. He's eating169my shoelace." Charlie lifted his foot and kicked it toward Billy.
There was a loud squeak and Billy's white hair was suddenly tugged over his face. Billy put up his hands and clasped them around what appeared to be empty air. But he could feel whiskers and fur and a long skinny tail.
"Solomon's done it to Rembrandt," said Billy, pleased to have found his rat but worried by his invisibility.
"I expect you can soon put that right," said Mrs. Kettle. "That boa would do anything for you."
Billy put the unseen rat on the floor and began to twitter at the boa on his shoulders. But Rembrandt was obviously enjoying his invisibility. Charlie felt him run over his foot, then a table shook and a kettle fell to the floor. They all followed the tiny patterings and excited squeaks through the doorway and into the store. Mrs. Kettle dropped to her knees and began to crawl among the kettle displays; the boys followed her example and the boa170joined in, slithering across the floor with a purposeful look on his scaly face. Mrs.
Kettle began to laugh. Charlie couldn't stop himself from giggling, and now even Billy began to see the funny side of things; he lay on the floor convulsing with laughter.
No one noticed the store door opening just a fraction, not enough to make it squeak. No one heard soft footsteps crossing the floor, and no one saw Eric Shellhorn slip into the store and run to the big metal door leading to Mrs. Kettle's workshop.
It all happened in less than a minute, and then the blue boa was curling itself into a knot.
There was a very loud squeal, and a black rat jumped free of Solomon's shiny coils and ran to Billy.
"Thanks, Solomon." Billy picked up the trembling rat, gave him a stroke, and slipped him into his pocket.
"A nice cup of tea is called for, my dears," said Mrs. Kettle, getting to her feet, "and maybe a cookie or two."
The boys followed her back to the table, and171Solomon slithered across the floor beside them. When Billy sat down, the boa lifted his head and began to sway. Charlie sensed that it was anxious, even fearful. It looked up at Billy and hissed.
Billy answered the boa with a light hum. "Solomon says someone came into the shop," he told the others.
"Well, there's no one here except us," said Mrs. Kettle. "Did your snake say who it was?"