Midday (exactly) the following day found Archie outside the front door of Hardtack House, the extravagant home of the Puddingham-Pyes, which lurked on the edge of the town. Its straight, marble walls, bound together by strips of glass and steel, set it apart from the other, modest houses of Dundoodle, all porridge-grey and askew. In front, a precisely trimmed lawn was divided by a path guarded by two lines of conifers. A fountain, in the shape of a woman who looked like she had suffered an accident with a steam roller, spat water into a pond filled with glum, golden fish.

With the Viking puppet tucked under his arm, Archie nervously rang the doorbell. The door opened silently, and Mrs Puddingham-Pye arched over him. She wore a long, green satin dress with a high, round collar. She resembled a giant cobra about to strike.

‘Urchin!’ She smiled, venomously. ‘So glad you could join us. Dearest Georgie and Portia will be delighted to have a little playmate. And I can’t wait for you to meet our very special guest …’

She stepped aside. There, in the hallway, as pale and welcome as a mug of cold, milky tea, stood Edward Preen.

‘What’s he doing here?’ asked Archie furiously.

‘Now, now, boy,’ soothed Mrs Puddingham-Pye, placing green-taloned fingers on his shoulders and ushering him inside. ‘Mr Preen is our good friend and a pillar of the community. And it’s the twins’ birthday – we mustn’t let silly little things like feelings spoil their celebration. No one likes a crosspatch, do they?’

‘Ha ha, indeed!’ said Preen, his smile as cold and polished as ever. ‘Feelings are such selfish habits. Not nice, not nice at all, ha ha.’

Before he could say anything, Archie was swept into a large, brightly lit room filled with people drinking from tall glasses with lots of ice and eating small but decorative bits of food. Polite, dull chatter feebly wafted about. There were no other children apart from him and the Piglets, who were sat miserably on a sofa at one side of the room. They had been scrubbed, and dressed in fancy clothes, but Archie noticed they looked slightly less round than the last time he’d seen them. Georgie scowled at him, and Portia screwed up her face so much her piggy nose almost disappeared inside it.

The twins’ father, Tosh Puddingham-Pye, rolled over to Archie and shook his hand with greasy paws.

‘Nice to see you, young fellow-me-lad,’ he said. ‘Look, poppets, it’s Cousin Archibald.’

‘Happy birthday,’ muttered Archie.

‘Is it?’ snapped Portia, glaring at her father.

‘Oh dear, if looks could kill,’ chortled Mr Puddingham-Pye.

She’s probably working on it, thought Archie.

‘My little prince and princess aren’t too happy on their special day. Maybe young Archibald has brought you a naughty little present?’

Archie reluctantly offered the box. He felt sorry for the puppet Viking. A grisly fate probably awaited it. Georgie immediately snatched the gift, jumped up from the sofa, and ran out of the room. Portia grabbed Archie’s hand and followed her brother, dragging Archie behind.

‘Come on!’ she ordered.

‘You little rascals have a lovely time playing together,’ beamed Mr Puddingham-Pye, in good humour. His wife watched silently as the children left.

‘Where are we going?’ protested Archie. Portia’s grip was vice-like.

‘Shut up!’ she said. She opened a door in the hallway and dragged Archie through. Georgie slammed the door shut behind them. Archie looked around for escape routes. They were in a playroom piled high with all kinds of toys and games. Cuddly animals and dolls were scattered about, some with limbs wrenched off or with small axes or arrows buried in their heads. Archie shivered. They must have been target practice.

Georgie had just managed to tear off the wrapping paper from the present, before his sister tugged it out of his hands and ripped open the box. She pulled out the Viking, which rolled lifelessly on to the floor. Tears filled her eyes.

‘I’m sorry you don’t like it,’ sighed Archie. He should have known the twins would be disappointed. They were spoiled rotten. They’d probably had loads of expensive gifts and all the latest gadgets.

‘No,’ sniffed Portia, her face all pink and puffy. ‘I love it.’ Archie was speechless. That wasn’t what he expected at all.

‘It’s the only present we’ve had this year,’ explained Georgie. ‘Mummy and Daddy didn’t get us anything.’

‘Didn’t you get presents from your friends?’ asked Archie. He knew the Piglets went to a posh school in Invertinkle, so he didn’t have to suffer their presence in lessons, at least.

‘We don’t have any friends, obviously,’ said Georgie, as if Archie were an idiot.

‘It’s that horrible dentist!’ growled Portia. ‘He’s the cause of this. He gave Daddy one of his wafer thingies and told Daddy that presents weren’t nice, and Daddy believed him! And he stopped our sweet allowance. Preen told me that sugar and spice were naughty, so good little girls should be made of vegetables and vitamins instead.’

‘It’s like he’s bewitching the whole town,’ said Archie. ‘Turning them against sweets and chocolate and fun.’

‘Everyone except Mummy,’ said Georgie, matter-of-factly. ‘His mind-control spell doesn’t work on her, so he used a Taciturnitas Hex on her instead. It stops her telling anyone what he’s up to.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Archie, astounded. Although he’d used the word ‘bewitching’, it hadn’t occurred to him that real magic was involved. ‘A mind-control spell?’

‘More like a potion,’ said Georgie, giving him a sly look. ‘I’m not telling you how it works – you’re supposed to be a wyrdworker, you work it out! No wonder Mummy thinks you shouldn’t be the Guardian.’

Preen has magical powers, thought Archie, resisting an urge to punch Georgie’s piggy snout. How else could he be having such a sudden effect?

‘We saw him put the hex on her at the biscuit factory,’ continued Portia, cradling the Viking like it was a bearded, armoured baby. ‘When he brought all the tree bark.’

‘The tree bark?’ said Archie.

‘That’s what they make all the Safer Wafers from. He said someone had a load of trees cut down, so he took the bark off them, as it was full of wholesome nutrition and the wafers would put it to good use.’

‘That’s why they taste like dead woodworm,’ said Georgie. ‘We refused to eat them.’

Could Preen be involved with the trees disappearing from the old forest? If that was the case, was he the Mirk, in disguise? The thing they had seen in the forest was human-looking. Archie’s mind was spinning.

‘But why is your mum going along with his plan?’ he said. Portia smiled.

‘She wants to know what he’s up to, so she’s keeping him where she can keep a close eye on him,’ she said. ‘But once she finds out and stops him, then …’

Portia effortlessly pulled the Viking’s head from its body with a gruesome POP! and flung it at the wall as a demonstration.

‘That didn’t last long,’ remarked Georgie. ‘I guess we’ll have to keep playing with you, Gertrude.’ He looked across the room to where an ugly doll in a pink dress and bright yellow ringlets sat sulking. It was Garstigan! Archie hardly recognised him and almost choked in laughter.

‘Not funny, bratling!’ the mobgoblin snarled. ‘Itchy, frilly clothes are not Garstigan’s colour at all!’

Just then, Mr Puddingham-Pye poked his face around the door.

‘It’s birthday cake time!’ he trilled.

‘Cake?’ said the twins together, their faces eager and hopeful. ‘Actual birthday cake?’

‘Of course, poppets! It wouldn’t be a birthday without cake. And you’re in for a treat: it’s been specially created by Mr Preen …’