Casper Candlewacks in Attack of the Brainiacs!
Casper Candlewacks in Attack of the Brainiacs!
Ivan Brett
Grab your glow in the dark trousers, Casper’s back in this third ridiculously hilarious, hilarously ridiculous madcap adventure.Most villages have an idiot but Casper's village is full of them. So being bright makes poor Casper something of an outsider.A side-splittingly funny for girls and boys, featuring a massive food fight, an evil French chef and a machine that fires omelettes…
Dedication
For Plato, Popper and Pop
Contents
Cover (#u28dd8783-6210-5389-b56b-ed30cfc95702)
Title Page
Dedication
Map
Hello
Chapter 1
Bon Voyage
Chapter 2
Big Boys’ School
Chapter 3
Five Brewsters and a Brainiac
Chapter 4
The Battered Cod
Chapter 5
Best Served Cold
Chapter 6
The Guilt Box
Chapter 7
A New Dawn
Chapter 8
The Best Defence
Chapter 9
A Village of Brainiacs
Chapter 10
Humble Pie
Chapter 10
Rematch
Chapter 11
Deep Cover Dining
Chapter 12
Molecular Gastronomy
Chapter 13
What Happens Tomorrow
Chapter 13b
What Happens the Next Day
Chapter 14
Brain Food
Chapter 15
Breaking Bread
Mr Flanty’s Pi Song
Copyright
About the Publisher
More adventures with
Casper Candlewacks in Death by Pigeon!
Casper Candlewacks in the Claws of Crime!
Map
Hello.
You’ve all heard of the old English tradition of the Village Idiot, right? No? Well then…
There’s this age-old law in Britain, passed through Parliament over one million years ago, that decreed the following (translated from caveman): ‘Every collection of stone huts shall, at all times, contain one idiot.’ It’s thought that this law aimed to cheer up the people’s boring lives, giving them something to laugh at between sessions of boar-hunting or wheel-inventing.
Fast-forward to the present day and if you visit any English village you’ll still find their idiot. Follow the curious smell and muddy footprints, look out for the man in a bobble hat chasing pigeons. Throw him a penny and the rest of your sandwich and thank him for his hard work – people like him are what make Britain great.
But there’s one village where things are slightly different. You see, in Corne-on-the-Kobb, a pretty little village with a pretty little cobbled square hidden away in the picturesque Kobb Valley, there isn’t an idiot. In Corne-on-the-Kobb there are about two hundred. In fact, every single person who lives in Corne-on-the-Kobb is a magnificently, hilariously wonderful specimen of a village idiot, all apart from one blond-haired scruffy boy called Casper Candlewacks.
Casper is the only non-idiot in Corne-on-the-Kobb, and that’s why he’s interesting. When an arrogant Italian magician cursed the village, only Casper could un-curse it. When an evil cat burglar stole the village’s precious bejewelled sword, only Casper could steal it back. When somebody filled their trousers with custard, only Casper could work the washing machine and tumble dryer and get the trousers back to them, custard free, in under forty-eight hours.
You get the point. Corne-on-the-Kobb is a village of idiots, and that’s the way it’ll always be. Or is it?
(Yes, it is.)
But is it?
(Yes.)
Look, have you read this book?
(Not yet, no.)
Well, get on with it! You might learn something.
(Sorry. I’ll read it now.)
“Lamp? You up yet?” Casper Candlewacks hauled open the corrugated door, flooding the garage with the morning’s sunlight. “It’s gone half seven and we really shouldn’t miss the bus. Not on our first day.”
There was a loud bump upstairs as Lamp Flannigan fell out of bed. “Casper?” came the muffled reply. “Where are you? All I can see is carpet.”
“You’re on the floor, Lamp. Come on, we haven’t got long.” Casper wriggled in his starched black blazer and loosened his tie. The emblem on Casper’s breast pocket showed a snake strangling a bear, with ‘SSSS’ written below in curly writing. This stood for ‘St Simian’s School for Seniors’ (not the sound the snake was making, as Casper had first thought).
Casper hated the idea of school uniform. Until the start of the summer he’d been at Corne-on-the-Kobb Primary, where the dress code was ‘clothes, if you have them’. But, just like Free Envelope Week at the Corne-on-the-Kobb Envelope ’n’ Bin Liner MegaMarket, all good things must come to an end. St Simian’s demanded a white shirt, black blazer, stiff grey trousers that creased like cardboard and shiny black shoes, all topped off with a mustard-yellow tie. Casper’s mum had forgotten about the shoes until last night so she’d dipped his trainers into a tin of black paint. They felt crispy. Casper had had a go at taming his bushy mess of blond hair, but after losing two combs and a metal fork he decided to leave it as it was.
To Casper, Lamp Flannigan’s garage felt just like home. He’d spent the whole summer here, building ‘Bubbel Buggies’ and ‘Bluff Boilers’ and getting progressively oilier day by day. But a newcomer to the garage would struggle to believe this magical junkyard kingdom was even real. Piles of metal, batteries and raw pasta littered the floor next to boxes filled with wires and bleeping circuit boards. Mad contraptions the shape of armadillos or saxophones (or both) whirred, clicked and honked from every worktop. A pot of smoking silver stuff bubbled away on the edge of a wooden shelf, while a robot with three wheels and a tennis racket for a head trundled in wobbly loops across the floor after a squealing self-bouncing tennis ball. Under a shelf full of wrenches sat a large chicken hutch with a Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the front.
Two things had changed since yesterday. First, there was a new heap of scrap metal in Junk Corner, which was the place Lamp liked to keep his stuff when Bric-a-Brac Basket was full. Along with the usual old tat was a huge blue canister with a nozzle at the top and Helium printed on the front. But the second new thing really captured Casper’s attention. A pulsing, wheezing contraption took up most of the space on the workbench, replacing the gearbox filled with jam that had sat there yesterday, but now sat on the floor, gathering ants. Casper didn’t mind; this new machine was miles more exciting than Lamp’s jammy gearbox. A set of red bagpipes floated in the air like a tartan zeppelin, tethered in place by several lengths of string reaching up from a heavy iron rack. Strapped tightly round the bagpipes’ belly was a bleeping calculator fastened on to a leather belt; the mouthpiece had been extended up into a big yellow bowl that waggled in polite circles above the rest of the machine. The instrument had three wooden pipes, two of which were connected to each other with a length of rubber tube, while the third was taped to the long black neck of a vacuum cleaner that swung about close to the floor like a clumsy tail.
“It cooks omlits,” said Lamp. “D’you want one?”
Casper jumped. “Crikey! How did you get down here?”
A short podgy boy with a scrub of soot-black hair and a pear-shaped dongle of a nose stood in the far corner of the garage. In his left hand was a huge red helium balloon; in the other was an anchor on a string. He wore a blazer just like Casper’s (except the arms went down to his knees), his trousers were three sizes too small and his tie was made of yellow sofa fabric, looped twice round his neck and knotted in the middle. “I built a lift!” grinned Lamp.
“Ah…” Above Lamp’s head there was a hole in the ceiling, just the right size for a large red helium balloon, a boy and an anchor to fit through. “Ahh.”
“Look.” Lamp let go of the anchor and the balloon lifted him into the air.
Casper giggled. “Come back down here!”
Lamp disappeared through the hole in the ceiling. “Hang on,” he called. “I need another anchor.” There was some clunking, and a moment later down he floated with a second anchor on a string. “It’s for when the stairs are broken,” said Lamp, tethering his balloon to a handy knob he’d glued to the wall. “I get through a lot of anchors, though.”
“Can’t you reuse them?”
Lamp chuckled. “Don’t be silly.”
“Anyway, what did you say this thing was?” Casper turned back to the captive bagpipes.
“It’s my Omlit Gun,” smiled Lamp. “It makes lovely omlits and shoots them out here.” He waggled the head of the vacuum-cleaner neck in Casper’s direction.
Casper ducked, just in case. “Omelettes? I should’ve guessed.” He was used to Lamp’s eggy inventions by now. Two months ago Lamp had found Mavis and Bessie, the two egg-laying hens, sitting on his doorstep with a note saying they were his distant cousins. He took them in and gave them a coop, and in return the girls always made sure he had a surplus of eggs to invent stuff with.
The bagpipes let out a weary wheeze.
“So? Does it work?” asked Casper, slightly fearing the answer.
“Dunno,” shrugged Lamp. “Let’s give it a try. Ladies?”
Mavis and Bessie, Lamp’s two prize egg-laying hens and long-distant cousins on his mum’s side, popped their rubbery heads out of the coop and clucked sleepily. Mavis, the darker one, flipped over the Do Not Disturb sign with her beak. The other side said The Hens Are In. Please Knock.
Lamp lifted the lid of the hens’ coop to pick out two speckly brown eggs. “Watch this!” He did a little trot on the spot, galumphed over to the Omelette Gun and cracked both eggs into the yellow bowl.
The machine wobbled into motion, a nauseous groan from the belly of the bagpipes tightening into a tuneless wheeze. The strings grew taut, the bag puffed fuller and the eggs slipped down the mouthpiece and out of view. Then the pipes began to whistle a screeching, tuneless tune, a melody of such demonic ugliness that even when Casper blocked his ears, he could smell how bad it sounded.
Lamp did a highland jig around the garage.
The screech rose louder, the bag pumped fuller, the strings stretched and frayed to hold it still, and then when Casper was sure the thing was about to explode, there was a tremendous rattle as something shot down the vacuum-cleaner neck and spat across the garage, splurging against the far wall and sticking fast.
Casper dared to unblock his ears. “Wow.”
Lamp grinned. “Wait for it…”
CHOO!
With a final sneeze, the vacuum cleaner belched a cloud of herbs after the omelette, which filled the air like edible confetti.
Casper could do nothing else but clap. “Amazing!” he cheered. “Encore!”
Lamp bowed deeply. “I thank you,” he said. “Want one? There’s plenty more eggs.”
Before Casper could answer, Lamp was already back at the coop, rooting around in the straw. His face crumpled into a frown. “Strange…”
“What’s up?”
“I can’t find any more eggs. What with the two I’ve already got this morning that means today they’ve only laid…” Lamp pulled his arm from the coop and counted up on his fingers, “…six. I mean ten.”
“Two,” said Casper.
“Exactly. Three. That’s the lowest yet.”
Apart from the counting part, Lamp was absolutely right. Until a couple of weeks ago, Mavis and Bessie were prize egg-layers. They’d pump out eggs like faulty bubblegum machines, filling their coop right to the top and proudly sitting on the lid. But something had changed because each morning the boys would find fewer and fewer eggs, with no explanation why.
“I don’t like this,” said Casper suspiciously. “Maybe they’re ill or something.”
“Chicken pox?” said Lamp.
“Do chickens get chicken pox?”
“Er, yeah.” Lamp clicked his teeth. “Clue’s in the name, silly.”
Bessie pecked at a little vending machine. It gave a bloop and its dispenser scattered a handful of seeds on to the garage floor.
“Come on, Lamp, we’ve a bus to catch.”
“Ooh!” Lamp squealed. “We’re going to big boys’ school!”
The pit of Casper’s stomach wiggled. He wished he shared his friend’s enthusiasm, but in truth, he was terrified. Corne-on-the-Kobb wasn’t big enough to have its own senior school, so once the kids were old enough, they were shipped off to the sprawling city of High Kobb. You could see its grey towers from the top of the Corne-on-the-Kobb village hall, climbing high into the clouds and beyond, probably into space. Casper had never been to High Kobb, or any city, as a matter of fact. The villagers had told stories and Casper had listened, quivering: the never-ending traffic, murderers on every street corner and giant alligators that crawl out of the sewers and eat your firstborn. Cities struck fear into Casper’s heart. And now he had to go to school inside one!
If Casper survived the day, though, he’d have worse waiting for him back in Corne-on-the-Kobb. Tonight was the opening of his dad’s brand-new restaurant, an event two months and three kitchen fires in the making. Casper was to be head waiter and mopper of spills, his least favourite job since nappy-recycling.
“Oh, Casper, aren’t we gonna have so much fun?”
Casper was jolted back to reality as Lamp stuffed a handful of marbles and an iron into his oil-stained backpack.
“D’you think they have chairs there? Otherwise I’ll take this one with me.”
“They’ve already got chairs. I think. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
“Race you to the bus!” Lamp galumphed out of the garage and veered left down the road.
“This way, Lamp.”
“Righty-ho!” He wheeled round and galumphed back into the garage.
Lamp Flannigan was Casper’s best friend. He wasn’t the fizziest bottle in the fridge in terms of brain power. Directions weren’t his strong point, and neither were counting, spelling, herding cattle, walking, breathing, not falling into puddles… Actually, this list is going to continue for an awfully long time. To save money and rainforests it’d be easier to flag up his one and only strong point. Lamp Flannigan was an absolute genius at inventing. He invented the things that nobody in their right mind would ever attempt. But that’s the point: Lamp didn’t have a right mind. He didn’t even have a left mind. He had a sort of slushy heap that mulched around in his skull and gurgled when you shook it. But whatever it was, it sure as beans made him good at inventing. He’d invented telepathic typewriters that type what you think and collapsible caravans that fit into your lunchbox. He’d made rubber paint for bouncy walls and disposable flags that you only wave once. Inventing wasn’t just Lamp’s hobby, it was his life.
Casper walked through the park with Lamp trotting behind him, stopping every so often to sniff a flower or re-Velcro his shoes.
At the entrance to the village square sat Casper’s dad’s brand-new restaurant, The Battered Cod. There were about two weeks’ worth of jobs to do before The Battered Cod was ready to open, which was fine, except that tonight was the opening night.
Ting-a-ling.
“Casp!” The balding head of Julius, Casper’s dad, popped out of the front door like a hairy egg, but without much hair. “Glad I found you. Can you help me with this oven? It’s still in bits, and Cuddles ate the manual.”
“Sorry, I can’t. The bus leaves any minute.”
“Bus? Where d’you think you’re going on a school day, young man?”
“School, Dad. St Simian’s, remember?”
“Oh yes.” Julius scratched his scalp. “Course I remember. Well, have fun. I’ll just do the oven myself, then.”
“Good luck,” Casper grimaced. He wouldn’t normally leave his dad alone with an oven, even though he was a chef. “Don’t… explode… or anything.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Hi, Mister Candlewacks,” piped up Lamp.
“Hi, Lamp.” Julius waved and disappeared back into his restaurant.
Ting-a-ling.
(One thing Julius had fixed was the thing that went ting-a-ling when you opened or closed the door. It’s a very important piece of equipment, particularly to deter robbers, who are generally terrified of bells.)
The village square was packed that morning with weeping mothers and trembling children standing by a huge train carriage lashed to a green tractor. It was the closest thing to a school bus Corne-on-the-Kobb could muster, but it didn’t half look grand there, grumbling away on the cobbles. In the centre of the square stood the massive gleaming stone statue of Mayor Rattsbulge, clutching his bejewelled sword in one hammy fist.
The real Mayor Rattsbulge stood in the shadow of his chiselled stone twin, twice as fat, not nearly as handsome, and clutching a sausage rather than a sword. The statue had been finished two weeks ago, and every day since, the mayor had stood proudly beside it, pointing it out to passers-by and loudly telling them how accurate it was.
Other villagers trotted across the cobbles on their morning errands, waving at each other and giving their mayor a wide berth. Betty Woons – a sprightly 107-year-old – whizzed in skittering circles across the square in her turbo-powered wheelchair, running over so many toes that she lost count and had to start again; village gardener Sandy Landscape leant against a wall, chatting to a hedge; bent-backed Mrs Trimble tugged at the nine leads attached to the collars of nine stubborn cats that licked their paws and meowed throatily; and four-foot-tall pub landlord Mitch McMassive puffed and wheezed as he tried once more to roll an enormous beer barrel towards The Horse and Horse, only for it to roll backwards and flatten him against the cobbles.
Casper and Lamp passed through the crowd, bumping into a grubby little man with a pinched face hidden under his grubby black beret.
“Hullo, Mr Renée!” Lamp said.
“’Allo, boys,” growled Renée in his thick French drawl. He grinned, his rubbery lips parting to reveal a few brown teeth. In the corner of his mouth hung a soggy, thin cigarette that wobbled as he talked. Renée’s gaze settled on Casper, and Caspar shivered.
“Hi,” Casper said briskly. He didn’t know why Renée made his skin crawl like that. He wasn’t a cruel man, just a little cold. Renée had come to Corne-on-the-Kobb from France a couple of months ago. Quite why he’d done that, nobody had bothered to ask. None of the other villagers paid the poor chap the slightest bit of attention because he was French. (The people of Corne-on-the-Kobb were scared of two things: foreigners and dinosaurs. Renée was at least one of those.)
“How’s your cheese shop getting along?” asked Casper politely.
“Ah, not bad, not bad,” nodded Renée. “I think it will be making quite ze splash.”
“Why?” Lamp scratched his hair. “Is it wet?”
Renée frowned and reached for the little English dictionary he’d taken to keeping in a pocket. “I, er, do not…”
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Casper, motioning for Renée to put his dictionary away. “He just means to say how excited we are about tasting all your cheese.”
“Heh,” said Renée, breaking into a gruff smile. “Yes. Ze cheese.” He winked at Lamp and turned to shuffle away.
Casper turned to Lamp and saw that he was grinning. “What was that wink?”
“Huh?”
“ALL ABOARD, TICKETS ’N’ RAILCARDS, MIND THE GAP!” shouted Sandy Landscape, clambering up the side of his tractor. “TRAIN NOW STANDIN’ ON PLATFORM ONE’S THE TEN PAST EIGHT TER HIGH KOBB.”
As children tottered up on to the train carriage and mothers wailed ever louder, Casper’s nerves flooded back in and stung him like a mouthful of seawater. What waited for him at the other end of this journey? Did High Kobb really have alligators? Would he even make it home to see the opening of The Battered Cod?
The ‘bus’ roared into life, pumping black fumes and a sleeping hedgehog out of the exhaust pipe and into the crowd. The tractor shunted forwards and the carriage jerked into motion behind, throwing the children back in their seats. The villagers cheered, tearful mothers waved their hankies and little children and dogs chased the carriage down the road, although it wasn’t going very fast so they just stood there and wondered what to do once they’d caught up with it.
At the back of the crowd, Renée shuffled away across the cobbles. He stopped at the door to a boarded-up shop with a small sign that said Le Cheese Shop. He open tonight. He fiddled with the key, pushed open the door and shuffled inside. But that’s not important because Renée’s obviously not anyone to worry about and he’s certainly not hatching any evil plans or anything. Don’t even know why I mentioned him, actually.
The country lanes trawled by slower than a lazy snail. Casper smudged his nose on the window of the train and sighed. Summer was over and school was ready to take its place, filling his days with boredom and sums.
Casper and Lamp sat at one of those four-seat tables opposite Milly and Milly Mollyband, the identical twins (who’d been given the same name to save time and name-badges). They’d obviously heard about the alligators too because they both trembled so hard that Lamp thought there was an earthquake going on.
Eventually, Lamp decided he liked earthquakes, so Casper had some more time to look out of the window. When he looked back, Lamp was scratching his oily black hair and then sniffing his finger. “Strawberry,” he said. “Must be Monday.”
Casper frowned. “What?”
“I invented a shampoo that knows what day it is. It changes flavour to match. Monday means strawberry.”
“Oh…” Casper frowned.
“And you know I smelt of eggs yesterday?”
“Was that the shampoo too?”
“Nope, I’d just been eating them. Got my last three here. Want one?” He pulled three boiled eggs from an inner pocket of his blazer.
Casper took an egg to keep Lamp happy and placed it carefully in his backpack.
Lamp licked his lips and saved his two for later.
“OY! WOSSAT?” A shriek tore from the back of the carriage.
“It’s Anemonie!” whispered Casper. “What does she want?”
“I want that! It’s mine!” A small, pointy-nosed girl with squinty eyes and dark hair stomped up the aisle, pointing straight at Lamp with her sharpened pink fingernails. Her sickly sweet perfume made Casper gag.
Lamp plunged his eggs into his pocket and pretended to be asleep.
“What were you holding? Give it.”
“Zzzzzz,” snored Lamp. Then he opened one eye and whispered, “Has she gone yet, Casper?”
Anemonie Blight jabbed a few fingernails into Lamp’s side.
“Ouch! I mean… zzz. Oh, bother.” The game was up.
“Give it.” Anemonie reached for a sharp-tipped pencil that she kept behind her ear. “Last warning, Flannigan. This pencil is leaded.”
“Fine. Didn’t want it, anyway.” Lamp withdrew his trembling hand from the pocket clutching one of the boiled eggs.
“An egg?” Anemonie’s face wrinkled with disgust. She swatted the egg at Milly Mollyband, but it missed and struck Milly Mollyband.
Anemonie snarled. “Now, gimme your lunch money.”
“That was my lunch,” said Lamp, staring hungrily at Milly Mollyband’s blazer.
“How ’bout yours, then, Candlewacks?” Anemonie swung the pencil towards Casper.
Casper considered giving Anemonie his egg as well, but he valued not having a pencil sticking out of his face a bit too much for that. The two one-pound coins that he’d brought for lunch weighed heavily in his pocket. Begrudgingly, he handed them over.
“There. Not so hard, was it?” Anemonie smiled her sickly smile and skipped away back down the carriage to play ‘Ding Dong Bell’ on Teresa Louncher’s pigtails.
Casper sighed. Anemonie had been stealing his lunch money for as long as he could remember, but for some reason he thought going to senior school would change things.
One of Teresa’s pigtails landed on his table with a plap. Evidently things hadn’t changed.
“I miss my egg,” moaned Lamp.
“Here. Have mine.” Giving Lamp his egg back cheered him hugely. He sang some jolly songs until he ran out of breath, and then he went blue because he forgot to breathe in again, so Casper had to remind him.
The road bent round and Casper caught his first sight of High Kobb – an ugly mass of grey towers and belching chimneys scarring the beautiful landscape like a scab on a princess.
As the country roads became paved streets, Casper longed to be home again. The endless dusty concrete and nose-to-tail traffic made his heart sink. Luckily he saw no alligators in the gutters and the people walking the streets looked like businessmen, not murderers. But their business might have been murdering people, so Casper didn’t fully relax.
The tractor turned a corner and rolled up through a pair of massive wrought-iron gates, grinding to a halt inside a drab concrete playground full of pupils dressed in black blazers and yellow ties.
“My new kingdom!” screeched Anemonie. “Move outta the way, I’m getting off first.” She barged Ted Treadington aside with a well-placed elbow, and the rest of the kids scurried out of the aisle to let her pass.
Anemonie jumped down the steps and landed with her arms outstretched on the tarmac. “All right, boys and girls, listen up or I’ll spread you on my toast. The name’s Anemonie Blight and I’m in charge here.”
The High Kobb kids ran about, skipping and jumping and paying absolutely no attention.
“I SAID LISTEN!” Anemonie’s face swelled redder.
Casper, Lamp and the bolder Corne-on-the-Kobb kids tiptoed off the carriage and stood behind Anemonie.
Sixteen older kids whooshed past after a football, creating a small hurricane that blew over Milly and Milly Mollyband.
“YOU BOYS. STOP IT! I’M ANEMONIE BLIGHT! I’M ANEMONIE BLIGHT! LISTEN TO ME!”
A scruffy little boy came flying through the air and crunched to the ground at Anemonie’s feet.
Anemonie screamed.
Casper dashed forward and shoved Anemonie out of the way. The boy looked pretty dazed. “Are you OK?”
“Casper,” gasped Lamp, “did you see that? They can fly in big boys’ school!”
The boy had short, shaven hair and a bony little face. His uniform was made of faded baggy hand-me-downs and there was a cut on his lip. He blinked a few times and then his eyes focused on Casper. “I’m f-f-fine. Just playing r-rugby.”
Casper frowned. “Then why were you—”
“I was the b-ball.”
“Oh.”
“Not my f-f-favourite position,” the boy said. “The B-brewster b-brothers chose it.”
“The Brewster brothers?”
“You’re n-not from r-round here, are you?” Wincing, the boy made his way to a standing position. “My name’s S-snivel. I know what you’re finking. S-stupid name.”
“It’s not that stupid,” said Casper. “He’s called Lamp.”
Lamp waved.
“And I’m Casper.” Casper went to shake Snivel’s hand, but he jumped back, terrified. “Don’t worry, I only wanted to shake hands.”
Snivel stared at Casper’s hand. “Yeah, s-s-sorry. I’m n-not used to…”
There was an awkward shuffling while everyone worked out where to put their hands. Casper put his in his pockets and Lamp put his in Casper’s bag, but then Lamp wanted them back and couldn’t remember where he’d left them, so Casper had to take off his bag to find them for him.
All the while at the side of the group, Anemonie was desperately screeching commands at three girls and a skipping rope. The three girls and the skipping rope just laughed and carried on skipping.
“W-what’s wrong with her?” Snivel pointed at Anemonie.
“She’s used to being in charge,” sighed Casper.
“Y-yeah, sh-she’s not got a chance here. Not with the B-b-brewster b-brothers around.”
“But who are the Brewster brothers?”
A look of fear sketched itself across Snivel’s face. “Well, they’re b-big, and they r-run the place…”
“Like Mayor Rattsbulge,” said Lamp.
“…and they’ll t-take your l-lunch money…”
“So will Mayor Rattsbulge,” said Lamp.
“…and there’s f-f-four of them.”
“Like Mayor Rattsbulge,” said Lamp. “Except there’s only one of him.”
“THERE ’E IS!” Four enormous brutes with shaved heads and tiny foreheads, their sleeves rolled up to reveal hairy, tree-trunk arms, shoved through the crowd straight towards Snivel.
Anemonie spun round, opened her mouth, realised they were twice her size and closed it again.
“Brewster brothers?” whispered Casper.
“Yep.” Snivel was trembling. “And… erm… unless you want to b-be a r-rugby ball, you should r-really r-r-r—”
Casper guessed the rest of the word and dashed off across the playground, followed by Snivel and the rest of the terrified class, some screaming, some whimpering, one sneezing. (Ted Treadington was allergic to playgrounds.) Lamp considered becoming a rugby ball for a second, but then decided he preferred football, so he galumphed along behind.
“They’re huge!” shouted Casper as he ran down a plasticky-smelling corridor beside Snivel. “What have they got against you?”
“Erm…” Snivel had quite small legs so he had to run twice as fast. “You all f-first years?”
“Yeah. But what about—”
“M-me too. We’ve got geography.”
Casper groaned.
Teresa Louncher tripped over a Mind the Step sign and clattered to the floor. Casper picked her up, but she was crying too hard to carry on, so he hid her in a locker and promised to find her at break.
“It’s j-just up here.” Snivel guided them to the left into an identical corridor, up some stairs, through a heavy door and into a dull classroom with maps plastered all over the walls and ceiling.
The children collapsed into seats and caught their breath. It looked like the Brewster brothers hadn’t followed. In fact, given that there were quite a few children flying past their window and that they were on the second floor, Casper felt quite sure they were still outside.
“I don’t like big boys’ school any more,” huffed Lamp. “Can we go home now?”
Snivel was nervously watching through the glass of the classroom door.
“They knew you, Snivel,” said Casper, clutching the stitch in his side.
“Y-yeah…” muttered Snivel.
“But it’s only the first day. How did that happen so fast?”
Nervously, Snivel stuck out his pale little hand. “N-name’s S-s-snivel. S-snivel B-brewster. I’ve n-never shaken h-hands before.”
“They’re your brothers?” Casper shook his head. “But you’re so…”
“S-small?”
“Well, no. But I mean, compared to them.”
“I know. I’m the r-runt.”
The door burst open and everyone screamed, which made the skinny woman standing in the doorway scream even higher and cower behind her register. After a few tense moments she peeked out, saw no monsters and squeaked with relief. She had long brown hair and a mousy face that squeezed to a tip at her chin.
“Sorry. Hello, class; sorry.” The woman tiptoed to the teacher’s desk and sat low in the spinny chair, hiding as much of herself as she could behind a small stack of books.
“There you are, Lady!” shouted Lamp, bouncing up and down and pointing at the shivering stack of books. “I found you. Is it my turn to hide now?”
Casper grabbed Lamp just as he made for the nearest loose floorboard. “Come on, Lamp, time to sit down.” They found their way to some desks at the front.
The woman spoke quietly, to the floor rather than the class. “Sorry… erm… my name’s Miss Valenteen. I’m your geography teacher. If that’s OK. Sorry.” She opened the register with shaking fingers and called the first few names. “Daryl Ablebody?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Margarine Bannister?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Anemonie Blight?”
“Hmph.”
Casper glanced around for Anemonie, confused as to why she wasn’t terrorising Miss Valenteen already. This was the sort of teacher she’d usually eat for breakfast. (Not literally, of course. Anemonie’s breakfast was a bowl of Sickly-Pops with pink food colouring in the milk.) There she was, sitting at the back of the class with crossed arms and the sulkiest face since the village shop ran out of pink food colouring.
Miss Valenteen had stopped at the next name, her mouth too scared even to say the words. “Snivel,” – her teeth chattered – “Snivel B-brewster?”
“Y-yes, miss.”
Her eyes darted to Snivel. She frowned. “You’re the new Brewster boy?”
“Y-yes.”
“Oh, thank goodness for that.” Miss Valenteen’s shoulders sagged, her head dropped back, her mouth broke into a broad grin. “Well, that’s OK, then. I thought you were another of those ghastly Brewster brothers. But look at you! You couldn’t hurt a fly! Right, then.” She stood up, swept aside her book barrier and carried on as relieved as the fly currently buzzing round Snivel Brewster’s head. “Casper Candlewacks?”
“Yes, miss.”
Without the threat of a Brewster, Miss Valenteen continued the lesson a new woman. She sang the rest of the register and then tangoed round the classroom handing out textbooks.
As Casper watched poor Snivel set out his hand-me-down pencils next to his hand-me-down pencil sharpener, he felt a pang of pity. Imagine having to follow in the footsteps of the Brewster brothers. Your legs would get achy just trying to keep up, for starters.
Miss Valenteen clapped her hands. “OK, class, we’ll start with a geography test.”
“Oh no,” moaned Lamp, “I don’t even know where geography is.”
“Question one: what’s the capital of Mongolia?”
Lamp’s hand shot up.
“Yes?”
“Ulaanbaatar, miss. Population of just over a million, lying one thousand, three hundred and ten metres above sea level.”
“Well… yes!” said Miss Valenteen. “One point to you.”
There was a long pause, broken by a donk noise as Casper’s jaw hit the ground.
Lamp looked shocked, and quite rightly. He touched his lips with a doubting finger. Had those words really just come out of his mouth?
Miss Valenteen continued. “Question two: where is Brazil, and why?”
Lamp’s hand was the first up again. “The eastern side of South America, miss. It’s there because of continental drift caused by plate tectonics.”
“Right again! Two points to you.”
Lamp gazed at Casper in open-mouthed glee. “Did you see me do that?” he gasped. Lamp had never got more than one point on a test before (and that was in art when the task was ‘Draw your best impression of an ink splodge’).
The lesson went on, Lamp’s hand carried on shooting up and up, collecting points like a reckless driver in a speed-camera factory. The rest of the class didn’t stand a chance. Soon Casper’s mind drifted to the evening that lay ahead – opening night at The Battered Cod, two hundred demanding diners and a whole heap of washing-up. What if his dad blew up another oven? What if Cuddles threw another tantrum? What if Mayor Rattsbulge ate another table? The possibilities were too horrifying to consider.
Just as Lamp secured his forty-third point by solving the famine problem in Africa, the door slammed open and four burly young men, muscles stacked up to their chins, stomped through.
“LUNCH MUNNY!” shouted the biggest one.
The Brewster brothers had arrived.
All round Casper the terrified children hid behind their hands. Miss Valenteen dived under her desk with a squeal.
“S-stay calm,” whispered Snivel. “If you don’t m-move, they c-can’t see you.”
The Brewsters tromped round the classroom, collecting loose change in a bucket. Lamp proudly presented his Brewster an egg and found it stuffed into his mouth (which was fine by him).
“The b-biggest one’s Bash,” whispered Snivel. “Then there’s Spit, Clobber and P-pinchnurse.”
Casper frowned. “Pinchnurse?”
“W-we’re named after the first fing we do after we’re born. I s-snivelled. P-pinchnurse pinched a nurse.”
A Brewster, with one fat caterpillar of an eyebrow, stopped at Snivel’s table. “Lunch munny.”
“Clobber, it’s m-me.”
“You what?” A glimmer of recognition crossed Clobber’s eyebrow. “Pocket munny.”
As Snivel emptied his pockets, a shadow loomed over Casper’s desk, the fetid stench of hot-tuna breath filling his nostrils.
“Lunch munny.”
Trembling, Casper looked up. The biggest Brewster of all, the one Casper guessed was Bash, towered above him, his toothless grin and shrunken forehead punctuating a face that looked almost entirely like a bruised potato.
“I…” trembled Casper, “I d-don’t have any.”
Bash leant even closer. “Lunch munny,” he whispered, the tuna stink singeing Casper’s nose-hairs.
“I promise, I don’t have any! I’ve already given it to her.” Casper pointed at Anemonie and was relieved to find the biggest Brewster’s eyes searching for the point’s target.
“He’s lying! Don’t listen to hURRK—” Anemonie Blight was lifted upside down by a bushy-nose-haired Brewster and shaken around by her feet, loosening all the cash hidden in the lining of her blazer. Then she was dumped in a corner with all the other empties.
Bash scowled at Casper. “Tomorrah, you bring dubble.”
Casper nodded vigorously.
The brute pointed to his eyes and then Casper’s eyes and then to his own fist, which meant something vaguely threatening and dangerous, but Casper wasn’t quite sure what.
After the whole class had been done and Miss Valenteen had written out a cheque, Bash thanked everybody for their time and led his brothers away to the next classroom.
“S-sorry,” said Snivel. “You d-don’t want to m-make Bash angry.”
Casper smiled weakly. “I’ll try not to. How have you lasted this long?”
“Q-quite a lot of h-hiding.”
The lesson continued as before, except that Miss Valenteen was back to her shaky self. Lamp racked up goodness-knows-how-many points, a gold star and the Nobel Prize for Literature, while Casper and the rest of the class looked on agape.
When the bell rang, the kids skittered out of the room and down the corridor, peeping round each corner for Brewsters.
“How d’you do that back there, Lamp?” asked Casper.
Lamp shrugged. “Dunno. I think I was just lucky.”
“You can’t have just been lucky seventy-six times in a row!”
“Seventy-seven, actually.”
Next lesson was music, where Lamp played a faultless rendition of Beethoven’s First Piano Concerto on a tiny xylophone.
At lunch, Snivel was recruited by his brothers for a cricket match (he played the stumps). Casper and Lamp watched at the boundary, wincing every time one of the Brewsters was bowled out. Casper tried to recite The Battered Cod’s menu to Lamp from memory, but it got really tiring really fast after Lamp starting reciting it back to Casper in Latin.
In English, Lamp finished the grammar worksheet before Mr Falstaff could hand it out, and then in religious studies, he disproved three religions only to create four more.
The bus home was a sombre affair for everyone apart from Lamp. His blazer was covered in gold stars, so he was pretending to be the night sky.
“Look, Casper! This is Ursa Minor, and that’s the Big Dipper.” He marked out the shapes of the constellations with an excited finger. “And this is the Swallowing Donkey, and this one doesn’t have a name yet, so I’ll call it Trevor.”
Halfway home, Casper remembered that Teresa Louncher was still stuck in that locker. He swore he’d remember to let her out tomorrow.
On the back seat, Anemonie nibbled her fingernails and growled at anybody who came too close. She’d never been anything but Queen of the Classroom before (except once, when she declared herself Holy Empress of the Playground and got Ted Treadington to build her a temple out of lunchboxes). But now she was nothing more than a lowly peasant at the Court of Lord Brewster. That sort of thing stung.
“Can I come round?” asked Lamp. “I can’t remember where I left my house.”
“Not tonight. We’re doing the grand opening of The Battered Cod. You coming?”
“Will there be food?”
“It’s a restaurant. Of course there’ll be food.”
“Because I love it when there’s food.”
The tractor ground to a halt in Corne-on-the-Kobb’s village square and Sandy Landscape bellowed, “’Ere we are, kiddies, ’ome an’ dry, safe an’ sound, bread an’ drippin’. Don’t leave yer berlongin’s on the bus unless it’s sammiches.” The children tumbled out through the carriage door and scampered off home to cuddle their mummies. Lamp shuffled off with an eager wave, leaving Casper almost alone in the square.
Sitting on the step by the boarded-up cheese shop was that grubby Frenchman Renée, sucking on a tiny grey cigarette.
Casper waved.
“’Allo, boy.” His fat lips curled into a smile. “Are you being ready for… er… ze large evening?”
Casper nodded. The fact that Renée’s cheese shop was opening on the same night as his dad’s restaurant had been a worry, but not for long. The villagers liked cheese, but only when it came in heavy yellow bricks. French cheese, with all its liquid middles and herby crusts and essence de cowshed, would not appeal to the villagers one morsel.
Through the window of The Battered Cod, Casper could see Julius Candlewacks teetering on a ladder, grasping for a massive wonky lampshade that hung just out of reach.
“Better go and help,” grimaced Casper.
“Ah, c’est bon. Say ’allo to your fazzer.”
Casper trotted the rest of the way across the square.
Ting-a-ling.
“Dad?” Casper pushed open the restaurant door, caught the corner of the ladder and sent it toppling over, leaving Julius Candlewacks hanging from the lampshade.
“Help!” Julius flailed his legs about and suddenly realised he was terrified of heights. “I can’t hold on! I’m too young to die!”
“Just jump. It’s not far.”
“It’s miles! I’ll break my legs! Get me a parachute or something.”
“We don’t have a—”
RRRRIPPPP went the lampshade and, along with Julius, it tumbled to the carpet.
Julius checked he was alive, breathed a sigh of relief and then noticed how far the bit of lampshade in his hands was from the rest of the lampshade. “Oh.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“It’s fine!” He sprang to his feet with forced jollity. “It’s modern. Half a lampshade is the new lampshade. Soon everyone’ll be doing it. Now, plenty to do.” And he tottered off to look at the list of unfinished jobs scribbled all over the Today’s Specials blackboard.
It had just gone four o’clock, which left three hours until opening time.
“How can I help?” asked Casper.
“Right,” Julius read down the list. “You need to connect that oven, peel the spuds, get a new fridge, sweep up the old fridge, label the meat pile and fix the lock on the loo. Got that?”
Casper groaned.
Ting-a-ling.
“Caspy!” Casper’s mother, Amanda Candlewacks, burst through the restaurant door. She had long blonde hair, scratches all over her face and a wriggling baby in a bag slung over one shoulder. “Look at me, Caspy, I’m a real mother!”
“How was your first day with Cuddles?”
“Wonderful! We went to the park, she caught some squirrels, I lost her down the back of the tumble dryer—”
The baby screeched and thrashed about, gnashing its razor-sharp teeth. This was Cuddles, Casper’s sister, the least cuddly baby since Clemmie Answorth adopted a cactus. (The cactus didn’t last long, by the way. It was eaten by Cuddles, along with Clemmie Answorth’s shoes and purse and Don’t Eat my Cactus sign.)
“But I think she might be broken. Can you take a look at her, darling?” Amanda smiled sweetly at Casper.
It didn’t take long to see, or to smell, what was going on. “Mum, her nappy’s full. Like every day. You just need to change her.”
“Change her?” Amanda’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I like this one.”
“Not all of her, Mum. Just the nappy.”
“How do I do that?”
“I showed you yesterday.”
“But I need to do it today,” she giggled.
Casper sighed and laid Cuddles out on Table 4. His mum wasn’t a quick learner. She wasn’t even a slow learner. As it turned out, Amanda Candlewacks wasn’t a learner at all. What’s more, she was about eleven years late to this ‘mothering’ malarkey, and she couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. But today, with Casper going to school, Amanda was faced with her first full day of unaided mothering.
“All done,” said Casper, fastening the pin extra tightly. “And stop putting her in bags.”
“How else will I carry her? Some sort of trolley?” She burst into trills of fruity laughter.
“Yes, Mum. They call it a buggy.”
“Well, I call it a waste of money. If a bag’s good enough for my shopping, it’s good enough for my daughter. Anyway, I’m shattered. Your turn to look after her now!”
“No, Mum, I’m—”
“Thanks, Caspy, you’re a star.” Amanda collapsed where she stood and was snoring before she hit the floor.
“Great.”
Cuddles gnawed on her own foot.
Casper left Cuddles to peel the potatoes (her fangs were perfect for the job) and clomped through to the kitchen. Last week Julius had bought every single item from the Kitchens ’n’ More catalogue, and now the whole lot was squeezed into his minuscule new kitchen. Four-slot toasters were stacked on top of chrome-finished deep-fat fryers, all still wrapped in plastic and far from being plugged in. In fact, nothing was plugged in because the only thing Julius had forgotten was something to plug them all into. Until further notice the kitchen would be lit by dozens of torches hanging from the ceiling or propped up in mugs.
“Right,” said Julius from behind a stack of flat-pack shelving units. “Block your ears!”
Casper did as he was told, and just in time too, because the next moment a deafening buzz rocked the room. Casper dived behind the oven just before hundreds of knives jiggled from their rack and thunked to the linoleum floor where he’d been standing, sticking fast.
“DAD!” he bellowed. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
The noise stopped. Julius blew a cloud of sawdust from the tip of his power-drill like a spy with a smoking gun. “Drilling holes.”
“What for?”
“Electricity. This wall goes through to the restaurant so I’m sticking a wire through.”
“Just watch where you’re drilling. There’re water pipes and all sorts in there.”
“Trust me, Casp. I’ve done this before.” He winked and flipped down his goggles, then the drill roared into action again. The room shook, the wall wobbled, torches dropped from the ceiling and mugs rolled off tables, plunging the kitchen into darkness, but still Julius drilled on.
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Ivan Brett
Grab your glow in the dark trousers, Casper’s back in this third ridiculously hilarious, hilarously ridiculous madcap adventure.Most villages have an idiot but Casper's village is full of them. So being bright makes poor Casper something of an outsider.A side-splittingly funny for girls and boys, featuring a massive food fight, an evil French chef and a machine that fires omelettes…
Dedication
For Plato, Popper and Pop
Contents
Cover (#u28dd8783-6210-5389-b56b-ed30cfc95702)
Title Page
Dedication
Map
Hello
Chapter 1
Bon Voyage
Chapter 2
Big Boys’ School
Chapter 3
Five Brewsters and a Brainiac
Chapter 4
The Battered Cod
Chapter 5
Best Served Cold
Chapter 6
The Guilt Box
Chapter 7
A New Dawn
Chapter 8
The Best Defence
Chapter 9
A Village of Brainiacs
Chapter 10
Humble Pie
Chapter 10
Rematch
Chapter 11
Deep Cover Dining
Chapter 12
Molecular Gastronomy
Chapter 13
What Happens Tomorrow
Chapter 13b
What Happens the Next Day
Chapter 14
Brain Food
Chapter 15
Breaking Bread
Mr Flanty’s Pi Song
Copyright
About the Publisher
More adventures with
Casper Candlewacks in Death by Pigeon!
Casper Candlewacks in the Claws of Crime!
Map
Hello.
You’ve all heard of the old English tradition of the Village Idiot, right? No? Well then…
There’s this age-old law in Britain, passed through Parliament over one million years ago, that decreed the following (translated from caveman): ‘Every collection of stone huts shall, at all times, contain one idiot.’ It’s thought that this law aimed to cheer up the people’s boring lives, giving them something to laugh at between sessions of boar-hunting or wheel-inventing.
Fast-forward to the present day and if you visit any English village you’ll still find their idiot. Follow the curious smell and muddy footprints, look out for the man in a bobble hat chasing pigeons. Throw him a penny and the rest of your sandwich and thank him for his hard work – people like him are what make Britain great.
But there’s one village where things are slightly different. You see, in Corne-on-the-Kobb, a pretty little village with a pretty little cobbled square hidden away in the picturesque Kobb Valley, there isn’t an idiot. In Corne-on-the-Kobb there are about two hundred. In fact, every single person who lives in Corne-on-the-Kobb is a magnificently, hilariously wonderful specimen of a village idiot, all apart from one blond-haired scruffy boy called Casper Candlewacks.
Casper is the only non-idiot in Corne-on-the-Kobb, and that’s why he’s interesting. When an arrogant Italian magician cursed the village, only Casper could un-curse it. When an evil cat burglar stole the village’s precious bejewelled sword, only Casper could steal it back. When somebody filled their trousers with custard, only Casper could work the washing machine and tumble dryer and get the trousers back to them, custard free, in under forty-eight hours.
You get the point. Corne-on-the-Kobb is a village of idiots, and that’s the way it’ll always be. Or is it?
(Yes, it is.)
But is it?
(Yes.)
Look, have you read this book?
(Not yet, no.)
Well, get on with it! You might learn something.
(Sorry. I’ll read it now.)
“Lamp? You up yet?” Casper Candlewacks hauled open the corrugated door, flooding the garage with the morning’s sunlight. “It’s gone half seven and we really shouldn’t miss the bus. Not on our first day.”
There was a loud bump upstairs as Lamp Flannigan fell out of bed. “Casper?” came the muffled reply. “Where are you? All I can see is carpet.”
“You’re on the floor, Lamp. Come on, we haven’t got long.” Casper wriggled in his starched black blazer and loosened his tie. The emblem on Casper’s breast pocket showed a snake strangling a bear, with ‘SSSS’ written below in curly writing. This stood for ‘St Simian’s School for Seniors’ (not the sound the snake was making, as Casper had first thought).
Casper hated the idea of school uniform. Until the start of the summer he’d been at Corne-on-the-Kobb Primary, where the dress code was ‘clothes, if you have them’. But, just like Free Envelope Week at the Corne-on-the-Kobb Envelope ’n’ Bin Liner MegaMarket, all good things must come to an end. St Simian’s demanded a white shirt, black blazer, stiff grey trousers that creased like cardboard and shiny black shoes, all topped off with a mustard-yellow tie. Casper’s mum had forgotten about the shoes until last night so she’d dipped his trainers into a tin of black paint. They felt crispy. Casper had had a go at taming his bushy mess of blond hair, but after losing two combs and a metal fork he decided to leave it as it was.
To Casper, Lamp Flannigan’s garage felt just like home. He’d spent the whole summer here, building ‘Bubbel Buggies’ and ‘Bluff Boilers’ and getting progressively oilier day by day. But a newcomer to the garage would struggle to believe this magical junkyard kingdom was even real. Piles of metal, batteries and raw pasta littered the floor next to boxes filled with wires and bleeping circuit boards. Mad contraptions the shape of armadillos or saxophones (or both) whirred, clicked and honked from every worktop. A pot of smoking silver stuff bubbled away on the edge of a wooden shelf, while a robot with three wheels and a tennis racket for a head trundled in wobbly loops across the floor after a squealing self-bouncing tennis ball. Under a shelf full of wrenches sat a large chicken hutch with a Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the front.
Two things had changed since yesterday. First, there was a new heap of scrap metal in Junk Corner, which was the place Lamp liked to keep his stuff when Bric-a-Brac Basket was full. Along with the usual old tat was a huge blue canister with a nozzle at the top and Helium printed on the front. But the second new thing really captured Casper’s attention. A pulsing, wheezing contraption took up most of the space on the workbench, replacing the gearbox filled with jam that had sat there yesterday, but now sat on the floor, gathering ants. Casper didn’t mind; this new machine was miles more exciting than Lamp’s jammy gearbox. A set of red bagpipes floated in the air like a tartan zeppelin, tethered in place by several lengths of string reaching up from a heavy iron rack. Strapped tightly round the bagpipes’ belly was a bleeping calculator fastened on to a leather belt; the mouthpiece had been extended up into a big yellow bowl that waggled in polite circles above the rest of the machine. The instrument had three wooden pipes, two of which were connected to each other with a length of rubber tube, while the third was taped to the long black neck of a vacuum cleaner that swung about close to the floor like a clumsy tail.
“It cooks omlits,” said Lamp. “D’you want one?”
Casper jumped. “Crikey! How did you get down here?”
A short podgy boy with a scrub of soot-black hair and a pear-shaped dongle of a nose stood in the far corner of the garage. In his left hand was a huge red helium balloon; in the other was an anchor on a string. He wore a blazer just like Casper’s (except the arms went down to his knees), his trousers were three sizes too small and his tie was made of yellow sofa fabric, looped twice round his neck and knotted in the middle. “I built a lift!” grinned Lamp.
“Ah…” Above Lamp’s head there was a hole in the ceiling, just the right size for a large red helium balloon, a boy and an anchor to fit through. “Ahh.”
“Look.” Lamp let go of the anchor and the balloon lifted him into the air.
Casper giggled. “Come back down here!”
Lamp disappeared through the hole in the ceiling. “Hang on,” he called. “I need another anchor.” There was some clunking, and a moment later down he floated with a second anchor on a string. “It’s for when the stairs are broken,” said Lamp, tethering his balloon to a handy knob he’d glued to the wall. “I get through a lot of anchors, though.”
“Can’t you reuse them?”
Lamp chuckled. “Don’t be silly.”
“Anyway, what did you say this thing was?” Casper turned back to the captive bagpipes.
“It’s my Omlit Gun,” smiled Lamp. “It makes lovely omlits and shoots them out here.” He waggled the head of the vacuum-cleaner neck in Casper’s direction.
Casper ducked, just in case. “Omelettes? I should’ve guessed.” He was used to Lamp’s eggy inventions by now. Two months ago Lamp had found Mavis and Bessie, the two egg-laying hens, sitting on his doorstep with a note saying they were his distant cousins. He took them in and gave them a coop, and in return the girls always made sure he had a surplus of eggs to invent stuff with.
The bagpipes let out a weary wheeze.
“So? Does it work?” asked Casper, slightly fearing the answer.
“Dunno,” shrugged Lamp. “Let’s give it a try. Ladies?”
Mavis and Bessie, Lamp’s two prize egg-laying hens and long-distant cousins on his mum’s side, popped their rubbery heads out of the coop and clucked sleepily. Mavis, the darker one, flipped over the Do Not Disturb sign with her beak. The other side said The Hens Are In. Please Knock.
Lamp lifted the lid of the hens’ coop to pick out two speckly brown eggs. “Watch this!” He did a little trot on the spot, galumphed over to the Omelette Gun and cracked both eggs into the yellow bowl.
The machine wobbled into motion, a nauseous groan from the belly of the bagpipes tightening into a tuneless wheeze. The strings grew taut, the bag puffed fuller and the eggs slipped down the mouthpiece and out of view. Then the pipes began to whistle a screeching, tuneless tune, a melody of such demonic ugliness that even when Casper blocked his ears, he could smell how bad it sounded.
Lamp did a highland jig around the garage.
The screech rose louder, the bag pumped fuller, the strings stretched and frayed to hold it still, and then when Casper was sure the thing was about to explode, there was a tremendous rattle as something shot down the vacuum-cleaner neck and spat across the garage, splurging against the far wall and sticking fast.
Casper dared to unblock his ears. “Wow.”
Lamp grinned. “Wait for it…”
CHOO!
With a final sneeze, the vacuum cleaner belched a cloud of herbs after the omelette, which filled the air like edible confetti.
Casper could do nothing else but clap. “Amazing!” he cheered. “Encore!”
Lamp bowed deeply. “I thank you,” he said. “Want one? There’s plenty more eggs.”
Before Casper could answer, Lamp was already back at the coop, rooting around in the straw. His face crumpled into a frown. “Strange…”
“What’s up?”
“I can’t find any more eggs. What with the two I’ve already got this morning that means today they’ve only laid…” Lamp pulled his arm from the coop and counted up on his fingers, “…six. I mean ten.”
“Two,” said Casper.
“Exactly. Three. That’s the lowest yet.”
Apart from the counting part, Lamp was absolutely right. Until a couple of weeks ago, Mavis and Bessie were prize egg-layers. They’d pump out eggs like faulty bubblegum machines, filling their coop right to the top and proudly sitting on the lid. But something had changed because each morning the boys would find fewer and fewer eggs, with no explanation why.
“I don’t like this,” said Casper suspiciously. “Maybe they’re ill or something.”
“Chicken pox?” said Lamp.
“Do chickens get chicken pox?”
“Er, yeah.” Lamp clicked his teeth. “Clue’s in the name, silly.”
Bessie pecked at a little vending machine. It gave a bloop and its dispenser scattered a handful of seeds on to the garage floor.
“Come on, Lamp, we’ve a bus to catch.”
“Ooh!” Lamp squealed. “We’re going to big boys’ school!”
The pit of Casper’s stomach wiggled. He wished he shared his friend’s enthusiasm, but in truth, he was terrified. Corne-on-the-Kobb wasn’t big enough to have its own senior school, so once the kids were old enough, they were shipped off to the sprawling city of High Kobb. You could see its grey towers from the top of the Corne-on-the-Kobb village hall, climbing high into the clouds and beyond, probably into space. Casper had never been to High Kobb, or any city, as a matter of fact. The villagers had told stories and Casper had listened, quivering: the never-ending traffic, murderers on every street corner and giant alligators that crawl out of the sewers and eat your firstborn. Cities struck fear into Casper’s heart. And now he had to go to school inside one!
If Casper survived the day, though, he’d have worse waiting for him back in Corne-on-the-Kobb. Tonight was the opening of his dad’s brand-new restaurant, an event two months and three kitchen fires in the making. Casper was to be head waiter and mopper of spills, his least favourite job since nappy-recycling.
“Oh, Casper, aren’t we gonna have so much fun?”
Casper was jolted back to reality as Lamp stuffed a handful of marbles and an iron into his oil-stained backpack.
“D’you think they have chairs there? Otherwise I’ll take this one with me.”
“They’ve already got chairs. I think. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
“Race you to the bus!” Lamp galumphed out of the garage and veered left down the road.
“This way, Lamp.”
“Righty-ho!” He wheeled round and galumphed back into the garage.
Lamp Flannigan was Casper’s best friend. He wasn’t the fizziest bottle in the fridge in terms of brain power. Directions weren’t his strong point, and neither were counting, spelling, herding cattle, walking, breathing, not falling into puddles… Actually, this list is going to continue for an awfully long time. To save money and rainforests it’d be easier to flag up his one and only strong point. Lamp Flannigan was an absolute genius at inventing. He invented the things that nobody in their right mind would ever attempt. But that’s the point: Lamp didn’t have a right mind. He didn’t even have a left mind. He had a sort of slushy heap that mulched around in his skull and gurgled when you shook it. But whatever it was, it sure as beans made him good at inventing. He’d invented telepathic typewriters that type what you think and collapsible caravans that fit into your lunchbox. He’d made rubber paint for bouncy walls and disposable flags that you only wave once. Inventing wasn’t just Lamp’s hobby, it was his life.
Casper walked through the park with Lamp trotting behind him, stopping every so often to sniff a flower or re-Velcro his shoes.
At the entrance to the village square sat Casper’s dad’s brand-new restaurant, The Battered Cod. There were about two weeks’ worth of jobs to do before The Battered Cod was ready to open, which was fine, except that tonight was the opening night.
Ting-a-ling.
“Casp!” The balding head of Julius, Casper’s dad, popped out of the front door like a hairy egg, but without much hair. “Glad I found you. Can you help me with this oven? It’s still in bits, and Cuddles ate the manual.”
“Sorry, I can’t. The bus leaves any minute.”
“Bus? Where d’you think you’re going on a school day, young man?”
“School, Dad. St Simian’s, remember?”
“Oh yes.” Julius scratched his scalp. “Course I remember. Well, have fun. I’ll just do the oven myself, then.”
“Good luck,” Casper grimaced. He wouldn’t normally leave his dad alone with an oven, even though he was a chef. “Don’t… explode… or anything.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Hi, Mister Candlewacks,” piped up Lamp.
“Hi, Lamp.” Julius waved and disappeared back into his restaurant.
Ting-a-ling.
(One thing Julius had fixed was the thing that went ting-a-ling when you opened or closed the door. It’s a very important piece of equipment, particularly to deter robbers, who are generally terrified of bells.)
The village square was packed that morning with weeping mothers and trembling children standing by a huge train carriage lashed to a green tractor. It was the closest thing to a school bus Corne-on-the-Kobb could muster, but it didn’t half look grand there, grumbling away on the cobbles. In the centre of the square stood the massive gleaming stone statue of Mayor Rattsbulge, clutching his bejewelled sword in one hammy fist.
The real Mayor Rattsbulge stood in the shadow of his chiselled stone twin, twice as fat, not nearly as handsome, and clutching a sausage rather than a sword. The statue had been finished two weeks ago, and every day since, the mayor had stood proudly beside it, pointing it out to passers-by and loudly telling them how accurate it was.
Other villagers trotted across the cobbles on their morning errands, waving at each other and giving their mayor a wide berth. Betty Woons – a sprightly 107-year-old – whizzed in skittering circles across the square in her turbo-powered wheelchair, running over so many toes that she lost count and had to start again; village gardener Sandy Landscape leant against a wall, chatting to a hedge; bent-backed Mrs Trimble tugged at the nine leads attached to the collars of nine stubborn cats that licked their paws and meowed throatily; and four-foot-tall pub landlord Mitch McMassive puffed and wheezed as he tried once more to roll an enormous beer barrel towards The Horse and Horse, only for it to roll backwards and flatten him against the cobbles.
Casper and Lamp passed through the crowd, bumping into a grubby little man with a pinched face hidden under his grubby black beret.
“Hullo, Mr Renée!” Lamp said.
“’Allo, boys,” growled Renée in his thick French drawl. He grinned, his rubbery lips parting to reveal a few brown teeth. In the corner of his mouth hung a soggy, thin cigarette that wobbled as he talked. Renée’s gaze settled on Casper, and Caspar shivered.
“Hi,” Casper said briskly. He didn’t know why Renée made his skin crawl like that. He wasn’t a cruel man, just a little cold. Renée had come to Corne-on-the-Kobb from France a couple of months ago. Quite why he’d done that, nobody had bothered to ask. None of the other villagers paid the poor chap the slightest bit of attention because he was French. (The people of Corne-on-the-Kobb were scared of two things: foreigners and dinosaurs. Renée was at least one of those.)
“How’s your cheese shop getting along?” asked Casper politely.
“Ah, not bad, not bad,” nodded Renée. “I think it will be making quite ze splash.”
“Why?” Lamp scratched his hair. “Is it wet?”
Renée frowned and reached for the little English dictionary he’d taken to keeping in a pocket. “I, er, do not…”
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Casper, motioning for Renée to put his dictionary away. “He just means to say how excited we are about tasting all your cheese.”
“Heh,” said Renée, breaking into a gruff smile. “Yes. Ze cheese.” He winked at Lamp and turned to shuffle away.
Casper turned to Lamp and saw that he was grinning. “What was that wink?”
“Huh?”
“ALL ABOARD, TICKETS ’N’ RAILCARDS, MIND THE GAP!” shouted Sandy Landscape, clambering up the side of his tractor. “TRAIN NOW STANDIN’ ON PLATFORM ONE’S THE TEN PAST EIGHT TER HIGH KOBB.”
As children tottered up on to the train carriage and mothers wailed ever louder, Casper’s nerves flooded back in and stung him like a mouthful of seawater. What waited for him at the other end of this journey? Did High Kobb really have alligators? Would he even make it home to see the opening of The Battered Cod?
The ‘bus’ roared into life, pumping black fumes and a sleeping hedgehog out of the exhaust pipe and into the crowd. The tractor shunted forwards and the carriage jerked into motion behind, throwing the children back in their seats. The villagers cheered, tearful mothers waved their hankies and little children and dogs chased the carriage down the road, although it wasn’t going very fast so they just stood there and wondered what to do once they’d caught up with it.
At the back of the crowd, Renée shuffled away across the cobbles. He stopped at the door to a boarded-up shop with a small sign that said Le Cheese Shop. He open tonight. He fiddled with the key, pushed open the door and shuffled inside. But that’s not important because Renée’s obviously not anyone to worry about and he’s certainly not hatching any evil plans or anything. Don’t even know why I mentioned him, actually.
The country lanes trawled by slower than a lazy snail. Casper smudged his nose on the window of the train and sighed. Summer was over and school was ready to take its place, filling his days with boredom and sums.
Casper and Lamp sat at one of those four-seat tables opposite Milly and Milly Mollyband, the identical twins (who’d been given the same name to save time and name-badges). They’d obviously heard about the alligators too because they both trembled so hard that Lamp thought there was an earthquake going on.
Eventually, Lamp decided he liked earthquakes, so Casper had some more time to look out of the window. When he looked back, Lamp was scratching his oily black hair and then sniffing his finger. “Strawberry,” he said. “Must be Monday.”
Casper frowned. “What?”
“I invented a shampoo that knows what day it is. It changes flavour to match. Monday means strawberry.”
“Oh…” Casper frowned.
“And you know I smelt of eggs yesterday?”
“Was that the shampoo too?”
“Nope, I’d just been eating them. Got my last three here. Want one?” He pulled three boiled eggs from an inner pocket of his blazer.
Casper took an egg to keep Lamp happy and placed it carefully in his backpack.
Lamp licked his lips and saved his two for later.
“OY! WOSSAT?” A shriek tore from the back of the carriage.
“It’s Anemonie!” whispered Casper. “What does she want?”
“I want that! It’s mine!” A small, pointy-nosed girl with squinty eyes and dark hair stomped up the aisle, pointing straight at Lamp with her sharpened pink fingernails. Her sickly sweet perfume made Casper gag.
Lamp plunged his eggs into his pocket and pretended to be asleep.
“What were you holding? Give it.”
“Zzzzzz,” snored Lamp. Then he opened one eye and whispered, “Has she gone yet, Casper?”
Anemonie Blight jabbed a few fingernails into Lamp’s side.
“Ouch! I mean… zzz. Oh, bother.” The game was up.
“Give it.” Anemonie reached for a sharp-tipped pencil that she kept behind her ear. “Last warning, Flannigan. This pencil is leaded.”
“Fine. Didn’t want it, anyway.” Lamp withdrew his trembling hand from the pocket clutching one of the boiled eggs.
“An egg?” Anemonie’s face wrinkled with disgust. She swatted the egg at Milly Mollyband, but it missed and struck Milly Mollyband.
Anemonie snarled. “Now, gimme your lunch money.”
“That was my lunch,” said Lamp, staring hungrily at Milly Mollyband’s blazer.
“How ’bout yours, then, Candlewacks?” Anemonie swung the pencil towards Casper.
Casper considered giving Anemonie his egg as well, but he valued not having a pencil sticking out of his face a bit too much for that. The two one-pound coins that he’d brought for lunch weighed heavily in his pocket. Begrudgingly, he handed them over.
“There. Not so hard, was it?” Anemonie smiled her sickly smile and skipped away back down the carriage to play ‘Ding Dong Bell’ on Teresa Louncher’s pigtails.
Casper sighed. Anemonie had been stealing his lunch money for as long as he could remember, but for some reason he thought going to senior school would change things.
One of Teresa’s pigtails landed on his table with a plap. Evidently things hadn’t changed.
“I miss my egg,” moaned Lamp.
“Here. Have mine.” Giving Lamp his egg back cheered him hugely. He sang some jolly songs until he ran out of breath, and then he went blue because he forgot to breathe in again, so Casper had to remind him.
The road bent round and Casper caught his first sight of High Kobb – an ugly mass of grey towers and belching chimneys scarring the beautiful landscape like a scab on a princess.
As the country roads became paved streets, Casper longed to be home again. The endless dusty concrete and nose-to-tail traffic made his heart sink. Luckily he saw no alligators in the gutters and the people walking the streets looked like businessmen, not murderers. But their business might have been murdering people, so Casper didn’t fully relax.
The tractor turned a corner and rolled up through a pair of massive wrought-iron gates, grinding to a halt inside a drab concrete playground full of pupils dressed in black blazers and yellow ties.
“My new kingdom!” screeched Anemonie. “Move outta the way, I’m getting off first.” She barged Ted Treadington aside with a well-placed elbow, and the rest of the kids scurried out of the aisle to let her pass.
Anemonie jumped down the steps and landed with her arms outstretched on the tarmac. “All right, boys and girls, listen up or I’ll spread you on my toast. The name’s Anemonie Blight and I’m in charge here.”
The High Kobb kids ran about, skipping and jumping and paying absolutely no attention.
“I SAID LISTEN!” Anemonie’s face swelled redder.
Casper, Lamp and the bolder Corne-on-the-Kobb kids tiptoed off the carriage and stood behind Anemonie.
Sixteen older kids whooshed past after a football, creating a small hurricane that blew over Milly and Milly Mollyband.
“YOU BOYS. STOP IT! I’M ANEMONIE BLIGHT! I’M ANEMONIE BLIGHT! LISTEN TO ME!”
A scruffy little boy came flying through the air and crunched to the ground at Anemonie’s feet.
Anemonie screamed.
Casper dashed forward and shoved Anemonie out of the way. The boy looked pretty dazed. “Are you OK?”
“Casper,” gasped Lamp, “did you see that? They can fly in big boys’ school!”
The boy had short, shaven hair and a bony little face. His uniform was made of faded baggy hand-me-downs and there was a cut on his lip. He blinked a few times and then his eyes focused on Casper. “I’m f-f-fine. Just playing r-rugby.”
Casper frowned. “Then why were you—”
“I was the b-ball.”
“Oh.”
“Not my f-f-favourite position,” the boy said. “The B-brewster b-brothers chose it.”
“The Brewster brothers?”
“You’re n-not from r-round here, are you?” Wincing, the boy made his way to a standing position. “My name’s S-snivel. I know what you’re finking. S-stupid name.”
“It’s not that stupid,” said Casper. “He’s called Lamp.”
Lamp waved.
“And I’m Casper.” Casper went to shake Snivel’s hand, but he jumped back, terrified. “Don’t worry, I only wanted to shake hands.”
Snivel stared at Casper’s hand. “Yeah, s-s-sorry. I’m n-not used to…”
There was an awkward shuffling while everyone worked out where to put their hands. Casper put his in his pockets and Lamp put his in Casper’s bag, but then Lamp wanted them back and couldn’t remember where he’d left them, so Casper had to take off his bag to find them for him.
All the while at the side of the group, Anemonie was desperately screeching commands at three girls and a skipping rope. The three girls and the skipping rope just laughed and carried on skipping.
“W-what’s wrong with her?” Snivel pointed at Anemonie.
“She’s used to being in charge,” sighed Casper.
“Y-yeah, sh-she’s not got a chance here. Not with the B-b-brewster b-brothers around.”
“But who are the Brewster brothers?”
A look of fear sketched itself across Snivel’s face. “Well, they’re b-big, and they r-run the place…”
“Like Mayor Rattsbulge,” said Lamp.
“…and they’ll t-take your l-lunch money…”
“So will Mayor Rattsbulge,” said Lamp.
“…and there’s f-f-four of them.”
“Like Mayor Rattsbulge,” said Lamp. “Except there’s only one of him.”
“THERE ’E IS!” Four enormous brutes with shaved heads and tiny foreheads, their sleeves rolled up to reveal hairy, tree-trunk arms, shoved through the crowd straight towards Snivel.
Anemonie spun round, opened her mouth, realised they were twice her size and closed it again.
“Brewster brothers?” whispered Casper.
“Yep.” Snivel was trembling. “And… erm… unless you want to b-be a r-rugby ball, you should r-really r-r-r—”
Casper guessed the rest of the word and dashed off across the playground, followed by Snivel and the rest of the terrified class, some screaming, some whimpering, one sneezing. (Ted Treadington was allergic to playgrounds.) Lamp considered becoming a rugby ball for a second, but then decided he preferred football, so he galumphed along behind.
“They’re huge!” shouted Casper as he ran down a plasticky-smelling corridor beside Snivel. “What have they got against you?”
“Erm…” Snivel had quite small legs so he had to run twice as fast. “You all f-first years?”
“Yeah. But what about—”
“M-me too. We’ve got geography.”
Casper groaned.
Teresa Louncher tripped over a Mind the Step sign and clattered to the floor. Casper picked her up, but she was crying too hard to carry on, so he hid her in a locker and promised to find her at break.
“It’s j-just up here.” Snivel guided them to the left into an identical corridor, up some stairs, through a heavy door and into a dull classroom with maps plastered all over the walls and ceiling.
The children collapsed into seats and caught their breath. It looked like the Brewster brothers hadn’t followed. In fact, given that there were quite a few children flying past their window and that they were on the second floor, Casper felt quite sure they were still outside.
“I don’t like big boys’ school any more,” huffed Lamp. “Can we go home now?”
Snivel was nervously watching through the glass of the classroom door.
“They knew you, Snivel,” said Casper, clutching the stitch in his side.
“Y-yeah…” muttered Snivel.
“But it’s only the first day. How did that happen so fast?”
Nervously, Snivel stuck out his pale little hand. “N-name’s S-s-snivel. S-snivel B-brewster. I’ve n-never shaken h-hands before.”
“They’re your brothers?” Casper shook his head. “But you’re so…”
“S-small?”
“Well, no. But I mean, compared to them.”
“I know. I’m the r-runt.”
The door burst open and everyone screamed, which made the skinny woman standing in the doorway scream even higher and cower behind her register. After a few tense moments she peeked out, saw no monsters and squeaked with relief. She had long brown hair and a mousy face that squeezed to a tip at her chin.
“Sorry. Hello, class; sorry.” The woman tiptoed to the teacher’s desk and sat low in the spinny chair, hiding as much of herself as she could behind a small stack of books.
“There you are, Lady!” shouted Lamp, bouncing up and down and pointing at the shivering stack of books. “I found you. Is it my turn to hide now?”
Casper grabbed Lamp just as he made for the nearest loose floorboard. “Come on, Lamp, time to sit down.” They found their way to some desks at the front.
The woman spoke quietly, to the floor rather than the class. “Sorry… erm… my name’s Miss Valenteen. I’m your geography teacher. If that’s OK. Sorry.” She opened the register with shaking fingers and called the first few names. “Daryl Ablebody?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Margarine Bannister?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Anemonie Blight?”
“Hmph.”
Casper glanced around for Anemonie, confused as to why she wasn’t terrorising Miss Valenteen already. This was the sort of teacher she’d usually eat for breakfast. (Not literally, of course. Anemonie’s breakfast was a bowl of Sickly-Pops with pink food colouring in the milk.) There she was, sitting at the back of the class with crossed arms and the sulkiest face since the village shop ran out of pink food colouring.
Miss Valenteen had stopped at the next name, her mouth too scared even to say the words. “Snivel,” – her teeth chattered – “Snivel B-brewster?”
“Y-yes, miss.”
Her eyes darted to Snivel. She frowned. “You’re the new Brewster boy?”
“Y-yes.”
“Oh, thank goodness for that.” Miss Valenteen’s shoulders sagged, her head dropped back, her mouth broke into a broad grin. “Well, that’s OK, then. I thought you were another of those ghastly Brewster brothers. But look at you! You couldn’t hurt a fly! Right, then.” She stood up, swept aside her book barrier and carried on as relieved as the fly currently buzzing round Snivel Brewster’s head. “Casper Candlewacks?”
“Yes, miss.”
Without the threat of a Brewster, Miss Valenteen continued the lesson a new woman. She sang the rest of the register and then tangoed round the classroom handing out textbooks.
As Casper watched poor Snivel set out his hand-me-down pencils next to his hand-me-down pencil sharpener, he felt a pang of pity. Imagine having to follow in the footsteps of the Brewster brothers. Your legs would get achy just trying to keep up, for starters.
Miss Valenteen clapped her hands. “OK, class, we’ll start with a geography test.”
“Oh no,” moaned Lamp, “I don’t even know where geography is.”
“Question one: what’s the capital of Mongolia?”
Lamp’s hand shot up.
“Yes?”
“Ulaanbaatar, miss. Population of just over a million, lying one thousand, three hundred and ten metres above sea level.”
“Well… yes!” said Miss Valenteen. “One point to you.”
There was a long pause, broken by a donk noise as Casper’s jaw hit the ground.
Lamp looked shocked, and quite rightly. He touched his lips with a doubting finger. Had those words really just come out of his mouth?
Miss Valenteen continued. “Question two: where is Brazil, and why?”
Lamp’s hand was the first up again. “The eastern side of South America, miss. It’s there because of continental drift caused by plate tectonics.”
“Right again! Two points to you.”
Lamp gazed at Casper in open-mouthed glee. “Did you see me do that?” he gasped. Lamp had never got more than one point on a test before (and that was in art when the task was ‘Draw your best impression of an ink splodge’).
The lesson went on, Lamp’s hand carried on shooting up and up, collecting points like a reckless driver in a speed-camera factory. The rest of the class didn’t stand a chance. Soon Casper’s mind drifted to the evening that lay ahead – opening night at The Battered Cod, two hundred demanding diners and a whole heap of washing-up. What if his dad blew up another oven? What if Cuddles threw another tantrum? What if Mayor Rattsbulge ate another table? The possibilities were too horrifying to consider.
Just as Lamp secured his forty-third point by solving the famine problem in Africa, the door slammed open and four burly young men, muscles stacked up to their chins, stomped through.
“LUNCH MUNNY!” shouted the biggest one.
The Brewster brothers had arrived.
All round Casper the terrified children hid behind their hands. Miss Valenteen dived under her desk with a squeal.
“S-stay calm,” whispered Snivel. “If you don’t m-move, they c-can’t see you.”
The Brewsters tromped round the classroom, collecting loose change in a bucket. Lamp proudly presented his Brewster an egg and found it stuffed into his mouth (which was fine by him).
“The b-biggest one’s Bash,” whispered Snivel. “Then there’s Spit, Clobber and P-pinchnurse.”
Casper frowned. “Pinchnurse?”
“W-we’re named after the first fing we do after we’re born. I s-snivelled. P-pinchnurse pinched a nurse.”
A Brewster, with one fat caterpillar of an eyebrow, stopped at Snivel’s table. “Lunch munny.”
“Clobber, it’s m-me.”
“You what?” A glimmer of recognition crossed Clobber’s eyebrow. “Pocket munny.”
As Snivel emptied his pockets, a shadow loomed over Casper’s desk, the fetid stench of hot-tuna breath filling his nostrils.
“Lunch munny.”
Trembling, Casper looked up. The biggest Brewster of all, the one Casper guessed was Bash, towered above him, his toothless grin and shrunken forehead punctuating a face that looked almost entirely like a bruised potato.
“I…” trembled Casper, “I d-don’t have any.”
Bash leant even closer. “Lunch munny,” he whispered, the tuna stink singeing Casper’s nose-hairs.
“I promise, I don’t have any! I’ve already given it to her.” Casper pointed at Anemonie and was relieved to find the biggest Brewster’s eyes searching for the point’s target.
“He’s lying! Don’t listen to hURRK—” Anemonie Blight was lifted upside down by a bushy-nose-haired Brewster and shaken around by her feet, loosening all the cash hidden in the lining of her blazer. Then she was dumped in a corner with all the other empties.
Bash scowled at Casper. “Tomorrah, you bring dubble.”
Casper nodded vigorously.
The brute pointed to his eyes and then Casper’s eyes and then to his own fist, which meant something vaguely threatening and dangerous, but Casper wasn’t quite sure what.
After the whole class had been done and Miss Valenteen had written out a cheque, Bash thanked everybody for their time and led his brothers away to the next classroom.
“S-sorry,” said Snivel. “You d-don’t want to m-make Bash angry.”
Casper smiled weakly. “I’ll try not to. How have you lasted this long?”
“Q-quite a lot of h-hiding.”
The lesson continued as before, except that Miss Valenteen was back to her shaky self. Lamp racked up goodness-knows-how-many points, a gold star and the Nobel Prize for Literature, while Casper and the rest of the class looked on agape.
When the bell rang, the kids skittered out of the room and down the corridor, peeping round each corner for Brewsters.
“How d’you do that back there, Lamp?” asked Casper.
Lamp shrugged. “Dunno. I think I was just lucky.”
“You can’t have just been lucky seventy-six times in a row!”
“Seventy-seven, actually.”
Next lesson was music, where Lamp played a faultless rendition of Beethoven’s First Piano Concerto on a tiny xylophone.
At lunch, Snivel was recruited by his brothers for a cricket match (he played the stumps). Casper and Lamp watched at the boundary, wincing every time one of the Brewsters was bowled out. Casper tried to recite The Battered Cod’s menu to Lamp from memory, but it got really tiring really fast after Lamp starting reciting it back to Casper in Latin.
In English, Lamp finished the grammar worksheet before Mr Falstaff could hand it out, and then in religious studies, he disproved three religions only to create four more.
The bus home was a sombre affair for everyone apart from Lamp. His blazer was covered in gold stars, so he was pretending to be the night sky.
“Look, Casper! This is Ursa Minor, and that’s the Big Dipper.” He marked out the shapes of the constellations with an excited finger. “And this is the Swallowing Donkey, and this one doesn’t have a name yet, so I’ll call it Trevor.”
Halfway home, Casper remembered that Teresa Louncher was still stuck in that locker. He swore he’d remember to let her out tomorrow.
On the back seat, Anemonie nibbled her fingernails and growled at anybody who came too close. She’d never been anything but Queen of the Classroom before (except once, when she declared herself Holy Empress of the Playground and got Ted Treadington to build her a temple out of lunchboxes). But now she was nothing more than a lowly peasant at the Court of Lord Brewster. That sort of thing stung.
“Can I come round?” asked Lamp. “I can’t remember where I left my house.”
“Not tonight. We’re doing the grand opening of The Battered Cod. You coming?”
“Will there be food?”
“It’s a restaurant. Of course there’ll be food.”
“Because I love it when there’s food.”
The tractor ground to a halt in Corne-on-the-Kobb’s village square and Sandy Landscape bellowed, “’Ere we are, kiddies, ’ome an’ dry, safe an’ sound, bread an’ drippin’. Don’t leave yer berlongin’s on the bus unless it’s sammiches.” The children tumbled out through the carriage door and scampered off home to cuddle their mummies. Lamp shuffled off with an eager wave, leaving Casper almost alone in the square.
Sitting on the step by the boarded-up cheese shop was that grubby Frenchman Renée, sucking on a tiny grey cigarette.
Casper waved.
“’Allo, boy.” His fat lips curled into a smile. “Are you being ready for… er… ze large evening?”
Casper nodded. The fact that Renée’s cheese shop was opening on the same night as his dad’s restaurant had been a worry, but not for long. The villagers liked cheese, but only when it came in heavy yellow bricks. French cheese, with all its liquid middles and herby crusts and essence de cowshed, would not appeal to the villagers one morsel.
Through the window of The Battered Cod, Casper could see Julius Candlewacks teetering on a ladder, grasping for a massive wonky lampshade that hung just out of reach.
“Better go and help,” grimaced Casper.
“Ah, c’est bon. Say ’allo to your fazzer.”
Casper trotted the rest of the way across the square.
Ting-a-ling.
“Dad?” Casper pushed open the restaurant door, caught the corner of the ladder and sent it toppling over, leaving Julius Candlewacks hanging from the lampshade.
“Help!” Julius flailed his legs about and suddenly realised he was terrified of heights. “I can’t hold on! I’m too young to die!”
“Just jump. It’s not far.”
“It’s miles! I’ll break my legs! Get me a parachute or something.”
“We don’t have a—”
RRRRIPPPP went the lampshade and, along with Julius, it tumbled to the carpet.
Julius checked he was alive, breathed a sigh of relief and then noticed how far the bit of lampshade in his hands was from the rest of the lampshade. “Oh.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“It’s fine!” He sprang to his feet with forced jollity. “It’s modern. Half a lampshade is the new lampshade. Soon everyone’ll be doing it. Now, plenty to do.” And he tottered off to look at the list of unfinished jobs scribbled all over the Today’s Specials blackboard.
It had just gone four o’clock, which left three hours until opening time.
“How can I help?” asked Casper.
“Right,” Julius read down the list. “You need to connect that oven, peel the spuds, get a new fridge, sweep up the old fridge, label the meat pile and fix the lock on the loo. Got that?”
Casper groaned.
Ting-a-ling.
“Caspy!” Casper’s mother, Amanda Candlewacks, burst through the restaurant door. She had long blonde hair, scratches all over her face and a wriggling baby in a bag slung over one shoulder. “Look at me, Caspy, I’m a real mother!”
“How was your first day with Cuddles?”
“Wonderful! We went to the park, she caught some squirrels, I lost her down the back of the tumble dryer—”
The baby screeched and thrashed about, gnashing its razor-sharp teeth. This was Cuddles, Casper’s sister, the least cuddly baby since Clemmie Answorth adopted a cactus. (The cactus didn’t last long, by the way. It was eaten by Cuddles, along with Clemmie Answorth’s shoes and purse and Don’t Eat my Cactus sign.)
“But I think she might be broken. Can you take a look at her, darling?” Amanda smiled sweetly at Casper.
It didn’t take long to see, or to smell, what was going on. “Mum, her nappy’s full. Like every day. You just need to change her.”
“Change her?” Amanda’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I like this one.”
“Not all of her, Mum. Just the nappy.”
“How do I do that?”
“I showed you yesterday.”
“But I need to do it today,” she giggled.
Casper sighed and laid Cuddles out on Table 4. His mum wasn’t a quick learner. She wasn’t even a slow learner. As it turned out, Amanda Candlewacks wasn’t a learner at all. What’s more, she was about eleven years late to this ‘mothering’ malarkey, and she couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. But today, with Casper going to school, Amanda was faced with her first full day of unaided mothering.
“All done,” said Casper, fastening the pin extra tightly. “And stop putting her in bags.”
“How else will I carry her? Some sort of trolley?” She burst into trills of fruity laughter.
“Yes, Mum. They call it a buggy.”
“Well, I call it a waste of money. If a bag’s good enough for my shopping, it’s good enough for my daughter. Anyway, I’m shattered. Your turn to look after her now!”
“No, Mum, I’m—”
“Thanks, Caspy, you’re a star.” Amanda collapsed where she stood and was snoring before she hit the floor.
“Great.”
Cuddles gnawed on her own foot.
Casper left Cuddles to peel the potatoes (her fangs were perfect for the job) and clomped through to the kitchen. Last week Julius had bought every single item from the Kitchens ’n’ More catalogue, and now the whole lot was squeezed into his minuscule new kitchen. Four-slot toasters were stacked on top of chrome-finished deep-fat fryers, all still wrapped in plastic and far from being plugged in. In fact, nothing was plugged in because the only thing Julius had forgotten was something to plug them all into. Until further notice the kitchen would be lit by dozens of torches hanging from the ceiling or propped up in mugs.
“Right,” said Julius from behind a stack of flat-pack shelving units. “Block your ears!”
Casper did as he was told, and just in time too, because the next moment a deafening buzz rocked the room. Casper dived behind the oven just before hundreds of knives jiggled from their rack and thunked to the linoleum floor where he’d been standing, sticking fast.
“DAD!” he bellowed. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
The noise stopped. Julius blew a cloud of sawdust from the tip of his power-drill like a spy with a smoking gun. “Drilling holes.”
“What for?”
“Electricity. This wall goes through to the restaurant so I’m sticking a wire through.”
“Just watch where you’re drilling. There’re water pipes and all sorts in there.”
“Trust me, Casp. I’ve done this before.” He winked and flipped down his goggles, then the drill roared into action again. The room shook, the wall wobbled, torches dropped from the ceiling and mugs rolled off tables, plunging the kitchen into darkness, but still Julius drilled on.
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Ivan Brett
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Детская проза
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 28.04.2024
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