Nanny Piggins and the Race to Power 8

by R. A. Spratt

  When five minutes stretched into ten minutes and then fifteen, Nanny Piggins began to get restless.

  ‘I don’t want to pressure my brother,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but he does seem to be taking an inordinately long time to vote. There are only three names on the ballot. Even allowing for a little break to eat his honey sandwich, I don’t see what could be taking him so long.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s fallen into one of his super-deep hibernation sleeps?’ guessed Samantha.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘It’s not cold enough. Besides, he got a full fifteen hours of sleep last night so he should be perky enough.’

  ‘Do you want me to go and see if he’s all right?’ asked Michael.

  ‘You’re not meant to interfere with someone while they’re voting,’ said Derrick.

  ‘I’ll whisper so that I don’t distract him,’ said Michael.

  So Michael walked over to Boris and squeezed between his legs. (Boris was so big and the voting booth was so small, he almost entirely filled it up. The only way for Michael to talk to Boris was to get down on his hands and knees, crawl between his legs, then pull himself up on the voting shelf where they could have a conversation.)

  Michael disappeared from view for several seconds before reappearing, by crawling back out through Boris’ legs.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘He’s stuck,’ explained Michael. ‘The booth is so small that he has wedged himself in and now he can’t get out. And he’s quite upset because he thinks the booth is shrinking because he can’t see how else it could have possibly happened.’

  ‘He does realise that he is a great big ten-foot-tall Kodiak bear and that the voting booth is just made of cardboard?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘I did point that out,’ said Michael, ‘but he says he doesn’t want to damage anything in case they won’t invite him back to vote next time.’

  ‘I’ll get him out of there,’ said Nanny Piggins with a steely glint in her eye.

  She walked over and stood directly behind her brother before shrieking, ‘Aaaaaaaggggghhhhhhh!!!!! Mouse!!!’

  Boris exited the voting booth directly upwards because he leapt so high in the air. Luckily Nanny Piggins then stepped out of the way, otherwise he would have landed on her when he came down with an enormous thud.

  ‘Where?!’ panicked Boris. ‘Oooh, I do so hate mice. Then are so mean and bitey. And they eat my honey sandwiches.’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s gone now,’ said Nanny Piggins as she gave her brother a comforting hug. ‘So now, all we have to do is wait for the polls to close and the results to be announced. I believe it is customary to wait in a public place where there are plenty of refreshments available, preferably cakey ones.’

  ‘Did you have somewhere in mind?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘I thought perhaps Hans’ Bakery,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Ooooh, can I have a slice of cake?’ asked Boris.

  ‘We’ll have many, many slices of cake,’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘After all, the polls don’t close for another five hours, then it will take them at least ten minutes to see that I’m the clear winner. And I can eat a lot of cake in five hours and ten minutes.’

  ‘And you don’t think it will affect your ability to be mayor, the fact that you aren’t registered to vote or even a citizen of this country?’ asked Michael as they turned to leave.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m sure nobody can be bothered checking such tedious things, so how would they ever find out?’

  Unfortunately at that very moment Nanny Piggins came face-to-face with her answer, because Mr Green was standing right behind them, and from the joyous expression on his face he looked as though he had just got the biggest tax return of his life.

  ‘You aren’t a registered citizen?!’ he exclaimed.

  Nanny Piggins did momentarily consider lying (which I know is wicked of her, but it really is Mr Green’s fault for bringing out the worst in her). ‘Technically, no,’ she admitted.

  ‘You aren’t going to do anything about it, are you, Father?’ asked Michael naively. He knew the answer before his father even spoke, because Mr Green’s eyes were bugging out of his head from excitement.

  ‘You aren’t a registered citizen!’ he declared again.

  ‘Yes, we’ve covered that,’ said Nanny Piggins with a sigh. ‘You really are the most tedious person to hold a conversation with.’

  ‘Who do I tell first?’ asked Mr Green. Not that he was talking to anyone else, he was more babbling to himself with hysterical glee. ‘The newspapers? The television reporters? The electoral authorities? Oooh, I know! I’ll hold a press conference.’

  ‘Please, Father,’ pleaded Samantha. ‘Don’t do that. Nanny Piggins would make a wonderful mayor. Much better than you. On some level you must know that.’

  ‘I know no such thing,’ said Mr Green. ‘She is a pig. At least I’m a human.’

  ‘A sorry example of one,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Surely it’s better to have the world’s greatest flying pig be mayor as opposed to the town’s most mediocre tax lawyer.’

  But Mr Green was not listening. He rarely did when people less important than him were talking, and he thought most people were less important than him. ‘Maybe they’ll throw her in jail for electoral fraud and I’ll finally be free of the dreadful pig.’

  ‘How dare you speak about my sister in that way!’ denounced Boris, starting to get angry (which was most unlike him. He usually went straight to weepy, or wracking sobs).

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Mr Green, not recognising Boris as the bear who had taught him tap dancing or had been living in his garden shed. ‘On second thoughts, don’t tell me. I don’t have time for any of you. I’m off to report this pig to the appropriate authorities.’

  Mr Green turned on his heel and hurried out of the room. Nanny Piggins sighed as she watched him go.

  ‘Does that mean it’s all over?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘You’re not going to be mayor?’ asked Derrick disbelievingly.

  They could not accept that this political journey should be brought to an end by such a small hurdle. They had always assumed that their nanny would win, as she did with everything, and become the best and most successful politician since her great-great-great Aunt Winston Piggins had dressed up as a man and led the allies to victory in World War II.

  ‘Children,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘If my political career were the only concern here, then yes, I’m afraid this would be it. The end of our journey. But there is something much more serious at stake – Dulsford. The town we live in, our home and our way of life is being threatened by that dreadful man – your father.’

  ‘Yes, we knew who you were talking about,’ nodded Derrick.

  ‘And so it is not for me, but the children of Dulsford and the children’s children of Dulsford for whom I shall now take action,’ declared Nanny Piggins.

  ‘What action?’ asked Michael.

  ‘I’m going to kidnap your father,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Boris, find a sack.’

  ‘I already have,’ said Boris, holding up a large hessian sack. ‘I went and found one as soon as I realised he’d overheard us. If you weren’t going to kidnap him, I was.’

  ‘Let’s do it together,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘It’s always nice to do things as a family.’

  And so, an hour later, Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children sat happily in Hans’ Bakery eating cake and watching the election coverage on TV as they awaited the results.

  Mr Green was safely locked in Hans’ storage room, which Nanny Piggins reasoned could not be viewed as a hardship. She often dreamed of being locked in Hans’ storeroom, surrounded by all that cake.

  ‘The polls have been closed for half an hour and according to electoral officials we should soon have a result,’ announced the reporter. ‘It looks like there is going to be a clear winner.’

  ‘That’s you!’ said Michael, squeezing his nanny’s hand aff
ectionately.

  Boris just burst into tears, which was the traditional Russian response to all good news, and all bad news as well.

  ‘We cross now to our reporter at the tally room,’ said the anchorman.

  ‘There has been a landslide result,’ said the reporter excitedly. ‘17,861 votes were cast in Dulsford: 2084 for the incumbent mayor. Zero for Lysander Green…’

  ‘How can Father have got no votes at all?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘Who would vote for him?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘And he didn’t get a chance to vote for himself before we kidnapped him,’ added Michael.

  ‘So the clear winner, with 15,777 votes, is Sarah Matahari Lorelei Piggins, World’s Greatest Flying Pig!’ announced the reporter.

  A huge cheer went up in the tally room behind the reporter and in the bakery where Nanny Piggins and the children were sitting. Quite a crowd of her supporters had gathered to be with her when she won power. There was the retired Army Colonel who lived round the corner (and was secretly in love with Nanny Piggins), Mrs Lau from across the street, the Police Sergeant, Mrs Hesselstein from the Chocolatorium, Mrs Simpson next door, Stan the truck driver, Rosalind the bearded lady, Melanie the fat lady, Mr Dulsford the eccentric billionaire as well as dozens more friends and neighbours who had all squeezed into the bakery to be there when the result was announced.

  ‘Three cheers for Nanny Piggins!’ cried the retired Army Colonel. ‘Hip hip –’

  ‘Wait!’ yelled Nanny Piggins. Silence fell on the crowd and they all turned to look where Nanny Piggins’ outstretched trotter was pointing. On the television screen they could see Mr Green and he looked dishevelled. Journalists and TV cameras were crowded around him. ‘He must have escaped!’

  ‘Nanny Piggins cannot be mayor because she is not a registered voter or even a citizen of this country,’ cried Mr Green. ‘She doesn’t exist. She’s nothing but a common pink farm pig!’

  ‘Can you prove it?’ cried a journalist.

  ‘No, because there is no evidence,’ cried Mr Green. ‘She has no paperwork. And you can’t be mayor if you don’t exist.’

  A dreadful silence fell in the bakery.

  ‘What does this mean?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘It means your father is going to get a nasty surprise in his high-fibre breakfast cereal tomorrow morning,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘But what does this mean for the election results?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Nanny Piggins.

  They all turned back to look at the television. An electoral official was now addressing the media scrum.

  ‘In cases where the elected mayor cannot accept the appointment . . .’ said the official loudly over the excited babble of the crowd.

  ‘What happens?’ cried a journalist. ‘Does the incumbent mayor win by default?’

  Everyone groaned at the prospect.

  ‘No,’ said the official firmly. ‘If the elected mayor cannot accept the appointment, the second person on his, or in this case her, ticket then becomes mayor.’

  Everyone in the bakery turned to look at Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Who was second on your ticket?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘I didn’t even know you had a second person on your ticket,’ said Michael.

  Nanny Piggins had gone white with shock. ‘Well, I filled out the form such a long time ago,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘I didn’t know who to put. I didn’t think it would matter. So I just put . . . Boris.’

  Everyone turned to look at Boris.

  ‘What,’ said Boris, looking up from his honey cake. ‘What’s going on? Sorry I wasn’t following the conversation. I was enjoying my honey cake.’

  ‘Boris,’ said Samantha gently, ‘you are the newly elected Mayor of Dulsford.’

  And for once Boris did not react to a great surprise by bursting into tears. He could not because he had fainted flat on the floor. So he, as well as a great many other people at the party, had to eat an enormous amount of cake to overcome the shock before he could go down to the Town Hall to make his acceptance speech.

  ‘People of Dulsford,’ began Boris. ‘I want to assure you that as your newly elected mayor I will not just represent the people who voted for me . . .’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Derrick, ‘because no-one voted for him.’

  ‘But the people who didn’t vote for me as well,’ said Boris.

  There was smattering of half-hearted clapping from the crowd.

  Boris bent down to whisper to Michael. ‘They don’t seem to like me very much.’

  ‘Say something cheerful,’ suggested Michael.

  Boris stood up straight and addressed the crowd again. ‘Under my leadership,’ said Boris, ‘there will be honey sandwiches and nap time for all!’

  This declaration got a much bigger round of applause.

  ‘Leaf blowers will be banned from use before noon so that everyone can sleep in,’ announced Boris. ‘Bus seats will be made wider to accommodate the bigger boned; fairy floss will be handed out free at the library during story time and I will personally give yoga lessons in the park every day!’

  Now there was a huge cheer from the crowd and Boris happily waved at the people.

  ‘You know,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘I get the sneaking suspicion that Boris is going to make a very good politician.’

  ‘You aren’t disappointed to lose?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘It was the best possible result for me. I achieved all my goals. I trounced your father and the incumbent mayor. And now, I don’t actually have to do any of the work, so I can spend more time with you three.’ She hugged the children affectionately. ‘It’s a win-win-win-win scenario.’

  The Nanny Piggins Guide to Conquering Christmas

  by R. A. Spratt

  will be in all pig-approved bookshops in November 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Nanny Piggins and the Race to Power

  9781742755007

  R. A. Spratt © 2013

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  A Random House Australia book

  Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

  Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW, 2060

  www.randomhouse.com.au

  Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices

  First published by Random House Australia in 2013

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Author: Spratt, R. A.

  Title: Nanny Piggins and the race to power [electronic resource] / R.A. Spratt.

  ISBN: 978 1 74275 500 7 (ebook)

  Series: Nanny Piggins; 8.

  Target Audience: For primary school age.

  Dewey Number: A823.4

  Cover illustration by Gypsy Taylor

  Cover design by Christabella Designs

  Internal design by Jobi Murphy

  Internal illustrations by R. A. Spratt

  Ebook Production by Midland Typesetters Australia

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