Willy’s tongue felt like it had been taken out and replaced by a pillow. ‘Well,’ he said, backing towards the rear of the stage, ‘I’d love to thtay and chat, but I’ve got thingth to do.’
Goldstein glared at Willy.
Rosenbloom frowned as though he was trying to solve a very difficult puzzle.
Skellington scowled. ‘Stay exactly where you are! Don’t think you can get away that easily, impudent pup! I still think you might have had something to do with the dwowning of the dog, Waggledagger. You’re up to no good, just like your welative. I want you in that dungeon, immediately, do you hear? Immediately!’
Willy gulped. If he went into a dungeon with Sir Victor Vile, he might never come out. And then he would never be able to tell The Ghost what he had discovered in Skellington’s warehouse. He drew a ragged breath, feeling as if a great weight was pressing down on his chest.
‘Wait, Sir Anstruvver!’ said Yorick. ‘Can we at least keep the boy till tomorrow? We need ’im to get the show up an’ runnin’. I can’t do everyfink meself.’
Skellington looked at Willy and paused, as though reconsidering his decision. Then he turned back to Yorick and smiled nastily. ‘Not a chance!’
Skellington turned to his two goons. ‘Wosenbloom, take this boy to Wichmond stwaightaway,’ he said. ‘You are to deal vewwy harshly with anyone who twies to interfere.’
Rosenbloom nodded and grabbed Willy by the scruff of his neck.
‘And, Goldstein,’ continued Skellington, ‘send a wider onwards to Wichmond to advise Sir Victor of your imminent awwival.’
‘Yes, sire,’ boomed Goldstein. He lumbered off, sniggering.
Yorick turned to Charlie. ‘You must be able to do summink!’ he said.
Charlie shrugged helplessly. ‘Sorry, Yorick,’ he said. ‘But when the King of Denmark Lane gives the order, we’ve got to do as we’re told if we want to stay in business. The show must go on and all that.’
‘Wise words, Mr Ginnell. Vewwy wise,’ Skellington said. He prodded Charlie in the chest and glared at the rest of the Skulls. ‘You’ve had a lucky escape. Don’t forget that.’ He turned and wobbled towards the exit. ‘Come, Wosenbloom! Let us go. Bwing that wascal with you!’
Rosenbloom began dragging Willy towards the theatre doors.
‘Sorry, Waggledagger,’ said Yorick. ‘I’ll… I’ll…I’ll…fink of summink!’
Willy didn’t reply. He kept his eyes on the floor as he was dragged out of the Billericay Bowl like a sack of potatoes. His days as a Black Skull were over. And if someone had murdered his uncle, then that murderer would walk free. He’d failed.
Rosenbloom dragged Willy outside and threw him into the back of a drover’s cart that was parked in front of the Billericay Bowl. Willy landed face-first in a pile of horse manure.
From his perch on the driver’s seat, Goldstein laughed. ‘Don’t spoil the manure, you ’orrible spud! That’s a special delivery for the rose gardens at Richmond Palace. Top-grade horse poop from the Royal Cavalry stables that is, an’ the Queen don’t want it polluted wiv your nasty little diseases!’
Willy pulled his head free of the horse poop and did his best to clean it off his face.
Rosenbloom hopped aboard. He looped a length of rope around Willy’s neck and fastened it to the back of the driver’s seat. Then he joined Goldstein at the front of the cart.
Sir Anstruther Skellington beamed nastily from the theatre steps. ‘Wemember,’ he said, ‘hand him diwectly to Sir Victor. I don’t want this wetch weturning! And be sure to give the manure to Sir Victor. You know what he’s like when it comes to woses.’ Skellington pointed west. ‘Time for this wotter to be shipped out of London! Good widdance to bad wubbish!’
He gave a nod to Goldstein. With a jolt, the cart began the journey to Richmond.
Willy hung his head. He’d lost everything. His head bobbed as the cart bounced across the cobbles.
13
Goodnight, Sir Victor, Goodnight
The drover’s cart was one of the new, faster kind, with aerodynamic planks nailed to the sides to help increase the speed. This, along with Goldstein’s heavy use of the whip, meant that Willy had said goodbye to London in no time at all. By mid-afternoon, they crested a hill and saw the fluttering pennants of Richmond Palace.
‘Richmond ho!’ called out Rosenbloom.
Willy hauled himself upright and peered around the manure.
Queen Elizabeth’s favourite stately home lay just half a mile away down a gently sloping hill. It sat on a bend in the river. A great forest stretched out behind it.
Willy shivered. He’d had a very strange adventure in Richmond Forest, and it didn’t look like this visit was going to be much better.
‘Go around the side,’ said Rosenbloom, pointing to the southern end of the great palace. ‘They’ve got the delivery drawbridge there. And it’s closer to the rose garden.’
Willy wondered how Rosenbloom knew where the Queen’s rose garden was. It didn’t seem very likely that a goon would have an interest in flowers.
As Goldstein steered the cart down towards the palace, Willy noticed three riders trot out from the main building and head in the direction of the cart. Two of the riders were carrying long pikes and wearing light armour. Willy knew right away they were Codpieces, members of the feared Royal Protection Squad. This meant that the other rider was none other than Skellington’s cousin and the boss of the Codpieces, Sir Victor Vile himself.
Willy’s heart sank. There was no way out this time. Despite thinking hard all the way from London, Willy had failed to come up with a single escape plan.
Goldstein pulled the cart up at the tradesman’s entrance. It was guarded by a couple of soldiers and a huge iron portcullis. The portcullis was operated by massive cogs and levers inside the gatehouse. A group of workers were checking the mechanism. A series of loud bangs came from inside the tower.
A man holding a hammer appeared on top of the gatehouse. ‘Try it again, ’Arry!’ he yelled.
A few seconds later, the heavy portcullis came down and clanged shut with a boom.
‘Needs more grease, Arfur!’ Harry shouted.
Arthur nodded. The workers went back inside the gatehouse and began tinkering.
‘Oi!’ yelled Goldstein. ‘Will that fing be goin’ back up any time soon? We’ve got a delivery for the Queen.’
Arthur poked his head over the edge of the gatehouse. ‘Couple of minutes and we’ll be openin’ up again. If you want, you can unhook the cart and we’ll bring the manure in later. That way yer ’orses can ’ave a bit of a rest, right?’
It was at this point that Willy felt a tiny tickle of an idea creep into his mind. He looked up at the portcullis.
Rosenbloom and Goldstein jumped down from the cart. Sir Victor and the Codpieces reined their horses to a halt alongside.
‘Well, well, well,’ sneered Sir Victor. ‘Master Waggledagger, we meet once more! And this time none of your stupid friends are here to protect you.’ His moustache quivered as he dismounted and strutted to the back of the manure-filled cart. ‘And a very fitting way to arrive, I might add,’ he said. ‘A dung beetle on a dung heap!’
Willy jumped down from the cart, taking care not to get strangled by the rope. ‘Your Lordship,’ he said and bowed. Then he pointed to the noose around his neck. ‘May I take this off?’ he asked.
Sir Victor laughed. ‘The rope? It suits you. And I suspect you’ll be wearing another just like it before too long! Still, I suppose we do have to put you in the dungeon first.’ He waved to the Codpieces. They dismounted, removed the rope, and coiled it on the driver’s seat.
Willy ran a finger around his collar where the rope had rubbed. It felt good to be free of it.
Goldstein unhooked the horses from the drover’s cart and led them to the side of the road to graze.
Rosenbloom approached Sir Victor with a sheet of parchment pinned to a clipboard. ‘I just need your signature here, here and here, my Lord,’ he said
to Sir Victor, pointing at the parchment with an enormous finger. ‘Just to say you received one boy, William Waggledagger. And one pile of top-class Royal manure.’ He held out a quill and a bottle of ink.
Sir Victor grabbed the bottle of ink and the quill from Rosenbloom and began signing the form.
Willy was free to watch the massive palace portcullis as it began to rise once more.
It was time to cause a distraction.
Willy threw back his head and faked a sneeze. He jerked violently and collided with Sir Victor. The bottle of ink Sir Victor was holding flew into the air. It landed squarely on Sir Victor’s head, covering him in thick black ink.
‘I can’t see!’ wailed Sir Victor.
The two Codpieces and Rosenbloom jumped to Sir Victor’s aid, steadying him so he didn’t trip over. Goldstein produced a grimy handkerchief and began mopping Sir Victor’s face.
‘That blasted boy!’ Sir Victor spluttered, black ink spraying everywhere. ‘When I get my hands on that moon-faced monkey I’ll…’
Everyone’s attention was on the inky nobleman. Willy darted to the front of the cart. Grabbing the coil of rope from the driver’s seat, he tied the cart securely to the bottom of the portcullis.
Then he dashed back to the rear of the cart. ‘Please forgive me, Sir Victor!’ he cried. ‘I must be allergic to Codpieces.’
Sir Victor, his face still smeared with ink, shook his fist at Willy. ‘You imbecile!’ he snarled.
The men crowded around Willy. The Codpieces lowered their pikes and held the pointy ends at Willy’s chest.
Behind them, the cart was slowly hauled upright by the rising portcullis. In no time at all, its front wheels were lifted clear of the ground. So far, no one had noticed.
Willy could hardly breathe. If his plan didn’t work in the next few seconds, he would be dead.
‘I’m going to strangle you!’ howled Sir Victor, his eyes blazing with fury.
The cart lifted higher still. The load of manure began to shift.
C’mon, c’mon, thought Willy. Please let it work!
‘Allow me,’ snarled Goldstein. ‘I’ll tear his arms off!’
‘Wait,’ said Sir Victor. ‘What’s that noise? It sounds like an avalanche.’
Three tons of stinking horse manure slid off the back of the upturned cart and roared downwards, heading directly for him.
Fast.
Willy nimbly skipped a couple of paces sideways.
Sir Victor, the Codpieces, Rosenbloom and Goldstein turned just as the avalanche slammed into them. They tumbled past Willy, down the embankment, and towards the river, in a screaming tangle of legs and pikes and boots and horse poop.
‘Blimey,’ murmured Willy. His plan was going better than he could possibly have imagined.
At the foot of the slope, the avalanche thudded onto the Royal jetty, where a Royal barge worker was just about to tie up the Queen’s barge. The avalanche swept up the barge worker as if he was a loose twig, and landed with a crunch on the deck of the Royal barge. The craft lurched, bobbed out into the middle of the river and began drifting downstream.
Even from a distance, Willy could make out Sir Victor’s ink-and-manure-smeared face poking through the mess. Goldstein’s knee appeared to be in Sir Victor’s ear. Rosenbloom was nowhere to be seen.
Sir Victor yelled something. But he was already too far downstream for Willy to hear what he was saying. Willy was fairly sure it wasn’t an invitation to dinner.
Willy turned and grabbed the reins of Sir Victor’s horse. Stealing this horse would land him an appointment with the executioner for sure. But the way Willy saw it, he was already in so much trouble that a little more would make no difference. He swung himself up onto the horse’s back and jabbed his heels into its flanks. The horse took off towards London like a comet. Willy clung on for dear life.
With a bit of luck he’d be back in time for the performance.
14
The Play’s the Thing
Charlie Ginnell trotted backstage. He poked his head around the dressing room door and raised his eyebrows. ‘Almost ready?’ he panted. ‘They’re getting restless out there.’
Walden Kemp was slumped on a chair, his head in his hands. ‘No,’ he sighed miserably. ‘It’s turning into a disaster. It’s our sell-out London opening night and Yorick says he can’t operate the backstage stuff without Waggledagger!’
‘My make-up is a mess!’ wailed Olly. A thick line of eyeliner was running down his face. ‘Waggledagger normally makes sure it’s perfect!’
‘And who’s going to wax my fiddle bow at the interval?’ said Elbows. ‘That’s Waggle-dagger’s job!’
‘I s’pose you do get used to him,’ said Minty who was struggling with his ghost costume. ‘Waggledagger sort of grows on you.’
‘Like fungus,’ said Minimac.
Elbows threw his fiddle bow at him.
Yorick came into the dressing room, a hammer in one hand and a length of rope in the other.
Charlie pulled a hand through his hair and looked at Yorick. ‘Any ideas?’ he asked.
‘I s’pose we could ditch a few of the songs,’ said Yorick. ‘Cut the best scenes out. Wiv some clever lightin’ maybe they’d never know the difference.’
Walden moaned from his chair.
Charlie shook his head. ‘How would that help, Yorick? Olly’s make-up is melting, Elbows’s fiddle’s in need of some TLC, and Minty needs help getting in and out of that costume!’
‘Cut songs?’ said Olly. ‘My fans would go nuts!’
‘They’re nuts already,’ said Minimac.
‘Now wait just a minute, you overgrown lump of timber!’ said Olly. ‘My fans are the be——’ He stopped as loud chanting came from the front of the theatre.
‘Black Skulls! Black Skulls!’ yelled the crowd. ‘Black Skulls! Black Skulls!’
‘I’m going to have to go out there and cancel the show,’ said Charlie.
‘Cancel?’ said a voice outside the dressing room. Willy appeared in the doorway, dusty, smiling and smelling faintly of horse dung. ‘Why would you want to cancel?’
‘Waggledagger!’ cried Yorick. ‘Yer back!’ For a moment he looked like he was going to kiss Willy, but then he coughed and began picking his teeth instead. ‘You cut it a bit fine, didn’t you? Couldn’t you ’ave come back sooner?’
Willy got straight to work. He adjusted Minty’s ghost costume, picked up Elbows’s fiddle bow and started fixing Olly’s smudged make-up.
‘Wait a minute!’ said Charlie. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in Richmond? We could get in serious trouble if Skellington catches Waggledagger back here!’
‘Then let’s make sure he doesn’t catch him!’ said Walden. ‘He’s back! That’s the main thing!’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Charlie.
‘I hope he’s right, too,’ muttered Willy. All he wanted was for The Ghost to show up, so he could show him the bee. He hoped that all the trouble he had caused his friends hadn’t been for nothing.
Ten minutes later, the Skulls were ready to rock and roll. Walden was crouched in the prompt box with his script. Charlie, putting his worries about Willy on hold for the time being, was scampering around, checking the souvenir stand and food stalls. The Skulls waited in the wings for the curtain to go up.
Yorick dimmed the lights.
A great cheer went up from the packed audience. There was an excited buzz.
Willy heaved on the rope that lifted the curtain, keeping well to the side of the stage, so no one saw him. As the curtain rose, Yorick lit one of his flashpots. It exploded with a blinding flash of white light. A thick plume of smoke followed, and through it stepped Olly Thesp, dressed entirely in black, and with perfect make-up. He swaggered towards the amplifier cone, crashed out a couple of chords on his shining black lute and began to sing.
The crowd went crazy.
The Skulls were back in town.
Willy peeked through a gap in the curtain and felt, as h
e always did at the start of a Black Skulls show, a thrill run up his spine. The trouble was, this time he didn’t know if the thrill was caused by the Skulls performance, or by pure fear. If Skellington or Sir Victor caught him, his life would be over, and this would be the last show the Black Skulls ever played.
Where was The Ghost?
15
A Sea of Troubles
The performance was one of the best ever.
Everything went right. The songs had the crowd rocking. The play was exciting, funny and sad, all at the same time. Elbows played his fiddle as though his life depended upon it. Yorick’s fog machine worked perfectly. Minty and Minimac even avoided being pelted with rotten vegetables.
But it was Olly who was the star. The Utter Nutters went completely bonkers.
From his position in the wings, Willy had the best view in the house. It was all just perfect.
Apart, that was, from the tricky problem of the bee, The Ghost, Skellington, and—last but not least—Sir Victor Vile, who was probably going to kill him.
Willy scanned the audience, and spotted Sir Anstruther Skellington all by himself in the theatre box nearest the stage.
Willy nearly choked on his own tonsils. Skellington was sitting in the very seat where Willy had hidden the spare bee!
Willy had to get it back.
Right now.
‘You want to do wot?’ Yorick put down the fog machine hose and looked at Willy.
‘Smoke Skellington out with the fog machine,’ said Willy. ‘I need my spare bee back.’
‘Exackly wot spare bee would that be, Waggledagger?’ said Yorick.
‘I don’t know,’ said Willy. ‘I’m waiting for The Ghost to turn up again and tell me.’
Yorick leaned forward and rapped Willy on the head. ‘Wot ’appened to you in Richmond? ’Ave you gone doolally bonkers nuts berserko?’ he asked. ‘Enough of this ghost stuff! We got a show to do.’
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