Googol Boy and the peculiar incident of the Great Quiz Trophy

by John Michael

  “Well, I’m Ezekiel Quockingpoll and it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Sorry ter say, but Oi seem ter be in a spot of bother.”

  “Bother? What kind of bother?” enquired Ezekiel with intense curiosity. On the one hand, Ezekiel was struck by the oddness of this little man and, on the other hand, he was wondering why he was performing a peculiar Irish jig in the middle of nowhere.

  “Oi was futtin’ along just mindin’ me own business, not partakin’ in any shenanigans or de like, when dis rabbit ’ole appeared out of nowhere.”

  “Rabbit hole? Well that explains a lot. So, you’re stuck tight?”

  “Tight as a prize pig in a peat bog.” His pale blue eyes and rosy cheeks twinkled as he answered.

  “Have you tried wiggling your foot?”

  “Ah ter be sure... I’ve wiggled it, waggled it, jiggled it, and even joggled it!”

  “Well... I guess that you’ve tried just about everything then,” replied Ezekiel as he scratched his head.

  “Ah ter be sure... indeed!”

  “How about I lend you a hand?”

  “Yes dat would be grand, if yah could lend me a ’and as I’ve been stuck ’ere since Turrsdee.”

  “Turrsdee?”

  “Aye that's what Oi just said... since Turrsdee!”

  “Oh, since Thursday!”

  “Aye! But Oi hate ter cause yah any trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, you’re just lucky that I happened to come by.”

  “Ah ter be sure... there’s a lot to be said about luck. Find a penny, pick it up, and all the day yah’ll have good luck!”

  “Well I guess there’s no option left but to man-handle you out of there.”

  “Man-handle?”

  “Yes... I will have to give you a swift heave-ho to free you.”

  “Ah... de ol’ heave-ho, ter be sure. Just be mindful of me ’at!”

  “Your what?

  “Me ’at,” he repeated as he tipped his green hat and gave Ezekiel a wink.

  “Oh yes... your hat! Don’t you worry... I’ll be careful.”

  Ezekiel grabbed the little fellow by the waist with both hands and tried to dislodge him.

  Seamus started to laugh. “He he he... Oi’m sorry... don't mind me.”

  Ezekiel grabbed him a second time and again he started to giggle, this time like a giddy school girl. “Oi’m ticklish as de dickens!”

  “Okay Seamus but you’re going to have to try to hold it in if I’m going to get you out of this mess.”

  “Aye... there’ll be naw more of dat... naw more shenanigans!” the little man promised as he took a deep breath and held it.

  Ezekiel once again grabbed Seamus by the waist.

  “Okay... one last time... one, two three and

  He pulled with all his might and they both tumbled backwards towards the edge of the river. Luckily, they just stopped short of falling in or their fate would have been the same as that anonymous chicken explorer fellow.

  Seamus sprung up off the ground in a sprightly fashion. “Ah... yah saved me! Oi’m free... Oi’m free as a chickadee. Tank yah me good sir!”

  “Don’t mention it,” responded Ezekiel as he picked himself off the ground and brushed the dust off his clothes.

  “Oi will mention it, in fact Oi’m mentioning it roight now. Oi must give yah sometin’ in return to express me gratitude.”

  “Well to be honest, I have everything that I need. I’ve got my brabbensack restaurants, I’ve got a large healthy family, I’ve even got a canary that sings to me the whole day long.”

  “Ah, dat’s grand... yah lead a charmed life... there’s a lot ter be said aboyt de bond between a man and his canary, but surely there must be sometin’ dat yah need. Tink man! Tink!”

  Ezekiel pulled on his ear and thought long and hard. “No... I can’t really think of anything... I’m as right as rain.”

  That’s when the little man’s face became flustered and he became quite animated. “Seamus O’Penny always repays his debts and one good turn deserves another, Oi must reward yah. There’s more than one way ter peel a potato! Ter be sure, there must be some pot of gold at the end of de rainbow that’ll tickle yah fancy!”

  “Okay, okay Seamus... calm down.” He was starting to admire the little fellow’s persistence.

  “Wait... what did you just say?”

  “Oi said Potato.”

  “No, the other thing.”

  “Pot of gold?”

  “Yes, that’s it!”

  “Pot of gold?” scoffed Seamus. “Now don’t be gettin’ all greedy on me... yah just pulled me out of a rabbit ’ole, nuttin’ more!”

  “No, no... I’m starting this thing called the Great Quiz and you saying ‘pot of gold’ reminded me that I’ll be needing a trophy.”

  “Oh, it’ll be a trophy yah’ll be needing will it?”

  “Yes a trophy... not that it needs to be made of gold or anything,” laughed Ezekiel.

  “By St Patrick, Oi don’t like yah chances of dat!”

  “I guess you were right little fella... there was something that I needed after all.”

  “Well, it seems that today will be yah lucky day it will be!” proclaimed Seamus as his eyes lit up. He then bent down, reached into his golden sack and pulled out a large trophy that was almost as big as he was.

  And what a trophy it was! It had an elongated urn shape with a scrolled loop handle on each side and was set on a heavy octagon base adorned with harps and ukuleles. The body was exquisitely decorated with a shamrock pattern set against a matted backdrop and the top was finished off with vertical and spiralled gadrooning.

  Ezekiel stood there dumbstruck. “Well, tickle my boots! Where did you...? How did you...?”

  “Oi’m a silver smith,” responded Seamus, “well Oi used ter be a cobbler but, if de truth ter be told, there’s naw money in cobblin’ dees days.”

  “That is one splendid trophy Seamus... you did a wonderful job!” declared Ezekiel.

  “Ah ter be sure, Oi don’t want ter toot me own horn but yah are roight, it is a bonny piece of silverware. Now, yah take grand care of dis trophy... it brings de luck of the Oirish to those who hold it,” proclaimed Seamus and then, with a wink and spring in his step, he was gone just like that.

  “And that’s the fable of the Great Quiz Trophy!” declared the principal.

  “Well... that has to be one of the most captivating fables that I ever did hear,” replied the short policeman.

  “Yes,” added the tall policeman. “I can see now why someone would want to filch it!”

  “Yes, those filchers are always going to filch,” added Mr Ditherington.

  “There’s no doubt about that,” agreed the policeman. “Now, if you will sir... you will need to read and sign the police report.”

  “Of course,” replied the principal. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, not that this is a pleasurable scenario. No, not at all. What I mean is I am happy to oblige but wish for us to have met under more fortunate circumstances. I think that it was Aristotle who once said, or was it Plato? Nevertheless, it was once said that he who commits a crime is more wretched than the one who suffers it. Did I say that we are living in unfortunate circumstances? Most certainly, I think I did... On n'y peut rien. Please follow me into my chamber, where we shall see to the nuances of this most regrettable dilemma... so without further ado, please sergeant do come in.”

  “Oh sir... no... no... I’m not a sergeant, not as yet. Still waiting to earn my extra stripe. I’m a senior constable.”

  “And I’m a probationary constable,” added the short policeman.

  “Ah yes... very good. Most certainly... that is the very embodiment of persistence and diligence in making your mark on the world through lecture and advice and being able to advance through the tedious drudgery of... ”

  Suddenly, some rustling in the bushes distracted the principal, and the groundskeeper appeared from behind the hedge with a rake in one hand. He ha
d caught sight of Barney and me and he looked angrier than a bulldog chewing on a mouthful of wasps. We tried to camouflage ourselves against the half-dead shrubbery which was behind us but it was no use − Red had seen us with his beady little eyes and he wasn’t amused. Bummer!

  "Well, what has we here?” he hollered. “Ain’t this a fine dandy snickerdoodle! Seems like things are gettin’ more an’ more cattywampus!”

  “What are you two young rapscallions doing here?” interjected the principal.

  “Sorry Mr Ditherington, we must have missed the bell,” I stated.

  “I founds them hiding in the sticks, they needs some thwacking if yer ask me,” yelled the groundskeeper as he scratched his forehead, causing some flakes of skin to drift down onto his overalls.

  “Yes... thank you for your help Red.”

  “I’lls be happy to be doin’ the thwacking,” he said gleefully as he outstretched his rake.

  “No... it’ll be fine thank you. No thwacking today, I’ll take it from here.”

  The groundskeeper looked disappointed and, seeing that his thwacking proposal had been rejected, left in a huff, hunched over and muttering to himself as he disappeared back into the hedge, dragging his rake behind him.

  The principal turned towards us and looked rather solemn. “Now back to the matter at hand!”

  “Yes sir,” we responded.

  Mr Ditherington stroked his chin. “What were we talking about exactly?”

  “The bell sir,” we answered in unison.

  “Ah yes... most certainly. Missed the bell? How does one miss the bell?”

  We both shrugged our shoulders and followed through with a blank stare. In reply, the principal also shrugged his shoulders, stared back at us, and then rubbed his chin again. “Unless of course one misses the bell because it hasn’t rung or perhaps we should consider a scenario where a bell rings but no one is around to hear it. My question to you is this, does it still make a sound? Most certainly, does a bluebird’s warble still echo across the field if no one can appreciate it? Does the wind whistle through the trees if no one notices it? But then again, whistling is no easy task as many are incapable of carrying a tune so why should we expect more of the wind?”

  Barney and I stared at the principal in perplexed silence.

  “Well then?” he added. “I await the answer which you shall bestow.”

  I had lost track of what Mr Ditherington was saying, I didn’t even realise that he had asked a question. There was something at the end about whistling, then a bit on bluebirds, there was definitely something about wind. Listening to the principal was often confusing and exhausting and was like getting hit in the head with a frying pan, I would always end up with a headache. I was just going to have to take a stab in the dark.

  “Um... I would say... it’s the... um... the um...” I stuttered.

  “It’s the food,” interjected Barney.

  “Ah... yes... the food,” I repeated hesitantly. Of course, when it came to Barney, food was always the answer.

  “Very well then. Most certainly!” stated the principal as he nodded. “I remember a time when housemaids and butlers would stir into action with the tinkle of a bell and bring out the mulligatawny soup, fricandeau of veal with piquant sauce and the blancmange. But then you also have the parish bells tolling night and day to denote that one has passed away. Perhaps it is best never to know for whom the bell tolls.”

  “I do think that the bell has in fact already rung sir,” I replied, wanting to get away from the principal and get to our first lesson.

  “It has rung?” he queried with a puzzled look on his face.

  “Yes Principal Ditherington,” we chimed in unison.

  “Oh, very good then, of course, most certainly, most certainly,” stated the principal as he tugged on his ear.

  “Yes sir,” we nodded.

  “Well then, why are you still here? Skedaddle! Scoot!” he exclaimed as he shooed us away with both of his hands. Barney and I quickly took off down the pathway at a brisk pace to get to our morning class.

  “Barn... what do you think?”

  “What do I think?” panted Barney, “I think that Mr Ditherington jibbers and jabbers... I didn’t understand a word he was saying.”

  “Yes, I agree... I wish that he would get to the point –”

  “Or at least have a point!”

  “Yes exactly. And what do you think about the burglary.”

  “Well... isn’t it a blessing in disguise?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With the trophy gone at least you won’t have to go up against Savani in the Great Quiz. She scares me.”

  “You’ll be alright big fella,” I responded as I gave Barney a friendly nudge. “I guess you can add her to your list of all-time scary things –you’ve got spiders, clowns, piglets and now... Savani!”

  “Howard! No need to jinx me!” cried Barney as he trembled, he then had a quick look over his shoulder to make sure that an unholy army of spiders, clowns, piglets and Savanis weren’t chasing him.

  “Sorry Barney... but you’re right about the trophy... I didn’t even think about that... she sure is going to be angry when she finds out!”

  “Who would steal a school trophy anyway?” queried Barney.

  Suddenly, I felt the cogs starting to whir in my brain and I was seeing evidence, clues and signs which had not been obvious to me beforehand. I saw images of doors and splinters and smells and footprints floating in my mind like jigsaw puzzle pieces waiting to be put together.

  “Yes, good question Barney, by the way, did you notice the door?”

  “Door? Which door?”

  “The front door of the school of course.”

  “I dunno... it was smashed in... what about it?”

  “Not smashed in Barn... smashed out!”

  “Smashed out?”

  “Did you notice the splinters of timber... they were all pointing outwards... and what about the flakes?”

  “Slow down Howie!” wheezed Barney as he tried to keep up.

  “Come on Barney we’re already late − Mr Perriman’s gonna go berserk!”

  “I’m trying,” he huffed. “What flakes are you talking about?”

  “The slivers of grey paint were all scattered on the outside stairs, not in the foyer.”

  “I don’t get it... my head hurts.”

  “Barney...whoever did this was already inside!”

  “I still don’t get it... and my feet hurt as well”

  “And did you pick up on that distinct odour?” “Odour?”

  “Yes... of sulphur.”

  “Sulphur?”

  “Yes... it was like a rotten egg smell!”

  “Well... I didn’t want to say anything... um... but... um... that was me. When Red popped out of nowhere... I got anxious and let a silent one go.

  “Hmm... thanks a lot... but the smell I’m referring to was more of a pungent odour and less, well less Barney.”

  “So, who was responsible then?”

  “Did you notice the large footprints on the stairs? Whoever smashed the door down would have to have been a hefty size.”

  “I see... but who would stoop so low as to steal that money? It was for those poor orphans!”

  Presumptions and assumptions were swirling around in my head like dry leaves on a blustery autumn day. I just couldn’t make sense of all the information and evidence.

  “Hmm... I haven’t figured that one out Barney. There’s more to this than meets the eye, that’s for sure... that tall moustachioed policeman was right... this is a rather peculiar incident!”

  We found ourselves in front of the Sports Hall for Gym. We were already fifteen minutes late and to say that our teacher wasn’t going to be happy would be the understatement of the month.

  Chapter eight

  controversion

  We entered the Gym Hall and, as always, the smell was a mix of dirty socks and linoleum. Today I would have to say that the dirty sock
odour (a peculiar blend of parmesan cheese and rotting prawns) was the clear winner and had left the linoleum scent for dead.

  The class was busy doing warm-up stretches but they all stopped as soon as we walked in and stared at us in dreary anticipation. The students looked at us and then back to Mr Perriman and then back to us again. It was like a scene out of the Colosseum during Roman times. In one corner you had the battle-hardened Gladiator and in the other corner you had Barney and me − two docile lambs ready for slaughter.

  “Well, well, well... what have we here? Looks like someone dropped the ball,” bellowed the teacher.

  Cormac Perriman or, as we called him, Corporal Punishment (not to his face of course), was a mountain of a man. He was close to two metres tall with a ramrod straight posture. He had a barrel of a chest, and legs like tree trunks. His face was frozen in an everlasting scowl as if he was permanently sucking on a lemon.

  “Sorry that we’re late sir,” we whimpered with our heads bowed.

  “Gotta be a team player... if you wanna be in the team. My question to you is, are you team players?” he asked as his chin moved from side to side.

  Mr Perriman had one of those big chiselled manly chins which you could bounce a tennis ball off. He thought that every Gym class was the Olympics and that all the other school subjects were a waste of time − sport was his life and he always took each class activity and school game way too seriously. One time, during the so-called ‘friendly’ student versus teacher dodgeball competition, he played with such zeal and abandon that he put three of the kids in hospital and, as a result, was barred from participating in future student/teacher games.

  His favourite phrase was “no pain, no gain,” which he would scream in your ear as you were trying to finish that extra push-up or chin-up. He really had it in for the students who sucked at sport and if you were late to class he took it as a personal insult − so Barney and I were in for a double whammy this morning.

  “Sorry sir, it’s just that −”

  “Save it for the full-time siren princess!” He bent down low and eyeballed us. “You wanna play hardball? Is that what you want? Huh? Do ya? Huh?”