Olive of Groves and the Great Slurp of Time (10 page)

16

A very short chapter containing two embarrassing puddles

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Olive, Num-Num and the rats awoke with a fright.

‘Ooh! Aah! Whassat?!' cried Olive, sounding rather daffy. It was, after all, two o'clock in the morning – definitely sleep time.

The door flew open and Mrs Groves bumbled in. ‘Good news, Olive! I've found it! I've found the second copy of
The Concise Guide to Time Travel.
' But it was, in fact, a bright red apple that she waved in the air, not the longed-for book.

‘I'll take that, my lady!' An archer, wearing a roughly woven smock, stormed into the turret and snatched the apple from Mrs Groves' hand. He grabbed Chester, plonked him on the bedside table and balanced the apple on the poor
little rat's head. Stomping back to the other side of the room, he took aim with his bow and arrow and fired.

DOING!

The apple split right down the middle, the two halves falling either side of Chester. The arrow stuck in the wall.

Olive gasped.

Chester fainted.

Blimp looked embarrassed at the small puddle that had formed around his back paws.

Num-Num shrieked in terror and leapt out the window, into the branches of the oak tree. Mrs Groves followed.

Wordsworth squeaked, ‘William Tell!'

The man nodded, pulled his arrow from the wall and barged out the door.

Olive ran after him, but when she looked down the spiral staircase, he had vanished. ‘Hmmm,' she said. ‘That was odd.'

‘And scary,' said Blimp, mopping up the puddle with Olive's socks.

‘And improbable,' said Wordsworth, flicking through the pages of his thesaurus. ‘Improbable, unlikely, implausible,
unbelievable, incredible and downright bonkers! How can someone from fourteenth-century Switzerland suddenly turn up at Groves?'

Olive rubbed her eyes. ‘Perhaps Basil brought him here.'

‘He can't have,' said Blimp. ‘He would have needed your alarm clock to travel back in time, and it hasn't moved from its place beside the bed.'

‘Weird,' whispered Olive.

‘Spooky,' hissed Wordsworth.

‘Embarrassing,' sobbed Blimp, for another little puddle had just formed around his back paws.

17

In which we laugh with a French accent

‘Roll up! Roll up! The circus is in town!'

The Ringmaster surveyed his acrobats and horses. He straightened his top hat, twisted the ends of his moustache and smiled.

‘Anastasia and Alfonzo!' he cried. ‘You were magnifico yesterday with your galloping handstands and flips. Today you shall move on to equine acrobatic duets. Toss, flip, balance and leap in partnership as you blaze across the grass on Beauty!'

Anastasia and Alfonzo nodded to the Ringmaster, bowed to each other and stood side by side, their hands on their hips. Beauty reared up on her hind legs, shook her mane and whinnied. Then, trotting forward, she did a totally unexpected thing. She made a snuffling noise and flopped down onto her side.

‘Oh dear!' gasped Olive. ‘Beauty is ill!'

She was just about to run forward to see if she could help, when Beauty scooped Anastasia and Alfonzo onto her back, jumped up and trotted around the garden. The acrobats sat, relaxed and smiling, as though out on a pleasant Sunday ride.

Beauty broke into a gallop. Anastasia leapt to her feet, found her balance, then slowly, carefully, lifted herself up into a handstand upon Alfonzo's shoulders.

Olive and Eduardo clapped and cheered.

The Ringmaster cried, ‘Splendido! Now stretch it further!'

Beauty galloped a little faster. Anastasia held her handstand as Alfonzo stood. In a flash, a flounce and a flip, they swapped positions so that
Alfonzo
was now standing on
his
hands on
Anastasia's
shoulders.

Beauty ramped up her speed, weaving wildly between garden beds and hedges, then suddenly, violently, came to a halt. Olive screamed. Anastasia's hands shot up to grab Alfonzo's wrists. Together, they flew forward through the air, over Beauty's head, performed a complete two-body flip and landed, one in front of the other, their feet apart, their arms in the air, in the most controlled pose that any acrobat could ever wish for. Beauty finished the performance by tossing
her mane, snickering, trotting forward and giving Alfonzo a cheeky nip on the bottom with her large, square teeth.

Olive and Eduardo jumped up and down, hugging each other and laughing. Star trotted around on the spot, blowing out hot air and tossing her mane. The Ringmaster threw his top hat into the sky and cried, ‘Bravo! Bravo!'

‘Is it my turn now?' asked Olive, clapping with excitement. ‘Can Eduardo and I do an equine acrobatic duet?'

Star took four steps backwards and shook her head from side to side.

The Ringmaster coughed a little. ‘Your enthusiasm is admirable, young Olive. Enthusiasm and determination are, after all, our most important attributes as acrobats.'

Anastasia rolled her eyes.

‘But,' he continued, ‘we must always ensure that we have a strong foundation before we build the fancy walls, the stained-glass windows and the towering turrets of our performance.'

Oh my!

That, dear reader, was a kind and gentle way of saying that our heroine needed to start back at the very beginning because she was dreadfully uncoordinated at equine activities. You will recall from her last lesson that she was not even able to ride a horse in the conventional manner
without ending up in the middle of a garden bed or an infirmary bed. Truth be told, she might even have struggled with a hobbyhorse.

Eduardo smiled. ‘It's alright, Olive,' he whispered, taking her by the hand. ‘You missed yesterday's lesson, but I'm sure if we work really hard on your riding today, you will catch up.'

Star snorted and looked as though she was about to bolt for the orchard, but the Ringmaster stopped her with a stern gaze. She tiptoed forward, placing one hoof reluctantly in front of the other. Her left nostril twitched nervously and the smile she forced onto her lips turned into a grimace.

‘Okay!' cried Olive.

‘Okay!' agreed Eduardo.

And Olive mounted her steed – assisted by a hefty shove from Eduardo – and exhibited all the enthusiasm and determination for which she was known.

Which was just as well, for Star gave her a dreadful time of it.

Olive grabbed a handful of mane and dug one heel into Star's flank. Star trotted sideways like a hermit crab, all the way across the garden to the fence. Once there, she leaned heavily against the railings, squashing Olive's leg until she begged her to stop.

‘Hmmm,' murmured Olive. ‘Tricky.'

This time, she tapped her heels into
both
flanks and Star ambled forward . . . slowly . . . painstakingly . . . until she slackened to a snail's pace, yawned noisily and dropped to the grass for a twenty-minute nap.

When Star awoke, Olive tried again. She gave a sharp kick to both flanks and kept kicking until they reached a perky trot. Star tritted and trotted as commanded, then added some skittish prancing and dancing, reaching greater heights with every step. Olive jiggled and wobbled and bobbled to the right, slipping further with every bounce, until she plopped to the grass. Star trotted and pranced along quite merrily for three further laps of the garden before she noticed anything amiss. Or so she said . . .

The next time, Olive gave a firm kick to both flanks and held on tight. Star, running out of ideas for subtle sabotage, and catching sight of the Ringmaster's thunderous scowl, broke into a smooth trot and followed a predictable course around the garden. She even avoided low-hanging branches.

‘Look!' shouted Olive, waving at Eduardo and the Ringmaster. ‘I'm doing it. I'm riding a horse. I'm at one with my steed!'

And indeed she was . . . until the unfortunate incident involving Bullet Barnes, Carlos, a large quantity of dynamite and a cannon made out of a hollow log.

‘Light the fuse!' ordered Bullet from inside the log.

‘Three, two, one!' cried Carlos.

KABOOM!

Bullet Barnes, human cannonball, shot from the log, his silver helmet glistening in the sunlight, his boots smouldering, his green cape flapping heroically in the wind. He flew through the air, sailing, soaring, gliding . . . until he collided with Olive. Together, they fell off Star's back and tumbled across the garden, a jumble of arms and legs and burning rubber soles that slammed full pelt into the stone wall at the side of the orchard.

Ouch!

‘Ouch!' moaned Olive, rubbing her head.

‘Oucheeeee!' whinnied Star. For not only had Carlos' dynamite done a magnificent job of launching Bullet Barnes across the garden, it had also done a spectacular job of blasting the cannon
into a thousand tiny splinters, a dozen of which shot into Star's rump.

‘Oucheeeee-wah-wah!' Star whickered in fright, then bolted across the garden, over the fence and along the street, where she had a head-on collision with the number ninety-six tram. It was terribly upsetting.

Needless to say, the experience did not deepen her affection for Olive, Bullet or Carlos . . . or her enthusiasm for equine acrobatics lessons.

Meanwhile, Olive lay on the grass, staring up at the sky. ‘How very odd,' she mumbled. ‘The yellow canaries, which I always see after a bump to the head, have been joined by an enormous red canary.'

The red canary flew closer.

‘That is
extremely
odd!' she mused. ‘Why, it is not a canary at all, but an old-fashioned triplane.'

‘Look!' cried Bullet. ‘That's the Red Baron! The famous German fighter pilot from the First World War! Right here, right now, for real!'

‘It can't be,' said Olive as she watched the plane do loop the loops. ‘The Red Baron lived a century ago. No. It must be a figment of our imaginations. A hallucination created by our concussed brains.'

But then the plane soared low, buzzing the top of the orchard, causing leaves to scatter and apples to plop to the ground. The pilot laughed with a German accent.

I know! I know! You are thinking, dear reader, that a laugh is a laugh in any language and one cannot laugh with a German accent. But one can! Laughing with a German accent is quite different from laughing with an English, a Chinese or a French accent.

Try it now. See for yourself!

‘Ha, ha, ha, ha!' laughed the Red Baron with a German accent.

‘It really
is
the Red Baron!' gasped Olive. A jumbled mass of bold red uppercase letters swam before her eyes:
R-A-W-B-E-E!
She blinked, shook her battered head and the letters ran past again:
B-E-W-A-R-E!

‘The Red Baron!' cheered Bullet, leaping to his feet, waving his arms.

‘The Red Baron!' cried Basil, who was taking a stroll before lunch. ‘Whoopsy-edelweiss! It would appear that the Time Slurp has started to take effect!'

18

In which we hunt a woolly mammoth

Num-Num eyed her lunch with suspicion – vegetable pie, baked potatoes, asparagus spears. She picked up a potato, sniffed it, licked it and threw it at Eduardo. ‘Yuck! Num-Num want meat.' She grabbed Blimp, wedged him into the top of her vegetable pie and smiled. ‘Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!'

Olive giggled. ‘Okay, but just for looking. No nibbles.'

Blimp was just about to express grave concern at the seating arrangements when the tables began to shake. The benches quivered. The cutlery rattled. The water in the glasses formed little ripples. The walls shook and the light fittings swayed back and forth.

‘Earthquake!' gasped Bullet Barnes, tightening the strap on his crash helmet.

‘
Nein!
Worse!' yelled Basil. ‘Woolly mammoth!'

And sure enough, there, charging up the centre of the dining room, as big as a double-decker bus, was a woolly mammoth. He tossed his head from side to side, his enormous ivory tusks skittling naughty boys, talking animals and circus performers. He lifted his trunk and trumpeted like a postman blowing his nose on a frosty morning – loud, lusty and of just the right tone to send all the neighbourhood dogs into a howling frenzy.

Mrs Groves looked up from the model of the Eiffel Tower that she had been constructing from asparagus. She gasped, pulled the large gold fob watch from her apron pocket and cried, ‘Goodness gracious me! Is
that
the time? I really must be going!' She hitched her skirt up around her knees, bolted across the dining room, threw open the window and dived out into the rosemary bushes.

Diana the lion tamer leapt up onto the buffet and cracked her whip at the woolly mammoth. ‘Ya! Ya! Sit!' she ordered.

Fumble the moose, Clara the cow and Scruffy the dog all exhibited wonderful obedience and sat down at once, but the woolly mammoth barrelled forth. He stomped right over the top of the dessert trolley, then disappeared through the kitchen door with a tablecloth and Bozo's underpants dangling off his tusks. (Believe me, dear reader, you
don't
want to know!)

‘Phew!' cried Olive. ‘Thank goodness that's ov–'

‘Ooga booga! Ooga booga!' A short, stout caveman dropped from the ceiling, waving a heavy wooden club. Moth-eaten animal skins hung from his filthy body. The air became thick with a smell akin to rotten fish soaking in sour milk.

‘Hey!' shouted Linus. ‘That chap smells like Tiny Tim's socks.'

The caveman peered out through the matted strands of hair that fell over his face. ‘Ugga thugga! Ugga thugga!'

‘Num-num-num-num-num-num-num!' cried Num-Num, staring at the caveman, licking her lips.

‘No, Num-Num!' snapped Olive. ‘I do
not
think that is a good idea.'

‘Boogie woogie! Boogie woogie!' Waving his club in the air, the caveman ran along the tabletops, leapt over the asparagus model of the Eiffel Tower, kicked aside the splintered dessert trolley and vanished into the kitchen.

Tiny Tim lifted his foot up to his nose, sniffed his sock and nodded, satisfied.

Someone giggled. Cutlery scraped across a plate. Hamish and Doug started to plan their next caper. Mrs Groves hoisted herself back through the window, carrying a bunch of purple violas, and wandered off in search of a vase. Fumble ate four serviettes and declared them the best crepes he had ever tasted. And the general hubbub of a crowd of hungry students eating their lunch filled the air.

In short, everything returned to normal.

Just like that.

For while it
was
unusual for lunch to be interrupted by a caveman and a woolly mammoth, it was not the
strangest
thing ever to have happened at Mrs Groves' Boarding School for Naughty Boys, Talking Animals, Circus Performers and Time Travellers.

The only people who seemed at all concerned were Olive and Basil.

‘Basil,' whispered Olive. ‘These creatures have come from the past
without your help
!'

‘
Ja!
' said Basil. ‘They have obviously been caught in the Time Slurp.'

‘Because we have taken Num-Num and Clara from their rightful place in time and plonked them here, at Groves, in the twenty-first century!' Olive's eyes were wide.

Num-Num was now sitting on Tommy's lap, cramming sugar cubes up his nose – an activity that both dinosaur and boy found highly amusing. Clara the cow was towing Bozo and Boffo around the dining room on their tricycles while wearing a pink rubber glove on each horn.

‘Mmm,' sighed Basil. ‘They are having a jolly good time, but they do not belong here. We cannot deny that we have set a Time Slurp in motion. The Red Baron, the woolly mammoth, the caveman.'

‘Not to mention William Tell.' An uncomfortable lump had formed in Olive's throat.

‘But perhaps it is not so bad.' Basil smiled and snapped his braces. ‘
The Concise Guide to Time Travel
did say that the results of a mild Time Slurp are fascinating and generally harmless.'

‘Yes! It did say that!' Olive agreed. But then, feeling a little less certain, she added, ‘Of course, we are presuming that what we have seen so far is only a
mild
Time Slurp . . .'

‘
Ja.
'

‘That we have not done enough to make the Time Slurp reach its
critical limit
and
slip into reverse
. . . whatever that means . . .'

‘
Ja.
' Basil stuck a finger up beneath his felt hat to scratch an itch. ‘But, I think . . . that is to say . . . well, everything
seems
fine at the moment. No harm done.'

‘No harm done,' echoed Olive. A bold red uppercase
B
slipped into her peripheral vision, but she swatted it away. ‘No harm at all. Just an historical hiccup.'

‘A mini memorial muddle!' cried Basil.

‘A paltry prehistoric poo-poo!' sang Olive.

They both began to giggle, then stopped at exactly the same time.

‘Oh dear!' gasped Olive.

‘
Ja!
' Basil scrunched up his nose. ‘But we have only kidnapped one little dinosaur and my mother's cow from their rightful place in history. And we will be
very
careful, on our forthcoming travels through time, not to do it again. Never ever! So it does not seem so bad, does it? These creatures from the past are sucked forward in time for a moment or two . . . they give us a little excitement, a little fright, a little fun . . . then slip back to their own place in time. No harm done.'

Olive surveyed the smashed crockery, the upturned benches, the squashed apple crumble. A tablecloth was on fire. Wally the wombat and Splash Gordon lay, unconscious, beneath one of the windows. The dining room looked much the same as it did at the end of every other meal at Groves.

Olive shrugged. ‘No harm done,' she agreed.

And she might even have added, ‘Everything is hunky-dory and tickety-boo,' if a fat pink trotter had not, at that very moment, landed in the middle of her vegetable pie.