Ping, who was already very pale, turned paler still.
‘He wants to know why a Westerner is in the Forbidden City,’ she gasped.
Frankie felt sweat forming on his forehead beneath the weird salad-bowl hat. ‘Should we run?’ he whispered. But Ping could barely walk, let alone run. And besides, the crowd was already circling around them, herding them towards the stage.
The Not-Quite-Emperor, who was a short, stout man, waddled slowly across the stage towards them.
He held up his hand to stop them, and then made a funny mashing motion with his mouth. Little did Frankie and Ping know that he had been intending to say something terrifyingly impressive, but unfortunately his last bite of toffee apple had glued his teeth together. Hoping no-one knew what was going on, he looked Frankie up and down with disdain.
Sweat trickled down Frankie’s back. He knew he had to do something. Maybe he could make an impressive speech. Something so moving that it would touch everyone’s heart and make them take pity on him and Ping.
It was worth a shot. So, with Ping huddled over in pain beside him, Frankie stepped forward.
‘Holy Royal Mister Sir Subsitute-Emperor,’ Frankie started, removing his hat and guessing (incorrectly) at the protocol for addressing a Not-Emperor from the seventeenth century. ‘I beg for your mercy. I am a visitor from a faraway land and my friend is very sick and needs urgent medical attention. Please, Sir Not-Quite-Emperor-But-Still-Very-Impressive-Person, you’re our only hope,’ urged Frankie.
Similar words had worked for a princess in a galaxy far, far away. Maybe they would work here, too.
The Not-Quite-Emperor stared in silence at Frankie for a long moment (the last of the toffee was still dissolving). Then, when his jaws were finally free, he said something obviously quite rude that made the crowd hoot with laughter.
‘What was that?’ Frankie asked Ping out of the corner of his mouth.
‘He called you a … let me think what the translation would be … a bag of nuts. Yes, a nutbag.’
The Not-Quite-Emperor said something else in rapid Chinese, and Ping translated, her face even more agonised than before. ‘He’s given orders for us to be thrown out of the Forbidden City, and banished forever!’
Frankie’s legs turned to jelly as the crowd jeered, and six burly guards began striding over towards them. But before they arrived, another voice rang out, clear and strong, across the courtyard.
‘You like games, do ya? Well, how about we play one right now?’
Frankie spun around, and couldn’t believe his tired eyes. Standing there – like a cowboy in the old Western movies Frankie’s dad often fell asleep in front of – was none other than Drew Bird.
The Guard With The Scar had moved next to the Close-But-Not-Close-Enough-Emperor, and Frankie saw him translate Drew’s question. The toffee-toothed figure on the stage grinned as he replied.
‘He wants to know what game you suggest,’ said Ping, her voice weak.
Instantly, Drew Bird produced the old dirty bottle from behind his back; the exact one that had been tossed into the South China Sea on behalf of Alfie Fish, found by Oscar Bugg on a war-torn Japanese beach in 1945, and then brought to Frankie Fish in Australia by the mystery-hunting Texan twins – and then half-filled with river water just days earlier.
If Drew was feeling nervous, he certainly didn’t show it. Arms folded, head tilted to one side, Drew asked his next question, which made Frankie gasp in shock. ‘Do you know anything about bottle-flipping, Close-But-Not-Quite-Emperor dude?’
‘This is not a good idea, Drew!’ hissed Frankie.
As Frankie had already pointed out to Drew, bottle-flipping was not supposed to be invented for hundreds of years. It was bad enough that he’d already shown off his skills to Ping. If Drew Bird started performing in front of large crowds in 1642, who knew what the consequences could be?
But Drew paid no attention to Frankie’s warnings. He paced before the rotund figure of the Not-Quite-Emperor like a lawyer addressing the jury on Law & Order. ‘If I can throw this bottle into the air,’ he bellowed, ‘and make it land upright, then you shall release my friends and the two old farts in the cells downstairs.’
The Not-Quite-Emperor stroked his wispy beard as the Guard With The Scar translated, clearly struggling to find the right words for old farts. Then he studied the intriguing young boy before asking, ‘And if the bottle smashes?’
Drew was lost for words but suddenly Ping, pulling on her last bit of strength, called out something loudly, which made the Not-Quite-Emperor laugh and clap his hands.
‘Um, Ping?’ said Frankie nervously. ‘What did you just say?’
‘I told him that if the bottle breaks he can toss us into separate prison cells and throw away the keys,’ she replied.
Frankie’s eyes bulged. ‘Why did you say that?’
Ping managed a weak smile. ‘Because I know Drew can do it. He can do anything.’
Frankie felt all the air in his lungs squeeze out of his body. His throat went dry and his insides turned over like cake batter in a mixer. Sure, Drew Bird was the undisputed Bottle-Flip King in the playground at St Monica’s, but this was a TOTALLY DIFFERENT SITUATION. Drew had NEVER flipped a glass bottle on brick paving before. Nobody had. It was IMPOSSIBLE, especially when you were talking about the same fragile bottle Oscar Bugg had found on that Japanese beach all those years ago in the future.
Mei Mei began to whimper, as if she were saying, ‘You’re the craziest bird I’ve ever met, Drew Bird!’
The Not-Quite-Emperor continued stroking his beard as the crowd milled around, gleefully awaiting his response. Clearly, he was enjoying this moment immensely. He had often felt like he wasn’t given the respect he deserved and this was a perfect opportunity for him to show the people what a great Emperor he could be.
Finally, the Not-Quite-Emperor raised his hands in agreement and the crowd roared with delight. ‘He accepts the challenge,’ whispered Ping. But even as she spoke, the Not-Quite-Emperor flicked his hand to stop the cheering, and Frankie couldn’t help noticing the cruel smile twisted across his face.
What the Not-Quite-Emperor said next made Ping gasp.
‘What?’ asked Frankie and Drew at exactly the same time.
Ping turned to them, her eyes wide with horror and fear. ‘He says YOU must perform the bottle-flip, Frankie. Not Drew.’
‘No!’ gasped Frankie.
‘That’s not the deal,’ bawled Drew, knowing full well that Frankie had NEVER landed a plastic bottle under pressure, let alone a delicate, centuries-old glass bottle on BRICKS.
‘That is the deal – or there is no deal,’ came the Not-Quite-Emperor’s response.
Worst episode of Deal Or No Deal EVER!
Frankie felt sick. There was more chance of an actual bee winning a spelling bee than of him landing his first bottle-flip under these extraordinary circumstances. Plus, bottle-flipping at this point in history felt really wrong. It was like giving a pair of Converse sneakers to Julius Caesar or teaching Tutankhamun how to play cricket.
But there was no getting out of it. One of the guards snatched the bottle from the hands of the Bottle-Flip King and placed it in the hands of the Bottle-Flip Loser. It was like taking a basketball from LeBron James and handing it to a cross-eyed rabbit.
Drew could hardly hide his disappointment. He’d spent hours practising bottle-flipping, he’d tirelessly studied YouTube, he’d literally written the book on the epic history of bottle-flipping (all six pages of it), and had honed his craft during every spare minute of his time. He’d truly earned his crown as Bottle-Flip King, and now, in possibly the biggest upset in bottle-flipping history, he had to watch his beloved sport be performed by the Bottle-Flip Court Jester.
From the stage, the Not-Quite-Emperor laughed mercilessly. The guards shoved Drew back towards Ping, who was now shivering and perspiring heavily. But Ping wasn’t the only one sweating bullets. Frankie’s silky dressing gown was plastered to his back.
‘How about instead of flipping a stupid bottle, we flip this?’ Frankie offered with all the charisma of a failed game-show host.
The Not-Quite-Emperor didn’t need a translation this time. He jabbed his finger repeatedly at the glass bottle and screamed until he was blue in the face. Frankie had been yelled at before by his parents, his grandad, Old Man Harris and of course Principal Dawson, but never with so much fury. The message was clear. There would be no substitutions.
‘OK, OK,’ Frankie muttered. ‘Calm your farm.’ But Frankie’s own farm was anything but calm. The barn was on fire. There were cows and sheep rampaging everywhere and a donkey was joy-riding a tractor.
Then Frankie caught Drew’s eye. His best mate mouthed the words, ‘Take three deep breaths.’
It wasn’t the most helpful advice. But it was the only advice on offer. So Frankie closed his eyes and took his first breath while gently swinging the lip of the bottle between his thumb and forefinger.
On his second breath he increased the momentum of the bottle … and on his third, he gently released it from his grip.
The Not-Quite-Emperor’s eyes widened as the bottle spun through the air. It seemed to pause for a moment as it reached its apex, before beginning its descent towards the cold, hard brick paving of the Forbidden City courtyard.
‘I can’t watch,’ squeaked Drew Bird, and covered his eyes (but then watched through his fingers anyway).
Mei Mei had one paw over her eyes while Ping kept hers tightly closed. You could have heard a pin drop on a feather pillow as the crowd held its collective breath.
Frankie watched as the glass bottle revolved, as if in slow motion, towards the ground. It looked pretty straight. He winced as the base of the bottle hit the ground, drawing a collective ‘Ooooh!’ from the crowd. The fact that the bottle didn’t smash into a million tiny shards was amazing in itself.
The base of the bottle swirled around on the brick paving like a hula-hoop as it seemed to decide whether to fall or remain upright.
‘Don’t fall, please don’t fall,’ Frankie begged under his breath.
Perhaps it was pure luck.
Perhaps Frankie’s bottle-flipping skills had improved.
Perhaps Frankie’s guardian angel had suddenly realised that after twelve years of slacking off, it was time she pulled up her sparkly socks and helped the poor kid out for once.
Whatever the reason, the result was the same. The bottle stayed upright.
The crowd went crazy. They’d never seen a bottle-flip before, of course, but they seemed instinctively to know they had just witnessed something remarkable.
An extremely relieved Drew ran to Frankie and hugged him tightly. ‘I might be the Bottle-Flip King,’ he whispered, ‘but you just earned the title of Bottle-Flip EMPEROR.’
Frankie grinned proudly. He’d possibly just screwed up the entire (future) history of the world, but right at that moment he didn’t care. Then, without wasting another second, the boys raced to where Ping was crumpled on the ground. Gently, they helped her to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ urged Frankie.
The crowd fell silent as the Not-Quite-Emperor began yelling furiously. Ping forced the boys to stop, and translated slowly. ‘He says you cheated,’ she explained weakly, ‘and that you must be punished.’
‘I didn’t cheat!’ protested Frankie. ‘I won the bet, fair and square.’
But it was clear that the Imitation-Emperor had no intention of letting his prisoners go.
Frankie turned to the crowd, his arms raised. ‘Help us!’ he said. ‘You saw what I did!’
But even if anyone had understood Frankie’s words, they wouldn’t have helped. The Not-Quite-Emperor was greatly feared. No-one in their right mind would dare defy him. No-one in their wrong mind would, either.
Frankie felt despair creep inside him. He had run out of ideas.
Ping whispered weakly, in a mixture of Mandarin and English, ‘I’m sorry … can’t hold out much more … you can have my necklace, and please look after Mei Mei for me …’
Mei Mei began to howl pitifully.
Drew snatched the gold coin that Frankie still had in his hand.
‘Can we buy our way out?’ Drew desperately asked the Not-Quite-Emperor.
The offer was met with cruel and high-pitched laughter. What use was a single gold coin?
‘But what if I could turn this one gold coin into one MILLION gold coins?’ Drew offered.
A hush fell over the crowd as the Guard With The Scar translated Drew’s words. Once more, the Bottle-Flip King had everyone’s full attention.
Frankie was used to feeling nervous about what Drew was cooking up, especially when it came to pranks. And today was no different.
‘Tell them to bring me a pan with some freezing cold water in it!’ Drew told Ping, who dutifully relayed the message.
The Not-Quite-Emperor stroked his beard, intrigued. He was NOT a wealthy man, and in fact was paid mostly in toffee apples and livestock – so the offer of ONE MILLION GOLD COINS was very attractive indeed.
The crowd buzzed with excitement as the pan of iced water was fetched and placed before Drew. Drew whispered to Frankie, ‘When I begin counting, run as fast as you can back to the prison with Ping and Mei Mei. Hopefully your grandparents are still there, with enough charge in that oversized lunchbox for the ride home.’
‘But what about you?’ asked Frankie.
‘I’ll meet you there,’ replied Drew with that famous Drew Bird wink. ‘Trust me.’
As Frankie backed away, Drew held the coin up above his head. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Today I, Drew Bird, will turn this ONE gold coin into one MILLION gold coins as a gift to your, um, totally cool Almost-Emperor dude!’ he bellowed, clearly trying to sound sincere. ‘This will happen right in front of your eyes.’
Frankie watched nervously as Drew beckoned for the Not-Quite-Emperor to come closer. The Not-Quite-Emperor was sufficiently curious to dispense with normal etiquette and descend from the stage to join Drew Bird, who was now kneeling in front of the pan.
Drew patted the brick paving beside him and, after a moment’s hesitation, the Not-Quite-Emperor lowered himself to his knees. The crowd was very still and the guards watched, eagle-eyed, poised to pounce on the foreigner at the slightest hint of something fishy.
Once more holding the coin in the air, Drew announced, ‘I shall place this single gold coin in the pan and if the Almost-Emperor fella sees his own reflection in the water for exactly five seconds, this single coin will transform into ONE MILLION GOLD COINS before his very eyes.’
Ping’s translation caused an amazed gasp to ripple through the crowd.
Frankie felt himself go very pale. What in the world is Drew planning to do? he wondered.
Had Drew somehow added magic to his portfolio, and become a rare three-trick pony? When it came to his best friend, Frankie was sure anything was possible.
The Not-Quite-Emperor had already begun to think of all the things he could do with ONE MILLION pieces of gold. He could build his own Forbidden City (which he would call the ‘Even More Forbidden City’), or his own Great Wall (the ‘Greatest Wall’). Eagerly he peered into the pan of water, face-to-face with his own grin.
‘Five …’ Drew screamed.
Frankie took the cue, and quietly led Ping and Mei Mei through the crowd towards Grandad and Nanna Fish.
‘Four … Three …’
At the gate leading down to the prison, Frankie glanced back to see the Not-Quite-Emperor bending impatiently over the pan.
‘Two …’ Drew cried, motioning for the Not-Quite-Emperor to stay put. ‘Wait for it …’
The greedy man moved so close to his own reflection that his nose was almost touching the water’s s
urface.
‘ONE!’ screamed Drew. And then he flipped up the ice-cold pan as hard as he could, SPLASHING the freezing water all over the Not-Quite-Emperor’s face.
As the man shrieked in outrage, Drew jumped to his feet, snapped his trusty blue scooter out of his backpack and flung it under his feet, and fled the scene of the crime.
‘Hurry!’ Frankie cried, watching his friend break all the time-travel rules with a mixture of admiration and horror.
‘… Drew?’ moaned Ping, her face slick with sweat.
Guards lunged left and right at Drew, desperately trying to grab the troublemaker, but to Frankie’s relief he dodged them easily. Quickly, Frankie helped Ping down the rest of the stairs into the prison, where Grandad and Nanna were waiting.
‘What’s going on out there?’ growled Grandad.
‘Shh!’ said Frankie. ‘Just listen.’
‘Zhua zhu ta!’ The words of Regional Manager Wet Face came screaming down the stairs and ricocheted off the prison walls. Frankie didn’t know what they meant, but he was pretty sure they weren’t, ‘Wow, that was a great prank! You are free to go.’
Frankie crossed his fingers, hoping that Drew was whooshing at top speed towards the now Not-So-Secret Prison.
Then Frankie heard the huge prison gate slam shut. Oh no! he thought, his stomach flipping. Was Drew trapped on the outside of that gate, or had he made it through?
A moment later, Frankie heard someone say in a low voice: ‘You are a friend of Frankie Fish.’
With a pounding heart, Frankie realised it was Hui, the Guard With The Scar. Nanna had said Hui was nice, but Nanna had been wrong before (like about Frankie looking handsome in his terrible school photo, for instance).
‘That’s right,’ came the unmistakable voice of Drew Bird.
Frankie Fish and the Great Wall of Chaos Page 9