Casper Candlewacks in the Attack of the Brainiacs! Page 2

  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.”

  “But who are the Brewster brothers?”

  A look of fear sketched itself across Snivel’s face. “Well, they’re b-big, and they r-run the place…”

  “Like Mayor Rattsbulge,” said Lamp.

  “…and they’ll t-take your l-lunch money…”

  “So will Mayor Rattsbulge,” said Lamp.

  “…and there’s f-f-four of them.”

  “Like Mayor Rattsbulge,” said Lamp. “Except there’s only one of him.”

  “THERE ’E IS!” Four enormous brutes with shaved heads and tiny foreheads, their sleeves rolled up to reveal hairy, tree-trunk arms, shoved through the crowd straight towards Snivel.

  Anemonie spun round, opened her mouth, realised they were twice her size and closed it again.

  “Brewster brothers?” whispered Casper.

  “Yep.” Snivel was trembling. “And… erm… unless you want to b-be a r-rugby ball, you should r-really r-r-r—”

  Casper guessed the rest of the word and dashed off across the playground, followed by Snivel and the rest of the terrified class, some screaming, some whimpering, one sneezing. (Ted Treadington was allergic to playgrounds.) Lamp considered becoming a rugby ball for a second, but then decided he preferred football, so he galumphed along behind.

  “They’re huge!” shouted Casper as he ran down a plasticky-smelling corridor beside Snivel. “What have they got against you?”

  “Erm…” Snivel had quite small legs so he had to run twice as fast. “You all f-first years?”

  “Yeah. But what about—”

  “M-me too. We’ve got geography.”

  Casper groaned.

  Teresa Louncher tripped over a Mind the Step sign and clattered to the floor. Casper picked her up, but she was crying too hard to carry on, so he hid her in a locker and promised to find her at break.

  “It’s j-just up here.” Snivel guided them to the left into an identical corridor, up some stairs, through a heavy door and into a dull classroom with maps plastered all over the walls and ceiling.

  The children collapsed into seats and caught their breath. It looked like the Brewster brothers hadn’t followed. In fact, given that there were quite a few children flying past their window and that they were on the second floor, Casper felt quite sure they were still outside.

  “I don’t like big boys’ school any more,” huffed Lamp. “Can we go home now?”

  Snivel was nervously watching through the glass of the classroom door.

  “They knew you, Snivel,” said Casper, clutching the stitch in his side.

  “Y-yeah…” muttered Snivel.

  “But it’s only the first day. How did that happen so fast?”

  Nervously, Snivel stuck out his pale little hand. “N-name’s S-s-snivel. S-snivel B-brewster. I’ve n-never shaken h-hands before.”

  “They’re your brothers?” Casper shook his head. “But you’re so…”

  “S-small?”

  “Well, no. But I mean, compared to them.”

  “I know. I’m the r-runt.”

  The door burst open and everyone screamed, which made the skinny woman standing in the doorway scream even higher and cower behind her register. After a few tense moments she peeked out, saw no monsters and squeaked with relief. She had long brown hair and a mousy face that squeezed to a tip at her chin.

  “Sorry. Hello, class; sorry.” The woman tiptoed to the teacher’s desk and sat low in the spinny chair, hiding as much of herself as she could behind a small stack of books.

  “There you are, Lady!” shouted Lamp, bouncing up and down and pointing at the shivering stack of books. “I found you. Is it my turn to hide now?”

  Casper grabbed Lamp just as he made for the nearest loose floorboard. “Come on, Lamp, time to sit down.” They found their way to some desks at the front.

  The woman spoke quietly, to the floor rather than the class. “Sorry… erm… my name’s Miss Valenteen. I’m your geography teacher. If that’s OK. Sorry.” She opened the register with shaking fingers and called the first few names. “Daryl Ablebody?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Margarine Bannister?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Anemonie Blight?”

  “Hmph.”

  Casper glanced around for Anemonie, confused as to why she wasn’t terrorising Miss Valenteen already. This was the sort of teacher she’d usually eat for breakfast. (Not literally, of course. Anemonie’s breakfast was a bowl of Sickly-Pops with pink food colouring in the milk.) There she was, sitting at the back of the class with crossed arms and the sulkiest face since the village shop ran out of pink food colouring.

  Miss Valenteen had stopped at the next name, her mouth too scared even to say the words. “Snivel,” – her teeth chattered – “Snivel B-brewster?”

  “Y-yes, miss.”

  Her eyes darted to Snivel. She frowned. “You’re the new Brewster boy?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Oh, thank goodness for that.” Miss Valenteen’s shoulders sagged, her head dropped back, her mouth broke into a broad grin. “Well, that’s OK, then. I thought you were another of those ghastly Brewster brothers. But look at you! You couldn’t hurt a fly! Right, then.” She stood up, swept aside her book barrier and carried on as relieved as the fly currently buzzing round Snivel Brewster’s head. “Casper Candlewacks?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Without the threat of a Brewster, Miss Valenteen continued the lesson a new woman. She sang the rest of the register and then tangoed round the classroom handing out textbooks.

  As Casper watched poor Snivel set out his hand-me-down pencils next to his hand-me-down pencil sharpener, he felt a pang of pity. Imagine having to follow in the footsteps of t
he Brewster brothers. Your legs would get achy just trying to keep up, for starters.

  Miss Valenteen clapped her hands. “OK, class, we’ll start with a geography test.”

  “Oh no,” moaned Lamp, “I don’t even know where geography is.”

  “Question one: what’s the capital of Mongolia?”

  Lamp’s hand shot up.

  “Yes?”

  “Ulaanbaatar, miss. Population of just over a million, lying one thousand, three hundred and ten metres above sea level.”

  “Well… yes!” said Miss Valenteen. “One point to you.”

  There was a long pause, broken by a donk noise as Casper’s jaw hit the ground.

  Lamp looked shocked, and quite rightly. He touched his lips with a doubting finger. Had those words really just come out of his mouth?

  Miss Valenteen continued. “Question two: where is Brazil, and why?”

  Lamp’s hand was the first up again. “The eastern side of South America, miss. It’s there because of continental drift caused by plate tectonics.”

  “Right again! Two points to you.”

  Lamp gazed at Casper in open-mouthed glee. “Did you see me do that?” he gasped. Lamp had never got more than one point on a test before (and that was in art when the task was ‘Draw your best impression of an ink splodge’).

  The lesson went on, Lamp’s hand carried on shooting up and up, collecting points like a reckless driver in a speed-camera factory. The rest of the class didn’t stand a chance. Soon Casper’s mind drifted to the evening that lay ahead – opening night at The Battered Cod, two hundred demanding diners and a whole heap of washing-up. What if his dad blew up another oven? What if Cuddles threw another tantrum? What if Mayor Rattsbulge ate another table? The possibilities were too horrifying to consider.

  Just as Lamp secured his forty-third point by solving the famine problem in Africa, the door slammed open and four burly young men, muscles stacked up to their chins, stomped through.

  “LUNCH MUNNY!” shouted the biggest one.