Casper Candlewacks in the Attack of the Brainiacs! by Ivan Brett

cloud of herbs. “Casper, Casper! Renée loved my invention! Did you see? Did you?”
    â€œWhat did you think you were doing over there?” cried Casper.
    â€œOmlits. I was doing omlits.”
    â€œI saw that!” Casper felt let down, betrayed. His best and only friend had been cooking for the enemy, even after Casper had asked him not to. “But why?”
    â€œRenée asked me to show him my Omlit Gun and… I’ve done something wrong, haven’t I? Your face has gone all scrunchy, Casper, and it only does that when I’ve done something wrong.”
    Casper softened as he saw confusion rise in Lamp’s face. “Listen to me, Lamp, that man’s not what he seems. His name’s Jean-Claude, not Renée, he lied about the cheese shop, he’s out for revenge against my dad and I think he’s using you to help him.”
    â€œNo!” cried Lamp, shocked. “His name’s not Renée?” All of a sudden his face blushedplum-red. “But I’ve been calling him that all this time! How embarrassing.”
    â€œThat’s the least of it. Did he ask you to make that omelette gun?”
    â€œI’m my own man, Casper Candlewacks.” Lamp prodded a thumb into his own chest and puffed up proudly. “I make what I like and I like what I make. Except for my automatic pillow plumper. That hurt.” He rubbed his head.
    â€œAll right. Just keep it that way. If Jean-Claude asks you to invent something, what do you say?”
    â€œNo,” Lamp nodded determinedly.
    â€œAnd if he asks for help, what do you say?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGot it. Promise you’ll practise that for me?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIs that you doing it now, or—”

    â€œNo,” said Lamp, and he turned to leave. “No, no, no, no, yes. I mean no.”
    Ting-a-ling.
    â€œKeep an eye on him, Casp,” said Julius. “Jean-Claude doesn’t need anyone else on his team.”
    â€œYou can count on me,” smiled Casper. “I’ll watch him like a hawk. I was going to keep an eye on him, anyway. There was something weird about him today.”
    â€œWhat, more weird than normal?”
    â€œWay more weird than normal.”

Like Tuesday mornings tend to do, it arrived soon after the end of Monday night. Casper yawned his way down to breakfast.
    In the kitchen, Cuddles was bashing her bowl of mashed banana with a plastic fork while Amanda tried once more to make toast. Her latest attempt (putting bread in the kettle) had produced some soggy results and a terrible pot of tea.
    Casper checked the cupboards and pulled down the mouse-nibbled box of Funky Flakez. On turning back round, he found Cuddles wearing a proud little grin and an empty bowl on her head. The mashed banana was dripping down the front of the fridge. Cuddles giggled and stuffed her mouth with thirty-seven pence from the kitchen table.
    â€œNow, come on, darling.” Amanda scraped the banana back into the bowl. “Those coins just won’t keep you going till lunchtime.”

    Cuddles jangled and spat out a penny.
    â€œGrowing kids like you need all the food groups: fruit, dairy, jelly, bacon, carbohydrates, spaghetti and… erm… help me out here, Casper.”
    The box of Funky Flakez contained some mouse droppings, the ripped plastic bag and agrumpy mouse, but not a single Flake, Funky or otherwise. Casper put the box back on the shelf. “Mum, leave her. She doesn’t like fruit, OK?”
    â€œOoh, actually,” she chirped, “Cuddles does catch a lot of birds. Are they a fruit?”
    â€œClose enough,” Casper grimaced.
    Cuddles squawked like a seagull and batted the mashed banana away once more.
    The second day of school awaited Casper at the other end of a tractor ’n’ train carriage journey. He groaned into his empty bowl. What he really needed was a bodyguard – a friend even stronger and fiercer