‘But the most important piece of the puzzle is missing! Why is this ball taking place and what is the Great Guzzle?’
Not having an answer to offer for either of these questions, Nettle got up to retrieve her magazine. Ernest, coming across a picture of a particularly fearsome-looking spider (the kind that would not run away if you bashed and chased it with a broomstick), screamed and hurled his book across the room.
‘What I don’t understand,’ he said, hastily composing himself, ‘is why this thing they call the Great Guzzle is being held at the Shreckal Caverns. I mean, what’s there? What’s the big attraction? It’s only a bunch of caves.’
‘We don’t really know what’s there as no one’s travelled to the caverns and back again to tell us,’ Milli said, sounding exasperated. ‘Don’t forget it’s part of the Taboo Territories.’
‘Have you ever thought they might be forbidden for a reason?’ Nettle suggested. ‘Maybe there is something valuable hidden there, something Lord Aldor doesn’t want anyone to know about.’
Nettle had barely finished speaking when something unexpected happened. A freak gust of wind blew the nursery windows wide open. It was so forceful the children were almost knocked off their feet. Glass rattled in the windowpanes, books toppled from their shelves, toys skidded across the floor and duvets were lifted clean off the beds. Milli, Nettle and Ernest huddled together on the spinning carousel, anchored by tightly clutching the reins of a horse whilst their clothes and hair clung to them like second skins. More than once during the duration of this onslaught, the children had an inkling of what it must be like to be inside a washing machine during its spin cycle.
When the supernatural wind subsided and the carousel slowed to a halt, they knew at once that what had happened was no coincidence. Above the solemn silence that had fallen over the room, they could hear a faint and far-off wailing. Although muffled, there was no doubting the distinct sound of voices; voices so forlorn it made them feel like weeping. It was a sound they each associated with being lost, alone and without hope.
Milli was the first to move and she struggled from her chariot bed followed by an equally dishevelled Nettle and Ernest.
‘What just happened?’ Nettle asked in a voice they had never heard sound so shaky.
‘Someone out there was trying to tell us something,’ Ernest whispered, as if they might still be present, silent and unseen. ‘Someone or something was listening.’
‘The shadows?’ Milli murmured.
When Lord Aldor returned to Hog House the next afternoon, he was not alone. Accompanying him was a flamboyant procession of some nine guests. These individuals were not at all how Milli had imagined Aldor’s entourage to look. The group that accompanied him were like a cluster of assorted fairytale baddies come to life.
There was a chunky bald giant with a golden harp tucked under one arm who was missing both eyebrows and eyelashes. As he walked, he chatted casually to a king troll with green fuzz sprouting from his ears and a crown on his swollen head. The troll could not entirely close his mouth, having suffered a serious stroke due to being outwitted by a family of billygoats a long time ago. A rope of drool hung from his open mouth, making a wet patch on the lapel of his jacket.
Next came the most devastatingly lovely princess you have ever seen. She had doe eyes blue as sapphires and a neck as long as a swan’s. A grey-toothed, big-eared hag scuttled after her, patches of sparse and oily hair clinging to her neck and shoulders. Next came a pirate who was so covered in tattoos you could not tell where they ended and his own skin began. He ambled along hand in hand with a lady dwarf wearing stilettos and carrying a beaded bag. Her beard fell to her navel and she was making a strange honking sound (the sound all dwarfs make when they laugh).
The following member of the troupe was a wolfish man wearing a frilly nightgown and cap. Razor-sharp teeth hung over his lips and he had a hairy nose, as long as a snout, that quivered as he sniffed the air. He was followed by an enchantress with a swirling mass of auburn hair, who whispered softly to a mirror she held in her hand. The children could not hear what the enchantress was saying but she smiled smugly at the mirror’s response. Last of all danced a queer little man no bigger than a cat. He had pointed pixie ears and red ankle boots on his feet. ‘Bet you can’t guess my name!’ he chortled repeatedly as he skipped down the passage.
Although the magicians were all as different as chalk and cheese, the one trait they had in common was that if you saw them in the street you would be unable to resist looking again. Then you would probably nudge your friend walking beside you and tell them to look too. Because each and every one of them looked as if they had stepped right out of your worst nightmare.
In the days that followed, Milli and Ernest found they had an awful lot of time on their hands. The Mayors were so busy entertaining Lord Aldor’s guests that they forgot all about Crumpet and Gumm. Mrs Mayor stuck to the princess like a leech. I do not mean she tried to suck her blood in order to gain nutrients, but she was so taken by the young woman’s beauty that she mimicked her every move. Meanwhile, Mr Mayor devoted much of his time to writing comic scripts that he hoped might form part of the evening’s entertainment on the night of the ball and was very flattered when anyone so much as tittered at one of his quips. Lord Aldor, on the other hand, was treated like a king by one and all. Despite their own airs of self-importance, the ensemble of magicians behaved as if their ultimate ambition in life was the earning of his approval.
The nine magicians were scattered throughout the various bedrooms of Hog House and the children could not help bumping into them. On Mr and Mrs Mayor’s instructions, they were forced to bow or, in Milli’s case, curtsy upon each encounter and enquire if the guests desired anything. Usually all they required were directions, but once the enchantress made a most tedious request and the children found themselves scouring the gardens for one hundred and eight blades of grass whose tips had begun to wilt. This meant they had to wander about bent over double, inspecting each blade until they found those that met this criteria. It may sound like a simple enough task, but the gardeners of Hog House did their job so meticulously that it proved quite a challenge.
Days when there weren’t such chores to occupy them proved interminably long. With little to amuse them and so many areas now barred due to preparations for the ball, the children even resorted to a game of hide-and-seek to while away the hours one stormy afternoon. Milli was on the verge of admitting defeat when she eventually found Ernest comfortably ensconced in front of a dressing table in the nursery, having forgotten all about their game. He immediately shoved a fistful of tubes and tubs into a drawer upon hearing her enter and greeted her with exaggerated enthusiasm. Milli was stunned to discover that Ernest had performed an unsuccessful operation on his hair which now stood upright in stiff peaks not dissimilar to a cockatoo’s crest. Dark shadows ringed his eyes and a wonky scar had been drawn across one cheek with eyeliner. Some kind of bonding agent, (the effects of which Milli could only hope were not permanent) had been used to attach a chain from nostril to earlobe. Finally, one of Mrs Mayor’s floral silk scarves had been wound around his forehead to achieve a piratical effect.
‘What have you been doing?’ Milli jeered.
‘Just experimenting,’ Ernest replied casually.
‘Well, you look ridiculous.’
‘Are you sure I don’t look tough?’ he pleaded.
The night of the Hocus Pocus Ball was drawing closer and it was the topic on everyone’s lips. It seemed the entire household could think of nothing else. Everywhere you went there was chaos. Cooks hurried to the kitchens with hunks of meat slung over their shoulders destined to be stuffed and roasted. The gardeners roamed the grounds, ensuring not a single weed blemished the flowerbeds and each gravel chip of the driveway sat in its place. The maids spent their days preening the Mayors to perfection, while the footmen struggled up ladders to decorate every inch of the ballroom. Everywhere the children went, they found someone polishi
ng doorhandles, dusting curtains or evicting spiders from their cobwebby corners. Everywhere they went they were shooed away for fear of leaving imprints from the sticky fingers children are always assumed to have.
‘Guests will be wanting to tour the house,’ Mrs Mayor told them when the children asked why there was a bevy of maids cleaning keyholes with cotton buds. Mrs Mayor was in her element. She was never happier than when she was shrieking orders, hissing threats and taking down the name of anyone who paused for breath on a furry pink pad.
Milli and Ernest were the only ones dreading the arrival of the big night. The Mayors were becoming more and more frantic about the children’s presentability and asked pointless questions about the surprise they believed to be in store for them.
‘It’s almost ready,’ Milli blathered when asked yet again by a fretful Mrs Mayor. Then she had a brainwave. ‘All under control. We’ll just need a few of those horrid prisoners to help us out if you don’t mind.’
Mrs Mayor frowned. ‘I’m not sure about that, Crumpet. We were planning to keep the prisoners out of sight on the night of the ball. They might alarm the guests and Lord Aldor doesn’t want any disruptions.’
‘Please say yes,’ Milli entreated. ‘With the prisoners’ help, our performance has a much better chance of being…(and here she paused for effect and clasped her hands together)…marvellous!’
Just that one word was enough to get the idea wrapped, packaged and sold to the fat lady with the bouncy blonde curls. ‘Marvellous’ was a word Mrs Mayor had heard the princess using and she now believed it to be the epitome of sophistication. The moment Milli mentioned that the performance was going to be even slightly marvellous, Mrs Mayor made up her mind to grant whatever materials were needed to make it as marvellous as possible. Surely letting the prisoners out of their dungeon for a few measly hours would be a small price to pay if it meant added marvel to the evening. How wonderful, thought Mrs Mayor, if the princess herself found the evening marvellous too. What a coup that would be!
‘Well, all right! So long as you make sure they remain behind the scenes at all times. And we just won’t tell Lord Aldor about it, will we?’
Leo was pleased when Milli told him the news. Although neither of them were sure what good the prisoners’ input would do, they both agreed it was the beginning of an excellent plan. They could be sure of only one thing: they had to get to the Shreckal Caverns on the night of the ball before Lord Aldor did. Even though they did not know what the Great Guzzle entailed, they were almost certain it would prove more than just a relocation of the festivities.
But this was not the only thing on the children’s minds. Despite the plumped cushions and intriguing gadgets, Ernest missed his brothers and sisters. He wondered who was winning the silence games without him, and hoped his younger siblings were staying away from his rock collections. Milli’s thoughts, too, often strayed to her family. How was her father getting on without her? Was he remembering to give Stench his breath-freshening bone every day? Had Dorkus finally accepted that her chances of being zapped by an electrical appliance on the way to the bathroom were a million to one? Both Milli and Ernest tried to brush away their thoughts of home. Instead, they put their heads together with Leo and Rosie and devised a plan, which went as follows.
At the first opportunity Milli and Ernest would excuse themselves from the Hocus Pocus Ball and slip away into the gardens of Hog House. From there, they would follow the River Slop until they reached the tangled vine and the breathing waters of the Lurid Lagoon. They would take one of the gondolas (there were so many that surely no one would notice one missing) and make their way to the Shreckal Caverns where they would await the arrival of Lord Aldor and his atrocious troupe of magicians. There, they would defeat Lord Aldor once and for all and set the shadows free. It was a neat and tidy plan. A foolproof plan.
What the children could not predict was just how strong the spell binding the shadows to the caverns would be. They foresaw victory, but not the terrible perils that lay in wait for them on their journey across the Lurid Lagoon. Even with Milli’s vivid imagination, she could not anticipate the evil behind the ceremony known as the Great Guzzle.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Pampered, Powdered and Primped
It was the evening before the Hocus Pocus Ball. The children had feasted on pheasant cooked in claret, wild mushroom pilaf, stuffed aubergines and sweet potato fritters till they were ready to burst, but retreated to the sanctuary of their room feeling anything but contented. They were despondently discussing how few clues had been unearthed in the last twenty-four hours and wondering when the Mayors might retire for the evening so they could make their way down to the dungeons when Gristle arrived unexpectedly. He announced that The Boss, as he sometimes playfully referred to Mrs Mayor, required their company in the Masquerade Room.
‘What now?’ Milli groaned.
‘Decisions ‘ave to be made,’ was Gristle’s blunt reply.
The number of novelty rooms in Hog House usually never ceased to amaze Milli but tonight she was tired and had concerns of her own to think about. A Mrs Mayor escapade was the last thing she needed and it made her weary just thinking about it. Quite frankly, she did not know whether she would get through it without losing control altogether. Whatever it was that Mrs Mayor had planned.
The Masquerade Room, as it turned out, was simply the dress-ups room, housing a collection of costumes and gowns extensive enough to rival that of a major theatre company. Mrs Mayor wanted to decide on their outfits for the ball. Should be easy enough, the children thought. But on the contrary it proved a long and arduous process.
The Masquerade Room was poorly lit and smelled terribly of mothballs. It was so dusty that Ernest started to sneeze promptly on arrival. Hanging on racks and arranged according to colour were wigs, hats, cloaks and costumes to suit every occasion. Faceless mannequins modelled bridal gowns and there was even a suit of armour that Ernest (once the sneezing had subsided) rather hoped he’d be invited to try. The costumes ranged from a ghoul’s mask for Halloween, with painted blood dripping from its fangs, to a spotted yellow and orange clown’s outfit. Accessories like witches’ noses complete with warts, plastic spectacles and false fingernails and eyelashes were arranged on a glass counter. One wall was devoted entirely to buckles and belts, whilst another held a collection of elaborate Venetian masks so that it felt like dozens of eyes were secretly watching them.
Behind the counter on a stool sat Mrs Mayor filing vermilion fingernails. She had selected several possible costumes for the children, which hung on a separate rack. They were each handed a hanger and gestured towards the dressing room. Behind the curtain, the sudden appearance of the ghoulish Mrs Basilisk made them both jump. Mrs Basilisk, who had been enlisted to assist the children, looked as though she wanted to be there even less than they did. Milli and Ernest tried on each outfit on automatic pilot, too accustomed to Hog House by now to be embarrassed about what they looked like, even though you or I would have been the colour of beetroot juice and praying an earthquake would swallow us alive.
‘Mmmm…’ Mrs Mayor pondered as she scribbled notes on her scented writing pad. ‘No, not convinced. Let’s see another, Basilisk.’
Mrs Basilisk propelled Milli and Ernest out as Egyptian royals.
‘Dramatic…but still not quite right. What about Bo Peep and Humpty Dumpty? Yes, let’s see those on you. I do so love a parade!’
Mrs Mayor finally settled on turning Milli into a ‘ravishing’ butterfly complete with multicoloured wings and antennae. Ernest would attend as an Alpine goatherd in lederhosen, braces and a feathered cap. Mrs Mayor also had the effrontery to ask if he wouldn’t mind yodelling as he made his entrance.
Leaving the yodelling aside, Milli thought Ernest had got off lightly. The costume she was being forced into was a tight cylindrical tube made of whalebone and fluorescent yellow silk. Slips of wispy tulle swirled around the hem like handkerchiefs. Her accessories were a pair of wings cover
ed in pink glitter, striped tights, black net gloves and embroidered gold slippers at least two sizes too small for her. Mrs Mayor completed Ernest’s outfit with the addition of thick orange socks and patent black lace-up boots.
The children’s costumes might have been less humiliating had it not been for the accessories. Mrs Mayor had made a fine art of accessorising. It was a bit like eating dessert at a swish restaurant, where perfectly delicious desserts are often ruined by the addition of glazed fruits, chocolate shavings, marzipan flowers, orange wedges or drizzles of coulis.
It took precisely two hours of modelling until Mrs Mayor was finally satisfied. The children emerged from the Masquerade Room flushed and tired, too tired to think about escape plans and cunning schemes. In fact, at this point they had but one objective in mind—bed. They stumbled their way back to their room whilst their outfits were sent off to be steamed and pressed.
Early the next morning, Milli sat bolt upright in her chariot bed. The sun was creeping like a mist of spun gold between the clouds, and through the nursery window the treetops looked as if they were wearing haloes. Hog House had not yet stirred. Ernest was still snoring peacefully beneath his pastel blue quilt. Milli rubbed her eyes. It is often the case when one wakes up from a deep sleep that it takes several moments to register the events in store for the day to come. For instance, imagine yourself waking up on the morning you are to go on holidays to the seaside. You lie snugly in your warm bed for a moment or two, not sure what has caused this pleasant and bubbly sensation inside you. Then it dawns on you and you remember your trip to the seaside, leap out of bed and try to remember where you last saw your bathing togs.
I am sorry to inform you that in Milli’s case, on this particular morning, she didn’t need a moment or two. She knew only too well what events lay in store for her and was filled with neither a pleasant nor a bubbly sensation. Tonight was the night of the Hocus Pocus Ball!