Casper Candlewacks in the Attack of the Brainiacs! (2 page)

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.”