Free Charlie Bone and The Blue Boa (Children Of The Red King, Book 3) by Jenny Nimmo Page A

around the room, and canvases were stacked three or four deep against the walls. Rembrandt's cage was in a corner beside the paint cabinet.
    There was no one in the art room except Emma. She was painting a large white bird flying through a forest. She left the picture to show the boys where Mr. Boldova had kept Rembrandt's food, at the bottom of the paint cabinet.
    When the black rat had been made comfortable with fresh water and plenty of grain, Emma secured the cage door.
    "I can't stop thinking about Mr. B," she said. "We all miss him in art. He seemed to be, you know, always on our side."
    Without any warning, tears began to gush down Billy's cheeks. "I know, I know," he sobbed. "I saw"
    "What did you see?" said Charlie.
    Billy ran his sleeve across his face and, in a frightened, choking voice, recounted the terrible events of his eighth birthday: Blessed's tail, the ancient woman who'd emerged from Belle's body the flying coals, and the sudden and dreadful stillness that had fallen over the art teacher.
    "He didn't want Rembrandt," sobbed Billy "He seemed to have forgotten everything — even who he was."
    "Hypnotized," Charlie murmured.
    The others stared at him in horror, and Emma said, "There isn't much that Belle can't do, is there? How are we going to help Ollie now?"
    "Do you know where he is?" asked Billy
    Charlie couldn't decide whether to tell him. He was sorry for the small albino, but he had been Manfred's spy It would be better not to give him too much information until they were quite sure he could be trusted. The others had obviously come to the same conclusion.
    "No, we don't know where he is," said Gabriel. "I think we'd better get back to our dormitories now, or Matron will be on the warpath."
    Billy begged to be given a few more minutes with Rembrandt, and the other three left him crouching beside the cage, squeaking softly at the black rat.
    Billy stayed talking to Rembrandt much longer than he had intended. When he finally slipped out of the art room, Matron had already called lights out.
    He tore along the passage, clamping his spectacles to his nose and tripping over his own feet.
    "Where've you been, Billy Raven?" Manfred stepped out of a doorway blocking his path.
    Billy was too scared to lie, but he decided to tell a half-truth. "I've . . . I've been feeding Mr. Boldova's rat," he said. "I found him in the passage."
    "I don't think that's true, Billy" Manfred said coldly
    "It is, it is," said Billy desperately
    "I think you saw something, Billy I think you rescued that black rat when our dear departed art teacher had a little accident."
    "No, no!"
    Manfred glowered down at Billy "What did you see?"
    "I didn't see anything," mumbled Billy looking away from Manfred's dreadful black eyes.
    "Liar. You saw what happened to Mr. Boldova and you told Charlie Bone, didn't you?"
    Billy had a nasty feeling that if he told the truth it would get Charlie into trouble. "No," he said defiantly "I didn't see anything, and I didn't tell Charlie anything."
    Manfred gave a sigh of irritation. "You probably think I'm leaving Bloor's at the end of this semester, don't you?"
    Billy hadn't thought about it. He shook his head.
    “All the seniors will be leaving. It's the summer semester. We have exams to take. That's why I'm rather busy at the moment. But I won't be leaving. I'll be here, with time on my hands to keep an eye on you."
    "I see," said Billy in a small voice.
    "So, you'd better remember who you're working for, Billy Or you'll never get the nice, kind parents that you want."

CHAPTER 6
    THE STARLING
    Billy sat on the end of his bed. Everyone else in the dormitory seemed to be asleep, but Billy had never felt more awake. Before his horrible encounter with Manfred, he'd had the most amazing conversation with Rembrandt.
    The black rat had talked of a house full of sparkling light and laughter. A house of books and music and pictures, where once a family had been happy. There had been a boy called Oliver, a