The Dentist of Darkness

by David O'Connell

  ‘Music,’ said Archie, ‘from Dundoodle’s festival?’

  ‘It is a link that binds humans to the Wyrd. They have to play their part in the magic, just like you do as a Guardian. That’s why the Mirk wanted it stopped.’

  ‘But the festival was stopped!’ said Billy ‘What will happen to the Dance, without music?’

  The old dragon smiled to himself.

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said.

  The dragons left the children in the garden of Honeystone Hall, before buzzing off into the night. Blossom flew away with them, to spend some time with her relatives, after her encounter with the Mirk. She’d seen some things that would scare even a dragon!

  Mum saw them walking up the drive.

  ‘There you are!’ she said, opening the front door. She seemed a little flustered. ‘I’ve been looking for you for ages.’

  ‘We’ve been for a … walk,’ said Archie innocently. ‘There wasn’t much else to do, seeing as the festival was cancelled.’

  ‘That’s just where you’re wrong!’ said Mum with a smile. ‘Unquiet Night is back on. I’ve just been called by the organising committee! I don’t quite understand what’s happened, but that dreadful Mr Preen vanished with the fog, then there were fireworks overhead, and suddenly everyone is in the mood for a festival again. What’s up with these people? There must something in the water.’

  The children looked at each other as sounds of music floated up from the town. They left Sherbet safely with Tablet then, with Mum following behind, hurried down the street to Dundoodle’s market square. It was already filled with people, stalls and tables, all lit up by lanterns hung from the surrounding buildings. People were bringing out heaps of food: Witchberry buns, toffee apples and Wyrdie-pudding, Spooky Pie, Corpse Rolls and Coffin Cakes.

  ‘I think I’ll give those a miss,’ said Billy, eyeing the Coffin Cakes. ‘It’s a shame there are no Gingerbread Dragons. Preen got rid of them all.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ smiled Archie. ‘They’re not needed. And I’m sure they’ll be back next year.’

  They had a go at ‘Bite the head off a Water Sprite’, which Fliss won, and ‘Guess how many skulls in the pile o’ skulls’, which Fliss also won, and a three-legged race called ‘The march of the Triskelion’, which Fliss also won (with Mum), much to Billy’s annoyance.

  ‘I should be studying paranormal activity, anyway,’ he said huffily. ‘Not playing silly games.’

  Then there was the puppet show. To Fliss’s delight, the real Miss Clabbity appeared in a little theatre tent with her puppets, none the worse for her time spent as one of her own creations. The Mirk’s spell had broken, leaving her with no memory of what had happened. She was puzzled as to why there was a burned coffin in her shop, but Dundoodle was an odd town. The lady and the dragon appeared on the stage of her theatre, to cheers from the crowd, but no Mirkthorn appeared that night, or ever again.

  There was a costume parade, with children in their best (and worst) home-made outfits, ready to go on the Wyrdie Walk and bag as many sweets as possible, without Mr Preen to interfere.

  Then there were proper fireworks. They were no match for the honey dragons, but they still lit up the sky with a rain of stars and sparkling fountains of bright colour. The crowds clapped and squealed and laughed, and – clinking glasses of Spellcaster Sugarbeer together – agreed they were much better than last year’s.

  Finally, someone brought out some bagpipes, and violins and drums and tin whistles appeared too, and the music began. Everyone joined hands, forming a chain of people that danced through the streets, weaving in and out of the alleyways and the lanes. Archie was surrounded on all sides by happy, dancing people and could feel the magic of Unquiet Night in the song and the movement and the joy. It tumbled into the air, away over the loch, and if he had been able to, he would have seen another dance taking place beneath the Wyrdie Tree, a circle of strange folk dancing together, to the same tune as the people of Dundoodle, lit by the fire of a flight of dragons.

  Archie was stood in the portrait room of Honeystone Hall. Was he imagining it, or did the painting of Archibelle McBudge look happier than before? He had picked some heather from the dragons’ moor and placed it on her tomb a few days after Unquiet Night, as a way of saying thank you. It felt like the right thing to do, a proper end to her chapter in the story.

  None of the townsfolk of Dundoodle ever knew what had become of Mr Preen. As far as they were concerned he had just disappeared, and with him had disappeared their appetite for all things N.I.C.E. They discovered they were actually quite fond of sweets, after all.

  The McBudge factory would be producing Fizzfires for the next Unquiet Night. Mr Fairbairn said they were already proving very popular with test groups, and that Archie’s future as a sweet-maker looked very bright indeed. Almost as bright as Billy’s future as a historian. He was made an honorary member of the Dundoodle Historical Society, in recognition of his discovery of Belle McBudge’s original recipe for Gingerbread Dragons – the youngest ever person to receive the award.

  Fliss wasn’t fully her normal self for a while. Her confidence had taken a knock. She did not like being used and was horrified that she could have worked against her friends. She was too stubborn for the mood to last, however, and she was soon back to arguing with Billy, or teasing Archie, and her bond with Blossom was stronger than ever.

  ‘I thought I might find you here,’ said the ghost, who appeared through the wall of the portrait room, at Archie’s side.

  ‘Great-Uncle Archibald!’ said Archie. ‘I thought I was never going to see you again.’

  ‘I wanted to properly congratulate you on your good work, Archie. You’ve already achieved more than most Guardians do in a lifetime. I can see you are going to have an eventful future.’

  Archie grinned.

  ‘I’m ready for it,’ he said. ‘There was a while when I thought I wasn’t. But I know now that being the Guardian is what I was meant to do. And I’m happy to do it, as well. I belong here.’

  The ghost smiled.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘It was you who helped us find the map to the Wyrdie Tree, wasn’t it?’ said Archie. ‘The atlas flying off the shelf and that sudden breeze were your doing.’

  ‘Aye, it was me,’ Great-Uncle Archibald admitted. ‘I thought you could do with a hand. Since Belle’s time, all the McBudges have used her map to get to the Wyrdie Tree. I was shown it by my father, so I thought it was fair enough to provide a bit of spiritual guidance. I don’t think you need my help any more.’

  ‘I hope I do,’ said Archie. ‘I think I would miss you, if you were gone for good.’

  ‘I meant to ask you,’ said the ghost, its misty eyes getting mistier for a moment. ‘What did you do with the Treeheart after the Wyrdie Tree had renewed? It has to be kept safe for the future. Where did you hide it?’

  The boy gave the ghost a sly smile. Sunlight shone through the elderly phantom, beckoning Archie outside.

  ‘It’s quite safe,’ he said, whistling for Sherbet and running for the door. ‘Where? You’ll only have to wait five hundred years to find out …’

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to award the Freedom of the Town of Dundoodle to the team at Bloomsbury Children’s Books for all their hard work in making The Dentist of Darkness a thing of actual paper and ink. Their patience, enthusiasm and eye for detail has made the experience a total pleasure. I’d also like to usher onto the podium all the book bloggers, reviewers and influencers who had such nice things to say about The Chocolate Factory Ghost, giving The Dundoodle Mysteries such a great start in life. I hope this book is enjoyed just as much!

  An extra-large medal goes to Claire Powell for her fabulous illustrations and to the children at the Tom Fletcher Book Club launch who helped her create the fearsome Wood Waggle.

  Archie stared up at the portrait of the old man. It had winked at him, hadn’t it? He was sure of it. No, he must be imagining things. This
spooky old house was playing tricks with his mind.

  He was sitting in the very grand library of the very grand Honeystone Hall, surrounded by books – how could anyone own so many books? – and ancient, rickety and very dusty furniture. Were all the cobwebs real or were they specially delivered by the We’ll-Make-Your-Home-Look-Creepy Company? Mum sat in the chair next to him, fidgeting like she had spiders dancing in her underwear and too preoccupied to pay any attention to misbehaving artwork. Had the portrait winked at him again? It hadn’t. Had it? It HAD! It even grinned a little. This place was seriously WEIRD.

  He dragged his eyes away from the painting which hung above the very grand fireplace.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ he whispered for the hundredth time.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mum whispered back. She gave the sparrow-like man shuffling papers, who sat in front of them, a sharp look.

  ‘Can we get on with … things, Mr Tatters?’ she said. ‘We’ve come all the way from Invertinkle.’

  ‘Of course, of course, dear lady,’ said the lawyer amiably. ‘Some of the details of this … situation are unusual. I was just checking a few particulars, but now we can proceed.’ He cleared his throat dramatically.

  ‘Archie McBudge,’ said Mr Tatters, peering at the boy through a pair of grubby spectacles. ‘You are a very fortunate young man. Very fortunate indeed. Great things lie in store for you.’

  Archie had never thought he was destined for Great Things. A few Medium-Sized Things perhaps. ‘Medium-sized’ always sounded manageable. Great Things sounded like a lot of responsibility and he wasn’t the ambitious type.

  ‘Really?’ was all he could say. What was going on?

  ‘Whilst we mourn the recent tragic loss of your great-uncle, Archibald McBudge …’ said Mr Tatters, pointing a bony finger towards the painting – the painting! He had a Great-Uncle Archibald? ‘… owner of McBudge’s Fudge and Confectionery Company, and a dear, personal friend of mine …’ Archie’s jaw dropped. McBudge’s Fudge! He’d never even known Great-Uncle Archibald existed, but everyone knew McBudge’s Fudge. It was the softest, sweetest-tasting, melt-in-the-mouthiest, fudgiest fudge you could buy. The best in the world. Archie had always been pleased he shared his name with a company that made something so famously tasty, but he’d never thought there might be an actual family connection! And from the look on Mum’s face, she hadn’t either. She started to say something but was interrupted by Mr Tatters giving his beaky nose a good blow.

  ‘Whilst we mourn his loss,’ the lawyer repeated, dabbing his eyes, ‘I am very pleased to tell you that your great-uncle remembered you in his will.’ He picked up a leather-bound folder. Archie and Mum looked nervously at each other. Nobody had ever left them anything in a will before. They’d never known anyone with any money! All they knew was that Mr Tatters had sent them a letter asking them to drive all the way to the little town of Dundoodle, tucked between a mountain and a forest-edged loch, to meet him at Honeystone Hall to talk about some ‘family business’. The lawyer was reading from a piece of paper in the folder.

  ‘Your great-uncle writes: As my nephew is no longer alive, I hereby leave all my earthly possessions to his son, my namesake, Archie McBudge. My fortune, my business holdings and associated properties I leave to him and his heirs.’ Mr Tatters took off his spectacles and looked at Archie expectantly.

  ‘Oh, Archie!’ said Mum with a deep intake of breath.

  ‘What?’ said Archie. He didn’t understand. What were ‘earthly possessions’? ‘Has he left me his gardening tools or something?’

  ‘No!’ hissed Mum. ‘Archie, he’s left you everything.’

  ‘Everything?’ said Archie.

  ‘Everything,’ said Mr Tatters.

  ‘Does that mean I own the fudge factory?’ said Archie in disbelief. ‘Where they make the fudge and the chocolates and all the other sweets?’

  ‘Yes, Archie. You own the fudge factory,’ confirmed Mr Tatters.

  ‘And all the McBudge Fudge shops?’ put in Mum, wide-eyed. ‘There’s one in almost every town.’

  ‘And all the McBudge Fudge shops,’ said Mr Tatters.

  ‘And Honeystone Hall?’ said Archie, looking around him. ‘Can we come and live here? There must be over a hundred rooms in this place!’ And a very odd painting, though he didn’t mention that.

  ‘And Honeystone Hall,’ said Mr Tatters. He snapped the folder shut. ‘Fudge fortune. Fudge factory. Fudge shops. Fudge … urm, Honeystone Hall. The whole lot. Even the gardening tools.’

  I must have put my lucky underpants on today, thought Archie. He looked up at the portrait of Great-Uncle Archibald. The old man in the painting winked at him again. And this time, Archie winked back.

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ said Mr Tatters, reaching into his jacket pocket. ‘Your great-uncle left you this letter.’ He handed Archie a crumpled envelope. A surprisingly steady hand (Great-Uncle Archibald looked ancient in the portrait) had written on it in thick caramel-brown ink:

  To the heir of the Chief of the Clan McBudge.

  ‘The heir,’ said Mr Tatters, catching Archie’s puzzled look. ‘That would be you. Old Mr McBudge intended for you to read this in private. Why don’t you go and explore whilst your mother and I discuss the legal paperwork and whatnot? I’m sure you’ll find plenty of quiet spots in the house to read.’

  He was being dismissed. The grown-ups had grown-up things to talk about. With a nod from Mum, Archie ran out of the library, clutching the mysterious letter. His head was spinning. He was … he was rich! And Honeystone Hall belonged to him. Him and nobody else. Except maybe the ghost of his great-uncle. What had been going on with that painting? He pushed it out of his mind. There were plenty of other things to think about. Great Things. It would take him a week just to explore the house, never mind the gardens and the factory.

  Archie wandered along a passageway, pondering which of the doors to try first. Everything – furniture, pictures, wallpaper – looked very old and was covered in a ghostly layer of dust. The stillness was deathly. Plenty of quiet spots, Mr Tatters had said. Spots? This was practically measles.

  He tried one door. It was a cupboard, filled with moth-speckled coats. Another door revealed an old-fashioned laundry room, with sinks and mangles and drying rails. So far, so disappointing. Yet there was something else. In each room Archie could feel a presence, like someone – something – had left just moments before. He shivered.

  Finally, he chose a large green door with a dark metal handle. With a satisfying clunk, it opened and light poured into the shadowy passage. He took a step backwards as he was struck by the heat and smell of earth. Ferns, palm trees, vines and orchids lay before him, bathed in a balmy mist and occupied with the business of growing and flowering and generally being alive and leafy. Had he stumbled into a different world? Transported to a desert island? He half expected a dinosaur to lumber into view.

  ‘It’s a giant greenhouse,’ he said aloud. The glass roof was as high as the Hall itself. The warmth, light and life were a marked contrast to the rest of the house and the dreary wintry world outside it. But it had the same watchfulness about it. Something hidden had its eye on him.

  Archie followed a path amongst the plants and perched on a twisted tree root that had pushed its way up through the tiled floor. He opened the envelope and pulled out a crisp piece of paper covered with the same caramel-coloured writing.

  Dear Archie (the letter began),

  Mr Tatters must have told you by now that you are my heir as Chief of the Clan McBudge, as well as heir to the McBudge Fudge fortune. I have no doubt this will have come as a surprise to you. Knowing you would inherit one day, but wanting you to have a normal life for as long as possible, your father kept his family connections a secret.

  So Dad knew all along! Archie smiled. Dad loved secrets. He wished Dad was here now.

  Your father was a clever man. Having lots of money can do strange things to people. And the desire for money can make people go bad.
Very bad. You must always remember this!

  But who better to run a chocolate factory than a child? Children understand fudge and sweets and chocolate far better than grown-ups. However, it is a great responsibility.

  You must prove you are worthy of your inheritance, worthy of the name McBudge! So I have set you a test, in the form of a treasure hunt, to see just how canny you are …

  There are six items you must collect, and six clues to find them. Once you have them all, a greater seventh treasure awaits you! But keep it secret! Others will go to any length to get it first!

  Others? What did that mean?

  The first clue will appear very soon. Keep your eyes open and your taste buds ready! You may find help in the strangest ways. Dundoodle is an odd place – expect the unexpected …

  Good luck!

  Your great-uncle, Archibald McBudge.

  Archie realised he was holding his breath. His heart was beating fast. A test? A treasure hunt?

  P.S. Look behind you.

  ‘If you ask me,’ said a voice just by his ear, ‘you’re in a whole lot of trouble, Archie McBudge.’

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  First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  Text copyright © David O’Connell, 2019

  Illustrations copyright © Claire Powell, 2019

  David O’Connell has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work