‘Will it?’ Charlie was doubtful. He’d never been good at music, and only played his recorder when he was forced to. ‘When will I have to start?’
‘After half-term,’ his mother told him.
‘So soon?’ Charlie was horrified. ‘In the middle of a term? Before Christmas?’
‘I’m sorry, Charlie,’ his mother said regretfully. ‘The Yewbeams think it would be best. They say there’s not a moment to be lost, now that you . . . now that they are certain.’
‘Poor mite,’ Maisie muttered.
It had begun to rain again and Maisie pulled on a bright pink mack. Charlie’s mother took an umbrella from the hallstand. She didn’t like wearing a mackintosh.
‘We won’t be long at the shops,’ she told Charlie. ‘Do you want me to take that photograph back?’
Charlie had almost forgotten Benjamin’s birthday card. For some reason he was reluctant to lose the photo just yet.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But could you buy a birthday card for Benjamin? I don’t think I’ll be using Runner Bean after all.’
When Maisie and his mother had gone, Charlie ran upstairs to fetch the orange envelope. He had just opened it and pulled out the photo when the doorbell rang. No one answered it. Grandma Bone was out, apparently, and Uncle Paton wouldn’t even answer the telephone during the day.
Still holding the photograph, Charlie went down to open the door.
A very strange man stood on the step. Stranger still were the three cats, winding themselves round his legs.
‘Onimous and Flames,’ said the man. ‘Pest control.’ He produced a card from the inside pocket of a furry-looking coat.
‘Ominous?’ said Charlie.
‘Not at all,’ said the man. ‘Onimous. Quite different. Orvil. Orvil Onimous.’ He gave Charlie a big smile, revealing sharp, bright teeth. ‘I believe you have a problem here. Mice?’ He gave a funny sort of leap and landed beside Charlie.
‘I don’t know,’ said Charlie. He’d been told never to let a stranger into the house. But this one was in already. ‘Did someone send for you?’
‘Something did. I can’t tell you what it was, just yet. You might not believe me.’
‘Really?’ Charlie was intrigued.
The cats had followed Mr Onimous and were now prowling round the hall. They were most unusual-looking cats. The first was a deep copper colour, the second a bright orange, and the third a fierce yellow. The copper cat seemed to know Charlie. It stood on its hind legs and rattled the kitchen doorknob.
‘Have patience, Aries,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘Will you never learn?’
Aries had managed to turn the knob. The kitchen door swung open and he ran inside, followed by the other two cats.
‘Sorry about this,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘He’s an impetuous fellow, is Aries. Leo’s a bit pushy too, but Sagittarius has lovely manners. Excuse me, I’d better keep an eye on them.’
Before Charlie had time to turn round, Mr Onimous had slipped past him and hopped into the kitchen, calling, ‘Flames, don’t let me down. Do it nicely.’
All three cats were now pacing before the larder. Charlie remembered the rotting fruit, and before the cats could break through another door, he opened it and let them in.
A fierce pouncing, leaping and screaming began. The larder was apparently full of mice. Not for long. The cats despatched one mouse after another, depositing their bodies in a neat line along the wall.
Charlie backed away. He hadn’t known there were any mice at all in the larder. Why hadn’t Maisie or his mother noticed? Perhaps they had all arrived this morning, drawn by the smell of old fruit. Charlie was rather fond of mice and wished he didn’t have to watch the row of little grey bodies grow longer and longer.
When the line was fifteen mice long, the cats appeared to have finished the job. They sat down and vigorously washed their immaculate fur.
‘How about a cup of coffee?’ said Mr Onimous. ‘I feel quite exhausted.’
As far as Charlie could tell, Mr Onimous had hardly lifted a finger, let alone done anything exhausting. The cats had done all the work. But Mr Onimous was now sitting at the kitchen table, looking eagerly at the coffee tin, and Charlie didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. He was still holding the photograph, so he put it down and went to fill the kettle.
‘Ah,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘Here we have it. This explains everything.’
‘What does?’ Charlie looked at the photograph which Mr Onimous was now holding up to the light.
Mr Onimous pointed to the cat at the bottom of the photograph. ‘That’s Aries,’ he said. It was quite a few years ago, but he doesn’t forget. He knew you’d spotted him. That’s why he led me here.’
‘Pardon?’ Charlie felt weak. He sat down. ‘Are you saying that Aries,’ he pointed at the copper-coloured cat, ‘Aries knew I’d seen his photo?’
‘It wasn’t quite like that.’ Mr Onimous scratched his furry-looking head. His pointed nails were in need of a good cut, Charlie noticed. Maisie would never have let anyone get away with nails as long as that.
The kettle boiled and Charlie made Mr Onimous his coffee. ‘What was it like, then?’ he asked, putting the cup before his visitor.
‘Three sugars, please,’ said Mr Onimous.
Charlie impatiently tossed three spoonfuls of sugar into the coffee.
Mr Onimous beamed. He took a sip, beamed again and then, leaning close to Charlie, he said, ‘He knew you were connected, Aries did. And so you are; you have the photograph. These cats aren’t ordinary. They know things. They chose me because I’ve got a special way with animals. They lead me here and there, trying to undo mischief, and I just follow, helping where I can. This case,’ his finger came down on the man holding the baby, ‘this is one of the worst. Aries has always been very angry about it. Time and again he’s tried to put it right, but we needed you, Charlie.’
‘Me?’ said Charlie.
‘You’re one of the endowed, aren’t you?’ Mr Onimous spoke softly, as if it were a secret, not to be spoken out loud.
‘They say so,’ said Charlie. He couldn’t help but look at the photograph, with Mr Onimous’ finger stuck so accusingly on the man’s face. And as soon as he looked, he began to hear the baby crying.
Aries ran over to him and, placing his paws on Charlie’s knees, let forth an ear-splitting yowl. His cry was immediately taken up by orange Leo and yellow Sagittarius. The noise was so painful, Charlie had to press his hands over his ears.
‘Hush!’ commanded Mr Onimous. ‘The boy’s thinking.’
When the yowling had died down, Mr Onimous said, ‘You see. You are connected, Charlie. Now tell me all about it.’
Although decidedly odd, Mr Onimous looked kind and trustworthy, and Charlie was badly in need of help. He told Mr Onimous about the mix-up with the photographs, the voices, the horrible Yewbeam aunts and their assessment, and their decision to send him to Bloor’s Academy. ‘And I really don’t want to go there,’ finished Charlie. ‘I think I’d almost rather die.’
‘But, Charlie boy, that’s where she is,’ said Mr Onimous, ‘the lost baby. At least, that’s what the cats seem to think. And they’re never wrong.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, cats, we’ve got to go.’
‘You mean the baby in the photograph was lost?’ said Charlie. ‘How can you lose a baby?’
‘It’s