walls on either side of him gave off the damp, earthy smell of old brick, and moss grew in the cracked slate floor.
Halfway down the passage, a bookcase stood in a small recess. Holding the jar tight against his body with his left hand, Dagbert used his right to remove two books from a shelf. He knocked on the bare wood behind them.
"Who is it?" called a voice.
"Dagbert, sir. I've got something to show you."
"Oh, yes," said Manfred in a bored voice.
"A moth."
"A moth?" Manfred sounded more interested now. "You'd better come in."
The bookcase swung back, revealing a small study. Manfred Bloor was sitting behind a desk where green bottles, earthenware jars, rusty tins, and wads of yellowing papers had been set out in groups.
"I hope it's THE moth, Dagbert Endless." Manfred beckoned Dagbert over. "I'm extremely busy, as you can see."136"It is the right moth, sir." Dagbert turned the jar over in his hands and laid it upside down before Manfred. Now the moth's wings were barely distinguishable from the white muslin beneath her.
Manfred peered through the thick glass. "You're sure?"
"See the silver on its wings? I know it's Charlie's. I caught it in the hallway of portraits.
Thought it was so clever lying on a bunch of painted white lilies. Thought it wouldn't be seen." Dagbert wrinkled his nose. "Funny-looking person in that portrait."
Manfred gave him an icy look. "The person in that portrait was my great-great-great-grandmother, Donatella, a very brave woman. She was accidentally electrocuted in an experiment."
"Sorry," said Dagbert.
"Did anyone help you to do this?" Manfred tapped the jar.
"No, sir." Dagbert felt Manfred's black eyes boring into his, and he had to steady himself against137the desk. "That is - only Dorcas. She made the poisoned net."
"That girl has extraordinary talent," Manfred said with satisfaction. "You can go now, Dagbert." He stood up and pointed to the door.
"About the moth," said Dagbert. "I know you want it so Charlie Bone can't travel safely, but I didn't catch it just for that."
"No?" Manfred looked at the trapped moth.
"No, I want to bargain with it. Tancred Torsson stole my sea urchin, and without it I can't... can't..."
"Drown people?" Manfred suggested.
"Not exactly." Dagbert frowned. "I'm just not myself without all my sea-gold creatures."
"Oh, I can deal with Tancred Torsson," said Manfred. "Don't worry, I'll return the moth when I've studied it a little. But make sure Charlie Bone never gets it." He waved a hand at Dagbert. "Now, off you go, and keep an eye on Charlie."138Charlie was standing in the bathroom, feeling very queasy. He wondered if someone had poisoned him. He clung to the sink while the room spun around him. First one way, then the other.
"You OK, Charlie?"
A voice broke through the buzz in Charlie's head. He turned painfully and saw Fidelio standing by the bathroom door.
"I feel a bit funny," said Charlie. He staggered through the door and Fidelio helped him to his bed.
Dagbert Endless came in and stood staring down at Charlie. "Not feeling well?" he asked.
Charlie looked away from Dagbert's startling sea-colored eyes. He felt his strength leaving him. He was so weak he could barely lift his arm. Vague forms moved through the mist that clouded his vision, and he heard Fidelio say, "Matron, Charlie's sick."
The matron's words came booming close to his ear, a deep, indistinct, underwater sound.
"Faking it, are you, Charlie? There's nothing a good night's sleep won't cure."139The light went out. Charlie lay in the darkness while familiar images tumbled into his head: a knight in a green cloak, a stone troll, and a furious gray sea. But the leopards were absent and so was the knight with red feathers streaming from his silver helmet. And all that remained of the boat was the tip of its mast, sinking slowly into a heaving sea. And then Charlie saw Claerwen, lying in a glass tomb, while the silver sparkle drained from her white wings. With all that remained of his strength, Charlie raised himself onto his elbows and cried, "CLAERWEN!"
Every sleeping boy in the dormitory was now wide awake. Others, who had not yet fallen asleep, began to shout out.
"Shut up!"
"What's he going on about?"
"He's off his rocker!"
One of the first years sniveled, "What's the matter with him?" Someone else burst into tears.
"Calm down, everyone," said Fidelio.140"Charlie's just had a nightmare. It can happen to anyone. Are you OK now, Charlie?"
Charlie sat up. The buzzing in his head had gone. The dizziness had passed. He felt almost like his old self again. "Yes, I'm OK, thanks. I feel great, actually."
Manfred Bloor had put away his great-great-greatgrandfather's tins of desiccated snails, his bottles of aspen oil and monkey tears, his jars of seaweed and nightshade, and the sheaves of yellowing paper covered in beautiful looping script. Manfred had hoped they might be put to use sealing the crack in the Mirror of Amoret, but there was nothing in Bertram Bloor's notes about the fixing of mirrors. He was more concerned with creation, with resurrection and revival.
Manfred locked the door of his ancestor's carved oak cabinet and slipped the key into his pocket. Returning to his desk, he began to study the moth in her glass jar. "I have you now, moth, wand, whatever you are."141The moth appeared to be fading. Its silvered wings had lost their sparkle, its soft head looked crumpled.
"Dead," Manfred pronounced. "But we can still use you."
A small sound came from the glass. A tiny clink. Manfred sat back. Half-closing his eyes, he scanned the jar for a fracture, a minute flaw. He was about to look closer when, with a deafening crack, the jar burst apart. A dozen gleaming shards flew straight at the window.
The thick pieces shattered the pane and glass fell in a shower, onto the cobblestones outside.
The bed of white muslin lay empty on Manfred's desk. The moth had gone.142CHAPTER 7
AN EVIL WIND
Charlie heard a voice screaming in the courtyard below the dormitory. Leaping out of bed, he ran to the window. There were already several boys pressed up against the pane.
"It's the talents master," said an excited first year.
"Look at all the glass," another boy observed.
"Someone's thrown a brick through the window," said Bragger Braine, a large second year.
"Idiot," muttered Dagbert. "The glass would be on the inside, not the outside, if that had happened."
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" twittered Rupe Small, Bragger Braine's devoted slave.
A glistening quilt of broken glass lay across the courtyard. Manfred moved slowly around it, kicking the glass with his toe, then squatting down and poking the fragments with a pencil. "Weedon!" he shouted again. "Come here, this minute!"143The headmaster, Dr.
Bloor, opened one of the windows above Manfred's study. "What on earth's going on?"
he shouted.
"Look!" screamed Manfred, getting to his feet. "Look at all this!" He threw out an arm, indicating the broken glass.
"How did it happen?" demanded his father.
Charlie saw Manfred hesitate. Whatever it was that had caused the accident, it was going to remain Manfred's secret, for the time being. "How should I know!" he shouted, his voice taking on a hysterical note.
"I suppose it was one of your experiments," said Dr. Bloor.
"It was NOT!" shrieked Manfred. "Where's Weedon?"
"He's tidying my study. Where else should he be?" Dr. Bloor suddenly caught sight of the faces in the dormitory window. "Get back to bed!" he bellowed. "Or you'll all get detention."
There was a frantic scramble away from the window.144Twelve boys bounced back onto their beds and drew the covers over their heads. They waited for Matron to storm in, but tonight she had other things on her mind.