Tancred followed her while Paton locked and bolted the door again. Miss Ingledew led the way round the shop counter, where three candles in bronze saucers burned with a sudden brightness as the visitors stirred the air.
Behind the counter, a thick velvet curtain hid Miss Ingledew’s cosy sitting room. Here, a log fire burned in the grate, and shelves of books lined the walls right up to the ceiling. Tancred was surprised to see Miss Ingledew’s niece, Emma, kneeling before the fire. She had her back to him, while she brushed her pale gold hair over her head. Tancred gave a polite cough and said, ‘Em?’
The girl tossed back her long hair and stared at Tancred, her cheeks reddening.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’ve . . . erm . . . got a cold, or a sore throat that might soon be a cold. So I didn’t go back to school.’
‘Me neither.’ Tancred grinned.
‘Well, you can’t go back, can you?’ Emma wrapped a hank of hair around her hand. ‘I mean you can’t ever, now they think you’re dead.’
Paton and Miss Ingledew had disappeared through the door into the kitchen, and the clink of crockery could be heard above the low murmur of their voices.
Tancred eased himself on to the sofa behind Emma. ‘I suppose I could turn up and give everyone a fright,’ he said.
‘Not a good idea.’ Emma came to sit beside him, and he noticed that her hair was still damp. It was very fine, silky hair and he had a sudden urge to touch it. This thought made him blush for some reason, and he stared into the flames, not quite knowing how to continue the conversation.
Miss Ingledew saved him the trouble by carrying a tray of tea into the room. She set it down on her desk, every other available surface having been taken over by books and candlesticks.
‘I’ve told Julia about the things you saw tonight.’ Paton handed Tancred a mug of tea.
‘Thanks, Mr Yewbeam!’ Tancred clutched the warm mug. ‘But you saw them too,’ he added anxiously. ‘You know I didn’t imagine it.’
‘What did you see?’ Emma demanded as she reached for her tea. ‘What’s been going on?’ She turned to Tancred. ‘And, come to that, why are you here, in the middle of the night?’
Tancred explained that he had come to warn the Onimouses that Norton Cross, their doorman, could no longer be trusted. He went on to describe the extraordinary events that had followed: the foreign swordsman who seemed to have stepped from the past, the sword that fought on its own and the mounted knight in his scarlet cloak. ‘If the knight hadn’t turned up, I’d have been done for,’ Tancred finished dramatically.
Emma’s grey eyes widened. ‘Oh, Tancred!’
Tancred glanced at her anxious face and smiled. ‘Funny thing is, I recognised the swordsman. I’m sure I’ve seen him in the school – in a painting, that is.’
‘You have.’ Paton lowered himself into an armchair by the fire. ‘I saw him once, and have never forgotten it. He is one of Mrs Tilpin’s forbears. I imagine it was she who brought the man into our world.’
‘With the help of a mirror that does not belong to her, no doubt,’ Miss Ingledew remarked crisply.
‘Charlie’s mirror?’ said Emma.
‘Indeed.’ Paton’s dark eyes glinted. ‘The Mirror of Amoret.’
‘But who is this mysterious swordsman?’ begged Emma.
‘Ashkelan Kapaldi,’ Paton told her. ‘A swordsman of renown, and a magician of sorts. Though, as far as I can tell, it was only his sword that he could bend to his will, and set to killing, all on its own. He was active during the English civil war. How do I know this?’ He waved a hand at a bookcase in the corner. It contained ancient, dusty books bound in peeling leather, their yellowed leaves covered in mysterious, faded writing. Tancred had taken a look at one of them, and understood hardly a word.
‘He seemed to recognise me,’ Tancred said thoughtfully, ‘that swordsman. I felt that he knew I was endowed.’
‘It’s something we have in common,’ Paton remarked. ‘I can often recognise one of the Red King’s descendants. Most of us have a way of knowing each other. Isn’t it the same for you, Tancred?’
Tancred wasn’t sure. He certainly wouldn’t have known that pretty Miss Chrystal, the former music teacher, was, in fact, a witch of the very darkest nature. He slowly shook his head. ‘I didn’t know Mrs Tilpin.’
‘No,’ Paton agreed. ‘She was a tricky one.’
Emma slipped off the sofa and knelt in front of the fire again, flicking out strands of her damp hair. ‘Why has it all got so ominous?’ She looked at Paton, as though he must hold the answer.
Paton was in no hurry to reply. He sipped his tea and then stared into his mug, apparently having forgotten Emma’s question. He hadn’t forgotten, however. ‘Convergence,’ he said at last. ‘Two things have occurred in these last few months. Charlie’s father has reappeared and Titania Tilpin has become the witch she was destined to be. I believe she is the conduit – the channel, if you like – between the present and the distant past; the world of her ancestor, Count Harken of Badlock. And it is Titania who is drawing Harken’s minions back into our city. Some of them are present-day villains, descendants of Harken, others are, for now, mere shadows; whispers, rustlings, echoes. But if Titania and Harken have their way, these shadowy phantoms will soon take on form and substance and then our lives, if we manage to hold on to them, will be changed forever.’
Paton’s dreadful prophecy shocked everyone into a long silence. Eventually Emma, scrambling on to the sofa again, said shakily, ‘Billy Raven is there, in Harken’s world, so Charlie says.’
‘I’m sure it’s true,’ Paton said. ‘And I’m equally sure that Charlie will try to rescue him.’
‘And what about Charlie’s father?’ asked Tancred.
‘Ah, Lyell.’ Paton’s frown lifted and he actually managed to smile. ‘My recent travels have borne fruit. It’s quite incredible what you can turn up these days.’
Tancred and Emma stared at Paton, uncomprehending.
On the other side of the fireplace, Miss Ingledew pulled herself from the depths of a battered armchair, and gave a light, ringing laugh. ‘Paton,’ she cried, ‘they haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’
Paton cleared his throat. ‘I’ll explain,’ he said. And he told them of his search for a certain pearl-inlaid box that Billy Raven’s father, Rufus, had entrusted to Lyell Bone. Soon after this, Rufus and his wife were both dead, victims of a supposed traffic accident, and Lyell began ten long years of spellbound forgetfulness, a trance-like state brought about by Manfred Bloor’s dreadful hypnotic power.
Paton’s deep voice shook with emotion when he spoke of Lyell and Rufus, but his tone became firmer when he described his growing suspicion that Billy Raven was closely connected to these vile crimes. Why, for instance, did Ezekiel Bloor keep the orphan Billy almost a prisoner in the school? And then allow him to be dragged into the past by the enchanter of Badlock?
‘I don’t have an answer either,’ said Paton, looking at the bemused expressions around him.
‘So how d’you know about the box?’ Tancred ventured.
‘Ah, the box. I was coming to that.’ Paton stood up and began to pace the room. ‘My suspicions led me to search for any of Billy’s remaining relatives. I discovered the aunt who cared for him after his parents’ deaths, but she would tell me nothing. It was only by chance that she mentioned a certain Timothy Raven, Billy’s great-uncle. I could see that she instantly regretted it, and she wouldn’t tell