The Chocolate Factory Ghost
Page 10
‘Snotty Hankiecrust? He’s nothing to do with me, Urchin,’ she said, throwing a distasteful glance at the trembling man in the chair. ‘Dear late Great-Uncle Archibald summoned me.’
‘What?’ said Archie. He turned to the ghost, astonished. ‘She’s tried to stop me finding the honeystone. Her kids have tried to kill me!’
‘Darling Georgie and Portia do so enjoy their little hobbies,’ said Mrs Puddingham-Pye fondly. ‘Such creative children.’
‘I did summon her,’ admitted Great-Uncle Archibald. He looked at the boy kindly. ‘I need her here, Archie. I need her here so I can tell you the truth.’
‘She was never after the honeystone, was she?’ said Archie.
Mrs Puddingham-Pye arched an eyebrow but said nothing. The ghost smiled.
‘You’re the canny boy I thought you were,’ it said. ‘Just like your father. And you’ll need to be, as the heir of the McBudges.
‘You see, the McBudge family have not always made sweets and fudge. Hundreds of years ago, the clan McBudge were tasked with being the Guardians of the Wyrdie Tree. They were bound to safeguard its magic, the source of all the magic in Dundoodle, from evil intent.
‘The chief of the clan was gifted with the ability to wyrdwork – casting spells, summoning the hidden folk of the forest, talking with the spirits of the trees. That gift was inherited by the chief’s heir on completion of a test, and so passed down through the generations.’
Archie’s mouth was dry. He would inherit magic powers? Everyone in the room was watching him, except Billy who was scribbling down the ghost’s every word in his book. Archie could see he would have his very own chapter and Macabre Creepy Scale rating. The ghost continued.
‘When an enterprising McBudge discovered that honeystone could be used to make sweets, the family built the factory and moved to this house in Dundoodle instead, leaving Pookiecrag Castle to the dragons. The legend of its haunting was meant to keep people away and protect its secrets.’
Great-Uncle Archibald drifted over to Mrs Puddingham-Pye and looked straight into her face. She flinched and Garstigan hissed uneasily.
‘I’ve summoned you here to inform you that Archie has passed the test,’ said the ghost. ‘Thus he is the true heir and is now the Guardian.’
‘She was trying to stop you passing the test, Archie,’ said Fliss. ‘We thought she was after the honeystone, but it was just a smokescreen. She wanted you to fail the test, as that would make her the next candidate for heir.’
‘That’s if the Piglets didn’t finish me off first,’ said Archie. He glared at the woman. ‘But you’ve already got magical powers.’
‘Everyone in the family has potential,’ said Mrs Puddingham-Pye, tickling Garstigan’s belly so that he purred. ‘It’s in the blood. But the real power lies with the chief of the clan.’ She laughed nastily. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re dealing with, you little scrap!’
Archie clenched his fists but his great-uncle’s ghost waved a hand dismissively.
‘In every chocolate box there’s that odd chocolate that no one really likes,’ it said. ‘And so it is with every generation of McBudges. There’s always a bad’un. But, Archie, you’re now officially the chief. And she’ll respect that.’
The woman leaned towards Archie, just like she had on the first day they’d met.
‘For now,’ she whispered in his ear.
‘This is mad! You’re all mad!’ It was Mr Hankiecrust. ‘Ghosts and goblins and weirdos! I’m imagining things – it’s not happening!’ They’d forgotten all about him, cowering in the chair. Before anyone had a chance to move, he leaped up and sprinted out of the library, frantically hurrying for the front door. Archie ran to the window in time to see Mr Hankiecrust scurry down the steps, then suddenly fall to the ground, hit on the head by a stone dragon that for some reason had chosen that moment to fall from the roof.
‘I think the twins might have been busy outside,’ remarked Mrs Puddingham-Pye, joining him at the window. ‘I do believe their aim is improving.’
Archie lay on the sofa in the library with Sherbet asleep on his lap. The fire gently crackled, unlike the alarming performance of the previous afternoon. It has been a good day, he thought. A busy day.
Tablet had shown him how to grind up the honeystone crystals with a draconium pestle and mortar for use in the McBudge Fudge recipe, so fudge was being made in the factory again. Archie had taken a sample of the first batch to test. It very much met with his approval. It turned out Tablet was half-gnome and had worked for the McBudges for centuries.
‘I’m older than I look, you know,’ he wheezed, which didn’t actually seem possible.
The Puddingham-Pyes were keeping a low profile, a temporary truce having been declared now that all the secrets were out in the open. If they ever caused trouble again … well, Archie would be ready. His wyrdworker powers might take years to develop, he had been told, but he wasn’t in any hurry. He’d had quite enough of magic. For a little while, at least.
Mr Hankiecrust had woken up that morning in hospital with a very bad headache. The bump on the head also appeared to have given him amnesia. He couldn’t even remember that he was the McBudge factory manager. He had decided to leave Dundoodle for good and start a new life elsewhere. Archie would never find out what the man had spent all his great-uncle’s money on, but it didn’t matter as the business was saved. He and Mum could live on happily in the Hall after all, even if they weren’t as rich as everyone thought they were.
Archie had been very pleased to give the job of factory manager to Mr Hankiecrust’s assistant (who just happened to be Fliss’s dad). Fliss was overjoyed that she had been able to help her dad out and had bought Archie an extra-large piece of fudge cake from Clootie Dumpling’s as a ‘thank you’.
‘I suppose you’ve earned it,’ she said with a grin. ‘I reckon you do deserve to live here after everything that’s happened.’
The little honey dragon, which had accidentally fallen into Fliss’s coat, had been named Blossom. She made a home for herself in the greenhouse, which had plenty of flowers to keep her in nectar through the winter. She had already made a nest in a palm tree, and only occasionally set fire to things.
Billy had so much new information for his Book of Wyrdiness of Dundoodle and its Surroundings that he would be busy for ages. He had assigned Archie a Macabre Creepy Scale rating of only four point three.
‘Temporarily,’ he said. ‘I’ll reconsider once you’ve done some proper magic. Extra points for anything involving the undead.’
Mum had stopped worrying (for now). She knew nothing about what had happened, and Archie thought it was better that way, though he wasn’t quite sure she believed his story about finding the ‘dod’ in the attic of Honeystone Hall. He could hear her busily decorating a Christmas tree in the hallway with Tablet’s help. It looked like it was going to be the best Christmas in a long time.
He looked up at the portrait of his great-uncle. The old man’s face winked at him.
‘What happens now?’ said Archie, smiling. ‘Are you going to stick around now that your job is done, Great-Uncle?’
‘Perhaps,’ said the painting. ‘Just to see how you get on.’
Sherbet opened one eye and wagged his tail at his ghostly old master. Archie looked thoughtfully at the wooden box, the honeystone casket, in its new home on the mantelpiece.
‘Is everyone who dies a ghost?’ he asked after a pause. ‘Is my dad a ghost?’
The portrait’s features softened.
‘If he is, I’ve not seen him around,’ it said. ‘But don’t worry. That means he’s probably at peace. And why wouldn’t he be? Knowing he has a son like you.’
Archie smiled and helped himself to another piece of fudge.
‘That’s good,’ he said happily. It was one more good thing to add to a very long list.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Francesca Mancuso for Latin help. Also, thanks to the team at Bloomsbury who made thi
s book become a reality. Although my name is on the cover, many people have been busy helping behind the scenes – from editorial and design to marketing and sales – and I’m extremely grateful to all of them. Finally, thank you to Claire Powell, whose illustrations brought Dundoodle magically to life.
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First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Text copyright © David O’Connell, 2018
Illustrations copyright © Claire Powell, 2018
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