by M. E. Castle
“There’s no gho—” Kyle stopped talking. A creak had come from beyond the tall grass.
A huge shadow moved toward them from behind one of the crypts. Long, wailing creaks and groans got louder and louder as the shadow grew.
They froze. A dark figure appeared, passing through the high grass between smaller stones. It looked like a man, but he wasn’t walking.
He was gliding. And his clothes were ragged, covered in dirt, and torn—almost like he’d just clawed his way out of a grave.
CHAPTER TEN
PEE-EW!
The ghost opened its mouth, and Kyle winced, waiting for its bone-chilling howl.
“Hey, is this really the time and place for a sing-along?”
Kyle blinked. The ghost didn’t sound ghosty—not that he really knew what a ghost would sound like. In fact, the ghost sounded like a normal man.
A few seconds later the figure emerged from the tall grass, and Kyle saw why he sounded like a normal man: because he was one.
One very tall grave digger was standing in a wheelbarrow. Kyle could see a second, short and fat grave digger pushing it forward now that the tall grass and tombstones no longer hid them.
Kyle wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed.
“Woooo-oomp!” Gross Gabe said as Kyle put a hand over his mouth.
“No more spooky now,” Kyle said quietly before taking his hand away.
“No woo!” Gabe said, which seemed to make him just as happy.
“And you there, apprentice!” the fat one shouted as the wheelbarrow came to a squeaky halt. “Shouldn’t you be over here helping us dig?”
“Er, yes,” Hamlet said. “I was just showing them around.”
“We’re looking at different spots for graves!” Halley chimed in. “We’re seeing what plots we might like. You know, the views, the neighbors, the decor. Your apprentice has been very helpful.”
“Huh,” the man in the wheelbarrow said. “Some people really plan ahead, I guess. Though I admit it’s necessary these days, with the graves being filled up so fast. I have to stand up in this wheelbarrow just to spot new spaces to dig! So what was all that dancing and singing?”
“Stretching and breathing exercises!” Kyle said. “This damp air gets into the joints, you know? We had to stop for a minute to limber up.”
The grave digger nodded, though his puzzled look didn’t go away. Somewhere off in the trees a crow cawed.
“By the way,” Hamlet said casually, “you gentlemen don’t happen to have seen any ghosts recently, have you? Maybe in the past few days?”
Both grave diggers started to laugh.
“Everyone always asks us about ghosts,” said the barrow pusher. “My boy, if there are ghosts, they’ve sure never felt like talking to us. Even if they were real, I imagine they’d have better things to do than hang around where they got buried.”
“The only funny business we’ve seen is somebody sneaking around in a hooded cloak with bags of redcap mushrooms and bundles of skunkblossom,” the other one added. “Don’t know why. Everyone knows redcaps are poisonous and the only thing a skunkblossom does is smell like eight weeks of sheep farts in a wine cask.”
The grave digger shrugged. “But with the way the castle smells now, who’d even notice, anyway?”
“True,” said the other. “All because of Prince Hamlet! Did you hear he’s blaming a ghost for the stench?”
“That’s nuts!” The tall one snorted. “Good thing ol’ Claudius took over. He may not be a nice king, but at least he knows which way is up without a map. You all right there, apprentice?”
Kyle glanced at Hamlet. The prince was shaking so hard, his shovel was kicking up dirt puffs.
“He’s just chilly,” Kyle said, stepping in front of him. “Like we said, dampness and everything.”
“Well, we’d better be off,” said the barrow pusher. “Have a good, uh, tour. Let us know if you have any questions.”
The grave diggers creaked away with the wheelbarrow.
“It wasn’t a ghost, but it was a clue,” Halley said. “I bet skunkblossom was what made the castle smell bad in the first place. Where does it grow around here?”
Kyle looked expectantly at Hamlet, but the prince didn’t say anything. He was too busy fuming.
“I can’t believe how unfair this all is,” Hamlet said, glowering. “It’s not right that I’m accused without being proven guilty. I can’t believe this is legal!”
“It’s probably not,” Halley interrupted smoothly, “which is why we must get you undeniable proof that you’re innocent and fit to be king. Which way to the skunkblossoms?”
“Follow me,” Hamlet said. Though he was still glowering, he began to walk. They crunched through the tall grass toward an area near the opposite side of the wall. “The first time I saw the ghost, it appeared in the middle of the graveyard and drifted in this direction, right toward … this spot.” He sniffed the air. “And this smell!”
“Yeah,” Kyle said, wrinkling his nose, “I noticed.” It was the same smell that made the castle seem like a walk through a swamp inhabited by nervous skunks.
Growing against the wall was a large patch of dark-green, yellow-splotched plants with bright bulblike flowers. They were almost pretty—if you could stand getting close enough to look.
“Fowers!” Gross Gabe said, trying to shake free of Kyle.
“No, no, no,” Kyle said, tightening his grip. “Smelling bad is basically your job. You really don’t need any help.”
They walked up to the patch, glancing left and right for any sign of a hooded figure.
“Look!” Hamlet said. “There’s a big empty spot right over here.”
The empty patch was large—and Kyle thought that a lot of skunkblossoms could have fit in there. Maybe even enough to stink up the whole castle.
They pondered the possibility that a distilled skunkblossom reduction left to simmer until properly coagulated might just do the trick.
“What?” Kyle said. “What did any of that mean?”
It meant yes. If, say, a hooded figure had that many skunkblossoms, he could boil them into a really awful potion that would stink up the entire castle.
“Hey,” Halley said, “there’s something here.” Holding her breath, she crouched down and brushed aside some fallen leaves.
Underneath was a very clear footprint.
“What kind of ghost leaves a footprint?” Hamlet asked, baffled.
“No kind,” Halley said. “Hamlet, you’re not seeing a ghost—you’ve been tricked!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROSES ARE RED, VIOLETS ARE BLUE, SKUNKBLOSSOMS SMELL—JUST LIKE YOU!
“I feel so stupid!” Hamlet said, looking down in dismay. Kyle felt pretty dumb, too. How many times had he drawn Mal and Cal Worthy looking at the ground for mysterious footprints like they had in issue five? Why hadn’t he thought of looking down sooner?
“No, it’s okay,” Halley said. “If it’s not a ghost, then it’s a person—and people can’t walk through walls or disappear. We can catch the actual prankster and prove you’re not lying!”
“And then we’ll be able to go home,” Kyle added. “The grave digger said this person’s been here a couple of times, and last time he chased him away. That means he may well come back again soon.”
“Fowers!” Gross Gabe proclaimed, struggling to get out of Kyle’s grasp.
“We can set a trap,” Halley said. She pointed to Hamlet’s grave-digging shovel. “And we have just the tool to do it with.”
“You really think that will work?” Hamlet said.
“Don’t know,” Halley said, “but it worked in Deadly Whispers issue number forty-three.”
“True,” Kyle said. “It…” He stopped cold. Had Halley just referenced a comic book? Could it be that she had a non-obnoxious interest? He was about to ask, but she was already halfway across the skunkblossom patch, looking for a good spot with Hamlet. There was no time to ask about it now, but h
e made a mental note in very bold mental pen to ask later.
Setting the trap was a several-step process. First they had to dig up one large skunkblossom plant without damaging it and set it carefully to the side. Then the work truly began.
Hamlet, Kyle, and Halley took turns with the shovel, and whoever didn’t have it did as best they could with their hands. In Gross Gabe’s case, that was actually pretty good. He flung soil from the growing pit like flinging dirt was his favorite game. Which it was.
Kyle wished he could harness the energy his brother had playing with dirt. With the right machinery, it could probably open a portal back to the real world.
“Now comes the tricky part,” Halley said when they were done.
They covered the opening of the pit with a thin layer of sticks and leaves and spread just a few inches of dirt on top of that. Then they stuck the skunkblossom in the very center.
“Not superconvincing,” Halley said. “But in the dark, it should do the trick.”
“All right,” Hamlet said. “Let’s hide and wait.” They hurried behind the nearest tombstone big enough to conceal them.
Time passed. It got very dark. Kyle’s stomach started to growl, and he tried covering it with his hands to muffle the noise. The only other noises were from the occasional owl and tiny scurrying things Kyle didn’t want to think about. Hamlet tapped his feet and drummed his fingers on the tombstone.
“Think they’re coming tonight?” Kyle asked.
“Seems unlikely now,” said Halley. “It took us a long time to dig. Anyone could’ve spotted us and run away.”
“I don’t know,” Hamlet said. “Should we stay or should we go?”
“I say we stay put,” Kyle said. “We worked hard on that trap. We should at least give it till morning.”
“Hey,” Hamlet said, “hold on.…”
Halley ignored him. “Who knows what this mysterious person will do during that time?” she said, her whisper getting less whisper-like.
“But this is the only place we know to look,” Kyle said. “Besides, the trap was your idea!”
“Wait, both of you,” Hamlet said anxiously.
“My idea to help us get out of a situation that you got us into,” Halley said. “The kid can barely spell his own name, but he gets a magical book delivered to his front door!”
“SHH!” Hamlet ordered. They shushed. And in the silence, they heard the sound of sticks breaking, a thump, and a surprised yelp.
Hamlet smiled. “We got him!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
A RUSTLE IN THE BUSHES IS NEVER A GOOD SIGN.…
The trap had worked perfectly.
Carefully, Kyle crept toward the pit, clutching Gross Gabe closely to him. Hamlet and Halley followed right behind, almost crawling. After all, whoever was in there was obviously up to no good. Maybe it was an evil knight who would leap right out of the pit, two swords flashing through the air. That’d make a good villain, actually. He’d have to tell Becca about it.
He peeked over the edge very slowly. At the bottom of the pit was a small, cloaked figure—a figure much smaller than he’d expected.
The figure looked up and pulled back the hood to reveal the angry face of a girl.
Kyle was surprised. She looked about their age, and not evil at all. Just really grumpy about falling into a pit trap.
“Ophelia!” Hamlet exclaimed.
“Hamlet?” The girl—Ophelia—got to her feet and looked suspiciously up at Halley, Kyle, and Gross Gabe. “What are you doing here?”
“I think you’re the one who needs to answer that question.” Hamlet crossed his arms. “Why are you sneaking around the skunkblossom patch? Are you the one setting off stink bombs in the castle?”
“No way,” Ophelia said. “I came here to try and find out who did!”
Hamlet tilted his head. “Three days ago the castle started to smell, and I haven’t seen you in three days. So even though you’re my best friend, I have to ask … where were you?”
Ophelia brushed dirt from her cloak. “Unlike some mopey princes in this castle,” she huffed, glaring at Hamlet, “I actually work. I’m teaching poetry by mail to an Italian kid. I’ve been writing notes and examples to send back to him.”
“For three days?” Kyle asked.
“He … needs a lot of notes,” Ophelia said. “He’s getting better, slowly. Very slowly. I have the letters to prove it!”
Hamlet looked unsure, but Halley nodded. “We believe you,” she said. “Give us a second and we’ll help you out of there.”
A soft snap made Kyle turn his head. Was someone else in the skunkblossom patch with them? He listened again, but all he heard was Gross Gabe’s soft snoring in his arms. It seemed the digging had worn him out.
Hamlet and Halley lowered the shovel into the pit, and Ophelia grabbed hold. With their help, she climbed out. Ophelia looked curiously at Kyle and Halley.
“Who are these people, anyway?”
“I’m Kyle,” Kyle said with a small wave. “This is a snoring machine my parents tell me is my brother,” he went on, gesturing to Gross Gabe.
“Deeble dee,” Gross Gabe mumbled sleepily.
“I’m Halley,” Halley said. “We’re not from here.”
“Well, wherever you’re from, I suggest you go back,” Ophelia said. “Elsinore’s not a great place to be right now, thanks to that awful King Claudius.”
She shook more dirt from her long dress. “He’s eliminated or imprisoned a lot of people, and he’s made so many awful new laws! He decreed that tennis be called green orb smack tag now. Using the word tennis is punishable by up to five years in prison.
“If a dog runs away, its owner is forced to adopt fifteen cats. And writers are forced to buy ink from his own royal shop, where it’s more expensive than silver!”
She stomped her foot. “It’s so unfair! I’ve barely been able to smuggle enough from outside Denmark to keep up with my poetry lessons, and there’s none leftover for my own work! I wish that he would just—”
A bright, flickering light filled the skunkblossom patch, momentarily blinding Kyle.
But as his vision cleared, he almost wished it hadn’t.
King Claudius stepped through the trees.
His guards were holding lanterns. The yellow-orange light made his crown sparkle and glint as he shook his head with mock sadness.
“Why oh why am I not surprised?” he said, the lantern light giving his face jack-o’-lantern shadows. “I suspected Ophelia was up to no good, so I followed her, and look who I find.”
Kyle looked at Hamlet and his heart sank. The prince had taken off the floppy hat to dig the pit, and his face was completely exposed.
“Your royal splendiferousness,” Ophelia said, suddenly bobbing around like she was off balance and pitching her voice weirdly high. “I was just out picking some flowers!”
She grabbed a skunkblossom plant and held it up. “Look! Daisies!”
“My dear Ophelia,” Claudius said. “Your little ‘silly poet’ act may fool some people around here, but not me. I also know you’ve been slinking off to meet one of the dastardly ink smugglers. Because I do not have proof, yet,” he growled, “I’ll go easy. Tomorrow, you will clean every tapestry in the castle. With the teeniest, tiniest brush I can find. And as for you, little Hammie…”
“My name is Hamlet,” Hamlet whispered.
“I’m afraid I have far graver crimes to accuse you of,” the king said, then paused and chuckled. “Ba-HA! Grave. Dear me, I’m clever. I’m a poet and, er, I’m not even aware of it.”
He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I shall now read the crimes of which you stand accused.” Reaching into his robes, King Claudius pulled out a scroll. It unrolled from his hand to the ground. “First, you are accused of creating general chaos and disruption, as well as trying to cause fear and panic by filling the castle with a foul stink potion.”
“But I didn’t—” Hamlet protested.
“Second,” Claudiu
s continued, “you are accused of trying to blame all your actions on a ghost, causing even more fear and panic in the castle.”
“But I didn’t—”
“GUILTY!” King Claudius shouted. In Kyle’s arms, Gross Gabe woke up. “Sorry, there’s some more legal stuff I could have said, but I decided to save time and cut to the chase.”
Kyle exchanged nervous glances with Halley as the king rolled up the accusations. Whatever the king said next, he knew it wouldn’t be good.
“You know, Hammie,” King Claudius said, “disrupting the royal government could be considered treason. The punishment for which is beheading. Lucky for you, I am horribly, terribly merciful.” Claudius sighed dreamily at his own mercy. “So it’s boarding school for you!”
Hamlet looked horrified and even Halley winced.
“You’ll be locked in your quarters tonight,” Claudius continued. “And you’ll be on the first ship to England tomorrow. I hear the food there is”—his face twisted up like a raisin—“delicious. Mushed peas and stale bread and dried fish. Mmm.”
One of the guards took hold of Hamlet in a big, armored fist.
“Shineey shineey!” Gross Gabe suddenly yelled. He pushed free of Kyle’s loose grip and crawled toward Claudius, his eyes on the sparkling crown.
Kyle lunged to reel him in, but Claudius got there first. In one swoop, he grabbed Kyle’s brother.
“As for you, little jester,” the king cooed, “it’s time for you to start earning your keep. You’ll come back with me.”
“But, but—” Kyle protested.
“You two ‘actors’ can go,” Claudius said. “Where is up to you. Maybe try Italy. I hear Verona is in need of performers this time of year. But if I ever see you again, I’m going to dunk you in strawberry jam and toss you in a pit of weasels.”
“Do weasels even like strawberries?” Halley said.
Kyle winced. Now was not the time to be asking questions.