‘We, the Fjurge Brownies, have tended her ever since,’ continued another of the men. ‘I am Jøkchip, and these are my brothers Jøknut and Dubbeljøk.’
‘You’re brownies!’ said Billy. ‘I thought you might be gnomes, like the notorious Dimpledrumpskin, who made you guess his name because he was too embarrassed to tell you himself.’
The Fjurge Brownies looked indignant.
‘Gnomes, indeed!’ snapped Jøknut, making the robin hop about fretfully. ‘Useless creatures! Good for nothing but kitchens, or sitting on toadstools, fishing in ponds. Brownies are helpful household folk, but the Fjurge Brownies have specialised in gardening and horticulture.’
‘Then why does the Wyrdie Tree need a Guardian?’ said Fliss, looking at Archie. ‘If you three are here with your spades and watering cans all the time.’
‘The Guardian protects the magic of the Tree,’ said Dubbeljøk. ‘Your wyrdworking powers are needed, young McBudge. That’s why she has summoned you. Her leaves are changing colour. Last week she was entirely green. It is a sign.’
‘But I don’t have any powers,’ said Archie. ‘At least, I don’t think so. They haven’t developed yet.’
The brownies looked at each other worriedly.
‘That we should have a mere boy, at such a time,’ muttered Jøknut to his brothers.
‘What?’ said Archie. ‘What do you mean?’ He didn’t like being called a ‘mere boy’. It sounded like the dismissive kind of thing Mrs Puddingham-Pye would say.
‘It is the time of Renewal,’ explained Jøkchip. ‘The Wyrdie Tree only sheds her leaves every five hundred years. They change from green to gold, then to red, before falling on Unquiet Night.’
He put Ingeborg the mole down on the ground and walked up to the base of the Tree, to where the bark formed into a diamond-shaped notch.
‘On that night the Guardian takes the Treeheart – the ancient Jewel of Renewal, a crystal fruit from the mother World Tree – and places it here. The Wyrdie Tree immediately sprouts new leaves, and with them comes a renewal of her powers. The wyrdie-folk celebrate with their Dance of the Wyrd, but during the time when her branches are bare, the Tree’s power is reduced and she is vulnerable.’
‘Vulnerable to what?’ said Fliss. ‘Magical greenfly?’
‘Attack!’ said Dubbeljøk, his eyebrows wrestling each other into a frown that was bushier than the tail of his pet squirrel. ‘There are those who would harm the tree and take her magic for themselves.’
‘Mrs Puddingham-Pye?’ said Billy.
‘Maybe,’ said Archie. ‘Or do you mean the Mirk?’
The brothers trembled.
‘The Mirk is an ancient forest spirit of darkness,’ said Jøknut. ‘Its greatest desire is to control the Tree, turning her heart black, whilst stealing her power like a parasite. It has already tried once before – at the last Renewal.’
‘When Archibelle McBudge was the Guardian!’ said Archie. ‘That was the last time the Tree sent out a summons.’
‘And she was successful,’ said Dubbeljøk. ‘The Mirk had overpowered us, imprisoning us in a dark cloud of swarming flies. Using her wyrdworking knowledge, Belle was able to cast the evil spirit out of the forest. She saved the Wyrdie Tree! But we fear the Mirk has returned.’
‘I think we might have seen it,’ said Archie. ‘On our way here, we hid from a horrible … thing. It looked like a person, but it wasn’t. I could sense its power.’
‘It must have taken some kind of human form!’ said Dubbeljøk, turning pale. ‘We suspected as much. But you say you could sense it? That means your wyrdworking powers are developing. You are sensitive to strong magic … but that means it can sense you, as well.
‘And then we found the cut-down trees,’ said Fliss sadly. ‘Or at least, what was left of them.’
‘We have heard rumours from the forest-folk – the dryads, the moss-goblins and the brook-babblers – of trees disappearing,’ said Jøkchip, scratching his beard, which seemed to be made from moss as much as hair. ‘Some of the missing trees are enchanted. The forest is like the Wyrdie Tree’s family, the trees all gain strength from each other. Attacking the forest could be the Mirk’s attempt to weaken the Tree further. It failed to take control of the Tree once before. This time, it will do everything it can to succeed.’
‘Fear the Mirk!’ said Jøknut. ‘It is ravenous, relentless and filled with cunning. If it has hidden itself amongst man, it will be whispering its malice, and darkening hearts of those around you. It won’t stop until it has what it wants. All things fear its hunger for power!’
‘So we need this Treeheart-Jewel thing,’ said Archie, frowning. ‘Where is it?’
‘We were hoping you could tell us,’ said Jøkchip mournfully. ‘The Jewel of Renewal is lost!’
‘So essentially, the Wyrdie Tree needs to recharge,’ said Fliss, as they trudged back through the forest, ‘but we don’t know where the charger is. Honestly! This sounds just like my dad and his phone.’
The Fjurge Brownies had been unable to help them further, so the three children had decided to head back to Dundoodle and start the search for the Treeheart there. Thankfully, there was no sign of the evil spirit on their return journey. Archie walked silently, absorbing all the information he’d seen and heard. Finally, he had come face-to-leaf with the Wyrdie Tree – only to discover it was in danger, and he didn’t know how to protect it, even if the Treeheart was found. Why did this have to happen now? He felt useless, and afraid.
When they were safely back at Honeystone Hall, Fliss suggested they go to her hideout in the McBudge factory next door.
‘We can use it as our incident room,’ she said.
‘Our what?’ asked Archie.
‘Like detectives have when they’re investigating a crime. They put up a board with pictures of suspects, and lists of clues, and maps with bits of red string linking important places. If we use the library, your mum might find out what we’re up to, and we don’t want that.’
As it was a Sunday, the factory was closed, but Archie could still get inside, as there was a passage that connected it to the Hall. Fliss’s hideout was hidden amongst the network of pipes up in the roof, a little chamber with walls of knotted metal accessible via a metal gangway.
In the eerie silence of the empty factory, Fliss took charge. She taped a large piece of paper to a broad pipe, and with a red pen she drew a line dividing the paper into halves.
‘Thinking logically,’ she said, tapping her chin with the pen as the others helped themselves to her sweet stash, ‘there are two parts to the mystery. Let’s deal with them one at a time. Firstly, the Treeheart.’ She scribbled Jewel-thing in one section of the paper.
‘I reckon the Jewel of Renewal was hidden away by Belle McBudge for safety,’ Archie said. ‘That’s what I’d do. She didn’t tell anyone where she’d put it because she knew there was no one she could trust, if the Mirk could hide itself amongst people, like the brownies said.’
‘But she also knew the Treeheart would be needed again, as the Renewal happens every five hundred years,’ Billy pointed out, chewing on a McBudge Marshmallow Cello from a packet of Musical Munchables. ‘We’ve got some of Belle’s books and papers – she must have left some clue for her descendants.’ The boy’s big eyes were twinkling. Archie imagined Billy couldn’t wait to dive into a pile of old manuscripts and start researching. Fliss obviously agreed.
‘Research is your area, Billy,’ she said, ‘so we’ll leave that to you. Which leads us to the second part of the mystery.’ She scrawled The Mirk in another section of the paper.
‘We don’t know much about the Mirk,’ said Archie. He cuddled Sherbet as if he were cold, even though it was summer. ‘We don’t really know what it’s capable of, or how to stop it.’
‘Or who it is,’ said Fliss thoughtfully, ‘if it’s taken human form, like the brownies said. The trees were cut down by tools, not magic. It’s a lot for one person to do, even if they are magical – what if someone else
is helping the Mirk, to weaken the forest?
‘Who would want to help the Mirk?’ said Archie.
‘What about Mrs Puddingham-Pye?’ said Billy. ‘She’d like to get her hands on the Wyrdie Tree magic.’
Archie nodded, though it struck him as unlikely. Would Mrs Puddingham-Pye want to harm the Tree to gain its magic? He was reminded of the strange thing she had said earlier that day: You and I have common interests. Common needs. Common enemies. Did she know something already?
‘Maybe I could find out more at the twins’ party,’ he said. ‘I’ve a real reason to go now. I suppose I’d better get them a present.’
‘Miss Clabbity’s toyshop is the best place for that,’ suggested Fliss. ‘She does the puppet show on Unquiet Night … and Unquiet Night is only nine days away. If we don’t stop the Mirk, it could be the last one she ever does.’
It was the last week of term before the summer holidays and there was a relaxed, almost lazy, feeling in the air amongst both the pupils and the teachers at Dundoodle School. The fact that Unquiet Night was not far away added to the convivial atmosphere. Gingerbread Dragons and Witchberry Buns were common breaktime snacks, and the children argued over how many sprite heads they would catch in ‘Bite the head off a Water Sprite’, which Archie discovered was what the Dundoodlers called the game of apple-bobbing. There was talk of what costumes everyone was making, and how many sweets they might collect on the Wyrdie Walk.
Archie found the mood infectious. Unquiet Night loomed nearer and nearer, without any progress in any of their investigations. It wasn’t that Archie didn’t want to do anything, he just couldn’t seem to summon the energy. Every day he woke up determined to take the matter seriously, but immediately the sense of dread that he now associated with the Mirk fell like a weight upon his shoulders. The less he thought about the Wyrdie Tree, the less the feeling troubled him, and so he pushed the problem to the back of his mind. Billy and Fliss could only nag, and grind their teeth in frustration.
‘Why me?’ Archie said, for the hundredth time, as they sat in class that Friday afternoon, the last day of school.
‘Because … you’re a McBudge!’ said Fliss, who was getting a bit shrill in her exasperation. ‘It’s what you do!’
‘Quieten down, Felicity Fairbairn!’ called their teacher, Miss McTwang, who was a world champion in being shrill. ‘Now, class, for the last half-hour of the day, we’re going to have a lovely treat.’ A murmur of cautious interest passed through the classroom: the children knew that teachers often had a very different idea of what made for a ‘lovely treat’ than they did. ‘We have a local businessman coming to speak on an important topic.’
‘Is it Archie McBudge, Miss?’ said Ewan Fothergill, a spotty, sandy-haired boy, which got a laugh from the others, even from Archie himself.
‘No,’ said Miss McTwang, opening the classroom door. ‘In fact, quite the opposite. Do come in, Mr Preen.’
To Archie’s horror, the sinister dentist walked rigidly into the room, carrying a large, cardboard box. Archie had completely forgotten about him! Preen looked as polished as ever, smoothing his black hair down and flashing a cold, perfect smile at Miss McTwang, whose ears turned an alarming shade of pink.
‘Good afternoon, everyone, ha ha!’ said Mr Preen, surveying the rows of children like a shark sizing up a shoal of fish. ‘What a fine example of today’s youth I see before me.’ His smile deepened the moment he spotted Archie. ‘Some of you may already know me and know the cause for which I stand. I am here to talk about making the town of Dundoodle nice. That is, N.I.C.E., ha ha.’
Archie groaned. He didn’t like the sound of this.
‘No doubt you are all looking forward to your summer holiday,’ continued Edward Preen. ‘Such fun you shall have, ha ha … But I hear Dundoodle holds a festival soon, this Unquiet Night.’ Mr Preen spoke the words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. ‘Girls and boys, I’m afraid Unquiet Night fills me with, well, unquiet, ha ha.
‘A festival celebrating monsters and spooks. Silly, foolish things. Things to frighten babies, ha ha. And we are not babies, are we?’
The class looked confused. No, they weren’t babies …
‘And dancing and music and other noisy foolishness. It’s a silly, foolish festival. It is not N.I.C.E. at all. In fact, I think it is very naughty. And why do I think that? Tell me, what do you eat during this festival?’
‘Skeleton Scones!’ called Flora Twigg.
‘Coffin Cakes!’ said Nasim Hamdi.
‘Gingerbread Dragons!’ shouted out Ewan Fothergill, who let out a monstrous snarl. There were cheers and some laughter. Mr Preen visibly twitched.
‘Dreadful things. Not only superstitious nonsense, but full of fat and sugar, and ginger, a spice that elevates the body temperature most perilously. They do not belong in your young digestive systems, oh no. They belong in the bin, ha ha! What else?’
‘Sweets?’ said Heather McGumble uncertainly. No one was sure where this was going.
‘Of course, sweeties. Little jewels of sugary poison, rotting your teeth away. Of no benefit to you whatsoever. Or at least, of no benefit to you, but lots of benefit to others. Others who make money from making and selling sweeties, ha ha.’
Everyone turned to look at Archie. Archie squirmed uncomfortably. There was doubt and suspicion in their eyes. Were they beginning to believe Edward Preen?
‘Unquiet Night is about fun!’ he blurted out, jumping up from his chair. ‘And so are the sweets and the Gingerbread Dragons and all the other things that go on. You don’t care about healthy things, you just want to spoil the fun for everyone!’
‘Now, now, Archie,’ said Miss McTwang. ‘Sit down, please. I’m sure Mr Preen is thinking of the good of the community.’
‘How true, dear lady,’ smirked the dentist. ‘Indeed, young Mr McBudge is quite wrong, ha ha. For I have gone to the effort of creating a tasty, healthy snack to replace the teeth-rotting, sugary poison.’ He opened the cardboard box, which was full of bright-white rectangular packages. ‘I present to you the Preen Safer Wafer, a hygienic and cleansing chewy biscuit. It cleans your teeth whilst you eat! Each wrapper is even decorated with a little bow of dental floss. And I am giving one away to every pupil at Dundoodle School, for free. You see, I am not anti-fun, ha ha.’
‘And I’m sure we’re all very grateful,’ purred Miss McTwang. ‘Aren’t we, children? I’ve already tried the Preen Safer Wafer and found it quite delicious! Now, it will soon be time to go home, so form a queue for your wafer. I have a bin ready for Gingerbread Dragons and any other sugary rubbish.’
There was some muttering, but the children went along with it. Some even seemed to be enthusiastic about Preen’s Safer Wafer and said they had already tried it. Archie glowered at the dentist as he took his freebie, but the man just smiled triumphantly at him.
Outside the school gates, Archie was horrified to find Fliss and Billy about to tuck into the abominable Wafer.
‘What are you doing?’ he yelled.
‘So you do care about something, Archie McBudge!’ said Fliss. ‘I was beginning to wonder.’ She stuffed the biscuit into her mouth defiantly.
‘It looks like cardboard,’ said Archie, throwing his wafer straight into a rubbish bin. Fliss was deliberately trying to annoy him, and it was working.
‘It’s definitely chewy,’ she said, trying to sound positive but making a face like she was eating a wasp sandwich. ‘If a little bitter in taste.’
‘It’s worse than that,’ said Billy in disgust, spitting out the wafer without even swallowing it. ‘It’s wholesome! To think, he wants us to eat these instead of sweets. What’s next? Soap chocolate bars and toothpaste cookies? And he’s wrong about ginger being bad for you. It was used in olden days in medicine and potions and things – it says so in The Book of Herb-lore in Archie’s library.’
‘But I wonder if Preen has a point,’ said Fliss, as she gulped the last bit of wafer down. ‘About Unquiet Night just being a rea
son to sell sweets. People are always saying how Valentine’s Day was invented by greetings-card makers and florists.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re falling for his nonsense!’ said Archie furiously.
‘I’m just saying, you can’t argue with his logic. Maybe Unquiet Night isn’t good for us. And I’ve gone off Gingerbread Dragons, I must admit. Maybe I’ve eaten too many. This wafer could be a nice change.’
‘Whose side are you on, Fliss?’ Archie spluttered.
Before she could reply, Billy thrust the Safer Wafer’s wrapper under their noses.
‘At least we know whose side Edward Preen’s on,’ he said. ‘Look what this says.’
Printed quite clearly on the back of the wrapper were the words:
Made by the Puddingham-Pye Cookie Company
Archie angrily crushed the wrapper into a ball.
‘I should have known!’ he raged. ‘The Puddingham-Pyes are helping Preen to destroy the McBudge business. They’d love to see the chocolate factory close down!’
Billy nodded, reaching into his bag and taking a hearty bite of a Gingerbread Dragon that had escaped Miss McTwang’s bin.
‘It’s pure spite,’ he said, spraying biscuit crumbs everywhere. ‘An act of revenge by Mrs P-P. She’ll never forgive you for being the McBudge heir instead of her.’ He passed a gingerbread to Archie.
‘And some people seem to be falling for it,’ Archie said, chewing slightly more carefully. ‘Turning against Unquiet Night. I don’t understand it.’ Just as he’d found out about Dundoodle’s unique festival, everyone else seemed to want to ignore it.
‘Oh, forget it,’ said Fliss grumpily. Archie had obviously irritated her. He had a sudden urge to take action. It was almost as if the Gingerbread Dragon had energised him, reminding him of what he was meant to do.
The Dentist of Darkness Page 4