A/N: I felt like writing about the Hundred Heads' Dinner from a different perspective, and this is the result. It's told from the POV of Mr Singh, the man in the blue turban who sees Charlie and Billy underneath the table but doesn't give them away. I thought that since Charlie's view from underneath the table was pretty limited (he couldn't see much of what was going on at the top table), Mr Singh's POV would be a nice change and interesting to write about.

Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from chapters 10 and 11 of Charlie Bone and the Hidden King.

Disclaimer: The Charlie Bone series belongs to Jenny Nimmo.

The Hundred Heads

Mr Singh hadn't planned on attending the upcoming Hundred Heads' event in the Red King's ancient city, but events were brought to his attention that left him no other choice. He had been far too busy of late, preparing for the new boarders and teachers arriving at the Singh Academy, and generally preparing the school for the year ahead. That was the excuse he told himself, at least. In truth, he hated returning to that city—he could feel malignant presences hidden deep in stone and brick and earth, being fed by the horrendous acts the Bloors were committing, just waiting for someone to call them out of the darkness. It frightened him. How much more would it take for them to come alive?

He had attended the last Hundred Heads' Dinner, held ten years before, and had been dismayed by the changes in the city, how dangerous and corrupt the Bloors had become. It was obvious then to him that the Bloors had too much control in the city, and too much influence. They had begun to set in chain a train of despicable crimes that Mr Singh felt sick just thinking about. He could do nothing about it, of course, and nor could his son, PC Singh. All he could do was leave the city as soon as he could and hope he didn't have to return there again for a long time.

All week, he had warred with himself, wondering whether he should attend the Hundred Heads' event. A phone call from his son had decided him, in the end. It had come in the early evening, the night before the Hundred Heads' dinner was to take place. PC Singh was a policeman in the city, and always kept him up to date with what was going on there, even when he felt he didn't need to know. In other words, he was a spy. It was because of this that Mr Singh knew of Emma Tolly's abduction and rescue, Ollie Sparks' invisibility and other no-good things the Bloors had tried to do. That evening, he had received some terrible news, news that brought chills to his body.

'You must come to the city, Father,' PC Singh had urged. 'There is something terrible afoot. The animals are gone, all of them. I don't know why, but one night the earth shook and they just left, as if they were frightened of something. I believe they are responsible, somehow, but I can't get close to them to find out.' His voice shook, then. 'Something evil has come into the world; I can feel it. I think it would destroy us all if it has a chance to. You should come to the Hundred Heads' and investigate.'

This news was enough to alarm Mr Singh. An ancient evil, come into the world? Malignant enough to scare the animals of an entire city away? It was a terrifying thought. Who, or what, could have caused it? And how?

His son was right, Singh decided. He had to come to the city and discover what he could about this new evil, and how to foil it. This was more serious and life-threatening than anything the Bloors had done before. This could change the course of history on Earth, as well as many lives. Something had to be done about it. So he packed his bags and travelled the full six hours to the ancient city, the Red King's city, the city he had founded when he first build his magnificent Red Castle.

It was dawn when he left; by the time he spotted the walls of the city the sun had reached its full zenith in the sky. He felt no joy at entering the city—it was a place of evil, much changed from when the Red King ruled there. The Bloors had corrupted it, blackened its reputation. Well, not the Bloors specifically, but the descendants of the Red King who chose to use their powers in a way that dishonoured the memory of the great magician. It had begun with the Red King's five evil children, Borlath, Lilith, Olga, Cafal and Wyborn, and had continued through the generations. There didn't seem to be an end to the conflict, even after nine centuries. Mr Singh shuddered. It was one of the reasons why he hated returning to the city- he always had a feeling that something bad would happen while he was there.

The Red Castle was now a crumbling ruin in the grounds of Bloor's Academy, full of secrets and dangerous pathways. Mr Singh could see its large bulk as his car drew closer and closer to the Academy. There were rumours that the Red King himself resided there still, in the form of a tree. Singh hoped to find out the truth of that one day, but not now. Now he had only one aim: to find out exactly what was happening in the city and Bloor's Academy, and try to put a stop to it if he could.

The Academy hall was thronging with people—headmasters—when Mr Singh entered. Amid the loud chatter and chaos, he weaved through the crowds toward where the headmaster of Bloor's Academy, Dr Bloor, and his grandfather Ezekiel were standing (or in Ezekiel's case, sitting) and greeting the arriving heads. Mr Singh was surprised to find Ezekiel in a wheel-chair; he seemed a more shrunken and grumpy man than when they had last men ten years before. Dr Bloor seemed the same, with steely grey eyes and an upright, stiff posture and an expression that gave nothing away. In brief, they were still two people that Mr Singh would trust least in the world.

He couldn't help but glance curiously at Ezekiel, as he approached. Dr Bloor caught him looking and said, 'Accident,' in a flat voice that forbade any chance of asking more about it. The two headmasters shook hands, and Dr Bloor added, 'I must confess I didn't expect to see you here, Mr Singh. When you called me a week ago you gave me the impression that you had decided not to come.'

'I changed my mind,' Mr Singh said curtly, not liking the accusation in Bloor's eyes. 'I found I had some time to spare after all.'

'Well, we're glad you came, Singh,' Ezekiel said. 'We have something important to tell you all. Something has happened that will change everything for us.' His eyes danced with a crazed victory, fuelling Singh's curiosity. 'What do you think of that, eh? But no, I won't give anything away until the dinner tonight.' Grinning craftily, he spun his wheelchair and wheeled himself into the throng to greet another arriving headmaster, leaving Mr Singh with a feeling of unease.

He met Dr Bloor's eyes, and they were expressionless, with not a trace of warmth in them. They were not on easy speaking terms, himself and Harold Bloor. There was something about the man that always seemed to repel him. 'I'll see you at the dinner,' Dr Bloor said, before walking away after his grandfather.

oOoOo

The Hundred Heads' Dinner began at seven o'clock sharp, in the large richly decorated dining hall. As soon as Mr Singh and the numerous guests were settled at the tables lined in rows below the huge dais, Dr Bloor began to read out in his naturally imposing voice the names of the various academies attending the event. Loth, Oranga, Morvan, Derivere, Somphammer, Festyet, Ipakuk, Altabeeta… when Bloor read out Singh's name, Mr Singh could swear Dr Bloor's gaze rested on him for a moment. Did he suspect his true motivations for attending the Hundred Heads' event?

As Dr Bloor read out the last name on the list, waiters rolled trays to the tables and unveiled the first course of the evening: roast duck and curry soup. Murmurs of appreciation arose as the meal was served, but Singh just picked at his food, his stomach in knots. The endowed headmasters in the room seemed to like showing off their talents, much to the waiters' annoyance. Cutlery was turned gold, the roast duck on some plates was bewitched into a different food entirely, and champagne turned to wine in the crystal glasses. Singh saw one headmaster, Dr Oranga, vanish into thin air from where he sat on a table near the far left of the spacious room, and, directly beside him, a plump downright woman's straight dark hair was suddenly sparkling with all colours of the rainbow. The waiters left the room in a hurry, muttering to each other and sneaking sideways glances at the strangely assorted guests.

As knives sliced into meat, and forks were lifted to mouths, Dr Bloor began to speak. Cutlery, both enchanted and original, was dropped in a clatter as heads swivelled to listen.

'Those of you who were here ten years ago will remember my grandfather, Ezekiel Bloor, as an active and agile ninety-year-old,' Dr Bloor said grandly. 'Today, sadly, he is confined to a wheelchair. Lyell Bone is distantly related to us, so the crime was doubly shocking.'

There was a short silence as Dr Bloor cleared his throat and looked away. And then Mr Singh found himself speaking, driven by curiosity. 'Please,' he said boldly. 'Can you tell us how this crime was committed?'

Ezekiel's eyes blazed with fury, and he glared out into the audience. 'He knocked me down!' he shouted. 'Tried to kill me. Pushed me. Head hit stone. Bingo! Couldn't move. Done for. The SCOUNDREL!'

Some of the headmasters gasped. Mr Singh frowned.

'But why?' Madame Derivere said from somewhere far to Singh's left. 'Why did he do this terrible thing?'

Dr Bloor's face was impassive. 'Some of you will run your establishments in a different way from us. But all of you will be acting in the best interests of our wider family. Like you, we draw the Children of the Red King toward us. We offer them scholarships, first-class teaching, and equipment. We protect them, nurture them, prepare them for the difficulties they may face when they are adults… occasionally, it becomes necessary, for the child's own good you understand, to remove it from its parents.'

In the buzz that followed, Singh realised that Bloor had not answered Derivere's question. Very cunning, he thought. Bloor had successfully diverted the audience from thinking of the motivations behind this crime—if it was a crime. There was a peculiarly guarded look in Dr Bloor's eyes that suggested otherwise.

'Do you mean that you steal them?' an indignant voice said. Singh could not determine who it came from.

'He said 'remove',' Ezekiel screeched. 'Stealing doesn't come into it. For the greater good we must control these children, and if their parents seem likely to resist, then, yes, we must take them by any means.'

To Mr Singh's dismay, a murmur of agreement rose among the headmasters, and he could see a few nod their heads. But there were some who, like him, were frowning and shaking their heads at such barbaric behaviour. How could anyone think stealing children away from their parents was the right thing to do?

'However,' Ezekiel continued, 'in the case of a certain child who could fly'—Emma Tolly, Mr Singh thought—'her father was happy to hand her over. It was Lyell Bone who tried to prevent it by striking me to the ground. His protest was unsuccessful and he was duly punished.'

Singh could feel his eyes widen from where he sat, and he hoped the Bloors could not see his surprise. This he had not known. PC Singh had only told him the general facts of this tragic case; he had not realised that someone had tried to stop it from happening. He couldn't help but marvel at their audacity. The Bloors were so powerful that hardly anyone dared to cross them.

'And did the punishment fit the crime?' gruff Dr Loth said. He was a pompous man, by all accounts, and Singh had never liked him overly much. He tended to agree with the Bloors in most areas.

'Yes, Dr Loth. Thanks to my great-grandson, Manfred Bloor. Manfred, stand up!'

A chair scraped back, and Manfred Bloor stood from where he was positioned on the top table, between his father and great-grandfather Ezekiel. He bowed, his face screwed into a sneer, and sat back down again. There was something sinister about the boy that made Singh instantly dislike him. There was something about his eyes. They gazed at him, like black coals, drawing him, weakening his willpower. Singh quickly tore his eyes away from that terrible stare, before it consumed him.

'Manfred may be the greatest hypnotist that ever lived,' Ezekiel said proudly. How horrifying! Mr Singh thought. He couldn't imagine a worse thing than a hypnotist, who could control a person like it could a puppet. 'At only nine years of age, he erased Lyell Bone's memory with a single glance. The man is now helpless. He doesn't even know who he is.'

A chill ran down Singh's spine, and he just managed to suppress a shudder. Truly, it was a terrible thing, no matter what the man was said to have done. How could one countenance it? Because of one action, a man had lost his memories, his identity, and his entire self. Perhaps he had even had a family that he loved, that he would never see again. It was horrifying to behold such absolute cruelty from a fellow headmaster and his family.

A tense silence descended onto the room as the rest of the guests digested this horrifying news. Ezekiel began to chortle, his head thrown back, and it grated on Singh's ears to hear it. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears, do anything to make it stop. How could the old man be so vindictive, so pleased with himself? Yes, this man had crippled him, but it was not enough to warrant this.

Dr Bloor continued, 'Manfred also put the baby under. She was two at the time. It lasted until she was ten and then Lyell Bone's confounded son woke her up.' Singh heard the bitterness and frustration in his voice, and felt secretly pleased.

There was a mutter of surprise. 'Who?' 'How was this done?' 'Could it be…'

'Ladies and gentlemen,' Dr Bloor boomed, 'do not be concerned. The girl is still here, and so is Lyell's son, Charlie. These endowed children stick together like glue. Charlie is a picture traveller, a priceless gift, as you well know.' Singh did know. The Red King's youngest child, Amoret, had had a similar gift. It was said that she could visit her loved ones by way of a mirror, called the Mirror of Amoret.

'He has proved difficult, as he is his father's son, but he is well guarded. These charming ladies on my right are his grandmother, Grizelda Bone, and his three great-aunts, Lucretia, Eustacia and Venetia Yewbeam. They keep an eye on Charlie Bone…'

'And one day,' Ezekiel broke in, 'Charlie will take me with him, into the past, where I can… rearrange history.' There was a manic, wild glint in his eyes as he began to cackle again. Mr Singh looked down at the untouched duck on his plate to hide the disgust and scorn that must surely be clear in his eyes. The very idea that Ezekiel could change history was ridiculous. No one could change history. And why would this boy, Charlie Bone, choose to help the man who stole his father from him? It would be like choosing to help the devil. Ezekiel must be truly demented, Singh thought, to even think of such a thing.

To his immense disgust, he heard Dr Loth shout, 'Bravo!' He felt even more disgusted to hear several other headmasters take up the call. But thankfully there were some, like him, who remained silent. At least there were some who were not wholly taken in by the Bloors' speeches.

Suddenly, he heard a faint noise come from underneath the table, very close to him. It sounded almost as if someone had sneezed. But how could that be? Almost instinctively, he lifted the table cloth to find two boys hiding beneath it. One of them was white-haired and wearing glasses and seemed to be half-asleep, while the other had unruly dark hair and was quite alert and sitting up. The boy stared at Mr Singh, eyes wide and terrified.

Mr Singh didn't know what to do, so he waited for the boy to say something. After a tense moment, the boy put his finger to his lips. Mr Singh smiled. The boys were obviously there without permission, having wanted to see such a grand event up close. He hated to get them in trouble; they were only boys, and this was probably just some mischief that they decided to get up to because they were bored. Discreetly he let the cloth drop back into place, and concentrated on the remainder of the dinner.

oOoOo

It was soon after that Dr Bloor finally began to talk of the 'momentous development' that he had hinted at earlier. He stood up from his place at the top table and clasped his hands behind his back, managing to look imposing and inviting all at once. His voice held a barely suppressed excitement. 'First, I must give you a brief history of someone whom even I had never heard of, until last week. Count Harken Badlock.'

Singh frowned. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't think of where he had heard it before. He focused his attention on the torrent of information Bloor was providing.

Count Harken was eighteen years old when he arrived in Spain. He began to court the beautiful Berenice, daughter of a knight of a knight of Toledo and future wife of the Red King. The young count was a sorcerer and very soon Berenice fell under his spell. They were to be married, but there was a duel between the enchanter and the Red King and Count Harken lost. After Queen Berenice died after giving birth to her tenth child, Amoret, Count Harken arrived to take care of them and married the king's eldest daughter, Lilith. He taught the children how to look after themselves and guarded them against the dangers of the world.

Singh's spine tingled. Wrong, a tiny voice inside him said. It was all wrong. It didn't happen like that at all. Count Harken was not the kindly benefactor the Bloors were making him out to be. Singh finally remembered that name, that infamous historical figure. He had heard of him many years ago, from a student at his academy who happened to be descended from Lilith, and happened to know a great deal about the man she married. 'He was a terrible man,' she had said. 'A very powerful enchanter, and with no heart to boot. You wouldn't want to make an enemy of him.' Harken tore the Red King's family apart and began the conflict that still continued even now between the descendants of the Red King. He was not a man Singh would like to meet.

'How has all this suddenly come to light, Dr Bloor?' someone asked eagerly.

There was a heavy silence, and then Dr Bloor leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. 'Because I have heard it from the Count himself.'

The headmasters gasped, Singh as well. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could an enchanter that existed centuries ago be with them in the present time?

'I know it's hard to believe that a man who lived nine hundred years ago is with us again. But it's the truth. I am utterly convinced of it.' Dr Bloor smiled, pleased by the shock his words had produced.

'He was a mere shadow in the Red King's portrait, but someone let him out,' Ezekiel cried amid a clamour of protests and queries. Ezekiel's words caused even more of an uproar.

'Who let him out?' 'Where is he now?' The two questions made themselves heard above the din.

Dr Bloor begged for silence and said, 'Where is he? He is safe. He has acclimated to this century in the most remarkable way. It took him ten minutes to learn our language and once that was accomplished he was able to acquaint himself with our politics, our finances, our mode of dress, our habits, in short…'

'But then he is an enchanter,' Ezekiel put in.

'Indeed, yes. Unfortunately, he had to be a little ruthless when it came to finding a home and an income, but these things cannot always be avoided.' He laughed, seeming uncomfortable.

Singh shivered. He didn't like the sound of 'ruthless'. People had different interpretations of the word. What had the count done? Surely he hadn't killed anyone! Singh prayed he hadn't. But why would such a man stop and listen to his conscience in such a matter? He probably didn't even have a conscience. From what Singh had learnt about him, he sounded like a heartless, dark man bent on death and destruction. He had certainly caused his fair share of problems nine hundred years ago.

'At this point,' Dr Bloor added rather hurriedly, 'I must ask you, dear guests, not to repeat a word of what I have told you outside this building. We are used to keeping secrets, are we not? We have to, or the world would turn against us.'

There was a rumble of agreement, and then Dr Loth called out, 'Who is it? Who let the Shadow out, and how?'

There was a pause, and Dr Bloor said, 'The count is not sure. He claims it was done with a mirror; some call it the Mirror of Amoret. We found him in the hall, during a snowstorm. The person who released him had slipped away.' He frowned.

'We thought it was Venetia here,' Ezekiel said. 'She's the cleverest of us. The wickedest.' He chuckled, gesturing to the dark-haired woman sitting beside him on the platform, who glared murderously at him. She was obviously very put out at not having been able to release this count, Singh thought with amusement. Singh could see that she loved to be in the limelight and hated when another person stole it from her.

'Well, it wasn't,' Venetia said sullenly.

'So you see…' Dr Bloor began to speak, but a voice in the crowd interrupted him. A very light, musical, feminine voice.

'It was me. I did it.'

Singh had the satisfaction of seeing Dr Bloor's eyes nearly pop out of his head. 'You?' Bloor gasped, staring wide-eyed into the audience.

'Yes, me,' the unknown woman said. 'I found the Mirror of Amoret.'

She came towards the platform, in a stately, proud fashion, holding her head high. She never took her eyes from Dr Bloor. As she reached the platform, Dr Bloor said at last, 'Miss Chrystal, please step up and tell us how all this came about.'

'Thank you.' Miss Chrystal mounted the platform, her high heels clunking lightly on the steps, and faced the expectant people sitting below her.

Mr Singh prepared to listen to another fascinating revelation. He leaned forward, his gaze intent on the female newcomer. She seemed the most unlikely person to wake an ancient enchanter. She was slight, and extremely attractive, with long blonde hair that was pulled back into a smart bun, and delicate, open features that made her seem almost approachable. But her eyes were like ice, hard and cold, and when she spoke, there was a brittle hardness in her voice. She smoothed down the skirt of her brightly printed floral dress, looked out at her rapt audience, and began to speak.

Her story began fourteen years into the past. Miss Chrystal had been in love, and thought the man she loved returned her feelings. But he spurned her and married another, leaving Miss Chrystal dejected and heartbroken. 'My heart was broken. I thought I would die,' she said dramatically. Eventually, she married a man named Matthew Tilpin, and they had a son, Joshua. However, they soon found that Joshua was gifted with magnetism, and the man left them, afraid of the power Joshua was beginning to have over him. He said that if he stayed, one day the baby would make him do something terrible. Already he could feel the baby bending him to his will.

Last Christmas, Miss Chrystal's great-uncle died, leaving her a chest full of papers. She searched through the mass, and discovered that she was descended from the Red King's eldest daughter, Lilith, and her husband, Count Harken Badlock. There was a collective gasp at this from the headmasters, but the woman continued without pause. Among the papers she also found a map, in perfect condition, telling her where to find the Mirror of Amoret, the mirror that would bring Count Harken back into the world. 'I merely had to hold it before the Red King's portrait, so that reflected light fell over the shadow behind him and…' Miss Chrystal paused. 'And so I did—and it worked. The count is back!' Her eyes shone in her flushed face, and her voice crackled with excitement.

The Bloors quickly brought her a chair and a glass of water, but Miss Chrystal ignored them and continued to face her audience. 'I have something more to say,' she announced, her voice ringing. 'My son, Joshua, is very powerful. Like Charlie Bone, he has the blood of two magicians running in his veins.' She smiled thinly. 'If Charlie is to be controlled, then Joshua can do it. As for the matter of Charlie's father, the count will make sure he never wakes.' She gave a brittle laugh, her eyes flashing with something akin to satisfaction. 'Oh, yes, the count will make sure Lyell Bone is lost, lost, lost forever.'

There was a prickling at the back of his neck, and in the silence that followed Miss Chrystal's words Singh found himself saying, 'Miss Chrystal, I would like to ask you a question. Will you tell us the name of the man who rejected you?'

Even before she opened her mouth to reply, he knew the answer. It was in the bitterness in her voice and the spite in her eyes when she spoke of this lost man, Lyell Bone. She turned her cold eyes on him, as if she couldn't believe he had to ask. 'Who do you think? It was Lyell Bone.' And he suppressed a shiver at the hatred in her voice, and felt pity for Lyell Bone. Ms Chrystal didn't seem like a woman who let anything get in the way of revenge.

There was no more talking that night. Stunned by the revelations, the headmasters turned their attention to eating. Forks and knives could be heard scraping across plates; food was hastily chewed and swallowed. Mr Singh's mind whirled with all that he had learnt. A man had been hypnotised long ago, and was now lost to his wife and son. A woman was striving to do all that she could to make sure he did not wake up, and all because he spurned her advances and married another. An evil enchanter had been brought into the world, the Red King's old nemesis, Count Harken, and he would try to take over the city again, as he had tried to do long ago, and make sure Lyell Bone never woke up from his trance. The city was certainly sinking deep in trouble.

Mr Singh wanted to help the inhabitants of the Red King's city, but he didn't know how.