Archie checked his clock – it was almost afternoon! Why hadn’t someone woken him? He’d gone to bed very late, after working with the others on his idea in the factory, but he hadn’t meant to sleep in this long. He wasn’t even sure his idea would work, either. Had the factory workers been able to make it successfully? He sprang out of bed and quickly got dressed, picking up Belle’s journal from his bedside table. He’d kept it close ever since they’d found the secret writing on the recipe.
Running downstairs, he grabbed some toast from the kitchen and, followed by Sherbet, went straight to the factory. Billy and Fliss were already there, waiting for him anxiously in Mr Fairbairn’s office.
‘We’d thought you’d be here ages ago,’ hissed Fliss. ‘Archie, it’s Unquiet Night. I hope you’ve got a Treeheart hidden under your T-shirt, or we’re in trouble.’
‘I haven’t,’ Archie growled. He was tired and scared, his temper frayed, but he still managed a smile when Fliss’s dad appeared, carrying a metal bowl of sweets. They were round and looked a little like marbles, with a swirling yellow and orange pattern.
‘One experimental sample of our newest product,’ said Mr Fairbairn, handing Archie the bowl. ‘The very first sweet invented by young Mr McBudge. I have to say, I’m very impressed with your creativity and hard work. What did you say you were calling them?’
‘Fizzfires,’ said Archie. ‘I hope they do Belle McBudge proud.’
Thanking a puzzled Mr Fairbairn for his help, Archie carried the bowl up to the hideout, followed by the others, panting in the heat of the factory. Blossom had been hiding in Fliss’s bag and Fliss was eager to let the dragon out.
‘It’s already hot enough, without having to hide a dragon about your person,’ she said, as the creature flew out of her bag and buzzed about the twisted pipework. ‘Especially one that’s all fidgety because she doesn’t like sharing her transportation.’
‘Sharing with who?’ asked Billy, as Blossom let out a smoky grumble.
‘Cogswallop,’ said Fliss, showing Billy the clockwork dragon from Miss Clabbity’s shop, which was sat at the bottom of her bag. ‘That’s what I named it. Blossom gets a bit jealous.’
‘Completely bonkers,’ muttered the real-life dragon, as she threw a withering look at the toy, from her perch on Sherbet’s head.
‘It’s going to get hotter, I’m afraid,’ said Archie. ‘A quick blast of Dragon-fire on the sweets will finish them off. Then we’ll have a replacement for the Gingerbread Dragon, something that will protect us from the Mirk – but with a twist.’
Blossom obliged, filling the metal bowl with golden flames. It wasn’t enough to melt the sweets, but Archie could sense the magic in the air as the honeystone crystals formed. The Fizzfires were now enchanted.
‘Belle’s Gingerbread Dragons had honeystone in them,’ said Fliss. ‘I still don’t get what makes these different.’
‘They’re smaller, but they have loads more ginger,’ said Archie, ‘so they’re much more powerful. Belle didn’t have a sweet factory nearby and that’s our advantage. I added sherbet so they have plenty of fizz, just like our Sherbet! They’re practically explosive!’
‘It feels like you’re handing out ammunition,’ said Billy apprehensively.
‘We’re going into combat,’ said Archie. ‘We’ll need every weapon we can get hold of. Magical sweets, dragons and battle-dogs included.’
Sherbet whined.
Archie divided the sweets between three small bags with long string handles and handed one each to Fliss and Billy.
‘We’ll take these with us on the boat to the forest,’ he said, hanging the bag around his neck.
‘I hate to be a bore,’ said Fliss, ‘but we’re still missing one rather important jewel-related item. Without it, these sweets are pointless.’
‘I know!’ snapped Archie. ‘Do you think I don’t know? I’m just as frustrated – more so – than you! This is the best I can do right now.’
Fliss turned red and bit her lip.
Archie sighed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t think straight in this heat – let’s get back to the Hall, it’s not so warm in there.’
The long, corridor-like portrait room allowed for the most movement of air, so the children went there to let tempers cool off. Archie slumped on the floor in front of the painting of Belle McBudge. Again, he reminded himself of the last part of the riddle from Belle’s grave:
Look where my mournful gaze alights
One heart broken, one renewed.
‘Billy,’ he said, staring up at the portrait. ‘Have you found any other pictures of Belle?’
‘No. This is the only image that exists, as far as I know.’
‘Do you think there’s a clue to the Treeheart in the picture?’ asked Fliss.
They stood up and studied the painting. Belle’s gaze was a bit mournful, but what was she looking at? She was looking at herself in a mirror, and she wore a jewelled headband entwined with her hair.
‘She’s wearing jewels!’ said Archie. ‘Is one of them the Treeheart?’
‘There’s that scroll about the McBudge jewels, in the library,’ said Billy running off to fetch it. ‘And I can think of some other records that might help us.’ He came back with a stack of parchment and several books, spreading them out on the floor.
Whilst Billy and Fliss divided the books between them, Archie opened Belle’s journal, flicking through its pages, searching for any mention of jewellery. Perhaps she had written where she kept her headband – a hiding place for her treasured possessions? The old-fashioned handwriting was so difficult to understand!
Time passed. More books were found, more dusty old documents brought out, but none were of any use. Fliss even suggested a room-by-room search of the Hall.
‘That would take years!’ said Billy, pacing the room for the hundredth time. ‘It’s practically an expedition. We’ve only got a few hours left!’
‘It’s no good,’ said Archie finally, sinking to the floor. ‘We’re doomed. Magic in Dundoodle is doomed.’ He stared up at the painting. ‘Come on, Belle,’ he pleaded. ‘Please help me. I really want to do this. Please.’
From nowhere, Archie caught the scent of spice: ginger. Was Tablet cooking? As the windows were open, the smell could have come from anywhere. But he remembered how the same scent had led them to Belle’s portrait in the first place. He closed his eyes and inhaled. His mind began to clear, and he felt his senses sharpen. Opening his eyes again, he stood up in front of the picture, this time saying aloud: ‘Look where my gaze alights.’
Archie noticed something about the mirror Belle was looking at in the painting. She wasn’t looking at herself. She was using it to look behind her, over her shoulder! She was looking at the little statue of Corignis, the dragon who died to save the Wyrdie Tree. The green eye of the dragon flickered. Archie frowned.
‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘Honey dragons have golden eyes, not green!’ And it was blinking at him! No, not blinking – it was glinting! There was a green jewel embedded into the picture itself, sunk into the wooden panel on to which the portrait had been painted. This was what Belle was gazing at! ‘The Treeheart has been hidden in the painting all along, right under the noses of generations of McBudges.’
Archie lightly touched the jewel. The painted dragon suddenly moved its head and transformed. The whole picture was enchanted! Corignis was now a real dragon, clinging to the painting with very solid-looking claws.
As they watched in astonishment, the creature’s eyelids opened wide, like a flower opening its petals. The left eye was the usual golden colour of honey dragons, but the right was emerald green and sparkling. The little dragon blinked and the jewel dropped out of its eye and into Archie’s waiting hand.
‘I’ve found it!’ Archie laughed with relief. He could hardly believe it. ‘The Jewel of Renewal. Clever old Belle. What a great hiding place!’
‘I bet the wood that was used to make the painting came from the forest,’ said B
illy, ‘from one of the magical trees.’
The dragon – which now had two golden eyes – settled back into the picture and didn’t move again. The Treeheart had been handed on, from one Guardian to another, and it was Archie’s responsibility now.
Fliss and Billy gasped as the jewel sparkled in Archie’s hand, spots of bright, green light reflecting on to the surrounding walls.
Fliss’s bag began to rattle and jump about violently.
‘Whoa!’ said Billy. ‘Have you something else alive in there?’
‘No,’ said Fliss, dropping the bag to the floor. ‘Only Cogswallop.’
At that moment, the little clockwork creature waddled out of the bag, and began running in agitated circles at their feet. Then its wooden wings began to flap and the dragon took off, whirring in a spiral as it flew.
‘I’ve never seen Cogswallop do that before,’ said Fliss, with a laugh. But the hairs on Archie’s neck stood up. There was bad magic at work here. Before he could act, Cogswallop swooped down, his jaws plucking the Treeheart from Archie’s fingers. They watched, horrified, as the toy flew bumpily out of the room.
‘Jewel thief!’ yelled Billy. They raced downstairs after the clockwork dragon, Sherbet running in front and barking angrily.
‘I don’t understand it!’ said Fliss, stuffing Blossom unceremoniously back into her bag as they ran out of the open front door of the Hall. ‘What does Cogswallop want with the Treeheart?’
‘It’s not Cogswallop,’ said Archie. ‘Preen must be controlling him.’
‘But –’ began Fliss. She was remembering something, but there was no time to talk. The thief swept down the drive, into the street and towards the factory gates, high over the heads and placards of the N.I.C.E. protestors, who were still outside and had grown in number, despite the heat. Luckily, Mr Preen was nowhere to be seen. The children tried to make their way quietly through the crowd, hoping to go unnoticed.
‘That’s Archie McBudge!’ said a voice that made Archie’s heart sink. It was Miss McTwang, who was carrying a banner that said NO SUGAR – I’M SWEET ENOUGH, THANK YOU!.
‘Please, let us through!’ begged Archie. ‘It’s really important!’ The protestors weren’t prepared to listen. A large group had surrounded them, chanting. He recognised some of their faces.
‘CHUCK OUT CHOCOLATE!’ It was Mrs Crumple who ran the hillwalking club. She always had an emergency chocolate bar on her, in case she got stuck up a mountain!
‘STAMP OUT SWEETS!’ That was Old MacTwistie, whose usual hobby was sitting on street corners waving his walking stick at cyclists for no apparent reason.
‘N.I.C.E. NOT NAUGHTY!’ And that was Angus Beanfrost. He hadn’t been near a dentist in years!
‘MY BANNER IS ON FIRE!’ shouted Peony Prestwick, which was a bit of an odd slogan. ‘No, it really is – look!’
Whilst attention was on Archie, Fliss had opened her bag, allowing Blossom to poke her head out for a moment and send a burst of flame upwards. One sign had caught alight, and others quickly followed. There were screams and shouts from some of the protesters as they tried to keep the burning card away from themselves, and people ran in every direction, throwing the placards to the ground and stamping on the fire to put it out.
Archie and the others took advantage of the confusion and hurried into the street. Through the smoky haze, they just caught sight of the clockwork dragon as it turned a corner.
‘Where’s he going?’ said Billy, as they trailed after it. ‘If we’re not careful, we’ll lose him in all this smoke.’
‘It’s not smoke,’ said Archie, fear rising in his voice, as tendrils of fog crept around their feet. ‘It’s that Mirk mist – like we ran into in the old forest! And the dragon is heading for the graveyard …’
Archie was right – Cogswallop was fluttering towards the tower of St Bawgbreath’s Church. They ran through the crooked lanes of Dundoodle, sweating in the late afternoon heat, as the mist thickened into a dank soup. The streets were empty, people either choosing to stay indoors to escape the weather, or wary of being out on this particularly eerie day.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Billy. ‘I don’t like it at all. Going back to the graveyard when the Mirk is about. On Unquiet Night! It’ll catch us, chew us up and spit us out like rancid liquorice! And that’s if the restless dead don’t reach up out of their graves and grab us first!’
They trailed the click-clack of the toy’s wooden wings through the haze. It bobbed unsteadily over the wall of the graveyard. Following as quickly as they could, they just managed to see the dragon land, and scuttle through a small gap in the entrance to the McBudge vault. The green sparkle of the jewel was lost in the darkness inside.
‘A dead end!’ said Fliss, whispering for some reason.
‘Literally,’ said Billy with a nervous gulp. ‘Those coffins are in there! We can’t go back in.’
They stopped at the door. Sherbet sniffed the air, warily.
‘We’ve got no choice,’ said Archie. ‘Without the Treeheart, the Wyrdie Tree can’t renew itself. We’re going in to face whatever’s in there. Those coffins are only boxes of wood, remember.’
They cautiously heaved the door open, its metallic scraping sound all the more ominous in the mist. Fliss switched on her torch and the three carefully trod their way down the stone steps.
‘Silent,’ whispered Fliss, ‘as the grave.’ Annoyed, Billy gave her a nudge in the ribs. It was cold too. Facing them, in the middle of the tomb floor, was Cogswallop. He sat motionless, the Treeheart still held tightly between his clenched teeth.
‘What’s he waiting for?’ said Archie. At that moment, there was an eerie cry from somewhere in the town: long, haunting and inhuman. It echoed amongst the tombs. It was a summons.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
There was a dull clapping noise, a drumming from further down in the vault’s deepest shadows.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
It was getting closer.
‘What is … that?’ squeaked Billy, his throat dry.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Archie dragged the others back towards the steps, just as three hunched figures appeared out of the darkness. Scrawny arms and legs had sprouted like twisted tree-branches from squat, angular, headless bodies.
‘The coffins!’ squealed Fliss. ‘They’ve come … alive!’
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The coffin-creatures stepped jerkily towards them. The drumming sound was made by their lids slamming shut with each step. As the lids closed, the torchlight caught the children’s names scratched on their surface.
‘Coffin creepers!’ said Billy. ‘Like in one of the old Unquiet Night legends! Creepy Scale rating nine point seven! Though I might consider revising that, on the basis of first-hand experience.’
‘They’re after us!’ yelled Archie. ‘We need to get out of here NOW!’
‘What about Cogswallop?’ said Fliss, but Sherbet had already thought of that. The little dog pounced on the toy, grabbing its wings in his mouth. He ran up the steps and out of the door, and the children ran after him, as fast as they could.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The coffin creepers stomped after them.
‘Where do we go?’ said Billy urgently, as they scrambled out of the graveyard and into the town.
‘The Hall!’ said Archie. ‘We need to get to the boat. It’s the quickest way to the Tree.’
They charged through the maze of streets, leaving the creepers behind. But as they turned a corner they found their way blocked by a misshapen silhouette – one of the monsters had got there first! In horror, they retraced their steps, then took as snaking a route as they could, hoping to confuse their pursuers. But somehow the coffin creepers knew exactly which way to go, and always managed to block their path. The children were being herded, hunted relentlessly. The drumbeat of the coffin creepers’ march was all around.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The fog was getting worse, it was diffi
cult to see what was ahead. Dundoodle had sunk into an unnatural twilight, weighed down by the sticky heat.
‘Miss Clabbity’s is this way!’ said Fliss, pointing down an alley. ‘We can hide in there. Quick!’
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The children stumbled along the cobbles; fearful of every shadow, the heat pressing down on them, every footstep a superhuman effort. They saw the toyshop, its welcoming window lights dimmed by the mist.
‘Thank goodness!’ said Fliss, pushing open the door. ‘We can barricade ourselves in with Miss Clabbity whilst we wait for rescue. She’ll know what to do.’
‘No,’ said Archie. Something wasn’t right. The feeling of dread – that he thought he was close to banishing with his newly found determination – was fighting to take over his head again. But Billy had already pushed him into the shop, and slammed the door behind them. Sherbet gave a throaty growl, still holding tightly on to Cogswallop. A figure stepped from the shadows inside. A smile gleamed menacingly.
‘Do come in, children,’ its owner said. ‘I was expecting you, ha ha.’
It wasn’t Miss Clabbity. It was Edward Preen.
‘It’s a trap!’ squealed Billy. ‘Caught between the Dentist of Darkness and the Triplets of Terror!’
‘The creepers weren’t chasing us!’ said Archie. ‘They were forcing us to come here.’
‘Calm yourself,’ said Preen, leaning towards the boy and grabbing his wrist tightly. ‘Emotional agitation is hardly nice behaviour is it? But then you weren’t keen on my Safer Wafer. Such a pity – it would have made things so much easier, ha ha.’
‘The Safer Wafer,’ nodded Archie. ‘We worked it out. Anyone who eats a wafer is on your side.’
‘Correct. The folk of this town need to be kept quiet this Unquiet Night. No music, no songs, no Dance of the Wyrd.’
‘What’s the Dance of the Wyrd got to do with anything?’ said Archie.
‘Quiet, boy! My work here is almost done. I need only to open the door and let in the coffin creepers.’ The man advanced towards them. ‘And that will be the end of you, ha ha.’
The Dentist of Darkness Page 8