“Well, frazzle my whiskers,” said Fidget. To the others gathered at the top of the stairs to the kitchen he whispered, “This is what I’ve been worried about all along.”
“I want my daddy,” said Primrose. “I don’t belong here. I don’t fit in.”
“It’s all right,” said Emily, though she was puzzled why she had said that when it clearly wasn’t.
“I want to go home,” said Primrose.
“Hold on,” said James. “We’ll sort something out.”
“Help,” came a mournful voice.
Buster’s shoes could be seen sticking out from underneath Primrose’s skirt.
“Perhaps,” called Edie from the upstairs landing, “we should call the fire department. They would know what to do.”
“No,” said James. “It would be very hard to explain how we came to have a giant girl stuck in the shop.”
“You have a point, love.”
“Well, if she grows any larger,” said Morris Flipwinkle, “and pushes on the ceiling any more, the shop will split apart.”
“Oh dear,” said Emily. “This is getting worse and worse.”
“Do something!” shouted Buster. “I am being squashed and I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, do something,” echoed the lamp, running between Primrose’s feet. “Do something. Oh, sweet mistress, what do we do?”
Primrose started to cry. Huge tears fell onto the wooden floor.
“Please stop,” said Emily. “You will drown Buster if you keep crying.”
But anything they said to Primrose just made matters worse. It was like being indoors with a sprinkler on.
“Water is bad for the wooden floor,” said the magic lamp. “It takes off the polish and swells the parquet. Oh, do stop, Primrose. Try to think of something cheerful.”
“Help!” shouted Buster. “I am now drowning as well as not breathing.”
“Aha. Got it,” said James Cardwell, and caught hold of the lamp by its handle. “You do spells. You can make Primrose smaller.”
“No, no, wait a mo!” said the lamp. “I haven’t used that spell for a millennium, maybe more.”
“What about when I—?” came Buster’s muffled voice.
“That was different,” interrupted the magic lamp. “And bunnies were involved.”
“We have no choice,” said Fidget. He was holding up the hem of his dressing gown, and his monogrammed slippers were ruined.
“What if it goes wrong?” said the lamp. “I can’t be held responsible.”
“Pull yourself together,” said James. “Are you magic or not? Just shrink Primrose and save the shop—and Buster—before we are all swept away in a flood of tears.”
Another nasty groan came from the beams in the ceiling.
“Please, please, dear magic lamp. Only please hurry,” said Emily.
“For you, sweet mistress, I will try. But don’t blame me if it goes wrong.”
“Okay,” they all shouted.
There was a moment when nothing much seemed to happen. Then the magic lamp’s tummy puffed out and became all shiny. Pink smoke poured from its spout, slowly filling the shop.
“Why is it always pink smoke?” said James. “Why can’t it be blue, green, or yellow for a change?”
“Because pink is what is needed for this spell,” said the magic lamp. “It isn’t all about color schemes, you know.”
The lamp clicked its fingers and stamped its Moroccan slippers. Instantly the smoke cleared, but now all that could be seen was a rather squashed Buster sitting in a puddle. Primrose had disappeared.
“Oh no,” said Emily. “What have you done with her?”
“This isn’t my fault, so don’t go blaming me,” said the magic lamp. “I did what I had to do. I had no choice.”
“Quiet,” said Fidget. “Primrose, are you here?”
“Hello,” came a tiny voice, and Primrose emerged from behind the counter.
She was no taller than the magic lamp itself.
“Oh dear,” said Emily.
“Buddleia,” said James.
“Fish paste,” said Fidget.
“Ta-rah!” said the magic lamp. “Again I’ve saved the day! Better by far that she’s this size than enormous and destroying the shop.”
There was truth in what the lamp said.
“What happened?” asked Primrose. “Why are you all giants and now I’m not?”
Emily bent down and picked her up.
“Ah,” said Edie. “Isn’t she lovely? A little doll.”
Primrose smiled. “I don’t mind, honestly I don’t, as long as I can still sing in the contest. I can, can’t I?”
“Yes, love, I’m sure you can,” said Edie, who wasn’t sure at all.
“I’m sorry to leave you with the mess,” said Detective Cardwell, looking at an incoming message on his cell phone. “I have to go to the Puddliepool police station.”
James opened the front door to find a smartly dressed lady standing there.
“Hello,” she said. “Are you a detective agency?”
“We are, madam,” said James as he left. “This gentleman will help you with your inquiry.”
“Yes,” said Fidget. “We are Wings & Co.”
“You, really? Well, you see all sorts in my line of business. I had a guest once who used to dress up as a cat. He was just here for the summer season. His costume wasn’t as good as yours. Anyway, I’m not here about him.”
“Could you possibly come back later? We’re about to go out,” said Fidget.
“Look, love, I’m worried, and none of what I’m worried about seems to belong to the world as I understand it. My name is Betty Sutton. I’m the owner of the Mermaid Hotel.”
“You’re Edie’s friend,” said Emily.
“Yes—and how do you know that?”
“Because Edie is here.”
“No—never!” said Betty. “Has she come to tell you about Blinky Belvale?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Lend me your sneakers,” said Cheryl to the Toad.
“Not again,” said the Toad. “They’re my favorites. And when you borrowed them on Wednesday, you made them really smelly.”
“Give them to me.”
“Why?”
“Because my army boots are hurting my bunions,” said Cheryl.
“But, sis,” pleaded the Toad, “I need the flashing red lights down there in the ghost train. It’s dark.”
Now, it is an odd thing, but some people in this world don’t believe in magic no matter how much proof you give them. Cheryl and the Toad had never believed. As far as they were concerned, magic was for sissies. But the strange part is that the Toad was quite prepared to be scared pantsless by the idea that the ghost train was haunted.
“It’s dead creepy down there,” he said to his sister that morning. “You know the huge waxwork the boss has put in? It’s definitely haunted.”
“Idiot,” said Cheryl.
“I saw its eyes blink and its leg twitch.”
“You saw all that in the dark?”
“No—when I shined my flashlight at it.”
“Rubbish,” said Cheryl.
“I swear,” replied the Toad, “on … on my teddy bear’s life, that waxwork moved.”
Cheryl gave him a smack on the head.
“What was that for?” said the Toad, his bubble gum bursting around his mouth.
“Because, you muppet”—Cheryl lowered her voice—“you are supposed to be looking for the you-know-what down there.”
“Well, the you-know-what isn’t in the you-know-where. And I’m—”
The Toad didn’t finish because Cheryl had grabbed both of his legs, turned him upside down, and lifted him into the air so his packets of gum fell out of his pockets.
“Now you listen to me,” she said, swinging him from side to side. “You are supposed to be down there looking for that—”
“Mouse,” said the Toad feebly. From his position, he was face-to-face with i
t.
“Where?” said Cheryl.
“Behind you. Under your chair.”
“I hate mice,” replied Cheryl, turning to have a look.
The mouse in question was cleaning its whiskers. It had oddly round eyes, and, strange as it might sound, Cheryl thought it seemed to be listening.
She let go of the Toad so suddenly that he fell with a loud crash to the floor. He charged at the mouse, but the mouse was too quick and retreated to its hole in the baseboard.
When Cheryl looked again, the Toad was picking up the packets of gum.
“You find that diamond,” she hissed, “or it will be my boot you feel—and your teddy won’t save you this time.”
“Cheryl,” came the voice of Blinky Belvale. “In here—now.”
Blinky Belvale’s office window was wide open as usual, and papers were blowing around in the wind. Blinky wasn’t in a good mood.
“What’s going on, Cheryl?” he said. “What exactly is the Toad looking for down in my ghost train?”
Cheryl felt hot under her Day-Glo tank top. How could he know? The door to the outer office had been closed. He couldn’t have overheard what she and the Toad were saying.
“And,” said Blinky, “what did your brother mean when he swore on his teddy bear’s life?”
“Nothing, Mr. B.,” said Cheryl. Now she was really worried that the other room was bugged. “Nothing … much.”
“Don’t you nothing me,” said Blinky. “What is it that he can’t find?”
“Just an old diamond, Mr. B.”
“Oh,” said Blinky. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“I was about to report, Mr. B., that the Toad saw someone in the ghost train.”
“Toad,” shouted Blinky. “Who did you see?”
The Toad slouched into the office. “A great big cat, Mr. B. The same one you saw at the Starburst Ballroom.”
“Why didn’t you catch him?”
“It’s really spooky down there, Mr. B., what with the skeletons and such, and, well…” His voice trailed off.
“Listen to me, both of you. Just make sure that neither the cat nor that flying boy come anywhere near the ghost train. Keep them out of my amusement park, all right?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I have a medical condition, if you must know,” said Fidget to the man at the ticket office at the Starburst Amusement Park. “And I am the guardian of these two children.”
Buster and Emily were standing on either side of Fidget, Emily holding the magic lamp under her arm.
“Get away with you,” said the ticket man. “You are a cat. Come on, stop wasting my time. Move along, you three.”
“Wait, please,” said Emily. “How do you know he’s a cat?”
“Because,” said the ticket man, “he looks like a cat.”
“Do cats talk?” asked Emily.
“No,” said the ticket man.
“Do cats wear hats?”
“No,” said the ticket man.
“Do cats wear spats?”
“Probably not,” said the ticket man.
“Then what makes you think he’s a cat?” asked Emily.
“Put like that, you have a point.” He handed Emily the three plastic bracelets that would let them into the Starburst Amusement Park. “Enjoy,” he said.
Once in the park, Buster almost forgot the reason they were there. Before him was the choice of three glorious roller-coaster rides, each of them higher than the last. It was almost too much to bear that he was not to go on at least one of them.
Half in a dream, lost in whirls and screams, he began to wander off—until he felt Fidget’s firm paw on his shoulder.
“Remember why we’re here,” said Fidget.
“Just one ride,” said Buster. “That’s all I want. One ride and—”
“No,” said Fidget.
Buster sighed.
“No,” said Fidget.
“Not the roller coaster, then,” said Buster. “But what about that?”
He pointed at a rocketlike tower that shot people high up into the air before letting them plunge safely back down again.
“No,” said Fidget again. “Just the ghost train and that’s all.”
They passed merry-go-rounds, bumper cars, booths where you could throw balls at coconuts, and stalls that sold cotton candy, sticks of rock candy, and ice cream. Even Fidget found himself somewhat distracted by the smell of fish and chips.
“Come on,” said Emily. “We’re here to solve a crime.”
“Quite right, my little ducks,” said Fidget, straightening his blazer as they arrived at the ghost train.
Over the entrance a sign read:
prepare to meet thy doom
It was the most run-down of all the rides, and they were surprised to find a long line.
One little boy was saying, “Will we see the big scary giant again, Mummy?”
Emily nudged Fidget. “Did you hear that? No wonder the ride is so popular.”
“This looks really boring,” said Buster. “Trust us to have to go on a ride for babies.”
“Yippee,” said the magic lamp, kicking its little legs in excitement. “Dear, sweet mistress, what a treat! It’s so good to get out, and a ghost train—oh, what joy. It puts a shiver in the shine.”
Their car was red, with a monster’s face on it. Fidget sat in the front, with Emily beside him and the magic lamp next to her, while Buster sulked in the back.
“For babies,” he muttered under his breath.
A bell rang, and with a jolt the car moved off and up a little railway track, then crashed through some double doors. A ghost whistled down on them, and Buster stifled a scream.
“I don’t know,” he said as they whizzed through a curtain of cobwebs, “if this is such a good idea.”
“Now, keep your eyes open,” said Fidget as the bicycling corpses flashed into view. “Look out for the iron cage with a waxwork in it.”
“This is wonderful!” shouted the magic lamp, standing up and holding on to the bar at the front with its tiny hands. “Dear mistress, do tell me, are there vampires? Are there ghoulies and gremlins?”
A headless rider rushed toward them as they charged through gates to a dungeon. Buster was now hunched down in the back, his eyes tightly shut.
“I don’t think,” he said above the sound of screaming vampires, “that children should be taken on this ride. It should have a zombie warning. It’s enough to give you nightmares.”
The dungeon doors closed behind them, and they found themselves hurtling into a huge cavern in the middle of which stood a steel cage.
“There! The waxwork,” shouted Fidget. “Look, the legs are twitching!”
“It is Billy Buckle,” cried Emily. “How did Blinky Belvale get him down here? How are we going to get him out?”
They shot through the dungeon doors and into the open. “At least that horror is over,” said Buster, sitting up at the sight of the roller coaster.
But it wasn’t. Down a dip they plunged—and back into the ghastly cavern. There was the cage, and this time flashes lit up the huge figure.
“There he is again—Billy, my old mate,” said Fidget.
The cage went dark, and they crashed out into the sunlight. The ride was over.
It was only as Emily and Fidget were about to climb out of the car that they noticed the magic lamp was missing.
“Oh no,” said Emily. “You don’t think it fell out?”
“What a thought,” said Fidget.
“Hey,” said the ride operator. “What are you playing at?”
“We loved the ghost train so much that we want to go again,” said Fidget.
Buster was already out of the car.
“Er … I’ll wait here,” he said, trying to look supercool. “Just in case the lamp comes out.”
“Good idea, young kipper,” said Fidget as the car lurched and sped up the ramp again. “But don’t go wandering off,” he shouted over t
he racket.
As soon as they zipped into the cavern with the steel cage, Fidget knew something fishy was going on. It was full of pink smoke. They caught a glimpse of the magic lamp, its tummy shining and its Moroccan slippers glowing. Emily called desperately, but the lamp didn’t seem to hear her above the noise of the screeching ghouls.
“Oh dear,” she said. “What now?”
“Wait until we go through the cavern again,” said Fidget.
The second time around, the ghost train wasn’t as frightening as the first. In fact, Emily thought that the skeletons, ghosts, and vampires were all rather old and tatty and in need of a lick of paint. If she looked carefully, she could see the wires that controlled them.
Their car zoomed through the double doors and into the open just as before, and just as before, it whizzed back down into the cavernous chamber. But this time the huge steel cage was empty.
“Where’s the magic lamp?” said Emily.
“Where’s Billy Buckle?” said Fidget.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Shiver my shrimps,” said Fidget.
Buster wasn’t where they had left him.
“First we lose the magic lamp, and now we’ve lost Buster,” said Emily. “What are we going to do?”
“Search my litter box,” said Fidget, putting on his sunglasses and peering at the sea of people. “Wait a mo—I think I spot him over there by that cotton candy stall.”
Emily couldn’t see anything except loads of children and grown-ups all eager to have fun.
“This way,” said Fidget. He took hold of Emily’s hand and guided her through the crowds to where Buster stood, his face nearly hidden behind a huge stick of pink cotton candy. Under his arm was tucked a large doll. The magic lamp, meanwhile, was clinging to one of Buster’s ankles.
“What are you doing, old cod?” said Fidget, sounding none too pleased. “I told you not to move.”