Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock. Jenny Nimmo

giant opened a small door in the wall and brought out a black rat-like creature with an extremely long, hairless tail. ‘Only one,’ Otus sighed. ‘But it will suffice.’

      Charlie’s stomach lurched. ‘If that’s a squirra, what’s a blancavamp?’

      Otus chuckled. ‘They are what we, in our world, know as bats, but blancavamps are white as snow. The people of Badlock believe them to be ghosts. But I am not afeared of them.’

      ‘Nor me.’ Charlie darted a quick look in the giant’s direction. Otus was already skinning the squirra and, hoping it was something he would never need to do, Charlie looked quickly away. ‘Have you ever tried to get home again?’ he asked the giant.

      Otus gave a rueful smile. ‘My wife’s brother, Tolemeo, tried a second time to rescue me, but Oddthumb and his ruffians caught us. Tolemeo was lucky to escape with his life. And, knowing my wife had perished, I cared less and less how and where my life should end.’

      Charlie recalled the fleeting image of a beautiful woman smiling out from a mirrored wall, and a near-impossible plan began to take shape in his mind.

      ‘Badlock is a country no one from our world can find,’ the giant continued. ‘No one but clever Tolemeo. It is an awful place. There is the eternal wind, and then, in winter, there is a deluge. Water fills the land between the mountains, a fathom deep.’

      ‘It is a boat, then.’ Charlie nodded at the wooden boat-shape hanging on the wall.

      ‘Indeed, a boat. There is no other place to live but in a tower.’

      ‘And where does the Enchanter live?’

      ‘In a dark fortress, a scar on the mountain. I’ll show you.’ Dropping the meat into an iron pot, Otus wiped his hands on a rag tucked into his belt and, before Charlie could protest, lifted him up to the high window.

      Night was falling fast, but the mountains were sharply outlined against a ribbon of pale green sky. Close to the top of the tallest mountain, flickering red lights could be seen and, behind them, a black shape capped with steep turrets.

      ‘He is seldom there,’ said the giant, ‘but the fires burn constantly to remind his subjects that he is watching them.’

      Charlie shuddered. It had only just occurred to him that he might be trapped in this hostile world forever. He was about to be lowered to the ground when he shouted, ‘Stop. I see something.’

      A few feet away from the base of the giant’s tower stood a large yellow dog. It was staring up at the window. When the dog caught Charlie’s eye, it began to bark.

      ‘Runner Bean!’ cried Charlie.

      How had his best friend’s dog followed him into a painting? It couldn’t happen.

      But it had.

      The melting dog

      A few minutes after Charlie had travelled into Badlock, his best friend, Benjamin Brown, a small, tow-haired, anxious-looking boy, left his house at number twelve, Filbert Street, and crossed the road to number nine. His dog, Runner Bean, trotted behind him.

      When Benjamin rang the bell at number nine, the door was immediately opened by Charlie’s grandmother, Maisie.

      ‘Benjamin, love,’ cried Maisie, drawing him into the hall. ‘I hope you can do something. Charlie’s gone.’

      ‘Gone, Mrs Jones? Gone where?’ Benjamin dutifully wiped his shoes on the doormat.

      ‘If I knew that I wouldn’t be standing here asking you to do something, would I?’ Maisie closed her eyes and scratched the back of her neck. ‘Whatever am I going to tell his parents?’

      ‘I don’t expect you’ll have to tell them anything,’ said Benjamin. ‘Perhaps my mum and dad can help, being detectives.’

      Benjamin instantly regretted saying this. His parents were working on a very important case. They had just left the house, Mrs Brown disguised as a man, and Mr Brown disguised as a woman. Benjamin didn’t much like it when his parents dressed like this; they hadn’t even explained the circumstances that demanded the fake moustache (for Mrs Brown) and the blonde wig (for Mr Brown), they had just told Benjamin to go over to Charlie’s house, where Maisie would give him lunch.

      ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think my parents can help,’ Benjamin apologised.

      ‘I’m pretty sure they can’t.’ Maisie turned away and led Benjamin down a dim passage. ‘This is one of those disappearances that normal people couldn’t hope to solve.’

      ‘But I’m normal,’ Benjamin reminded her.

      Maisie sighed. ‘Well, I know. But you’re a friend, and you could get one of the others: the endowed ones – or whatever they call themselves.’

      ‘Children of the Red King,’ Benjamin said quietly.

      They had reached the cellar door, which stood wide open. Maisie beckoned to Benjamin and pointed into the cellar. Benjamin looked down into the murky underground room. Maisie nodded encouragingly. Benjamin didn’t like cellars, nor did Runner Bean. The big dog began to whine.

      ‘Do I have to?’ Benjamin asked.

      ‘It’s down there,’ said Maisie in a hushed voice.

      ‘What is?’

      ‘The painting, dear.’

      Benjamin uttered a very slow ‘Ooooh’ as he realised that Charlie must be travelling. ‘He hasn’t really disappeared then.’

      ‘This time he has,’ said Maisie solemnly.

      Benjamin stared into the cellar. He descended three, four steps until he could see the whole room. A dim light, hanging from the ceiling, showed him a disused cupboard, broken chairs, curtain poles, piles of newspapers and magazines and large black plastic bags filled with bulging objects. And then he saw the painting. It was standing against one of the walls, beside an old rolled-up mattress.

      A small shadow flickered over it, and Benjamin saw that a white moth was hovering round the light bulb. All at once, the moth swung away and vanished. Benjamin went to the bottom of the steps and walked over to the painting. Runner Bean scrabbled down after him. He was panting very heavily and occasionally emitted a nervous whine.

      The painting gave Benjamin the shivers. He was, as Maisie had admitted, a normal boy, so he experienced none of the insistent tugs that Charlie had felt, nor did he feel or hear the moaning Badlock winds. He did, however, get the impression that the almost photographic reality of the painting showed a place that had not been imagined but copied faithfully. It existed. Or did, once. With its dark towers, sunless sky and looming mountains it was certainly a hostile, sinister country.

      There was a green scrawl in the bottom right-hand corner of the painting. ‘Badlock.’ If Badlock really was a place, it was not somewhere that Benjamin would have wanted to visit. So why did Charlie ‘go in’? It was deserted and, as far as Benjamin could remember, Charlie had always needed first to hear a voice, and then to focus on a face, before he entered a picture. And in all the time Benjamin had known about his friend’s endowment, Charlie had never actually disappeared. His physical presence had always remained in the present, while his mind roamed the world behind the pictures.

      ‘What d’you think’s going on, Ben?’ asked Maisie from the top of the steps.

      Benjamin shook his head. ‘Don’t know, Mrs Jones. Where’s Charlie’s uncle?’

      ‘Paton? Bookshop,’ said Maisie. ‘Where else?’

      ‘Think I’ll go