First published in Great Britain by

HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2017

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

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Text copyright © Justine Windsor 2017

Illustrations copyright © Becka Moor 2017

All rights reserved.

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

Justine Windsor and Becka Moor assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780008183561

Ebook Edition © ISBN: 9780008183578

Version: 2017-07-04

For Charlie and Nikki

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One: A Grave Affair

Chapter Two: The Coachman and the Stinking Bishop

Chapter Three: Angel Eyes

Chapter Four: The Not so Pitiless Predator

Chapter Five: The Snake Ouroboros

Chapter Six: The Break-In

Chapter Seven: Cockroach Crunch

Chapter Eight: Uncle Ebenezer’s Quill

Chapter Nine: The Emerald Eye

Chapter Ten: A Very Precise Death

Chapter Eleven: A Mouthful of Dust

Chapter Twelve: Golems and Murder

Chapter Thirteen: London Smog

Chapter Fourteen: O’Brien’s Midnight Circus

Chapter Fifteen: A Den of Iniquity

Chapter Sixteen: The Poodle That Barked in the Night

Chapter Seventeen: Lucy Cracks the Case

Chapter Eighteen: The Real Jerome Wormwood

Chapter Nineteen: No Choice

Chapter Twenty: Meeting Mortimer Thorne

Chapter Twenty-One: Stone and Earth

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Pact or Two

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

Books by Justine Windsor

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

The graveyard was silent and deserted. An owl hooted from the great oak tree that grew next to the church. A fox slunk stealthily between the headstones, perhaps hunting for voles or on its way to raid the vicar’s henhouse. When the church gate creaked open, the fox froze and listened intently, sniffing the night air. A man crept into view, carrying a lantern in one hand and a spade in the other. A large bag was slung over his shoulder. The fox trotted silently away, melting into the dark of the moonless night. As for the man, he made his way over to two freshly dug graves. A cage of iron encased one of them and the man cursed softly under his breath when he saw it. But the other grave had no such protection. The man put his bag and his lantern down next to it, plunged his spade into the mound of soil and began to dig.

CHAPTER ONE
A GRAVE AFFAIR

“So this is where it all ’appens, Luce,” Smell the cat said to Lucy Goodly, nodding towards a large wooden door.

Lucy took a deep breath, trying to control her nerves. She was about to attend her first official meeting of Magicians Against the Abuse of Magic, otherwise known as MAAM. It was a big moment for any magician, but an especially big moment for a new magician like Lucy. A month ago she hadn’t even known she was magical.

Lucy turned the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“Only opens when you say the password,” Smell advised, gazing at Lucy. He was not the most attractive cat in the world, with his one and a half ears, stumpy tail and single eye.

“You could have said! What is it?”

“’avana.”

The door stayed resolutely shut.

Smell made an impatient noise. “Havana,” he said, putting a rather sarcastic emphasis on the ‘h’. In response, the door swung open to reveal a very grand wood-panelled room with large stained-glass windows.

“Come along, you two! We’re about to start!” said Lord Grave, who was sitting at the head of a vast polished table. He was the leader of MAAM, owner of Grave Hall and Lucy’s employer (Lucy was officially the boot girl at Grave Hall). His panther Bathsheba was snoozing at his feet.

The other members of MAAM were gathered round the table. There was Lord Percy, a sorrowful-looking man with a deeply lined face. Sitting next to him was Lady Sibyl, a tall and elegant woman. Then there were the silver-haired twins, Beguildy Beguildy and Prudence Beguildy. Bertie Grave, Lord Grave’s son, was also at the table. Bertie wasn’t a magician and, in fact, didn’t believe in magic (he thought magic could be explained by science), but he provided what he called “practical input” to MAAM.

Lucy hurriedly pulled out one of the heavy ornate chairs and sat down. Smell jumped on to her lap. There was so much to look at in this fascinating room and, being a very curious girl, Lucy wished there was time for her to explore everything thoroughly. She was especially intrigued by the enormous display cabinet that held numerous strange objects, some of which ticked and vibrated. Lucy guessed they were for magical crime-fighting purposes.

“Shall we begin?” Lord Grave said. “Now, I am sure you want to know why I’ve asked you all here. This is the reason.”

Lord Grave unfolded a newspaper and spread it out in the middle of the table. It was a copy of the Penny Dreadful. Lord Grave always called the Penny a “frightful old rag” but seemed to one of its most avid readers nonetheless.

“So, does anyone want to put forward a guess about what’s behind these activities?” Lord Grave asked.

“It says here,” said Prudence Beguildy, “that Sir Absalom Balderdash is convinced it’s the work of corpse-eating zombies.”

“A ridiculous man,” her brother replied. “If anyone so much as picks a daffodil illegally, Sir Absalom blames it on zombies.”

“Can I have some serious ideas, please?” snapped Lord Grave.

“It’s graverobbers, of course!” Bertie said. His voice was somewhat hoarse as he had a bad cold. “It’s rather unethical, but if medical science is to progress, we have to understand how the human body works.”

“But look,” Lucy said, pointing to one of the paragraphs in the article. “It’s only the grave dirt that’s stolen. Not the bodies.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Bertie, going rather red before sneezing violently into his handkerchief.

“Don’t be sorry, my boy, all theories are welcome. But Lucy is right,” Lord Grave said. “That’s why I think there may be a rogue magician at work. Strangely enough, the Penny’s advice on mortsafes is a good idea. Iron can impede magic.”

“But why would a magician steal grave dirt?” Lucy asked.

“Why would a magician steal grave dirt?” said Beguildy Beguildy, who had been sitting with one elbow on the table, cheek resting on his hand and looking thoroughly bored all through the conversation. “Grave, I thought you said she was bright?”

“Don’t be so mean, B,” Prudence said.

“Quite,” Lord Grave replied. “Lucy is bright as well as magically gifted. That’s why I want her with me to begin an initial investigation into these thefts.”

Lucy turned to Beguildy and flashed him a wide smile. He bared his teeth at her in a silent grimace.

“What you need to know, Lucy, and you, Bertie,” Lord Grave continued, “is that grave dirt taken from freshly dug graves has powerful magical qualities.”

Lucy looked at the article in the Penny again. “Is all this about nefarious deeds and the new moon true?”

Lord Grave nodded. “For once it’s not just the Penny being hysterical. The new moon is strongly associated with dark magic. Now, it seems the graverobber visited St Olaf’s yesterday night, which is just a few villages away from here. The local gravedigger disturbed him before any grave dirt could be stolen. I suggest a surveillance operation.”

“You think it’s worth it, George?” Lady Sibyl said. “I doubt the robber will return.”

“I think he might. Tonight’s the last night of the new moon. There won’t be another for a month and he may not have the time to seek out more newly dug graves to rob. He may chance his arm. And we can look for clues too.” Lord Grave took out his pocket watch. “It’s half past four. Sunset will be in about three hours. Lucy and I will go to St Olaf’s and see if the graverobber makes another attempt. Does that suit you, Lucy?”

“Yes!” Lucy replied, almost leaping out of her seat with enthusiasm. Of course it suited her! She couldn’t wait to get stuck into her first official investigation for MAAM.

“Very well. Meet me in the grounds at half past six. Everyone, make no mention of this case outside these four walls for now.”

Lord Grave then invited the members of MAAM into his drawing room for tea. Unfortunately, Lucy wasn’t invited. To everyone not part of the magical world, Lucy was Lord Grave’s boot girl, and her task was to keep all the shoes at the Hall spick and span. Becky Bone, the housemaid, would serve tea to all the guests, so it would look very odd for Lucy to be among them. Lucy had hoped that becoming part of MAAM might mean the end of her boot girl duties. But Lord Grave thought it best to maintain the pretence for now, especially because there was a reporter from the Penny called Slimeous Osburn, who took a marked interest in goings-on at Grave Hall and was often snooping around. If Osburn got wind of a Grave Hall servant suddenly being treated as a member of the household, he might become suspicious. So Lucy rather reluctantly left the rest of MAAM to it and headed off to the kitchen. As she passed Beguildy Beguildy, he made a rude face at her.

“Beware of the ghosties tonight!” he said, fluttering his hands at either side of his head. “Woo!”

Lucy held her head high and stalked away, but inwardly fantasised about emptying a brimming chamberpot over Beguildy’s head. She smiled to herself as she imagined its stinky contents dripping down his face. As she set off down the stairs towards the kitchen, she sensed someone following her. It was Smell.

“Don’t let that Beguildy get to you, Luce,” he said, flicking his one and a half ears back and forth.

“I won’t. But why is he so horrible to me?”

“Jealous.”

Lucy stopped and looked down at Smell. “Jealous?”

Smell licked his front paw. “Yeah. See, Beguildy Beguildy’s ambitious. Only been a member of MAAM for a few months, but fancies ’imself as a future ’ead. Now ’e thinks Grave’s training you up to take his place one day.”

“Me? That would be incredible,” Lucy said, setting off again. The thought of Beguildy Beguildy being jealous of her because she might one day be head of MAAM was most pleasing and she firmly resolved to ignore any future taunts he might make. And anyway, she had more important things to think about. She was determined to be the one to crack the case of the grave-robbing magician.

CHAPTER TWO
THE COACHMAN AND THE STINKING BISHOP

As Lucy and Smell entered the kitchen, Smell grew silent. This was because Violet Worthington the scullery maid was there. Both Violet and Becky were completely unaware that Lord Grave, his friends and some of his servants were magicians and so any hint of magic had to be carefully hidden from them, especially something as remarkable as a talking cat.

Lucy’s own (non-magical) pet cat Phoebe was curled up under the kitchen table. Smell was terribly taken with her and as soon as he glimpsed her, he scooted over and attempted to touch noses, as cats sometimes do when they meet each other. Sadly, Phoebe was as unimpressed as ever with Smell’s advances and very nearly took his one remaining eye out with her claws.

“Lucy, you’re just in time for a pot of tea!” boomed Mrs Crawley, who was wearing her best flowery apron. Lucy had been rather confused by Mrs Crawley the first time she had met her as the bearded cook-cum-housekeeper was actually a man. But Lucy soon became used to the fact that Lord Grave insisted on the Grave Hall cook being addressed as Mrs regardless of gender or marital status – it was simply the done thing. Lucy was also used to Mrs Crawley’s preference for frocks (They keep the nether regions cool in a hot kitchen! she often said). Lucy herself was unconventional in her clothing choices. Most girls wore dresses and curled their long hair. Lucy preferred to wear a jacket and breeches and wore her hair in a shining black bob.

“Take a seat, Lucy. You too, Violet, you deserve a break,” Mrs Crawley said.

“Thanks, Mrs Crawley.” Violet put down the huge copper pot she was scouring. Caruthers, Violet’s small stuffed woollen frog, peeped out from her apron pocket. Wherever Violet went, Caruthers went too, which was something Becky Bone teased her mercilessly about. Thankfully, Becky was running some errands in Grave Village, which meant everyone could enjoy their cups of tea without having to look at her scowling face.

There was a third person in the kitchen, sitting at the table, a young man Lucy had never seen before. He gave her a friendly wink.

“Hello,” she said uncertainly.

The man pushed his floppy black hair back from his forehead, and gazed at her very intently. Lucy felt herself blushing. The man smiled. “You’re Miss Goodly, I take it? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“This is Mr Stephen Rivers,” Mrs Crawley said.

“Oh, please, everyone just calls me Rivers!”

“He’s Lady Sibyl’s coachman,” Mrs Crawley continued, bringing over the teapot while Violet set out the cups. Thankfully, the tea seemed to be the normal everyday variety. Mrs Crawley was prone to bouts of experimental cooking and had once served Lucy fried-egg-flavour tea.

“Under-coachman, actually,” Rivers corrected. “But the head coachman has come down with a very nasty case of measles along with the rest of Lady Sibyl’s household except for me, so I’m the main man for the moment. I must say I’m rather enjoying being in charge. And I only started working for her Ladyship a couple of months ago!”

As Lady Sibyl’s coach was not an ordinary sort of coach (Lucy had seen it in action once; it was pulled by flying horses), Lucy guessed Rivers must be a magician. But of course she couldn’t mention anything about this in front of Violet.

“Rivers is going to be with us for a few days, Lucy. Poor Lady Sibyl is very worried about catching measles herself so Lord Grave has invited her to stay until the danger is past. Would you like another slice of cake, Rivers?”

“No, thank you, Mrs Crawley. I must get on; the horses need grooming,” Rivers said, getting to his feet. “I’ll see you all later.”

“He’s a lovely man, isn’t he?” Mrs Crawley said when Rivers had left. She stroked her beard thoughtfully. “I was thinking about making him a special welcome dinner. Edible dormouse with fried potatoes and sprouts stuffed with Stinking Bishop.”

“Stuffed with a stinking bishop?” Lucy said in horror, imagining that Mrs Crawley had decided to widen her repertoire to include cannibalistic cookery.

“It’s a type of cheese.” Mrs Crawley chuckled, smoothing her apron. “And I thought I’d follow it with cockroach and cherry stargazey pie for dessert. What do you think?”

“It sounds delicious, but I won’t be here I’m afraid,” Lucy said, trying her best to sound disappointed. “I have to go out with Lord Grave and we might not be back until late.”

“Oh, not to worry. I’ll save you some!” Mrs Crawley beamed.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Lucy said, hoping that she and Lord Grave would be back far too late to eat dinner. And, as it turned out, they very nearly didn’t make it back at all.

At half past six that evening, as arranged, Lucy met Lord Grave out in the grounds of Grave Hall. Because St Olaf’s was a few villages away from Grave Hall, Lucy had expected that they would go in the carriage. However, Lord Grave ushered her to a quiet part of the pristine gardens, Bathsheba loping along by his side. As they picked their way across the grass, a splashing and trumpeting came from the direction of his Lordship’s wildlife park. Lucy had been at the Hall long enough to know that this was the sound of the elephants taking their evening bath in the lake.

“Hold this for a moment please,” Lord Grave said, handing the as yet unlit lantern he was carrying to Lucy. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a small illustrated pamphlet that he passed to Lucy, taking the lantern back off her. The pamphlet was for St Olaf’s Church fete and had a drawing of the church on the front.

“This is St Olaf’s, Lucy. Do you think you can manage it?”

“Manage what?”

“A shortcut, of course.”

As part of her magical training with Lord Grave, Lucy had been practising shortcuts, a method of travelling that very few magicians were able to perform. Lucy had found out by accident that this was something she could do when she’d had to escape from a wicked magician called Amethyst Shade. Now Lord Grave was helping her learn to control this power.

“I think I’ll be able to. Is Bathsheba coming too? Won’t she be in the way a bit?”

“I’d prefer she came with us.” Something in Lord Grave’s tone suggested that he was secretly a little worried about what they might find at St Olaf’s. This made Lucy a little worried too, but she tried not to let nerves ruin her concentration as she thoroughly studied the picture of the church. Then she closed her eyes, fixed the image firmly in her mind and imagined herself there as strongly as she could.

“Excellent,” Lord Grave said softly after a few moments.

Lucy opened her eyes. Sparks fizzled in the crisp evening air, signalling that magic was afoot. They began to join together, forming a slash, which widened into a hole. Lucy gave a quiet whoop of victory. She’d done it! St Olaf’s Church and graveyard lay on the other side of the opening. Her very first official investigation of magical crime was about to begin.

CHAPTER THREE
ANGEL EYES

Lord Grave and Bathsheba climbed through the opening, followed by Lucy. She always found it a strange sensation to grab the rubbery edges of a shortcut as she stepped through to the other side. When the three of them were standing safely in St Olaf’s graveyard, Lucy reversed the shortcut by closing her eyes and this time imagining the opening growing smaller and smaller. Sure enough, when she reopened her eyes, the hole she’d made was shrinking rapidly to a pinpoint. There was a gust of wind, which ruffled Lucy’s hair, followed by a loud sucking noise as the hole sealed itself shut.

“So what do we do next?”

“We need to speak to that gentleman over there,” Lord Grave said. The gentleman in question was trimming the grass round the edges of the graveyard. Lord Grave strode over to him.

“Good evening, my man, are you Mr Brakespear?”

Mr Brakespear didn’t reply. He was too busy staring goggle-eyed at Bathsheba.

“That’s a … a …” he gibbered.

“Panther. Yes. Perfectly tame, I assure you. Could I ask a few questions about what happened here yesterday evening?”

“But I’ve already spoken to the parish constable!”

“Yes, of course. But we’re detectives. Different area of expertise. Would you mind explaining again what happened?”

“C-certainly,” Mr Brakespear replied, continuing to eye Bathsheba warily. “I had a busy day yesterday. I’d buried Mr Shannon and Mrs Munt in the afternoon. So I was down at the Bird in Hand having a quiet pint before going home to bed. Then one of the other regulars came in, said they’d seen light in the graveyard. So I thought I’d better have a look.”

“Do go on,” said Lord Grave.

“Someone was standing on Mr Shannon’s grave over there, digging away.” Mr Brakespear pointed to a fresh grave on the other side of the graveyard. “Couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman; they were too far away. I called out to warn ’em off. Soon as they heard my voice whoever it was scarpered. When I went to check I found that Mr Shannon’s grave had a big hole in the soil. But the coffin hadn’t been touched. Reckon I disturbed the thief before they could get to it. It’s quite shook us all up. The vicar’s going to get some more mortsafes in, like that one on Mrs Munt’s grave. There’s a good offer in the Penny—”

“Most disturbing,” Lord Grave said. “Do you have any thoughts on what might be happening?”

“Well, have you read the Penny? Sir Absalom—”

“Ah yes, I’m well versed in Sir Absalom’s crackpot theories. Well, thank you for your help; we won’t keep you any longer. Oh, just a second, there’s a fly on your forehead.” Lord Grave reached out and placed the tip of his right index finger between the gravedigger’s eyebrows. Sparks crackled up the middle of his forehead, over his cap and down to the back of his head. Mr Brakespear’s eyes grew wide and unfocused. After a few seconds, Lord Grave removed his finger. The gravedigger silently turned on his heel and walked off.

“Why did you do that?” Lucy asked. “And what was it?”

“I didn’t want him remembering us, just in case. If he mentions anything to the parish constable about detectives making enquiries, it could raise awkward questions. So I tweaked him.”

“You did what?”

“Tweaked him.”

Suddenly Lucy realised what he meant. Lord Grave had tweaked the memories of the children she’d rescued from the clutches of Amethyst Shade to remove all traces of their ordeal from their minds. But until now, she’d never seen a tweak performed. It was most impressive how effortless he made it seem. She suspected it was harder than it looked.

“Can I learn how to tweak?”

“Yes, when I think you’re ready. It’s a very delicate skill you know. Multi-purpose too. You can tweak personalities as well as memories, for example. But get it wrong and you’re in dire straits. Now, let’s get on. We need something to hide behind, just in case my instincts are right and our graverobber makes a reappearance.”

“Look, we could hide behind that,” Lucy said, pointing to a statue of an angel, which stood near Mr Shannon’s grave. The statue was somewhat disturbing to look at. It was green with lichen and had holes where its eyeballs should be. However, the handy thing about the angel was that it stood on a tall, wide plinth, which could screen Lucy and Lord Grave as well as Bathsheba while affording a decent view of Mr Shannon’s grave.

The sun began to set, accompanied by the twittering of the birds roosting in the trees. As darkness fell, the birds stopped singing one by one until a robin perched on the roof of the church gave the very final chirrup of the day. After that, the sounds of the night began. Bushes rustled with unseen creatures. An owl swooped overhead before diving towards the ground. There was a high-pitched squeak, and the owl arced back into the sky, a struggling mouse clutched in its talons.

The temperature in the churchyard was rapidly dropping. Lucy shivered a little and thought longingly of the cosy kitchen at Grave Hall. Mrs Crawley often made hot milk for everyone at the end of the day, sweetened with honey from the bees that Vonk the butler looked after.

“How long do you think we should stay for?” she asked Lord Grave.

“Until sun-up if need be. Now shush, we need to keep as quiet as possible.”

A moment later, Lord Grave sneezed loudly.

“That’s not exactly keeping quiet, is it?” Lucy whispered.

“I think I’ve caught Bertie’s cold,” Lord Grave said stiffly. “Luckily, I planned ahead.” He took a small bottle from his pocket, which contained a luminous yellow liquid. He unscrewed the top and drank the contents, his whole face and even his moustache twisting in disgust. Seconds later, steam piped out of his ears, wreathing himself, Lucy, Bathsheba and the angel in luminous yellow mist.

“What is that?” Lucy whispered.

“A cold remedy. Mrs Crawley gave it to me. You know, I think it’s working!”

Thankfully, the remedy did indeed seem to work, as there was no more sneezing or coughing from Lord Grave over the course of the next two hours, by which time Lucy was on the brink of screaming with boredom. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it a moment longer, Lord Grave nudged her.

“Someone’s coming,” he said in a low voice.

Lucy peered round the side of the eyeless angel’s plinth. Sure enough, a tall man was approaching, carrying a lantern. It was impossible to see his face properly as he had a scarf wrapped round his nose and mouth and the light from the lantern cast a shadow across his eyes and forehead. He carried a spade.

“Let’s wait a few moments. See what he does,” Lord Grave whispered.

They watched as the man reached Mr Shannon’s grave. He set his lantern down and began shovelling grave dirt into the bag he had with him.

“Oh no!” Lord Grave exclaimed softly.

“What is it?” Lucy whispered back.

“The dratted cold remedy’s wearing off. I’m going to … going to …”

Lucy hesitated, wondering whether she should put her hand over Lord Grave’s nose and mouth. He might think such an action very insubordinate. But before she could decide, his Lordship let rip a violent cough combined with a ferocious sneeze. The cough and the sneeze echoed around the graveyard, waking up the sleeping birds, which chirped and chattered in alarm.

Lucy held her breath, hoping that by some miracle the man hadn’t heard the commotion. But of course he had and he swiftly picked up the half-filled bag of grave dirt and sprinted off, something falling as he ran.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Lucy and Lord Grave leaped out from behind the stone angel. Lord Grave lit the lantern they had brought with them so they could investigate the object the man had dropped.

“It’s some sort of book,” Lucy said, bending down to pick it up, but before she could do so Lord Grave grabbed her arm.

“Wait. In this business, Lucy, it’s vital to assume everything is dangerous until you’ve proved otherwise.”

Lucy could see his point. She had made the disastrous mistake of trusting magical objects before, namely a clockwork raven, which had turned out to be a wicked magician in disguise. “So how do we tell whether it’s safe to touch?”

Lord Grave took what looked like a fat silver pencil from his pocket. “This is one of Lord Percy’s contraptions. It whistles if it detects harmful magic in an object. It’s Percy’s strongest skill, you know, to—”

A grating noise interrupted Lord Grave. Bathsheba gave a low growl of warning. Before Lucy could turn to see where the noise was coming from, a great stone fist slammed down on Lord Grave’s head, flattening his top hat and sending him slumping to the ground. The plinth the eyeless angel had stood on moments before was now empty. Its former occupant stepped over Lord Grave’s prone body and lunged at Lucy, growling in a completely un-angelic manner.

CHAPTER FOUR
THE NOT SO PITILESS PREDATOR

Bathsheba roared ferociously at the angel and leaped at it, her fangs and claws bared, but even these powerful weapons couldn’t damage stone. The angel shook the panther off like an irritating fly before grabbing Lucy by the collar and hauling her up until the two of them were face to face. Those awful empty eyes stared into Lucy’s and the stone lips curled into a snarl. Lucy wriggled and squirmed. The angel’s grip was slowly choking her.

The angel began clomping heavily through the grass towards the grave that had been disturbed. The robber had returned and was bending down to pick up the book he had dropped.

“Bathsheba,” Lucy managed to choke out, “attack that man – please attack!”

The panther seemed to understand Lucy’s command. She hunkered down into a crouch before launching herself at the graverobber, knocking him over. The book he’d retrieved moments before left his grasp again. This time, it flew from his hand and landed in the tangle of a nearby overgrown grave. The man had no chance to run after it: Bathsheba had pinned him to the ground in an instant.

With the man safely pinioned and the precious clue secure for now, Lucy turned her attention to escaping her stony captor’s clutches. As a first stab at gaining her freedom, Lucy poked the angel in its empty eyehole, but this made no impact whatsoever. Panic swamped Lucy as she struggled and choked in the angel’s grasp. The angel twisted the collar of her jacket so that it dug painfully into her windpipe. If she didn’t escape soon she was going die of strangulation! Anger began to overtake Lucy’s panic and fear. She wasn’t going to let this happen to her.

“Why are you doing this?” Lucy spluttered out between choking coughs. “You’re supposed to be on … be on … the side of good. Which is my side! Put me down.”

The angel’s grip on Lucy’s collar loosened. Lucy took in great ragged gulps of air. Her captor stared at her. A dim light glimmered in its eyeholes as though Lucy’s admonishments had sparked life in there. But the light died after a few seconds and the angel’s grip tightened again. Lucy frantically tried to fathom what was happening. Was getting angry with the angel triggering some kind of magic? Although Lucy’s magical abilities were still very new to her and she didn’t understand much about how it all worked, she did know that imagining what you wanted to happen sometimes played a part. Lucy held on to her anger, refusing to let fear take over.

“You … should be … ashamed of yourself, helping a criminal!” she said between gasps for air.

Again the angel’s eyes glinted. Again it paused in its efforts to strangle Lucy. Convinced now that her anger was having an effect, Lucy continued to berate her attacker. At the same time, she visualised the angel releasing her and pursuing the graverobber instead. As deeply and vividly as she could, she imagined landing on the soft grass, the ground vibrating as the stone angel pounded towards the graverobber, and his cries as the angel imprisoned him in her stony arms. She held the images in her mind.

And held them there.

And held them there.

The grip on Lucy’s collar loosened, sending her tumbling to the grass. She rolled out of the way of the angel’s feet; it was clumping towards the graverobber now, just as she’d imagined it doing. With the angel suitably distracted, Lucy crawled swiftly over to Lord Grave, who was still lying flat out on the grass. She shook him.

“Sir, sir, please wake up!”

But Lord Grave lay frighteningly still. Lucy put her ear against his chest. She could just about make out the comforting whump whump of his heart. She sat back on her heels, shaky with relief that at least Lord Grave wasn’t dead. But now she needed to get help and fast! The best thing to do was to shortcut back to Grave Hall and fetch help. She briefly surveyed the situation. The angel was looming over the graverobber now, and Bathsheba still had him firmly under her paws, so hopefully there was no immediate danger.

Lucy hurriedly began the process of shortcutting back to Grave Hall, imagining herself in the meeting room where the rest of MAAM would be waiting. But before she’d got very far, a rough but friendly tongue licked the back of her neck.

“Bathsheba! You’re supposed to be guarding the …” She looked frantically around and saw that the graverobber was now free and on his feet, seeking the book he’d dropped. Even worse, the angel had turned away from and was heading for Lucy again, its face contorted with anger.

“Go back to him, girl. Get him!” Lucy cried to Bathsheba.

Bathsheba turned and bounded off towards the man again. But instead of attacking him, she flopped down at his feet and rolled over on her back. The man paused in his search and scratched Bathsheba’s belly as though she was a fluffy kitten and not a potentially lethal panther. He then continued his hunt, leaving Bathsheba sprawled contentedly on the grass.

Realising Bathsheba was a lost cause, Lucy turned her attention to the angel. It was almost upon her once more, looking as though it had some serious avenging in mind.

“I thought you’d changed sides!” Lucy yelled in frustration. She gathered all the mental energy she had left and pictured the angel turning round yet again and going after the graverobber. To her joy, after a few seconds, the angel did indeed change direction and began stomping back towards the graverobber, who cried out angrily when he realised what was happening. This time, Lucy didn’t let anything distract her thoughts. She was controlling the angel now and wouldn’t let this man get the better of her! Concentrating harder and harder, she pictured the angel attacking the graverobber. Sure enough, the angel made a swipe at the man, he ducked just in time to narrowly miss a skull-cracking blow from the stone fist. He then decided that discretion was the better part of valour and took off in the opposite direction.

As Lucy watched him vanish into the night, her concentration wavered. The angel clumped along for a few more steps before coming to a stop. Lucy sagged to the ground in relief. A few moments later, Bathsheba came trotting back over and licked her face.

“A lot of help you were. You’re supposed to be a pitiless predator not a lap cat!” Lucy said crossly. But she hugged the panther just the same. Then, to Lucy’s very great relief, Lord Grave began to stir. She helped him sit up.

“What’s that statue doing over there? Did it bash me over the head? I can’t quite remember.”

Lucy quickly explained what had happened and how she and the graverobber had battled for control of the angel.

“You animated it?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means that you made an inanimate object come to life. It’s a very rare skill.”

Lucy wanted to ask more about animation, but this wasn’t the time. Lord Grave had turned as grey as the stone angel. “We should get back to the Hall, sir. You look terrible.”

Lord Grave ignored her concern. “We need to retrieve that book. It’s an important clue,” he said, his voice beginning to sound worryingly slurred.

Lucy snatched up the lantern, which luckily hadn’t gone out. “You stay here. I’ll find it. I think I know roughly where it landed.” Lord Grave didn’t argue, much to Lucy’s surprise. That surprise became apprehension when she realised he had dozed off.

“Stay with him, Bathsheba, I’ll be as quick as I can.” She hurried off, scared that Lord Grave’s injuries were more serious than she’d first thought and that he might die before she found the book and got them all back to Grave Hall.

CHAPTER FIVE
THE SNAKE OUROBOROS

Lucy’s fears were unfounded, however, and a couple of hours later, she was safely back at Grave Hall and sitting with Lord Percy and Lady Sibyl at the table in the MAAM meeting room. She had managed to retrieve the graverobber’s book after a few minutes of searching and then opened a shortcut back to Grave Hall where Bertie, Lord Percy and Lady Sibyl had been anxiously waiting. They’d helped Lord Grave, who was semi-conscious again, through the shortcut. Mrs Crawley had then carried him up to bed.

Smell was on the table, padding around and sniffing at the book. Lucy had been surprised to find it was simply a blank notebook. She had been expecting it to contain spells or something of the sort. However, the cover was intriguing. It had been damp and muddy when she found it, but Lady Sibyl had carefully cleaned and dried it and now the tiny jewels embedded in its green leather cover gleamed.

The meeting-room door crashed open, making everyone jump. For one wild moment, Lucy expected the murderous angel to burst inside. But instead, the Beguildy twins rushed in.

“Where have you two been?” Lord Percy snapped. “We’ve had a real emergency here.”

“We decided to have dinner with friends. Lady Sibyl’s coachman flew us back as soon as we heard. Is Lord Grave all right? Where is he?” Prudence said breathlessly. The small ship she wore in her piled-up silvery hair had tilted sideways and her cloak was hanging half off one shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Prue,” Lady Sibyl said, patting Prudence’s arm. “He’s safe in bed at the moment, with a rather large bandage round his head. Young Bertie’s with him; the boy won’t let him out of his sight.”

“What happened exactly? Did you make a hash of it, Lucy?” Beguildy asked.

“She couldn’t have made less of a hash of it. Lucy saved Lord Grave’s life and her own,” Lord Percy said sternly. “I’ll explain later. Come and look at this.”

Beguildy looked decidedly pouty as he and Prudence joined everyone else at the table, where Smell was still meandering around the notebook, stopping every now and then to gingerly sniff at it.

“If only my detector hadn’t been broken.” Lord Percy sighed regretfully. The silver pencil-like detector had been smashed to pieces when the angel attacked Lord Grave.

“I don’t need no detector, not with my nose,” Smell replied. “This thing reeks of magic. But not a type of magic I’ve smelled before.”

“What does this mean? Does anyone know?” Prudence asked, pointing to the symbol that decorated the edges of the notebook’s pages in a repeating pattern. It was a snake holding its tail in its mouth.

“The snake ouroboros,” Lord Percy said thoughtfully. “An ancient symbol in alchemy. It can mean a number of things: infinity, creation, destruction.”

Before anyone could ask any questions about the snake ouroboros, the door opened once again. This time, Lord Grave wobbled into the room. He was dressed in his nightshirt, dressing gown and slippers and had a large bandage wrapped round his head. Bertie was hovering anxiously behind him.

Prudence rushed forward to help Lord Grave. He resisted at first, but then leaned on her arm and tottered over to the table where the notebook lay open.

“You should be in bed, Lord Grave!” Prudence said.

“That’s what I told him!” Bertie agreed.

“Too much to do,” Lord Grave said, half falling into the chair that Lord Percy had hastily pulled out for him. “Lucy. Are you all right? You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Lucy said, although in truth she was feeling horribly tired now and was finding it hard to concentrate.

“Now, has anyone any ideas about this notebook?”

Prudence began fussing around Lord Grave. “Your bandage is coming loose, let me just—”

“Prudence!” Lord Grave said a little snappily. Then more gently, he added, “I appreciate the concern, Prue, my dear. But there’s no need for it. I’m perfectly well.”

Prudence looked rather upset. As she dejectedly sat down next to her brother, her gaze met Lucy’s and they exchanged sympathetic smiles, although Prudence’s was slightly tremulous round the edges.

“Smell is certain that the notebook has magical properties,” Lord Percy said. “But we haven’t progressed any further than that.”

Lord Grave rubbed his forehead wearily, as though his head ached. Which was quite possible given he had recently been clonked over the head by a stone fist. “I think we should call in Angus Reedy.”

“Good idea,” Lord Percy said. “An experienced bookbinder like him should be able to give us some insight. I could send him one of my chits?”

“Yes, thank you. I believe he’s on his way back from France, but the chit should still find him.”

Lucy was very curious to find out what a chit was, so she watched carefully as Lord Percy went over to a writing bureau that stood against the wall next to the window. He opened it, took out a sheet of paper from one of the numerous drawers inside, and wrote a message on it, before rolling it up. He then carried it over to the window, which he unfastened. He placed the tube of paper in the palm of his hand and spoke to it. “Angus Reedy. Believed to be travelling back to England from France.”

There was a buzzing noise. The paper trembled and sprouted two tiny wings. It flew out of Lord Percy’s hand and buzzed off out of the window.

“That’s amazing!” Lucy said. Although she was becoming more and more used to seeing magic now, much of it still surprised and delighted her.

“Another of Lord Percy’s clever contraptions,” Lady Sibyl said, looking fondly at him.

“It really is excellent,” Lucy said to Lord Percy, whose face creased into a rare smile.

“I suppose there’s not much more to be done tonight,” Lord Grave said, bracing his hands against the arms of his chair and easing himself upright. “I suggest we all get some sleep.”

Lucy made her way to bed, feeling more exhausted than ever. Her bedroom, which she shared with Becky Bone, was high under the eaves at the front of Grave Hall. Lucy didn’t like sharing a room with Becky, who could be grumpy and unpleasant, but she loved the view her from bedroom window as she could see out over to Grave Hall’s wildlife park. She could have happily spent hours watching the animals. There were so many fascinating creatures roaming around. Elephants (Lucy once had an unfortunate run-in with one of them), giraffes (ditto), lions, zebras and numerous other animals, as well as an abundance of birds. And Bathsheba was there too at times, of course. Although the panther spent her days padding around after Lord Grave, at night she slept in her hut in the wildlife park, because she had a regrettable habit of raiding the kitchen when everyone was asleep.

Lucy always liked to have a last look out of the window each evening before going to bed. Treading carefully so as not to wake Becky, who would give Lucy a bad-tempered earful if woken, she went to the window and opened the curtains a little. Under the bright stars, the wildlife park was calm and still apart from the shadowy outline of one of the giraffes strolling along. Bertie had informed her that giraffes only slept in short bursts because they had to get up frequently to keep their circulation moving.

Eventually Lucy yawned and closed the curtains. She changed into her nightgown and slipped into bed. Narrowly escaping death at the hands of a stone angel really was a tiring business and she was looking forward to having a good rest.

It seemed as though she’d only been sleeping for a few minutes when the screaming woke her.

CHAPTER SIX
THE BREAK-IN

Lucy leaped out of bed and stood shivering in the dark. Something banged in the house below.

“Did you hear that, Goodly?” Becky asked, sounding frightened. Lucy could see the housemaid’s shadowy form sitting up in bed.

“Y-yes.”

Usually Becky would have made a nasty comment about Lucy’s shaky reply as she never missed a chance to be horrid. But fear seemed to be bringing out her best side as she simply said, “We need some light.”

There was the scrape of a match and welcome candlelight began to flicker and glow. United for once, Lucy and Becky hurried out into the hallway. Mrs Crawley was already there, carrying a candle. She was wearing a pair of unlaced boots and had flung a coat over her beribboned nightdress, but her beard was still in the three plaits she always wore it in for bed. She looked unusually stern.

“You girls stay here,” she said as she headed towards the stairs. “I mean it, Lucy!”

Mrs Crawley clattered off, almost tripping over her bootlaces in her haste. Lucy waited for around a minute before setting off after her with Becky in tow. They followed the sound of voices and commotion, which led them to the bottom of the house and the entrance hall.

The whole household had gathered there. The enormous front door stood open. A huge hole had been gouged out where the lock had once been and the lion’s-head knocker had a dent in it. Vonk, the butler, was sitting on the tiled floor, a blood-soaked handkerchief held to his head.

“Oh,” Becky whispered. “Look at Vonk. All that … all that … I think I’m going to …” She slumped to the floor. Nobody noticed apart from Lucy, who quickly bent over Becky to make sure the housemaid had simply fainted. Lucy knew she should really attract the attention of one of the grown-ups, but she wanted to take the chance to have a closer look at what was going on. Becky would come round on her own soon enough with no harm done.

She moved closer to the knot of Grave Hall residents and guests. Mrs Crawley was helping Vonk to his feet.

Lord Grave was there too. He was very shaky still from his own injuries and was having to be steadied by Bertie. Lady Sibyl and Lord Percy were carefully inspecting the damage to the front door. Lucy spotted Smell, nipping between people’s legs and sniffing around. He trotted over to her, casting a cautious look at Becky.

“It’s all right; she’s only fainted.”

“That your doing, Luce? I know you don’t like ’er, but—”

“No! I think it was the blood that set her off. What’s happened to Vonk?”

“Tussle with a burglar. Don’t know ’ow they managed it; that door is as strong as they come. Vonk was ’aving ’is bedtime cocoa in the butler’s pantry. ’E ’eard a kerfuffle. Someone was out ’ere, about to take off with that notebook you found.”

Lucy gasped. “It’s been stolen? Oh, but it was our only clue!”

“What’s been stolen?”

The sleepy voice behind Lucy made her flinch in surprise. She wasn’t the only one to be startled. Being a cat, Smell’s reflexes were much sharper than Lucy’s and he leaped several metres into the air, his back arched.

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