Charlie Bone and The Blue Boa (Children Of The Red King, Book 3) by Jenny Nimmo Page A
Authors: Jenny Nimmo
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Perhaps, tomorrow . . . " Paton turned his face to the wall.
Charlie realized that he couldn't press his uncle any further. He was about to leave the room when the wand caught his eye, and the beginning of an idea crept into his mind. He picked up the ruined wand and slipped back to his room.
Billy was sitting on Charlie's bed, looking very despondent.
"Don't worry about Rembrandt," said Charlie. "He's a clever rat, and you're his friend. He'll turn up soon, I bet." He saw that Billy wasn't really listening to him; he was gazing at Charlie's hands with an expression of awe.
When Charlie looked down he saw that the burned wand was changing. He could feel it moving gently under his fingers, as slippery as silk and warm as sunlight. The silver tip began to sparkle and the blackened wood gradually faded until it was a pure white.
"How did that happen?" breathed Billy.
Charlie shook his head. "Don't know" He sat beside Billy and ran his fingers over the smooth white wood.
"It's a wand, isn't it?" said Billy. "It was all black and broken and now it's like brand-new Is it your uncle's?"
"No," said Charlie slowly. "I borrowed it from a person who had stolen it from someone else."
"Looks like it really wanted to be with you," observed Billy "Like it belonged to you."
"It can't," said Charlie. "It's impossible. I'm not a wizard or a sorcerer."
"But you're endowed, like me."
"Not in that way" Charlie muttered. He decided to tell Billy the truth about the wand.
Reaching under the bed, Charlie pulled out a small painting. It showed a man in a long black robe with silver black hair and a beard the same color. He was standing in a room lit by candles in a tall iron stand. With a piece of chalk he was drawing a star on a stone wall already covered in strange symbols.
"You brought that picture to school last semester, didn't you?" said Billy
"Yes. The man's a sorcerer called Skarpo. I stole the wand from him."
Billy's jaw dropped. He turned to Charlie and gave him one of his long dark-red stares. "You . . .?" he said huskily
"I went into the picture," said Charlie. "I'd never done that before, I'd only heard voices." He caught a sudden glint in the sorcerer's eye and quickly turned the painting over "I mustn't look at him too long or he'll drag me in again."
Billy shook his head in wonder. "How did you get out?"
"That was a bit tricky Lysander helped me." Charlie glanced at Billy wondering again if he could really trust him. He decided he would have to chance it. "The thing is, Billy I thought I might go in again. That sorcerer is very powerful. He had loads of stuff in his room, did you notice? Herbs and feathers and things."
"He had a dagger; I saw that."
Charlie held the painting up to Billy "What else do you see?"
"Bowls and books and jars of colored water, and big candles and signs on the wall, oh, and a mouse looking out of his pocket, and loads of junk on the table."
"He might have a cure for my uncle," said Charlie. "If I give him back the wand, maybe he'll give me something in return. And I could ask him about Ollie. He may know a cure for invisibility"
"Lysander's not here today" said Billy dubiously "Suppose you can't get out?"
"That's where you come in, Billy Just cling on to my arm, will you? And if I'm acting a bit funny give me a tug. I don't go right in, you see, it's just my mind. But he can see my face, and he'll probably see the wand. I won't go in as far as I did last time. I'll keep to the edge and just talk to him."
Charlie propped the painting against his bedside lamp, then he got up and held the wand in front of him. “Are you ready?"
Billy slid off the bed and clutched Charlie's arm. "Ready"
Charlie looked at the sorcerer. It didn't take long for Skarpo to see him. "You're back," said a husky singsong voice.
Charlie felt himself sliding forward, through a drifting white mist. All he could see was the sorcerer's bony face, and he quickly lowered his eyes to avoid Skarpo's magnetic yellow
Charlie realized that he couldn't press his uncle any further. He was about to leave the room when the wand caught his eye, and the beginning of an idea crept into his mind. He picked up the ruined wand and slipped back to his room.
Billy was sitting on Charlie's bed, looking very despondent.
"Don't worry about Rembrandt," said Charlie. "He's a clever rat, and you're his friend. He'll turn up soon, I bet." He saw that Billy wasn't really listening to him; he was gazing at Charlie's hands with an expression of awe.
When Charlie looked down he saw that the burned wand was changing. He could feel it moving gently under his fingers, as slippery as silk and warm as sunlight. The silver tip began to sparkle and the blackened wood gradually faded until it was a pure white.
"How did that happen?" breathed Billy.
Charlie shook his head. "Don't know" He sat beside Billy and ran his fingers over the smooth white wood.
"It's a wand, isn't it?" said Billy. "It was all black and broken and now it's like brand-new Is it your uncle's?"
"No," said Charlie slowly. "I borrowed it from a person who had stolen it from someone else."
"Looks like it really wanted to be with you," observed Billy "Like it belonged to you."
"It can't," said Charlie. "It's impossible. I'm not a wizard or a sorcerer."
"But you're endowed, like me."
"Not in that way" Charlie muttered. He decided to tell Billy the truth about the wand.
Reaching under the bed, Charlie pulled out a small painting. It showed a man in a long black robe with silver black hair and a beard the same color. He was standing in a room lit by candles in a tall iron stand. With a piece of chalk he was drawing a star on a stone wall already covered in strange symbols.
"You brought that picture to school last semester, didn't you?" said Billy
"Yes. The man's a sorcerer called Skarpo. I stole the wand from him."
Billy's jaw dropped. He turned to Charlie and gave him one of his long dark-red stares. "You . . .?" he said huskily
"I went into the picture," said Charlie. "I'd never done that before, I'd only heard voices." He caught a sudden glint in the sorcerer's eye and quickly turned the painting over "I mustn't look at him too long or he'll drag me in again."
Billy shook his head in wonder. "How did you get out?"
"That was a bit tricky Lysander helped me." Charlie glanced at Billy wondering again if he could really trust him. He decided he would have to chance it. "The thing is, Billy I thought I might go in again. That sorcerer is very powerful. He had loads of stuff in his room, did you notice? Herbs and feathers and things."
"He had a dagger; I saw that."
Charlie held the painting up to Billy "What else do you see?"
"Bowls and books and jars of colored water, and big candles and signs on the wall, oh, and a mouse looking out of his pocket, and loads of junk on the table."
"He might have a cure for my uncle," said Charlie. "If I give him back the wand, maybe he'll give me something in return. And I could ask him about Ollie. He may know a cure for invisibility"
"Lysander's not here today" said Billy dubiously "Suppose you can't get out?"
"That's where you come in, Billy Just cling on to my arm, will you? And if I'm acting a bit funny give me a tug. I don't go right in, you see, it's just my mind. But he can see my face, and he'll probably see the wand. I won't go in as far as I did last time. I'll keep to the edge and just talk to him."
Charlie propped the painting against his bedside lamp, then he got up and held the wand in front of him. “Are you ready?"
Billy slid off the bed and clutched Charlie's arm. "Ready"
Charlie looked at the sorcerer. It didn't take long for Skarpo to see him. "You're back," said a husky singsong voice.
Charlie felt himself sliding forward, through a drifting white mist. All he could see was the sorcerer's bony face, and he quickly lowered his eyes to avoid Skarpo's magnetic yellow
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