‘Right,’ said Stan.
He knew he was staring, but he’d never met inspectors before and these two looked like they’d escaped from a circus. For a woman, Miss Miller was remarkably big and hairy. Equally odd was how they’d managed to get into school without anyone seeing them.
Minnie broke the silence. ‘I’m Minnie. Welcome to Mighty High,’ she said, stepping forward. ‘This is Stan and Miles, and that’s Pudding, the one with the tail.’
Pudding growled and crouched low, baring his teeth.
Miss Miller growled back, which sent Pudding running to hide behind Minnie’s legs.
‘It’s OK, Puds, they won’t hurt you,’ said Minnie. She turned to the inspectors. ‘Miss Marbles is in her office; she’s expecting you,’ she said.
They led the way down the long corridor and Minnie knocked on the head teacher’s door. Miss Marbles was wearing her best dress for the occasion, along with most of her jewellery. It looked like she was planning to charm the inspectors – either that or take them ballroom dancing.
‘Come in, come in. Welcome!’ she gushed, shaking hands with her visitors. ‘May I offer you some refreshment? Tea? Coffee? Milk? Hot chocolate? Sherry? Cakes? Biscuits?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Dr Sinister. ‘We’re not hungry.’
‘I am,’ said Otto. ‘Have you any lickle …’
‘Shut up,’ snapped his master. He gave them a thin smile. ‘If you don’t mind, we’ve a lot of inspecting to get through, you know – children, books, pencils and so on.’
‘Pencils?’ said Miss Marbles.
‘Yes. Sharp pencils, sharp minds,’ said Dr Sinister. ‘Shall we make a start?’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Marbles. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll find us very dull. Just a plain, ordinary school like any other, isn’t that right, Stanley?’
‘Oh, erm, yes,’ agreed Stan.
He caught Minnie’s eye, wondering how many more whopping lies Miss Marbles planned to tell that day.
‘The children can take you on a little tour,’ she said. ‘Ask them any questions you like.’
‘Just don’t expect us to answer them,’ Miles muttered under his breath.
They set off. Miss Marbles had told them to keep the tour of the school as brief and boring as possible. She had warned all the staff to make sure they taught ‘normal’ subjects today, such as English, science, maths or history. Any use of superpowers was strictly forbidden. All the same, Stan felt nervous as they walked to the hall. Not all the teachers were what you’d call reliable. Professor Bird was barking mad, while Professor Quirk usually nodded off in assembly and missed anything that was said. Stan thought it would be a miracle if they could get through the tour without any disasters.
Half an hour later they found themselves back at the empty hall.
‘And this is the hall,’ said Minnie. ‘We use it for ...’
‘Yes, we’ve seen it,’ snapped Dr Sinister impatiently. ‘What we haven’t seen is any children. Let’s take a look in here, shall we?’
Before they could stop him, the inspector opened a classroom door and barged into the middle of a lesson. Stan groaned. As luck would have it the teacher was Professor Quirk. It wasn’t immediately obvious what he was teaching, but it didn’t look like geography. A large wooden trunk stood on end at the front of class, bound by thick chains and padlocks. Professor Quirk glared at them.
‘Do you mind?’ he grumbled. ‘I’m trying to teach a lesson here.’
‘Please carry on,’ said the small inspector, waving a hand. ‘We are simply here to observe.’
Stan tried to catch Professor Quirk’s eye.
‘These are the inspectors, professor,’ he said meaningfully.
‘The WHAT?’ barked the professor.
‘The inspectors,’ repeated Minnie. ‘They wanted to see your geography lesson.’
‘Geography? What are you talking about?’ replied Professor Quirk, checking the stopwatch in his hand. ‘One minute!’ he bellowed.
A thump came from inside the trunk, making it rock. It dawned on Stan that there was someone inside and they were trying to get out! Professor Quirk taught escapology – the art of escaping when you were bound, gagged or, in this case, padlocked in a box. He obviously hadn’t got the message that he was supposed to be teaching something that belonged on a normal timetable.
Mr Long, the little inspector, approached the trunk.
‘And what have we here?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Stan quickly. ‘Maybe we should get on; we haven’t seen the, er ... toilets yet.’ He held the door open.
Deafening noises came from the trunk, which finally toppled over with an almighty crash.
‘One minute, thirty-two!’ shouted the professor. ‘Time’s running out.’
The inspector looked startled. ‘There’s someone in there!’ he said, pointing to the trunk in astonishment.
‘Er ... possibly,’ said Stan.
‘Of course there’s someone in there,’ said Professor Quirk.
‘But why would you lock someone inside a trunk?’ asked the inspector.
‘To see if they can escape, why do you think?’ barked the professor.
Suddenly a large fist shot out of one side of the trunk, followed by a boot smashing a hole in the top. The inspectors stood back as more blows, thumps and crashes smashed the lid of the trunk open. Tank’s head and shoulders rose from the broken shell like a magician’s assistant, only uglier. He shook sawdust and splinters from his hair and let out a roar of triumph.
‘Two minutes, ten seconds,’ the professor announced, stopping his watch. ‘Well done, Tank. Not pretty but certainly effective.’
Tank stepped out of what was left of the trunk and stomped back to his desk, rubbing his head.
The inspector folded his arms. ‘So tell me, I’m curious, what lesson is this?’ he asked.
Stan’s mind had gone blank. He turned to Minnie hopefully but she shook her head.
‘Science,’ Miles blurted out, coming to the rescue.
‘Science?’
‘Yes, we’ve been testing the resistance of different materials – you know like iron, steel or copper,’ explained Miles. ‘In this case we were testing the resistance of wood against a heavy object, such as Tank’s head.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said the inspector, clearly not seeing at all. ‘Well good, good, please carry on.’
He looked around for his hairy colleague, who had found a spider’s web hanging in a corner.
‘Miss Miller, we are going!’ he said, sharply.
Miss Miller stood up with a guilty expression. She seemed to have something in her mouth, which she swallowed quickly.
‘Right,’ said Professor Quirk. ‘Tomorrow we’ll be looking at escaping underwater. Read chapter seventeen in your textbooks ...’
Stan hurried the vistors out of the door before it got any worse. The lesson probably wasn’t what Miss Marbles had in mind when she claimed they were a dull, ordinary school. The inspectors, however, seemed to have other things on their minds.
‘Do you have school dinners?’ asked Mr Long.
‘Not if we can help it,’ said Miles.
Minnie nudged him to shut up. ‘Mrs Sponge is in charge of dinners,’ she explained. ‘Her meals are always ... interesting.’
‘That’s one word for it,’ muttered Miles.
‘We can take you to the kitchens if you like,’ offered Stan.
‘That’s all right, they’re downstairs, aren’t they?’ said the inspector.
‘Yes, we’ll show you,’ said Minnie.
‘No, no, we know the way,’ said the inspector. ‘Thank you for the tour, it’s been most interesting, but we can’t keep you from your lessons. This way, Miss Miller.’
Stan watched the two of them head down the stairs. He slumped back against a wall. ‘That was a disaster!’ he groaned. ‘Do you think they noticed?’
‘What, Tank escaping from a trunk by smashing it to bits?’ said Miles. �
��Pretty hard to miss, I’d say.’
‘But they didn’t seem that bothered,’ said Minnie thoughtfully.
‘In any case, we shouldn’t have let them go off on their own,’ said Stan. ‘Miss Marbles said to stay with them.’
‘There’s something else I don’t understand,’ said Minnie. ‘Did you notice them checking our work or looking at our books?’
‘No,’ answered Stan.
‘Exactly,’ said Minnie. ‘Wouldn’t inspectors take notes and write stuff down?’
Miles grinned. ‘I’m not sure the big one knows how to write,’ he said.
‘That’s the other weird thing,’ said Minnie. ‘I keep thinking I’ve seen the small one before somewhere. And the big one, Miss Miller, I’m sure she’s a man. Also, I was watching her back there and she ate a spider!’
‘She WHAT?’ said Stan.
‘I’m telling you, she put a big hairy spider in her mouth and swallowed it.’
Miles shook his head. ‘Maybe they won’t think our school dinners so bad after all,’ he said.
Down in the damp, dingy kitchens, Mrs Sponge, the world’s worst cook, was preparing lunch for that day. She stirred a saucepan of thick lumpy custard as it bubbled on the stove.
She frowned. What was that noise? She’d heard it more than once that morning – a sound like something knocking or mice learning to tap dance.
She put her ear close to the saucepan and listened. No, it wasn’t the custard. She wandered out into the corridor and waited for a moment.
There it was again! The noise almost sounded as if it was coming from the freezer room. She crept slowly down the corridor and reached out a hand to the door.
‘Ah, there you are!’
The voice made her jump. She turned to see two strange men standing at the foot of the stairs.
‘Mrs Sponge, isn’t it?’ said the little bearded man. ‘We are the school inspectors, Mr Long and Miss Miller.’
Miss Miller grinned and cracked her giant knuckles. She didn’t look like a ‘miss’, but maybe she’d forgotten to shave that morning.
‘Inspectors?’ said Mrs Sponge, wiping her hands on her apron. She wondered if she should bow or curtsy. No one had told her anything about an inspection. If she’d known she would have polished the cutlery or at least got rid of the mouse droppings.
She pointed to the big freezer door.
‘I know it’s ridiculous but I thought I heard knocking,’ she explained.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry,’ laughed the inspector. ‘It’s probably your knees; it’s very chilly down here. Now, we wanted to see the kitchens.’
Mrs Sponge led them inside.
Dr Sinister looked around. The place was a health hazard. Tins of soup lay open on the worktop, green fungus grew on the ceiling and the cooker had more stains than a butcher’s apron.
‘How many staff do you have?’ he asked.
‘Well, counting me ... one,’ replied Mrs Sponge.
‘You’re here by yourself?’ said Dr Sinister.
This was child’s play, he thought. There was no one around to interfere.
He peered at some thick yellow gloop bubbling in a pan. ‘And what’s this?’ he asked.
‘Custard,’ replied Mrs Sponge. ‘I’m serving it with apple pie. Would you like a piece?’
Dr Sinister accepted a small slice and spat it out instantly.
‘EUGH! What’s in it?’ he said.
‘Potatoes, mostly,’ said Mrs Sponge.
‘What? I thought you said it was apple pie?’
‘Yes, but we ran out of apples,’ explained the cook.
Dr Sinister shook his head. Quite possibly the old crone was mad. Certainly you’d have to be mad to eat her food. But then innocent schoolkiddies had little choice, which suited his purposes perfectly.
He drew a small glass bottle from the pocket of his coat. The green liquid caught the light as he held it up. ‘You see this?’ he said.
‘Cough medicine?’ asked Mrs Sponge.
‘No, this is my secret ingredient for perfect custard,’ said Dr Sinister mysteriously. ‘A few drops of this and your custard will be transformed.’
‘Ooh,’ said Mrs Sponge. ‘Does it get rid of lumps?’
‘Believe me,’ said Dr Sinister, ‘anyone who tastes this custard won’t even notice the lumps. You should try it. REALLY, I WANT YOU TO TRY IT.’
Mrs Sponge found herself transfixed by Dr Sinister’s eyes and hypnotic voice.
‘Try it?’ she repeated.
‘Yes,’ said Dr Sinister.
‘Take this bottle and pour a few drops into the custard. Do it now.’
The cook obeyed. Three or four drops of the secret ingredient spilled into the saucepan. Immediately the yellow gloop began to froth and bubble like a boiling sea.
Dr Sinister rubbed his hands. ‘It’s working, Otto,’ he leered.
‘Yesh, master,’ said Otto. ‘Can I lick the spoon?’
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ snapped Dr Sinister. ‘It’s not for the likes of you. No, we must take this one step at a time. First we will try it on the innocent sprogs and watch the effect. Once it’s perfected I will have my revenge on all those fools who doubted my genius. Evil Custard will make them my loyal creatures and I their lord and master. HOO HA HA HAAAA!’
‘What about her, master?’ said Otto, pointing to Mrs Sponge, who seemed to have fallen into some kind of trance. Dr Sinister snapped his fingers and the cook blinked.
‘I’m sorry, what were you saying?’ She frowned.
‘The custard,’ said Dr Sinister. ‘Try it, just take a lick.’
‘Shall I?’ said Mrs Sponge. She lifted the spoon to her lips and licked it. ‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘That really does taste quite ...’
Mrs Sponge collapsed, falling to her knees and choking and spluttering.
‘She’s gone yellow,’ said Otto. ‘Is she dead?’
‘Of course she isn’t dead,’ replied Dr Sinister. ‘She only licked the spoon. But imagine what the effect will be if someone drinks a whole bowlful.’
‘Who’s gonna do that, master?’ asked Otto.
Dr Sinister glanced at the clock on the wall and smiled. ‘Oh look, it’s gone twelve,’ he said. ‘Almost time for the little kiddies to have their lunch.’
Back upstairs, Stan and his friends ran into Miss Marbles on their way to lunch.
‘Ah, there you are, Stan,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Now, where are the inspectors?’
‘They went downstairs to see the kitchens,’ replied Stan.
‘What? You let them go on their own?’ Miss Marbles ran a hand through her hair. ‘That’s the last place we want them poking around,’ she sighed. ‘You know what Mrs Sponge’s cooking is like – they might die of food poisoning!’
She was about to hurry off but Minnie spoke up. ‘Miss Marbles,’ she said. ‘I keep thinking I’ve seen one of the inspectors before.’
‘It’s hardly likely,’ replied Miss Marbles.
‘I know, but there’s something odd about them,’ Minnie persisted. ‘They don’t look like inspectors. They don’t even take notes or write anything down.’
‘Minnie thinks they might be imposters or something,’ laughed Stan.
Miss Marbles gave her a weary look. ‘Really, Minnie, you’ve been reading far too many comic books,’ she said. ‘Of course they are inspectors, they’re wearing badges for heaven’s sake!’
She hurried off to find out where their visitors had disappeared to. Minnie folded her arms and glared at the boys. ‘Well, thanks a bunch for backing me up,’ she said.
‘I did!’ protested Stan.
‘So did I!’ said Miles. ‘Maybe not out loud but I was thinking it!’
In the hall they joined the dinner queue where Mrs Sponge was serving lunch. A menu was scrawled in chalk on the blackboard. It read:
Mrs Sponge’s description of the meals she served was more hopeful than accurate. As a rule she just boiled whatever she had in the cupboard and then gave
it a name.
‘Apple pie and custard?’ said Miles. ‘That actually sounds OK.’
‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up,’ warned Stan. ‘Remember the trifle surprise last week!’
They shuffled forward until they reached the front of the queue. Mrs Sponge splodged watery brown hotpot on to their plates. Stan didn’t think she was looking her normal self today – and the apple pie and custard looked even worse. They found an empty table and sat down. Stan rubbed his ear; it was giving him trouble again.
‘Did you see Mrs Sponge?’ he asked. ‘She looks kind of yellow.’
‘That’s more than you can say for this custard,’ said Miles. ‘I think it’s alive!’
The custard had a wobbly, jelly-like texture and gave off a faint luminous glow. Stan pushed his bowl away with a sigh, deciding it was safer to stick with the vegetable hotpot.
Just then Tank arrived and slumped into the seat next to him. Stan was surprised – it wasn’t as if they were friends. Tank didn’t really have any friends and he wasn’t a big talker – generally he was too busy cleaning his plate and anyone else’s he could get his hands on. Stan watched him swiftly work his way through the hotpot, slurping from his spoon. He was about to start on his dessert when he noticed Stan’s full bowl.
‘You eating that?’ he demanded.
Stan shook his head. ‘Not really.’
Curse of the Evil Custard Page 2
