Casper Candlewacks in the Attack of the Brainiacs! Read Free

in one hammy fist.
    The real Mayor Rattsbulge stood in the shadow of his chiselled stone twin, twice as fat, not nearly as handsome, and clutching a sausage rather than a sword. The statue had been finished two weeks ago, and every day since, the mayor had stood proudly beside it, pointing it out to passers-by andloudly telling them how accurate it was.
    Other villagers trotted across the cobbles on their morning errands, waving at each other and giving their mayor a wide berth. Betty Woons – a sprightly 107-year-old – whizzed in skittering circles across the square in her turbo-powered wheelchair, running over so many toes that she lost count and had to start again; village gardener Sandy Landscape leant against a wall, chatting to a hedge; bent-backed Mrs Trimble tugged at the nine leads attached to the collars of nine stubborn cats that licked their paws and meowed throatily; and four-foot-tall pub landlord Mitch McMassive puffed and wheezed as he tried once more to roll an enormous beer barrel towards The Horse and Horse, only for it to roll backwards and flatten him against the cobbles.
    Casper and Lamp passed through the crowd, bumping into a grubby little man with a pinched face hidden under his grubby black beret.
    â€œHullo, Mr Renée!” Lamp said.
    â€œâ€™Allo, boys,” growled Renée in his thick French drawl. He grinned, his rubbery lips parting to reveal a few brown teeth. In the corner of his mouth hung a soggy, thin cigarette that wobbled as he talked. Renée’s gaze settled on Casper, and Caspar shivered.

    â€œHi,” Casper said briskly. He didn’t know why Renée made his skin crawl like that. He wasn’t a cruel man, just a little cold. Renée had come to Corne-on-the-Kobb from France a couple of months ago. Quite why he’d done that, nobodyhad bothered to ask. None of the other villagers paid the poor chap the slightest bit of attention because he was French. (The people of Corne-on-the-Kobb were scared of two things: foreigners and dinosaurs. Renée was at least one of those.)
    â€œHow’s your cheese shop getting along?” asked Casper politely.
    â€œAh, not bad, not bad,” nodded Renée. “I think it will be making quite ze splash.”
    â€œWhy?” Lamp scratched his hair. “Is it wet?”
    Renée frowned and reached for the little English dictionary he’d taken to keeping in a pocket. “I, er, do not…”
    â€œDon’t worry, sir,” said Casper, motioning for Renée to put his dictionary away. “He just means to say how excited we are about tasting all your cheese.”
    â€œHeh,” said Renée, breaking into a gruff smile. “Yes. Ze cheese.” He winked at Lamp and turned to shuffle away.
    Casper turned to Lamp and saw that he was grinning. “What was that wink?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œALL ABOARD, TICKETS ’N’ RAILCARDS, MIND THE GAP!” shouted Sandy Landscape, clambering up the side of his tractor. “TRAIN NOW STANDIN’ ON PLATFORM ONE’S THE TEN PAST EIGHT TER HIGH KOBB.”
    As children tottered up on to the train carriage and mothers wailed ever louder, Casper’s nerves flooded back in and stung him like a mouthful of seawater. What waited for him at the other end of this journey? Did High Kobb really have alligators? Would he even make it home to see theopening of The Battered Cod?
    The ‘bus’ roared into life, pumping black fumes and a sleeping hedgehog out of the exhaust pipe and into the crowd. The tractor shunted forwards and the carriage jerked into motion behind, throwing the children back in their seats. The villagers cheered, tearful mothers waved their hankies and little children and dogs chased the carriage down the road, although it wasn’t going very fast so they just stood there and wondered what to do once they’d caught up with it.
    At the back of the crowd, Renée shuffled away across the