Charlie Bone and the Shadow (The Children of the Red King, Book 7) Part 8 docx

they have rough clothing; boys have to wear

coarse woolen stockings and scratchy tunics.

Here, in Badlock, we are very advanced."

"Really?" Billy walked over to the fire and

held his hands before its blaze. The chill that

had descended on him wouldn't lift. He had

no home but this.

Matilda hitched herself up onto the bed and

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swung her legs. "You can be happy here,

Billy, can't you? I am so lonely sometimes.

Edgar will never be a friend, so I have none."

She paused. "And I am afraid of the en￾chanter and his wife."

She spoke as though they were barely re￾lated, Billy thought. And yet, weren't they

her grandparents, the enchanter and his

wife?

"Where's your mom?" asked Billy.

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"My mother? She is dead, of a weakness of

the heart. My father, too. He was a brave

knight. His name was Gervais de Roussillon,

and he was killed in an unfair fight." Matilda

lowered her voice. "My old nurse said the en￾chanter had a hand in my father's murder.

But I cannot tell for sure." She glanced

nervously around the room.

"What is it?" said Billy. "Are you afraid of

something?"

"You will soon see," she replied. "I can hear

his footsteps."

And Billy did see, for a moment later, a patch

on one of the marbled walls began to move,

like worms

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squirming in mud; a fuzzy cloud appeared,

as though the marble were steaming, and

through the cloud stepped Edgar.

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"You could have used the door," said

Matilda.

"I chose not to," retorted her brother. "You

are required to dine, immediately." He threw

a look of contempt at Billy. "Why are you not

dressed properly?"

Billy gazed helplessly at Matilda.

"He has not had the time," she said, jumping

from the bed. "I will..."

"Leave him," said Edgar. "The servant will do

it." Without another word, Edgar shuffled

backward, and with an awkward twist of his

shoulders and an ungainly swing of his right

foot, he allowed the wall to swallow him up.

Matilda grinned at Billy. "Luckily, Edgar is

not careful with his talent. I can always hear

him coming, and his exits and entrances are

very rude and clumsy. Listen, you can hear

him even now."

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Billy could indeed hear stumbling footsteps

retreating down the passage.

Matilda crossed the room and opened the

door. "You can come in, now," she called. "I'll

see you in the dining hall," she told Billy.

He was alone for only a second before a

squat figure darted into the room and began

tearing at his pajamas.

"NO!" cried Billy.

The small being looked up at him aghast.

Billy couldn't tell if it was male or female.

With a woolen cap covering its head and pre￾sumably its hair, its face without eyebrows,

and its body so wide and lumpy, it was diffi￾cult to tell where its waist might have been or

where its legs began.

"You can wait outside," said Billy.

To his surprise, the being shuffled out and

gently closed the door.

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Billy took off his pajamas himself and put on

the blue velvet suit. Next came the shoes.

These were a

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problem. They didn't fit very well and the

long toes made a slapping noise when he

walked. It was like wearing flippers. Billy felt

silly, but then bare feet would look even silli￾er, he realized. To his dismay, he found there

were no pockets in his jacket or pants. He

couldn't possibly leave Rembrandt behind.

What would he eat?

"Urn, excuse me," called Billy, not knowing

how to address the being outside. "You can

come in now."

The thing opened the door a fraction and

peeked in. Its eyes were the gray-brown color

of bark, but there was kindness in them.

"Please, can you help me?" said Billy. "I need

a ... a pocket or a bag or ... or something."

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