Casper Candlewacks in the Time Travelling Toaster by Ivan Brett Page B

on the carriage to London so when he got there, all boily and green, nobody took Lord Blight’s order seriously.
    With a sigh, Casper put his book away. It had been a long day. Well, all days were long in Warehouse 2, but this one had dragged on for ages. Like a leap day, or something. Sleep came easily, until suddenly –
    Click.
    Casper sat up with a start. Did he dream it?
    Creeeek.
    “H-hello?”
    A soft voice rasped from a crack in his door. “Casper?”
    It had been at least a week since Casper had last spoken. He tried to respond, but all that came out was, “ Gth? ” His mouth felt fluffy, and somebody’s tongue kept getting in the way. He suspected it was his own.
    The light flicked on, so blindingly bright that Casper had to cower under his scratchy blanket.
    “Get your things. We’re going.”
    “All I have is this book,” said Casper. “Where are we going?”
    “Out. Away from here. Whatever’s in Warehouse three, it’s… we need you out of here.”
    Nobody had even called him Casper for at least three weeks. He was more used to 34128. But someone had come to free him! Someone who knew his name! “Who are you?” He dared to peek out from behind his blanket.

    There stood a girl in a pair of black pyjamas. She had a pointy nose, short spiky hair and a scowl…
    Casper gasped and hid behind his blanket again. “Chrys? I-I’m so sorry.” Why was she here? Surely she’d never free her own slaves?
    “Shut up,” said Chrys. “Get up, cos we haven’t got long before it comes back on.”
    Nothing made sense. “We’re… leaving?”
    “Yes.” Chrys’s voice was cranky and curt. “Get up or I’ll bzzt you.”
    “Sorry. Yes.” Nodding wildly, Casper leapt out of bed and pulled on his overalls. He grabbed the only thing he owned – Blight – A History of Violence – and tiptoed out of the room after Chrys.
    The corridor was as black as the inside of a box, but straight and narrow, so Casper could feel his way. When they reached the first staircase they went up, not down, up past two floors of identical dark corridors before reaching a large pair of double doors with one of those handprint scanners for a lock. Chrys pressed her hand on the outline and looked around nervously as the machine read it.
    “Welcome, Lady Chrysanthemum,” the cheery robot voice said. “And what lovely palms you have. Is that a new handcream?”
    “No,” she snapped. “Just let me through.”
    The doors swung open.
    “It’s cold out,” sang the robot voice. “Did you bring gloves?”
    Chrys didn’t answer, pushing through the doors and out into the night air.
    It is cold out here , thought Casper. He made a note to listen to robots in the future. The yard was deserted, which was just as well, because even if Casper told the guards he was sleepwalking, that was forbidden too. Chrys dashed through the shadows towards Warehouse 1 and Casper followed, terrified. They crossed the courtyard in no time, and with a handprint on the scanner and a quick chat about the weather, Lady Chrysanthemum had the steel doors open and was tugging Casper inside.
    The sound of rushing water met Casper’s ears.
    “The River Kobb,” said Lady Chrysanthemum. “In you go.”
    “Erm,” Casper faltered.
    “Don’t be a sissy.”
    And then he felt a shove and the steel walkway wasn’t holding his feet any more and he was falling and shouting, and then he was under the icy-cold depths and breathing was wet, and he’d dropped his book.
    Swim against the flow , thought Casper. Behind him, the river gushed into the bottling plant and Warehouse 2. In front, at the other end of a blackened tunnel, there was a small patch of moonlight. Another splash from nearby told Casper that Chrys had joined him.
    He kicked forward slowly, grabbing a breath at every stroke. Chrys swam faster, breathing less and making much better progress. Why was she helping? Was this some big trick? Would Briar and Anemonie be standing at the other end of the