Casper Candlewacks in the Attack of the Brainiacs! (5 page)

Renée turned to leave, flashing a dirty yellow smile from under his beret. “
Oui
, Julius, but you will come.” He trotted into the square without a goodbye.

Ting-a-ling.

“What was that last bit about?” Casper scratched his head.

Julius stared into the middle distance with a frown, as if there was some distant memory tickling the very edge of his mind. He shook his head and plodded off to find a broom. “Lots to do, Casper!” he yelled over his shoulder. “How are those spuds? As soon as this oven's on, I need to get them roasting.”

A screech and a burp from the corner of the restaurant meant that Cuddles had finished her job. Casper picked his way over the rubble
towards Table 4.

“Oh, Cuddles. You haven't.”

Cuddles grinned, victory in her sticky little eyes. She'd peeled the potatoes all right – in fact she'd done it perfectly. In front of her was a bowl full of beautiful paper-thin peelings. But the potatoes were nowhere to be seen. She sneezed, spraying Casper's face with a fine mashed-potato mist.

“Casper?” yelled Julius. “I need those spuds.”

“Yeah, about the spuds…” His mouth was dry, his face wet and the carpet covered in wall. How much worse could today get?

Well, if you really want to know – much, much worse…

Casper's afternoon faded to evening as preparations continued in The Battered Cod. Seven o'clock thundered ever closer like an angry bull towards a picnic. By six, the kitchen was all plugged in (at the expense of Julius's eyebrows, singed off by a small gas leak and a naked flame) and the food was on its way.

Julius had decided that the restaurant's
theme was
Best of British
: classic British dishes cooked in that unique Candlewacks style. He'd been toying with the idea of Thai food for a while, but Mrs Trimble's village shop had sold out of lemongrass and Julius's attempt to milk a coconut had ended in three smashed windows and a big dent in the middle of next-door's greyhound.

Best of British
it was, then, but to Julius's credit, he'd done a great job. He'd cooked up
Bangers and Mash in a Red Leicester Letterbox
;
Slow-roast Cricket Bat
;
Double-decker Cucumber Sandwiches
painted with
Home-ketchupped Tomatoes
to look like buses;
Tea-flavoured Scones
and
Scone-flavoured Tea
;
Beefeaters' Hats filled with Juicy Ground Beef
and a massive
Shepherd's Pie
in the shape of the Queen.

Julius plopped countless battered fish, battered sausages and one misplaced battered plimsoll into the vat of bubbling oil. He snatched a look at the clock and yelped. “Five minutes! What's it like out there?”

Casper dared to peek through the front window to the village square. At least half the village milled about outside, squishing their noses against the restaurant window to get a good view. “Busy, Dad.”

“Brilliant!” He clapped his hands and grinned, then wrestled Cuddles away from a tray of Yorkshire puddings. “Right, Casper, let's get ready. Knives and forks, clean cups, salt and vinegar on every table. Amanda! You ready?”

“Yes, CHEF!” Amanda squeaked, like she'd seen them do on telly. Amanda danced around
behind her cocktail bar, plopping three teabags down the neck of a bottle of gin and uncorking the brown sauce.

Casper saw the mob and hiccupped. Idiots lumbered at the glass like a hoard of ravenous zombies. Right at the front, pressed up against the creaking door, was the enormously fat mayor of Corne-on-the-Kobb, Mayor Ignatius P. Rattsbulge.

“LET US IN!” Mayor Rattsbulge bellowed, licking his blubbery lips in speedy circles.

“I can't hold them back much longer, Dad.”

“But the lamb's still roasting!”

The restaurant window bowed under the pressure and a small crack appeared.

Casper mimed for the villagers to move back. “We can't take much more of this!”

“OK, fine.” Julius flung a tea towel over his shoulder and smoothed down his thinning hair with the back of a wooden spoon. “How do I look?”

“Erm…”

“Great! Here we go.” He strode through the restaurant with an air of royalty, reached the door and flung it wide.

Ting-a-ling.

“I declare The Battered Cod… OPEN!”

Or at least, that's what he would've said. He got as far as the ‘de—' of ‘declare' before he was crushed by a stampede of idiots.

Instantly, every table was full.

“BEEF!” roared Mayor Rattsbulge. “AND A PIE! WITH BEEF IN IT!”

“I'll 'ave a plate o' yer finest veggibles,”
slurped Sandy Landscape, “with the mud left on. Yummer.”

“Hang on!” shouted Casper, dashing to the kitchen for his pad of paper and a stack of menus. “We can only serve what's on the menu. Which of you can read?”

An awkward silence fell on the restaurant.

“Right.” Casper climbed up on to a chair to read from the menu. “Everybody listen up and I'll take your orders afterwards.”

A deafening
KABOOM
kaboomed from the kitchen like a baboon in a car.

Julius poked his charred head round the corner and grimaced at Casper. “The lamb's… er… sold out.”

“OK,” – Casper had to improvise for the baying villagers – “some food might take a while.
Bear with us.”

“BEAR?” boomed Mayor Rattsbulge. “YOU SERVE BEAR? I'LL TAKE TWO!”

Little Mitch McMassive squeaked, “One pea! Steamed. With a grain of rice for starters.” Mitch only had a small appetite.

“Nine saucers of milk!” yelled Mrs Trimble and her cats.

“Do you do jelly beans?” warbled old Betty Woons, who only really ate things that involved jelly beans.

Clemmie Answorth fell off her chair.

In defeat, Casper dashed back into the kitchen with an empty pad. “Just serve what you have, Dad. I don't think they'll remember what they've ordered, anyway.”

Soon there was food on every table and odd
brown cocktails filling each glass. The diners ate merrily, stuffing saucy handfuls of nosh into their mouths and tugging on Casper's arms for more. Mayor Rattsbulge had already finished his fish and fish and fish and chips (and the plate they came on, which he'd bolted down with extra ketchup) and was invading other tables for more. Amanda gleefully poured and shook, stirred and blended, but all her cocktails ended up the same muddy colour with that vinegary stink from brown sauce. Not that the villagers minded – they gargled back pints of the stuff or poured it on their food and called for seconds when they'd run dry.

Casper had to admit this was going pretty well. When he carried out the pudding, a great big Victoria sponge iced with a red, white and
blue Union Jack, the diners let out a gasp of pure patriotic awe.

“It's a most bootiful fing I've ever did seen,” drooled Sandy Landscape.

“Makes me proud to be hungry,” boomed Mayor Rattsbulge.

Casper dished out bowlfuls to every table and gave the empty tray to Cuddles, who sat in the basin licking the plates clean. “Dad, look at them all!” he cheered, nudging Julius. “We're a hit!”

“We are?” Julius hadn't given himself a free moment to look out into his restaurant all evening, but when he finally did, his eyes welled up with happy tears. “
We are!
” He threw a gravy-sodden arm round Casper and sniffed, scrunching up his eyes.

“You all right?”

“Just the onions,” he sobbed. “They always get me.”

Casper knew there weren't any onions, but he had no desire to point it out now. This was a nice moment, he thought. His dad deserved it.

Ting-a-ling.

A gasp fell from the villagers' lips. In the doorway stood Renée, squat and compact, with the little cigarette hanging from his lips. But he wore a brand-new white jacket and a puffy white chef's hat.

“A fluffy white,” – Casper gasped – “
chef's
hat.”

“ZE FREE OMELETTE!” Renée announced.

“What on earth…” whispered Julius, wiping his eyes.

“Come wiz me, all of you,” announced Renée,
stepping back and beckoning to the villagers. “You are not wanting zis, 'ow you say, swill for ze pigs.” He turned to Julius, flashed a rotten-toothed smile and spat at the floor. “Free omelette for everyone. She is
délicieux
! Come, come…”

“What d'you mean, free?” squawked Audrey Snugglepuss.

“Free! None of ze money!
Rien!
”

The diners cheered, chairs scraped and suddenly every idiot was making for the exit.

“Stop! Don't go!” shouted Julius, but half of them were already trotting across the square towards Renée's cheese shop. Except that Renée's cheese shop wasn't a cheese shop any more. Casper's tongue went dry as the changes presented themselves. The building glowed radiantly with hundreds of candles inside and out. Crimson velvet
curtains lined the windows and a large black sign adorned the entrance with squiggly French writing that read
Bistro D'Escargot.
It was a restaurant. A French restaurant.

“Dad, what's going on?”

Julius was shivering. “Oh, no no no no no.” And just like that he was off, chasing after the villagers through the heavily perfumed doors of
Bistro D'Escargot.
Casper followed.

Inside, half of the villagers already had their omelettes. Renée carried two plates through the swing doors from his kitchen, grunting “
Bon appétit
,” as he plonked them at the tables and shuffled back to the kitchen for more.