"That spineless gnome!" exclaimed Odilda.

The professor paced backed and forth on a sidewalk on Portobello Road. She mumbled quietly, nervously smoking a chives cigarette with an imperial jade mouthpiece she had received during one of her many trips to China. She still remembered freeing a herd of wild camels - the only ones in the whole region of Khotan that could climb those insidious Himalayan peaks - from the terrible spell that had afflicted them for generations. For days, their cattle-raiser had begged her to accept the valuable mouthpiece, dating back to the Song Dynasty period, as a sign of gratitude.
Since then, she had never parted with it and had used it devoutly, especially in difficult circumstances such as the one she was in.

Meanwhile, another day had come and gone, and Odilda and the children had already walked for hours, combing the streets of London and searching every corner for clues. They had asked everyone and everywhere – even at the tourist bureau – but there was no trace of the Lady of the Trails.

"The lady of what?" people repeated, all day long, giving at the most some amused giggles.

No one seemed to have heard of her. Could it be that she just didn't exist?

Odilda felt like a hamster scampering on a wheel for hours without moving an inch. She had wasted a whole afternoon to follow a phantom.

"That trickster gnome gave us directions that lead nowhere! NO- WHERE!" she roared, as she continued to pace back and forth among the market's stands, blowing out white smoke.

"I told you!" said Peter, exhausted.

"Well..." said Michael, with an eager sparkle in his eyes. "We can still gain some profit from this!"

"Really?" replied Odilda, doubtful, placing her precious gift back in the inside pocket of her Sahara jacket. "I don't see how."

"Easy!" answered the boy, rubbing his hands. "Since the Lady of the Trails doesn't exist, no one forbids us from selling this junk, right?" Pointing to the colorful stands on Portobello Road, he wiggled his hips like a clumsy belly-dancer, jingling the sacks that were hanging on his belt.

"No! We can't!" exclaimed Kate, horrified. "Trogol gave them to us for a reason!"

"Well, then your dear friend Trogol should have spent a couple of extra seconds to explain how to find the Lady of the Trails, instead of leaving us alone, without instructions!" he retorted, stretching his neck to spy a potential buyer in the crowd.

"Wait!" said Peter, a sudden new light in his eyes. "Kate is right! If Trogol gave us these sacks, there must be a reason!" Moving close to Michael, he took them off his belt.

"Hey!" yelled Michael, fighting back. "What are you doing? We can get some good money for these!"

Peter emptied the sacks, one after the other. With great surprise, he saw various objects and tools fall to the ground. Some were so big he couldn't understand how they could have been inside.

"Four umbrellas..." he said, starting to list them, "a doormat, four receipts, a box of matches with starred heads, a map without any drawing, a rope..."

"So, junk!" said Odilda, frustrated.

"... some ancient coins, some colored powders, a deck of cards, a carpet beater, some corks, a ladder..." Peter continued his long inventory.

"A carpet beater?" asked Michael. "Don't tell me... besides talking of witches and goblins, Trogol wants us to keep his lamp clean!" He shook his head, disappointed, throwing the object on the sidewalk.

"And this?" asked Kate, handling a stick ending with a hand. "What's this?"

"Um..." grumbled Michael, pensive. "It looks like a back-scratcher."

He took it from her hands and moved it up and down his stomach. "It's not working," he complained.

"Let me see!" Odilda came close to the boy and grabbed the object. "This is not a back-scratcher. It's an old fingerpost, a hand which points the way," she declared, smiling with satisfaction. "Once upon a time these were at crossways in almost every city, to give directions. Today there are not many left."

At those words, Peter started to smile too.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked her.

"I'd say it's time to find out!" Costalbine replied excitedly.

"Am I missing something?" asked Michael, who didn't understand what they were saying.

"Let's see where it takes us!" said Odilda, shaking the stick in front of her like divining rod looking for water.

The children grabbed the other objects and followed the professor around the streets of London. They crossed parks and gardens. They walked south, then east, then west, and finally returned north, but the hand didn't seem willing to cooperate. Odilda shook it lightly, as if trying to tune an old radio. Then, she lifted it over her head, looking for better reception. The hand stayed still. They were about to give up, when, as they arrived at Kings Cross, the fingerpost suddenly came to life, moving around and pointing stubbornly in one direction.

"The hand is moving! The hand is moving!" declared Michael.

Odilda jumped around here and there, trying to stop the crazed stick.

"I-have-no-ticed! I-have-no-ticed!" the woman enunciated, shaking with the reed.

"It's pointing at something!" yelled Kate, euphoric.

"It's pointing at the street signs!" said Peter, looking at the end of the sidewalk.

"Now what direction do we take?" asked Michael.

"Follow the hand... give it light..." Peter tried to remember the words of the gnome, hoping they could help find a solution.

"Maybe we need to use another one of Trogol's gadgets," said Kate, already sticking her small arm inside one of the sacks.

"The-match-box!" said Odilda, still trying to tame the mad fingerpost. "Take-the-mat-ches! Quick!"

The young girl found the box in the bottom of the sack. Before handing it to Costalbine, she read the strange instructions on the back.

USAGE: To reveal hidden messages or things which are invisible to the human eye.

INSTRUCTIONS: Extract the tongue of Clorofrigna from the box and immerse the starry head of a match in it. Rub the match in Pock's Sulphur. Light the desired area and wait a few seconds for the spell to work.

WARNING: Use preferably in well aired and hidden places, before the expiration date listed on the back of the box. Keep out of the reach of mortals and underage magicians.

IMPORTANT: Pock's Sulphur can cause unwanted magical side effects. In case of poisoning... good luck!

"Okay! They're safe!" said the girl.

"Maybe it's better if I light it!" said Peter, cautiously taking one of the long matches. Following the indications, he rubbed its head on the slimy tongue which was emerging from the box. "Yuk!" he exclaimed, disgusted. The starry head of the match, drenched in the witch's saliva, let out a shrill cry, then lit up with a colorful flame which danced joyfully in front of their eyes.

"Quick!" yelled Odilda, now tip-toeing as the fingerpost pulled her upwards. "Point-the-flame-to-the-signs!"

Peter obeyed immediately, lifting the long wooden stick and moving it along the street signs.

As the instructions foretold, after a few seconds the letters on the signs started to disappear in the light of the flame. Then, they reappeared and reordered to form new words. Finally, they could read a new message: "Griselda Pond, Lady of the Trails, 1111 Highgate Cemetery, West District. Past Egyptian Avenue, 1777th gravestone on the right. Please contact only in a life and death situation."

"Bingo!" exulted Odilda, catching her breath on a bench after her exhausting struggle with the fingerpost, which was now resting in her hands as happy as a baby.

"Do you mean to say the Lady of the Trails lives in a graveyard?" asked Michael, terrified just at the thought. "Does anyone live in a normal place today?"

"Quickly! Let's not waste time chatting!" Odilda spurred them on, getting painfully up from the bench. "Let's get back to the car and pay a visit to this Lady of the Trails..." She looked at the street signs, now listing only the names of the streets of London. "I'm very curious to hear what she has to say."

* * * * * * *

Odilda and the children had barely gotten into the car they had parked in front of Stevenage Road, when a terrible storm raged violently over their heads.

"My usual bad luck!" exclaimed the professor, back in her worst mood, as she patted her handkerchief on her dripping face, staring as the Citroën's windshield wipers fought strenuously against the torrential rain. "I've never seen so much water pouring down at once!"

"It's raining so hard we can't even see the hood of the car!" agreed Michael, his nose pressed against the window, as he watched the unprepared Londoners rushing to find shelter. "I wonder if we can find the cemetery in this bad weather."

"Don't worry!" reassured him the professor. "That's why we have Apollos, my sophisticated satellite navigation system." She pulled the small chain hanging behind the rear-view mirror and knocked three times on the roof.

The glove compartment in front of Peter opened, revealing a comfortable padded space where a parrot, sprawled on his back with sunflower seeds and peanuts all over his tummy, was shamelessly snoring away.

"Apollos. Wake up!" yelled the professor, pulling the bird's leg.

"Who's knocking?" twittered the feathered creature, startled.

"So, this is your state-of-the-art satellite navigation system?" asked Michael, shocked. "An overweight parrot? Do you want to get us all killed?"

"For your information, Apollos is not just any parrot!" replied the professor, as she kept pushing the bird to encourage it to stand. "I've stol... I mean, borrowed it from a Peruvian guide, exactly twenty-seven years ago. Since then, it has successfully guided me along the most dangerous and arduous paths – the Amazons, the Socotra Islands, the Kalahari Desert... Ok, I must admit that from time to time he took me the long way, but I've always arrived at my destination safe and sound. Besides..." she said, lowering the window, "it flies wonderfully. Look!" She grabbed the animal and, without too much thought, flung it outside.

"Heeeelp..." The parrot flailed around, trying to distance itself from the front of a gigantic double-decker bus that seemed to be aiming right at his behind.

"Flying wonderfully my foot!" said Michael, shocked. "He I swerving from side to side with his tongue hanging out!"

"Actually..." agreed Peter, watching the bird struggle to gain altitude, "it doesn't look too well. It looks like it's about to have a heart attack!"

"What heart attack?" Odilda laughed, as if they had just told a good joke. "That parrot has a heart of steel. It's just a little tipsy, that's all!"

"OK, this is too much!" yelled Michael, with a high-pitched voice. "Let me out of this car immediately!"

"Keep your seat belt on, squirt!" The skull-shaped door locks lowered, as Odilda's threatening eyes met Michael's through the rear-view mirror. "You keep this in mind, kid: Odilda Costalbine never fails. Understood?" She floored the gas pedal.

"Don't worry, Michael!" Kate encouraged him. "I'm sure Apollos can take us to the cemetery."

"Oh, I'm sure about that too!" Michael mocked her.

"Go on, Apollos!" Odilda yelled, leaning out of the window. "Put some strength in those chicken wings. We don't have all night!" She closed the window, giving one last worried glance at the monstrous tempest raging over Big Ben.

* * * * * * *

"Stop the car!" ordered Kate.

The yellow headlights of the French station wagon pointed to the tall cemetery railing, while the blinding glare of lightning shone intermittently on the entrance on the left.

"Highgate Cemetery!" Michael read, in a whisper. "What a lovely little place."

"We're in luck!" Odilde said, pointing to the sign next to the gate with the opening hours and watching the last visitors approach the exit. "Our plan is simple. We'll go in through the main entrance and we'll hide in a safe place until the gates close. The guards will make a last round..." She pulled out a map of the cemetery from one of her many pockets and pointed out the itinerary on the wrinkled paper.

"Do you always have a map of the cemetery handy?" asked Peter, bewildered.

"...as soon as we're out of danger..." the woman continued, ignoring all interruptions, "we'll go and look for Mrs. Pond's grave." Without giving the children a chance to object, she jumped out of the car and started to walk casually toward the gates, skillfully blending with the crowd.

"Quick!" urged Kate. "Let's follow her."

Soon the whole group walked enveloped by darkness and silence, with the exception of the rustle of trees and the soft pattering of their shoes on the cobbled pavement. They followed the cemetery's narrow lanes, strewn with the strangest tombstones: suffering winged creatures, dusty books, and severed heads of lions and horses. Dogs, cats, and birds had been sculpted to last for eternity next to their deceased owners – fashioned so carefully that they almost looked real, as if waiting to be freed from their forced immobility.

"I don't want to sound repetitive..." said Michael, pulling the collar of his jacket closer to his neck. "...but, what a charming little place!"

"Over here!" said the professor, pointing to an arch that was almost completely covered by ivy and roots. "It's better to stay close to me. Many poor fellows have lost their way in this cemetery's maze, and..." she added, lighting her face with a flashlight which had just appeared from another pocket of her Sahara jacket, "they never came out."

"Never?" asked Michael with terror in his eyes.

"Never!" replied Odilda, laconic.

"Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh!" a disturbing sound traveled through the labyrinth of small lanes, as if to confirm the story.

Immediately, the children moved closer to the woman and followed her, while constantly looking behind their shoulders for fear that those poor lost souls might materialize at any moment with less than noble intentions.

"It's cold ..." complained Michael, "... and my legs hurt."

"I'd like to be in front of my fireplace too, with a glass of brandy in my hand, but I'm not whining!" replied Odilda, sternly.

Almost an hour had past and, apart from the tomb of a lady named Esmeralda Longstreet and the carriage-shaped tomb of Benjamin Pong, an early century coachman, they didn't see any tombstone that could even remotely belong to the mysterious Lady of the Trails.

"Guys!" called Peter, as he removed a bunch of weeds and dried leaves. "Good news! I think I've found it."

The name Griselda Pond was clearly engraved on a tombstone surrounded by carpets carved in marble.

"And now?" asked Kate. "How do we wake her up?"

"In the most logical way, my little darling," replied Odilda. "Lady of the Trails? Madam?" she started to call. "Mrs. Pond... Are you here?"

"Madam, we urgently need to speak to you..." echoed Peter. "It's a very important matter," he said, knocking on the tombstone.

"Mr. Trogol told us to look for you!" said Kate, getting closer to the tomb and pronouncing her words as clearly as possible. "We must go to Dralon and we don't know how to do it. Please, we need your help."

"You should see yourselves in a mirror!" said Michael, sitting on the next grave as he pulled up roots to pass the time. "You look pathetic!"

"Give me the sacks!" exclaimed Odilda, glaring at him.

Michael threw the sacks and the professor stuck her head inside each one, pulling it out only after an accurate inspection.

"This should do the job!"

"What do you want to do with that rug beater?" asked Peter skeptically.

"I want to take some dust off these carpets." Facing the grave, she held the object in front of her, ready to strike.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a rough voice behind her.

A skeletal man with a receding hairline watched them grimly, holding his thumbs inside the belt of his faded uniform.

"Darn! A guard!" exclaimed Peter.

"It's not what you think!" tried to explain Kate.

"I'm pretty sure it is!" the guard objected, as he threateningly approached the little girl's face. Looking back, it was a rather careless move, since it resulted in her finger poking his eye and her foot crushing his.

"Argh!" he yelled in pain. "Now I'll show you, little punks!" He grabbed Michael and Kate by their collars and moved his walkie-talkie to his lips to give the alarm. "As for you, lady, lower that thing and I promise you no one will get hurt!"

"If you say so!" Odilda, with mock condescension, lowered the carpet beater as instructed, vigorously striking the rolled-out carpet on top of Griselda's tomb.

All of a sudden, a cloud of dust almost as dense as cotton candy rose in the air, engulfing everything that was around.

"Cough, cough!" The guard was seized by an irrepressible cough. "What in the world...?"

"Charles, Charles... what should I do with you! I've told you at least a hundred times to change that old uniform!"

"Grandma Lavinia? Cough, cough," asked the guard, stunned. "I-is... is it you? Cough, cough."

From the covering of dust emerged the silhouette of an elderly lady whose hairdo and clothes were decidedly out of fashion.

"But you can't... you... you're..." stammered the man, now as white as a sheet.

"Slimmer?" the woman helped him. 

"Y-y-you a-a-are..."

"Charles, dear nephew, you know it's not polite to stutter on purpose." Smiling, the woman came close to him and started to remove the dust that had piled up on his shoulders.

"Y-y-you... are DEAD!" he was finally able to clarify. "I buried you myself twenty years ago!"

"Oh!" she gasped in shock. "Has it been that long?" She laughed with composure, showing a row of rotten teeth and a blackish tongue. "You know, underground, time never seems to pass."

"H-H-HEEELP! G-G-GHOOOOSTS!" The man shouted with all the force in his lungs. "Every man for himself!" He then ran frantically to the exit, stumbling almost at every step.

"Such a rush!" exclaimed the lady, turning her lovely eyes toward the group of unexpected visitors. "Now we can talk without interruptions." The woman hit another carpet with the carpet beater and a new cloud of dust rose into the air. Then, as soon as the cloud dispersed, Odilda and the children saw another rather lively Granny.

"I suppose you're Griselda," said Dr. Costalbine, avoiding unnecessary pleasantries.

"You suppose correctly!" confirmed the lady, as she removed and rolled up the grave's carpets, which had just turned from cold stone to thick wool. "My dear, would you..." the old lady said, hinting to Peter that she needed his help. The boy hurried to grab two corners of the carpet.

"If I understand correctly, you're looking for the road that takes ordinary mortals to Dralon. Are you? My dear, would you mind..." she told Michael, pointing to a battered cart which was barely visible behind a bramble.

"Yes, we are!" replied Kate, as she helped her to roll up another carpet.

"What you're asking is extremely dangerous. Now that I think about it, no mortal has ever been allowed to enter the Contrary World... hmm ... do you mind dear?" she passed a broom to Odilda, inviting her to sweep around the headstone.

"This is a very urgent situation and we've been given permission by the custodian of Dralon. Look!" said Peter, showing the document. 

"Much, much better!" exclaimed Griselda, seeing her beloved carpets well sorted inside the cart and the tombstone cleaned up.

"Madam!" said Odilda impatiently, leaving the broom in the hands of a nearby statue. "I understand you're behind on several chores, but we're in a considerable hurry." She tapped the glass of her watch with her index finger. "I hope you'll understand."

"Oh, of course, of course!" the woman snapped her fingers, and hundreds of ghosts began to wander through the cemetery. "I just need to consult with my colleagues," the old lady apologized. "It will only take a few more minutes... Sir Corwell! What a great pleasure to see you again." She then walked away to meet her old acquaintance.

The children's mouths were open so wide in astonishment that if a swarm of gnats had passed by at that time, it could have easily found shelter in there.

The cemetery, once dark and silent, had magically turned into a glittering piazza full of movement and noise. The candles, scattered everywhere, lit simultaneously to shed light on the ghosts which were strolling hand in hand, telling each other stories, and on the animals which, after the long "sleep", were merrily scampering around.

Then, after what seemed to Odilda far too long, Griselda returned accompanied by two other elderly ladies.

"Congratulations! You've managed to greet the over 170,000 residents of the cemetery in a record time. I hope you're satisfied," pointed out Odilda, annoyed.

"Oh! A truly happy reunion!" said the woman, twirling on herself, in very high spirits. "Sir Eliot, what an extraordinary man... always impeccable. Don't you agree?"

"Impeccable!" confirmed the old lady by her side.

"And Mr. Delegan... gallant as usual." 

"In truth!" agreed the other grandmother.

"And what about Madame Canterville? ...always so polite and refined... a woman of good taste. Don't you agree?" Griselda turned again to the two ladies next to her, who immediately nodded with conviction.

"Cough, cough!" Michael faked a little cough to stop the annoying conversation.

"But now, enough with these ramblings of three poor confused old ladies... it's time to solve your problem!" Griselda finally decided. "Meet the Ladies Magda and Myrtle Manyways." The women bowed their heads slightly in greeting. "Without their talent and care, I would never have been able to weave these delightful carpets."

"And we should care because..." said Odilda, insolent.

"Because it's precisely these carpets which will allow you to reach Dralon," explained Griselda, patiently, as she took Odilda by the arm and led her to the cart. "You see, my dear ... each of these leads to a specific destination. This one, for example..." she said, pointing to a carpet with beautiful Japanese allegories, "this leads straight to the Naign Shrine which houses the sacred mirror Yata no Kagami. This other one..." she continued, pointing at another carpet with long, woven fringes of the softest colorful wool, "this takes to the mysterious Puerta de Hayu Marca in Peru. This one leads inside the Pyramid of Cheops. This one, full of crusty, small stones, leads to the moon, and this..." She paused for a long time, pulling out a well wrapped carpet dripping a shiny golden powder. "And this is the carpet leading to Dralon, in the Contrary World."

Odilda and the children walked close to the carpet to examine it carefully.

"And how does it work, exactly?" asked Peter curious.

"You don't have to worry. My colleagues and I will deal with this," the old woman reassured him. "But we must act quickly and find the right three-way fork before the stroke of midnight."

"A three what?" asked Michael, confused.

"To open the passage, we need three intersecting streets which point exactly to the north, south and east," the lady explained.

"I'd suggest leaving at once!" said Myrtle, tying her cap's strings. 

"Well..." said Griselda, sighing. "It's time to say good-bye to our dear companions." She snapped her fingers and everything in the cemetery turned as dark, silent and motionless as before.

"Where are your horses?" asked Magda.

"We didn't come on horseback ..." Kate corrected her, laughing. "We came by car."

"Ah, a car!" The two sisters looked at each other, shocked.

"What do you mean?" asked Odilda, uptight. "Do we have to fit everyone in the car? Can't you just snap your fingers, clap or jump on one foot and take us directly to the right place? What kind of witches are you?"

"Oh, my dear..." replied Griselda, amused. "We're not that kind of witches. Besides... we've never sat in a car." Laughing heartily, she pulled the cart full of carpets out of the cemetery.