Casper Candlewacks in the Time Travelling Toaster (8 page)

“But… you’re me!” cried Young Casper.

“As are you,” chuckled Old Casper.

“Of course
I
am!” answered Young Casper.

“Well, we both are,” answered Old Casper.

“What about me?” asked the stouter gentleman.

“No,” croaked Old Casper. “You’re not.”

“Who am I, then?” The stouter gentleman looked confused.

“You’re Lamp.”

“Am I?” He groaned as he leant down to check the nametag on his sock. “So I am.”

Young Casper stared wide-eyed at the old version of Lamp. “Look at your wrinkles!”

Lamp peered at Young Casper through the thickest pair of spectacles known to mankind. “Who’s that, then?”

“That’s me,” said Old Casper.

“Is it?” The stouter gentleman took off his spectacles and gave them a wipe. “Have you cut your hair?”

“This is amazing,” muttered Young Casper. “So you two must be… cor… a hundred and eleven? That’s old.”

Old Casper closed his eyes. “I remember saying that.”

“Do you?”

“Oh yes. About a hundred years ago now.”

“And sort of five seconds ago as well, I suppose,” said Young Casper.

Old Casper nodded. “Oh, that too. I hope you’re remembering all this.”

“Why? Should I be?” Young Casper considered getting a pen.

“Of course you should. In a hundred years you’ll have to say it all back to myself. I mean yourself. I mean… you get what I mean?”

“Not sure I do…” Young Casper scratched his head.

“Can we start again, please?” asked Lamp. “I’ve forgotten who I am.”

“No, no, we can’t start again. This only happened once, Lamp. I remember it as if it was yesterday. But I suppose it’s today…” Old Casper shifted in his chair. His face was wrinkled and so very pale, but his eyes still held that glint that Casper’s mum loved so much. “Now, what did I say next? Ah yes, bloogle gargle Viking dromedary, please pass the pepper, Mildred, or I’ll put you back in the fridge.”

Young Casper was rapidly wishing he hadn’t met himself. “Why did you say that?”

“Because I told me to.”

“When?”

“Well, I’m just about to.” Old Casper pointed to his wrinkled mouth. “You’d better say that all back to me, Casper.”

“What, now?”

“No, no; give it a hundred years. Don’t want to rush things.”

Young Casper had already forgotten the bit about the dromedary. “You didn’t happen to write this conversation down, did you?”

“Oh yes, I gave me a transcript a hundred years ago.” Old Casper tapped the pocket of his dressing gown. “I’ve got the whole conversation right here, in case I forget the words.”

“Could I see it?”

“Not until afterwards. Wouldn’t want you reading ahead. And anyway, I didn’t give it to me until right after Lamp fell off his chair.”

“But Lamp hasn’t fallen off his chair.”

“Not yet, no.”

“I plan to,” said Lamp.

“But if it’s written down, then that means what I say is already set. What if I say something wrong?”

“You won’t,” assured Old Casper.

“How do you know I won’t?” asked Young Casper.

“Because I didn’t.”

“Ah…” Young Casper didn’t like that. “But I have free will. I choose to say what I want to say. Look… erm…
SOCK PUPPETS. GILGAMESH. FOTHERINGSWORTH PLEMM-PLAMM.
You can’t have got all that written down.”

Old Casper pulled out a dog-eared piece of paper and unfolded it. “Was that ‘plemm-plamm’ with two double ems?”

“Suppose so, yeah.”

Old Casper replaced the paper in his pocket. “Thought so. Next, you’ll say ‘No, I won’t.’”

“No, I won’t.” Young Casper clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, my goodness.”

“Listen, Casper,” said Old Casper, “we could do this all day, but there’re only two pages left of the script. I’ve got to tell you about your mission.”

Young Casper kept his mouth shut. No piece of paper was going to tell him what to say.

“Corne-on-the-Kobb is in peril,” continued Old Casper in a wise, sage-like tone. “Over the past hundred years the power of the Blight family has exploded. It started with a bright young girl’s business venture, and a few plucky kids pitching in to help. But she found success. Too much success, some say. She employed more of the village, and turned her house into a factory. Demand grew, and soon she was shipping her drink worldwide. Within twenty years, pretty much the whole village had enrolled at Blight Manor. Working hours were increased and pay was reduced.” He paused.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Young Casper.

“Just for you to ask ‘What are you waiting for?’, and now you’ve done that, so I’ll continue.” Old Casper closed his eyes and continued to speak, more slowly now. “I’d had a taste of the future from, well, just now, actually. The people who listened to my story stayed unemployed. We’re the lucky ones. But life has been tough and our numbers have dwindled. Power passed down through the Blight family, and now that tyrant, Briar Blight, has a stranglehold over the village. What was it now…” He took a peek at the script from his pocket. “Ah yes. He’s using his slaves to produce his spit-water, while he takes all the profits. We both remember how bad the conditions were.” He shivered. “The truth is, your family, your friends, the whole village, Casper…” His voice cracked, so he blew his nose on a handkerchief. “They’re all slaves in that factory. It’s your duty to free them. Liberate Corne-on-the-Kobb again; return it to its former glory and save the future.”

Saving the future sounded epic. But it was what superheroes did, not eleven-year-old boys from Corne-on-the-Kobb. “Can you help me? I’ve never saved the future before.”

“You’ll work it out,” smiled Old Casper. “It’ll be tough, but you’ll live to tell the tale. I am proof of that.”

The younger Casper grinned.

Lamp awoke. “Ooh, have you finished? Can I…?”

“Yes, Lamp, go on,” said Old Casper wearily.

With a grin, Lamp leant too far forward and his chair rocked over, sending him toppling to the floor with an almighty thump.

Somebody came running up the stairs. She burst through the door. “Oh, Grandad, why do you keep doing that?”

“This is the most fun I can have given my bad hip, Flanella,” Lamp said. “Would you mind picking me up?”

Old Casper folded up the script and leant towards Young Casper, his bones clicking wearily. “Keep that safe,” he said, the effort of reaching out evident on his face. “You’ll need it.”

Flanella positioned Lamp on his chair, brushed him down and turned to the younger Casper. “Lottie Landscape’s made you a bed out of earth and things. It’s more of a flowerbed, really. But it’s comfy enough and the worms won’t bite. And you should sleep. Malcolm predicts it’s a big day tomorrow.”

As Casper left his room, he turned to say goodbye to himself, but he was already fast asleep and snoring like a warthog.

The pigeons had already begun their scratchy dawn chorus when Casper finally got to sleep on his bed-shaped pile of earth, with its mossy pillow, on the floor of what used to be the laundry room. What with all the time taken up by escaping and swimming and remembering who he was and meeting his future self, it really was getting on for bedtime.

But just as he was settling into a really good dream about slaying goblins—

“GOOD MORNING!”

Casper groaned and rolled over. Standing above him was a slightly-earthy-on-one-side Flanella, proudly holding a big tray.

“I didn’t know what breakfast you wanted, so I brung all of them.”

Scraping some mud from his face, Casper sat up and received his tray. Flanella plonked herself down next to him.

There was cereal and muesli, black pudding, hard-boiled eggs and a cup of orange juice all on one plate, topped off by a dollop of golden syrup, a squeeze of ketchup and a raisin.

“Wow,” said Casper, wishing he could go back to slaying goblins. Tentatively, he took a forkful of black pudding dripping with syrup.

It was a surprising combination. Casper chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, washing it down with a spoonful of orange juice and ketchup that had pooled in the corner of his plate.

“Thanks,” he said, putting down his spoon – desperately hungry, but aware that another mouthful might end in disaster.

Flanella grinned. “Did I do good? I’m trying to branch out from sandwiches.”

“Oh,” Casper said hopefully. “Are you good at sandwiches?”

“No. That’s why I’m trying to branch out from them.”

Casper set his tray aside. “So you’re the granddaughter of Lamp Flannigan, eh?”

“Yeah,” she said, with sadness in her eyes. “My mum ’n’ dad ’n’ gran ’n’ uncle got rounded up, though.”

“They’re in Blight Manor?”

“Did you see them?” Flanella’s face lit up.

“There were a lot of people in there. I didn’t catch many names…” He thought it best not to tell Flanella why nobody told him their name.

“Oh. Anyway, if you’re finished, we’re ready outside.”

“You are?”

“Yep! See you down there.” She jumped up, ran out through the door, ran back in because the door in question was attached to a wardrobe, ran through a better door and disappeared downstairs.

Ten minutes later Casper emerged, blinking, into his own back garden. Standing in a line wearing army camouflage and green berets were Chrys Blight, Flanella Flannigan, Betty Woons (in a camouflaged wheelchair) and the two other ladies – Andrea Snugglepuss and Lottie (short for Allotment) Landscape. When they saw Casper they straightened up and saluted. (Flanella saluted a bit too hard and knocked herself out.)

“Oh…” said Casper, taken slightly aback by this display. “Can I… help?”

“Reporting for duty, SIR!” shouted Chrys, and they all saluted again (except for Flanella, who’d done enough saluting for one day).

There was quite a long pause while Casper worked out how to let them down gently. “I think you’ve… got the wrong idea.”

“Of course we haven’t,” laughed Chrys. “You’re Casper Candlewacks, right?”

“Umm, yeah,” agreed Casper, wondering where this was going. “I think you’ve got the wrong Casper Candlewacks, then.”

“Three-times saviour of Corne-on-the-Kobb, lifter of the Coriander Curse, bane of
Le Chat
, slayer of food critics, arch-nemesis of Anemonie Blight and bona-fide-time-travelling-freedom-warrior?”

“Not sure about that last one, but, yes, I have travelled through time. But it was Lamp’s m—”

“We’ve all heard the legends of your brave exploits,” interrupted Chrys, “your fabulous adventures, your fair but often brutal vanquishing of evildoers. Briar has too. Didn’t you see his face when you first introduced yourself? Why else would he want to keep such a warrior in his factories, where you couldn’t harm him?”

“I think the stories might have been exaggerated a bit. I’m just a boy, really.”

“Your coming has been foretold, Casper Candlewacks,” said Chrys. “By yourself. Your older self, I mean. He mentioned it in conversation a few months back that you might pass by. And Betty’s been reading her crystal jelly beans too.”

Betty Woons did a couple of mystical hand wiggles to prove Chrys’s point.

“‘He will lead us into battle; he will crush our fetters and welcome in a new age of freedom,’ they say. ‘He is our salvation. He is our hope.’”

“He is our salvation,” repeated the other four. “He is our hope.”

“Briar Blight casts an evil shadow on this village. And now, with the help of my grandmother…” Chrys swallowed hatefully. “With the help of my grandmother, Anemonie Blight, Briar threatens to tighten his stranglehold even further. We must stop him with whatever powers we have. Well, here are our powers – a modest army, but a faithful one. I have risked everything to free you, and here you stand. We are here to serve you, Casper Candlewacks. You and you alone can free us. You alone can lead us to VICTORY!”

“VICTORY!” the other four cheered, and Betty Woons let off a party popper.

Puffed and red-faced, Chrys nodded and retreated into the ranks.

Five shining faces looked at Casper, awaiting his first triumphant order.

He looked down at his feet, and then back up to his army. This was awkward. “Guys, I hate to disappoint you, but—”

A noise from behind Casper made him spin round. Standing by the back door, leaning heavily on withered hardwood sticks, were Old Casper and Old Lamp. Old Lamp stuck up both his thumbs at Young Casper, forgetting about his stick and clattering to the paving slabs.

Young Casper locked eyes with himself; the old one winked. Casper turned round to face his troops and repeated, “Guys, I hate to disappoint you, but –”

Chrys sighed. “I knew this was a mistake.”

– “but this mission isn’t going to be easy.”

The girl’s jaw dropped. Flanella grinned.

“We’ve got days of hard planning ahead of us, and I’m going to need everything from every single one of you for this to happen.”

Casper’s heart beat hard in his chest as he slung out orders left, right and centre.

“Chrys, I need to know everything you do about the layout of Blight Manor. I want its strengths, its weaknesses and the whereabouts of its bathrooms, in case anybody needs a wee mid-siege. Flanella, I need you to hack into and understand the workings of those Tickle Tags. If Briar can activate them remotely, Malcolm can deactivate them remotely. Andrea and Lottie: lookouts, weaponry salvage and reconnaissance. And Betty, fix me some jelly beans before my stomach caves in.”

“YES, SIR.” The troops stood (or sat) to attention, made a final salute and marched (or wheeled) off to do their duties.

Casper sighed. He’d never felt further away from home than at this very moment, and yet he was already there.