IN THE GRAINY TORCH-LIT GLOOM THE GHOULS glowered, jaws hanging. Molly’s cheery tone had befuddled them. But they wouldn’t stay fuddled for long.
“What’s up with you all – don’t you recognize me?” Molly boomed, laughing. “I’m a messenger of your mistress, Lady Orgella! She sent me to chase off that snake Benton Furlock and give you your new orders. Now stop mucking about and listen up – if you ever want to be allowed back into Hell.”
Preston Halfstar’s leathery head looked down from his alcove in the circular wall. The ghouls, though suspicious, began to move away from Carl Grobman (who looked even more confused than they). But one turned back towards the bedraggled boy, raising its claws—
“Oi, mate!” shouted Molly. “D’you think for a minute that the Mistress of Ghouls will ever let you back into Hell if you disobey her messenger?”
The ghoul paused, but did not retreat. Carl cowered on the steps, looking at Molly as if she were completely mad.
“What, don’t you think that I really am a messenger of Lady Orgella?” Molly said boldly, wobbling forward with her stick and trying not to shriek with pain. “Do you need proof or something?”
The ghouls looked at each other. One of them nodded.
Molly rolled her eyes. “Fine! Step aside, you lot, and let me near the portrait so I can summon a sign from our mistress.”
The ghouls backed into the shadows; the darkness and dust swirled, and the unblinking eyes gleamed. Frowning, bewildered, Carl moved aside.
Somehow Molly managed to limp to the wall, where she looked up at the portrait of Lady Orgella, cleared her throat and spoke.
“Yo, Mistress Lady Orgella. Fancy giving my pals here some proof that you’ve authorized me to take charge of them?”
Beside her, slumped against the wall, Carl coughed, “Molly, what are you doing?”
Molly didn’t answer. She dropped her stick and hopped up the few steps below the portrait. She wobbled, lost her balance. Clenching every muscle in her torso, she steadied herself, and reached up to wrench the nearest darksbane torch from its metal holder.
The ghouls hissed. Some began to move towards her. Then she stretched upwards, feeling her sinews separate, swaying on the tiptoe of one foot – and touched the torch’s flame to the portrait’s canvas.
The ghouls screeched, aghast, as flames gobbled up the image of one-eyed Lady Orgella. They wailed and flailed and threw themselves to the ground. Lifting her eyes, Molly cried a request to the flaming face:
“Hey, Lady Orgella – if I am your chosen messenger, do me a favour and bring back your image from the flames!”
The portrait bubbled and blackened and smoked.
Nothing.
Anxiously Molly whispered: “Come on, you vain cow.”
The fretting ghouls fell silent as they watched the smoke dissipate. Their blue eyes blinked.
Molly watched the ruined portrait. Her torch flame dwindled. Occasionally a ghoul cleared its throat.
Nothing happened.
And as she lost her balance, dropping the spent torch, Molly managed to mutter, “Oh, biscuits.”
Carl caught Molly and together they toppled to the floor. From the shadows, the ghouls emerged, furious, and fell upon the pair. Claws descended, dragging Molly off Carl. Molly’s leg roared with pain as the ghouls pinned her down like a flatworm under a brick.
Her vision swam. She saw fangs looming, and a shadowy mouth lowered towards her.
At that moment Carl cried, “Look at the picture!”
All eyes turned. Molly strained to look past the ghoul’s grey face, up at the portrait, which had repaired itself, leaving Lady Orgella staring with her one baleful eye.
The miracle had occurred again!
And suddenly all the creatures were gasping and weeping. Clumsy ghoulish hands hauled Molly upright. Carl hastened over and gave her support.
“About flipping time!” Molly yelped, giddy with relief.
“You came back for me,” Carl choked. “Why?”
“It’s what I do,” Molly said matter-of-factly. “I solve mysteries and I rescue boys who’ve betrayed me to demon-worshippers.” The ghouls stood watching her. “So … what shall we do now?”
Carl narrowed his eyes at the ghouls. “Leave this to me.”
“Listen, you ugly devils,” Carl boomed impressively. “I’m an ambassador of Lady Orgella too, and my mistress has got a command for you. Stay in this room and leave the people of Howlfair alone till it’s time for you to return to Hell.” He brushed himself down. “Mr Furlock’s not your master any more. If he ever tries to speak to you again…” Carl looked at Molly.
Molly said, “Eat him.”
“Yeah – eat him,” Carl said. “Everyone got that?” He took a step forward, his fists clenched.
The ghouls, amazingly, nodded.
“OK, fab,” said Molly, clapping. “Glad that’s all clear.” She took a big breath. “Right, we’re off.”
With a bloodied Carl supporting her, Molly proceeded slowly between the rows of frowning ghouls. She tried not to cry out with pain, or show signs of fear. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the biggest of the ghouls watching her with suspicion, as though he saw through her ruse. She forced herself to look calm. At the doorway she looked back at the portrait of Lady Orgella, made a face at the Mistress of Ghouls, and then pulled the door shut behind her.
They found Benton Furlock entangled in a hedge round the side of Loonchance Manor, flailing blindly beneath the silken, navy sky, to which the blue moon was pinned like a brooch.
“Hey, Mr Furlock,” said Molly as Carl helped her across the lawn. “I must say, the tour was fun, but those ghouls aren’t very realistic.”
Furlock cursed and thrashed. “How the hell are you still alive?”
“By the way,” Molly went on, “I control your ghouls now. If you don’t believe me, you can ask them. Although I should warn you that I’ve commanded them to eat you if you speak to them.”
Furlock’s face was contorted. “What? But—”
“Get out of Howlfair, Mr Furlock,” said Carl. “Tonight. If you’re still here tomorrow, we’ll set our ghouls on you.”
“Grobman? Are you raving mad? I’m going to be mayor!”
“Think again, Benton,” said Molly.
Furlock managed to turn his grimace of pain into a toothsome grin, which he aimed in Molly’s direction. The light of the blue moon was upon the crevices of his face. “You need me, Molly Thompson. Don’t you want to learn the truth about your father?”
A wave of craving unbalanced Molly; that too-familiar craving for truth that had mastered her for so long.
But then something occurred to her.
Molly regained her balance. She lifted her head.
“I already know the truth about my dad,” she said. “The truth is that he loved this town, and he’d want me to look after it.”
At that moment a pale green van bellowed up the road, negotiating the roundabout on two wheels. Molly saw Lowry, Felicity and Gabriel bouncing around in the cab like bingo balls. Mr Wetherill was behind the wheel. The van mounted the kerb and crashed into the fence enclosing Loonchance Manor. The front end of the van sizzled as the huge man tumbled forth in his nightshirt, barking at Lowry and Felicity to stay put. Lowry, seeing Molly alive, began to flap frantically with joy.
“Right – what’s this about ghouls?” Mr Wetherill growled, marching across the lawn. Molly noticed that he had a musket in his hand, the sort you’d expect a highwayman to carry.
“Wallace – is that you?” moaned Furlock from his hedge. “These horrible children broke into my manor, and—”
“Shut your trap, Furlock – if there’s an ounce of truth to the children’s story, you’re finished. You’ll have lost my vote, and you’ll have lost the union’s vote, and if I find anything dodgy underneath this house, I’ll see you punished as a traitor to our town.”
Furlock groaned as he crawled from the spiky hedge and flopped onto the lawn. “You won’t find anything underneath Loonchance Manor.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Wetherill, heading for the front door. “Molly, Carl – don’t let this fink escape.”
“We won’t, Mr Wetherill,” said Molly. “Just follow the trail of blood and destruction – the ghouls are behind a door in the crypts, at the bottom of the staircase. Be careful!”
Mr Wetherill held up the pistol. “I’m always careful,” he said, opening the front door and striding into Loonchance Manor. Moments later a shot rang out. Molly jumped.
The door opened again and Mr Wetherill poked his head through briefly. “Sorry about that.”
As it happened, Mr Wetherill also hadn’t been careful enough to engage the handbrake after crashing his van, and the vehicle began to roll back into the road. Carl ran after it, shouting “Handbrake!”, and between them, Lowry and Felicity just about managed to wrench the heavy, rusty lever and halt the vehicle before it gathered speed and vanished down one of the steep streets beyond the roundabout. Molly watched with high anxiety – and when the van lurched to a stop, she looked around and realized that Furlock had managed to escape.
“Oh, crud!” she hissed. Her injured leg filled with pain. “He’s gone,” she told Carl as he returned with Lowry, Felicity and Gabriel.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Lowry, flinging her arms around Molly while Carl searched the grounds. “Maybe he’ll never come back. I’m so glad you’re alive!”
Carl returned, shaking his head. “He got away.”
Wetherill emerged in due course. “No ghouls,” he sighed. “Lots of dust and rubble, bit of blood, and a painting of a demon, but if there were ghouls down there, my guess is that they’ve crawled into hiding places. We’ll have to undertake a full search of Loonchance Manor to flush them out, and – where’s Furlock?”
“He disappeared,” said Lowry. “And I think Molly needs to get to the hospital pronto.”
“You do believe us, though, don’t you, Mr Wetherill?” Molly asked.
He shrugged and rubbed his jowls. “I don’t know why anyone would make up a story like that.”
“And you’re going to set up one of your Orders again, to find out what Furlock’s been up to and where his ghouls are?”
“I’ll make sure that any ghouls in Howlfair are located and dealt with, you can trust me on that,” said Wetherill.
“And Furlock said that my dad cost him his hand.” Molly saw the huge man flush with confusion. “What did he mean, Mr Wetherill? How was my dad…”
“Molly, I promise we’ll get to the bottom of all these mysteries. But for now, let’s get you to the hospital. Carl, you’re staying with me. Wherever Furlock’s scurried to, you can be sure of this: he’s never going to be our mayor.”
“What are you going to tell your mum?” Lowry asked Molly as she and Felicity helped her to the van. “The nurses will call our parents, you know.”
Molly had no idea. She still had no idea later, when her mother burst into the consulting room while Ben was preparing a splint for her leg. X-rays had revealed only a fairly minor fracture, which was a small mercy.
“Molly, what happened to you? Where did you go?” Mum cried, wrapping her arms around her.
“Mum, I don’t… I’m so sorry, I can’t… You wouldn’t…”
“It’s OK – you don’t have to tell me now. I’m just so happy you’re alive. When the hospital called, I thought the worst. I’ve never panicked so much in my life – I had this awful feeling they’d found you dead, and I can’t lose you, understand? I refuse to lose you as well.” She burst into tears. “What was I thinking, locking you up like a criminal? What kind of a mother am I?”
“You’re a great mum!” blurted Molly. “But I don’t know how to tell you what happened tonight – it’s ever so exciting, but there’s no way you’d believe it, and it ends with me and Lowry and Felicity Quick saving Howlfair. But if you’d rather not know…”
“Molly, of course I want to know,” said Mum. “I want to know everything. As soon as you think I’m ready to hear it.”