“The Sandman has been one step ahead of us the whole time,” said Billy. “We know what he wants but we don’t know how to stop him.”
“Ah, yes, you told me about this Sandman chappy. Sounds like an absolute scoundrel,” said Sir Gordon. “What exactly does he want?”
Billy shared a look with Charley. Sir Gordon was hardly going to be able to help, was he? “The only things the Sandman still needs are a phoenix egg and a human heart.”
“Oh,” said Sir Gordon. “I know a fellow who’s got a phoenix egg.”
“What?” spluttered Billy.
“It’s a beautiful thing,” said Sir Gordon. “A really massive ruby, must have cost a fortune. It’s so big that it’s called the ‘Phoenix Egg’.”
“Who has it?” said Charley.
“Lord Martin Wintersfall,” said Sir Gordon. “A good friend of mine – he thoroughly enjoyed my mummy party. Or at least he did until the mummy came to life and went on the rampage.”
“Where does Lord Wintersfall live?”
“At The Grange, a magnificent house, about fifteen minutes from here by zebra.”
“I’m going now!” said Billy, grabbing his jacket.
“You won’t be able to stop the mummy from stealing the jewel, it’s too strong, we know that,” Charley warned.
“I don’t plan to stop the mummy,” said Billy. “If it comes for the Phoenix Egg, I’m going to follow it back to the Sandman’s lair!”
Although Billy had said that he wouldn’t try to stop the mummy, it didn’t hurt to go prepared. He had borrowed a cricket bat and Sir Gordon’s new blunderbuss, in case things really cut up rough. Charley’s bullets hadn’t stopped the mummy, but the blunderbuss – with its massive barrel shaped like a trumpet – could blow a hole in just about anything. Backup was also coming; Doogie had been sent to summon Inspector Diggins and his men. Nine times out of ten the local police just got in the way of a S.C.R.E.A.M. investigation, but Billy wouldn’t say no to having some more muscle to call on if he got into a confrontation with the Sandman and his bandage-wrapped sidekick. Best of all, Billy had plucky Wellington at his side.
It was still dark when Billy arrived at The Grange. It was the most impressive house he had seen yet, even putting 44 Morningside Place to shame. But there was something sinister and unwelcoming about it. It probably didn’t help that it was situated next to a graveyard.
Billy and Wellington approached the front door and after a few minutes of banging they were greeted by the housekeeper, who was clearly annoyed to have been dragged out of bed.
“Tradesmen go round the back,” she barked.
“Policemen walk right in,” said Billy, flashing his badge.
“Begging your pardon,” said the housekeeper. “I didn’t realize you was an officer of the law.”
“I’ll let you off this time,” said Billy, with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’m sorry it’s the middle of the night, but I must speak to Lord Wintersfall.”
“His Lordship is at Balmoral,” said the housekeeper, “as a guest of Her Majesty. And the butler, Mr Humble, had some urgent personal business which has taken him away tonight. Can I help you?”
“I need two things,” said Billy. “Firstly, I need to know where Lord Wintersfall keeps his jewels. I think that someone might try to steal them tonight.”
The housekeeper’s hand went to her mouth in shock. “And the second?”
“You couldn’t rustle up some cheese and pickle, could you?” said Billy. “Fighting crime really takes it out of you.”
Charley scribbled away on the blackboard while Sir Gordon watched, half dozing in a chair. She was determined to unravel the riddle of the hieroglyphics no matter how tired she felt. Her sleeves were covered in chalk dust up to the elbow. Charley tried a new combination of the glyphs, frowned at it, and then scrubbed it away. If only she could translate that last blasted symbol.
She gazed at it for the thousandth time. What was it meant to be? A bowl? A plank? Charley turned her head on its side. Could it possibly be…a door?
Working at lightning speed, Charley reordered the hieroglyphs, starting the sentence with a different character.
“I’ve got it!” she said, waking Sir Gordon with a start. “It reads, The power to make my servant fly in an instant through the door. Do you see what that means?!”
“Yes!” said Sir Gordon, then he paused. “Actually, no.”
Charley was about to explain when they were interrupted by Doogie.
“Sorry to bother ye, Your Lordship, but I’ve found something… I’m afraid you’re not gonna like it.”
“What have you got there?” asked Charley.
Doogie was holding three small wooden objects in his hands. Boxes. Or tiny coffins. Gingerly, he placed them on the workbench.
“I found one in your room while I was cleaning, Your Lordship, and one in yours, Miss Charley, and one in Master Billy’s,” said Doogie. “They were hidden under your beds.”
“And why were you doing a housemaid’s job?” asked Sir Gordon.
“Beth’s gone,” said Doogie, “run away to somewhere the mummy can’t get her. And Mrs Fudge has packed her bags and gone to stay at her sister’s B&B – said she couldn’t take it no more.”
“Mr Cowley has gone too,” said Sir Gordon on the verge of tears. “Handed in his notice this morning, said he was moving back in with his mother. Rats deserting the sinking ship.”
“At least Doogie is loyal to you,” said Charley.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” said Doogie with a shrug.
Charley ran her fingers through her long ginger hair and returned to the coffin-shaped boxes. She took a pair of tweezers and carefully eased their lids open. Part of her wished she hadn’t.
Each one had a lumpen wax figure inside.
“Poppets,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“Nasty things,” said Charley. “Human figures used in witchcraft and sorcery.”
Although the mannequins were crude, it was obvious who they were meant to be. One was fat, with a bright waistcoat button hidden inside its rounded belly, just visible through the wax. One was a boy, with a red scarf at his neck, and what appeared to be a scorpion sting protruding from its waxy flesh. The last one was thinner, more feminine, with strands of ginger hair plastered to the head. Looking closer, Charley saw that there was something within the chest cavity itself. She lifted the horrible wax doll out of its coffin and held it to her ear. She was right; there was a faint tick-tick-ticking coming from inside.
Taking a scalpel, Charley carved through the grey wax to find a silver object buried there like a beating heart. “That’s my watch,” she said, relieved to have it back, but her stomach churned to find it like this.
There was another metal object inside the doll’s head, just above the slit that was meant to be Charley’s left eye. Using the tweezers again, she pulled it free. It was a pin.
The stabbing pain that had crippled Charley soon after she’d arrived at 44 Morningside Place suddenly made awful sense. Voodoo witch doctors used these sort of charms to control or hurt people, but the Egyptian magicians had done it first.
“There’s a pin in your poppet too,” said Charley, indicating the sliver of steel that pierced the stomach of the fat little wax figure. “That’s how it works. The magician inflicts pain on the poppet and the victim feels it for real.”
“That terrible agony.” Sir Gordon placed his hand on his belly. “That was caused by the Sandman,” he said.
Charley had been afraid. Now she was angry. “I’ve been so stupid!” She slammed her forehead with the palm of her hand. “The Sandman has been right under our noses all along!”