Free The Road to Nevermore by Christopher Lincoln Page A

certain that you were going to say brother.”
    “Again, ye have me blushin’. But ye see, we have a little dilemma.” Pete stationed Billy between the advancing officer and
     himself. “Perhaps ye’ll be good enough to help us.”
    “Your servant, mademoiselle!” The colonel responded with a bow.
    “We need to sneak a few golden wishes in, so we can wish our way out if we don’t like the accommodations. I’m a touch finicky,
     ye see.”
    “Understandable, but normally out of the question. If a Darksider ended up with a golden wish, he could wish himself over
     to the Light Side, too.” The colonel adjusted his monocle, his eyes focusing for the first time. “I do get that request every
     so often, but not from skeletons. Never seen one rich enough to manage it.”
    “Err …” Pete hemmed.
    The colonel frowned. Billy had to think of something quick. And as luck would have it, he didn’t have to stray very far from
     the truth. “Candy!” he blurted.
    “Ehhh?” Both Colonel Siegely and Pete turned to Billy.
    “Candy,” Billy repeated. “We’ve made our fortune in candy. We’re very well-to-do.”
    “How delightful!” Colonel Siegely hitched in his paunchy jacket and puffed out his chest. “Even I like a tidbit now and again.
     Perhaps I can overlook the golden wishes for today.” He looked at Pete longingly and took another step forward.
    Not good.
Billy winced.
Come on. Think of something!
    The colonel’s horse snorted.
    “What’s your horse’s name?” Billy asked frantically.
    Colonel Siegely looked down at Billy. “What’s that, young man?”
    “Your horse … he’s a real bruiser. What’s his name?”
    The colonel locked an admiring glance on the animal. “His name is Clattershanks, and I say he’s the finest in the Afterlife.”
    Clattershanks lifted his head and whinnied proudly. But Billy was pretty sure Fleggs could vaporize this horse with one hoof.
    Billy asked all about the horse: how many times he’d seen action, what was his favorite saddle, and how fast he could gallop.
    The colonel answered. And about twenty minutes later, he gave a cursory look at their documents. Before Colonel Siegely clacked
     back to the guardhouse, he left Billy and Pete with a warning. “Keep your coins well hidden. If someone were to find out I
     let them pass, well, they’d be leading me in there next—and all for a pretty girl.” He tipped his helmet to Pete. “I’ll count
     the days until your safe return.”
    Pete curtsied, then he and Billy and all the shackled ghosts headed toward darkness. Seconds later a horn blew notes so deep
     they could have been ripped from a thunderstorm’s belly. The gate ratcheted open, and a blast of heat nearly boiled the marrow
     in Billy’s bones.

Chapter 18
The High Council

    As Billy and Pete were sorting out the state of emergency, members of the High Council were planning actions of their own.
     Their chamber floated in a place of honor, well above Celesdon. It was the shape of a glowing orb, covered in a network of
     silver supports and crystal windows. For many years it had been the Afterlife’s symbol of truth, but lately its sheen had
     dulled.
    Inside the vast dome, council members’ desks were set in a ring, and a circular opening in the middle gave a spectacular view
     of the skyline below. Marble benches rimmed the room. This gallery was usually packed with civic-minded citizens, but now
     the seats stood silent.
    Miss Chippendale and her supporters favored one side of the chamber. Oversecretary Underhill and a wrinkled old wraith—the
     only other honest soul left on the council—sat on the opposite side. The wraith stared at Miss Chippendale with unwavering
     disdain.
    Behind the council members, their assistants busily scribbled notes and passed them to waiting cherub pages. The pages buzzed
     through the dome, dispensing and retrieving council messages. Air traffic was especially thick on Miss Chippendale’s side
     of the