street - their crooked doors were marked by
arrowheads and their slate roofs rippled like
waves - yet the great fire of the eighteenth
century had never touched these ancient
houses. According to Miss Ingledew, it was
because at that time almost every house in
the street had been occupied by a magician -
of one sort or another.
Piminy Street, however, was home to Mrs.
Kettle, and there was nothing sinister about
her. Unusual, maybe, but not threatening.
She had once given Charlie a kettle that had
been made five hundred years ago by her an-
cestor Feromel. It contained a dark liquid
that could never be poured away. This time-
less liquid was usually cool, but Mrs. Kettle
had
162
warned Charlie that when the kettle felt hot
to the touch, he would be in danger.
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On Friday night Charlie hadn't been sur-
prised to find the kettle so hot he could
barely touch it. He felt it again as soon as he
woke next morning. It had cooled a little, but
was still warm.
Billy knew about Feromel's kettle. "Is it hot?"
he asked.
"Not too hot." Charlie pushed the kettle un-
der his bed.
"We'll go and fetch Rembrandt from Mrs.

Charlie was anxious to get away from num-
ber nine as fast as possible. He didn't want to
see Benjamin again before he had rescued
Runner Bean.
As soon as they began to walk up Piminy
Street, the sense of menace that Charlie often
felt there
164
seemed to be even stronger. He always ima-
gined that someone was watching him from
a dark window beneath the eaves.
The Kettle Shop was near a curious fish shop
where there were never any fish. Before they
reached the fish shop, however, they had to
pass the Stone Shop. Of all the houses on
Piminy Street, this was the most sinister. In
the dark interior, carved stone figures bran-
dished clubs and axes. There were stone sol-
diers, horses, and dogs. But the mounted
knight that had once attacked the boys was
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gone - broken in two by the Red Knight and
now lying, with his stone horse, at the bot-
tom of the river.
"Let's keep going." Billy plucked at Charlie's
jacket. "I hate that place."
Charlie's nose was almost touching the
window-pane. He expected to see someone
and, yes, there he was: Eric Shellhorn, Great-
aunt Venetia's stepson. Charlie could just

white tiles and a floor
166
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of mildewed slate. Charlie wrinkled his nose
and walked on. By the time he had reached
the Kettle Shop, Billy was inside, making his
way through the kettles displayed on stands
and tables all around the room.
Charlie closed the store door, which
squeaked loudly on its somewhat rusty
hinges, and he followed Billy through an
archway into yet another room filled with
kettles. But here there were four chairs,
grouped around an empty table, where cus-
tomers could sit and examine the ancient
kettles. On a stove behind the table, a copper
kettle whistled merrily.
"I knew I'd see you today, my dears." The
store's owner lifted the whistling kettle and
poured boiling water into a large brown
teapot.
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"Because of my rat," said Billy, eyeing the
plate of cookies that Mrs. Kettle now placed
on the table.
"Because of your rat, my dear." Mrs. Kettle
was a very large, muscular woman, with a
crown of smooth, copper-colored hair. She
wore dark-blue coveralls and thick leather
boots spotted with oil, for Mrs.

ing out of the kettle, slipped to the ground,
and began to coil itself around Billy's legs.
But Billy lifted the creature and gently curled
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it across his shoulders, all the while hissing
and humming to it. The boa replied with a
soft chirruping sound, like a small bird.
"It's OK," said Billy when the boa had settled.
"He won't make me invisible."
"It's wonderful how you can do that, Billy,
my dear," said Mrs. Kettle. "Solomon was
very active before he took that little nap.
Spiders, flies, beetles, even a mouse; he's
been wrapping them up in his long blue coils
and disappearing them all over the place."
Charlie felt something on his foot. Before his
very eyes the lace on his sneaker began to
disappear. "Billy, I think I've found Rem-
brandt. He's eating
169
my shoelace." Charlie lifted his foot and
kicked it toward Billy.
There was a loud squeak and Billy's white
hair was suddenly tugged over his face. Billy
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put up his hands and clasped them around
what appeared to be empty air. But he could
feel whiskers and fur and a long skinny tail.
"Solomon's done it to Rembrandt," said
Billy, pleased to have found his rat but wor-

then the blue boa was curling itself into a
knot. There was a very loud squeal, and a
black rat jumped free of Solomon's shiny
coils and ran to Billy.
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"Thanks, Solomon." Billy picked up the
trembling rat, gave him a stroke, and slipped
him into his pocket.
"A nice cup of tea is called for, my dears,"
said Mrs. Kettle, getting to her feet, "and
maybe a cookie or two."
The boys followed her back to the table, and
171
Solomon slithered across the floor beside
them. When Billy sat down, the boa lifted his
head and began to sway. Charlie sensed that
it was anxious, even fearful. It looked up at
Billy and hissed.
Billy answered the boa with a light hum. "So-
lomon says someone came into the shop," he
told the others.
"Well, there's no one here except us," said
Mrs. Kettle. "Did your snake say who it was?"
"I asked him, but he didn't know."
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Charlie watched the boa slide back to his
home inside the big iron kettle. He felt un-
easy. The boa had no reason to lie. It was a
wise and gentle snake, not a trickster.
Something made Charlie ask, "You've got the

once did she lift her teacup, very slowly, to
take a sip of
173
her rapidly cooling tea. And when Charlie
had finished, she could only shake her head
for a while, in mute dismay.
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In the unfamiliar silence, Charlie felt a cold-
ness pervade the shop. Was it his imagina-
tion or did the bright kettles suddenly lose
some of their luster?
"The shadow's trying to come back again,"
Mrs. Kettle spoke almost to herself. "Lock
your cellar door, Charlie, and throw away the
key, before that painting captures you
again."
"But Runner Bean!" Billy protested.
"You'll forget him, Billy, if you're wise," said
Mrs. Kettle.
She must know that we can't do that,
thought Charlie. But Mrs. Kettle looked so
solemn, so weighed down with some secret
trouble, he realized that her warning was in
deadly earnest.
"The Stone Shop is occupied again," Mrs.
Kettle said at last. "For years it has been va-
cant - half-finished carvings in the yard, the
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statues in the store covered in cobwebs. But
two days ago I heard a

I'm on my guard."
"Mrs. Kettle, can I have a look at the troll?"
asked Charlie.
"Now, do you really want to?" Mrs. Kettle
glanced at the metal door, reluctant to let
Charlie into her workshop.
"I just want to make sure that Oddthumb's
still in there." Charlie's anxiety was growing.
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Mrs. Kettle sighed, wiped her wet hands on
her coveralls, and opened the metal door.
Charlie stepped in. It looked very much the
same as the last time he'd been there. Bare
brick walls, a dusty stone floor, and an as-
sortment of tools hanging from a beam. The
anvil stood in the center of the room, and the
hum of flames could be heard behind a small
iron door at the base of the chimney.
In a dark corner stood a squat stone figure. A
double chain encircled its thick waist, the
two ends fixed to large iron hoops fastened
to the wall. Charlie
176
stared at the troll, his eyes gradually adjust-
ing to the dark. Now he could see the wide
fleshy nose, the thin scribble mouth, and the
small gimlet eyes.
"Satisfied, Charlie?" called Mrs. Kettle.
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"Yes." Charlie was about to step back when

A violent crash gave away the troll's where-
abouts. He had gone through the doorway
into the store, and now he proceeded to
crush, dent, break, and shatter every kettle in
the place. The sound of iron and copper,
steel, enamel, and even clay breaking apart
was like nothing Charlie could ever have
imagined. He wondered if the wounded
blacksmith could hear the terrible
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destruction of her beloved kettles, and if her
breaking heart might be part of the dreadful
and tragic noise.
When he's broken everything he can see,
he'll come hack forus, thought Charlie. He
quickly crawled beneath the table where Billy
was hiding. "Our only chance is to get to the
workshop and lock ourselves in," he
whispered. "But we'll have to take Mrs.
Kettle with us.
178
Quick, Billy! We'd better move now while
he's still busy in the store."
But Billy wouldn't move. He remained in his
tightly curled huddle. Not a sound escaped
him.
"Billy!" Charlie shook a clenched arm.
"Mmmm!" moaned Billy.
"Billy, we must "
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roof and a streak of lightning lit the troll's
ugly features. And then came the wind. The
strength of his
180
own power surprised Tancred. It seemed to
come from a deeper place within him, a
power that coursed through his body, almost
as though it were drawn toward the vile
creature before him. The troll's hatred was
palpable, its desire for his destruction
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intense, for it knew that it had met a strength
equal to its own.
Tancred's storm swept around the troll,
sending broken kettles flying to the back of
the shop. Not content, the storm boy stepped
up the force of his tempest until the troll be-
came the only thing that he could see
between the curtains of his hair, caught in
the wind that howled around them. And in
this narrow frame the stone figure began to
change. His breastplate took on the look of
dull metal, his pants a straw color, his face
an unhealthy sepia, and his eyes a gleaming
steel gray. As Tancred fought to keep his
gaze on this terrifying transformation, the
image of a helmet appeared on the troll's
bald head, and the hand, with a huge de-
formed thumb, reached for the knife wedged
into his belt.