Charlie dutifully set the table for five.
"Four," said his grandmother. "Your uncle Paton's not here, thank goodness. Eating by candlelight gives me indigestion."
Charlie removed a set of knives and forks, and they all sat down while Maisie brought her lamb casserole to the table and began to ladle it out. It was just as delicious as Charlie had hoped, but the meal was spoiled by Grandma Bone's looming presence; by the slurping noise she made, the rumbling of her stomach, and the way she darted quick looks at everyone else's plate.
The meal was almost over when Charlie heard a large vehicle maneuvering on the road outside. Through the gap in the curtains he could see that a154white camper van had parked in front of the kitchen window. He was surprised when Uncle Paton jumped out, quickly slammed the door, and rushed toward the house, his black fedora pulled well down over his face. Charlie crossed his fingers and watched the streetlight. It didn't explode.
"Phew!" Charlie exclaimed as the front door banged.
"Can someone please turn out the lights?" Uncle Paton called from the hall.
Maisie obligingly lit the candles while Charlie sprang for the light switch.
"Where on earth have you been all week?" Grandma Bone demanded as Paton came in.
Ignoring her question, Uncle Paton said, "Something smells good." He placed a well-worn briefcase beside the door and pulled a chair up to the table.
"I asked you a question," said Grandma Bone.
"So you did, Grizelda." Paton rubbed his hands together as Maisie put a steaming dish of lamb before him.155"And I see no reason to answer you. What I do is my business."
"Research! Research!" snarled his sister, leaving the table. "Poking your nose into other people's affairs. Where d'you think that will get you?"
"Personally, nowhere, dear sister. Though what I unearth may be of great benefit to others." Paton glanced at Billy Raven.
He turned to Charlie. "Has the dog appeared yet, Charlie?"
Charlie shook his head. "Runner's still stuck."
"But I might be able to talk to him," said Billy.
Paton frowned. "Not you, Billy." He began to eat his lamb.
"But maybe..." Billy leaned forward eagerly.
"No," said Uncle Paton firmly. "We'll find another way. Though I confess, in my research I have yet to come across any mention of dogs caught in paintings."
Charlie watched his grandmother march to the door. Here she hesitated, her right hand almost on156the light switch. He could see that she was hugely tempted to turn on the lamp hanging above the table. If she did, Paton would be bound to shower himself and his meal with shattered glass. But she resisted and, with a resigned shrug, left the room.
"What exactly is your research, Mr. Yewbeam?" asked Billy.
"Ah, my research." Uncle Paton smiled, almost to himself. "I am writing a history of our family, Billy. The Yewbeams. But digging and delving into the past has led me deep into the lives of others. There isn't another city in the country like this one, you know. It was built by a magician, for one thing, and a king at that. The magic, good and bad, is now part of the fabric of the place. It is like a seam that runs through the soil, the rock and clay, the marl and loam beneath our feet."
Maisie uttered a soft "tsk!" She shook her head and said, "Was it really necessary to buy a big van, Paton?"157"Our ancestors litter the country," was Paton's reply. "I've been traveling to graveyards, libraries, historic homes, council offices, you name it. At nightfall, I often find myself far from home. I could hardly go to a hotel, with all those lights. My only option would be to sleep on a park bench."
"And get mugged," said Billy.
"Mugged, indeed. Exactly, Billy." Paton scooped up his last mouthful, declared it to be the best casserole he'd ever tasted, and sat back with a sigh of contentment.
"And have you found out anything interesting, Mr. Yewbeam?" asked Billy.
Uncle Paton stared at Billy for a moment, as though he were deciding whether or not to confide in him. At length he replied, "I have, Billy. I have, indeed. But at present the clues are a little foggy. In time I shall unravel some of the more puzzling details, and then..." He paused. "And then, lives will be changed - dramatically."158Charlie got the impression that his uncle's words were meant for Billy alone, and that it was his life that would be changed dramatically. Had Uncle Paton discovered something about Billy's parents?
Uncle Paton would say no more about his research. Changing the subject, he asked Maisie whether anything had happened to the painting while he'd been away.
"You don't think I've looked in the cellar, do you?" she retorted. "After what happened to the poor dog. Anyway, your sister keeps the door locked."
"Just wondered, you know, if you'd heard a bark, or a whine... anything," said Uncle Paton.
"No." Maisie collected the dishes and carried them to the sink. "But I have seen Benjamin Brown, gazing over here as if his heart would break."
"What am I going to do?" cried Charlie, covering his face with his hands. "I'll have to try and rescue Runner Bean, even without Claerwen."159"You've lost the moth?" Uncle Paton looked concerned.
"I know where she is," said Charlie, "but I won't be able to get her back just yet."
"And why not?" asked his uncle.
"It's too complicated to explain."
Paton accepted this answer reluctantly. "Don't so much as look in that cellar until you find her. That's an order." He stood up and pushed in his chair. Bidding them all a good night's sleep, he tucked his briefcase under his arm, took a candle from the dresser, and went up to his room.
When Maisie heard Paton's door close, she turned on the kitchen light and held up a dishcloth. "OK, boys. Who's going to dry?"
Billy chose to dry, Charlie to put away. Maisie was best at cleaning the pans.
Half an hour later, as Charlie and Billy were mounting the stairs, a cold draft swept through the hall. The coats on the stand swung in the breeze; two pictures swiveled
sideways on the wall; the160doormat lifted at one end; and Uncle Paton's fedora flew up to the ceiling, turned over, and dropped to the floor.
"What was that?" Billy clung to the railing.
"Dunno." Charlie went to pick up his uncle's hat. He could hear no wind in the road outside, no doors rattled, no trees sighed. He looked down the hallway leading to the cellar. He could guess where the evil breeze was coming from, but decided not to tell Billy.
Could the shadow reach them, even here?161CHAPTER 8
DESTRUCTION IN THE KETTLE SHOP
Piminy Street ran directly behind Ingledew's Bookstore. Its leaning, Tudor buildings looked to be in danger of toppling into the street - their crooked doors were marked by arrowheads and their slate roofs rippled like waves - yet the great fire of the eighteenth century had never touched these ancient houses. According to Miss Ingledew, it was because at that time almost every house in the street had been occupied by a magician -
of one sort or another.
Piminy Street, however, was home to Mrs. Kettle, and there was nothing sinister about her. Unusual, maybe, but not threatening. She had once given Charlie a kettle that had been made five hundred years ago by her ancestor Feromel. It contained a dark liquid that could never be poured away. This timeless liquid was usually cool, but Mrs. Kettle had162warned Charlie that when the kettle felt hot to the touch, he would be in danger.
On Friday night Charlie hadn't been surprised to find the kettle so hot he could barely touch it. He felt it again as soon as he woke next morning. It had cooled a little, but was still warm.
Billy knew about Feromel's kettle. "Is it hot?" he asked.
"Not too hot." Charlie pushed the kettle under his bed.
"We'll go and fetch Rembrandt from Mrs. Kettle right after breakfast, alright?" Billy swung his legs out of bed and put on his glasses.
"Hmmm. Wish I could get hold of Tancred," said Charlie.
Neither Charlie nor Billy owned a cell phone. They weren't allowed in school, and Grandma Bone disapproved of them. Charlie didn't like the thought of speaking to Tancred from the phone in the hall with Grandma Bone listening in.163The white camper van was gone when the boys went down to breakfast.