Charlie Bone and the Wilderness Wolf. Jenny Nimmo

the door with Emma a few paces behind him.

      Silence fell. Everyone bent their head towards their books. Homework began.

      Charlie stared at the pages of his history book without seeing them. His mind roamed elsewhere. He was trying to imagine what it would be like to have a stepmother like Great Aunt Venetia: poisoner, bewitcher, murderer. He could hardly wait to see Uncle Paton. One more night to go, he thought, and then he’d be free of Dagbert Endless. He would be sitting at home, eating one of Maisie’s delicious suppers.

      It was not to be.

      On Thursday night, only five minutes after lights out, Dagbert decided to tell a bedtime story.

      ‘It’s against the rules to talk after lights out.’ Charlie’s whispered warning made no impression on Dagbert, so he raised his whisper another notch. ‘You’ll get detention.’

      ‘Who says?’ asked Dagbert.

      ‘Let him tell the story,’ said Bragger, keen to keep on the right side of Dagbert.

      ‘Yes, let him,’ squeaked Rupe. ‘You’re a spoilsport, Charlie Bone.’

      Fidelio muttered, ‘You won’t be seeing your fish shop on Friday night, Bertie boy.’

      ‘Want to bet?’ sneered Dagbert. ‘And don’t call me Bertie.’

      Fidelio turned over and punched his pillow into shape.

      In a loud voice Dagbert continued his story. It was boring and badly told. It certainly wasn’t funny, even though Bragger and Rupe kept giggling. Stories about mermaids always made Charlie yawn. He yawned and closed his eyes.

      Two seconds later the door opened and Matron marched into the room. She turned on the light. Charlie opened his eyes and blinked.

      ‘Who was talking?’ Matron demanded.

      ‘I was,’ Dagbert said cheerfully. ‘I was telling a story.’

      ‘You’re breaking the rules,’ said Matron.

      ‘Am I?’ Dagbert sounded incredulous. ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.’

      Matron gave a sigh of annoyance. ‘Charlie, you’re responsible for the new boy. You’re supposed to tell him the rules.’

      ‘Yes, well, I –’ Charlie began.

      ‘Detention for you,’ snapped his great-aunt. ‘You won’t be going home until Saturday.’

      ‘But I did tell him,’ Charlie protested.

      Matron switched off the light and marched out, slamming the door behind her.

      The silence that followed was broken by a snort from Bragger and a snigger from Rupe.

      Charlie lay on his back staring into the darkness. He told himself that he didn’t care. What was one more day after all? He lay awake long past midnight and then, just as he was drifting into sleep, a sound came stealing through the night. A far, far distant howl.

      There was a rustle of bedclothes and Charlie saw the rounded shape of Billy Raven’s white head. He was sitting up – listening. He knows what the howl means, thought Charlie, and soon he’ll tell me.

      The last thing Charlie expected was an apology, but at breakfast next morning, he got one.

      ‘Sorry about last night,’ said Dagbert, swallowing a spoonful of cornflakes. ‘I couldn’t afford to get detention. The people I live with won’t understand if I don’t turn up tonight.’

      ‘You didn’t have to talk after lights out, though, did you?’ said Fidelio. ‘Charlie warned you.’

      Dagbert frowned. ‘It’s hard to keep stories to yourself,’ he murmured.

      Charlie almost felt sorry for him. ‘Well, you won’t get away with it a second time. Matron’s told you now, so you’ll have to keep your stories bottled up.’

      ‘Yes, I will,’ Dagbert said pensively. ‘Imagine. Stories in a bottle.’

      Not for the first time Charlie wondered what was going on in Dagbert’s head.

      Charlie spent the rest of the day in a state of suspense. All he wanted was to hear what Billy had to tell him. What did it matter if he had to spend another night in school?

      At four o’clock Weedon unlocked the main doors and children piled out of the Academy. From their dormitory, Charlie and Billy could hear the shouts that began immediately pupils were released from the gloomy hall. Charlie peered out of the window overlooking the courtyard. He saw Dagbert Endless following the crowd. He was the only one who didn’t look happy. His expression was solemn, almost apprehensive. He was the last to leave the courtyard.

      Charlie turned from the window. ‘They’re all gone, Billy.’

      Billy was sitting on his bed with his knees drawn up to his chin.

      ‘Before we talk about Dagbert I want to know what you heard last night,’ said Charlie.

      ‘A howl,’ Billy replied.

      ‘I heard it too. You know what it meant, don’t you?’

      Billy nodded. He hunched his shoulders and hugged himself. ‘It was a call for help. It was frightened and lonely.’

      Charlie looked into Billy’s wine-dark eyes, magnified by the round lenses of his glasses. ‘Do you know where the voice – the howl – came from?’

      ‘Not exactly. It’s far, far away, maybe underground. It says it’s trapped.’

      ‘Trapped?’ said Charlie. ‘Who trapped it, I wonder.’

      Billy shrugged. ‘Charlie, I want to tell you about Dagbert,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying all week, but he’s always there, right behind you. He calls me a freak.’

      ‘And Gabriel a loser, and he told Olivia and Emma they looked a mess. An absolute lie.’

      Billy leaned forward. ‘Cook knew Dagbert’s father. He drowned her parents, swept away her home and murdered her fiancé. All because she wouldn’t marry him.’

      ‘Wait a minute!’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘I remember. Cook told me. His name is Grimwald.’

      ‘Lord Grimwald,’ said Billy. ‘Blessed says he smells of rust and seaweed and shipwrecks and drownings. And there’s a cold pearl in his heart, trapped like sand in an oyster shell. Cook’s going to leave. She’s frightened.’

      Charlie slid to the floor. ‘Cook, leave? She can’t. She keeps the balance here. She’s the lodestone of the house. Why should she leave? No one knows who she really is.’

      ‘Dagbert might find out,’ Billy said gravely.

      Charlie resolved to change Cook’s mind. He would see her at supper and convince her that she must stay. Otherwise, who would care for Billy during the long school holidays? He had no home, no parents, no one else in the world to turn to. The Bloors kept promising him that he would be adopted but it had never happened, unless you counted the de Greys, who had treated Billy like a servant and kept him locked up.

      Children in detention could usually expect a cold supper in the canteen. But when Billy and Charlie went downstairs at six o’clock, the blue canteen was deserted. Chairs had been piled on to tables and a blue check cloth covered the counter.

      Charlie opened the door into the kitchen and looked around. There wasn’t a soul in sight. The heavy saucepans were all hanging in place, the ovens were closed and cold, and there wasn’t even a whisper of steam.

      ‘What are you doing?’ said a voice.

      Charlie swung round. He came face to face with Weedon’s wife. Mrs Weedon was a wide, grim-faced, goggle-eyed person who was usually in charge