Charlie Bone and the Shadow (The Children of the Red King, Book 7) Part 5 docx

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 an￾cestor Feromel. It contained a dark liquid

that could never be poured away. This time￾less liquid was usually cool, but Mrs. Kettle

had

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warned Charlie that when the kettle felt hot

to the touch, he would be in danger.

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On Friday night Charlie hadn't been sur￾prised 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 un￾der 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

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Tancred from the phone in the hall with

Grandma Bone listening in.

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The white camper van was gone when the

boys went down to breakfast.

"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, glan￾cing up the stairs, where Grandma Bone was

having her morning gargle.

"Thanks, Mrs. Jones." Billy raced after

Charlie.

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Charlie was anxious to get away from num￾ber 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 there

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seemed to be even stronger. He always ima￾gined 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 bran￾dished clubs and axes. There were stone sol￾diers, horses, and dogs. But the mounted

knight that had once attacked the boys was

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gone - broken in two by the Red Knight and

now lying, with his stone horse, at the bot￾tom 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.

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Billy tugged Charlie's sleeve. "Let's go,

Charlie. One of those things might start mov￾ing again."

"I don't think Eric would do that in broad

daylight," said Charlie.

"He might. Come on. I want to see

Rembrandt."

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