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Authors: Anthony Horowitz
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shadows, glad to be out of the glare of the moon. The darkness seemed to confuse the waxworks because they hung back, one or two of them bumping into each other, almost as if they were afraid to cross the line from light into dark. There was an iron fence straight ahead of him. David ran over to it, grabbing it with both hands.
His heart was thudding madly in his chest and he stopped to catch his breath and give himself time to think. They hadn’t gotten him yet! There was still time to reach the telephone booth and make his way back to Groosham Grange. David jerked one hand down to his pants pocket. The statuette was still there.
Vincent! He breathed the name through clenched teeth. This had to be Vincent’s work. He must somehow have followed David from the museum and conjured up the spell as he walked past Madame Tussauds. Of course, he had cheated. Vincent had broken the single rule of the contest—not to use magic—and the worst of it was that there was nothing David could do. What spell could he use to destroy the waxworks? And if he used magic, wouldn’t he be disqualifying himself?
David was gripping the fence so hard that the metal bit into his hands. He looked over the top, into the next enclosure, and for the first time since he had reached the park, he felt a surge of hope. The telephone booth was in sight—and it was unguarded. It was only ten to twelve. All he had to do was climb the fence and he would be home free!
He took one last look back. With Hitler at the head of them, just about all the waxworks were congregating on the fence, a semicircle that had already begun to close in. Only two of the waxworks had stayed behind: the drowned man and the Victorian woman. They had found the Frenchman’s lost head and, despite his protests, were playing tennis with it on one of the courts. Jack the Ripper was edging forward with a diabolical smile, his wax lips parted to reveal two jagged lines of wax teeth. Dr. Crippen had two more syringes and a surgical knife. Al Capone was behind him, trying to elbow his way past. David wasn’t sure if their glass eyes could make him out in the shadows. But slowly they were heading toward him.
It was time to go. He swung around, preparing to heave himself over the fence. Too late. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Something hit him full in the face and he was thrown back, off his feet. For a moment the world spun and then his shoulders hit the earth and all his breath was punched out of him.
“It’s all right, everyone! I’ve got him! Hurry! Come quickly!”
The voice was shrill and excited. There was a rustle of leaves and a snapping of twigs and a large woman dressed in blue stepped forward. David tried to stand but all his strength had left him. The woman was wearing a billowing velvet-and-silk dress that made her look enormous. Her head was crowned by a silver-and-diamond tiara that sparkled even out of the moonlight and there was a Weight Watchers badge pinned to her lapel. She hadn’t come out of the Chamber of Horrors. Lying, dazed, on a bed of leaves, David instantly recognized the ginger hair and perfect smile of the Duchess of York. She had hit him with her handbag.
“Good work, Your Highness,” Dr. Crippen muttered. His wax nose was bent out of shape where David had hit him and one of his eyes had fallen out.
“Ja. Sehr gut, Fräulein Fergie,” Hitler agreed.
David wrenched the statuette out of his pocket and tried to stand up. The park was spinning around him, moving faster and faster. He tried to speak, to utter a few words of some spell that might yet save him. But his mouth was dry and the words would not come. He looked up into the leering, lifeless faces that surrounded him and raised a hand. Then the Duchess hit him again and he was out cold.
The East Tower
H e’s lying,” David said. “I found the statuette. He stole it. And he used magic to do it.”
David was standing in Mr. Kilgraw’s study with Vincent only a few
His heart was thudding madly in his chest and he stopped to catch his breath and give himself time to think. They hadn’t gotten him yet! There was still time to reach the telephone booth and make his way back to Groosham Grange. David jerked one hand down to his pants pocket. The statuette was still there.
Vincent! He breathed the name through clenched teeth. This had to be Vincent’s work. He must somehow have followed David from the museum and conjured up the spell as he walked past Madame Tussauds. Of course, he had cheated. Vincent had broken the single rule of the contest—not to use magic—and the worst of it was that there was nothing David could do. What spell could he use to destroy the waxworks? And if he used magic, wouldn’t he be disqualifying himself?
David was gripping the fence so hard that the metal bit into his hands. He looked over the top, into the next enclosure, and for the first time since he had reached the park, he felt a surge of hope. The telephone booth was in sight—and it was unguarded. It was only ten to twelve. All he had to do was climb the fence and he would be home free!
He took one last look back. With Hitler at the head of them, just about all the waxworks were congregating on the fence, a semicircle that had already begun to close in. Only two of the waxworks had stayed behind: the drowned man and the Victorian woman. They had found the Frenchman’s lost head and, despite his protests, were playing tennis with it on one of the courts. Jack the Ripper was edging forward with a diabolical smile, his wax lips parted to reveal two jagged lines of wax teeth. Dr. Crippen had two more syringes and a surgical knife. Al Capone was behind him, trying to elbow his way past. David wasn’t sure if their glass eyes could make him out in the shadows. But slowly they were heading toward him.
It was time to go. He swung around, preparing to heave himself over the fence. Too late. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Something hit him full in the face and he was thrown back, off his feet. For a moment the world spun and then his shoulders hit the earth and all his breath was punched out of him.
“It’s all right, everyone! I’ve got him! Hurry! Come quickly!”
The voice was shrill and excited. There was a rustle of leaves and a snapping of twigs and a large woman dressed in blue stepped forward. David tried to stand but all his strength had left him. The woman was wearing a billowing velvet-and-silk dress that made her look enormous. Her head was crowned by a silver-and-diamond tiara that sparkled even out of the moonlight and there was a Weight Watchers badge pinned to her lapel. She hadn’t come out of the Chamber of Horrors. Lying, dazed, on a bed of leaves, David instantly recognized the ginger hair and perfect smile of the Duchess of York. She had hit him with her handbag.
“Good work, Your Highness,” Dr. Crippen muttered. His wax nose was bent out of shape where David had hit him and one of his eyes had fallen out.
“Ja. Sehr gut, Fräulein Fergie,” Hitler agreed.
David wrenched the statuette out of his pocket and tried to stand up. The park was spinning around him, moving faster and faster. He tried to speak, to utter a few words of some spell that might yet save him. But his mouth was dry and the words would not come. He looked up into the leering, lifeless faces that surrounded him and raised a hand. Then the Duchess hit him again and he was out cold.
The East Tower
H e’s lying,” David said. “I found the statuette. He stole it. And he used magic to do it.”
David was standing in Mr. Kilgraw’s study with Vincent only a few
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