‘If the seas froze,’ she said, ‘then fish would die, and there wouldn’t be anything for the penguins to eat. They’d starve to death.’
Toby opened his mouth to argue, but obviously couldn’t think of an answer, so he closed it again. Bobby glared at Peaches.
One–nil to the DAB Gang!
‘Uncle Sir Randolph trudged up to the penguin palace and hammered on the great ice gates,’ I went on. ‘They swung open, and two penguin guards faced him, wearing armour and carrying ice spears, shields and swords: they were the legendary Antarctic Ninja Penguins!’
‘But what Uncle Sir Randolph didn’t know was that he’d been followed all the way on his Amble Across the Antarctic,’ I told the class. ‘Someone else wanted to find the tomb.’
‘No!’ Millie Dangerfield. ‘You don’t mean . . .?’
Bobby burst out laughing. ‘Fibbs! Fibbs! You’re tickling my ribs!’
‘Shush,’ hissed Peaches, but he ignored her, and carried on laughing.
‘The SHOW-OFF said he wanted to freeze the Earth,’ I told the class. ‘Then with evil Norman’s help, he’d rule the world, and be able to SHOW OFF his amazing ice-skating skills!’
‘The Spell Queen began to chant . . .’ I said.
‘Knuckle, buckle, chuckle, truckle,
, spongy, zombie, bungee,
Punctuation, sanitation,
Devastation, vegetation,
The SHOW-OFF is your master now
Hear my spell, and take a bow!’
I paused dramatically, staring at the class. ‘Eric was spellbound. He bowed like a slave before the SHOW-OFF . . .’
‘The SHOW-OFF wouldn’t have let your uncle keep his satellite phone,’ said Toby Hadron. ‘So how come you know all this?’
Luckily, I remembered Melody’s project report about the albatross.
‘Because he wrote a note on a tea bag and tied it to the leg of a Rocketing Albatross – the fastest bird in the world,’ I replied. ‘It landed in my garden this morning.’
‘Then Sir Randolph’s in big trouble!’ chuckled Bobby.
For once, Bobby was right. Uncle Sir Randolph was actually in more trouble than was at the end of when my hero had been knocked unconscious and tied up in a rocket plane that had lost both wings, was on fire, full of deadly tarantulas, plummeting towards the mouth of an erupting volcano and carrying an atomic bomb that was going to go off in nineteen seconds.
Mum and Dad had decided that if we hadn’t heard from my uncle by Saturday morning, then we’d put the CODE RED RESCUE PLAN in operation, but on Friday night, as Algy was trying to explain Einstein’s Theory of Relativity to me for about the ten trillionth time, the satellite phone bleeped, and we heard Uncle Sir Randolph’s voice.
‘Come in, LIFELINE! Are you reading me?’
‘Come in, SUPER SNOWMAN,’ I answered. ‘Reading you loud and clear. Am I glad to hear you! I thought my phone was broken.’
‘Sorry, Ollie, all my fault – I just forgot to change the battery on mine.’
‘What’s your position and condition?’
‘Position: lost. Condition: peckish! I’ve run out of Snik-Snaks and I’m down to my last tea bag!’ boomed my uncle. ‘My compass is useless, and I’ve been ambling round in circles for the last week. I was supposed to be near the South Pole, but haven’t a clue where I am now.’
‘Activate the satnav on your phone,’ I suggested.
‘I did – it’s telling me I’m in papa joe’s eat-all-you-can bar-b-q blow-out shack in Texas!’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLP!’
‘You mean, initiate CODE RED?’
‘RED, PURPLE, TANGERINE! I DON’T CARE WHAT COLOUR IT IS, OLLIE! JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE!’
‘I won’t let you down, SUPER SNOWMAN,’ I replied. ‘Over and out.’
‘Yes!’ cried Algy happily. ‘The snow globe must have been the problem! He’s safe!’
I stuck out my chest, and held my head high. ‘Go and tell Mum and Dad what’s happened. I’ve got to rescue Uncle Sir Randolph.’
My heart was pounding in my chest as I tore open the CODE RED envelope and looked at the instructions on the piece of paper inside:
‘Is that it?’ I said, checking inside the envelope to see if there were any more instructions.
. . . I had to fly out on a special rescue plane, and had to parachute on to the ice with soldiers, snowmobiles and emergency supplies?
But there was nothing.
So I called 999 and explained the problem to the lady who answered.
‘We were expecting you to call sooner or later,’ she sighed. ‘Sir Randolph always gets lost. Don’t worry, we know what to do – we’ve rescued him lots of times before.’
‘Oh . . . er, thanks,’ I replied. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘No, leave it to us.’
I put the phone down and flopped like a LIMP LETTUCE. What a disaster!
Just then, the bedroom door burst open and my entire family charged in. They fired questions at me like machine-gun bullets.
‘Is he injured?’ demanded Mum.
‘Is he safe?’ questioned Dad.
‘Is he freezing?’ worried Emma.
‘Is he starving?’ wondered Gemma.
‘Is he going to die?’ yowled Constanza.
‘Is he really in Texas?’ asked Algy.
I told them not to worry, and that help was on its way.
Luckily, it was half-term, so I didn’t have to admit that my uncle’s Antarctic Amble was abandoned. We soon got a message that he’d been found, and taken off the ice. Then we heard that he was well, and was being flown home straight away for medical checks.
On Sunday night, an ambulance pulled up outside our house, and Dad pushed Uncle Sir Randolph down the garden path and into the house in a wheelchair. The explorer’s face was red and raw, and his wild hair had gone completely grey and fizzed around his head like smoke from a bushfire.
My uncle’s little dog scampered down the hall and launched himself into his arms, licking his face gleefully.
‘Poochie!’ he boomed. ‘You’ve had a haircut! It suits you! What a good thing you didn’t come with me. When I ran out of Snik-Snaks, I’d have been forced to eat you!’
The twins gasped.
‘You’ll do anything when it’s a matter of LIFE or DEATH, he said. ‘Once, in the Australian Outback, I was so hungry I had to slice lumps off my leg and eat them.’
‘Eeuwww!’ Emma.
‘Gross!’ sneaked Gemma.
‘I’ll show you the scars when I’m back on my feet!’ said Uncle Sir Randolph, and roared with laughter.
‘Ollie!’ he bellowed when he saw me. ‘My hero!’
‘I only made a phone call,’ I protested.
‘But that was your job, and you did it well.’
I smiled weakly. I was more doomed than Donald Doomed, of 13 Doomed Street, Doomedtown, Doomedshire, Doomedland. What was I going to report on back at school? That Uncle Sir Randolph had got lost? That he couldn’t go on because he’d run out of Snik-Snaks? That he’d had to be rescued? That he’d FAILED?
I couldn’t sleep with wondering what to do. I tried reading Killer Cat Catastrophe, but kept reading the same part of the story over and over again.
While we drove to school on Monday after half- term, I stared out of the window, saying nothing as the twins kept up a stream of ballet babble, and Algy sat with his fingers in his ears reading a book on advanced algebra. Constanza hummed a happy Italian tune as she HONKED the horn at other drivers.
‘Is good that Sir Randolph returns in the house, eh, Ollie?’ she said.
‘Yeah, great.’
She sighed. ‘Eroico!’
As I stood in front of the class to give my update, I saw Bobby Bragg grinning like one of the vile little goblins in .
I can’t do it, I thought. I can’t say what really happened I have to keep my Uncle’s failure a secret.
&nb
sp; I took a deep breath and said, ‘Do you remember before the holiday, I got a message from Uncle Sir Randolph, attached to the leg of a Rocketing Albatross?’
‘Never fear!’ laughed Bobby Bragg. ‘The D.O.P.E.S. are here!’
I carried on. ‘My snow globe teleporter was broken,’ I said. ‘So Captain Common Sense and I needed another way to get to the Antarctic . . .’
‘In seconds we were over the Ice,’ I told the class. ‘The Southern Lights lit up the sky, and we saw it: the Ice Palace of Emperor Eric III, glinting in the snow below us. But it was heavily guarded by ice trolls. How could we get inside? Captain Common Sense rummaged in her utility bag and came up with a plan . . .’
‘The penguins told me that Uncle Sir Randolph was being held captive in the palace’ I said. ‘And that the SHOW-OFF and his DASTARDLY gang were about to wake Norman the Not Very Nice!’
‘Save him, DABMAN,’ squeaked Millie DangerPield. ‘Save us all!’
Miss Wilkins sighed. ‘I was hoping that today you’d give us a more regular update on your uncle’s expedition,’ she said. ‘But I am curious to know what happened next. Go on, Oliver.’
‘Well, miss,’ I continued. ‘We waddled through the ice palace in our penguin costumes and found the Boffin’s secret science lab. Inside, we found rows of huge test tubes containing half-formed ice trolls.’
‘Just then, we heard the squawking of hundreds of penguins coming from a room just down the corridor, followed by a familiar voice . . .’
‘The world is in terrible DANGER!’ I said to the class. ‘If the SHOW-OFF joins the Toenail of Doom to Norman the Not Very Nice’s foot, we’re in big trouble!’
‘Then what are you doing here talking to us?’ said Bobby. ‘Why aren’t you in the Antarctic saving the world?’
The others muttered and nodded.
Bobby had really got me this time! The class stared at me, waiting for my answer. Excuses whirled around in my mind like snowflakes in a , melting away before I could catch them.
‘Er . . . I . . . er . . .’
Bobby smirked, enjoying his moment of victory.
‘It’s obvious why he’s here,’ said Peaches, rummaging in her bag.
‘Is it? I mean, it is!’ I said. ‘Er . . . tell them, Pea!’
My best friend held up something small, shiny and silver. ‘DABMAN was in such a rush to get to the Antarctic that he forgot this,’ she said. ‘The XT47 Sub-ionic Toenail Clipper!’
I felt my jaw drop. The class gaped like goldfishes. I thought Miss Wilkins’s eyes would pop out of her head.
‘If the SHOW-OFF succeeds in his evil plan, then this is the only thing that will cut the Toenail of Doom off Norman the Not Very Nice’s foot,’ explained Peaches, making her way to the front of the class and handing me the clippers.
‘Pea, you told FIBS!’ I whispered.
‘They’re not FIBS! – they’re stories,’ she whispered back, winking at me.
I held the clippers high over my head. ‘Now I can save the world!’
‘Finish your project first,’ said Miss Wilkins. ‘Then you can save the world.’
At lunchtime, I asked Peaches to sit at a table in the corner, so we wouldn’t be disturbed.
‘Pea, I’ve got something to tell you, but it’s TOP SECRET!’ I said, glancing around to make sure no one could hear me. ‘Uncle Sir Randolph isn’t Ambling Around the Antarctic any more. He got lost and had to be rescued. He’s at my house right now.’
Peaches gasped. ‘Ollie, you’ve got to tell the truth to the class!’
‘I can’t! Bobby will rip me to shreds.’
Peaches frowned and nodded. ‘Don’t worry, well work something out.’ Her face brightened. ‘Can I meet him?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never met a real explorer before.’
‘Why don’t you come round for tea after school?’
Peaches arranged it with her mum as we waited for Constanza to pick me up. Our nanny was sixteen minutes late, and dashed into school, waving her arms above her head as if she was batting away a swarm of invisible flies.
‘Sorry, Oliver!’ she cried. ‘I get your sisters from the ballet academy and – boom! bang! boom! – the car breaks up!’
‘The car broke down,’ I corrected, hurrying her out of school before she could talk to Miss Wilkins and let the cat out of the bag about Uncle Sir Randolph.
Constanza shrugged. ‘Up, down, it no work.’
‘Peaches is coming home with us for tea,’ I told her.
Our nanny beamed, and planted a noisy kiss on each of Peaches’s cheeks. ‘Ciao, bella!’
Emma and Gemma sat in the back of the car looking like the Princesses Grump and Grouchy from the land of .
‘Hurry up!’ cried Emma. ‘Constanza’s made us late for Madame Sylvie’s stage make-up workshop!’
‘And now you’re making us even later,’ yelled Gemma. ‘We’re being turned into tonight.’
The picture flashed into my brain. ‘ . . . Madame Sylvie is actually a ? . . . she uses magic undead paint that turns you into too?’
Algy laughed. ‘Too late! These two are blood-suckers already!’
Peaches and I climbed into the back seats as the terrible twosome attacked my giggling little brother.
‘Help, Ollie,’ he cried. ‘Get the garlic!’
‘Hi, Peaches,’ chorused my sisters when they saw my best friend.
‘What’s your favourite ballet?’ asked Emma, leaning over her seat. ‘Isn’t Romeo and Juliet simply divine?’
‘Don’t you think Swan Lake is just wonderful?’ gushed Gemma.
‘I don’t like ballet,’ replied Peaches.
The twins gasped, gazed at my friend in astonishment, then turned round and ignored her for the rest of the trip home.
‘Great news, children!’ said Dad when we walked through the front door. ‘Uncle Randolph will be staying with us for a few more weeks.’
‘Even better news, kids,’ boomed my uncle, pointing at his bandaged foot. ‘I’ve got frostbite! I’m having two toes CUT OFF tomorrow!’
‘Awesome!’ cried Algy, and Sir Randolph’s barrelling laughter filled the house once more, as Poochie yipped and yapped around his feet.
I introduced Peaches to him.
‘Is she your girlfriend?’ he chortled, digging me hard in the ribs and giving me a huge wink. ‘A man needs a good woman by his side.’
‘No,’ I said quickly, feeling my face go hot. ‘She’s my best friend.’
‘Do you have a good woman by your side, Sir Randolph?’ asked Peaches.
The twins gaped at her. Mum frowned and gave a small, sharp hiss as if she was in pain. Poochie stopped barking and lay down with his head on his paws, glancing up at his master. A tense, quiet filled the room.
Peaches glanced around anxiously. ‘Did I say something wrong?’ she asked.
My uncle seemed to shrink like a balloon, bowing his head and staring at his hands. ‘Bunty,’ he whispered. My dad squeezed his brother’s shoulder.
Uncle Sir Randolph looked up at Peaches, his intense grey eyes softened by tears. ‘Life’s never been the same since my beloved Bunty was carried off into the by a troop of orang-utans, never to be seen again. I searched and searched, but . . . she’s gone forever.’
‘Tragico!’ sobbed Constanza.
‘It was my fault,’ he said, his voice quivering. ‘Bunty always wanted to come with me on my expeditions, but I wouldn’t allow it. This time she insisted, and I said yes. Then it all went . . .’
A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he swiped it away angrily.
‘What a beautiful ballet it would make,’ sighed Emma.
Gemma nodded. ‘Like Romeo and Juliet . . . but with monkeys.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Peaches quietly. ‘I didn’t know. . .’
No one spoke for a moment. Then Algy broke the silence. ‘Uncle Sir Randolph, tell Peaches the story of when you were attacked by the flock of man-eating ducks on Lake Titicaca.’
A wide, smile lit
up my uncle’s ruddy face. ‘I’d be delighted, young Algy!’ he replied, slapping my brother hard on the shoulder, almost knocking him into the kitchen.
Everyone smiled with relief, and marched into the living room to hear the tale of heroism and , leaving me and Peaches standing in the hall.
‘He’s super,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ I muttered. ‘And special.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I wish I’d never told Miss Wilkins that he was my uncle,’ I replied, pushing my hands into my pockets and staring at my feet. ‘I wanted everyone to think I was Super And Special, because he was an explorer, and a hero. But he failed, Pea. Now I think about it, Uncle Sir Randolph always fails. He’s a explorer.’
‘Ollie! That’s a terrible thing to say!’
I blushed, and sighed. ‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that . . . I’m DOOMED when we get back to school.’
‘Oh, poor you,’ snapped Peaches. ‘At least your girlfriend’s not been kidnapped by orang-utans, and you’re not going to have two toes CHOPPED OFF tomorrow!’ She stomped off down the hall towards the living room. ‘I want to hear about the man-eating ducks of Lake Titicaca, even if you don’t.’
Uncle Sir Randolph was back on form, telling his tales, and filling the house with laughter once more, so I pumped him for interesting information about his expedition that I could use in my project presentation.
‘Did you have to WRESTLE any wild animals?’ I asked. ‘Like . . .’
‘Not this time, Oliver,’ he admitted. ‘The worst thing that happened was when a seagull on my head.’
Oliver Fibbs and the Abominable Snow Penguin Page 4
