"Give them to me!" cried Dagbert, peeling the fish off Joshua's skin while the small boy writhed like an eel.
Charlie straightened up and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Blood was now dripping onto his sweater.
Dagbert tore a crab from Joshua's open palm, but the fish boy was beginning to shake like a leaf.
"I'll get the rest," Charlie told Dagbert. "Take a break!"
Dagbert rolled onto his back, clutching the two charms. Joshua began to crawl up the bank again, and Charlie was about to grab him when the air seemed to shiver and a flash of light streamed over their heads, striking the earth with an earsplitting twang.
A long sword rocked to and fro, its tip stuck fast in the earth an inch from Charlie's hand.
"Get thee gone, wretched boys," said a voice. "Or suffer the wrath of my sword."
Charlie turned his head, very slowly, afraid of what he would see. And there was Ashkelan Kapaldi, standing on the black rock, his hands on his hips, and on his face the mocking smile of his portrait.
"Give me thy charms, Dagbert Endless," said Ashkelan, holding out a gloved hand.
Dagbert shook his head and clutched the two charms to his chest.
Ashkelan lost his smile. "Tis a pity," he sighed. "Sword, do thy work."
"Dagbert!" cried Charlie as the sword flipped out of the earth and came at Dagbert, its deadly tip pointing at his heart. Dagbert jumped back, but the sword followed him. Charlie couldn't bear to look. He was about to close his eyes when, in a blaze of light, a white horse leaped out of the trees and another sword, held by a knight in glittering chain mail, caught the lethal weapon and tossed it sideways.
"Vile, cursed, hateful knight!" screamed Ashkelan. "Thou shall not have it thy way."
Ahskelan's sword swung in an arc and sliced the air with whining, hissing strokes. It came at the knight's arm, but the white mare flew sideways.
The three boys sat on the bank, petrified and entranced, while the knight, his red plume flying and his cloak filling like a scarlet cloud, struck and parried the enchanted sword. Ashkelan stood on the rock, uttering a stream of incomprehensible commands, but suddenly he fell silent, waiting for his sword to find a position from where it could strike a fatal blow.
The white mare paced between Ashkelan and the bank, while the enchanted sword hovered at the edge of the trees above the boys. Joshua was so frightened he loosened his grip and the five remaining charms trickled out of his hand.
"The charms," Charlie whispered.
Dagbert grabbed them.
Joshua yelled and caught Dagbert's hand.
As the Red Knight turned to look at them, Ashkelan shrieked a command and the sword came flying at the knight's throat. With a warning scream, the horse reared up, tilting the knight out of harm's way. The sword swept past her thrashing hooves and entered Asheklan's chest, just above the leather belt that held his scabbard. The swordsman fell back with a moan, the sword buried deep in his heart.
The knight removed his gauntlet and laid a bare hand on the white mare's neck, calming her instantly. He turned his head, and Charlie found himself staring at the dark holes in the blank, featureless helmet. Whose eyes were looking out at him? he wondered. Was the face behind the steel mask known to him?
The knight sheathed his sword and lifted his hand, briefly, in farewell. The horse whinnied and they left the scene, trotting quickly into the dense wood that filled the ruin.
For a moment the three boys were too stunned to speak, and then Charlie cried, "Run, Dagbert, run!"
13. THE ROARING WAVE
Dagbert ran. No one knew where. He wasn't seen for the rest of the day.
Charlie left Joshua sitting on the snowy bank, cradling his hand and whimpering, "Mom, Mom, Mom."
As Charlie made his way back to the school, he began to wonder who would be blamed for the death of Ashkelan Kapaldi. "But he's dead already," Charlie told himself.
Only Joshua saw what really happened to the swordsman's body. He was rubbing his eyes with a muddy fist and at first he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. A snowy mist began to seep into the glade, covering the broken walls, burying the trees, and seeping around the black rock. The mist was filled with the sounds of battle: steel on steel, leather creaking, hooves thundering, men screaming, and cannons booming.
Joshua put his hands over his ears and watched in disbelief as the sword lifted itself out of Ashkelan's chest and lay down beside him. And then Ashkelan's body was raised from the rock—and vanished.
Joshua stopped whimpering. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened. "Gone!"
he murmured. "How?"
Joshua didn't know that, by a strange coincidence, Ashkelan Kapaldi met his second death in exactly the same way he had met his first. He had, in fact, been killed by his own sword during the Battle of Edgehill in 1642. The sword didn't mean to kill its master, of course. It was just unfortunate that Ahskelan happened to be in its way, both times.
When he got back to the school, Charlie tried to clean himself up in the blue coatroom. He remembered that bloodstains could be removed with cold water, but he didn't make a very good job of it. Luckily, his cape covered most of
his sweater, and his nose had stopped bleeding by the time he reached Madame Tessier's classroom.
"What happened?" whispered Fidelio as Charlie took the desk beside him.
"Tell you later," said Charlie.
"Shhh!" commanded Madame Tessier. "Regardez vos livres!"
Charlie didn't get another chance to talk to Fidelio until lunchtime. Gabriel carried his bowl of soup over to their table just as Charlie was describing the battle in the ruin. When he had finished, Gabriel looked very excited.
"I knew it!" he exclaimed.
Several children looked in their direction and Fidelio said, "Keep your voice down, Gabe."
Lowering his voice, Gabriel said, "I took a good look at Ashkelan's portrait when I passed it, and do you know, I could swear I saw a kind of light in his eyes that wasn't there while he was 'out.""
"He's back where he belongs," said Charlie grimly.
Fidelio looked around the cafeteria. "Where's Dagbert?" he said. "He should have been in French."
Charlie frowned. "I'm sure he's got all his charms. But he's at risk now.
Mrs. Tilpin's going to be furious. I hope he's somewhere safe."
"That sounds a bit odd, coming from you," Gabriel remarked.
Charlie stared into his bowl of soup. "He needs our help," he said.
The storm began when Mr. Pope was halfway through giving a history test. The teacher's heavy-jowled face was always an angry shade of red. Even when he wasn't furious, he was grouchy. The windows in his classroom fitted very badly and on windy days their constant rattle drove Mr. Pope into a frenzy.
He would thump his desk and roar out his questions, confusing his class and even himself.
The wind had blown up from nowhere. One minute the air was calm, the next, hail was beating on the windowpanes, thunderclaps reverberating through the building, and the draft from the ill-fitting windows whipped spitefully around everyone's legs.
"How am I supposed to teach in a storm like this?" screeched Mr. Pope. "I'm going to stop this test and go home if it continues."
Realizing that he'd said something silly because, of course, no one would have minded if he went home, Mr. Pope muttered, "I suppose you have all heard about the storms at sea? No, I suppose you haven't." Televisions and radios were allowed only in the sixth year. "Well, I shall enlighten you." There was another deafening clap of thunder, and Mr. Pope looked up to heaven. When the thunder had rumbled away, he said, "Severe weather in the southern hemisphere has caused havoc on the coasts. Many drowned. Ships wrecked. Boats lost." His last words were shouted above another violent rumble.
Charlie put up his hand.
"What is it, Charlie Bone?" Mr. Pope asked irritably.
"Did you say boats, sir?" asked Charlie.
"Yes, BOATS! Are you deaf?" Mr. Pope bellowed. "The storms have been appalling. Waves a hundred feet high. Wouldn't fancy my odds in a boat. They don't stand a chance." He nodded at the rattling window. "Mind you, this is just a breeze compared with the tempests out at sea. But that's no consolation when you've GOT TO TEACH HISTORY TO A GROUP OF NITWITS!" And with that, Mr. Pope gathered up his books and strode out of the classroom, banging the door behind him.