Ghostsitters (8 page)

S
ir Horace was right. When we crept out of the keep night had fallen and a full moon was rising. The castle ruins cast long, creepy shadows in the silvery moonlight. It was wonderful—really spooky.

“Wharooooooooooo!”

Wanda clutched my sleeve. “What was
that
?” she whispered.

“It's only Fang, silly,” I said, although I have to admit that Fang's howl did make me go all goose-bumpy.

“Wharooooooooooo!”
Fang howled again.

“Quiet, Fang!”
Sir Horace told him. Fang whined and pawed the ground, but he did as he was told.

We set off through the ruins. Over by the old gatehouse we could see a big tent where the auction was going to be held. The lights in the tent shone yellow and cast long shadows of the people inside. I could tell which one was Old Morris—a tall, thin shadow with a scraggly ponytail. Nosy Nora was easy to spot too—a small, irritating shadow with two sticking-out pigtails. There were quite a few people in the tent, but I couldn't recognize anyone else.

Sir Horace's castle was a mess. Old Morris
had not cleaned up at all and there were great chunks of old mushroom sheds with horrible pictures of fish on them scattered everywhere. But as we walked through the ruins I was surprised by the amount of castle that was still there. We saw archways, corridors, old fireplaces, and even some weird little steps going down into the ground, probably to some dark, deserted dungeon. I thought it was great—it looked just like the ghost maze game that Wanda had given me. And then, for a moment, I thought it looked even more like my ghost maze game, because I was sure I saw a ghost—a girl in a long dress and pointy hat, flitting between some nearby arches.

I nudged Wanda. “Can you see that ghost?” I whispered.

Wanda didn't answer. She was looking behind her with big, scared googly eyes. She grabbed hold of my arm and whispered, “Araminta—can you see
those
ghosts?”

Something about Wanda's expression made me not want to look—but I did. And what I saw was
really
scary. A whole bunch of ghosts was pouring up from the little steps that went into the ground. Just one look told me that they were not nice ghosts—in fact they looked extremely nasty. They wore thick leather tunics with chain mail and they were armed to the teeth with swords, sticks, daggers, and all kinds of sharp, pointy things. Some of them had huge dogs on leashes, which were leaping and snarling and showing big yellow teeth.

Fang growled a long, low growl and the fur went up on the back of his neck.

“Sir Horace,”
I hissed. And then because Sir Horace is a bit deaf sometimes, I tapped on his suit of armor. “
Sir Horace
. Look—behind you!”

There was a grinding sound like a pepper mill as Sir Horace swiveled around. It is not often you hear a ghost gasp, because usually they are too busy making other people gasp, but Sir Horace did.
“FitzMaurice!”
he hissed.
“
This
time we will win.”
He drew his sword, and to my surprise, Edmund drew his dagger. Wow. It was payback time.

The ghosts looked just like I had imagined Jasper FitzMaurice's band would look. They had gathered at the top of the steps and were swishing their swords around and waving their pointy sticks in the air. And the funny thing was they weren't making any noise. It reminded me of watching televisions in a shop window where you can see the pictures but not hear the sound—well, you can see the pictures until your grumpy aunt drags you away.

But even though they made no noise, they looked very real. They glowed a bit like Edmund but they looked very solid, like real people with real swords. The bunch of horrible ghosts gathered at the top of the steps and stared at Sir Horace. Sir Horace stared back. I held my breath. Then the biggest, nastiest ghost, who was carrying a huge ax—and was, I figured, Jasper FitzMaurice himself—took a step forward. Then all the fierce ghosts took a step forward too. And then another, and another—walking toward us very slowly and deliberately. Anyone could see that they
meant trouble—big trouble.

Sir Horace stood his ground.
“So, FitzMaurice, we meet again!”
he boomed.

“We'll help you, Sir Horace,” I said. “We'll show them!” Wanda grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away, but there was no way I was going to leave Sir Horace all on his own, and besides, I have always wanted to be in a ghost fight. Well, actually that is not totally true, because I never imagined there
was
such a thing. But if I had, I know I would have wanted to be in one. And there was going to be a big one any minute now.

“Take cover, Miss Spookie, Miss Wizzard!”

Sir Horace boomed.

“No, Sir Horace!” I said. “We will help you.”

“Don't be
silly
, Araminta,” said Wanda, jumping up and down and looking like a scared rabbit. “Sir Horace can't use his sword if you are in the way. And if he does you might get your head chopped off—and that would be awful because then
I
would have to tell Aunt Tabby.”

Wanda had obviously thought everything out in great detail. But I didn't want to stop Sir Horace from using his sword, so I let her drag me away. We hid behind a wall and watched.

Sir Horace was very brave. He ran at the ghosts and swiped at them with his sword. They swiped back and jabbed at him with their pointy sticks. But of course they were only ghosts and everything went right through Sir Horace's armor without hurting him at all. But they made him twist and turn
and I was not sure how well his armor would hold together. I noticed that Jasper FitzMaurice was standing back watching, and I wondered why. And then I realized. He was waiting for Sir Horace to get wobbly—which happened soon enough. Sir Horace's left foot swiveled around and he lurched backward. At that moment Jasper FitzMaurice took a swipe at Sir Horace with his ax. Sir Horace just about managed to dodge the ax. He swung his sword and hit it
and I was sure I heard a
clang
.

I don't know much about ghost battles, but I do know that twenty against one is not fair. Okay, there was Edmund running around poking at people with his dagger and there was Fang biting all the horrible dogs, but even so it was not fair.

“I don't care about Sir Horace's sword,” I told Wanda. “I am going to help him.”

“You don't need to,” she whispered.
“Look!”

Coming out of the shadows all over the ruins of the castle were more ghosts. And they were not Jasper FitzMaurice's men—they were nice ghosts; you could tell just by looking at them. There were ladies in pointy hats and long swishing dresses, pages just like Edmund, farmers with pitchforks, cooks with saucepans and ladles—all kinds of people wearing weird old-fashioned clothes—and best of all there were
lots
of knights in ghostly armor. And they were all heading for the fight.

Soon Sir Horace had lots of ghosts at his side and Jasper FitzMaurice's men were outnumbered. Serves them right, I thought. The ghost knights swished at them with their swords; the ladies landed some good punches and one of them took off her pointy hat and used it like a sword. The farmers jabbed their pitchforks and the cooks thumped a few over the head with their saucepans and the pages ran in and out of the fight waving their knives about—just like Edmund was doing.

But Sir Horace was having a tough time because he and Jasper FitzMaurice were having a
real
fight. Every time Sir Horace's sword hit Jasper FitzMaurice's ax there was a loud
clang
. There was only one explanation for that—Jasper FitzMaurice was a poltergeist, just like Ned and Jed, and he was carrying a
real
ax. That was not good.

But Sir Horace was a really good sword fighter. Every time Jasper FitzMaurice swung his ax, Sir Horace caught it with his sword and fended it off. He got in a few jabs of his own too, but then Jasper FitzMaurice did something really mean—he aimed a hefty kick at Sir Horace's left leg. Sir Horace's foot flew off, and with an awful noise like a whole pile of tins falling over, Sir Horace crashed to the ground. Jasper FitzMaurice raised his ax up high and I just
knew
he was going to bring it right down on Sir Horace's head.

“No!” I yelled and rushed into the ghost fight.

Jasper FitzMaurice heard me and turned around. He stared at me in such a scary way that I very nearly ran right back behind the wall with Wanda, but the sight of Sir Horace lying on the ground stopped me. Jasper FitzMaurice was really tall—too tall for me to even try to grab the ax. So I did what he had just done to Sir Horace—I kicked his shin. But of course my foot went right through his leg and I very nearly toppled over just like Sir Horace.

Then Jasper FitzMaurice's ax came swinging down toward me, but before I had time to get out of the way a moldy old sack of bat poo landed right on top of him! It smelled
disgusting
, but I didn't care because Jasper FitzMaurice was lying flat out on the ground.

Then I heard Wanda yell, “Throw another one, Ned!”

“No!” I yelled. “We don't need anoth—”

Too late, another sack of bat poo came hurtling through the air and landed right beside me. It burst open and
covered
me with moldy bat poo. When I wiped the bat poo out of my eyes I saw Ned and Jed on the edge of the ghost fight, grinning as usual. But I wasn't mad and I didn't even care about being covered in bat poo. I never thought I would be pleased to see Ned and Jed, but I was. They had saved us.

At the sight of their leader laid out flat on the ground, Jasper FitzMaurice's men took off. They picked up their swords and their sharp pointy sticks, and pulling their horrible dogs behind them, they zigzagged through the ruins, then they all jumped into the moat and looked like they were swimming.
That
was weird. They clambered out on the other side
and headed up the hill to where their old castle used to be. There was nothing there now but a field of pigs. I felt sorry for the pigs but I thought it would suit the FitzMaurices perfectly.

I was just thinking how well everything had turned out when someone—who sounded just like Aunt Tabby—said, “Araminta—what
are
you doing? I've been looking
everywhere
. You
know
you are not allowed out in the dark on your own. And just
look
at the mess you're in.”

“Oh, hello, Mathilda,” I said.

Mathilda looked very fed up. “You are coming home
right now
,” she said.

“Actually, Mathilda, I am not,” I told her. “Because before I come home I have a castle to return to its rightful owner.”

Mathilda looked flummoxed. “You have to
what
?” she said.

So I told Mathilda my Big Plan.

 

I do not think it is very often that three girls (one of them covered in moldy bat poo) bring a whole troupe of ghosts, a wobbling suit of armor, and two poltergeists to an auction. I suppose that explains why everyone screamed when we marched into the auction tent. The screaming was fun—but what was even better was the expression on Old Morris's face when everyone ran out of the tent and left him sitting at the big auction table facing us all on his own.

“Hello, Mr. FitzMaurice,” I said very politely. “We have come to get Sir Horace's castle back.” I put the deed on the table. “It
belongs to him. This proves it.”

Morris FitzMaurice looked like my goldfish did when I put it in Aunt Tabby's cosmetic case. He leafed through the pages of the old deed, then he laughed and said, “Ha-ha. Very funny. This so-called owner has been dead for five hundred years. Good joke. Now go home, girls, and we'll say no more about it.”

But Old Morris had not reckoned on Mathilda Spookie. “Wait a moment, Mr. FitzMaurice,” she said very sweetly, fixing him with a real Aunt Tabby glare at the same time.