‘Happy birthday,’ muttered Archie.
‘Is it?’ snapped Portia, glaring at her father.
‘Oh dear, if looks could kill,’ chortled Mr Puddingham-Pye.
She’s probably working on it, thought Archie.
‘My little prince and princess aren’t too happy on their special day. Maybe young Archibald has brought you a naughty little present?’
Archie reluctantly offered the box. He felt sorry for the puppet Viking. A grisly fate probably awaited it. Georgie immediately snatched the gift, jumped up from the sofa, and ran out of the room. Portia grabbed Archie’s hand and followed her brother, dragging Archie behind.
‘Come on!’ she ordered.
‘You little rascals have a lovely time playing together,’ beamed Mr Puddingham-Pye, in good humour. His wife watched silently as the children left.
‘Where are we going?’ protested Archie. Portia’s grip was vice-like.
‘Shut up!’ she said. She opened a door in the hallway and dragged Archie through. Georgie slammed the door shut behind them. Archie looked around for escape routes. They were in a playroom piled high with all kinds of toys and games. Cuddly animals and dolls were scattered about, some with limbs wrenched off or with small axes or arrows buried in their heads. Archie shivered. They must have been target practice.
Georgie had just managed to tear off the wrapping paper from the present, before his sister tugged it out of his hands and ripped open the box. She pulled out the Viking, which rolled lifelessly on to the floor. Tears filled her eyes.
‘I’m sorry you don’t like it,’ sighed Archie. He should have known the twins would be disappointed. They were spoiled rotten. They’d probably had loads of expensive gifts and all the latest gadgets.
‘No,’ sniffed Portia, her face all pink and puffy. ‘I love it.’ Archie was speechless. That wasn’t what he expected at all.
‘It’s the only present we’ve had this year,’ explained Georgie. ‘Mummy and Daddy didn’t get us anything.’
‘Didn’t you get presents from your friends?’ asked Archie. He knew the Piglets went to a posh school in Invertinkle, so he didn’t have to suffer their presence in lessons, at least.
‘We don’t have any friends, obviously,’ said Georgie, as if Archie were an idiot.
‘It’s that horrible dentist!’ growled Portia. ‘He’s the cause of this. He gave Daddy one of his wafer thingies and told Daddy that presents weren’t nice, and Daddy believed him! And he stopped our sweet allowance. Preen told me that sugar and spice were naughty, so good little girls should be made of vegetables and vitamins instead.’
‘It’s like he’s bewitching the whole town,’ said Archie. ‘Turning them against sweets and chocolate and fun.’
‘Everyone except Mummy,’ said Georgie, matter-of-factly. ‘His mind-control spell doesn’t work on her, so he used a Taciturnitas Hex on her instead. It stops her telling anyone what he’s up to.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Archie, astounded. Although he’d used the word ‘bewitching’, it hadn’t occurred to him that real magic was involved. ‘A mind-control spell?’
‘More like a potion,’ said Georgie, giving him a sly look. ‘I’m not telling you how it works – you’re supposed to be a wyrdworker, you work it out! No wonder Mummy thinks you shouldn’t be the Guardian.’
Preen has magical powers, thought Archie, resisting an urge to punch Georgie’s piggy snout. How else could he be having such a sudden effect?
‘We saw him put the hex on her at the biscuit factory,’ continued Portia, cradling the Viking like it was a bearded, armoured baby. ‘When he brought all the tree bark.’
‘The tree bark?’ said Archie.
‘That’s what they make all the Safer Wafers from. He said someone had a load of trees cut down, so he took the bark off them, as it was full of wholesome nutrition and the wafers would put it to good use.’
‘That’s why they taste like dead woodworm,’ said Georgie. ‘We refused to eat them.’
Could Preen be involved with the trees disappearing from the old forest? If that was the case, was he the Mirk, in disguise? The thing they had seen in the forest was human-looking. Archie’s mind was spinning.
‘But why is your mum going along with his plan?’ he said. Portia smiled.
‘She wants to know what he’s up to, so she’s keeping him where she can keep a close eye on him,’ she said. ‘But once she finds out and stops him, then …’
Portia effortlessly pulled the Viking’s head from its body with a gruesome POP! and flung it at the wall as a demonstration.
‘That didn’t last long,’ remarked Georgie. ‘I guess we’ll have to keep playing with you, Gertrude.’ He looked across the room to where an ugly doll in a pink dress and bright yellow ringlets sat sulking. It was Garstigan! Archie hardly recognised him and almost choked in laughter.
‘Not funny, bratling!’ the mobgoblin snarled. ‘Itchy, frilly clothes are not Garstigan’s colour at all!’
Just then, Mr Puddingham-Pye poked his face around the door.
‘It’s birthday cake time!’ he trilled.
‘Cake?’ said the twins together, their faces eager and hopeful. ‘Actual birthday cake?’
‘Of course, poppets! It wouldn’t be a birthday without cake. And you’re in for a treat: it’s been specially created by Mr Preen …’
Georgie and Portia’s faces slumped with displeasure.
‘We don’t want it,’ they said. There was a dangerous edge to their voices. Portia’s hand moved towards what looked like a water pistol. Their father laughed pleasantly.
‘Yes, you do!’ he replied. ‘Come on back to the party, poppets. You wouldn’t want to upset Mr Preen and the others, would you?’
‘Yes –’ Georgie began, but it was no good. Tosh, using his considerable girth, shepherded the children out of the playroom, Portia hiding the water pistol in the folds of her skirt.
A huge, white cake stood on a trolley in the centre of the party. Ribbons of pink and blue icing decorated its many layers. Everyone stood expectantly around it, as Mrs Puddingham-Pye stuck little pink and blue candles on to its surface.
‘It doesn’t actually look too bad,’ said Archie. A shadow loomed over his shoulder.
‘I take that as the highest compliment, ha ha,’ whispered Preen in his ear. The man was just behind him, grinning wickedly.
Archie stepped away in alarm. ‘I know what you are, and what you’re up to,’ he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. ‘And I’ll stop you.’
‘Oh no, young man, ha ha. I don’t think you do know, on either count. Also, I believe you are lacking a certain, shall we say, family heirloom? A jewel of some importance, ha ha!’
The Treeheart! He knows about it, thought Archie. Preen must be the Mirk! The dentist saw Archie’s look of shock and his smile curled cruelly. Archie backed away, filled with terror. He was trapped, surrounded by strange faces in an unfriendly house. His head ached suddenly and sweat was forming on his brow, just like the first time they had seen the monster in the forest. It’s too powerful! I can’t do anything to stop this!
At that moment, Mrs Puddingham-Pye clapped her hands.
‘Attention, everyone,’ she said, gazing imperiously around at her guests. ‘It’s time for birthday cake. And what a masterpiece of wholesomeness it is! Made from ground coconut fibre, grass seeds, grated turnip and other delicious ingredients, sandwiched together with Puddingham-Pye’s patented Cremoliant synthetic cream and bedecked with toothpaste icing swirls. Completely, delightfully, sugar-free! Now, which of my two angels wants to light the candles?’
‘Me,’ said Portia. She stepped forward and pulled the water pistol from its hiding place and aimed it at the cake.
FWOOOOOOOOOOSSSH! A blast of fire, not water, swept across the room, enveloping the cake and incinerating it in an instant, toothpaste swirls and all. Portia calmly turned off the device and smiled triumphantly at the foaming slag heap that had once been a cake.
‘My birthday present to myself,’ she said, blowing across the pistol’s smoking muzzle. ‘A flame-thrower of my own design. I call it the Deathbreath 3000.’
‘She made that at after-school club,’ said Mrs Puddingham-Pye, proudly, to the hushed, open-mouthed guests, as her husband gaped with embarrassment. ‘She was top of her class in science this term, dear thing, and we almost got through the year without any teachers getting injured. We’re so blessed.’
Archie wasn’t listening – his fear had suddenly vanished. And where was Edward Preen? As soon as Portia had unleashed the Deathbreath 3000, the man had disappeared. Then Archie saw him, standing – hiding? – behind a marble pillar, the crimson light of the dying flames reflecting from his perfect, smooth face. Perhaps the cake going ka-blam had upset him.
Whilst the guests warily inspected the cinders of coconut fibre and smouldering turnip, Archie decided this was a good time to make his escape. He tiptoed to the front door, but found the exit was guarded.
‘Leaving already, Urchin?’ Mrs Puddingham-Pye had got there first. ‘We haven’t even started the party games yet,’ she said, raising an eyebrow.
‘I’ve had a lovely time,’ lied Archie. ‘But I really must be going. I had a nice chat with the twins.’ He gave her a meaningful look. The woman’s eyes flashed.
‘I hope you learned something … useful,’ she said. He knew she couldn’t talk about Preen. All she said was: ‘If you need me, boy, you know where I am.’ She quietly opened the door and let him slip away.
Archie had never thought he’d find himself on the same side as the Puddingham-Pyes! He wouldn’t ever be able to properly trust them, but it seemed, for now, there was a kind of truce in place.
At breakfast the next morning, Mum was in a bad mood. Oranges were mercilessly pulverised into juice, toast was buttered into submission, and tea was slurped with extreme prejudice.
‘Anything … the matter, madam?’ enquired Tablet, arming himself with a spatula, just in case Mum decided to use the sausages as missiles.
Archie thought he already knew what the problem was.
‘Is it Mr Preen again?’ he asked.
Mum slammed her knife down on her plate, the sudden clatter sending Sherbet diving for cover under Archie’s chair.
‘That man is a nightmare!’ she said. ‘The committee to organise the Unquiet Night Festival events is practically falling apart!’
‘Why? We’ve only got a couple of days to go.’
‘I’m beginning to think there won’t be an Unquiet Night Festival at all,’ said Mum. ‘When Preen first showed up, a few people agreed with him. Now, half the committee have resigned because they think Unquiet Night is unwholesome. And, even worse, the N.I.C.E. campaign is threatening to protest outside the factory! I thought there’d be more resistance, but it feels like half of Dundoodle is sleepwalking its way around to Edward Preen’s way of thinking.’
Preen’s evil influence was spreading like a disease.
After breakfast, Billy and Fliss arrived. It was a rainy Sunday, but that didn’t dampen their excitement. There was lots to talk about, so they hurried to the hideout. Billy and Fliss were flabbergasted when Archie told them what had happened at the party.
‘You were lucky to get out of there alive!’ said Billy, on hearing of Portia and her flamethrower. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to be you, caught between the P-Ps and Preen and the cake apocalypse.’
‘Preen is some kind of … evil spirit?’ said Fliss. ‘I can’t believe it! He’s a dentist. He gave Gordon McPlankton two fillings and a scale and polish. That’s not exactly the kind of thing the Prince of Darkness would do.’
‘That’s why it’s the perfect disguise,’ argued Billy. ‘He’s respectable – whoever heard of a demon dentist?’
Archie nodded. It all made sense … or did it? A small doubt lurked annoyingly in his mind. Was it some wyrdworking instinct he had? He dismissed it.
‘If we didn’t already have a reason to avoid Preen,’ he said, ‘we’ve got one now. Keep away from him! We don’t know what he might do.’
Meanwhile, Billy had been reading through Belle’s journal.
‘It’s hard to understand some bits because of the old-fashioned way of writing,’ he said. ‘She talks a lot about her honey-dragon friend. She called him Corignis. She also mentions the Fjurge Brownies. I think she thought they were rather funny.’
‘Does she say anything about the Mirk?’ asked Fliss impatiently. ‘Or about the Treeheart?’
‘No. The entries stop a few days before Unquiet Night. There are just a few empty pages at the end.’
‘Why did she give her journal to the dragons to keep?’ said Archie. ‘It doesn’t make sense, if there’s nothing useful in there, nothing to tell us what she did with the Treeheart.’
‘Maybe she’s still got it,’ said Fliss. ‘Maybe they buried it with her in the graveyard.’
‘Belle McBudge is buried in Dundoodle?’ asked Archie.
‘Of course she is. In the McBudge family vault. All the McBudges are buried there, Archie. Maybe we should pay her a visit.’
Archie raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe we should…’ he said. Billy’s eyes almost popped out of his head.
‘Are you seriously saying you want to go and dig up Great-Great-Great-Times-A-Hundred-Auntie Belle McBudge from her maggot-ridden grave and see if she’s clutching the Treeheart in her cold, dead, skeletal hands?’ he asked, in disbelief. ‘That’s awesome!’
‘I’m not saying we should dig her up,’ said Archie. ‘At least, not yet. But hiding the Treeheart in a grave sounds plausible and, let’s face it, we’ve not got much else right now.’
As they passed the factory entrance on their way to the church, the children were surprised to see a small crowd of people loitering by its gates – it was Sunday, and the factory was closed.
‘They’re N.I.C.E. protestors!’ said Archie. ‘Mum said Preen was threatening to do this.’
The protestors were handing out Preen’s Safer Wafers to passers-by and carrying placards with slogans like
Sugar + Spice Is Not N.I.C.E.!
Chuck Out Chocolate and Stamp Out Sweets!
and
McBudge Fudge is Sludge!
which Archie found particularly offensive, after all the trouble he had gone to finding its secret ingredient last winter.
‘There are only a few of them,’ said Billy lightly. ‘It could be worse.’ Archie gritted his teeth and kept his head down as they passed the huddle of people. He had a feeling things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.
The three friends quickly made the journey across a rain-soaked town. Lurking in the shadow of the stunted spire of Saint Bawgbreath’s Church, the graveyard was surrounded by a wall whose cold, white flints had a look of ancient, lumpy bones. Grass and wildflowers grew high around the graves and there were occasional cackling barks from a family of foxes hidden in the undergrowth. Billy, a regular visitor, led the way.
‘This place is absolutely stuffed full of corpses,’ he said with relish, guiding them on a path between the lichen-covered headstones, ‘so no one new gets buried here any more. But the McBudge’s still have a bit of space in their vault if you were thinking of planning ahead, Archie.’
Archie shivered.
‘I am not,’ he said firmly.
At the back of the yard, overhung by a large yew tree, stood the McBudge vault. It was like a miniature temple, all stone columns and depressed cherubs. The McBudge coat of arms was inscribed on its metal door.
‘It’s very small,’ commented Fliss. ‘How can all your ancestors fit in there?’
‘This is just the entrance,’ said Billy. ‘The vault is underground.’
Archie pulled on the metal door handle. The lock was ancient and decayed, and crumbled away before his eyes. It took all three of them to open the door, its rusty edges scraping against the stone as it slowly swung open. Steps led down into darkness. The dead awaited them.
> ‘It’s not very inviting,’ said Archie, feeling suddenly nervous. The ghosts of his ancestors might be hiding there, watching him, judging him. All the people in those portraits that hung on the walls of Honeystone Hall – they were here.
‘Go on, it’s raining again,’ said Fliss, with a persuasive nudge. ‘At least in there we’ll be dry.’
She handed him a torch from her pocket. Archie wedged the door open with a stone, then lit their way down the steps. Billy kept so close behind him that Archie could hear his friend’s nervous breathing. It wasn’t very grand inside the vault. Cobwebs hung from every corner, almost as if Tablet had tried to make the place homely for its residents. Under the low ceiling, generations of McBudges lay in coffins, stacked one on top of the other like tins on a supermarket shelf.
‘It’s quite crowded,’ whispered Fliss, peering over their shoulders as they carefully trod their way deeper into the vault. Shadows danced around them. ‘But I don’t suppose they need room to move about. You could have a right old family reunion if you had a seance here, Archie.’
‘Was that what you were planning?’ said Billy, trying to keep his voice calm, his hand gripping Archie’s shoulder a little too tightly for comfort. ‘Only, I think I might go and get some fresh air.’
‘There’s no need,’ said Archie, stopping. ‘We’ve found her.’
They were standing next to a coffin carved from stone. Engraved on its side were the words
Archibelle McBudge
Departed this world in peace, 1560 A D
‘Is the Treeheart inside?’ squeaked Billy. ‘Are you going to look?’
Archie hesitated. Belle had defeated the Mirk and saved the Wyrdie Tree, finding the Jewel of Renewal. She had done her job then and had earned her rest. Archie wasn’t about to disturb her.
‘No,’ he said reluctantly. Then something under the cobwebs caught his eye. ‘I don’t think I need to.’ A knot of spiders scrambled out of the way as he brushed the stone clean and shone Fliss’s torch across its surface. There was an inscription on the coffin:
The Dentist of Darkness Page 6