Doctor Bonkers!

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘Oi! You!’ Dylan shouted at the triceratops. ‘Get moving!’ He poked the lumbering beast with a stick and, following a gigantic jolt that almost tossed Rosie to the ground, they were off. The cart rumbled forward, with Big Nose, Walleye and the ancient ancient Egyptian farmer steaming after it.

  ‘Stop that cart!’

  ‘Get the spies!’

  ‘Er … er … someone’s stolen my triceratops,’ complained the bemused farmer.

  The triceratops picked up speed and soon it was doing a lumbering gallop, its huge three-horned head bouncing up and down as it thundered along. Rosie sat on the back of the cart hurling melons, bananas and oranges at the soldiers. She even managed to score several hits, and soon the soldiers were covered in bits of fruit and lots of pips. They looked very colourful, but squidgy.

  Dylan had no idea where they were going, but at least they were escaping from the soldiers, who were now struggling to keep up as they skidded around on banana skins and old melon rind.

  Everything would have been fine for the escapers if there hadn’t been a fully loaded refuse cart coming in the opposite direction, pulled by two stegosauruses.

  ‘What is this? Some kind of motorway?’ shouted Dylan in despair. ‘Where are the brakes on this thing?!’ But it was already too late.

  KRRRASSSHHH! THUDDD! KERRANNNNGGGGG! SSPPPING! ‘OW!’

  The three beasts collided. Dylan was catapulted over the triceratops’s head and landed on the rubbish wagon. The carts slewed round. A wheel came off Dylan’s cart, spilling fruit every which way. Most of that promptly got mashed to bits by the stamping dinosaurs. The shafts on the refuse cart snapped off and it tipped up, dumping a stinking pile (including Dylan) on top of the fruit.

  Luckily, Rosie had been thrown to the side and had suffered nothing worse than landing on top of a mashed-up watermelon, leaving her with a wet bottom covered in black pips.

  At this point, Big Nose and Walleye, wading through an ever increasing flood of fruit and rubbish, finally caught up with the twins.

  Big Nose grinned triumphantly. ‘Now the Pharaoh Tutankummin will decide how you die!’ he said gleefully.

  7¼ Meanwhile …

  Dig! Dig! Dig! Shovel! Shovel! Shovel! Beneath the desert, squadrons of Roman soldiers dug away at the last remaining section of tunnel. By this time it was almost a thousand miles long. It had gone all the way from Rome, down Italy, under the Mediterranean Sea and beneath Africa. Now, at last, they were about to surface and grab the Doombuster.

  Julius Caesar relaxed in his fold-up bed. (He was a bit folded up too because there wasn’t much space in the tunnel.) He slowly ate a grape.

  ‘Tomorrow we shall rise up out of the sand and I will become MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

  And thousands of miles away, the Titanic sailed quietly on.

  8 Bow Down Before the Supreme and Mighty Commander!

  ‘You really do not have to keep poking me,’ insisted Dylan.

  ‘Shut up and keep walking,’ Walleye growled back at him.

  They had left the pyramid. Walleye and Big Nose were marching the two children across the sand towards the pharaoh’s palace. It was a thunderingly massive building and it looked about as welcoming as a bath full of crocodiles. Funnily enough there seemed to be a rather large number of crocodiles about the place.

  All along the front there were gigantic, identical statues of Pharaoh Tutankummin holding a crocodile under each arm. Not only that, but Rosie and Dylan spotted several palace guards who appeared to have crocodiles on leads.

  ‘They must be guard crocs,’ Dylan whispered to his sister. ‘Ow! Stop poking me!’

  ‘No talking,’ rasped Walleye.

  The prisoners had to climb a hundred and seventy-nine steps simply to reach the palace entrance. Inside, huge pillars supported a ceiling that was so high they could see clouds drifting beneath it.

  Flaming torches flickered against the walls. They threw strange shadows across paintings of everyday ancient Egyptian life. There were crocodiles lunching on dinosaurs; flying crocodiles attacking Vikings; two-headed, six-legged crocodiles chasing Vikings; and crocodiles on wheels with tank turrets on their backs, firing at Vikings – that sort of everyday ancient Egyptian life.

  ‘What’s with all the crocodiles?’ asked Dylan.

  Big Nose grunted. ‘The mighty Pharaoh Tutankummin likes crocodiles. He is very fond of them.’

  Guards were everywhere. Patrols marched past from time to time, criss-crossing the palace. Sentries kept watch at every pillar, every door, every stairway.

  They pressed deeper into the palace. Now they came to a great hall. A line of guards stood on duty at the entrance and Big Nose halted in front of them.

  ‘We have two prisoners. We think they are the missing spies.’

  The chief guard was Shutshed, the one who had caught Alfie, Bandit and the doctor. Rosie and Dylan, of course, didn’t know this.

  ‘Excellent,’ Shutshed growled. ‘They will be taken before the Supreme and Mighty Commander.’

  ‘Not the pharaoh?’ questioned Walleye with surprise.

  ‘The pharaoh is mighty,’ Shutshed agreed, ‘but not as mighty as Alfenramen. Alfenramen has come to us. He is one of the gods, come down from the sky to be with us here on Earth! We have been blessed. The prisoners will be dealt with by Alfenramen. You may go, and it looks as if you need a good bath and some clean clothes. You stink like pigs and look like them too. I will take charge of the prisoners now.’

  Big Nose and Walleye dutifully marched off, but not before Big Nose had a final sneer at them. ‘Your days are numbered, spies! Now the gods will decide how you die!’

  Shutshed and his guards closed round Dylan and Rosie and they were marched into the depths of the great hall.

  ‘What do you think is going to happen to us?’ Rosie asked her brother. Dylan shrugged.

  ‘I just hope it’s quick,’ he muttered.

  ‘What about Alfie? He’s only six,’ Rosie went on, her voice close to breaking.

  ‘Sssh!’ hissed Shutshed. ‘We are coming to the royal chamber. You must not speak. When you reach the stairs to the Supreme Being’s throne, you must throw yourself full-length on the floor and beg for mercy. That way you may at least save your lives. You must not look at the Supreme Being or he will turn you into maggots or something worse.’

  ‘Huh. What’s worse than maggots?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Rice pudding,’ Rosie suggested. ‘And Christmas cake.’

  Shutshed poked them both with his spear. ‘And you must not speak, either,’ he added curtly.

  SKRINNNGGG! SKRANNGGG!! SKREEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKK!!!

  A fanfare of tuneless trumpets and clanking cymbals suddenly filled the air with what sounded like a grand piano crashing into a million saucepans at high speed.

  A giant stepped forward. He was MASSIVE. Not only was he as tall as an elephant, but he was built like one too. His head was completely bald and shiny and his ears stuck out. His neck was as thick as an elephant’s leg. His body bulged with huge muscles and in his hands he held a very long, very shiny and very sharp executioner’s sword.

  ‘That man is holding a very big tin opener,’ Dylan whispered to his sister. Rosie didn’t laugh. She was too busy having kittens. About thirty-six of them.

  ‘Ssssh!’ hissed Shutshed.

  The giant swished his mighty sword, glared at the prisoners, opened his mouth and bellowed. In a very high and squawky voice.

  ‘Prisoners, step forward and throw yourselves upon the mercy of the Supreme Being, Alfenramen, and Pharaoh Tutankummin.’

  The squeaky voice sounded so silly coming out of the mouth of a giant that Rosie and Dylan doubled up. They couldn’t help themselves.

  ‘Are you laughing at me?’ screamed the giant, his eyes bulging like a frog that had swallowed an airbag.

  ‘No,’ choked Rosie, through her gritted, giggling teeth. The two prisoners reached the royal steps and
lay down upon the ground, faces to the floor. Above them, the giant began squawking to the Supreme Being.

  ‘O, Alfenramen, High Priest and Knower of All Things Knowable and Unknowable and also the Things We’re Not So Sure Of, these prisoners were found in the Great Pyramid of your father, Sennapod – He Whose Name Shall Rumble Down The Ages. They are spies from afar. What is to be done with them?’

  A yell interrupted from the top of the royal steps. ‘Thwow them to the cwocodiles!’

  ‘Doesn’t sound too good so far,’ whispered Dylan. ‘Shall we run for it?’

  ‘Where to?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘Thwow them to the cwocodiles!’ repeated the very unpleasant voice. ‘Snip snap, cwunch cwunch, it’s time for cwocodile lunch! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!’

  A different voice interrupted. ‘No, wait a minute.’

  The new voice was familiar to both the twins. Rosie lifted her head slightly and looked up, hoping that she wouldn’t suddenly turn into a maggot or, worse still, a Christmas cake. She didn’t, but she did almost choke with surprise.

  ‘Dylan, I have just seen the Supreme Being. Do you know who it is? It’s Alfie! He’s sitting up there on the throne with Bandit right next to him, wearing a huge robe.’

  ‘Bandit’s wearing a robe?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Not the cat, jelly-brain – Alfie.’

  ‘Silence, worms!’ screeched the first voice from above. ‘I shall have your ears tweaked. I shall have your lips sewn up and your hair pulled out. I shall feed you to the cwocodiles and bears and lions and tigers and … and … and nibbly things, like ants and earwigs and squiwwels and hamsters –’

  ‘Be silent, Tutankummin!’ cried Alfenramen, banging his staff. ‘I order you to be quiet. Prisoners, come and stand before me.’

  The twins looked up. The Supreme Being – Alfie – sat there, dwarfed by the vast golden robe spread around him. Beneath it all was his plastic Roman armour and on his head, his feathered headdress had been replaced with a pharaoh’s crown. In his right hand he held a long, carved, wooden staff and in his left he was still clutching his plastic Utter Death space-gun.

  And behind Alfie and Bandit stood Doctor Starkly-Bonkers, giving them little waves and grinning madly.

  ‘Alfie! Doctor! You’re OK!’ cried Dylan.

  Shutshed gave Dylan a hard poke with the sharp end of his spear, sending him sprawling in the dust.

  ‘Show reverence to His Mightiness!’ Shutshed growled.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Dylan hissed angrily, getting to his feet. ‘Alfie’s six. He’s about as mighty as a toilet roll.’

  ‘I will speak with those two,’ ordered Alfenramen, pointing at the twins. ‘You may come and stand here.’

  ‘Aha! Now we shall see something nasty,’ squawked Tutankummin triumphantly. ‘Maybe we can bwing the cwocodiles in here and watch them take a snack?’

  The twins ignored the mad pharaoh and went to Alfie’s throne. ‘What’s it all about, Alfie?’ Rosie whispered to him.

  Little Alfie grinned. ‘Isn’t it great? They think Bandit’s a god. They worship him and call him Bast. They found me with Bandit and they think I’m a god too and I speak for him. I’ve been put in charge of everything. This whole palace, the whole country, the WHOLE UNIVERSE!’

  Dylan groaned. ‘The world’s gone mad,’ he said gloomily, while Rosie beamed with happiness.

  ‘I’m so pleased we found you,’ she murmured, hugging her little brother.

  The doctor spoke for the first time. ‘After we fell through the floor, we ended up on a rubbish tip. We escaped, but got caught. We thought we were in BIG trouble, but we were saved by Bandit. The ancient Egyptians worship a cat god called Bast, and they’ve decided that Bandit is Bast. He’s saved our lives – and now yours too. I must say it’s very good to see you.’

  ‘I can do anything I want!’ Alfie chipped in. ‘I had five bowls of rice pudding for breakfast this morning!’

  Rosie groaned. ‘Alfie! You are disgusting – and so is rice pudding. Besides, you’re only six. How can you possibly be a god? It’s not fair.’

  Alfie glanced towards Tutankummin. ‘I don’t like him. He’s not a god. He’s just the pharaoh. He keeps sneering at me and he says nasty things when he thinks nobody else can hear. This is his throne I’m sitting on, but I’ve been put on it and he doesn’t like it. He’s jealous.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Rosie asked.

  Alfie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I thought you might –’

  KERRPOWW! BANG!! KERRAMBBERANNGG-A-BANGGG!! BOOOOMMMMM!!

  A gigantic explosion ripped the front of the palace open, sending hundreds of bricks spinning in every direction. More explosions quickly followed. Shouts and yells rattled the air as terrified guards came rushing into the royal chamber, along with some squealing velociraptors, jumping with fright.

  ‘The Vikings! The Vikings are attacking!

  9 It’s Grab-a-Dino Time!

  Panic. The guards rushed about, banging into each other, tripping over their spear handles and sprawling in all directions. BOOM! BAMM! More explosions. Clouds of dust billowed, sending everyone into coughing fits.

  Shutshed hurried across to Alfie – or rather Alfenramen – and threw himself at his feet. ‘O Highly Mightiness, what shall we do?’

  Alfie looked very uncomfortable and gave a startled jolt as another explosion went off nearby. ‘Um, can I go home?’ he suggested.

  Rosie nudged him hard. ‘You’re a god, Alfie. You must give them orders.’

  Alfie’s brow wrinkled as he thought hard. At last his face brightened and he got to his feet, scowling at the guards. He was ready to take charge. ‘Bring me more rice pudding!’ he cried.

  The guards were completely mystified. How would rice pudding save them from the Viking attack? SPLAMMM!! Everyone ducked as another explosion took place. Part of the palace roof caved in, revealing the sky. Viking biplanes circled overhead, dropping bombs.

  Although, to be truthful, the planes were not exactly circling. It looked a lot more like they were corkscrewing all over the place. Every so often a plane would fly upside down and a whole Viking would tumble out. ‘AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!’ The Vikings were definitely a lot better at sailing longboats than flying biplanes.

  The guards began muttering to each other and Shutshed spoke up. ‘O Mighty Highly-ness, we are being attacked on all sides and you ask for rice pudding?’ The muttering grew, and now Tutankummin stepped forward.

  ‘This new god Alfenwamen is a fool!’ he cried. ‘We need cwocodiles, not wice pudding. Cwocodiles to eat the Vikings. They will bite off their leggies and armies and cwunch them into small bits!’

  ‘Tutankummin speaks true,’ hissed a guard. ‘Alfenramen is a useless god.’

  Dylan felt a mutiny growing among the guards and began shouting. ‘How dare you question your god! He knows far more than you!’

  ‘Do I?’ Alfie looked very confused.

  ‘Sssh,’ hissed Dylan. ‘Let me finish.’ He turned back to the gathering crowd. ‘Why does he send for rice pudding? Because Vikings are afraid of rice pudding. Everyone knows that!’

  FLABOOMMM! KRUNNGLE-BLUNGGG!

  Another explosion and three nearby pillars collapsed, bringing down even more of the roof.

  Shutshed frowned. ‘I didn’t know this. Are you sure? The Vikings are scared of rice pudding?’

  Dylan folded his arms and looked down at Shutshed with scorn. ‘Be careful,’ he advised. He swung one arm wide to point at Bandit. ‘This is Bast, your god. He knows everything and has told his servant Alfenramen.’

  Bandit looked at Dylan and Shutshed for a moment, lifted one back leg and began to clean his bottom. Tutankummin was not in the least bit impressed.

  ‘Bast? Pah! He is just a ginger moggy. Vikings afwaid of wice pudding? It’s widiculous!’

  The guards muttered even more and pressed forward again. Dylan was fighting a losing battle. Tutankummin pressed his advantage.

  ‘You must listen to m
e. Don’t listen to these childwen! I am your phawoh! We must fight the Vikings with cwocodiles! We will thwow cwocodiles at them. We will dwop cwocodiles on them from the top of the pywamid and squash them!’

  ‘Yes, that’s the way to beat the Vikings!’ roared the crowd, and they banged their spears in support of the young pharaoh.

  Dylan tried desperately to think of something, but nothing came into his head. Rosie suddenly grabbed his arm.

  ‘Look! Look at my pyjama sleeve!’ Winding their way through all the little pictures on Rosie’s left sleeve were three words. They wiggled and wriggled along as they made their way round the hem of her top.

  RELEASE THE DINOSAURS!

  That’s what they said.

  ‘It’s incredible,’ murmured Dylan. ‘Like magic. Look, now they’re disappearing.’ The words vanished as mysteriously as they had appeared. Rosie bent over Alfie and whispered in his ear.

  Alfie got to his feet. He banged his staff on the ground, pointed his plastic space-gun at Shutshed and barked his order. ‘Release the dinosaurs!’

  Shutshed jerked upright. ‘O Highly Mighty Brightiness!’ he cried. ‘A truly wonderful plan. Dinosaurs are much more powerful than crocodiles. They will mash the Vikings and squash them to a squidge. They will do battle with the dreaded Vikings and we shall be saved. Release the dinosaurs!’

  Shutshed spurred on the guards and they all rushed off to save the kingdom. That just left Tutankummin, who was looking as angry and peeved as a teenager could be. The pharaoh hissed at Alfie.

  ‘You’re nothing but a little boy!’

  ‘And you’re nothing,’ Rosie said evenly, coming to the rescue. ‘Why don’t you go and play with your crocodiles?’

  Tutankummin slunk away and as soon as he had gone, Dylan took over. He grabbed Bandit and yanked Alfie from his throne. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

  BE-DANNGG BE-DOOOMM!!!

  ‘Quickly,’ coughed Dylan. ‘This palace is crumbling round our ears.’