by John Michael
Nonetheless, before Shaftesbury’s law came into place, the only way to be freed from a life of drudgery and slavery was to have your name etched on the Quockingpoll Flats Great Quiz trophy. In the years to come, other children in the town were allowed to compete in the quiz as it was rather lonely for the sole student at the school − also, it was difficult to dodge questions from the teacher when you were the only one in the classroom.
Eventually the Great Quiz had become the closing event at the Quockingpoll Flats Festival. There were balloons, flags and banners, carousels, pony rides and even a brass band.
These days, of course, the prize for winning the Great Quiz did not involve the honour of getting to go to school as we are all forced to go to school anyway. If that was the prize nowadays, nobody would enter − that would be like giving a kid with chicken pox some mumps. Well, nobody would enter except Savani of course, who seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with school (and with winning).
Nowadays, students received a cash prize and you also became the honorary Brabbensack Ambassador of the year with your picture on the front of The Quockingpoll Flats Gazette. You would also have the honour of presenting the charity funds, in the form of an oversized novelty cheque, to the Orphanage Centre which dated back to the same bubonic plague outbreak which had taken out most of the parents who had eaten at Ezekiel’s many restaurants.
It was no great surprise that Savani wanted the glory of winning the Great Quiz again. She was always up on stage at the school assembly or in The Quockingpoll Flats Gazette for some achievement or another.
Savani finished her visit with a stinging rebuke. “Be warned Sootfell, I shall show no mercy as I wipe the floor with you. I will be victorious and you shall eat my dust!”
Just as quickly as Savani and her gang appeared, they left. Leaving Barney and me wondering what had just happened. My cheek was still stinging.
“Did Savani just challenge me to a duel?” I wondered out loud.
“I think she did,” answered Barney. “Howard?”
“Yes?”
“Did you really cheat with your speech?”
“No Barney... no I didn’t.”
Or at least I didn’t think that I did... but how did that speech just miraculously appear out of nowhere?
“Wait a minute!” I whispered to myself. “Last night... the thunder storm... my computer.”
The bell rang and it was the end of recess, but it wasn’t the end of this pickle I found myself in... no... not by a long shot.
Chapter six
fairy floss
When I got home from school, I went straight to my room and crashed on my bed. It had been a long day and my head was spinning with a hundred questions. I was trying to put everything together... the thunder storm, the misfiring bus engine, Barney’s amoebas, my photosynthesis speech, Savani’s glove slap, the Great Quiz challenge... but I was getting exhausted just trying to make sense of the situation. Every time I felt I was getting close to answering one question; another ten questions popped into my head. I felt more exhausted than a three-legged dog chasing cars on a six-lane highway.
I closed my eyes for a second and my dreams quickly took me to a strange place − a landscape of rainbow coloured rolling hills with shaggy trees with wispy branches swaying in the wind. Melting clocks with cupid wings fluttered about in the distance, while oversized plump hamsters frolicked in the grass.
A wide river of liquid gold flowed down the hillside and I found myself the captain of a boat called the S.S. Minnow which was made out of marzipan with a large sail made out of fairy floss*.
Flashing fluorescent birds were flying alongside my boat, bopping and weaving in the fresh breeze, asking me one strange riddle after another and, like some revered sage, I was able to answer all of them.
“What has a head and a tail but no body?”
“Why, that would be a coin my good bird.”
“Which two words hold the most letters?”
“Ha ha... post office, of course, my feathered friend.”
“What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?”
“A towel, you tricky little devil!”
“What goes up but never goes down?”
“Obviously, it must be your age.”
“What’s tall when young and short when old?”
“Well, a candle no doubt!”
Every time I answered a question correctly, the bird would explode into a hundred other birds. When the last riddle was answered, there were a thousand birds flying alongside the boat and they all erupted into song:
Googol Boy! You re so smart,
You’re going to go far,
This is just the start.
That high-voltage lightning bolt,
Sure gave your brain a jolt!
Now there’s no stopping you,
As you crack every riddle and every clue!
Seize your destiny and your fate,
Before you realise that it’s too late,
Still waters can run quite deep,
Always look before you leap!
Googol Boy! Googol Boy!
Being smart can bring you joy!
Come on! Stay awake, stay alert,
Don’t be alarmed, you won’t get hurt.
And so the boat goes full steam ahead,
While sleepyheads are asleep in bed.
Googol Boy! Googol Boy!
Being smart can bring you joy!
Birds of a feather stick together,
In all kinds of sticky weather,
The early bird catches the worm,
Watch it wriggle, watch it squirm!
Googol Boy! Googol Boy!
Being smart can bring you joy!
With your big fat juicy brain,
Things will never be the same.
With great power and such ability,
Comes restraint and responsibility.
Come on now Googol Boy!
Time to rise and shine,
Everything will be fine,
Everything will be fine!
The birds upped the tempo towards the end and went through the chorus one more time. I’ve got to admit; it was quite a catchy tune. I joined in with the singing and was clicking my fingers to the beat when suddenly the wind started to pick up, the river began to churn and a few large waves started to rock the boat. I fell to the deck and was trying to get to my feet but the strength of the swell increased. The boat was tossed from side to side, and I found myself flat on my back being rocked from left to right like a helpless baby in a basinet. One of the birds landed on the helm, he was perhaps the largest of the lot, and he cocked his big green eye to one side and started to speak to me.
“... get up Howard... up you get... come on get up...
This took me by surprise. Not so much that the bird was talking to me because, hey, I had already heard them sing! Not so much that he knew my name either... what was really disturbing was that this bird sounded exactly like my mother.
All of a sudden the bird yelled directly in my ear.
That’s when I opened one of my eyes and saw another green eye staring directly at me, it was my mum’s. She was trying to shake me awake. She had a hand on each of my shoulders and was rocking me from side to side.
“You must have had some weird dream Son, you were singing about birds, feathers and worms... are you okay?”
“Um... yes Mum,” I answered in a groggy voice. “I think I am.”
“Are you sure? You haven’t been sniffing glue in Art class, have you?” she asked, with a squint in her eye.
“Huh? Ah, no... no I haven’t,” I replied, not sure what Mum thought we got up to in Art.
“Okay then... glad to hear it,” said Mum as she ruffled my hair. “It’s almost dinner time, are you feeling hungry?”
“Actually yes... um, I don’t know why but I have a strange craving for fairy floss.”
“You’re such a clown!” she exclaimed. “Dinner is in ten minutes and it’s definitely
not fairy floss!” laughed Mum as she walked out of my room.
I thought back to my dream... sometimes the answers that you are searching for come from the strangest places.
Chapter seven
snickerdoodle
Arriving at school the next day, there was much hubbub and excitement. A police car was parked right in front of the school foyer and two officers were rubbing their chins as if trying to figure out some Sherlock Holmes mystery. One was tall and skinny with a handlebar moustache while the other one was small and rotund with a ruddy complexion. Barney and I got off the school bus and joined the curious students who had gathered around. Eugene Fumbase was at the edge of the crowd standing on his tippy toes trying to get a better look.
“What’s going on Eugene?” Barney enquired.
“It’s a Code 18-2-95. Larceny! It happened sometime last night. Luckily no one was hurt... could have been a lot worse. Like the time my Uncle Ollie was robbed, actually it was the third time he was robbed... ah, maybe the fourth... I don’t know, I lost count. Anyways,
he was about to close shop when two juvenile hoodlums came in with hockey sticks. They looked rather sinister but my uncle held his nerve. They immediately yelled, ‘Don’t scream please, just give us all your money Oliver!’ but my uncle lost his cool and attacked them with a nearby mop. They fled the store hollering and crying. My uncle was in such a state but quite glad that he had escaped with his life. He quickly called the cops but when they turned up they saw it differently, ‘grievous bodily harm’ they said, ‘attack with a dangerous weapon’ they claimed, ‘crazy old coot’ they declared. Apparently, the two ‘hoodlums’ were a couple of primary school kids coming home from a hockey game and only wanted to buy a treat. According to them, they didn’t say ‘don’t scream please, give us all your money Oliver,’ what they were really saying was ‘ice cream please, vanilla and honey flavour.’ My uncle now wears a hearing aid.”
Eugene had a habit of getting side-tracked and by the look on Barney’s face, it seemed that he had switched off halfway through his long-winded babble. To make matters worse, the school bell had rung and we were none the wiser as to what was going on.
I was curious to find out what had happened so I quickly interjected. “Um... very interesting story about your uncle, but back to the larceny, do you mean that there’s been a burglary at the school?”
“Of course, what else do you think I’ve been talking about all this time?”
Eugene paused for a second and took his glasses off and cleaned them with his t-shirt.
“Someone broke in... into the school... into the Principal’s office... into the safe... and stole the charity money for the orphanage... all of it... oh, and one other thing... the Quockingpoll Flats Great Quiz Trophy. gone as well!” Eugene then nodded and scurried off with the rest of the students as they went to their first lesson.
The two policemen remained as they finished writing up their report in their notepads.
“Well Roger... looks like your standard break and enter,” said the tall one.
“Yes Laurie... a burgle... someone burgled... there was definitely some burgling afoot,” replied the short one.
“Roger that Roger... a snatch and grab if you will.”
“Indeed Laurie... there was some snatching and grabbing alright.”
“Or perhaps a grab and snatch... we can’t really call it at this stage.”
“Yes... yes... good point... I’ll put that in the report Laurie.”
“Right Roger... and you should add that the robbers made a dash with the cash?”
“Yes... good one Laurie!”
“Or you could even say they made a scoot with the loot!”
“Ooh clever... I’ll add that to the report as well Laurie!”
“No doubt about it Roger, we’ve got some opportunistic robbers on our hands!”
“Yes Laurie... opportunistic indeed. They saw an opportunity and they took it.”
“They’re probably halfway out of the county by now. Eh Roger?”
“They could be anywhere Laurie.”
“Yes... anywhere! And lugging around that oversized trophy as well!”
“Right you are Laurie... an odd item to pinch.”
“Quite peculiar wouldn’t you say Roger?”
“Peculiar indeed. Extremely peculiar! Perhaps it’s an antique?”
“Or a collector’s item?”
“Or even an antique collector’s item Laurie?”
“Might well be Roger... but we’ve still got to figure out the how and the why.”
“Hmm.... yes. good one. the how and the why!”
“And the who! We can’t forget the who!”
“Oh, you’re absolutely right Laurie... can’t forget the who!”
“Without the who we’ve got no whodunit* Roger.”
“Yes Laurie... and without the whodunit we have no crime to solve.”
“We wouldn’t want that now, would we Roger?”
“No Laurie, we wouldn’t indeed!”
“Without the who we are just left with the dunit.”
“You’re right Laurie... no point in focusing on the dunit without the who.”
“Yes... the who! But the question is, who is the who?”
“It’s a bit of a puzzle Laurie. I’ll give you that!”
“It most certainly is Roger. I would even call it a conundrum!”
“Oh, there’s certainly some conundrumming at play!”
“I’ll tell you what Roger... I would go even further than that.”
“You would? How far would you go then Laurie?”
“I would go as far as to say that it’s a conundrum wrapped in a mystery dipped in some enigma sauce.
“Ooh... nicely put Laurie. That’s poetic, that is. That’s going straight into the report!”
At that moment, the principal appeared on the stairs. Mr Ditherington was regarded as an amiable character who was quite gregarious and enjoyed talking about art and poetry. He was tall with a lanky frame and a small paunch at the midriff and was slightly stooped at the shoulders. His grey wispy hair danced in the slight breeze as his head swivelled around slowly from left to right and then again from right to left. He teetered on the top step and looked rather perplexed, as if he had arrived for a dentist appointment on the wrong day and at the wrong place. In fact, the principal had a habit of appearing confused as he would often turn up to assembly at incorrect times and he would, on occasion, even forget the day of the week. It was even rumoured that Mr Ditherington had mistakenly turned up at school on Sundays.
The principal also had a reputation for being a tad eccentric at times, you could even say that he was a bit of an oddball. For one thing, he liked to paint. Now, I know that painting in itself isn’t unusual, but Mr Ditherington would only paint one thing — unicorns. And they were everywhere... hanging up in his office, along the corridors, as murals on the school walls, and his paintings were also sold at school fetes. When asked about his unicorns, the principal would always respond with the same line. “Unicorns still exist you know... most certainly! Nowadays we just dismiss them as chubby rhinos.” In addition to the paintings, Mr Ditherington was also an avid writer of poetry. To top it all off, he loved to randomly throw French words into conversation.
The principal just stood there, observing the situation before him, he then let out a despondent sigh and pulled out a poker-dotted handkerchief and gave his glasses a thorough clean, before he addressed the policemen.
“My good fellows, we can call these the worst of times, a phase of treachery, a season of melancholy, this is the winter of our discontent. C'est pas terrible. Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. To be concise, this is some messy business, most certainly.”
“Indeed... messy business!” responded the tall policeman.
“Yes... this business is a mess!” added the short one.
“A rather peculiar incident,” stated the tall policeman as he tweaked his moustache. “We can underst
and the money being pilfered but why the trophy?”
“Peculiar indeed,” reiterated Roger as he scratched his chin.
“Oh! I see you don’t know the fable of the trophy!” stated Mr Ditherington.
“The fable?” replied both policemen.
“Yes... a captivating and stimulating fable, a fantastical and bombastical fable!”
“Oooh, I do love a good fable!” replied the short policeman.
“Yes... please do proceed,” added the tall one.
“Well, okay then... let me tell you the story,” began the principal.
“One day, as Ezekiel Quockingpoll, the great founder of our town, was going on one of his weekly strolls along the Anonymous Chicken River, he came across a little man who seemed to be performing some strange ritual. He was no taller than a hobbit’s shadow and was dressed in a dapper green suit with shiny emerald buttons and a matching top hat with a silver buckle at the front. He was in quite a frazzled state, bopping up and down, moving from side to side.
“Hello there fella,” stated Ezekiel.
The little man looked up with a startled expression. “Oh me... where de dickens did yah come from? Yah gave me such a froight!” he exclaimed. He had a trimmed red beard which matched the tufts of red hair which poked out from under his velvet top hat. On his back he carried a golden sack which he grasped tightly.
“I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The little man looked Ezekiel up and down and, seeing that he didn’t pose any threat, quickly composed himself. “Naw harm done good sir and top of de mornin’ to yah. It’s entirely me fault. Oi tend to get a bit jittery at times,” he answered with an Irish lilt.
“Good morning to you too. I hope everything is alright, you seem to be off the beaten track.”
“Ah, de truth ter be told, Oi’m glad dat yah’ve come by. Let me introduce meself. They call me O’Penny, Seamus O’Penny,” he proclaimed as he reached out his delicate little fingers and shook Ezekiel’s hand most vigorously.
