The Great Gold Robbery (21 page)

IT WAS MONDAY. Oslo was bathed in May sunshine. The bell had just rung after their last class, and Lisa and Nilly were walking home together.

“What was it like to come home and not have your own room anymore?” Lisa asked.

“That’s what was so weird,” Nilly said. “Eva had moved all her stuff back out, and she said I could have my room back.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She even gave me a hug. And said she’d missed me a tiny bit. I’m afraid she might even hug me again sometime,” Nilly said with a shudder.

“Well, but isn’t that good?” Lisa asked. “I’ve heard that a hug from your sister is one of the nicest things in the world.”

“Being hugged up against such large red zits?” Nilly said. “Good thing I bought that zit cream for her at the airport in London, huh?”

“Is that why you had to borrow money from Doctor Proctor?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t come home without even so much as an English tea bag, could I? I’ll save up the money and pay Doctor Proctor back.”

“Hmm,” Lisa said.

“What do you mean, ‘hmm’?” Nilly asked, since he knew Lisa well enough to be able to hear that this wasn’t just a
hmm
hmm.

“You guys argue all the time,” Lisa said. “But you know what? I think deep down inside you love each other some after all.”

“Me? Love? That witch,
Eva
?” Nilly scoffed, rolling his eyes. But Lisa just smiled wisely, as if to say he wasn’t fooling her with that act.

They turned onto Cannon Avenue, and as they did so a large black limousine pulled up next to them and stopped, and the back door opened.

“Lisa and Nilly! Hop in!”

A man they’d met before was sitting in the backseat.

“We’re on our way to see Doctor Proctor,” the king of Norway said. “Congratulations on a mission well done. The inspection was this morning, and the World Bank was happy
with everything.”

“Well, we didn’t have time to melt it down, so they did think it was a little odd that Norway’s national gold reserve was shaped like a big trophy,” the driver said,
smiling into the rearview mirror.

“Hi, Helge,” Lisa said.

“One of the inspectors picked it up and thought it felt surprisingly light for solid gold,” the man in the front passenger seat said. “But we explained that the trophy always
feels light after a victory.”

“Hi, Hallgeir,” Nilly said.

“And we just received a phone call from London from our colleagues in Her Royal Highness’s Even More Secret Service. They still don’t have any proof that Rublov and the Crunch
Brothers stole the gold, but they arrested Rublov anyway.”

“Why?” Nilly asked.

Helge and Hallgeir both chuckled a little before they responded, “A bank employee told the police that Rublov threatened her with a gun when he forcibly deposited Monopoly money into her
bank. And that the bank has surveillance video to prove it.”

“Plus, there were witnesses who saw Rublov rob an old lady and her baby in Hyde Park.”

“Plus, he apparently hung on to the back of a sightseeing bus, stealing a ride without paying his fare.”

“He’s going to be in jail for a good while.”

They pulled over in front of Doctor Proctor’s overgrown yard, and when they pushed open the crooked gate, they saw a big banner draped between the pear trees.

JELL-O FESTIVAL.

And there they all were, under the banner. Doctor Proctor and Juliette Margarine, Eva and Nilly’s mom, Lisa’s commandant father and her mother, Mrs. Strobe from school, and Gregory
Galvanius.

And on the picnic table behind them was the biggest Jell-O mold any of them had ever seen.

Juliette was carrying a tray of champagne and pear soda around, and once they’d all helped themselves, the king chimed his spoon on the side of his glass and turned to them.

“My dear subjects . . .”

Mrs. Strobe cleared her throat, raising an eyebrow and giving the king a stern look over the top of her glasses.

“Uh, I mean my dear fellow citizens,” the king hurriedly corrected himself. “And dear friends. Yes, most especially friends . . .”

Mrs. Strobe nodded approvingly, and the king continued:

“I have a joyous announcement to make. It comes from my third cousin, or perhaps she’s my second cousin . . . a few even claim she’s my first cousin. Unfortunately, a few
things happened that make it slightly unclear. . . .”

Mrs. Strobe cleared her throat again.

“Anyhow, to the point!” the king hurriedly said. “The queen of England has decided to name Lisa the Jack of Spades of New South Wales for her extraordinary performance during
the finale at Wobbley. And Doctor Proctor will be dubbed a knight of the third-rate order for restoring the Empire to greatness with his invention. England is planning to launch its first fartonaut
into space next month!”

Everyone present clapped and cried “hurra,” which is Norwegian for hooray. After that everyone turned and looked at Nilly.

“Sorry, Nilly,” the king said. “The queen didn’t really think it was appropriate to honor someone who’s famous for having kicked the world’s best soccer
player into the stands.”

Everyone laughed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nilly said, laughing with them. “At least I got a little notoriety.”

“Exactly,” the king said with a knowing wink.

Everyone waited anxiously to hear what would come next. But the king took his time, sniffling, adjusting his shirt collar a little, taking a sip from his glass. Until Mrs. Strobe cleared her
throat in warning.

“Right,” the king said. “It turns out that after they were done making the new wax figures for Madame Tourette’s Wax Museum this year, they had a little bit of wax left
over. Not much. Not enough for your average prime minister, for example. But enough for a little guy who already has his own fan clubs over in England, someone everyone is curious about, wondering
whatever happened to him
? But all they know about him is that he called himself Beckadona Hamarooney Sherl.”

“They’re going to make a wax figure of me!” Nilly squealed. “I’m famous!”

“In a way,” the king said. “But since you were at Wobbley on an assignment of a rather secret nature, unfortunately, you can never tell
anyone
that you are
Sherl.”

“Rats!” Nilly said.

“And so I suggest a secret toast to Sherl!” the king proposed.

Everyone laughed and raised their glasses to Nilly, who bowed low before draining the pear soda from his glass in one long gulp. Followed by a not insignificant burp.

Then they sat down at the table.

And while they slowly consumed yard after yard of the best Jell-O any of them had ever eaten, Lisa whispered to Nilly, asking him if he was sure he had managed to swap out the trophy in the
players’ tunnel. And Nilly responded that it was true, that type of on-the-fly, pitch-dark trophy exchange was not for amateurs, but he wasn’t Nilly for nothing. Was he?

Lisa studied her friend thoughtfully as he arrogantly stuffed another foot or so of Jell-O into his mouth.

“But you’re
totally
sure that—” she began.

She didn’t get any response, because just then they heard a voice yelling and the distant hum of an engine. Everyone looked around, unable to place where the sounds were coming from. Until
someone happened to look up. And there, high above the top of the pear tree, they saw a triangular shape approaching.

“Look at me! I’m Petter! I’m the one and only Petter, and a heck of a Petter I am!”

“Petter!” Lisa called up to him. “Who’s that with you?”

“Huh?”

“The girl next to you?” Lisa clarified.

“Oh, right. This is Petronella. She’s the one and only Petronella! A heck of a Petronella! She’s the one who added the engine to the hang glider. A real Hillman engine! We flew
straight into the headwind! Is there any Jell-O left, Doctor?”

And there was.

And as our friends ate, laughed, and told their unbelievable stories, and Nilly tried to teach everyone the Toes song, the spring sun sank behind the crooked blue house at the very end of Cannon
Avenue.

And with that, we call the game over for now.

OR . . .

MEANWHILE, ACROSS THE North Sea, three brothers were playing poker in the city called London. And their mother covered her ears as they yelled things to one another
like:

“It is too true! You got a flush. That means you have to flush it down the toilet, so I win! International rules!”

“But then I jack your ace, so now it’s my ace!”

“Stick out your knuckles!”

“You boys are driving me crazy,” their mother muttered, escaping to the kitchen to make more Birmingham pudding.

IN A SMALL shack of a clubhouse, Krillo yelled for Nero to come help him lift the trophy into the trophy case, which had been empty ever since Rotten Ham had been founded a
hundred years earlier.

“It’s almost weird,” Krillo groaned as they lifted. “That a trophy should be so heavy!”

AND LONG AFTER the sun had set in Norway and England, the party was over, and you and I had gone to bed, a guy by the name of Nilsen woke up when the phone next to his bed
rang.

“Yes?” he said with a yawn.

“Is this the host of
Norway’s Biggest Liar
?”

“Yes,” Nilsen said, wondering where he’d heard the caller’s voice before.

“I have an anonymous tip for you. Do you remember that guy named Nilly, who you had on your show?”

“The one who said he was Napoléon and saved the world from moon monsters?” Nilsen said, chuckling. “He’s not easily forgotten.”

“I know,” the voice said. “But I just want to give you this supersecret tip that he’s Beckadona Hamarooney Sherl.”

“The player who scored the goal against Chelchester in the World Cup finals and just disappeared?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, he had more important things to do than hang out in England and revel in the glory, becoming rich and famous and running away from English girls who wanted to kiss
him. But you might find it interesting to know that Nilly, aka Sherl, is going to be on display as a wax figure in Madame Tourette’s Wax Museum.”

“This is totally unbelievable!” Nilsen said, thinking that there was something very familiar about that voice.

“You could mention this on your stupid show, that that Nilly had the goods after all. Good night.”

“I see. This wouldn’t happen to be Nilly I’m talking to, would it?”

But the caller had already hung up.