‘Pwah!’ Chunca spat something out of his mouth. ‘Call that a snack? It’s tougher than tapir teeth.’
Bacpac looked at the packet of peanuts on the Emp’s lap. ‘I think, your Fabbiness, you’re supposed to open it first. Allow me.’ He tore the packet open.
Chunca looked inside. ‘Nuts! Now we’re talking. Let’s play Gob-Lob.’
Bacpac glanced at the lady on his left. ‘I’m not sure this is quite the place.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that, me old cocoa bean.’ The Emp threw a nut in the air. The lady on Bacpac’s left gasped. The nut landed in her mouth.
‘Shot!’ Chunca clapped himself on the back.
‘My turn,’ said a boy in the seat behind. Chunca threw a peanut backwards over his head. The boy caught it in his mouth.
Two minutes later the cabin air was thick with peanuts.
***
‘Peanuts?’ Grandma held out the packet she’d just bought from the vending machine in the visiting room. The prison guard took one.
Grandma pushed the packet across the table to Klench. ‘So. ’Ow’s it goin’ with ’Er Upstairs?’ She pointed to his head.
‘Most vell.’ Klench explained excitedly how Inner Mummy had repeated a rhyme and forgotten about their meeting. ‘I think she is losink her hold over me. Every time you come, her voice goes quiet. You are only voman can shut her ups. Oh Grandma, vy you not believe me ven I tell you she is brains behind my bads? Zat beneath her vicked ideas, I am good man?’
Grandma tutted. ‘Ideas are one thing, actions quite another. I don’t care ’ow many crimes she’s thought up in your ’ead. You’re the one ’oo carried them out, so you’re the one to blame.’
Klench folded his arms. ‘Zat is so not fairs. Ven vill you understand?’
‘I’ll tell you when.’ Grandma tapped a rhythm on the table with her finger. ‘When the sun turns blue. When the moon does a poo. When … the legend of treasure turns out to be true.’
Inner Mummy’s ears pricked up. Her voice may be softer when Grandma was around, but her hearing was as sharp as ever. ‘Ask her vot treasure,’ she hissed in Klench’s brain.
‘No.’ He pursed his inner lips.
‘Go ons.’
‘Vill nots. I am becomink good man. I am no lonker interested in vord “treasure”, vich is first cousin of vord “stealink”.’
‘Don’t make me laughs,’ said Inner Mummy – which he hadn’t.
Klench chewed his inner fingernails. ‘I am turnink my back on crime.’
‘You? Ha!’
Klench swallowed. ‘Honest.’
‘Oh pull ze uzzer vuns.’
Klench scratched his chin. He bit his lip. His face went pink like a guilty marshmallow. At last he gave in. ‘Vot treasure, Grandma?’
‘Oh.’ She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Just some nonsense I ’eard.’ She told him the legend of Remote Ken and how Abbie’s class was going there on a field trip. ‘Daft as daffodils. Sounds like the grimmest spot on earth.’ She yawned. ‘Anyway.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Me time’s up. Enjoy the peanuts.’ With a little wave, she got up and shuffled towards the door.
Sighing, Klench reached into the packet. His fingers closed round a bumpy stick. Glancing down, he gasped. A hairclip! A weapon that could open locks, stab prison guards …
‘Set us frees,’ whispered Inner Mummy.
Klench squeezed the clip in his fist. He frowned. He fidgeted. He sucked in his cheeks. He sucked in his other cheeks. He took a deep breath. ‘Grandma,’ he called, ‘you forgot somethink.’
She spun round and punched the air. ‘Yess! Well done that man.’ Shuffling back to the table, she clapped the prison guard on the arm. ‘What did I tell you, Bob? ’E’s reformin’.’
Klench stared at her.
‘Me and Bob,’ she chuckled, ‘we’re old Bingo pals.’
The guard nodded. ‘She asked me to have a word with the prison governor. He agreed we’d turn a blind eye while she smuggled in a clip.’
‘We ’ad a little bet,’ said Grandma. ‘I told ’em that you’re on the road to reform and that you’d give it straight back. Congratulations.’ She patted Klench’s shoulder. ‘You’ve just passed the Trust Test. And you,’ she thumped the guard in the chest, ‘owe me five Galaxy bars.’
4
Honking Muckstems
At ten o’clock on Saturday Dad dropped Abbie at the zoo. She waved him off from the entrance gate and breathed in the stinky air. Closing her eyes, she played her regular game of pin the pong on the animal. ‘Gina,’ she murmured as musty ellie lumbered up her nostrils and ‘Silvio’ as raw tiger padded behind. ‘Ooh.’ She scrunched her nose at the reek of fish. ‘Penguins.’
The gate was open. Inside, a handful of her classmates were huddling round Perdita. In their bright puffy anoraks they looked like boiled sweets.
Perdita waved at Abbie then spoke into a walkie-talkie. ‘That’s everyone.’ They waited by the entrance pond, chattering excitedly.
All except Abbie. Catching sight of Claire, she frowned. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were going away for Easter.’
Claire sniffed. ‘Nice to see you too. I was invited anyway.’
Perdita patted Claire’s arm. ‘To make up for not coming on the trip. It won’t be half as good without you. Will it Abbie?’
‘Nope.’ It’ll be twelve point three times better.
Coriander and Matt came down the path by the pond, followed by the zookeeper Charlie Chumb.
‘Helloo!’ Coriander threw out her arms. The sleeves of her pink poncho flapped like flamingo wings. ‘A big thank you for volunteering to help.’
Matt smiled shyly. ‘Yes. I’m really looking forward to a break.’
Me too, thought Abbie, watching Perdita’s bottom lip jut sadly at Claire.
Coriander turned to the zookeeper. ‘Charlie here will explain your jobs,’ she said.
He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I thought we could start by, um …’ he pointed down the path by the pond. ‘Then you can all, er …’ he tugged his huge earlobes. ‘And everyone will be … you know.’
Oh but they didn’t. Everyone stared at Charlie. In the pond a duck ducked. On the right a gibbon gibbered. To the left a tapir taped.
‘What Charlie means,’ said Perdita, ‘is that we’ll walk round the zoo. Then everyone can choose what job they want.’ Excited murmurs went round.
An hour later the children were sitting at a table in the café.
‘I’ve got the biggest job,’ said Greg Fnigg, who’d chosen water work. That meant feeding the seals, penguins, ducks, flamingos, Angelica the fish eagle and Hepzibah the hippo.
Moody Jack Doody had chosen birds with attitude.
‘Don’t take any beak from Mackenzie the parrot,’ Perdita said. ‘And ignore the ostriches. They’re always in a huff.’ Jack grinned – or was it grimaced? You could never tell.
‘I’veff got the slimiest jobhff.’ No one could argue with Snorty. Reptile care involved throwing rotten meat to Edie the crocodile and making hot water bottles for the zoo’s most recent arrival. Mamelodi, an African python, had escaped from a local pet shop and glided to the zoo so many times that the owner had donated her.
‘Dunno why she prefers it here,’ he’d mumbled glumly. Coriander didn’t have the heart to tell him that poor Mamelodi hadn’t been getting enough hugs.
‘Well my job’s the scariest,’ crowed Robbie Rudge. He’d picked snarling practice with Silvio to prevent tiger tonsillitis.
‘And mine’s the tickliest.’ Craig Nibbles had volunteered to clean the nostrils of Alphonse the giraffe with Matt’s latest invention, the Nosehole Pole.
But the best job had gone to Jeremy Boing. The bouncy boy had begged to help Ollie with the orang-utans. That meant cutting Winnie’s hair, which grew megafast; taking lazy Vinnie for walks, and playing Kiss Chase with little Minnie.
Rukia came over to the table. She was carrying a tray with a jug and glasses. ‘Mrs Dabbings says I
can help in the café. And I can call her Wendy. And I get to fold serviettes.’
‘But leave the polishing to me.’ Wendy was behind her with a tray of Kit Kats and chocolate buttons. ‘And don’t tell Bran– er, Mr Dabbings, that I carried this.’ She put it on the table. ‘He’ll say it’s bad for Bud.’
‘Hey,’ said Jeremy. ‘Bran, Bud – your family’s a breakfast cereal.’
‘Shhh!’ Wendy’s hands flew to her stomach. ‘Don’t listen, poppet.’ She glared at Jeremy. ‘Budney accepts your apology,’ she said, though there hadn’t been one. ‘He may be only three months old but he understands everything.’
‘He?’ said Rukia. ‘Mr Dabbings said it’s a she.’
‘Well, Mr Dabbings is wrong.’ Wendy’s voice was quiet but firm. ‘Our boy is going to be a fireman. Ooh,’ she sighed, ‘all those buttons – think of the polishing.’
Rukia arranged the Kit Kats in hexagons on the table. Greg took one. She smacked his hand. ‘You ruined my honeycomb.’
‘Never mind, dear.’ Wendy patted her arm. ‘Why don’t you go and stack some sugar cubes?’
Abbie grinned. Wendy and Rukia had taken to each other like Flash to floor tiles. The others, too, were chatting away eagerly. The Platts had nothing to worry about. She turned to assure Perdita that the zoo would be fine without them. But she was busy playing chocolate button tiddlywinks with Claire. Abbie grabbed a Kit Kat. One more week, then Claire’ll be history.
It was a week that flew. On Monday Perdita brought three carrier bags to school with her.
‘Super satsumas!’ said Mr Dabbings. He emptied them out, spilling rust-coloured rope onto the floor. ‘Winnie’s weekend hair. I asked Coriander to save the cuttings for my knitting.’ The children spent the day untangling Winnie’s tresses.
On Tuesday they made lists.
‘Don’t worry about food,’ said Mr Dabbings. ‘Mr Hartley has kindly offered to supply all the meals.’
‘What?’ squeaked Abbie. ‘He never told me.’ Banana risotto and chicken nugget crumble steamed across her mind. She made a mental list of things to smuggle: Frosties. Bourbons. Crisps. Bourbons. Lemonade – oh, and Bourbons.
Marcus offered to bring games.
‘Fab apples,’ said Mr Dabbings. ‘Tiddlywinks, playing cards, maybe a cheeky chess set. But remember, no Nintendos, no Kindles. No iPhones, iPads or iPods. And the only BlackBerries will be those with thorns.’
Terrifica made a list of rain gear. ‘Gore-Tex is a must,’ she said, when Ursula murmured that her cagoule leaked. ‘Get your parents to buy you one.’ Ursula sighed so heavily that a dust particle lost its way.
Henry listed luggage. ‘Massive suitcase,’ he wrote.
‘What for?’ said Perdita.
‘The treasure.’
Mr Dabbings’s knitting needles froze. ‘Henry. Let me remind you that the only treasure will be golden sunsets and sapphire seas, which do not fit into suitcases. Is that clear?’ Henry was too busy wiping his nose on Ursula’s sleeve to answer.
On Wednesday and Thursday they learned about the plants and animals they might find on the island. ‘Might’ was an important word. Ken turned out to be so remote there was no information on the Internet.
‘Emus?’ suggested Craig Nibbles when Mr Dabbings asked what seabirds might nest on the cliffs.
‘Unlikely, Craig. Emus can’t fly.’
‘So? They could use ladders.’
Henry had a guess at plant life. ‘Honking Muckstems. Puking Jabbers. Venus Girl Traps.’ He snickered at Ursula, who fainted with terror, though no one noticed.
On Friday they broke up. Mr Dabbings saw them off at the school gate. To those not going on the trip he gave chocolate eggs clad in woolly green hats. ‘These are to remind you of Easter and new life, of chicks and lambkins – wonders of Nature that you’ll sadly be missing.’
Rukia grabbed her egg anything but sadly and skipped off anything but missingly.
The teacher opened his shoulder bag. ‘To all my fellow travellers, a gift from me and Mrs D.’ He handed out auburn scarves. Each had a name sewn on in sequins.
‘So that’s what you did with Winnie’s hair,’ said Abbie. She buried her nose in its itchy-scratchy warmth.
‘Fantastic.’ Perdita wrapped hers round her neck.
‘Aweflicks,’ said Henry, whipping Ursula’s arm.
Nothing, said Marcus, throwing his into a nearby dustbin.
‘Hey!’ cried Perdita. ‘That’s Winnie you’re binning.’ She fished out the scarf.
‘If he doesn’t want it, can I have it?’ asked Claire. ‘I’d be honoured to wear Winnie.’
Perdita pressed it into her hand. ‘And she’d be honoured to be worn by you.’
Marcus made a puking noise. Abbie caught his eye. A week ago she’d have told him off, defended Perdita to kingdom come. Now she felt herself swallowing a smile.
He came over. Cupping a hand over his mouth, he whispered, ‘Thank goodness you’re on this trip. At least there’ll be someone decent to talk to.’
He’d just dumped part of her favourite ape. He’d just insulted her favourite friend. But as Abbie headed to the bus stop, her heart couldn’t help a little leap. Because, if she’d heard correctly, he’d also just said something slightly nice.
***
The two old men waited by the luggage carousel.
‘Ooh, I like that one,’ said the Emperor in ancient Quechua. He reached forward and grabbed a flowery suitcase.
‘Oy!’ shouted a woman in modern English. ‘Thass mine.’ She whacked Chunca with her handbag.
‘Yeeaaw!’ he yelled in universal language as the woman snatched her case and wheeled it off.
‘I think,’ said Bacpac, rubbing his master’s chest, ‘we’re supposed to collect our own bags, your Stonkingness. That lady thought you were a thief.’
‘Me?’ roared the ruler so fearsomely that an aeroplane weed on the runway. ‘I can hardly be a thief when everything belongs to me anyway. Am I Master of the Universe or what?’
People were staring. Bacpac had to get the Emp out of here. This wasn’t the time to remind him that the Universe had moved on.
At last their rucksacks appeared on the carousel. ‘We need to get to Bradleigh and find that stoutest crook,’ said Bacpac, pulling off the luggage.
The Emperor brightened at the thought of death. ‘What are we waiting for?’ He stacked his backpack on Bacpac’s backpack on Bacpac’s back. Then he slapped Bacpac on the backpack. ‘Lead on, me old baggage.’
***
‘Good news,’ said Grandma. She sat down at the prison table.
Klench clutched the sides of his chair. ‘Oh, Grandma!’ He pulled it towards the table, forgetting that it was screwed to the floor. ‘Schnik! But no vorries. Soon I vill be free, thanks to you.’
She lowered her glasses and frowned over the top. ‘What?’
Klench clapped his hands. ‘Now I have proved I am honest bloke, I vill soon be released, yes?’
Grandma chuckled. ‘No, you great chump. You’re miles off freedom. But because you passed the ’airclip test, I’ve got permission to bring a couple more visitors next time, to speed up your recovery.’
Klench’s face sagged like a Yorkshire pudding. ‘I don’t vont to see nobodies. Nobodies at all.’
‘Good.’ Grandma grinned. ‘’Coz that’s exactly ’oo’s comin’.’
5
Potted Poop
Breakfast next morning was a noisy business. Bacon was sizzling, Grandma was guzzling and Ollie was grizzling.
‘Don’t want you to go!’ he wailed. Jumping off his chair, he threw his arms round Abbie.
She wriggled free. ‘You mean you don’t want me to go and find treasure and get incredibly rich while you stay here and do potato prints?’
He nodded.
‘Don’t worry.’ Abbie speared a slice of bacon. ‘We’re not allowed to look for treasure.’
‘Oh.’ Ollie stopped crying. ‘Bye then.’ He skipped off happil
y.
‘Lord, give me strength.’ Grandma shovelled fried egg into her mouth. ‘When will you get it? There isn’t any treasure to look for.’
She yawned. Her false teeth dropped from her gums. Watching her press them back up with her tongue, Abbie lost her appetite. She grabbed the rucksack leaning against her chair and took it into the hall.
Dad was staggering to the front door with a crate in his arms. ‘Whoa.’ He dumped it on top of another crate. ‘That’s that lot.’
There were ten in all. Each crate was sealed and labelled.
Abbie put down her rucksack. ‘I hope those aren’t what I think they are.’
Dad patted a box. ‘Well. If you think they’re bathroom towels from the Iron Age, you’re wrong. If you reckon they’re ancient Babylonian cheese graters, you’re way off track. If, however, you suspect that they’re a selection of meals from the tenth century, well …’ His eyebrows did a jig.
Abbie clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’
‘I’m joking.’
‘Phew.’ Her hand dropped.
‘Ha! I’m joking that I’m joking. That is indeed our food for the week. One crate a day – breakfast, lunch and dinner – in packets and tins. Cool, eh? I ordered it from an online company that does ready-meals from history.’
‘But the monks dug potatoes!’ Abbie wailed, imagining the mushy vegetables that were probably sloshing about in those cans. She put her head in her hands. Then she bent down, unzipped a side pocket in her rucksack and took out a pen and notebook.
With all technology banned on this trip, she’d realised she couldn’t email articles back to the local paper as she’d done last term from Ecuador. So she’d decided to jot down her thoughts and impressions the old-fashioned way.
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