Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors. Jenny Nimmo

Lucretia Yewbeam was the school matron and Charlie Bone’s great-aunt. ‘I’ve brought my sisters,’ she told Ezekiel. ‘You said you needed help.’

      ‘And where’s the fourth?’ asked Ezekiel. ‘Where’s Grizelda?’

      ‘She’s best left out of things for now,’ said Eustacia, the second sister. ‘After all, she’s got to live with our wretched brother – and the boy. She might blab – accidentally, of course.’

      Eustacia, a clairvoyant, walked over to the table. Her grey hair still held threads of black, but in most other respects she resembled her older sister. Her small eyes darted over the objects on the table and she gave a crooked smile. ‘So, that’s what you’re up to, you old devil. Who is he?’

      ‘My ancestor, Borlath,’ Ezekiel replied. ‘Greatest of all the Red King’s children. Most magnificent, powerful and wise.’

      ‘Most vile and bloodthirsty, would be more accurate,’ said the third sister, dumping a large leather bag on the table. Her greasy hair hung over her shoulders in sooty swathes and dark shadows ringed her coal-black eyes. Compared with her sisters she looked a mess. Her long coat was a size too large for her, and the greyish blouse beneath looked badly in need of a wash. No one would have guessed that this bedraggled creature had once been a proud and immaculately dressed woman.

      ‘Venetia’s been waiting for something like this,’ said Eustacia. ‘Ever since that hateful Charlie Bone burnt her house down.’

      ‘I thought your brother did that,’ put in Manfred.

      ‘So he did,’ snarled Venetia, ‘but Charlie was responsible, the little worm. I want him snuffed out. I want him gibbering with fright, tortured, tormented – dead.’

      ‘Calm down, Venetia.’ Ezekiel spun quickly to her side. ‘We don’t want to lose the boy entirely.’

      ‘Why? What use is he? Can you imagine what it’s like to lose everything? To see your possessions – the work of a lifetime – go up in smoke?’

      Ezekiel whacked the table with his cane. ‘Don’t be so pathetic, woman. Charlie can be used. I can force him to carry me into the past. I could change history. Think of that!’

      ‘You can’t change history, Great-grandpa,’ Manfred said flatly.

      ‘How do you know?’ barked Ezekiel. ‘No one’s tried.’

      An awkward silence followed. No one dared to suggest that it had probably been tried several times, without success. Venetia chewed her lip, still thinking of revenge. She could wait, but one day she would find a way to finish Charlie Bone – permanently.

      Lucretia broke the silence by asking, ‘Why the horse?’

      ‘Because I’ve got the bones,’ snapped Ezekiel. ‘This horse, Hamaran,’ he nodded at the bones, ‘was a magnificent creature, by all accounts. And a mounted man can be very threatening, don’t you agree?’

      The others muttered an assent.

      ‘The boy will be terrified,’ Ezekiel went on gleefully. ‘He’ll do anything we ask.’

      Venetia said, ‘And how are you going to control this freak?’

      Ezekiel had been hoping that no one would ask him this, because he didn’t have a satisfactory answer, yet. ‘He’s my ancestor,’ he said with a confident grin. ‘Why wouldn’t he help me? But first things first. Let’s get it up and running, as it were. Ha! Ha!’

      While Lucretia sat on a moth-eaten armchair her sisters unpacked the leather bag. Phials of liquid began to appear on the table; silver spoons, bags of herbs, small, twinkling pieces of quartz, a black marble pestle and mortar, and five candles. Ezekiel watched the proceedings with hungry eyes.

      An hour later the leg bones of a galloping horse had been arranged on the table. The chain mail glistened with a foul-smelling liquid and the fur cloak had been covered with tiny seeds.

      The five candles cast leaping shadows on the wall. One had been placed above the helmet, one at the end of each of the chain-mail sleeves, and the last two stood in place of the horse’s missing front hooves.

      Venetia had enjoyed the work in spite of herself. It was good to get her teeth into something destructive again. As she caressed the black fur, tiny flames crackled at the tips of her fingers. ‘Are we ready, then?’ she asked.

      ‘Not quite.’ With a cunning smile Ezekiel put his hand beneath the rug on his lap and produced a small golden casket. In the centre of the jewelled lid a cluster of rubies, shaped like a heart, shone out in the dim room with a dazzling brilliance. ‘The heart,’ said Ezekiel, his voice a deep-throated gurgle. ‘Asa, the beast-boy, found it in the ruin. He was out there digging, as is his wretched habit, and he found a gravestone marked with a B. He dug further and found this,’ he tapped the casket, ‘buried deep beneath the stone.’

      From her chair in the shadows, Lucretia asked, ‘Why wasn’t it in the tomb?’

      ‘Why? Why?’ Ezekiel gave way to a bout of unpleasant, bronchial coughing. ‘Secrecy, perhaps. But it’s his. I know it. Borlath was the only one of the king’s children with the initial B.’ He opened the casket.

      ‘Aaaaah!’ Eustacia stepped away from the table, for inside the casket lay a small heart-shaped leather pouch that did, indeed, appear to contain – something.

      ‘See? A heart,’ said Ezekiel triumphantly. ‘Now, let’s get on with it.’ Scooping the pouch from its casket, he placed it on the suit of armour, just left of centre, where he judged a heart might lie. Then he uncoiled a wire from his electric box and wrapped the end once, twice, three times around the pouch.

      An expectant hush descended on the room as the old man began to turn the handle of the silver box. Faster and faster. His crooked hand became a flying blur, his black eyes burned with excitement. A spark leapt between the steel prongs and travelled down the wire to Borlath’s heart. Ezekiel emitted a croak of triumph and his hand was still.

      The three sisters were tempted to exclaim with rapture, but they knew that silence was essential at such a moment. The bones of Hamaran were beginning to move.

      Ezekiel and the Yewbeams were watching the table so intently, they failed to notice Manfred pull out a handkerchief and press it to his nose. His face turned bright pink as he struggled to suppress a sneeze. It was no use.

      ‘ATISHOO!’

      Ezekiel recoiled as if from a blow. He covered his ears and rasped, ‘No,’ as Manfred tried to hold back yet another sneeze. The sisters watched in horror as the young man screwed up his face, and,

      ‘ATISHOO!’

      The bones stopped moving. Vile, black vapour rose from the fur and the chain mail writhed under the smouldering pouch.

      ‘ATISHOO!’

      There was a thunderous bang and a reeking pall of smoke filled the room. As the onlookers choked and spluttered, a huge form lifted from the table and vanished into the billowing black clouds. Hidden under one of the tables at the far end of the room, a short, fat dog trembled and closed his eyes.

      A second violent bang shook the whole room, and Lucretia cried, ‘What happened?’

      ‘That ruddy idiot sneezed,’ shrieked Ezekiel.

      ‘Sorry, sorry. Couldn’t help it,’ whined Manfred. ‘It was the dust.’

      ‘Not good enough,’ scolded Venetia. ‘You should have taken your wretched nose outside. The whole thing’s ruined. A waste of time.’

      ‘Maybe not,’ Eustacia broke in. ‘Look at the table. The bones have gone.’

      The smoke was clearing rapidly due to a sudden rush of cold air, and they all saw that the bones of Hamaran had, indeed, vanished. But Borlath’s armour, his helmet, cloak and gold pin, still lay where they were, rather the worse for the spell they had been