Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock. Jenny Nimmo

a low, mournful howl. And then, before Benjamin’s very eyes, the yellow dog became a smaller, paler version of himself.

      ‘Runner?’ Benjamin leapt towards his dog. He touched the tip of Runner Bean’s tail, which was standing out, as stiff as a broom, but in less than a second the tail had melted away and with it the whole of Benjamin’s beloved dog.

      Benjamin shrieked, ‘RUNNER!’ just as the front door slammed.

      ‘Oh, my giddy aunt!’ Maisie clapped a hand over her mouth.

      She was roughly pushed aside by Grandma Bone, who had suddenly appeared beside her.

      ‘What on earth is going on?’ demanded Grandma Bone.

      Benjamin stared up at the two woman. Maisie was shaking her head, her eyes were very wide and her eyebrows were working furiously up and down. She seemed to be warning him. Distraught as he was, Benjamin began to think, fast. It was always understood by Charlie and himself that Grandma Bone must know absolutely nothing about what went on, especially if it had anything at all to do with Charlie’s travelling.

      Grandma Bone had caught sight of Maisie’s eyebrow-wriggling. ‘What’s the matter with you, woman?’ she snarled.

      ‘Surprise,’ said Maisie. ‘So surprised. Thought we heard a rat, didn’t we, Benjamin?’

      Benjamin nodded vehemently.

      ‘I thought I heard a bark.’ Grandma Bone glared suspiciously at Benjamin. ‘Where’s your dog?’

      ‘He . . . he didn’t come with me today,’ said Benjamin, almost choking with distress. Could Grandma Bone see the unwrapped painting from where she stood? He didn’t think so.

      ‘Unusual. Not to bring your dog. Thought it was your shadow?’ The tall woman turned on her heel and walked away, adding, ‘I’d come out of that cellar if I were you. It’s more than likely the rats’ll get you. Where’s Charlie, by the way?’

      ‘Gone to the bookshop,’ Maisie said quickly. ‘And that’s just where Benjamin’s going, isn’t it, Ben?’

      ‘Er – yes.’

      Benjamin dragged himself regretfully up the cellar steps. He felt that he was betraying Runner Bean, leaving him trapped inside the awful painting. But what else could he do? Charlie’s Uncle Paton would provide an answer. He usually knew what to do when things went wrong.

      Maisie saw Benjamin to the door. ‘Take care, dear,’ she said. ‘I don’t like to think of you alone in the city, without your dog.’

      ‘I am eleven,’ Benjamin reminded her. ‘See you later, Mrs Jones.’

      ‘I hope so, dear.’ Maisie closed the door.

      Benjamin had taken only a few steps up the road when he became acutely aware that part of him was missing. The dog part. He’d been without Runner Bean before, when his parents took him to Hong Kong. But this was different. This was in a city where almost nothing was ordinary. Without warning, people could suddenly disappear, street lights could explode, snow could fall in summer.

      Ingledew’s Bookshop wasn’t far from Filbert Street, but today it felt as though there was a huge chasm between Benjamin and safety. He was halfway down the High Street when he saw two children on the other side of the road. Joshua Tilpin, a small, untidy, sullen-looking boy, shambled beside his taller companion, a boy with a pale greenish complexion and an odd lurching walk. Dagbert-the-Drowner.

      Pretending he hadn’t seen them, Benjamin walked nonchalantly on, but from the corner of his eye, he saw Dagbert nudge Joshua and point across the road.

      Benjamin lost his nerve. Instead of continuing up the road, he darted into a side street. For a few minutes he stood in the shadows, watching the two boys. He was being silly, he told himself. Why should he be afraid of two boys from Charlie’s school? He hardly knew them. All the same, they gave him the creeps. Joshua had a reputation for making people do things against their will; not hypnotism, exactly; they called it magnetism. As for Dagbert, he drowned people. Recently, he’d tried to drown Charlie in the river.

      Glancing up the street behind him, Benjamin was relieved to find that he knew where he was. He began to run.

      ‘What’s up, Benjamin Brown?’ called a voice. ‘Lost your dog?’

      Benjamin didn’t look back. Joshua and Dagbert must have raced across the road and followed him.

      ‘You’re not frightened of us, little Ben, are you?’ Dagbert shouted. ‘Where’s Charlie?’

      Almost falling over his own feet, Benjamin bounded into a cobbled square. In the centre of the square stood an old detached house. It was surrounded by a low wall and a weedy garden. Nailed to the gate was a weathered board that read, ‘Gunn House’. The rest of the board was filled with music notes: crochets, quavers, minims and semibreves, though one hardly needed the musical notation to know that a family of musicians lived here. The noise coming from within the house made it obvious. The walls shook with the sound of drums, violins, flutes, cellos and singing voices.

      Benjamin pressed the doorbell and a deep recorded voice announced, ‘DOOR! DOOR! DOOR!’

      The Gunns’ door-voice always unnerved Benjamin, but then a tinkling bell would have been drowned by the music, and visitors would have waited on the step in vain.

      The door was opened by Fidelio Gunn, a violin in one hand and a bow in the other. ‘Hi, Ben, where’s Charlie?’ said the freckle-faced boy.

      ‘Oi!’ came a shout behind Benjamin.

      ‘Charlie’s – er –. Can I come in, PLEASE?’ asked Benjamin.

      Catching sight of Benjamin’s pursuers, Fidelio said, ‘You’d better.’

      Benjamin leapt into Gunn House and Fidelio slammed the door.

      ‘What’s going on, Ben?’ Fidelio led the way into a chaotic kitchen. A grey cat was eating the remains of a breakfast that still hadn’t been cleared from the table, and a woman in a long colourful skirt was singing at the sink. A small freckle-faced girl tuned her violin beside her.

      ‘Pianissimo, please, Mum!’ Fidelio shouted. ‘Mimi, take your violin somewhere else.’

      Mrs Gunn looked over her shoulder. ‘Benjamin Brown,’ she sang. ‘What a surprise! Can’t believe my eyes! Where’s the dog of impressive size?’

      ‘Where’s Charlie Bone?’ asked Mimi, plucking a string.

      ‘Look, Benjamin is a person in his own right,’ said Fidelio. ‘He doesn’t have to have an appendage.’

      ‘A what?’ said Mimi, plucking another string.

      ‘An attachment,’ replied her brother. ‘Benjamin’s dog is not permanently attached to him, nor is Charlie. Sit down, Ben.’

      Benjamin pulled out a chair and sat down. Feeling hungry, he picked up a piece of dry toast and took a bite out of it.

      ‘Pudding has just licked that,’ Mimi informed him.

      Benjamin eyed the grey cat and sadly replaced the toast.

      Fidelio took a chair beside him and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. Mimi stopped plucking at her violin and perched on the other side of the table. Mrs Gunn hummed softly while she scraped at something in the sink.

      ‘What’s happened, Ben?’ asked Fidelio. ‘It’s not just those morons outside, is it?’

      ‘No.’ Benjamin looked at Mimi.

      ‘Mimi always knows what’s going on,’ said Fidelio. ‘You can’t keep secrets from her, but she can keep a secret, can’t you, Mims?’

      My lips are already sealed.’ Mimi gave Benjamin a big, sealed smile.