Chew Bee or Not Chew Bee Read Online Free PDF Page B

thought.
    â€˜We’ll have to keep a very close watch on Master Waggledagger,’ said Charlie. ‘We can’t afford any more funny business between Waggledagger and Skellington. No more new lines, no more surprises, no more nonsense, is that clear?’
    The Skulls nodded their agreement. Yorick scowled.
    â€˜If Waggledagger does turn out to be a problem, we get rid of him straightaway,’ Charlie added. ‘It’s a shame, I like the lad, but business is business. We can’t afford to have him upsetting the King of Denmark Lane.’
    As the Skulls went back to work, Willy sat on his ladder for a while longer, nervously biting his thumbnail. Part of him was desperate to give up on The Ghost’s mission. The safest thing he could do would be to lie low for a while. Then he could just go back to the Skulls and beg them to believe he wasn’t crazy.
    But, at the same time, he couldn’t let go of the idea that Skellington knew more about his uncle’s death than he was letting on.
    Willy dug the honey pot out of his breeches pocket, and stared at it.
    There was only one place he could think of going next, and it wasn’t down to apologise to the Skulls.

6
O Woe is Willy

    Willy waited on the ladder until the rest of the Skulls called it a night and headed back to Mrs McScottish’s boarding house. Then he clambered down to the stage, and let himself out the backstage door. Now that he knew for sure that there was some kind of link between bees, Skellington, and his uncle’s death, he believed that The Ghost wasn’t tricking him.
    Out on the street behind the theatre, Willy pulled the honey pot from his breeches pocket once again and stared at the label for the hundredth time.
    â€˜Manufactured at Devil’s Dock, London, by A. Skellington and Co,’ Willy muttered. ‘I have to get myself to Devil’s Dock.’
    He planned to go to Skellington’s honey warehouse to see if there was anything there that connected the fat little man more strongly to the dead bee. It was a pretty shaky plan, but it was the only one he had.
    By the time Willy had made his way through the narrow laneways to the banks of the Thames, it was growing dark. London had become a whole lot scarier.
    He stood on a rickety wharf and stared across the river. The tower of Devil’s Dock Priory was on the opposite bank. Willy’s view east was blocked by a great dripping wall that jutted out over the water. To the west, the river curved away into the distance. A pale mist floated above the inky waters. Even so, the river was thick with boats of every description.
    â€˜Ferry, guvnor?’ said a gruff voice somewhere near Willy’s feet. He turned and looked

    down to see a stocky man standing in a boat that appeared to have been nailed together from a few scraps of old wood. ‘Cross the river in comfort, two groats.’
    Willy rummaged in his pocket and pulled out an elderly, fluff-covered groat. ‘I’ve only got one,’ he said.
    â€˜That’ll take you ’alfway,’ said the ferryman. ‘You can swim the rest.’ He paddled a little nearer to the wharf. ‘A joke, chief,’ he said. ‘Now jump in. Quick, mind. I ain’t got all night.’
    Willy hesitated before climbing down a rickety ladder and stepping gingerly into the boat. It lurched wickedly and Willy found himself clinging to the side of the rail, with his nose only inches from the stinking water. The ferryman shoved off and Willy pitched backwards, banging his head against a seat. A schooner lurched past, throwing up a bow wave that slopped into the tiny ferry. Willy dropped to the floor and gripped the rail sohard his knuckles turned white. A slim pilot boat, powered by six oarsmen, shot past, only missing the ferry by a sliver.
    â€˜Luvverly quiet night on the water,’ said Willy’s ferryman. He stood calmly in the stern, steering the ferry with the pole in