‘There,’ he said. ‘Special effects.’
‘Ooooo!’ said everyone else, as hundreds of pieces of glittery confetti fluttered down. ‘Lovely!’
‘Come on then,’ said Purvis. ‘There isn’t much time left.’
So everyone rushed around in a panic finding the tinsel and the silver foil and making confetti. Then everyone sat around in a panic waiting for Howard to come back.
‘Where is he? Where is he?’ said Purvis.
‘It’s most unprofessional of him to disappear like this,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘Maybe he’s run off,’ said Mickey Thompson, just as the door flew open and Howard pirouetted in.
‘Whee!’ said Howard. ‘Look who’s here.’
‘DOG!’ shouted Uncle Gillian.
‘ALLEN!’ shouted the mice, running over to Allen.
‘I’ve brought him to see the show,’ said Howard.‘I knewhe wouldn’t want to missmy performance.’
‘Mr Bullerton won’t be very pleased,’ said Purvis.
‘Good,’ said Howard. ‘Now everyone stand back while I practise my moves.’
Everyone stood back while Howard practised his moves.
‘He doesn’t seem himself,’ said Allen, worriedly.
‘He got bonked on the head,’ explained Purvis. ‘Twice.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Allen.
‘And Tree Girl magicked him,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Oh no,’ said Allen.
‘CAREFUL!’ shouted Uncle Gillian, as Howard went spinning past. ‘He’s out of control. We’ve got to stop him and get him into his outfit or we won’t make curtain-up.’
‘HOWARD!’ shouted Purvis, trying to flag him down. Howard continued spinning.
‘HOWARD!’ shouted Mickey Thompson. ‘Look at the pretty tinsel.’
Howard spun faster.
‘Help me with this,’ said Uncle Gillian, pushing a box into the middle of the room.
‘Why are we pushing it?’ asked Purvis.
‘Oops,’ said Howard, tripping over it, and crashing to the ground.
‘That’s why,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘Come and sit on him, Ortrud.’ Ortrud went and sat on him.
‘Oof,’ said Howard.
‘Now help me with the costume,’ said Uncle Gillian. They put the silver foil over him, wound the tinsel up and down him and tied it, tightly.
‘Um. . . ’ said Allen.
‘I do wish he’d keep still,’ said Uncle Gillian, stapling on some sweet wrappers.
‘Excuse me,’ said Allen.
‘What’s up, Allen?’ asked Purvis.
‘He’s gone a little bit purple,’ said Allen.
They loosened the tinsel.
‘That’s better,’ said Allen.
‘Are we ready then?’ asked Purvis.
Howard made a croaky noise.
‘I think he’s trying to say something,’ said Allen.
‘What is it, Howard?’ asked Purvis.
‘My head,’ groaned Howard.
‘He’s right,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘It needs a little something extra.’
‘There’s no time to make a hat, or wig,’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘Glitter him,’ said Tree Girl. So they squirted glue over Howard’s head and. . . glittered him.
‘Phpp, phpp,’ said Howard, spitting bits out.
‘A definite improvement,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘Now how are we going to get him there?’
‘I know!’ said Purvis. He raced into the corridor, gave a loud whistle, and with a deafening clacketty-rattle the big wooden post trolley arrived.
‘What’s that?’ said the trolley, looking at Howard.
‘It’s Howard,’ said Purvis. ‘We need to get him to the Big Show, fast.’
‘Pop him on, then,’ said the trolley.
With some difficulty, the Clumsies and Allen and Uncle Gillian and Tree Girl heaved Howard upright and manoeuvred him over to the trolley.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t have wrapped him up so much,’ said Purvis.
‘We had to, really,’ said Mickey Thompson, ‘otherwise he’d still be spinning.’
‘True,’ said Purvis.
‘Hurry up,’ said the trolley, so they laid Howard across the top, stacked the boxes of confetti underneath, and climbed on.
CRACK went the trolley. ‘ALL ABOARD, FIFTY TWO?’
‘All aboard,’ said Purvis, and they shot off up the corridor.
‘AAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!’
shouted everyone as they swerved around corners and crashed through doors and hurtled along passageways they’d never hurtled along before.
‘VROOM,’ ROARED the trolley, turning sharp left and plunging into a tunnel.
‘TOOT!’ went Ortrud.
‘I can’t see!’ said Allen.
‘Head,’ said Howard.
‘Hold on!’ said Purvis.
‘I feel sick!’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘It isn’t allowed!’ said Tree Girl.
‘I want to go home!’ said Uncle Gillian.
‘YEE-HI,’ whooped the trolley, bursting them into brightness again and skidding to a halt. ‘Fast.’
‘We’re here,’ said Purvis, blinking.
And there they were by the side of a stage, with hot lights above it and a vast audience in front of it.
‘Wow,’ gulped Mickey Thompson. ‘Look at them all.’
Suddenly there was a LOUD drum-roll and Mr Bullerton strutted on to the stage.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the Big Show, and for our first act tonight we have a very, er. . . interesting singer-songwriter who has written a song all by himself especially for you.’
‘Oo!’ said the audience.
‘Aah!’ said Allen. ‘That’s nice. I wonder who it is?’
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Dastardly,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘The man’s a scoundrel.’
‘And so, Gentlemen and Ladies,’ continued Mr Bullerton, ‘please put your hands together and give a very warm welcome to HOWARD ARMITAGE and his song Buttercups, written entirely and exclusively just by him.’
The audience clapped politely as Mr Bullerton left the stage, and then there was silence.
‘Here we go,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘Time for “Great Balls of Fire”.’
‘But where is he?’ said Purvis, looking around.
‘He must have rolled off,’ said the trolley. ‘I thought I heard a bump, in the tunnel.’
‘Look,’ said Mickey Thompson. ‘Mr Bullerton’s coming back on.’
‘Err, Ladies and Gentlemen,’ said Mr Bullerton. ‘Unfortunately it would appear that Howard Armitage cannot be with us tonight.’
The audience made surprised-and-disappointed noises.
‘However,’ said Mr Bullerton, ‘I’m determined that you hear the words of the song so I’m going to read them out to you, and very memorable I think you’ll find them. Ah-hem.’ He cleared his throat and took a piece of paper out of his pocket.
‘Quick!’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘Bring the curtain down!’
‘Yes, but how?’ said Purvis.
‘It’ll be one of those,’ said Uncle Gillian, pointing at a row of coloured buttons just as Howard arrived, dishevelledly.
‘I fell off,’ he said, as Mr Bullerton began to read.
‘I love pretty buttercups,’ read out Mr Bullerton.
‘And I love fluffy bunnikens.’
The audience tittered, and Purvis pressed the green button. Nothing happened.
‘But most of all,’ continued Mr Bullerton, ‘I love. . . HOWARD ARMITAGE!’ he roared, as Howard staggered on to the stage, trailing tinsel.
The audience gasped.
‘Give it to me,’ said Howard, grabbing the microphone.
‘Give it to ME,’ shouted Mr Bullerton, grabbing it back.
‘ME,’ shouted Howard, wrestling it free and capering off with it down to the front of the stage.
‘GOODNESS GRACIOUS,’ w
hooped Howard. ‘GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!’ He started swivelling, and someone in the audience screamed.
‘AAAAAA
ARMMMMI
IITAAAAGE
!!!!!!!!!’ roared Mr Bullerton.
‘Oh, no,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘Somebody make him stop.’
Purvis pressed the red button and the fire alarm went off. Allen jabbed the blue button and jets of water squirted out of the ceiling. Mickey Thompson bashed the yellow button and a wind-machine blew the lids off the boxes and scattered the confetti. Uncle Gillian hit the purple button and a light fell from the ceiling and crashed on to Howard. Howard stopped swivelling.
‘Ouch,’ he said.
‘AAAAAAA
RMMMMIII
TAAAAGE!!!
!!!!!!’ roared
Mr Bullerton, again.
‘Where am I?’ said Howard. ‘What’s happening?’
‘You’re FIRED,’ shouted Mr Bullerton. ‘That’s what’s happening.’
He lunged at Howard, and missed. He lunged again and missed again, and the audience started shrieking and running about.
‘Somebody help him,’ wailed Allen.
‘FLING ME,’ shouted Tree Girl. ‘FLING ME’.
So Ortrud picked up Tree Girl in her trunk and flung her, and the wind machine whisked her up and up and around and around and dropped her on Mr Bullerton ’s head.
‘Ouch,’ said Mr Bullerton.
‘DEEP SLEEP LOUD SNORE,’ shouted Tree Girl, whacking him with the wand.
‘Oof,’ said Mr Bullerton, passing out.
‘Magic,’ said Tree Girl.
‘Gosh,’ said Mickey Thompson.
‘Why am I covered in tinsel?’ said Howard. ‘And why are those people shrieking?’
‘Mmm, yes,’ said Uncle Gillian. ‘A good performer knows when it’s time to make an exit, and that time is now.’
‘He’s right,’ said the trolley. ‘Climb on, everyone.’ Everyone climbed on.
‘ALL ABOARD, FIFTY TWO?’ said the trolley.
‘All aboard!’ said Purvis.
‘Then let’s get out of here, FAST,’ said the trolley, and with an enormousCLATTER they did.
Copyright
Text copyright © Sorrel Anderson 2011
Illustrations copyright © Nicola Slater 2011
ISBN: 978-0-00-733936-5
Ebook Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007427246
Version: 2014-05-02
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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The Clumsies Make a Mess of the Big Show Page 5
