Read Online Casper Candlewacks in the Time Travelling Toaster by Ivan Brett - Free Book Online
Authors: Ivan Brett
Ads: Link
tunnel with the biggest BZZT imaginable to punish Casper’s escape attempt?
Their splashes echoed and magnified into the inky blackness. Casper’s legs and arms grew heavy as lead, but still they swam on.
The soft light of the moon glowed up ahead, growing larger every time Casper looked. But the tunnel was long, and the river was flowing in the wrong direction. Every metre he gained, the current instantly took half of it back.
WAANG WAANG WAANG .
“They’ve noticed!” glubbed Casper.
Ahead, Chrys hung on to a rung built into the side of the tunnel, waiting for Casper to catch up. “Just keep swimming.”
The WAANG ing and the splashing filled Casper’s ears, but it was getting brighter, and he could feel a breeze the next time he came up to breathe.
“Here. Climb out this side.” Chrys had grabbed hold of a low root poking out from the left bank of the river.
Casper pulled himself out of the water, up the bank and instantly he could feel the chill of the night against his wet skin.
“We’ve got to run now.”
“THERE THEY ARE!” A spotlight caught the two like rabbits in headlights.
Casper ignored Chrys’s tugging and twisted round. The perimeter fence separated him from Blight Manor, the spotlight blaring from the top of a watchtower. “We’re out,” he muttered.
“YOU COME BACK HERE, CHRYS.” The roar, furious and bloodthirsty, came from Blight Manor itself. It was the voice of Lord Briar Blight. “YOU BRING HIM BACK.”
Casper swallowed hard. This was no prank. This was an escape, a prison break, and Chrys had betrayed her brother.
“Hurry!” urged Chrys. “He’s got spare batteries, we don’t have long.”
“RIGHT!” roared Briar. “FULL POWER. FEEL THIS ONE, CANDLEWACKS. RIGHT BETWEEN YOUR TOES. HA!— Oh.”
Casper ran, cold and bewildered, across the lawn of Blight Manor. Briar should have BZZT ed him by now. Why was there no BZZT ?
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS THING? WHY WON’T IT…”
The trees thinned and Casper found himself turning right on to a street with tumbledown houses and the river flowing down the middle of the road.
“Keep running,” said Chrys. “He’ll send guards.”
Back at the house, Briar was screaming with rage. “BATTERIES! SOMEONE BRING ME BATTERIES! I’LL GET YOU, CHRYS. YOU TRAITOR! YOU’RE NO BLIGHT. CURSE YOU! WHERE ARE THOSE BATTERIES?”
The sounds of the mansion faded into the distance until all he could hear was two sets of hard footsteps and the running water of the river. This road twisted to the left and brought them out in a large cobbled square, cut in half by the river that ran through its centre.
“I know this place,” said Casper. “It’s my village square. But it’s so different.”
A large stone building leant so far to the right that the rickety clock tower sprouting from its roof was almost sideways. The clock itself had a smashed face with the minute hand pointing outwards, on which three red-eyed pigeons perched. The other dark buildings that lined the square were in a similar state, all wrecked and abandoned. In fact the only thing in a good state was the huge, solid-gold statue in the centre depicting a proud, slim man wielding a bejewelled sword. He had the pointiest, longest nose Casper had ever seen, on which four pigeons were perching.
“My father,” muttered Chrys. “Anemonie’s son. Lord Oleander Blight. Horrible man. Come on, we’re not safe yet.” She set off for the far corner of the square.
They turned left, past a thick mud dam that had redirected the river’s flow on to the square, then left again down a wide stretch of road, then right on to a street of crumbling houses with a chipped sign that read C RACKLIN C RESCENT .
“I… I live here,” Casper breathed. “Well… lived, ” he corrected.
Chrys ducked off the street at a familiar house on the left. Like all the others, it looked run-down and empty, but nevertheless she knocked three times on the door.
The letterbox flapped
Their splashes echoed and magnified into the inky blackness. Casper’s legs and arms grew heavy as lead, but still they swam on.
The soft light of the moon glowed up ahead, growing larger every time Casper looked. But the tunnel was long, and the river was flowing in the wrong direction. Every metre he gained, the current instantly took half of it back.
WAANG WAANG WAANG .
“They’ve noticed!” glubbed Casper.
Ahead, Chrys hung on to a rung built into the side of the tunnel, waiting for Casper to catch up. “Just keep swimming.”
The WAANG ing and the splashing filled Casper’s ears, but it was getting brighter, and he could feel a breeze the next time he came up to breathe.
“Here. Climb out this side.” Chrys had grabbed hold of a low root poking out from the left bank of the river.
Casper pulled himself out of the water, up the bank and instantly he could feel the chill of the night against his wet skin.
“We’ve got to run now.”
“THERE THEY ARE!” A spotlight caught the two like rabbits in headlights.
Casper ignored Chrys’s tugging and twisted round. The perimeter fence separated him from Blight Manor, the spotlight blaring from the top of a watchtower. “We’re out,” he muttered.
“YOU COME BACK HERE, CHRYS.” The roar, furious and bloodthirsty, came from Blight Manor itself. It was the voice of Lord Briar Blight. “YOU BRING HIM BACK.”
Casper swallowed hard. This was no prank. This was an escape, a prison break, and Chrys had betrayed her brother.
“Hurry!” urged Chrys. “He’s got spare batteries, we don’t have long.”
“RIGHT!” roared Briar. “FULL POWER. FEEL THIS ONE, CANDLEWACKS. RIGHT BETWEEN YOUR TOES. HA!— Oh.”
Casper ran, cold and bewildered, across the lawn of Blight Manor. Briar should have BZZT ed him by now. Why was there no BZZT ?
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS THING? WHY WON’T IT…”
The trees thinned and Casper found himself turning right on to a street with tumbledown houses and the river flowing down the middle of the road.
“Keep running,” said Chrys. “He’ll send guards.”
Back at the house, Briar was screaming with rage. “BATTERIES! SOMEONE BRING ME BATTERIES! I’LL GET YOU, CHRYS. YOU TRAITOR! YOU’RE NO BLIGHT. CURSE YOU! WHERE ARE THOSE BATTERIES?”
The sounds of the mansion faded into the distance until all he could hear was two sets of hard footsteps and the running water of the river. This road twisted to the left and brought them out in a large cobbled square, cut in half by the river that ran through its centre.
“I know this place,” said Casper. “It’s my village square. But it’s so different.”
A large stone building leant so far to the right that the rickety clock tower sprouting from its roof was almost sideways. The clock itself had a smashed face with the minute hand pointing outwards, on which three red-eyed pigeons perched. The other dark buildings that lined the square were in a similar state, all wrecked and abandoned. In fact the only thing in a good state was the huge, solid-gold statue in the centre depicting a proud, slim man wielding a bejewelled sword. He had the pointiest, longest nose Casper had ever seen, on which four pigeons were perching.
“My father,” muttered Chrys. “Anemonie’s son. Lord Oleander Blight. Horrible man. Come on, we’re not safe yet.” She set off for the far corner of the square.
They turned left, past a thick mud dam that had redirected the river’s flow on to the square, then left again down a wide stretch of road, then right on to a street of crumbling houses with a chipped sign that read C RACKLIN C RESCENT .
“I… I live here,” Casper breathed. “Well… lived, ” he corrected.
Chrys ducked off the street at a familiar house on the left. Like all the others, it looked run-down and empty, but nevertheless she knocked three times on the door.
The letterbox flapped
Similar Books
