by Sophie Lee
An irate Chinese man holding a remote control ran up and, seeing what had happened to his helicopter, neatly swiped the tall man with the back of his hand. SLAP! The tall man once again fell to the pavement.
‘He’s down again!’ Edie shouted. ‘Quick, come this way!’
But before you could say ‘monkey shoe’ the tall man had once more picked himself up and continued the chase, ignoring both the beggar and the furious owner of the destroyed helicopter. Cheesy and Mister Pants followed close behind.
Edie dashed off the kerb and round to the right, then, at that very moment, she saw up ahead a figure with an unmistakable thatch of grey hair and tortoiseshell glasses.
It was her father.
Michaelmas on a Mission
Michaelmas Sparks was a swift walker. He strode ahead in his wellington boots in an obvious hurry.
‘Dad!’ Edie called, relieved and confused all at once. He gave no sign of having heard her, and she was concerned he would be angry that she had lied about going to the Chompsters’ to work on a fictitious science experiment. But she called out just the same. ‘Help us!’ Turning around she could see the tall man, now limping and with blood on his outstretched hand.
‘My dad!’ yelled Edie to the others, then, pointing ahead, ‘Let’s catch up to my dad!’ But her father had disappeared from view, obscured by the falling rain and a very long red dragon which had now wandered to the left of the street and was surrounded by miniature fireworks going rat-a-tat and pop from all sides.
‘Where did he go? Did you see?’ Edie pleaded, desperately wishing it would stop raining. She was beginning to think there was nothing lucky about dragons after all.
She stumbled blindly on through the fireworks and past the dragon’s mouth, looking left and right.
‘Hey, get out of our way,’ called a voice from under the dragon’s belly. ‘Don’t you know it’s Chinese New Year?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Edie, suddenly realising that there were dozens of people hunched over inside the long red dragon and that was how it gave the appearance of travelling independently down the street. ‘I’m trying to escape—’ she began to explain, when up ahead, on the left-hand side of the street, a lit shop window displayed an extraordinary sight. She ran closer, shadowed by her two companions.
There was Michaelmas Sparks, hair damp, on his knees, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of shoes. Not just any shoes, but the most twinkly clogs, slippers, boots and sandals of all designs and sizes—not a school shoe in sight. Red lamps crowded what surfaces were not filled with footwear; elaborate crystal mobiles dangled from the ceiling, and all the shop’s goods were piled high, in some places all the way up to the ceiling. It looked as if a shoe avalanche could occur at any moment.
Edie noticed that many of the shoes on display were emblazoned with the faces of animals: turkeys and pigs, roosters and fish, kittens and lambs. There were slippers of gold, silver and bronze, with pointy toes, bells and sparkles; there were glittery red dancing shoes, high-heeled pink boots, copper sandals and what seemed like a mountain of happy shoes in all the colours of the rainbow.
Three large cats were poised on the shelves, one ginger, one white and one black. Michaelmas appeared to be involved in a grave conversation with the shoe saleswoman, a lady of advanced age (Edie’s guess was one hundred and five) with snowy white hair and a dragon tattoo on her arm. She seemed to regard him carefully as she smoked her pipe. Michaelmas was on one knee, holding something in his outstretched hand with an appearance of deep reverence. It was a pose that reminded Edie of books about knights and missing swords in lakes.
But it was what he was holding in his hand that made Edie gasp. She had been doing a lot of gasping on this eventful day, but this was the biggest gasp of all. She suddenly felt as though all the missing clues were tumbling like ice cubes into a glass of her mum’s freshly squeezed pomegranate juice.
You see, Michaelmas Sparks was holding her missing monkey shoe.
Showdown in Chinatown
‘STOP!’ shouted Edie to her friends.
Edie, Cheesy and Mister Pants stopped abruptly and ran into one another. Edie and Cheesy bumped heads, and Mister Pants’s ears got caught up in Cheesy’s kilt, so there was a certain amount of confusion before they were able to launch themselves to the left and through the golden shoe-shop door. They tumbled inside, aware that the tall man was still in close pursuit.
Mister Pants sent a stack of pale pink ballet slippers tumbling in his haste to escape the man he by now considered a mortal enemy. The three shoe-shop cats made hissing noises in three different tones and showed their numerous teeth.
Michaelmas looked up suddenly, stunned, and I’m sorry to report his face went white with shock then quite pink with some other emotion (but thankfully not yellow or purple, which might have indicated a medical problem).
‘Dad!’ cried Edie.
‘Professor Sparks!’ muttered Cheesy. ‘We will start on the robot, but after—’
‘Child!’ cried Michaelmas. ‘Are you all right? What are you doing here?’
‘Are these the shoes?’ asked the old lady, reappearing from behind a curtain, quite oblivious to the chaos. ‘I’m sorry, no pets,’ she added, spying Mister Pants under a green lampshade. She pointed to a sign written in Chinese, completely ignoring her own three cats, who were now hissing in unison like an angry cat choir. She bit down firmly on her pipe and tapped the toes of her shoes together twice.
A gust of wind and rain blew into the shop as the door opened once more, and for a brief moment the shop fell eerily silent. A gravelly voice broke the spell.
‘Hello, Michaelmas,’ said the tall man. His head was almost level with the ceiling and he smiled broadly, revealing brown stained teeth.
‘Oh, hello, Christmas, to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?’
Edie was shocked to discover her father was genuinely pleased to see the man.
‘Dad!’ said Edie. ‘Is this monster your friend?’
‘What monster, child? You apologise right now! This is my dear friend Christmas Jones. Of course, he is wearing a black wig and a rather odd coat, but I would have thought you’d recognise him, seeing he paid us a visit only this morning.’
He turned to Cheesy. ‘Charisma, meet Christmas Jones. Christmas and I work together . . . that is to say, we used to work together, at the University. In fact, Christmas has been a great help to me by encouraging me to complete my invention. Are you dressed to celebrate Chinese New Year, dear fellow?’
‘Your dad may be a science genius but he certainly can’t read other people very well,’ muttered Cheesy, and for once Edie didn’t hurry to correct her.
‘It’s over, Michaelmas,’ snapped Christmas, ‘and Charisma’s right, you’re a fool. Now, your daughter has something that belongs to me. Tell her to hand it over now so no one gets hurt.’ His hatred of children and dogs was palpable (which is just a fancy way of saying he didn’t need to spell it out for Edie, Cheesy and Mister Pants, who could feel it for themselves).
All the air seemed to go out of the room as Edie watched her father’s face fall.
‘You?’ Michaelmas managed to say. ‘It was you all along?’
All those assembled in the shop looked on in horror as Christmas grabbed Mister Pants by the collar.
‘It was you all along?’ repeated Michaelmas. ‘In the Albert Einstein mask? You robbed me and tricked me?’
‘Oh come on, Sparks, you must have known,’ sneered Christmas, twisting the dog’s collar tighter and causing Mister Pants to give an eerie gurgle.
‘Dad! Do something! Tell him to let Mister go!’ pleaded Edie.
‘Shut up, you meddlesome little brat!’ barked Christmas.
‘How dare you—’ began Michaelmas, but Edie interrupted him.
‘What is this, Dad?’ she asked, stepping forward. She opened her sweaty palm to reveal the now scrunched-up piece of purple paper. Her heart was beating very fast, and she felt her locket warm agains
t her chest. Michaelmas’s eyes opened wide.
‘Where did you get that?’ he shouted excitedly.
‘From the tip, Dad, it was in a fortune cookie box,’ said Edie. ‘It’s yours, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is mine,’ he said. ‘And . . . but . . . the tip, you say? But I don’t understand how . . . Listen, there was something the day this was taken that was stolen from me as well, something of far greater value . . .’ His voice quavered with emotion. ‘A small but precious item that contained every last detail of my life’s work.’
Michaelmas looked over at Mister Pants, who by now was struggling to breathe. ‘But that is of little importance right at this moment.’
The Missing Equation
Edie and Cheesy stared at Mister Pants in horror. He was beginning to foam at the corners of his mouth.
‘My dog!’ pleaded Edie. ‘Please don’t hurt him!’
‘I presume that you want the missing equation of my invention,’ began Michaelmas in a calm voice.
Mister Pants’s gurgles became louder and, to Edie, who understood his vocalisations, more distressed; poor Mister Pants was definitely beginning to lose the fight. ‘He’s killing Mister! What can we do?’ cried Edie desperately.
Cheesy looked from Edie’s face to Mister Pants to Christmas Jones and began to make funny rumbling noises. Edie quickly realised that Cheesy was about to lose her temper.
‘Nnnnngh, nnnnggghh,’ went Cheesy as Edie’s dad continued what sounded a bit like a tutorial.
‘. . . Alas, I see you are not my friend and supporter, but that you have been plotting against me all along.’ Michaelmas gathered speed. ‘But these children and that dog are more precious to me than any scientific achievement, so do with my invention as you will, Christmas Jones.’ He came closer to Edie and gently reached down towards her hands. ‘The words written upon this piece of purple paper will enable you to steal my life’s work and to pass it off as your own, and will also mean that my expulsion from Runcible University is final. But you may take it.’
‘No he blooming well may not!’ shouted Cheesy, cheeks aflame. She grabbed the closest shoe to hand, which happened to be a pink high-heeled boot. ‘CHRISTMAS JONES, UNHAND THAT ANIMAL!’ she bellowed and, with considerable force, threw the boot at the scientist’s head.
‘Language!’ said Edie admiringly.
‘Ow!’ yelled Christmas, flinching from the blow and letting his grip on Mister Pants relax in the process. The dog managed one noisy breath, followed by a series of snuffles combined with a sneeze, which told Edie that he was okay. (He had made the same sound after she had given him mouth-to-mouth in response to the spider bite that had caused him to swell up to nearly twice his size.) Edie knew he wanted her to be ready and that he had a plan.
‘I’m not handing it over,’ she said, inspired by the bravery of both her friend and her dog. ‘Dad, how can we let a mucky-toothed scientist by the name of Christmas Jones destroy what’s yours? You’ve worked so hard on it! Eight long years! It’s not fair! I won’t let him have it!’
Christmas grabbed at the goblin-like French bulldog and tightened his grip anew. Mister Pants sneezed three times in quick succession.
‘Foul blasted, ridiculously named scientist and evil criminal, how dare you harm these good people!’ growled Cheesy, quite overcome with her tantrum. She hurled another boot, a wellington this time with a cheerful duckling pattern. It hit Christmas in the middle. ‘Take that in your solar plexus!’ she grunted.
Christmas Jones, now very angry indeed, leapt forward and began to chase Cheesy through the shop, with one hand on Mister Pants’s collar. The shoe avalanche that Edie had previously imagined now began to happen before her very eyes. Fifteen pairs of spike-heeled brogues in a variety of shades were knocked flying and cascaded down the shelves, causing other shoes, boots and sandals to tumble in their wake.
Cheesy stumbled spectacularly over a yellow orthopedic boot with a big curly toe and yelped with shock as she hit the floor.
‘Curly toes have curly shoes,’ she muttered through a mouthful of carpet. ‘Wasn’t that what your fortune said?’
‘And yours said something about you being brave, Cheesy. Now come on, get up before he grabs you by the neck as well!’ cried Edie.
Fearful now for the safety of both Cheesy and her dog, Edie seized her moment, leaping forward and wrenching Mister Pants’s collar out of Christmas Jones’s spindly fingers. In the process, she let go of the precious piece of purple paper which fluttered in slow motion to the floor. Mister Pants eyed it hungrily as it fell.
Having recently discovered blueberries, Mister Pants was pleasantly predisposed to any foods of the colours blue through to purple (including indigo, although, to be frank, there are not many indigo-coloured foods).
Mister Pants took one pace forward, snatched the purple paper into his jaws and began to chew rather noisily, having quite forgotten the proximity of his mortal enemy. Edie was sure that he felt he was doing the Sparks family a service by disposing of the item which was causing everyone so much grief.
‘Nooooooo!’ bellowed Christmas Jones, falling to his knees.
‘That’s torn it,’ said Cheesy, looking up from the floor in disbelief.
‘Snuffle,’ said Mister Pants.
Edie touched the locket around her neck, hoping that what was inside it would be of far more help than equations scrawled on a scrap of paper now covered in doggy saliva.
A Humungous Apology
‘Dad! Help!’ cried Edie. ‘Mister! Spit it out, open . . . open . . .’ she was saying, while trying to prise open the dog’s jaws. But she was fighting a losing battle. The appetites of French bulldogs cannot be thwarted. Anyone who has ever known one would agree.
Edie looked on with something like shame, embarrassment, regret, vexation (something she had read about in books about the early settlers) and finally futility as he munched through the vital missing evidence. She looked up at her dad, who looked at first as though he might burst into tears, but then surprisingly began to chuckle. The chuckle turned to a laugh so light and bouncy that it sent his glasses flying off.
‘You’ve finally gone mad!’ roared Christmas Jones.
The noise disagreed with the three shop cats, and one pounced on Jones’s head, sinking a claw into his earlobe.
‘Ow!’ he yelled. The pain must have been intense because he could no longer focus on the semi-digested purple piece of paper in Mister Pants’s mouth.
‘Well, it looks as though my life’s work is lost to all of us now,’ said Michaelmas, drying his eyes. ‘The scrap of paper is gone, and without the missing microchip it seems as though this sordid chapter in the history of science is closed! None of us wins.’
‘You should be more careful about where you eat spring rolls,’ said Christmas Jones, wrestling with the cat, which was refusing to budge. ‘Can someone get this animal off my face?’
‘My dad doesn’t eat fried food,’ said Edie defiantly.
Christmas Jones, no doubt realising that the jig was up, now made a bolt through the door, but his attempt to escape was foiled by something truly remarkable.
Hogmanay Chompster, sporting bright yellow overalls, had brought his rain-slick balloon down to land just outside the front door of the shoe shop, seriously disrupting Chinese New Year in the process. He arrived with a WHOOMPH, stepped neatly out of the basket and landed a punch on Christmas Jones that sent the wicked scientist reeling back into the shop.
‘Hogmanay, dear fellow,’ gasped Michaelmas. ‘You got my text message then? I must tell you I’m frightfully relieved considering I had to send it blind, with one hand behind my back, the moment I realised that Christmas, here, was up to no good.’
‘Aye! Certainly did, and what a good thing it was that I discovered your wife’s low-fat cutlets, eh? Shedding all that extra weight allowed me to get my balloon off the ground once more!’
Then he saw his daughter sprawled on the floor and leapt to her side. ‘Ah, puir wee l
assie! What have they done to ye?’
‘I’m okay, Dad, just helping my friends,’ said Cheesy, looking fondly at both Edie and Mister Pants, then standing up and cautiously checking her knee for injuries.
Christmas Jones poked in vain at the cat still attached to the side of his head.
The 105-year-old lady, exhaling smoke and ignoring the fact that a complete stranger in yellow overalls had landed a hot-air balloon at her shop’s door and that one of her cats was mauling a possible customer, turned to Michaelmas and said, ‘Would you like to use the phone, sir? Call the University maybe? Or police even? Be my guest. And by the way, here are the monkey shoes in the larger size. Would you like your daughter’s other shoe back, now that we have matched them exactly?’
She tapped her shoes together once again and croaked like a frog. With this she handed Michaelmas back the missing monkey shoe, minus its crimson tassel and mysteriously blackened on the toe.
Monkey Shoe Mystery
‘Dad,’ Edie cried, ‘it was you!’
‘Er, who what what, my dear?’ stuttered Michaelmas. ‘Oh, bother, it’s out of the bag anyway.’
‘Yes, sir, out of bag is right,’ said the old Chinese lady, cutting short her musical interlude and offering him a phone.
‘Well, it was meant to be a proper surprise for your birthday party, the new monkey shoes in the right size. If I hadn’t accidentally burnt this one trying to make it bigger for you in a rather ill-fated shoe-enlarging experiment, you’d have been none the wiser, to coin a cliché,’ said Michaelmas, fidgeting with the burnt monkey shoe.
