The Ghost of Sir Herbert Dungeonstone (5 page)

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Authors: Kate McMullan

BOOK: The Ghost of Sir Herbert Dungeonstone
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“Oh, my stars!” Lobelia cried. “Can it really be you?”
“Darling Lobelia!” said Sir Jeffrey. “I weesh you could throw your arms around me. But alas! You would embrace only air.”
“Jeffrey! It is you!” cried Lobelia. “And still wearing the armor I picked out for your burial. Come in! Come in!”
“Sir Jeffrey is going to get rid of Herbert Dungeonstone for us, Auntie,” said Angus.
“Still the perfect knight, eh, Jeffrey?” said Lobelia. “That armor fits you like a glove. Turn around. Let me see it from all sides.”
Sir Jeffrey happily turned.
“Did you ever see a more perfect knight?” asked Lobelia. “Even as a ghost, you’re a spiffy dresser, Jeffrey.”
Sir Jeffrey smiled. “Let me recite some love poems to you, lovely Lobelia.”
“But, sir!” said Wiglaf. “What about Herbert Dungeonstone?”
Sir Jeffrey frowned. “Do you theenk he would like to hear a love poem?”
“I mean, what about getting rid of him?” said Wiglaf.
“A knight who has not recited a love poem to hees damsel can never triumph in battle!” declared Sir Jeffrey. He cleared his throat.
“My love for you ees like a cheese,
A cheese that I would like to squeeze.
My love for you ees like green peas.
Tell me that you like peas, please!
My love for you ees like a sneeze,
Floating on a gentle breeze.
My love for you...”
“Oh, Jeffrey!” crooned Lobelia when at last he had finished his poem. “That was beautiful!”
“Here ees another!” said Sir Jeffrey.
A crash sounded above their heads.
“That came from the dining hall!” cried Angus, alarmed. “Sir Jeffrey, we have to hurry, please!”
“One more, my sweet,” said Lobelia, never taking her eyes from Sir Jeffrey.
Sir Jeffrey smiled and began to recite a poem about Lobelia being his bunny wunny wabbit and his fuzzy little ducky wucky.
“Yuck!” said Erica. “Come on! We’ll deal with this ourselves!”
Angus, Wiglaf, and Erica ran up to the dining hall. They stopped under the arch.
In the early dawn light, they saw that the place was under attack! Soup bowls were flying overhead. Ladles, too. The students were cowering under the tables.
“Take that, ghost, wherever you are!” cried Frypot as he ran around the dining hall swatting at thin air with a frying pan.
Dungeonstone only giggled. Then the invisible ghost lifted up Frypot’s cauldron of eel chowder.
“Look out!” cried Wiglaf. The cauldron tilted and eel chowder rained down upon everyone in the dining hall.
“Stop! Stop!” cried the lads.
“Stop?” said Herbert Dungeonstone. He appeared suddenly, standing on the head table. “I’ll stop as soon as Mordred hands over the gold!”
Just then, Lobelia and Sir Jeffrey appeared in the entryway.
“Zut!”
said Sir Jeffrey. He drew his sword. “Weecked Dungeonstone! Prepare to die-again!”
Chapter 12
 
 
 
 
H
erbert Dungeonstone floated swiftly over to Sir Jeffrey Scabpicker. The two drew their swords.
Wiglaf, Angus, Erica, and Lobelia ran behind an overturned table to watch.
“Go, Sir Jeffrey!” called Erica.
Dungeonstone grabbed his sword with both hands. He swung it at Sir Jeffrey’s head. In the nick of time, Sir Jeffrey ducked.
But he was no match for Sir Herbert. Wiglaf saw that, with each blow, Sir Jeffrey was growing weaker, paler. Wiglaf had to do something to help!
“Hey, look, Dungeonstone!” he called. “Here’s Mordred with the gold!”
“What? Where?” Dungeonstone swiveled his head around.
Sir Jeffrey wasted no time. He pulled back his sword and ran Dungeonstone through.
“You are beaten, varlet!” cried Sir Jeffrey.
“Yay, Jeffie!” cried Lobelia. “My hero!”
Dungeonstone only smirked. He easily yanked out Sir Jeffrey’s sword. The red brew spurted out of the hole in his ghostly gut and onto the floor.
“Aww!” said Dungeonstone, wagging Sir Jeffrey’s sword in the old knight’s face. “You lost your weapon!” He began slashing at Sir Jeffrey with both swords.
Sir Jeffrey dodged the blades as he floated ever nearer to Frypot’s cauldron. He lifted it up, but Dungeonstone grabbed the huge pot from him. He dumped what was left of the eel chowder onto Sir Jeffrey’s head.
“Oh, that chowder will ruin his armor,” said Lobelia.
Sir Jeffrey snatched back his sword and ran Dungeonstone through again. If the two had not been ghosts, each would have died many times over. But they
were
ghosts, so the fight went on and on.
“Is it just me,” Angus said, “or is Sir Jeffrey getting hard to see?”
Wiglaf looked. Indeed, the noble knight seemed to be fading.
“Zelnoc’s spell must be wearing off!” said Erica. “Ooooh, that lousy wizard!”
Sir Jeffrey did some fancy footwork. He caught Dungeonstone by surprise and knocked his sword out of his hand. Sir Jeffrey put the tip of his sword to Dungeonstone’s Adam’s apple.
“You weel leave Dragon Slayers’ Academy!” whispered the good ghost knight. “And you weel never come back!”
Wiglaf could hardly hear Sir Jeffrey. His voice was fading along with the rest of him.
“I’m not leaving!” cried Dungeonstone. “You are! Look at you!”
Sir Jeffrey looked down at his ghostly self.
“Zut!”
he squeaked. He glanced over at Lobelia. “Adieu, my lovely! Parting ees such sweet sorrow. Adieuuuuuuuuuu...”
“Oh, Jeffrey, don’t go!” cried Lobelia.
But Sir Jeffrey was already gone.
Dungeonstone wasted no time. He began overturning more dining tables. He threw the benches against the wall.
“Stop!” cried Wiglaf.
“Stop!” cried Angus.
“STOP!” cried Mordred, sweeping into the dining hall. His violet eyes widened as they took in the terrible mess.
Dungeonstone floated over to Mordred.
The two stared at each other.
“So we meet again,” said Dungeonstone. “Are you ready to hand over me gold?”
“Yesssss,” said Mordred, his violet eyes gleaming. “I shall give it to you—all of it. Come!”
Mordred turned and left the dining hall. Dungeonstone whooshed out after him.
“I can’t believe my ears,” said Erica.
“Our school is saved!” cried Wiglaf.
“Uncle Mordred would never give up so easily,” said Angus. “He must have something up his sleeve.”
“Let us follow them,” said Erica. “Come on!”
Chapter 13
 
 
 
 
W
iglaf, Erica, Angus, and Lobelia ran to the back of the dining hall. Angus opened a door. He led the way down back stairs and through narrow passageways to another door. Angus pushed it open, and they stepped into Mordred’s bedroom.
Janice was still passed out on the bed.
“Listen!” said Erica. “Do you hear that?”
Wiglaf hoped it wasn’t more moaning. He listened. And he heard voices coming from Mordred’s office next door.
All four of them crept closer to the door to hear more.
“You win, Dungeonstone,” Mordred was saying. “I’ll give you my gold.”
“I can smell it,” said Dungeonstone’s ghost. “Hand it over. Be quick about it!”
“Fine, fine,” said Mordred. “I’ll give you every last golden coin!”
Angus turned to Lobelia.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” he whispered.
“He must have some trick in mind,” Lobelia answered. “But what?”
She placed a hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. She cracked the door open. The four pressed close to see.
Wiglaf saw Mordred, his teddy bear still stashed under one arm, lift up a large red-and-white striped box.
Angus gasped.
From the box, Mordred lifted a bulging net bag filled with gold coins.
“No!” Angus breathed.
“Me gold!” cried Dungeonstone. He hugged it to his chest. “At last I have me gold. Now I can return to me grave and rest, like Icky’s doing.”
Wiglaf smiled. Any minute now, Dungeonstone’s greedy ghost would leave DSA once and for all time!
But suddenly, Angus flung the door open.
What was going on? Wiglaf wondered.
Angus stomped into Mordred’s office.
“Nephew!” cried the startled headmaster. “Away! Leave me be!”
“That bag isn’t yours to give away, Uncle Mordred!” Angus shouted. “It’s from my goodie box!”
“Huh?” said the ghost.
Angus turned to the ghost. “Those aren’t gold coins!” he cried. “They’re chocolate! And they’re
mine!”
“Don’t listen to him!” cried Mordred. He began whacking Angus with his teddy bear. “He’s a liar! Be gone, nephew! Before I put you in the thumbscrews!”
Angus ran to his aunt Lobelia to escape being whacked.
Meanwhile, Dungeonstone’s ghost was fumbling with a gold coin. Wiglaf saw that he’d succeeded in peeling back the gold foil.
“He’s right!” roared the ghost, flinging the bag to the floor. “It’s bloody chocolate!”
“I knew it!” called Angus. “Ever since the DSA team won that trophy full of chocolate coins at the all-schools brainpower tournament, Mother’s been putting chocolate coins in my goodie box.”
The ghost sniffed loudly. “But I know me gold’s here, too. I can smell it! Now, all I have to do is find it!” The ghost began searching the office.
Wiglaf saw an odd smile creep onto the headmaster’s lips.
“Nonny, nonny, nonny!” chanted Mordred. “You can’t find my money!” He began skipping around the room with his bear.
“Oh, my,” said Lobelia. “He’s gone dotty.”
The DSA trophy case came crashing down.
Mordred’s robe billowed out behind him as he skipped. He sang, “Nonny nonny toot toot toot! You will never find my loot!”
As the headmaster sang, the ghost sniffed. He drew closer and closer to Mordred until his pointed snout was only inches away.
“I think I know where me gold is hidden,” the ghost said, and he lunged for Mordred’s teddy bear.
“What! How did you guess!” cried Mordred. He whisked the bear away from the ghost and clutched it tightly to his chest. “My gold,” he murmured. “Mine! It took me months of scheming to lure Janice away from Dragon Whackers. I earned this gold and I’m not giving it away.”
“Rubble!” cried Herbert Dungeonstone. “That’s all that will be left of this school. Rubble!”
The ghost grabbed the bear. Mordred clung to it tightly. It was tug-of-war! But the ghost was quickly out-tugged.
“Sir!” cried Erica. “If we have no school, how will we learn to become dragon slayers?”
“Take a correspondence course,” growled Mordred, never taking his eyes from the ghost.
“Sir!” cried Wiglaf. “We can get you more gold.”
Mordred tilted his head. “You can?”

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