The Chocolate Factory Ghost

by David O'Connell

  The first thing Archie noticed was the sweet aroma of caramel that drifted around him.

  ‘It smells like the McBudge factory in here,’ said Fliss, who was right behind him. ‘Only … better.’

  ‘If that’s possible,’ said Billy, drinking in the air. Then he gasped as, along with the others, his eyes adjusted to the light. The spectacle in front of them made them stop in their tracks and stare.

  The tunnel had opened out on to an enormous cavern, a cathedral carved out of the rock. Golden crystals – some as large as tree trunks, others as small as toadstools – sprouted from every surface; long, many-sided tubes of shimmering, honeyed glass, just like the one that caged the wyrdie-light inside Archie’s lantern. The gemstone-carpeted depths of the cave glittered in the reflected fires of hundreds of scattered torches, and everywhere the same sweet scent filled the air. A low humming, like the sound of a thousand beehives, echoed around the cavern. It was as if the whole place were singing.

  The children stepped further into the cavern, following a path that wound through the forest of crystals. Billy nudged Archie’s side.

  ‘There are tree roots everywhere,’ said the boy, pointing at the ground. The golden stones were interlaced with meandering plant fibres. ‘This must be a major nexus for wyrdiness.’

  Fliss stopped at one of the bigger crystals and laughed delightedly.

  ‘The dragons!’ she said. She waved them over. ‘They live here – look!’

  Archie and Billy peered into the stone. It wasn’t solid like they expected, but hollow. Inside lay a sleeping creature. Fliss was right: they were no bigger than kittens. But it was definitely a dragon, its little wings wrapped around a scaly body, looking just like the stone dragons that guarded the roof of Honeystone Hall.

  ‘Each big crystal has a dragon in it,’ said Fliss, running from one stone to the next and pressing her nose against their polished surfaces. ‘That humming you can hear – it’s their snoring.’

  ‘There’s one that hasn’t gone to sleep,’ said Archie. He pointed to a little dragon that was still fluttering about the cavern. It saw them, and swiftly flew over, landing in Fliss’s outstretched hand and squeaking a greeting. Sherbet barked at it and received a short blast of dragon-fire on the nose for his trouble.

  ‘It’s the dragon that stopped and looked at us in the castle,’ said Fliss. ‘The one that was last. Look at its little feet – those fiery footprints in Clootie’s café were left by a dragon, I’m sure. They’re so adorable!’

  ‘I bet they’re not great as pets,’ said Billy. ‘Imagine that chasing the postman. Your letters would end up as toast.’

  The dragon took off and flew along the path. Then it paused, hovering like a hummingbird and turning to look back at them with its big yellow eyes.

  ‘It wants us to follow,’ said Archie. The dragon led them down the pathway, keeping a little way ahead, until they were deep inside the cavern. It halted at a large cluster of crystals that had been arranged into an untidy circle. A voice, craggy and deep, bellowed from inside it.

  ‘The McBudge heir has arrived. In spite of my eyesight, I’d recognise that face anywhere.’

  Over the side of what they realised was a kind of nest, peered another dragon, larger than the others. It clambered unsteadily out on to the ground in front of them, its wrinkled hide shedding scales even as they watched. Its golden eyes were old and misted. The elderly creature coughed violently and spat a fireball past Billy’s ear.

  ‘It’s the Tablet of dragons,’ whispered Fliss.

  ‘Welcome to the Cavern of Honeystone, McBudge,’ the dragon said, squinting at Archie. ‘You’ve the look of Gregor the Hairy about you. Though you need to work on the beard.’

  ‘You knew Gregor McBudge?’ said Archie, fascinated. This dragon must really be ancient!

  ‘I’m Old Jings, the dragon he found injured in the forest. He looked after me and I learned your human tongue. We used to have a lot of dealings with humans long ago, but now we keep to ourselves. I’m the only dragon left in the Cavern of Honeystone that still knows the human speech.’

  ‘Honeystone,’ said Archie. ‘Like Honeystone Hall!’

  ‘This is the source of all the honeystone in the world,’ said Old Jings, ‘hidden in the roots of the mountain of Ben Doodle.’

  Archie looked around at the crystals.

  ‘What’s it for?’ he said. ‘Do you dig it out of the ground?’

  Old Jings wheezed merrily.

  ‘You have much to learn, young McBudge,’ it said. ‘Honeystone is made by us, the honey dragons!’

  ‘Honey dragons!’ squealed Fliss. ‘Like honey bees!’

  ‘But with a serious wyrdie-upgrade,’ said Billy.

  ‘In the summer we fly around the heather up on the high moors, gathering nectar – yes, just like bees. But then we use our magical dragon-fire to turn the nectar into honeystone crystals. It is our food and our protection. Now, with the first snows, we’re preparing to hibernate inside our honeystone cocoons, until spring comes once more. Except for that one,’ the dragon pointed a bony claw at the little dragon that had sat itself on Fliss’s shoulder. ‘She’s always the last to hibernate.’

  ‘She’s trying to stay awake,’ said Fliss, scratching the little animal’s chin. ‘She thinks she’ll miss out on something if she’s asleep.’ The little dragon opened its mouth wide and let out a huge yawn.

  ‘Out of the mouth of the dragon!’ said Archie, suddenly recalling the family motto. ‘De Ore Draconis. D.O.D. – this is the ‘dod’ Mum found out about. The honeystone is made from the fire that comes out of the mouth of the dragon. It’s the secret ingredient – we’ve found it!’

  Old Jings chuckled.

  ‘Good to know there’s a brain inside that soft little human body of yours,’ he said. ‘Now let’s see if you can work out the last bit of the challenge.’

  ‘We need to get the honeystone out of the cavern and back to Dundoodle,’ said Archie, thinking hard. He opened the box. ‘The hammer will break the crystals.’

  ‘The hammer is made from draconium,’ said Old Jings, as Archie lifted it from the box and admired its serpentine shape. ‘The only substance in the world that can break honeystone. You know what you have to do, McBudge.’

  Archie stepped over to one of the larger empty crystals that stood nearby.

  ‘Stand back!’ he said. The others watched as he swung the hammer back, then struck the crystal sharply with the metal dragon head. The stone rang like a bell before shattering into many smaller shards that spilled over the rocky ground.

  ‘How do we get this home?’ said Billy. ‘We can’t fill our pockets with rubble.’

  ‘That’s what the honeystone casket is for,’ said Jings. ‘You should have brought it with you.’

  ‘The casket?’ Archie said, a chill running down his spine. ‘What casket?’

  ‘The honeystone casket,’ the dragon repeated. ‘Fashioned from the wood of the Wyrdie Tree. Spells of protection were woven into its making by the tree sprites of the old forest. Only a McBudge can open it.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Billy. ‘That’s in the super league of magical objects.’

  ‘I – I don’t have it!’ stammered Archie. In his panic he thought back to Great-Uncle Archibald’s letter – it said there were six clues, he was sure of it, and they had found six things. How could he have missed this? He looked at the others in alarm.

  Then he touched the wooden box that had belonged to Dad. The only thing of Dad’s he actually owned. It was just an ordinary, dull-looking, brown wood container that Dad had kept keys and coins in, but it was one of his most prized possessions.

  ‘This … this is the casket, isn’t it?’ said Archie, his voice trembling. The dragon gave him a toothy smile. Archie stared at the box, his mind spinning and his heart ready to burst. Dad must have known about the Quest all along! That’s why he’d given the box to Archie. You may find help in the strangest ways, the letter had said. In a fashion, Dad had be
en by his side for the whole of the Quest. He sniffed gratefully as he opened the casket.

  ‘Tablet will show you how to grind up the honeystone into a powder for the fudge recipe,’ said Old Jings, as Billy and Fliss helped Archie collect the shards and put them into the box. Tablet was in on the secret too! Archie had always suspected the butler knew more than he was saying. ‘You’ve completed the test of the McBudges,’ the dragon yawned. ‘Well done! You may leave the cavern and return home.’

  ‘But I’ve so many questions!’ said Archie. The Quest was over but he felt like he was only just beginning to understand what it meant to be a McBudge. ‘What about Gregor? He rescued you and was rewarded for his mercy, rewarded with honeystone. But there’s more, isn’t there? The magic – there’s magic in the family. How?’

  The dragon’s head nodded sleepily.

  ‘All will be revealed in time,’ it said, before dozing off completely. A snore flapped from its mouth as it fell back into its crystal nest.

  ‘But … but …’ said Archie. He still didn’t have all the answers.

  ‘We’d better go,’ said Billy. The little dragon had also disappeared.

  The children quietly made their way back through the cavern, then up the dark tunnel, each lost in their own thoughts. Even Fliss was unusually silent, wrapping her coat tightly around her. They clambered out of the fireplace into the great hall. It was late afternoon and the sky was darkening. There was no sign of anyone. Billy produced the old map of the castle.

  ‘I’ll try and find us a quicker way back to the quayside,’ he said. It was then that Archie remembered what he had been about to say when they were distracted by the arrival of the dragons.

  ‘The name of the pupil who drew this plan,’ he said. ‘What was it?’

  Billy squinted at the bottom of the map where a name had been scrawled with an inky pen.

  ‘It says … Spotty Hanklecrumb?’

  ‘Actually,’ said a voice from the shadows. ‘I think you’ll find that’s Hankiecrust. Scotty Hankiecrust, though my handwriting was always terrible.’

  Even without the lantern, Archie would have known who the man was by the sniffing sound he made.

  ‘Mr Hankiecrust,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’ But he thought he knew the reason why.

  The factory manager stepped out from the shadow of the castle wall where he had been concealed. The light from Archie’s lantern reflected off his glasses as two yellow spots, hiding the man’s eyes from them.

  ‘Archie,’ he said, smiling. ‘And your friends too – my goodness! Out for a jolly adventure!’ He walked towards them. ‘But you shouldn’t be out in such weather! Let me take you all home.’

  ‘We’re fine, thank you,’ said Archie guardedly. It seemed such a strange thing to say, standing in the middle of an abandoned, haunted castle on a cold, snowy day. Things were not fine at all.

  ‘What’s that under your arm?’ said Mr Hankiecrust, pointing at the box of honeystone. ‘Is that the secret ingredient you have there?’ His voice had an edge to it that made Archie afraid. ‘I should have known old McBudge kept it hidden away at Pookiecrag. You’d better give it to me for safekeeping.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Archie, nervously backing away.

  ‘Come along, Archie,’ said Mr Hankiecrust, taking another step forward. ‘We haven’t got all day. I’ve been wandering blindly around in the mist in this miserable ruin all afternoon. I’ve no time for your nonsense!’

  ‘I’d rather not …’ began Archie.

  ‘Give it to me, you stupid boy!’ snapped Mr Hankiecrust.

  He suddenly lunged to seize the box. Fliss gave a shout of warning. But Archie was too quick for the man and ducked, throwing the box to Billy who was already halfway out of the hall. Billy caught it and ran down the passageway towards the loch. Sherbet, barking furiously, launched himself at Mr Hankiecrust who fell backwards in surprise, not having noticed the white dog against the snow-dappled ground. The man’s feet slipped on the icy flagstones and he landed heavily, bumping his head and letting out a curse. By the time he’d scrambled back up, Archie and Fliss were running for the boat, with the fearless little dog on their heels.

  Billy was waiting for them at the quay. In their haste they half jumped, half fell into their boat. It rocked violently then immediately lurched from its mooring, as if it sensed their urgency. They looked back to see the man running angrily along the quayside in pursuit. But Mr Hankiecrust could only watch and rub his bruises as the dragon boat sped away from the castle across the black water of the loch.

  ‘That was close!’ said Archie, catching his breath. He hugged Sherbet tightly to him, never more grateful for the dog than now. ‘Good boy, Sherbet!’

  ‘What happened to Mrs Puddingham-Pye?’ said Billy. ‘Are she and Mr Hankiecrust both after the secret ingredient?’

  ‘He must want it for himself,’ said Archie, frowning at the box of honeystone. ‘Or maybe to sell to someone like Mrs Puddingham-Pye. It’s that valuable.’

  ‘He saw us with the toffee jigsaw,’ remembered Billy. ‘And must have recognised the plan of the castle from when he was at school. He guessed the jigsaw was left there by your great-uncle to lead you to the honeystone.’

  ‘Then to get the map he trashed the hideout,’ said Fliss heatedly. ‘He probably used that when he was a kid too.’

  Archie nodded but he was confused: why hadn’t Mrs Puddingham-Pye been at the castle? He wasn’t disappointed, but with everything she knew about the Quest and its magical nature, surely she must have known about Pookiecrag and the honey dragons? Was she working with Mr Hankiecrust? He still felt like he didn’t have all the answers.

  They heard the sound of a boat’s engine some way behind them. Mr Hankiecrust was chasing after them. He’d soon catch up! Even through the mist they could see he had a grim look on his face, not like the friendly factory manager they thought they knew.

  The boat steered itself back into the cave under the house and came to rest on the beach. They jumped out, then slipped and stumbled up the steps of the tunnel and burst into the library. The fire had gone out and the room was dark. If Mr Hankiecrust was following he would have seen where their boat had gone and couldn’t be far behind them.

  ‘Hide!’ said Archie. Fliss jumped behind the curtain, whilst Billy tried to make himself look like a lamp­ stand before ducking behind an armchair with Sherbet. Archie dived under the desk with the box. They could hear Mr Hankiecrust’s deliberate footsteps, one after another, as he slowly and cautiously climbed the stairs of the tunnel. There was a creak as he pushed the bookcase open.

  ‘I know you’re in here, children,’ he said, stepping into the room with a sniff. ‘And sooner or later I’m going to find you …’

  Mr Hankiecrust crept towards the desk. He’s seen me, thought Archie. But there was a rustle from the window and the man turned around sharply.

  ‘I spy someone hiding,’ sang Mr Hankiecrust, as he tiptoed across the floor in the direction of the curtains. He was going to find Fliss!

  Archie scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the man.

  ‘You stupid little wretch!’ said Mr Hankiecrust, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and gripping him tightly so that he couldn’t move. ‘That was your last mistake! You should never have come here!’

  ‘Let me go!’ cried Archie, but the grip only tightened. Fliss jumped out from behind the curtain.

  ‘Eat fiery doom, you snivelling hideout wrecker!’ cried Fliss. A ball of flames launched itself from inside her coat, whizzing around Hankiecrust’s head, the sudden light dazzling him.

  It was the little honey dragon! Fliss must have been hiding it in her coat all along.

  ‘What is it?’ yelled Hankiecrust, trying to swat the creature away, but he still kept one hand firmly on Archie’s shoulder.

  Then, out of the corner of Archie’s eye, he saw a spark fall from the painting of his great-uncle, landing in the fireplace. With a roar the fire erupted into life
, the flames sending flickering shadows writhing over the walls of the library. A great gust of air rushed down the chimney, blasting out of the hearth and screaming in circles around the room. A shuddering, smoking shape formed in front of them from the fire and ash and dust. In his head, Archie made a list of words he would use to describe a ghost and ticked them all off: the shape was Great-Uncle Archibald and he was not happy.

  ‘HANKIECRUST!’ bellowed the apparition.

  ‘Mr McBudge!’ squealed the man. ‘But you’re meant to be d-d-dead!’

  ‘Scotty Hankiecrust, you horrible little worm!’ said the ghost. ‘I am dead.’ Mr Hankiecrust yelped and fell back into the armchair, dropping Archie and knocking over Billy, who was crouched behind the chair with Sherbet. ‘I trusted you,’ continued Great-Uncle Archibald, ‘and this is how you repay me!’

  Mr Hankiecrust shivered and whimpered. The children stared at the ghost, half in fear and half in amazement.

  ‘Don’t hurt me!’ the man pleaded. ‘I needed the secret ingredient.’ He began to babble miserably. ‘I had no choice, don’t you see? I’d borrowed money from the McBudge bank account – all of it – and I thought I could repay it by selling the secret ingredient to someone else, another company.’

  ‘Like the Puddingham-Pye Cookie Company perhaps?’ came a snarl from the library doorway. Mrs Puddingham-Pye sauntered into the room. She looked around menacingly – she didn’t seem surprised to see the ghost, but Archie could see a fearful respect in her face. She opened her handbag and Garstigan crawled out, hopping on to the shoulder of her long black coat like some kind of gruesome adornment. The little monster eyed the hovering honey dragon with suspicion.

  ‘Come to rescue your accomplice?’ snapped Archie.