"Here we are, my dear," whispered Mrs. Kettle.
They had reached an ivy-covered wall where a wooden door stood half open to the alley.
"Well, I'll be... They haven't even bothered to close it," the blacksmith remarked in a low voice. "I won't need the pliers after all. Come on, Charlie."
There were only a few feet between the wall and the back of the chapel. Charlie couldn't see a door. High above him an arched window had been boarded with several sturdy planks. He wondered how they would reach it.
"Around the side." Mrs. Kettle pulled Charlie's sleeve and he followed her around the side of the building.
Treading softly down the graveled path,352they came to a freshly painted green door. A large padlock hung beneath the door handle.
"This is going to be easier than I thought," said Mrs. Kettle. Kneeling beside the door, she took from her tool bag a metal ring holding several slim iron rods. Inserting one of the rods into the padlock, she twisted it once, twice, three times. A sparkling blue mist flew out, and with a gentle click, the padlock sprang open.
"Now for the next one." Mrs. Kettle tapped the keyhole beside the door handle. This called for a slightly larger rod. The blacksmith turned it twice in the lock. This time the dust was pink and the opening click more of a groan. Mrs. Kettle stood up and turned the handle. The door swung inward and Charlie found himself standing on the threshold of an ivy-clad stage.
"There!" Mrs. Kettle pointed to a large canvas standing against the far wall of the stage.
Charlie found he couldn't move.353"Go on, Charlie," urged his friend. "You haven't much time. It's getting light."
"I can't," he muttered hoarsely. "There's something in there. Something stopping me."
"Wickedness," said Mrs. Kettle in a matter-of-fact voice. "People like that are bound to leave their thoughts around so folks like us can't breathe the air that they have used. But you can do it, Charlie. You've got Mathonwy's wand. She'll see you through."
The moth was already out of Charlie's pocket and fluttering around his head, as though she knew that the time for help had come.
Charlie walked slowly across the stage. He put down the basket and turned the painting around to face him. Once again he experienced the dizzying effect of looking upon such a dreadful world.
"The boa, Charlie!" Mrs. Kettle called softly. Her large figure, almost filling the doorway, gave Charlie an immediate surge of courage and he opened the354basket. The blue boa slid out and waved its feathery head in the air.
"Claerwen, tell the boa I want to be invisible," said Charlie. "Anweledig," he added, remembering to use the Welsh. "And you'd better tell him to become invisible himself.
Boa anweledig."
The moth settled among the boa's feathers. It was an odd sight. Was she talking to him in her own magical language? It seemed to have worked, for the snake regarded Charlie in a questioning way and then ducked its head and started to coil itself around his feet. Bit by bit, Charlie's feet, in their gray sneakers, began to disappear.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Kettle!" Charlie called.
"Good luck, Charlie," she replied, in a voice that was already sounding distant.
It was an odd sensation, seeing himself disappear, and yet not unpleasant. The snake's embrace was cool and firm, and Charlie thought of it as a kind of friendly hug. When he felt himself to be completely355invisible, he gazed at the painting, waiting for the wind that had previously come howling out of it.
Nothing happened. Not a whisper. Not a breath. Charlie was not wanted in Badlock. Was the shadow even aware of him, standing there, at the very edge of his own time?
"Claerwen, let us enter," Charlie whispered. Then, using the Welsh, "Dwi isie mynd mewn."
The white moth flew across the painting. She flew over the towers and mountains, over rock and scrub and stony plain. She flew across the lowering sky and her wings moved so fast Charlie lost sight of her shape; all he could see was a blur of glittering silver, and he
had to rub his eyes against the brightness. He could feel the boa, heavy on his shoulders, and something sliding beneath his feet.
When he opened his eyes, he was traveling very fast through a forest of naked trees, their branches burdened with frozen snow. And then came the wind.356CHAPTER 18
A TIGER WITHOUT A HEART
It was only at night that Billy heard the giant. He had questioned Dorgo, but the servant would only shake his head regretfully and say, "Giant prisoner long time. He here now for punishment. But he make no noise." The little man placed his hands over his woolen hat, where Billy guessed his ears might be, and added, "I not hear."
Billy asked Matilda about the giant. She looked puzzled. "I've heard of a giant," she said,
"but he lives in a tower across the plain. He is not a true giant; he is just a very tall man."
"Dorgo knows that he was brought to the palace," said Billy. "Can't you hear him, Matilda? His voice is so low and sad?"
"No." Matilda stared at Billy for a moment. "Perhaps you can hear him because he is from your world, or perhaps" - she frowned thoughtfully - "perhaps it is because of your power, Billy. If you357can hear and understand the voices of tiny creatures, you can hear words that cannot reach people like me."
"Do you think the enchanter can hear him?" Billy asked.
"Without a doubt," she said.
They were in Billy's room, playing with some of the toys the enchanter had devised for them: miniature knights with miniature horses that moved at the press of a button, set into a small wooden box. The horses had tiny silver shoes nailed to their ivory hooves, and the sound of their galloping on the wooden floor always made Matilda laugh.
The two children now went everywhere together. Billy had never liked anyone as much as Matilda, except maybe Charlie. But Charlie hadn't come to rescue him. Matilda was kind and generous. When she listened to Billy's stories of life at Bloor's Academy, she always wore an anxious frown, and at the end of the stories she would say, "You have no home in the future, Billy. This is your home for always now."358And Billy would agree.
It was only when he heard the giant's melancholy voice, drifting up through the darkened building, that Billy would have a moment of doubt. He didn't belong here, in this palace of enchanted food and magical toys, out of his time.
On the fourth night, the giant's voice was so insistent, Billy got out of bed and tiptoed to the door. He looked into the hall. Dorgo appeared to be fast asleep. He was snoring loudly. Leaving the door ajar, Billy crept past the slumped figure and ran to the stairway.
Nothing stirred; the giant's voice was the only sound. Billy padded softly down the smooth twisting stairs. When he reached the bottom, he listened intently, trying to guess where the voice was coming from. And now the giant's words reached him clearly.
"Amoret! Amoret!" He was calling to his wife.
Something caused Billy to turn. The fires were out in the hallway of furs. But in the cool light of the false stars pinned to the ceiling, he could make out the 358359dreadful heads with their glistening eyes. There was a sudden bright flash, and Billy leaped with terror.
The enchanter stood at the far end of the hallway. He was dressed in such glittering magnificence Billy could hardly bear to look at him. He wore a golden cloak embroidered with silver, and his long green robe was encrusted with diamonds. A
brilliant sunburst sat atop his gold-flecked hair and the head of his ebony wand was a star of mirrored glass.
Billy tried to look away from the shining figure, but he couldn't avoid the gaze of the ivy-green eyes. They willed Billy forward, over the carpet of furs, closer and closer to the enchanter.
Without a word, the enchanter suddenly turned into an open doorway. Billy followed, but the bright figure had vanished, and Billy found that he was alone in a forest. "In a palace?" he asked himself. "A forest in a palace?" He followed a path through trees with unusual rubbery leaves, and then he was in a moonlit glade. If the moon beaming down at him360was false, then it was artfully made, for Billy could see the rifts and valleys of the same moon that he saw from windows in the real world.