by A. J. Low
for the munchkin gang: Boon, Siva, Lemon, The Meihan, and Highlander
“Hold still, Watson!” I said.
“I-have-been-holding-still-for-thirty-two-minutes,” Watson replied.
“Then just hold still for one . . . more . . . minute,” I grumbled, giving the screwdriver one final twist. “There, it’s done!”
I stood back to admire my handiwork. Other than the small panel that was open on the right side of Watson’s head, he didn’t look
any different. But he was now more powerful than ever! MUAHAHAHA!
“Why-are-you-laughing-strangely?” Watson asked.
I closed the panel with a sharp click.
“Let’s test it out, Watson,” I said. “On my mark, start!”
Watson remained silent.
“Watson? Did you hear me? I said ‘start,’” I said, and waited for him to respond.
Watson continued to remain silent.
“Is it not working correctly? Impossible!” I said, moving toward my robot.
“Let’s test it out, Watson. On my mark, start!” I said in reply.
Wait a minute, was that me?
“Watson? Did you hear me? I said ‘start,’” I continued.
Was my voice really that squeaky? But more important, it worked! The new recording device I had installed in Watson worked!
“Isn’t this awesome, Watson? Now you will be able to record all my case notes, no matter where we are!” I said.
“Indeed. What-could-be-more-awesome-than-recording-your-case-notes?” Watson replied.
“Okay, let’s start with the Case of the Missing Hamster,” I replied, glaring at my robot. “He was brown with white patches. At his young age, he was already a proficient escape artist. They called him Benjamin. Benjamin the hamster—”
“Boys! Dinner!” Dad called from the living room.
“Dinner! Come on, Watson!” I said, already halfway out of my bedroom. “Coming, Dad!”
Dad, Mom, and Wendy were seated at the dining table by the time Watson and I arrived. Mom had made her famous spaghetti bolognese! Her sauce has just the right mix of minced beef, carrots, and celery—a delicious savory perfection! Watson had his own plate of used batteries, which he consumes as his power source. His batteries were AA and cold.
“May I have extra cheese, please?” I asked politely.
“You’re so chubby already, and you still want more cheese,” Wendy said.
I glared at my sister. Wendy is tall and skinny, and only a year older than me. Maybe I will have a growth spurt when I turn eleven. Anyway, great detectives come in all shapes and sizes, and that is what I want to be: a great detective like Sherlock Holmes or Batman!
“It’s all right. Sam is a growing boy,” Dad replied, handing me the bowl of grated cheese.
“Only one more spoonful, Samuel,” Mom warned. She had a look on her face that meant she wasn’t going to repeat herself.
“Yes, Mom,” I said. I made sure it was a heaping spoonful. Dad grinned at me. Like me, he had been a chubby kid when he was ten, but now he is tall and skinny! I have genetics on my side! I read about this in The Stuff of Life, a comic on genes and DNA that Dad bought for me. He also let me read Science of the X-Men, which is also about genetics, but not as relevant to my situation.
“What time is your field trip tomorrow morning?” Mom asked.
“Egg-ay-em,” I mumbled, my mouth full of pasta.
“Egg-ay-em,” Watson repeated.
Everyone turned to look at Watson.
“What was that?!” Wendy asked, her eyes wide.
“Oh. I’ve just installed a recording program in Watson,” I replied, twirling spaghetti around my fork.
“That’s interesting,” Dad said, nodding approvingly.
“No eavesdropping,” Mom said, shaking her head disapprovingly.
“Can Watson help me with my Chinese presentation for school?” Wendy asked.
“No, he may not,” Mom replied. “Anyway, both of you have to leave at eight a.m. tomorrow, is that right? And I’m supposed to drop you off at Fort Canning Park?”
“Yes, Mom. All the Upper Primary kids are going to the Battle Box!” I said.
“That’s so fun! When I was in school, the only outing we had was to the shiitake mushroom farm at Lim Chu Kang,” Dad said. “There are only so many photographs you can take of mushrooms before feeling bored. Those fungi are no fun guys.”
“There’s a spice garden at Fort Canning, I think,” Mom said.
“Do they have mushrooms there?” Dad asked.
“A-mushroom-is-not-a-spice,” Watson replied.
“But what is the Battle Box?” Mom asked, smiling fondly at Dad. He is a genius engineer, but often gets his vegetables and fruits mixed up. And, apparently, also his fungi.
“The Battle Box was an underground bunker the British Malaya High Command used as its headquarters during the Second World War. Now it’s been converted into a historical attraction,” Dad replied. See? Smart!
“Apparently they use animatronics to re-create historical scenes, Dad! How cool is that?” I said.
“I-am-looking-forward-to-meeting-fellow-robots,” Watson said.
“I want to see the sculptures at the sculpture garden,” Wendy said.
“Wendy, look after your brother,” Mom reminded.
“But Mom! My classmates will be there! I’m supposed to be buddies with a new boy. I can’t babysit Cher Lock all day!” Wendy cried.
“SHER-lock!” I retorted.
“SHER-lock!” Watson cried in my voice.
I made a mental note to give Watson a command word so that he would know when to start recording, and when to stop. Otherwise, who knew what he would record!
“Well, keep a lookout for Sam and Watson anyway. I’m sure your new friend would love to meet a robot,” Mom replied.
“Fine, but you better behave,” Wendy said, wrinkling her nose at me.
“I-always-behave,” Watson replied.
“Thanks, Watson,” I said. Watson is my loyal sidekick. I knew he would always take my side.
“And-I-will-inform-you-if-Sherlock-misbehaves,” Watson continued.
Then again, maybe not.
“Why are we stopping here?” I asked. Mom had stopped the car alongside what looked like a million steps leading up a hill.
“What do you mean?” Mom replied.
“Don’t you know that force equals mass multiplied by acceleration?” I said, incredulous. “Do you know how much acceleration I’ll need to get up these steps?”
“Especially-with-your-mass,” Watson said.
“Oh! I was just going to say that, Watson!
High five!” Wendy laughed, attempting to slap my robot’s hand with hers. Watson, to my pleasure, did not cooperate.
“I’m going to meet my friends for breakfast, Sam. And I’m already late. Your sister said that I could drop you all off here because it leads straight up to the meeting point,” Mom replied.
“Come on, Sam! Let’s accelerate!” Wendy grinned at me as she slammed the car door shut.
I sighed heavily as I pulled on my heavy backpack. Mom waved cheerily as she drove off.
“Watson, record my last will and testament. I am leaving all my comics to Dad,” I recited, taking my final few steps in life, up the first few steps of the stairway leading up to Fort Canning.
“Dad bought you all your
comics. He already owns them,” Wendy shouted down, already miles ahead of me.
“That’s why . . . I’m leaving . . . them . . . to him!” I gasped.
“Exercise-may-help-you-grow-taller,” Watson said.
I was pretty sure that wasn’t true, but I needed air more than I needed to give a clever response.
By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I had eaten the sandwich Mom had prepared for my lunch. It was the most sensible thing to do: I had to reduce the mass of my backpack so that I would require less force to climb up the steps. However, I decided to keep my astute scientific insights to myself this time around.
“Hey, Sherlock! Hey, Watson! Hey, Wendy! What took you guys so long? I’ve been here forever! Almost five minutes!” Jimmy greeted us cheerfully, bouncing in excitement.
I peered closely at Jimmy. Neat hair. Dry school T-shirt. Not a bead of sweat on his upper lip or brow. My deductive abilities kicked into overdrive.
“You took an escalator!” I yelled.
“Yeah, it’s over on the other side!” Jimmy replied, pointing in the opposite direction of where Mom had dropped us off.
“He took an escalator!” I yelled again, this time at Wendy.
“He did?” my sister replied. I didn’t need my detective skills to recognize the look of fake innocence on her face.
“Come on, Sherlock! We have to meet up with our class. See you later, Wendy!” Jimmy said, pulling Watson and me by our arms.
“Behave yourself, Cher Lock!” Wendy called out.
“It’s SHER-lock!” I shouted back, Jimmy dragging me away.
Wendy was already talking to one of her classmates, a tall Malay boy. From the way Wendy repeatedly leaned forward to listen to him, I concluded that he was rather soft-spoken and very likely shy. This must be the new boy she had mentioned at dinner last night. As class monitor, she had been tasked to be his buddy and guide him around.
Fort Canning Park was very large and green, with many uphill slopes that I was not looking forward to climbing. There were wooden signposts everywhere, pointing to various attractions in the park.
Jimmy and I lined up with our class near the Battle Box ticketing office and waited for our teachers to organize the classes into some form of order. Coincidentally, Wendy and her new classmate lined up right next to us.
“Is that a robot?” the new kid asked, his dark brown eyes wide with amazement.
“My-name-is-Wat-son,” Watson said. “Sher-lock-has-forbidden-me-to-speak-of-the-special-abilities-I-do-not-have.”
I made a note to explain to Watson exactly what the word secret meant when I told him that his abilities were to be kept a secret.
“Wait, Sherlock and Watson? Like in the novels?” the new kid said. “I love Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”
“He’s Samuel Tan Cher Lock actually,” Wendy said.
“It’s always great to meet another fan of a great author. I’m Sherlock Sam,” I said, deftly ignoring my sister and reaching out to shake the new kid’s hand.
“You’re Sherlock Sam? The student that solves mysteries?” the new kid asked. I hoped he would tell me his name soon so I would not have to keep calling him “the new kid.”
“My name is Nazhar,” the new kid said. “I just changed schools because my family shifted from Punggol to Bedok. I’ve been hearing about this super clever Primary Four student with a robot. I didn’t realize he was your brother, Wendy.”
“Oh? I was sure I’d mentioned him to you,” my sister replied, deadpan.
“. . . and at night, they say that the souls of the dead come out and haunt the grounds,” someone in Wendy’s class said. Everyone’s attention was captured by the words souls of the dead and we fell silent and listened in.
“No way,” one of the boys said.
The Eurasian girl who had been speaking carried on, ignoring him. “Lots and lots of people were buried here in the past, plus the people who died here during the war. All of Fort Canning is one giant haunted house!”
“There are no such things as ghosts,” I said loudly. I couldn’t help myself.
The group of kids that the girl had been talking to turned and glared at me.
“Yes, there are,” the girl replied snottily. “I bet there are ghosts in the Battle Box bunker!”
Everyone, even the girl’s friends, glanced about warily. Nazhar rubbed his neck uncomfortably, as if something had spooked him from behind. Jimmy looked as pale as a . . . well, as pale as a ghost. If ghosts existed.
“There are really no such things as ghosts. Their existence has never been conclusively proven beyond a reasonable doubt,” I replied.
“How would you know?” the girl asked. “You’re just in P4. I bet you don’t even know what a poltergeist is.” She crossed her arms smugly.
“Of course I do. It’s a ghost that makes itself known by creating loud noises and moving things about,” I said. “But it doesn’t exist.”
“I bet a poltergeist is going to come and get you later!” the girl said loudly, pointing at Jimmy, who already looked terrified. He grabbed Watson, who, surprisingly, let him cling on.
“Eliza, leave my brother and Jimmy alone,” Wendy said, stepping in front of Jimmy and me. Just then the teachers started calling out class names, signaling the students to move into the Battle Box in a calm and orderly manner.
All chaos broke loose.
Wendy’s class dashed forward while Eliza muttered something about kaypoh P4 kids. While Wendy and Nazhar were being pushed along ahead of us, Nazhar turned back to call out, “See you guys later for lunch!”
“I-hope-someone-remembered-to-bring-my-batteries-for-lunch,” Watson said.
Oops.
“That-was-disappointing,” Watson said.
“What are you talking about, Watson?” Jimmy said. “It was awesome! Sometimes it was scary though. The animal-tropics looked so real!”
“You-mean-animatronics,” Watson corrected.
“That’s what I said,” Jimmy replied.
“Watson is just disappointed that none of the robots were able to have a conversation with him, Jimmy,” I said. “In truth, I am a bit disappointed as well. The animatronics were quite passable facsimiles of human beings, but none were sentient.”
“They were faxi-what of what?” Jimmy asked, looking terribly confused.
“He means that while the robots looked like humans, they were just simple machines,” Nazhar said, appearing with Wendy.
“Did you enjoy the Battle Box, Nazhar?” I asked.
“I thought it was informative, but my dad’s a big World War II history buff so I didn’t learn anything new,” Nazhar replied.
“That’s a cool sketch, Wendy,” Jimmy said, peering over her shoulder. Wendy had drawn one of the war scenes from the Battle Box, featuring the British commanders. It looked extremely realistic.
“Wendy’s a really talented artist,” Nazhar said.
From the sudden flush that spread across her cheeks, I deduced that my sister was either embarrassed or pleased. Most likely both. I think my sister will be a famous artist one day. But I’ll only tell her when I’m older. And taller.
“Let’s eat!” I said. “I would like to explore the Spice Garden after this. It has information on what spices can be used to make food more delicious.”
Our teachers told us that we could spread out on Fort Canning Green for lunch. It was a large grassy area in the middle of the park. Events were held there most weekends, and even in the middle of the day, on a weekday, there were a few people there having picnics.
We sat down to eat our food. Nazhar pulled out homemade nasi lemak, which looked and smelled delicious! I could smell the rich fragrance of pandan leaf and coconut milk, which his mom must have used to cook the rice! I bet it was extra lemak!
Jimmy pulled out fried rice and sausages
, which also looked and smelled delicious!
His grandma had even given him an extra fried egg!
Wendy pulled out a tuna sandwich, which didn’t look or smell as interesting.
Just then, I suddenly remembered that I had eaten my tuna sandwich to lighten my backpack while climbing up those horrible stairs! All I had left were celery and carrot sticks!
“Oh no!” I gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked.
“A ghost must have just touched his face!” Eliza interrupted. She was standing behind me, smirking, with a bunch of her giggling friends.
“Please leave him alone, Eliza,” Wendy said. “We just want to eat our lunch quickly.”
“You know you are sitting on dead bodies, right? They are going to come and haunt you tonight!” Eliza said.
Jimmy immediately jumped to his feet. “What . . . what does she mean we’re sitting on dead bodies?” he stammered.
“This used to be a cemetery, Jimmy,” Nazhar said. “They buried lots of people here.”
“In fact, the carvings on the walls over there are actually old tombstones!” Eliza said snottily. “I bet there are ghosts all around us now!” Eliza and her friends laughed as they walked away.
Jimmy’s eyes bugged out and he clutched his face with horror.
“You mean what she said earlier was true? We’re sitting on dead bodies?” Jimmy gasped.
“Well, yes,” Nazhar replied.
Jimmy’s eyes went wider.
“There-is-still-a-small-cemetery-in-the-corner-by-the-Gothic-Gate-on-the-west,” Watson said.
Jimmy’s eyes were the biggest I had ever seen them.
“I-I-I-I-” Jimmy stammered.
“It’s okay, Jimmy, they’re dead. They can’t hurt you,” Wendy said.
“Did you guys know that during World War II, the Japanese took over Fort Canning from the British and used it as the base of their military operations till the end of the war?” Nazhar said, trying to distract Jimmy.