Charlie Bone and the Wilderness Wolf (Children of the Red King, Book 6) by Jenny Nimmo
Authors: Jenny Nimmo
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the kitchen, Charlie noticed that the spring had left her step. She was usually such a positive and cheerful person; it worried him to see her so dejected.
The promised apple crumble soon followed the minestrone soup and, leaving Cook still talking to herself, Charlie and Billy made their way back to the King's room. With no one in charge, it was difficult to apply themselves to work.
"If Olivia was here she'd make us explore," said Billy wistfully.
But Olivia wasn't there and the very mention of her name made Charlie angry. He couldn't forget the way she had flounced off, telling him he was a liar and a fraud.
"Oh, come on, let's explore," Billy pleaded.
Charlie groaned and put down his book, which had suddenly started to get interesting. "OK."
Where to explore? Billy didn't have an answer. Not in the attics where Mr. Ezekiel lived among his grisly experiments. And not in the basement, where Dr. Bloor kept ancient instruments of torture, among other gruesome objects. And certainly not on the grounds, where sleet had turned to a white mist of hail.
They eventually decided on the art room. Paintings were always entertaining, even if they weren't beautiful. And the sculpture room held some very impressive works. Lysander was a particularly fine sculptor, and Tancred's statues could be interesting, never mind that you couldn't always tell what they were.
The art room lay just beyond the boys' dormitory and overlooked the garden. Today the long windows showed only a moving sheet of snow and hail. It cast an eerie light over the forest of easels and drawing boards.
"Let's go and see Lysander's statue," Billy suggested.
A wrought-iron spiral staircase led down to the sculpture room. As they descended, an unexpected sound came drifting up to them. Singing. Or was it chanting? Who could it be? As far as they knew no one else had been given detention that weekend.
When they reached the sculpture studio, they tiptoed around blocks of wood and plaster and odd-shaped statues. In the center of the room stood Lysander's masterpiece, a very lifelike carving of his mother, Jessamine Sage, and her new baby.
The chanting grew louder as they moved through the long room. When they got to the other side, there was no doubt that the voice was coming from the room beyond. A room used for dressmaking classes and first years' drawing lessons.
Charlie put his hand on the doorknob.
"Go on," whispered Billy. "Let's see who it is."
Charlie flung open the door.
There was a shriek, a flurry of paper, pins, and fabric, and the boys found themselves staring at Dorcas Loom. On the wide worktable in front of her lay the biggest pair of scissors Charlie had ever seen. And he didn't fail to notice the pots and boxes, the small cans, and bunches of herbs that sat in neat rows beside the scissors. His great-aunt Venetia had something to do with this.
"Snoops!" cried Dorcas.
Charlie ignored her accusing glare. "What are you doing in school?"
"What are YOU doing in here?" she retorted, hastily pulling a sheet of tissue paper over something blue.
Charlie had seen what it was. "I've got detention," he said airily. "What's your excuse?"
Recovering her composure, Dorcas said haughtily, "I don't need an excuse. I'm working on something for your aunt Venetia."
"I can see you've got all the right stuff." Charlie picked up one of the cans and read the label. "Altering Bugs. Is that to..."
"Give it to me!" Dorcas interrupted. She grabbed the end of the can while Charlie still held firmly to the lid. It was inevitable that the two parts should separate.
A cloud of orange bugs poured onto the table, covering scissors, pins, and cotton reels.
"Fiends!" yelled Dorcas, frantically pulling things out of the way of the bugs. "Get out of here. GET OUT!"
Charlie and Billy didn't move. Before their very eyes, the bug-covered items were slowly changing shape; they were growing longer, thinner, smoother.
"Wh-what are you doing, Dorcas?" Billy asked
The promised apple crumble soon followed the minestrone soup and, leaving Cook still talking to herself, Charlie and Billy made their way back to the King's room. With no one in charge, it was difficult to apply themselves to work.
"If Olivia was here she'd make us explore," said Billy wistfully.
But Olivia wasn't there and the very mention of her name made Charlie angry. He couldn't forget the way she had flounced off, telling him he was a liar and a fraud.
"Oh, come on, let's explore," Billy pleaded.
Charlie groaned and put down his book, which had suddenly started to get interesting. "OK."
Where to explore? Billy didn't have an answer. Not in the attics where Mr. Ezekiel lived among his grisly experiments. And not in the basement, where Dr. Bloor kept ancient instruments of torture, among other gruesome objects. And certainly not on the grounds, where sleet had turned to a white mist of hail.
They eventually decided on the art room. Paintings were always entertaining, even if they weren't beautiful. And the sculpture room held some very impressive works. Lysander was a particularly fine sculptor, and Tancred's statues could be interesting, never mind that you couldn't always tell what they were.
The art room lay just beyond the boys' dormitory and overlooked the garden. Today the long windows showed only a moving sheet of snow and hail. It cast an eerie light over the forest of easels and drawing boards.
"Let's go and see Lysander's statue," Billy suggested.
A wrought-iron spiral staircase led down to the sculpture room. As they descended, an unexpected sound came drifting up to them. Singing. Or was it chanting? Who could it be? As far as they knew no one else had been given detention that weekend.
When they reached the sculpture studio, they tiptoed around blocks of wood and plaster and odd-shaped statues. In the center of the room stood Lysander's masterpiece, a very lifelike carving of his mother, Jessamine Sage, and her new baby.
The chanting grew louder as they moved through the long room. When they got to the other side, there was no doubt that the voice was coming from the room beyond. A room used for dressmaking classes and first years' drawing lessons.
Charlie put his hand on the doorknob.
"Go on," whispered Billy. "Let's see who it is."
Charlie flung open the door.
There was a shriek, a flurry of paper, pins, and fabric, and the boys found themselves staring at Dorcas Loom. On the wide worktable in front of her lay the biggest pair of scissors Charlie had ever seen. And he didn't fail to notice the pots and boxes, the small cans, and bunches of herbs that sat in neat rows beside the scissors. His great-aunt Venetia had something to do with this.
"Snoops!" cried Dorcas.
Charlie ignored her accusing glare. "What are you doing in school?"
"What are YOU doing in here?" she retorted, hastily pulling a sheet of tissue paper over something blue.
Charlie had seen what it was. "I've got detention," he said airily. "What's your excuse?"
Recovering her composure, Dorcas said haughtily, "I don't need an excuse. I'm working on something for your aunt Venetia."
"I can see you've got all the right stuff." Charlie picked up one of the cans and read the label. "Altering Bugs. Is that to..."
"Give it to me!" Dorcas interrupted. She grabbed the end of the can while Charlie still held firmly to the lid. It was inevitable that the two parts should separate.
A cloud of orange bugs poured onto the table, covering scissors, pins, and cotton reels.
"Fiends!" yelled Dorcas, frantically pulling things out of the way of the bugs. "Get out of here. GET OUT!"
Charlie and Billy didn't move. Before their very eyes, the bug-covered items were slowly changing shape; they were growing longer, thinner, smoother.
"Wh-what are you doing, Dorcas?" Billy asked
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