Archie angrily crushed the wrapper into a ball.

‘I should have known!’ he raged. ‘The Puddingham-Pyes are helping Preen to destroy the McBudge business. They’d love to see the chocolate factory close down!’

Billy nodded, reaching into his bag and taking a hearty bite of a Gingerbread Dragon that had escaped Miss McTwang’s bin.

‘It’s pure spite,’ he said, spraying biscuit crumbs everywhere. ‘An act of revenge by Mrs P-P. She’ll never forgive you for being the McBudge heir instead of her.’ He passed a gingerbread to Archie.

‘And some people seem to be falling for it,’ Archie said, chewing slightly more carefully. ‘Turning against Unquiet Night. I don’t understand it.’ Just as he’d found out about Dundoodle’s unique festival, everyone else seemed to want to ignore it.

‘Oh, forget it,’ said Fliss grumpily. Archie had obviously irritated her. He had a sudden urge to take action. It was almost as if the Gingerbread Dragon had energised him, reminding him of what he was meant to do.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’re supposed to be going to the toyshop, remember? I still haven’t got a present for the twins’ party. It’s tomorrow!’

They wandered into the muddle of streets and lanes, walking in silence. Archie was still bothered by what Fliss had said. How can she think Preen is being reasonable? he thought. She’s my friend! What hope have I got if my friends are against me? But Fliss didn’t seem to want to speak to him either. She trailed behind the two boys, dragging her feet, so that several times they had to stop and wait for her.

Eventually they found the shop: Clabbity’s Clockwork Curiosities, Puppetry & Toys was hidden down an alley off the main street. Archie couldn’t recall ever going past it before, but apparently old Miss Clabbity had lived in Dundoodle for all her long life. The shop certainly looked appropriately antique – its leaded front window was formed of little square panes of glass, through which the toys could be seen, lit by lamps that gave out a glow like candlelight. The shelves inside the shop were heavy with all sorts of intriguing objects. There were old-fashioned train sets and painted farm animals, and dolls of all kinds. Hanging above them, from their strings, were rows of colourfully dressed wooden puppets, their carved and jointed arms and legs dangling awkwardly. Around the window display marched a number of toy soldiers, which Archie supposed must be some of the clockwork curiosities. Their erratic movement was certainly curious. There was even a toy aeroplane buzzing in languid circles just below the ceiling. It looked very inviting, yet Archie thought there was something sad about the shop as they entered – it was strangely gloomy, and he could smell damp coming from its grey and dismal corners.

A bell rang as they opened the door, and a tiny round lady appeared from behind the counter. With her pile of curly white hair, unseasonal cardigan and tweed skirt she looked like she might have been knitted from a ball of lumpy wool. She beamed at them in welcome.

‘Hello, hello, dears!’ she said. ‘And what can I help you with today?’

‘I’m looking for a present,’ said Archie. ‘A birthday present for a brother and sister.’

‘Do they have any particular interests or hobbies?’ said Miss Clabbity, eyeing him over her spectacles.

Only death traps and assassination, thought Archie. ‘They’re very … creative,’ he said, after a moment’s reflection.

‘A painting set, perhaps?’ She looked around her shelves for something suitable.

‘I like the puppets,’ said Fliss, brightening up. ‘You’ve so many of them!’ She brushed her hand over them, stroking one that was obviously the grandma from Little Red Riding Hood and looked like a miniature version of the shopkeeper.

‘Like rows of little corpses!’ muttered Billy.

Puppets were obviously a subject close to Miss Clabbity’s heart. Her eyes lit up.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Wood carving has been in our family for generations. I make them all myself. And I do the puppet show on Unquiet Night, you know.’

She went to the window and unhooked two of the puppets: a pretty woman in a long, velvet dress and a dragon with golden-painted scales.

‘These are my favourites – the lady and the dragon.’ She made the characters dance about the floor, her fingers gently tugging their strings to move their feet and arms. ‘They’re characters from a local legend,’ she said, her eyes twinkling. ‘I used them in my puppet show once – perhaps I will again. I do so love Unquiet Night.’

At least someone is on my side, thought Archie.

Billy was scribbling in his notebook. ‘I’ve not heard that story,’ he said, frowning. ‘I collect local legends, you see.’

‘Then you must have heard of The Legend of the Coffin Creepers,’ said Miss Clabbity enthusiastically, ‘and the lost tale of The Mirkthorn.’

‘The Mirkthorn?’ asked Archie. This reminder of the Mirk brought the dread back upon him so strongly he felt a little faint. He leaned against the counter for support, but fortunately no one seemed to notice.

‘I’ve not heard of that story, either,’ said Billy, fascinated.

The old lady nodded. ‘It’s mostly forgotten. The Gingerbread Dragons have something to do with it.’ She put the puppets back in the window and took down another, a spidery tree carved from black wood. Its spiny branches were on strings, so that the puppeteer could make them writhe like thorn-covered tentacles. ‘The Mirkthorn was a plant of immense magic that once spread its evil through the forest like a weed.’

‘What’s the connection with the dragons?’ said Billy, watching the Mirkthorn puppet wave its brambly branches.

‘I can’t really remember. I don’t think anyone is still around who knows the full story. You’d have to be very, very old – older even than me – to remember it.’ Miss Clabbity laughed wistfully. ‘Now I can only use this poor old thing as the forest that hides Sleeping Beauty’s castle.’

As she put the Mirkthorn puppet back, Billy nudged Archie in the ribs.

‘We have to get the rest of that story,’ he whispered. ‘It must have something to do with the Mirk.’

‘How?’ said Archie.

‘How about straight from the dragon’s mouth. We need to talk to Old Jings.’