Mr Gum and the Power Crystals (8 page)

‘Yeah, that's right,' laughed Mr Gum, spitting bits of egg all over Old Granny's kitchen floor ON PURPOSE. ‘We know all about that curse an' it sounds like a right laugh. An' now we're off to make it come true!'

‘An' you're comin' with us,' Billy William told Polly, lassoing her with a rope of cow's intestines. ‘You're gonna watch as your beloved
Lamonic Bibber burns, burns, burns!'

But no one had reckoned on Old Granny, perhaps not even Old Granny herself. Rising unsteadily from her rocking chair she turned to address the villains.

‘
By the Forces of Good and the Power of Low-Price Sherry.
'
cried Old Granny in an amazing strong voice completely different from her usual worn-out croaking,
‘
I command thee foul roo-de-lallies be gone from this house!
'

And in that moment, Old Granny no longer looked like a shrivelled-up wrinkler with strange brown spots all over her hands and a bit of a moustache when you looked up close. No, in that moment she looked like the young lady she had been many moons ago, proud and free, with long flowing hair and eyes of emerald green to break men's hearts.

Why, I never knewed she was such a beauter,
thought Polly.
It's breath-takin', that's what!

‘
Be gone!
'
cried Old Granny again, advancing on Mr Gum and Billy.
‘
Be gone, foul stinkers of the night, and
– oh,' she whimpered, falling to the floor as her knee gave way like old people's knees sometimes do. And with that, Old Granny was a wrinkler once more and her commanding was done.

‘Looks like your sherry just ran out, you interferin' peppercorn,' laughed Mr Gum, kicking the empty bottle from her hand. ‘Now, come on,
Billy me boy,' he growled, throwing open the front door and pushing Polly out into the rainy night. ‘We got evil Destinies to fulfil!'

M
eanwhile, Friday O'Leary was sitting on a beach in Spain with his lovely missus – Mrs Lovely. Oh, what a perfect place for a honeymoon it was! The sky was blue and the warm sea was filled with laughing Spanish gypsies and their faithful donkeys. And all the
while the President of Spain flew high overhead in his hot-air balloon, dropping doughnuts and toys on to the merrymakers below.

‘Mrs Lovely, I'm really glad I married you,' sighed Friday contentedly. ‘And I'm not just saying that because you run the sweetshop and I get free stuff.'

‘Oh, Friday,' trilled Mrs Lovely. ‘You say the most romantic things and that was one of them.'

‘Hey, let's get married AGAIN,' said Friday
suddenly. ‘Then we'll be DOUBLE-MARRIED and we'll probably be able to read each other's thoughts!'

‘O . . . K,' said Mrs Lovely uncertainly – but before Friday could explain further, a small Spanish boy wearing a hat of many colours approached.

‘Señor Friday, Señora Mrs Lovely,' said the boy with his honest face. ‘I bring bad news from your hometown of Lamonic Bibber. Señorita Polly
is in trouble and you must hurry back home!'

‘Hold on, young fella-me-lad, don't I know you?' said Friday, narrowing his eyes, for the boy seemed somehow familiar.

‘No, Señor Friday,' replied the boy. ‘I am just an ordinary Spanish youngster whom you have never seen before in your life. But now I must go! Adiós!' And tossing them a couple of Spanish fruit chews, away he raced.

‘That was the Spirit of the Rainbow, I know it!'
Friday told his wife excitedly. ‘It was him, it was! He's always doing stuff like that!'

‘Never mind that now,' said Mrs Lovely. ‘Didn't you hear what the boy said? Polly's in trouble.'

‘Then there's no time to lose!' cried Friday. ‘Señor Darren!' he called to one of the gypsies. ‘Bring me your fastest donkey!'

In a matter of moments, Señor Darren had rounded up the fastest donkey of them all, a
graceful brute by the name of Barcelona Jim. Friday and Mrs Lovely jumped on as the donkey waded into the sea. Then Friday attached a powerful speedboat motor to its tail and –
off they roared.

‘VORSICHT! ES GIBT EINE KLEINE EULE HINTER DIR!' yelled Friday. ‘That means “THE TRUTH IS A LEMON MERINGUE!” in Spanish,' he told his wife proudly.
^*

‘Don't worry, Polly, dear! We're coming to
save you!' cried Mrs Lovely as they gunned over the waves, and with that the heroes were on their way.

 

*
No it doesn't.

‘I
t's no use screamin' for help,' Mr Gum told Polly as Billy William dragged her through the rainy streets of Lamonic Bibber. ‘So don't try it again,' he grinned ferociously, leaning so close into Polly's face that she could see every single fly
in his beard. ‘Not unless you want Billy here to feed you a nice big plate of steamin' cold entrails, that is.'

‘An' trotters,' added Billy. ‘I just received a new shipment of trotters. Fancy some, do ya?'

‘That shut 'er up,' sneered Mr Gum, and on they marched in grim silence. On through the wind and the rain and the cold, past the high street where the shops stood closed, their shutters drawn against the coming storm. On past the railway tracks where Crazy Barry Fungus lived in his silver birdcage.

‘Tweet! Tweet! I'm a lovely little chaffinch!'
he called out hopefully. But there was to be no birdseed for Crazy Barry Fungus that evening. Instead, Billy William kicked a load of mud into his face – and on they marched.

Overhead, thunderclouds were moving in, great big purple-black ones like those bruises you sometimes get on bananas or rugby players. The storm was on its way.

Jus' like that storm what done killed Nicholas de Twinklecakes' family,
thought Polly
with a cold shiver. Was Old Granny right? Was the past repeating itself? Was the past repeating itself? Was the past repeating itself?

And on they marched.

Afterwards, Polly hardly remembered anything of that terrible journey. All she had were vague images – the horrid, churning mud at their feet, Billy tugging at the meaty old rope to hurry her along, hundreds of
Crunchy Little Leopards
floating down the river in a postman's hat, terrified out of their tiny cereal minds . . . Mr Gum laughing as a bolt of lightning got Billy William in the leg, even though he was meant to be Billy's friend . . .

How they made it to the windmill Polly never knew.

But eventually, soaking wet and splattered with mud, there they were, standing before the windmill's dreadful gaze even though it didn't have any eyes. Oh, what a terrifying sight it was. Hideous ravens and crows looped and whirled round its sails, screeching like the Devil's Travelling Bird Circus of Doom. Rats peered out from every nook and cranny, spitting and
burping up bits of sick all over the place. And a daddy-long-legs sat cockily on the doorstep as if to say, ‘Evil has taken over and I am the new King of the World!' Then a starling ate it.

But worse than any of this were the thunderclouds gathering over the windmill, gathering, yes, gathering themselves into an enormous face. And that face was twisted up with so much anger and hatred that even Mr Gum was impressed.

‘GOOD EVENING,'
said the terrifying face of clouds, gigantic in the dark skies above.
‘GUESS WHAT? I AM NICHOLAS DE TWINKLECAKES! AND I HAVE COME BACK THROUGH TIME TO WATCH AS LAMONIC BIBBER BURNS! PLUS I JUST FANCIED HAVING A LOOK AROUND AT THE 21ST CENTURY. AND IT LOOKS ABSOLUTELY RUBBISH!'

‘Well, you're wrong, you insane bundle of clouds!' shouted Polly bravely. ‘It's totally brilliant an' we gots the Internet an' stuff, so shut up!'

‘NO,
YOU
SHUT UP!'
thundered the face, snotting out a massive lightning bolt which Polly only just managed to dodge.