Charlie Bone and the Castle of Mirrors. Jenny Nimmo

The teacher gave a little cough. ‘Go and write your lines, then. And don’t disturb me. I’m going to sleep.’ Mr Ebony pulled his purple hood over his head and closed his eyes. Still sitting bolt upright, he began to snore.

      Is it possible to be watched by someone who isn’t looking at you? Charlie had the impression that the strange teacher was still awake. Or rather that someone else, behind the sleeping face, was still on guard.

      After waiting a few seconds, Charlie tiptoed to his desk, got out an exercise book and began to write out the hall rules. He had just completed the last line when the bell went for tea. Mr Ebony opened his eyes, threw back his hood and cried, ‘OUT!’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ Charlie gathered up his paper and hurriedly left the room.

      ‘Where on earth have you been?’ asked Fidelio, when he saw Charlie in the canteen.

      ‘Where have you been?’ said Charlie.

      ‘I had English, then games.’

      Charlie saw a weekend of detention looming ahead. Mr Carp, the English teacher, wouldn’t forgive him for missing a lesson. ‘I was writing out my lines for Manfred,’ he said gloomily. ‘And I still haven’t found out where his study is.’

      Fidelio couldn’t help, nor could Gabriel when he arrived at their table. ‘What’s with the pigtail, then?’ he said, munching a bar of Choclix. ‘I mean, what’s Manfred supposed to be? He’s not Head Boy any more, and he’s not a teacher. So what is he?’

      ‘He’s a hypnotiser,’ said Charlie grimly. ‘Always has been and always will be. He’ll probably stay here for ever and ever, perfecting his skills until he becomes a musty old magician like his great-grandfather.’

      ‘As long as he keeps out of my way, I don’t care what he is.’ Gabriel swallowed the rest of his Choclix and wiped his fingers on his sleeve. ‘By the way, I’ve decided to take piano with Mr Ebony. I can’t give it up, and he’s quite good, actually.’

      For some reason this worried Charlie.

      ‘I’d go to Miss Chrystal, if I were you,’ he advised Gabriel. ‘Mr Ebony isn’t – isn’t what he seems. I think he’s dangerous.’

      The others looked at him questioningly, but Charlie couldn’t explain his feeling.

      After tea, Charlie took his trumpet to Mr Paltry’s room. The elderly teacher was having a quiet cup of coffee. ‘I can’t give you a lesson now,’ he said irritably. ‘Put your trumpet on the shelf and leave me in peace.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ Charlie placed his trumpet on a shelf with five others, hoping it wouldn’t get lost or stolen again. ‘Excuse me, sir, but do you know where Manfred Bloor’s study is?’

      ‘I don’t know every single room in the building, do I?’ Mr Paltry fluttered a freckled hand. ‘Now, shoo.’

      Children were advised to leave their capes indoors on sunny days because, believe it or not, it was colder in the dark academy than it was outside. So, putting his cape in the cloakroom Charlie went into the garden and asked as many people as he could grab if they knew the whereabouts of Manfred’s study. Nobody had heard of it. Charlie ran indoors again. As he put on his blue cape, he slipped his fingers in his pocket. The three pages of lines had gone.

      ‘No!’ yelled Charlie, just as Gabriel walked in.

      ‘What’s up?’ asked Gabriel.

      Charlie told him, and for the next fifteen minutes Gabriel helped him to search the cloakroom, but the three pages were nowhere to be found. Fidelio appeared and joined in the hunt. They looked in empty classrooms and even went down to the canteen. And then the gong went for supper.

      ‘Someone’s determined to get me into trouble,’ moaned Charlie. ‘I’m losing everything, my trumpet, my lines . . . what’s going on?’

      ‘Come and have supper,’ said Fidelio. ‘Food helps the brain.’

      ‘Huh!’ Charlie grunted.

      The three boys made their way to the long, cavernous dining-hall and took their places at the end of the Music table.

      The staff sat at a table on a raised platform at the end of the room, and Charlie noticed that Manfred was sitting next to his father. So he was now, officially, a member of staff. At least he won’t be doing his homework with us, thought Charlie.

      Supper was almost over when Dr Bloor stood up and clapped his hands. There was instant silence. The big man walked to the front of the platfom and surveyed the lines of children below him. He was an impressive figure in his black cape, his shoulders wide, his grey hair neatly cropped and his moustache as straight as a ruler. His eyes were almost hidden beneath thick folds of flesh, and it was difficult to tell what colour they were. Now they looked black, yet Charlie knew they were grey.

      It was some moments before the headmaster spoke. The children looked up at him expectantly. At last he said, ‘A word to those of the new children who are endowed. You know who you are, so I shall not mention you by name. You will do your homework in the King’s Room. Someone will show you the way. Do you understand?’

      Charlie heard three thin voices utter the words, ‘Yes, sir.’ He couldn’t see where they came from, but they certainly didn’t belong to anyone on the music table.

      Dr Bloor suddenly shouted, ‘DISPERSE!’

      Children sprang into action like clockwork. Benches squeaked on the tiled floor, plates were collected into piles, glasses clinked, cutlery clanged, and then everyone made for the doors. As Charlie climbed up to the first floor, he was joined by Gabriel and Billy; Emma Tolly was ahead of him, and Tancred and Lysander could just be seen flying up another flight to the second floor.

      Emma waited for Charlie to catch up with her. ‘I found these on the floor of our cloakroom,’ she said, holding out three crumpled sheets of paper. ‘I heard you were looking for them.’

      ‘My lines,’ cried Charlie, grabbing the paper. ‘Thanks, Em. But how did they get in the Art cloakroom?’

      ‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Emma.

      Charlie shoved the pages into his bag. The sound of heavy footsteps behind him made him look back and he saw Dorcas Loom trudging slowly up the stairs. She was a plump girl with fair curly hair and a healthy complexion. Dorcas was a fervent admirer of Charlie’s great-aunt, Venetia, and with her endowment she could make clothes that had a deadly magic.

      ‘What are you staring at?’ she said sullenly.

      ‘A cat may look at a queen,’ replied Charlie.

      Dorcas gave a ‘Hunh!’ of disgust, and continued to plod up the stairs.

      Charlie and his friends stepped into the strange, circular King’s Room with its round table and curving, booklined walls.

      Manfred was standing on the far side of the table, staring straight at the doors. Charlie’s heart lurched, and then disappointment washed over him in a sickening wave as he saw a hunched figure sitting beside Manfred. It was Asa Pike, Manfred’s devoted slave; the boy who could become a beast at dusk. He should have left school. Why was he was still here? There were also three new children in the room. Joshua Tilpin was one of them.

      ‘Come on, come on,’ ordered Manfred impatiently. ‘Stop crowding in the door. I have an important announcement to make.’

      Charlie pulled himself together and walked round the table until he came to a place beside Tancred. From here he could see the Red King’s portrait. An old painting of a misty figure in a red cloak and a slim gold crown. Gabriel, Billy and Emma followed Charlie, while Dorcas stomped in and closed the door with her foot.

      ‘Show some respect for my father’s house!’ barked Manfred.

      Dorcas glowered, but didn’t dare to look Manfred in the eye. ‘Someone’s sitting in my place,’ she muttered.

      ‘Don’t