Casper Candlewacks in the Attack of the Brainiacs!

by Ivan Brett

  The Brewster brothers had arrived.

  All round Casper the terrified children hid behind their hands. Miss Valenteen dived under her desk with a squeal.

  “S-stay calm,” whispered Snivel. “If you don’t m-move, they c-can’t see you.”

  The Brewsters tromped round the classroom, collecting loose change in a bucket. Lamp proudly presented his Brewster an egg and found it stuffed into his mouth (which was fine by him).

  “The b-biggest one’s Bash,” whispered Snivel. “Then there’s Spit, Clobber and P-pinchnurse.”

  Casper frowned. “Pinchnurse?”

  “W-we’re named after the first fing we do after we’re born. I s-snivelled. P-pinchnurse pinched a nurse.”

  A Brewster, with one fat caterpillar of an eyebrow, stopped at Snivel’s table. “Lunch munny.”

  “Clobber, it’s m-me.”

  “You what?” A glimmer of recognition crossed Clobber’s eyebrow. “Pocket munny.”

  As Snivel emptied his pockets, a shadow loomed over Casper’s desk, the fetid stench of hot-tuna breath filling his nostrils.

  “Lunch munny.”

  Trembling, Casper looked up. The biggest Brewster of all, the one Casper guessed was Bash, towered above him, his toothless grin and shrunken forehead punctuating a face that looked almost entirely like a bruised potato.

  “I…” trembled Casper, “I d-don’t have any.”

  Bash leant even closer. “Lunch munny,” he whispered, the tuna stink singeing Casper’s nose-hairs.

  “I promise, I don’t have any! I’ve already given it to her.” Casper pointed at Anemonie and was relieved to find the biggest Brewster’s eyes searching for the point’s target.

  “He’s lying! Don’t listen to hURRK—” Anemonie Blight was lifted upside down by a bushy-nose-haired Brewster and shaken around by her feet, loosening all the cash hidden in the lining of her blazer. Then she was dumped in a corner with all the other empties.

  Bash scowled at Casper. “Tomorrah, you bring dubble.”

  Casper nodded vigorously.

  The brute pointed to his eyes and then Casper’s eyes and then to his own fist, which meant something vaguely threatening and dangerous, but Casper wasn’t quite sure what.

  After the whole class had been done and Miss Valenteen had written out a cheque, Bash thanked everybody for their time and led his brothers away to the next classroom.

  “S-sorry,” said Snivel. “You d-don’t want to m-make Bash angry.”

  Casper smiled weakly. “I’ll try not to. How have you lasted this long?”

  “Q-quite a lot of h-hiding.”

  The lesson continued as before, except that Miss Valenteen was back to her shaky self. Lamp racked up goodness-knows-how-many points, a gold star and the Nobel Prize for Literature, while Casper and the rest of the class looked on agape.

  When the bell rang, the kids skittered out of the room and down the corridor, peeping round each corner for Brewsters.

  “How d’you do that back there, Lamp?” asked Casper.

  Lamp shrugged. “Dunno. I think I was just lucky.”

  “You can’t have just been lucky seventy-six times in a row!”

  “Seventy-seven, actually.”

  Next lesson was music, where Lamp played a faultless rendition of Beethoven’s First Piano Concerto on a tiny xylophone.

  At lunch, Snivel was recruited by his brothers for a cricket match (he played the stumps). Casper and Lamp watched at the boundary, wincing every time one of the Brewsters was bowled out. Casper tried to recite The Battered Cod’s menu to Lamp from memory, but it got really tiring really fast after Lamp starting reciting it back to Casper in Latin.

  In English, Lamp finished the grammar worksheet before Mr Falstaff could hand it out, and then in religious studies, he disproved three religions only to create four more.

  The bus home was a sombre affair for everyone apart from Lamp. His blazer was covered in gold stars, so he was pretending to be the night sky.

  “Look, Casper! This is Ursa Minor, and that’s the Big Dipper.” He marked out the shapes of the constellations with an excited finger. “And this is the Swallowing Donkey, and this one doesn’t have a name yet, so I’ll call it Trevor.”

  Halfway home, Casper remembered that Teresa Louncher was still stuck in that locker. He swore he’d remember to let her out tomorrow.

  On the back seat, Anemonie nibbled her fingernails and growled at anybody who came too close. She’d never been anything but Queen of the Classroom before (except once, when she declared herself Holy Empress of the Playground and got Ted Treadington to build her a temple out of lunchboxes). But now she was nothing more than a lowly peasant at the Court of Lord Brewster. That sort of thing stung.

  “Can I come round?” asked Lamp. “I can’t remember where I left my house.”

  “Not tonight. We’re doing the grand opening of The Battered Cod. You coming?”

  “Will there be food?”

  “It’s a restaurant. Of course there’ll be food.”

  “Because I love it when there’s food.”

  The tractor ground to a halt in Corne-on-the-Kobb’s village square and Sandy Landscape bellowed, “’Ere we are, kiddies, ’ome an’ dry, safe an’ sound, bread an’ drippin’. Don’t leave yer berlongin’s on the bus unless it’s sammiches.” The children tumbled out through the carriage door and scampered off home to cuddle their mummies. Lamp shuffled off with an eager wave, leaving Casper almost alone in the square.

  Sitting on the step by the boarded-up cheese shop was that grubby Frenchman Renée, sucking on a tiny grey cigarette.

  Casper waved.

  “’Allo, boy.” His fat lips curled into a smile. “Are you being ready for… er… ze large evening?”

  Casper nodded. The fact that Renée’s cheese shop was opening on the same night as his dad’s restaurant had been a worry, but not for long. The villagers liked cheese, but only when it came in heavy yellow bricks. French cheese, with all its liquid middles and herby crusts and essence de cowshed, would not appeal to the villagers one morsel.

  Through the window of The Battered Cod, Casper could see Julius Candlewacks teetering on a ladder, grasping for a massive wonky lampshade that hung just out of reach.

  “Better go and help,” grimaced Casper.

  “Ah, c’est bon. Say ’allo to your fazzer.”

  Casper trotted the rest of the way across the square.

  Ting-a-ling.

  “Dad?” Casper pushed open the restaurant door, caught the corner of the ladder and sent it toppling over, leaving Julius Candlewacks hanging from the lampshade.

  “Help!” Julius flailed his legs about and suddenly realised he was terrified of heights. “I can’t hold on! I’m too young to die!”

  “Just jump. It’s not far.”

  “It’s miles! I’ll break my legs! Get me a parachute or something.”

  “We don’t have a—”

  RRRRIPPPP went the lampshade and, along with Julius, it tumbled to the carpet.

  Julius checked he was alive, breathed a sigh of relief and then noticed how far the bit of lampshade in his hands was from the rest of the lampshade. “Oh.”

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  “It’s fine!” He sprang to his feet with forced jollity. “It’s modern. Half a lampshade is the new lampshade. Soon everyone’ll be doing it. Now, plenty to do.” And he tottered off to look at the list of unfinished jobs scribbled all over the Today’s Specials blackboard.

  It had just gone four o’clock, which left three hours until opening time.

  “How can I help?” asked Casper.

  “Right,” Julius read down the list. “You need to connect that oven, peel the spuds, get a new fridge, sweep up the old fridge, label the meat pile and fix the lock on the loo. Got that?”

  Casper groaned.

  Ting-a-ling.

  “Caspy!” Casper’s mother, Amanda Candlewacks, burst through the restaurant door. She had long blonde hair, scratches al
l over her face and a wriggling baby in a bag slung over one shoulder. “Look at me, Caspy, I’m a real mother!”

  “How was your first day with Cuddles?”

  “Wonderful! We went to the park, she caught some squirrels, I lost her down the back of the tumble dryer—”

  The baby screeched and thrashed about, gnashing its razor-sharp teeth. This was Cuddles, Casper’s sister, the least cuddly baby since Clemmie Answorth adopted a cactus. (The cactus didn’t last long, by the way. It was eaten by Cuddles, along with Clemmie Answorth’s shoes and purse and Don’t Eat my Cactus sign.)

  “But I think she might be broken. Can you take a look at her, darling?” Amanda smiled sweetly at Casper.

  It didn’t take long to see, or to smell, what was going on. “Mum, her nappy’s full. Like every day. You just need to change her.”

  “Change her?” Amanda’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I like this one.”

  “Not all of her, Mum. Just the nappy.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “I showed you yesterday.”

  “But I need to do it today,” she giggled.

  Casper sighed and laid Cuddles out on Table 4. His mum wasn’t a quick learner. She wasn’t even a slow learner. As it turned out, Amanda Candlewacks wasn’t a learner at all. What’s more, she was about eleven years late to this ‘mothering’ malarkey, and she couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. But today, with Casper going to school, Amanda was faced with her first full day of unaided mothering.

  “All done,” said Casper, fastening the pin extra tightly. “And stop putting her in bags.”

  “How else will I carry her? Some sort of trolley?” She burst into trills of fruity laughter.

  “Yes, Mum. They call it a buggy.”

  “Well, I call it a waste of money. If a bag’s good enough for my shopping, it’s good enough for my daughter. Anyway, I’m shattered. Your turn to look after her now!”

  “No, Mum, I’m—”

  “Thanks, Caspy, you’re a star.” Amanda collapsed where she stood and was snoring before she hit the floor.

  “Great.”

  Cuddles gnawed on her own foot.

  Casper left Cuddles to peel the potatoes (her fangs were perfect for the job) and clomped through to the kitchen. Last week Julius had bought every single item from the Kitchens ’n’ More catalogue, and now the whole lot was squeezed into his minuscule new kitchen. Four-slot toasters were stacked on top of chrome-finished deep-fat fryers, all still wrapped in plastic and far from being plugged in. In fact, nothing was plugged in because the only thing Julius had forgotten was something to plug them all into. Until further notice the kitchen would be lit by dozens of torches hanging from the ceiling or propped up in mugs.

  “Right,” said Julius from behind a stack of flat-pack shelving units. “Block your ears!”

  Casper did as he was told, and just in time too, because the next moment a deafening buzz rocked the room. Casper dived behind the oven just before hundreds of knives jiggled from their rack and thunked to the linoleum floor where he’d been standing, sticking fast.

  “DAD!” he bellowed. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

  The noise stopped. Julius blew a cloud of sawdust from the tip of his power-drill like a spy with a smoking gun. “Drilling holes.”

  “What for?”

  “Electricity. This wall goes through to the restaurant so I’m sticking a wire through.”

  “Just watch where you’re drilling. There’re water pipes and all sorts in there.”

  “Trust me, Casp. I’ve done this before.” He winked and flipped down his goggles, then the drill roared into action again. The room shook, the wall wobbled, torches dropped from the ceiling and mugs rolled off tables, plunging the kitchen into darkness, but still Julius drilled on.

  “DAD, STOP!” yelled Casper, but for all Julius could hear he might as well have been making farmyard noises.

  And then, with a BRRRROOOOOO, he’d drilled through. A shaft of clean light shone from the restaurant.

  “Fantastic!” cheered Julius, standing back to admire his work.

  “You sure the wall’s OK?” Casper didn’t claim to be an expert, but he was sure he’d read somewhere that walls weren’t meant to wobble.

  “Solid as a rock, Casp.” Julius banged on the wall twice and the plaster gave way round his hand. Then a large chunk crumbled off and the whole right side toppled inwards. Casper dived for cover again as an avalanche of wall imploded around him. Dust and rubble filled his lungs, his eyes stung and he finally got to find out what plaster tasted like. (Not bad, a bit bland, 6/10.)

  The dust settled. Casper dared to peek out from his hiding place. A grey Julius-shaped statue stood in place of the wall. The kitchen and the restaurant were no longer two rooms, they were one room. A room filled with rubble. Amanda’s snoring and Cuddles’s gnawing were the only noises Casper could hear. Then the Julius-shaped statue coughed a cloud of dust.

  Casper fumbled for some consoling words. “Dad, I—”

  “Open plan!” Julius’s grey face broke into a grin. “We’ll be open plan.” He tottered between kitchen and restaurant, holding imaginary plates of food. “Ketchup, madam? Why, of course!” He pranced back into the kitchen, picked up an imaginary bottle and pranced back to the table again. “See, Casper? It’s that easy now.”

  Casper smiled timidly.

  A gravelly cough came from the other side of the restaurant and then, in a rough French drawl, “I will… er… be coming back later?”

  Julius screamed. It was the Frenchman.

  “Renée! Didn’t notice you come in! Must fix the ting-a-ling-er. Anyway, come on in, take a seat. I think there’s one under this wall.”

  Renée didn’t sit down. Instead he sucked on his stick-thin cigarette and chewed the smoke. “’Allo, Julius, mon ami. But what is all zis?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” Julius kicked some rubble under a table, but it just crumbled under his foot. “Just making some final… adjustments. All ready for tonight?”

  Renée shrugged nonchalantly. “Meh, I not worry about zat.”

  “Well, we’re right behind you. Isn’t that right, Casp?” Julius grinned at Renée with a few too many teeth. “We think it’s just great that you’re over here in Britain. You know to ask if you need anything.”

  “Zat is most kind.” Renée bowed. “I am still, how you say, getting under ze grippings with zis country. Ze cheese, he is my passion.”

  “Oh, me too. We all love cheese here, especially when it’s blue or smelly and not just a heavy yellow brick.” Julius nudged Casper, so he nodded vigorously.

  “Ah, I must not be staying for long. I am only here for to invite you. You will come to ze opening night of my… er… shop of ze cheese?”

  Julius’s laugh had a touch of pity. “Renée, my friend, how many times? I can’t join you tonight – my restaurant’s opening too.”

  Renée turned to leave, flashing a dirty yellow smile from under his beret. “Oui, Julius, but you will come.” He trotted into the square without a goodbye.

  Ting-a-ling.

  “What was that last bit about?” Casper scratched his head.

  Julius stared into the middle distance with a frown, as if there was some distant memory tickling the very edge of his mind. He shook his head and plodded off to find a broom. “Lots to do, Casper!” he yelled over his shoulder. “How are those spuds? As soon as this oven’s on, I need to get them roasting.”

  A screech and a burp from the corner of the restaurant meant that Cuddles had finished her job. Casper picked his way over the rubble towards Table 4.

  “Oh, Cuddles. You haven’t.”

  Cuddles grinned, victory in her sticky little eyes. She’d peeled the potatoes all right – in fact she’d done it perfectly. In front of her was a bowl full of beautiful paper-thin peelings. But the potatoes were nowhere to be seen. She sneezed, spraying Casper’s face with a fine mashed-potato mist.

  “Casper?” yelled Julius. �
�I need those spuds.”

  “Yeah, about the spuds…” His mouth was dry, his face wet and the carpet covered in wall. How much worse could today get?

  Well, if you really want to know – much, much worse…

  Casper’s afternoon faded to evening as preparations continued in The Battered Cod. Seven o’clock thundered ever closer like an angry bull towards a picnic. By six, the kitchen was all plugged in (at the expense of Julius’s eyebrows, singed off by a small gas leak and a naked flame) and the food was on its way.

  Julius had decided that the restaurant’s theme was Best of British: classic British dishes cooked in that unique Candlewacks style. He’d been toying with the idea of Thai food for a while, but Mrs Trimble’s village shop had sold out of lemongrass and Julius’s attempt to milk a coconut had ended in three smashed windows and a big dent in the middle of next-door’s greyhound.

  Best of British it was, then, but to Julius’s credit, he’d done a great job. He’d cooked up Bangers and Mash in a Red Leicester Letterbox; Slow-roast Cricket Bat; Double-decker Cucumber Sandwiches painted with Home-ketchupped Tomatoes to look like buses; Tea-flavoured Scones and Scone-flavoured Tea; Beefeaters’ Hats filled with Juicy Ground Beef and a massive Shepherd’s Pie in the shape of the Queen.

  Julius plopped countless battered fish, battered sausages and one misplaced battered plimsoll into the vat of bubbling oil. He snatched a look at the clock and yelped. “Five minutes! What’s it like out there?”

  Casper dared to peek through the front window to the village square. At least half the village milled about outside, squishing their noses against the restaurant window to get a good view. “Busy, Dad.”

  “Brilliant!” He clapped his hands and grinned, then wrestled Cuddles away from a tray of Yorkshire puddings. “Right, Casper, let’s get ready. Knives and forks, clean cups, salt and vinegar on every table. Amanda! You ready?”

  “Yes, CHEF!” Amanda squeaked, like she’d seen them do on telly. Amanda danced around behind her cocktail bar, plopping three teabags down the neck of a bottle of gin and uncorking the brown sauce.