Read Charlie Bone and the Time Twister (Children of the Red King, Book 2) for Free Online Page A

voice, Charlie began to tell his friend about the sudden appearance of Henry the boy with the Time Twister, who vanished nearly a hundred years ago. However, as soon as he mentioned the voices in the photograph, Fidelio clutched his arm.
    "Hold on," he said. " D'you mean you can hear what's going on in photos?"
    Charlie nodded. He had never told Fidelio about his peculiar talent. "I don't like people to know" he muttered.
    "I don't think I would, either," said Fidelio. "Don't worry I won't tell a soul. Go on about Henry Where is he now?"
    "I took him up to the top of the music tower. I couldn't think of anywhere else."
    "What about Mr. Pilgrim?"
    "He won't even notice Henry and if he does . . ." Charlie hesitated. "I don't think he'll harm him."
    "Hmm. I wonder! You can't tell with Mr. Pilgrim," murmured Fidelio. "So, what are you going to do with this long-lost great-great-uncle?"
    "1 thought I'd try and smuggle him home at the weekend. But first I've got to get some food to him."
    "Lunch break would be best," said Fidelio. "He can have my meat — if it's not mince; and you can sneak up to the tower, while I . . ." He broke off suddenly as a face appeared at the top of the tree painting.
    "What are you doing?" asked Emma Tolly.
    Charlie was tempted to tell her; she was, after all, a friend, as well as endowed, but something held him back. "We're just talking," he said. "Can't get any peace in the dorm."
    "I know," Emma sighed. "I came to finish a drawing."
    "We were just going," said Fidelio.
    The two boys wriggled out from behind the painting.
    Just as they were leaving the art room, Charlie caught sight of a large sketch book, lying open on a table. He stared at it, and moved closer.
    "It's mine," said Emma. "Just sketches, nothing special."
    But they were special. Both pages of the open book were covered with pictures of birds: birds in flight; swooping, hovering, soaring, and diving. They were so real Charlie felt that if he touched them he would feel real feathers.
    "They're brilliant," he murmured.
    "Brilliant," Fidelio repeated.
    "Thank you!" Emma gave one of her shy smiles.
    All at once, the door behind them opened, and a voice said, "What's going on in here?"
    Mr. Boldova appeared. You could tell he was an art-teacher, because his clothes were covered in splashes of paint. Even his green cape, which he often forgot to wear, had little flecks of color on the sleeves. Mr. Boldova always looked as if he had just been on vacation. He had bright hazel eyes, a very healthy complexion, and long brown hair tied in a ponytail.
    "I was showing my work to Charlie and Fidelio," Emma said confidently "We were just going."
    "That's all right, Emma." The art teacher beamed at them all.
    It was impossible to be afraid of Mr. Boldova. He never gave detention, never punished pupils for untidiness, forgetfulness, or even being late. The only thing that made him angry was bad art. He gave Charlie a searching look and said, "Ah, Charlie Bone."
    "Yes, sir," said Charlie. "Good night, sir."
    The three children slipped past him and ran for their dormitories. It was already five minutes to lights out. Matron would be on the warpath, and Matron was not an understanding person. She was, in fact, Charlie's great aunt, Lucretia Yewbeam.
    As they dashed into their dormitory the boys heard Miss Yewbeam shouting at some poor girl who had lost her slippers.
    "We'll just make it before she gets here," said Fidelio, rushing to the bathroom.
    Billy Raven was sitting up in bed. "Where've you been?" he asked Charlie.
    "Had some extra work to do," said Charlie. He pulled on his pajamas and jumped into bed, just as Matron poked her long face around the door.
    "Lights out!" she barked, flicking the light switch.
    Out went the bare bulb hanging in the center of the room.
    "That was a close one," murmured Gabriel Silk from the bed next to Charlie.
    Just before Charlie finally drifted off he thought of the boy in the tower; cold, hungry and probably