Casper Candlewacks in the Claws of Crime!

by Ivan Brett

  “He’s here again,” groaned Casper.

  “Oh, no,” Lamp fluttered. “Is he looking at me? The French eat chickens.”

  “We eat chickens, Lamp. Everyone does.”

  “Do they?” He cowered back in his chair. “Everyone?”

  “It’s all right. You’re not a real chicken.”

  “But they don’t know that.”

  “Look, if anyone tries to eat you, just tell them who you are.”

  “Oh, OK then.” Lamp practised saying his name for a bit.

  Soon the hall was brim full of boisterous revellers bouncing around to the disco tunes, while Terry bellowed dance instructions into the microphone. Anemonie and her pointy mother hadn’t arrived yet; neither had Daisy or Lavender, Audrey Snugglepuss or fourteen other villagers by Casper’s estimate. But as time ticked on they seeped in.

  First came Audrey and her cake-appreciating minions, booting children out of the way to make space for the gigantic carrot cake, carried on wooden struts and a huge silver platter. In scooted the previously cricket-batted Betty Woons, who was now zipping around the dance floor like a mummy in a wheelchair, bandages streaming behind her. Then came Daisy and Lavender, both in sparkly purple dresses with sweet-pea tiaras. Their arrival lit up the hall, prompting an adoring gasp from every man and an adoring clunk as Clemmie Answorth fell off her chair. Lamp squeaked and skipped towards Daisy.

  Half past eight ticked by and Casper shifted awkwardly in his chair, heart pounding. A glass of neglected fruit punch sat next to him, trying to look as juicy as possible, but it was no use – Casper was concentrating far too hard to be thirsty. The only villagers missing now were burly brothers Baz and Gaz Laszlo, who were guarding the roads, the three other Candlewackses and the pointy-nosed Blights.

  “It’s Anemonie,” Casper muttered. “It must be. But the Bluff Boiler said it wasn’t, and it’s been right every time. Hasn’t it?”

  Deep in the heaving dance floor Lamp stamped and clapped and rolled around, casting clouds of feathers in every direction and knocking Clemmie Answorth to the floor again, while Daisy, though sneezing, boogied along as best she could.

  Mayor Rattsbulge wobbled over to the door with a sausage roll in one hand and a sausage roll in the other. “Curfew!” he yelled, spitting flaky crumbs all over some nearby revellers. “Nobody enters, nobody leaves.” He slammed the door, stuffed one of the sausage rolls in his greasy chops and wobbled back to the buffet table before starvation set in.

  “Lamp, Daisy,” Casper struggled through the dance floor, trembling with excitement. “Anemonie’s the enemy.”

  “What?” Daisy cupped her ear, straining to hear over the music.

  Lamp had dropped to the floor and was spinning on his bum.

  “It’s Anemonie and her mum. They’re Le Chat.”

  “Really?” she shouted, eyes wide. “But the Bluff Boiler—”

  “I know. Follow me.” Casper beckoned and fought his way off the dance floor.

  Daisy followed, sliding Lamp along the floor behind her.

  They found a quieter corner of the room, where there was space to breathe or think – perhaps even both (except in Lamp’s case, obviously).

  “Casper.” Daisy looked worried.

  “I’m sorry, Lamp, but your Bluff Boiler must’ve gone wrong. It is the Blights after all.”

  “No, Casper—” Daisy persisted.

  “Listen, I’ve proved it.”

  “Have you, now?” Headlock Bones’s mahogany pipe appeared from behind a pillar, as well as Headlock Bones’s deerstalker hat, Headlock Bones’s navy-blue cravat and the rest of Headlock Bones’s vile self, along with his thuggish sidekick, Wartson, munching on a stolen fistful of carrot cake.

  Lamp gasped.

  “Yes, sonny Jim. We’re back. And this time you’re going nowhere.” The two men edged forward, blocking their three young captives in the very corner of the hall.

  Casper’s heart dropped. “How did you…?”

  “Escape the stampede?” Bones’s face curled into a hateful grimace. “If you must know, we hid up a tree.”

  Lamp giggled.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me.” Bones grabbed Lamp’s shoulder and twisted, and Lamp’s laugh turned to a howl of pain.

  Fury coursed through Casper’s veins. “Nobody hurts my friend!” He lunged at the two men, but Wartson held Casper back with one hand on his forehead, sniggering through a mouthful of cake. A sticky cloud of crumbs sprayed all over Casper’s face.

  Casper struggled, but Wartson was too strong. Exhausted, he let the brute shove him to the wall and he didn’t try to get back up.

  Lamp snuffled back the tears as Bones released him, burying his head in his feathers for comfort.

  “Now,” – Bones dusted off his gloved hands – “can we have some answers or will Wartson here have to make this a little less comfortable?”

  Wartson cracked his knuckles.

  Daisy scowled. “We don’t know anything.”

  “I don’t need a boiled egg to tell me that’s a lie,” smirked Bones. “Why, I even heard Blondie over there say he’s proved it.” He poked a finger at Casper. “What have you proved, sonny Jim?”

  Casper shook his head.

  “I said,” Headlock’s pipe began to tremble, “what have you proved?”

  The brutes towered over Casper and his knees shook, but he swallowed his fear and said, “E equals MC squared.”

  “HOW DARE YOU!” roared Bones, stepping forward with hands raised to throttle Casper. But at that moment Daisy pronged two fingers into Wartson’s eyes and he bent double, howling with agony.

  Casper spotted his moment. Like a dart, he snatched Bones’s pipe and dived through the gap between the two men. He landed on his hands and knees and scrabbled to the safety of the dance floor before Bones and Wartson could grab him. They forgot about Lamp and pursued Casper into the crowd, furiously knocking aside boogying villagers to clear a path. But Casper was far too nimble, slight enough to duck between the middle of a waltzing couple and twirl to the other side of the hall unseen.

  At that moment from the sausage-roll table Mayor Rattsbulge announced, “Speech!” and the music stopped, the lights came on and Headlock and Wartson found themselves stranded in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by people who were absolutely not Casper Candlewacks.

  “Now, there are some people I’d like to thank,” Mayor Rattsbulge rumbled, “namely myself for providing the money for these sausage rolls; myself again for the venue; also myself for the marvellous music selection and for anything else I might have forgotten. Now, I have prepared a few words for the occasion…” He pulled out a scruffy piece of paper with a bite taken out of it and started droning on about community development and the re-introduction of the pie tax. But if he’d looked round, he might have seen a sneaky hand reach up behind his sausage-roll table and pilfer one of the greasy devils from the nearest plate, only to disappear a moment later.

  “So for tonight, let’s put the sword behind us, and get on with a right good party.”

  The crowd cheered and Mayor Rattsbulge returned to his feast.

  But just before Terry could stick the music back on again, the mayor interrupted. “HANG ON ONE TURKEY-BASTING MOMENT!”

  All turned to face him once more.

  “Sixty-nine.” His jaw wobbled furiously. “Sixty-nine sausage rolls. I left seventy. Someone’s stolen one!”

  The crowd screamed.

  “It’s Le Chat,” gasped Audrey Snugglepuss.

  “He’s back,” swooned Clemmie Answorth.

  “Found it!” The blonde head of Casper Candlewacks popped up behind the cloaked figures of Headlock Bones and Wartson, standing in the centre of the dance floor. “This man took your sausage roll, Mayor Rattsbulge,” he said, pointing at Headlock.

  “Is this true?” The mayor stomped towards him, cracking the fragile dance floor beneath his enormous feet.

  “No, my man,” Headlock trembled, “I swear,
I’d never—”

  “Check his pockets,” said Casper.

  The mayor stuffed a chubby hand into Headlock’s coat pocket and withdrew it, shaking, with a golden pastry squeezed between his fingers.

  “You… you thief!”

  A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd.

  “There’s only one person capable of such unforgivable crimes…” Mayor Rattsbulge’s jowls vibrated dangerously, “and that’s LE CHAT! GET HIM!”

  Casper danced between the flying bodies as the entire population of Corne-on-the-Kobb leapt upon Headlock Bones. Wartson, never to miss out on a brawl, dived on top, while Lamp and Daisy watched from their corner with mouths agape.

  “But…?” Daisy’s mouth opened and closed, but the words were stuck in a traffic jam halfway up her windpipe.

  “I put them there,” grinned Casper. “Now, come on. We need to get out of here.” He bundled Lamp and Daisy through the nearest open door and bolted it behind him.

  The room that Casper found himself in was pitch-black, putrid and certainly too small for two children and a giant chicken. He was squished into a corner like a tinned sardine, his face pressed up against what tasted like Lamp’s feathers, and his foot feeling worryingly soggy. Fumbling for a light switch, he found a cord and tugged it. It flushed.

  “We’re in the loo, aren’t we,” groaned Lamp.

  “I think so.” Casper found the real light switch this time, flooding the tiny cubicle with its dazzling harshness. Now he saw the source of his wetness; his left foot was standing in the toilet-brush holder.

  Daisy coughed and held her nose. “So this is what boys’ toilets are like.”

  “They’re not always this busy,” said Lamp, removing his elbow from the sink. “Actually, Casper, why are we in here?”

  “The front door’s locked, but we can climb out of this window to get to Anemonie’s house,” said Casper.

  Daisy frowned. “Why?”

  “Look, the Blights aren’t here and neither is Cuddles, but everyone else is! Nobody would dare to leave Cuddles alone in their house, so it has to be them. Either the Bluff Boiler got it wrong, or somehow they tricked us because one of them has to be Le Chat.”

  Lamp wasn’t listening; he was dancing the funky chicken, despite the lack of music or elbow space.

  “There’s only one thing for it,” came the muffled voice of Casper from somewhere near Lamp’s armpit. “We need to go and catch them in the act.”

  Daisy’s jaw dropped (which was a bad idea because it was instantly stuffed with feathers). “What, go right now?”

  “But I’m doing dancing,” moaned Lamp.

  “I can see that.”

  “Shouldn’t we just tell everyone?” Daisy looked worried.

  “No, it has to be us. Adults are useless – Anemonie would spot them and hide Cuddles before we even made it to the front door.”

  “Then maybe we should wait until morning.”

  “Daisy, what’s going on? I thought you wanted to catch Le Chat?”

  “Yeah,” she picked at a seam on her dress. “I’m just… nervous.”

  “Look, I’ll go. You two have fun.”

  “OK.” Lamp snatched Daisy’s hand and flipped open the cubicle lock. “Come on, Daisy.”

  “Wait.” Daisy yanked Lamp back before he could open the door. “We’ll all go.”

  Casper was getting frustrated. “But you didn’t want to come.”

  “I just think we should stick together, that’s all.”

  Lamp murmured, “Yeah, that’s all,” and gripped Daisy’s hand tighter.

  “OK, come if you want, but we have to go now.” Casper reached up to the small square window above the toilet and prised it open, taking a grateful gasp as the cool air rushed in to relieve his poor nostrils. Then with a leg up from the toilet-roll holder and both hands grabbing the cistern, he clambered into the window frame and squeezed through. He dropped, hands first, to the jagged gravel car park outside. “It’s fine,” he rasped, rubbing his stinging palms on the back of his jeans. “Just watch for the fall.” These window exits are fast becoming a hobby, Casper thought.

  Daisy swung through nimbly, legs leading the way, and landed softly on her feet. Then Lamp tumbled out, flapping his wings furiously, but crashing straight to the ground. “I’ng shtill learning,” he muttered, munching a mouthful of gravel.

  The strained sounds of Terry’s bellowing wafted from the hall behind, but ahead there was only silence.

  This chapter contains a long and little-known verb – to ‘antiprofrogniloficate’. The definition of this word is – To run the length of the landing, discover a door, but find that it is locked, then hear your baby sister through that door so try to open it, but fail, then bash on the door, but find that it just won’t budge, then finally take a running jump at said door and kick it with all your might, at last succeeding in opening it, only to find your baby sister on the other side cuddling a cat.

  You probably won’t have encountered this word before unless you have a baby sister who likes locked rooms and cats, or if you read the dictionary in your spare time. There are only about six opportunities in the world ever to use ‘antiprofrogniloficate’ correctly, but this chapter is one of them. It’s probably useful for you to know this before any antiprofrognilofication takes place and you get confused.

  “We don’t have to do this, you know.” Daisy glanced back at the safety of the village hall.

  “Yes, we do,” said Casper, defiant. “Because if we don’t, I’ll lose Cuddles and my dad’ll never get a new restaurant. I’m catching Le Chat if it’s the last thing I do.” He strode ahead of the others, feeling manly and powerful and wishing he had some sort of staff to thrash about.

  The village was deserted now, apart from a few forgotten detectives (including an old man in shorts) huddled together under a doorway in front of a small notebook bonfire. Casper led the way round the corner and up Long Lost Drive. He hadn’t a clue what might await him at the end of the road, but he was ready – ready to get Cuddles back, and the sword and then the reward and his dad’s restaurant and his mum’s appreciation and Daisy’s love and— Casper’s stomach reared up and strangled his brain, making his eyes go all fizzy. What had just happened?

  “No,” he shook his head, “I can’t think about that right now.” He turned round and noticed that Lamp was watching her too. She dawdled behind them, eyes fixed on her own feet. Casper’s heart beat faster so he turned back again and walked forward purposefully. Never had he come across anyone like Daisy before; he understood her less than he understood ancient Greek. She was a girl, but he wanted to spend time with her. She was funny, she wore nice frocks, she even liked coming on adventures. But why the sudden change of heart – what was making her so nervous?

  A chill grabbed the air and wrestled away its warmth as the road filtered away into a gravel path, and imposing blackened trees blotted out the dying sun, casting the three into darkness. Instantly Blight Manor reared up out of the night like an ugly vampire.

  Lamp shivered. “This place gives me the wiggles.”

  “Come on,” whispered Casper as he hurried away from the gravel path, under the cover of the trees. “They won’t see us coming this way.” He scuttled on into the shadows, eyes pinned to the windows for lookouts. The crumbly mansion loomed ever closer, but it looked empty – no light shone from the windows, no noise floated on the breeze.

  “They’re not even there,” said Daisy. “Let’s go back.”

  “They must be there.”

  “But what if they’re not?”

  “Then we…” Casper flailed about for an answer. “I don’t know.”

  “Oof.” Lamp tripped on a root and crashed to the ground, shaking a family of dozy jackdaws from the tree. They took to the air, croaking grumpily. Then a light was switched on and a pointy face poked from behind the curtains.

  “It’s Anemonie.” Casper grabbed Daisy and leapt behind the tree.

  Lamp lay stil
l on the ground, doing his best impression of a feathery stone (receiving a score of nine from a nearby badger, nine point five from a woodlouse, but only four from the dozy jackdaws, giving a respectable average of seven point five).

  Casper pressed himself to the tree, listening to Daisy’s low and steady breathing as the light shone from Anemonie’s window. Eventually the jackdaws stopped croaking and went back to bed, the light was turned off again and Anemonie retreated from the window.

  “There’s your answer, Daisy,” said Casper, “and now we know where to find her.”

  “Do we?” said Lamp, so proud of his score that he hadn’t noticed Anemonie.

  “Guys, can’t we just go back? I’m cold,” said Daisy.

  “But we’re almost there,” said Casper. “It’ll be warmer inside.”

  They padded forward until the tree line ended, before dashing to the darkest corner of the house and pressing themselves flat against the wall. To Casper’s left, the board covering a smashed window had warped away from the wall, leaving a large-enough gap to squeeze through. Casper grinned. “Well, it would be a window.”

  “No chance you’re squeezing through there,” said Daisy. “Let’s come back tomorrow night with a crowbar. I know there’s one in our shed.”

  “Daisy, I’m going in now. Come with me if you want; otherwise go home.”

  “Fine,” she recoiled sharply. “I’ll come.”

  Casper suddenly felt awful. That had come out much ruder than he meant it to. He looked round to apologise, but Daisy was facing the other way. “Come on, Casper, on with the task,” he told himself. “Think about Daisy another time, maybe when you’re not breaking into someone’s house.” Mouth pressed shut, praying for silence, he picked his way in, avoiding the shards of broken glass. Then he opened the frame from the inside for the other two. Lamp galumphed over the ledge, dusted himself off and grinned.

  “We’re in.”

  Blight Manor used to be the grandest, most beautiful house in the Kobb Valley, but those days were long gone. Centimetres of grot now covered the floor in a mucky grey rug of dead skin and beetles, while cobwebs hung off older cobwebs that dangled limply from more cobwebs like blocks of flats for spiders. There were probably rats about too, thought Casper, judging by the holes gnawed in the skirting boards and the rat sitting on Lamp’s shoulder.