Charlie and the War Against the Grannies (21 page)

‘Owwww!'

‘You're going to put one together.'

‘Owwww!'

‘I'm going to wage a propaganda war.'

‘What's a propaganda war?' I said.

‘I'm going to put up some posters that say bad things about the Stinkly Wrinklys. It will make people want to join our rebel army.'

‘Owwww!'

‘I didn't pinch you that hard.'

‘Owwww!'

I had no idea how to put together a rebel army.

I thought Peter the newsagent would be good in a rebel army even though the last time I saw him he was running down the street screaming.

I had no idea where to find him so I decided to see if he had reopened his newsagents. It was open but it wasn't a newsagents.

I thought the Scottish-bagpipe-seller might know where Peter was so I went in.

The Scottish-bagpipe-seller was standing behind a small desk. He wore a kilt, a Scottish hat and was holding a set of bagpipes.

He looked exactly like Peter.

‘Peter?' I said.

‘Aye nuuuuu nuuuuuone carled Pitter,' said the Scottish-bagpipe-seller-who-looked-exactly-like-Peter. ‘Me nim uz Buns.'

He had a very strange accent.

I was sure it was Peter.

‘Mr Buns, are you actually Peter?' I said.

‘Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuu,' said Mr-Buns-who-was-probably-Peter. ‘Ayve navver mut unnywon carled Pitter aver un me untire leaf.'

I was almost completely sure it was Peter.

I realised how I could find out for certain.

‘Mr Buns, could you play me something on your bagpipes?'

Mr Buns-who-was-actually-Peter put the blowing bit of the bagpipes in his mouth and blew.

It sounded awful. It was definitely Peter.

‘Peter,' I said. ‘Hils and I are putting together a rebel army to defeat the Stinkly Wrinklys, I mean the grannies. Will you join us?'

‘Nuuuuuuuuu,' said Peter-disguised-as-a-Scottish-bagpipe-seller. ‘Aye wull nut jane yrr rubble army!'

‘It's called The Horde.'

‘Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuu!'

I wasn't off to a very good start.

Hils's propaganda posters were everywhere.

On walls.

On telephone poles.

In windows.

On doors.

Even on car windscreens.

I wondered what the Stinkly Wrinklys would think of Hils's propaganda.

By five o'clock next morning all the posters had been torn down.

I was waiting behind my letterbox hoping that Warren would turn up.

I heard him before I saw him. He was mumbling to himself.

‘I should not have come,' said Warren. ‘But the wind speaks. It says the new age is almost upon us, that the final battle approaches.'

‘Warren?' I said.

‘Are the rumours true?' said Warren. ‘Is a rebel army on the rise? Does the hour of the final conflict draw nigh?'

‘Yes. Very nigh. Warren, I was wondering . . . well . . . Hils and I were wondering if you would like to join our rebel army?'

‘No,' said Warren. ‘I will not join your rebel army.'

‘It's called The Horde.'

‘No!' said Warren.

I was worse at putting together a rebel army than I was at shot-put.

I was the worst ever at shot-put.