‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’re supposed to be going to the toyshop, remember? I still haven’t got a present for the twins’ party. It’s tomorrow!’
They wandered into the muddle of streets and lanes, walking in silence. Archie was still bothered by what Fliss had said. How can she think Preen is being reasonable? he thought. She’s my friend! What hope have I got if my friends are against me? But Fliss didn’t seem to want to speak to him either. She trailed behind the two boys, dragging her feet, so that several times they had to stop and wait for her.
Eventually they found the shop: Clabbity’s Clockwork Curiosities, Puppetry & Toys was hidden down an alley off the main street. Archie couldn’t recall ever going past it before, but apparently old Miss Clabbity had lived in Dundoodle for all her long life. The shop certainly looked appropriately antique – its leaded front window was formed of little square panes of glass, through which the toys could be seen, lit by lamps that gave out a glow like candlelight. The shelves inside the shop were heavy with all sorts of intriguing objects. There were old-fashioned train sets and painted farm animals, and dolls of all kinds. Hanging above them, from their strings, were rows of colourfully dressed wooden puppets, their carved and jointed arms and legs dangling awkwardly. Around the window display marched a number of toy soldiers, which Archie supposed must be some of the clockwork curiosities. Their erratic movement was certainly curious. There was even a toy aeroplane buzzing in languid circles just below the ceiling. It looked very inviting, yet Archie thought there was something sad about the shop as they entered – it was strangely gloomy, and he could smell damp coming from its grey and dismal corners.
A bell rang as they opened the door, and a tiny round lady appeared from behind the counter. With her pile of curly white hair, unseasonal cardigan and tweed skirt she looked like she might have been knitted from a ball of lumpy wool. She beamed at them in welcome.
‘Hello, hello, dears!’ she said. ‘And what can I help you with today?’
‘I’m looking for a present,’ said Archie. ‘A birthday present for a brother and sister.’
‘Do they have any particular interests or hobbies?’ said Miss Clabbity, eyeing him over her spectacles.
Only death traps and assassination, thought Archie. ‘They’re very … creative,’ he said, after a moment’s reflection.
‘A painting set, perhaps?’ She looked around her shelves for something suitable.
‘I like the puppets,’ said Fliss, brightening up. ‘You’ve so many of them!’ She brushed her hand over them, stroking one that was obviously the grandma from Little Red Riding Hood and looked like a miniature version of the shopkeeper.
‘Like rows of little corpses!’ muttered Billy.
Puppets were obviously a subject close to Miss Clabbity’s heart. Her eyes lit up.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Wood carving has been in our family for generations. I make them all myself. And I do the puppet show on Unquiet Night, you know.’
She went to the window and unhooked two of the puppets: a pretty woman in a long, velvet dress and a dragon with golden-painted scales.
‘These are my favourites – the lady and the dragon.’ She made the characters dance about the floor, her fingers gently tugging their strings to move their feet and arms. ‘They’re characters from a local legend,’ she said, her eyes twinkling. ‘I used them in my puppet show once – perhaps I will again. I do so love Unquiet Night.’
At least someone is on my side, thought Archie.
Billy was scribbling in his notebook. ‘I’ve not heard that story,’ he said, frowning. ‘I collect local legends, you see.’
‘Then you must have heard of The Legend of the Coffin Creepers,’ said Miss Clabbity enthusiastically, ‘and the lost tale of The Mirkthorn.’
‘The Mirkthorn?’ asked Archie. This reminder of the Mirk brought the dread back upon him so strongly he felt a little faint. He leaned against the counter for support, but fortunately no one seemed to notice.
‘I’ve not heard of that story, either,’ said Billy, fascinated.
The old lady nodded. ‘It’s mostly forgotten. The Gingerbread Dragons have something to do with it.’ She put the puppets back in the window and took down another, a spidery tree carved from black wood. Its spiny branches were on strings, so that the puppeteer could make them writhe like thorn-covered tentacles. ‘The Mirkthorn was a plant of immense magic that once spread its evil through the forest like a weed.’
‘What’s the connection with the dragons?’ said Billy, watching the Mirkthorn puppet wave its brambly branches.
‘I can’t really remember. I don’t think anyone is still around who knows the full story. You’d have to be very, very old – older even than me – to remember it.’ Miss Clabbity laughed wistfully. ‘Now I can only use this poor old thing as the forest that hides Sleeping Beauty’s castle.’
As she put the Mirkthorn puppet back, Billy nudged Archie in the ribs.
‘We have to get the rest of that story,’ he whispered. ‘It must have something to do with the Mirk.’
‘How?’ said Archie.
‘How about straight from the dragon’s mouth. We need to talk to Old Jings.’
Billy was right: Old Jings was the oldest honey dragon who lived in the Cavern of Honeystone. He must have been around the last time the Mirk appeared, and must know something of its history.
Archie quickly chose a Viking puppet as a present – he thought its large, ugly, wooden axe would appeal to the Puddingham-Piglets – and Miss Clabbity wrapped it in tissue paper, carefully placing it into a box for him. As she tied a ribbon around the box, a clockwork dragon waddled across the counter. Fliss laughed delightedly.
‘How does it work?’ she asked. Fliss loved machinery and had ambitions to be an engineer when she was older. The dragon even looked a little like Blossom.
‘The mechanism is very intricate,’ chuckled Miss Clabbity. ‘It takes great skill to put a toy like that together.’
‘Could you show me what’s inside?’ said Fliss. Archie and Billy could see the two of them might end up talking for ages.
‘We’ve got things to do,’ Billy said, impatient to go. It was mid-afternoon, and if they were going to see the dragons they would have to get a move on. ‘Places to go. Boats to be getting into?’
Fliss was not taking the hint. ‘I’ll only be a minute,’ she said dismissively. ‘Why don’t you wait outside?’ She was still cross with Archie for snapping at her earlier, so now she was going to do things at her own pace.
Maybe we both needed a bit of time to cool down, thought Archie.
They left her with Miss Clabbity, discussing cogs and gears, and quietly stepped out into the alley.
‘What am I going to do about Fliss?’ Archie said, as he and Billy shared another Gingerbread Dragon. Billy was still trying to get the taste of the Safer Wafer out of his mouth.
‘Fliss is your friend,’ said Billy, chewing heartily. ‘She’s on your side, you silly mugwomble – Macabre Creepy Scale rating of two point seven – but Fliss thinks logically. She’s going to see sense in what Preen says, because there is some sense to it. That’s why he’s getting to everyone.’
‘Once you dig a little deeper, though, you can see he’s trying to manipulate people – the shiny-faced, tooth-twitching … !’ Archie shook the puppet box in frustration, rattling the Viking around inside.
‘Calm down! He does seem to be unnaturally persuasive. But you can’t do without Fliss right now, so you need to make friends again as soon as possible.’
Archie knew he was right. Fortunately, when Fliss reappeared from the shop, she seemed to have forgotten all about their disagreement. In fact, she was in a very good mood.
‘Miss Clabbity is going to teach me all about her clockwork machines,’ she said, as they strolled back to the Hall. ‘And soon I’ll be able to make one of my own! She’s so clever – she can build almost anything. Plus, she let me keep the clockwork dragon and she gave me this!�
�� Fliss held out a star-shaped wooden object in the palm of her hand.
‘What is it?’ asked Billy, studying the object’s surface. Completely black, it was inlaid in silver with a zigzag pattern. He went to take it, but Fliss clutched the star protectively.
‘I don’t know. Miss Clabbity said it’s a puzzle challenge for me to work out, to test my ingenuity.’ She sniffed in Archie’s direction. ‘It’ll keep me busy, as there’s not much else to do at the moment.’
‘Yes, there is,’ retorted Archie. ‘We’re off to Pookiecrag Castle to see Old Jings.’ Then he remembered Billy’s advice. ‘Look,’ he said, more gently. ‘I’m sorry I snapped. It feels like everyone is against me at the moment. I know I need to do more, it’s just that I’m feeling the pressure a bit.’
Fliss smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘If I was against you, you’d be running for the hills, Archie McBudge!’ And Archie caught a cold look in her eyes that made him think she might just be right.
Pookiecrag Castle wasn’t as haunted as the townsfolk of Dundoodle believed it to be, but the children were still grateful they wouldn’t have to visit it in the dark. Its ruins loomed over them ominously as the magical boat carried them over the loch to the castle’s island home. Fliss didn’t seem to mind too much. She spent the journey focused on the star-shaped toy, trying to work out how to open it, whilst Archie stood at the prow, wondering if Jings would be able to help them. But Billy shivered in his seat miserably. He hugged Sherbet, who had joined them in the vessel along with the little honey dragon, Blossom.
‘It’s like the old bones of a giant,’ he whispered in the dog’s ear, looking up at the crumbled stone walls, as the boat drew alongside the castle’s jetty. ‘A corpse of a building, waiting to rise from the dead and terrify the life out of all the poor little sheds and bungalows in the neighbourhood.’
‘It can’t always have been creepy,’ said Archie, nimbly jumping out. ‘It was once a family home. Belle McBudge’s home.’
‘Do you think she might have left the Treeheart here?’ said Fliss. ‘Perhaps she gave it to the honey dragons for safe-keeping.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ replied Archie. ‘Then we could get this business over with quickly.’
The entrance to the Cavern of Honeystone was hidden behind a trapdoor in the fireplace of the castle’s great hall. It opened on to a long tunnel that led right into the heart of Ben Doodle mountain. There, in a cave filled with a forest of golden honeystone crystals, lived the dragons. The children arrived to find them busily making new crystals from the nectar they had collected earlier in the day. The cavern was filled with little blasts of fire and glassy, pinging sounds as the dragons spat out fresh honeystone on to the stone floor.
‘It’s a bit dangerous in here!’ said Billy with a yelp, ducking as a newly formed molten crystal flew past his ear and ricocheted off the wall.
In the centre of the cavern, Old Jings was settling himself down in his nest. The biggest and oldest of the dragons, he was the only one who still knew how to use human speech. Blossom flew up to him, and squeaked a smoky ‘Hello’. Old Jings chuckled.
‘Well, I never!’ he said. ‘Honey dragons learning the mortal tongue once more! You human folk are making quite an impression, for ones so young.’ However, his scaly face lost its cheer when he heard why the children had come to see him. The dragon’s golden eyes glistened with emotion at the news.
‘So the Mirk is back!’ he muttered. ‘I’ve heard rumours of sightings. I hoped we might have seen the last of that foul being, after Belle McBudge dealt with it.’
‘What happened?’ asked Archie. ‘Do you know what she did with the Treeheart afterwards?’
‘I don’t,’ growled Old Jings. ‘She would not speak of it, nor of what had occurred – it was too terrible. For on that cursed Unquiet Night, we lost one of our own. It was the last time a honey dragon died in violence, and the Mirk was responsible!’
As the dragon shook with rage, the children looked at each other in horror. What a horrible notion – the honey dragons were such friendly little creatures! What if something happened to Blossom? It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘We lived much more closely with humans then,’ Old Jings continued. ‘The McBudges were still in Pookiecrag Castle, so we saw them often. Belle had her own favourite dragon, just like you, girl. It went everywhere with her, but that was its downfall. All Belle could say was that it had spent its last fire defending her and the Wyrdie Tree. Her heart was broken.’
Archie thought of the dragon statue in Belle’s portrait. It must have been a memorial to her lost friend. He could feel the dread and fear worming their way into his mind again.
‘What is the Mirk?’ asked Billy. ‘Is there anything you know that might help us?
‘It is an entity of darkness. A forest spirit. Once, it was a terrible tree whose branches spread like black tentacles, causing destruction and decay.’
‘The Mirkthorn!’ said Archie, remembering Miss Clabbity’s story.
‘The roots of the Mirkthorn tapped into the same earth magic that is the source of the power of the Wyrdie Tree, but twisted it to evil purposes. The dragons destroyed the Mirkthorn tree, burning it with our magical breath. And that should have been the end of it. But somehow, through some dark enchantment, the tree’s spirit survived. As a shapeless dark monster, it attacked the Wyrdie Tree to drain the forest magic for itself, but Belle defeated it.’
‘We’ve seen it,’ said Archie. ‘The Mirk. In the forest. It was cloaked, but we could tell it was something to be afraid of.’
‘It must have been in hiding for many years whilst it bided its time for another chance to strike at the Wyrdie Tree.’
‘And we’re still no closer to finding a way to stop it!’ said Billy.
‘Perhaps …’ said the dragon. It claws rummaged amongst the untidy stack of crystals that made up its nest, picking up and discarding various random objects it must have collected over the centuries – biscuit tins, broken toys, rusty tools, snow globes. Eventually, it produced an old book. ‘The journal of Archibelle McBudge. Whilst she did not leave us the Treeheart, she entrusted us with this. It might be important in your search.’
Old Jings handed the book to Archie.
‘Good luck, Guardian,’ he called, as they left the cavern. ‘The honey dragons will come to your aid, when the time comes.’
The sun was turning a hazy orange when they emerged from the tunnel into the long shadows of the castle. Blossom sat on Sherbet’s back as the dog led them back through the ruins to the jetty.
‘I’ll get straight to work on reading the journal,’ said Billy eagerly, as he clambered back into the boat. ‘There must be some clues in there – there’s no other reason Belle would have wanted the dragons to look after it.’
‘We’ll meet up again on Sunday – assuming I survive the party tomorrow,’ said Archie. He looked around. ‘Hang on, what happened to Fliss?’
She was nowhere to be seen. Then, after a moment, she emerged from the castle, looking a little dazed.
‘Where were you?’ asked Billy. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I … tripped on a stone,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I’m fine.’ She got into the boat and seemed to shake off her confusion. ‘Let’s get going,’ she said firmly.
She looked her normal self, but Archie noticed she had the strange cold look in her eye he had seen earlier. And he didn’t like it.
Midday (exactly) the following day found Archie outside the front door of Hardtack House, the extravagant home of the Puddingham-Pyes, which lurked on the edge of the town. Its straight, marble walls, bound together by strips of glass and steel, set it apart from the other, modest houses of Dundoodle, all porridge-grey and askew. In front, a precisely trimmed lawn was divided by a path guarded by two lines of conifers. A fountain, in the shape of a woman who looked like she had suffered an accident with a steam roller, spat water into a pond filled with glum, golden fish.
With the
Viking puppet tucked under his arm, Archie nervously rang the doorbell. The door opened silently, and Mrs Puddingham-Pye arched over him. She wore a long, green satin dress with a high, round collar. She resembled a giant cobra about to strike.
‘Urchin!’ She smiled, venomously. ‘So glad you could join us. Dearest Georgie and Portia will be delighted to have a little playmate. And I can’t wait for you to meet our very special guest …’
She stepped aside. There, in the hallway, as pale and welcome as a mug of cold, milky tea, stood Edward Preen.
‘What’s he doing here?’ asked Archie furiously.
‘Now, now, boy,’ soothed Mrs Puddingham-Pye, placing green-taloned fingers on his shoulders and ushering him inside. ‘Mr Preen is our good friend and a pillar of the community. And it’s the twins’ birthday – we mustn’t let silly little things like feelings spoil their celebration. No one likes a crosspatch, do they?’
‘Ha ha, indeed!’ said Preen, his smile as cold and polished as ever. ‘Feelings are such selfish habits. Not nice, not nice at all, ha ha.’
Before he could say anything, Archie was swept into a large, brightly lit room filled with people drinking from tall glasses with lots of ice and eating small but decorative bits of food. Polite, dull chatter feebly wafted about. There were no other children apart from him and the Piglets, who were sat miserably on a sofa at one side of the room. They had been scrubbed, and dressed in fancy clothes, but Archie noticed they looked slightly less round than the last time he’d seen them. Georgie scowled at him, and Portia screwed up her face so much her piggy nose almost disappeared inside it.
The twins’ father, Tosh Puddingham-Pye, rolled over to Archie and shook his hand with greasy paws.
‘Nice to see you, young fellow-me-lad,’ he said. ‘Look, poppets, it’s Cousin Archibald.’
The Dentist of Darkness Page 5