The Vanishing of Billy Buckle Read online

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Thank you for buying this

  Henry Holt and Company ebook.

  To receive special offers, bonus content,

  and info on new releases and other great reads,

  sign up for our newsletters.

  Or visit us online at

  us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup

  For email updates on Sally Gardner, click here.

  For email updates on David Roberts, click here.

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  To Julia Paton

  A dear friend who is always spot on the fishcake

  —S. G.

  Chapter One

  The renowned fairy detective agency, Wings & Co., had a problem. Really, it had quite a big problem. In fact, you could say it had a ginormous problem. A giant, Billy Buckle, had vanished, and if that weren’t big enough, he had left his six-year-old daughter, Primrose, in the care of the detectives: Fidget the cat, Emily Vole, and Buster Ignatius Spicer.

  The trouble was that Primrose, being a giant’s daughter, was growing a little taller every day. Unless the three detectives found Billy Buckle—and soon—she would be too big to go in and out of the shop. But, as Emily knew from past cases, nothing to do with fairy folk (be they witches, elves, goblins, or giants) was going to be simple.

  Emily Vole, the Keeper of the Keys, had inherited Wings & Co. from Miss String, an enchanting old lady who had lived next door to Emily’s dreadful adoptive parents, the Dashwoods. It was Miss String who had saved her from being their unpaid servant-slash-nanny. She had taught Emily to read and write, and much more besides. During their first case together, Fidget and Emily had found the famous fairy detective Buster Ignatius Spicer shrunk to the size of a doll and locked in a birdcage by a goblin. Emily had bought the birdcage and freed Buster, but he still felt that a) Emily shouldn’t have inherited the detective agency, and b) Emily shouldn’t have become Keeper of the Keys. She wasn’t a fairy, and by rights it should have been his job. He was a proper fairy, born and bred. But perhaps the real reason Buster was permanently grumpy was that he had been eleven for a hundred years, and the only thing he didn’t know about being eleven was how to become twelve.

  Then there was Fidget. Emily could imagine many things—but never life without dear Fidget. He was a handsome, long-haired tortoiseshell cat, six feet tall, who had been a builder for a magician until the witch Harpella had turned him into a cat.

  And there they all were, with one ginormous problem.

  * * *

  It had started one wet Monday when Fidget told Emily that his old mate, the giant Billy Buckle, needed someone to look after his daughter, Primrose, for a weekend.

  “Why?” said Emily.

  So many strange things had happened since Emily first met Fidget that the idea he knew a giant didn’t strike her as all that odd.

  “Because he plays the bassoon in the Sad Dads’ Band, and they are having a reunion gig.”

  “Why can’t he take his daughter with him?” Emily had asked.

  “Because of the Bog-Eyed Loader,” replied Fidget.

  “The Bog-Eyed Loader,” repeated Emily.

  “Yep. He lives in a cave in the Valley of Doom,” said Fidget. Fidget was seated in his favorite armchair, knitting himself a fish-shaped hat, while outside the rain poured. It had not been, Emily thought, much of a summer.

  “I’ve never heard of it. Is it near Podgy Bottom?” she asked.

  “Frazzle a fishmonger! It’s nowhere near here. It’s in the land of the giants,” said Fidget.

  “How do you know Billy Buckle?” asked Emily.

  “Billy was a great friend of Miss String,” said Fidget.

  Anything to do with the late Miss Ottoline String always had Emily’s full attention.

  Fidget and Miss String had first met Billy Buckle many moons ago, when the fairy detectives were investigating the Case of the Missing Harp. After that, the giant had often visited them for tea, until he’d moved away.

  “He came for tea?” said Emily, impressed. She tried to imagine a giant sitting in one of Miss String’s deck chairs and drinking out of an impossibly small teacup. “Where did he move to?”

  “We never knew, my little ducks,” said Fidget. “That’s the thing with giants. They have very long legs. Anyway, now, out of the blue, I’ve heard from him.”

  “How?”

  “There is a postal service,” said Fidget.

  “You mean letters? With stamps? Not e-mail?”

  “Well, not stamps exactly. Not e-mail exactly. Sometimes, my little ducks,” said Fidget kindly, “I have to pinch myself to remember you are not a fairy.”

  “Oh dear,” said Emily. “I wish I was. It might make things easier. For a start, Buster wouldn’t be so horrible to me.”

  “Never mind,” said Fidget. “I wouldn’t change a squid about you.”

  “What exactly is a Bog-Eyed Loader?” asked Emily.

  “He is an ogre, most of the time, and fierce to boot, with a nasty habit of shape-shifting.”

  “Oh,” said Emily. “Like, turning into a … a … hippopotamus?”

  “Yep. That sort of thing.”

  “Or … a fish?”

  “If he did that,” said Fidget, “I would sardine-tin him lickety-split.”

  A twitchy look came over Fidget’s whiskers, which usually meant he felt he had answered enough questions. But Emily was determined to find out more before Fidget went off in search of fish-paste sandwiches.

  “So that’s why Billy Buckle isn’t taking his daughter.”

  “Spot on the fishcake,” said Fidget. “The Bog-Eyed Loader has been known to take travelers prisoner. Once he caught a wizard’s wife and wouldn’t let her go until the wizard agreed to teach the Bog-Eyed Loader some spells. A magic spell in the hands of the Bog-Eyed Loader is a very dangerous thing indeed. There is no knowing what he might do with it.”

  Emily had wanted to ask why Primrose couldn’t stay with her mother if the Valley of Doom was so unsafe, and about what else the Bog-Eyed Loader could do, but she saw that Fidget was lost in fishy dreams. He wandered off, muttering to himself about fish-paste sandwiches.

  She tried to learn more about the ogre from Buster. He was sprawled on his bed, looking at a magazine. He glanced up at Emily.

  “Do you think my clothes look old-fashioned?” he said. “Has the time come for a revamp?”

  “What do you know about the Bog-Eyed Loader?” Emily asked.

  “Don’t go saying his name ’round here. It isn’t lucky,” said Buster.

  “Why not?” asked Emily.

  “Because he can foggle a fairy.”

  “Foggle?”

  “Oh,” said Buster. “Yet another of the many things you don’t know about fairies.” He looked up. “You do know that bats make a high-pitched noise that echoes back at them, so they can find their way in the dark?”

  “Yes,” said Emily. “I do, actually.” She was rather interested in bats.

  “Well, fairies have the same sort of thing. And the Bog-Eyed Loader can foggle it up, which isn’t good.”

  “You mean, the fairies bang into things and can’t find their way around?”

  But by now Buster was bored with the subject.

  “Look at these sneakers,” he said. “They’re wicked. There are gold ones a
nd silver ones—even sneakers with flashing lights. I think I would look supercool in those.”

  Emily sighed. Why wouldn’t anyone tell her more about the Bog-Eyed Loader? He sounded interesting, and since they had solved the Case of the Three Pickled Herrings, not much interesting had happened. Life had settled into a sleepy pace. The weather had become warmer, the trees had turned green, and Buster went out flying … a lot.

  The magic lamp, which had once belonged to the witch Harpella but had since turned over a new leaf, now spent hours in front of the mirror, shining itself and encouraging the keys to keep a better hygiene routine. Emily sometimes wondered if the title Keeper of the Keys shouldn’t belong to the magic lamp rather than her, for the keys never did a thing she asked them to do—like opening drawers in the curious cabinets and returning wings to their rightful owners. They seemed to listen only to the lamp, and they followed it around wherever it went. As for Doughnut, the miniature dachshund who had adopted the detectives during the Case of the Three Pickled Herrings, he slept most of the day or waited to be taken for a walk. Fidget sat knitting more and more fish scarves, hats, mittens, and sweaters. He had even knitted a dress for Emily in the shape of a fish. Emily was very proud of it and wore it quite often.

  So the most exciting event in ages was the arrival of Billy Buckle and Primrose. They had turned up one muggy July evening two weeks earlier. Emily’s first glimpse of Billy had been a pair of very large red shoes at the shop’s entrance. Above them were striped socks and tartan trousers. Billy’s height reached the second floor, and as for Primrose, she was only just able to squeeze through the shop door.

  Billy Buckle had crouched down to talk to Fidget.

  “It’s very decent of you, dude,” he said. “The boys are right chuffed I am going to be there. At last, the Sad Dads’ Band will be back together again.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Fidget asked.

  “Oh, a couple of days at the most. If it wasn’t for the Bog-Eyed Loader, I’d take my Primrose with me. But there you go—it just isn’t safe. I can look after myself, but she’s only a little thing.”

  He gave Primrose a kiss, told her to be good, and went on his way.

  Since then, there had been no sign of Billy Buckle. Fidget made the usual inquiries, and letters had been exchanged with the other Sad Dads. All anyone knew was that Billy Buckle had played two sets with the band before leaving to pick up Primrose. Fidget had even placed an ad in Fairy World International. It said simply that anyone with information as to the whereabouts of Billy Buckle should contact Wings & Co.

  Emily asked Fidget quietly if the Bog-Eyed Loader could be responsible. More letters flew here and there.

  “Definitely not,” said Fidget. “Billy disappeared before he made it to the Valley of Doom.”

  Still, no one had replied to the ad.

  This, Emily decided, was a case for Wings & Co. And they needed to solve it quickly, for Primrose was growing daily.

  Chapter Two

  Unexpected things often happened at Wings & Co., but the shop itself was still able to spring a surprise.

  It had been built on four stout iron legs, and at the end of each leg were three griffin’s talons, so the shop could dig its way out of its foundations and go walking if it felt like it. Not that Emily had ever known it to do so. Ever since she had taken over the shop, it had stayed firmly in Podgy Bottom.

  But that Wednesday morning, she woke to find the sun shining through her curtains, which in itself was strange because not much sun ever came into the dark alleyway in Podgy Bottom. And never had she heard the sound of waves splashing outside her bedroom window. Emily leaped out of bed and pulled back her curtains to find the view completely changed. She was staring at a sea that sparkled with white-flecked waves.

  This was so unexpected that for a moment she couldn’t believe her eyes. She closed her curtains again and, with butterflies fluttering in her tummy, opened them for a second time. The view was still the same. Just across the road, there was a beach with donkeys and children with buckets and shovels. Better still, Emily could see a pier with a big Ferris wheel on it.

  “Fidget,” she called as she opened her bedroom door. “Fidget!”

  She ran down the passage and collided with the cat.

  “We’ve moved, my little ducks,” said Fidget, lifting Emily off her feet and giving her a hug. “The old shop has decided to go walking.” He put Emily down. “It seems it needed a bit of a holiday.”

  “Oh, yippee!” cried Emily. She stopped. “Oh, whoops. We have a case to solve. And I don’t even know where we are.”

  Buster came sleepily out of his bedroom.

  “There is a pair of eyes looking at me through the curtains, and those eyes weren’t there last night.”

  “We have moved to the seaside,” said Fidget.

  “That still doesn’t explain why two creepy eyes are looking in at me. Plus, there is a terrible noise coming from outside. A noise with screams attached.”

  The door on the landing flew open. The magic lamp marched out wearing a pair of sunglasses and an inflatable ring around its middle. Behind it were the keys, all in a row.

  “We are going to dip our toes in the sea,” said the magic lamp with a skip and a hop. “Hi-de-ho! We are on holiday!”

  “Wait a mo,” said Buster. “Saltwater and an old brass lamp. Isn’t that a recipe for rust?”

  “Don’t be a cloud on my sunny day,” said the lamp, walking toward the stairs, only to be sent spinning when Doughnut the dog rushed up from the shop, wagging his tail.

  “Oh, really,” said the magic lamp. “Why can’t that dog ever look where he’s going?”

  “Come on,” said Fidget to Emily. “Get dressed and let’s find out where we are.”

  “Hold on,” said Emily. “Haven’t we forgotten someone?”

  “Who?” asked Buster.

  “Primrose,” said Emily.

  “Buddleia,” said Fidget. “This puts a cod in the works. What are we going to do now?”

  “What’s the problem?” asked Buster.

  “We need to find Billy Buckle—and fast,” said Emily. “Remember? Primrose’s dad is missing.”

  “Oh, that,” sighed Buster. “Not much of an investigation for a detective such as I.”

  “Then why haven’t you solved it already?” asked Emily.

  “Simply because there is nothing to solve,” said Buster. “Billy Buckle met up with his chums and forgot the time. I bet he’ll be back tomorrow. Won’t he, Fidget?”

  Fidget didn’t look quite so sure.

  “Hmm,” he said.

  “How will he find us?” said Emily. “We have moved, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Look,” said Buster, “this is no big deal. If I were Primrose’s father, I would need more than a weekend away. I mean, I would need months and months and months away.”

  “She is only six. I expect you were whiny when you were six,” said Emily.

  “He certainly was grumpy,” said Fidget.

  “No, I wasn’t. I was charm itself. Anyway, I don’t care how old she is. She’s jolly irritating, that’s all I’m saying. I bet you Billy Buckle is having a rock-rolling party somewhere.”

  Emily sighed. At times, working with Buster was most trying.

  The guest bedroom door opened and there stood Primrose. She had a button nose and freckles, and her hair hung down in braids. She was clinging to a sheepskin rug that she called Raggy. She was twice as tall as Emily, and growing taller daily. Already there had been no end of problems on account of Primrose’s size. She wasn’t used to living over a small shop where she could bang her head on the ceiling. And Wings & Co. was so crammed full of bits and pieces that it was very hard indeed for her not to send something or other flying.

  “Where are we?” asked Primrose, rubbing her eyes.

  “Um … the shop felt in need of a holiday,” said Fidget, “and has taken a little walk.”

  “Is that a good thing?” aske
d Primrose.

  “Er … yes?” said Fidget.

  “But how will my dad find us? Won’t he go back to where he left me? And what then?” said Primrose.

  Emily smiled weakly. “Don’t worry, Primrose,” she said. “We have everything under control.”

  At that moment, the magic lamp came trotting back up the stairs from the front door.

  “My day is ruined—ruined, I tell you. The front door won’t open. I have pulled; I have pushed. And so have the keys. The shop has gone into lockdown.” The lamp stamped its little foot. “Why?” it said. “That’s what I would like to know. Why?”

  So would I, thought Emily.

  Chapter Three

  Edie Girdle closed her fortune-telling booth on the South Pier that afternoon and took herself off to the Starburst Ballroom. There, in its once-grand surroundings, she and her friend Betty Sutton, the owner of the Mermaid Hotel, regularly took part in the tea dance. It was the treat of their week to eat cakes and trip the light fantastic in their dancing shoes.

  Both ladies were striking. Edie Girdle was thin and tall, with thick, unruly hair and a liking for colorful clothes and jangly earrings. Betty, on the other hand, was more refined in her taste, with neatly cropped hair and a penchant for cashmere and pearls. They had been friends for as long as they could remember and had been going to the tea dance every Wednesday for the last twenty years. Since their husbands had passed away, they danced together.

  “Why should we stop?” Betty always said. “I mean, you have to have something to look forward to, don’t you?”

  Edie couldn’t have agreed more.

  In the ballroom was a shiny wooden dance floor surrounded by little tables and chairs where tea was served to the dancers. At one end of the room stood a stage with plush red-velvet curtains. They, like everything else, had seen better days. Nevertheless, Morris Flipwinkle sat happily playing the Starburst Ballroom’s famous Wurlitzer. The organ, painted white and red, still sounded as good as the day it was built, back in the 1920s.