Casper Candlewacks in the Attack of the Brainiacs! by Ivan Brett Read Free Book Online

biggest customer. In the middle, the fat mayor was growing ever more angry and ever more stretched. “STOP IT!” he roared. “STOP IT OR I’LL BEHEAD YOU BOTH!”
    Julius and Renée dropped the mayor’s arms, standing back, embarrassed.
    Mayor Rattsbulge smoothed down his robes and took a bite of his emergency sausage. “Now, listenhere. I’m all for the idea of eating two dinners,” he said through his sausage, looking from one chef to the other, “but this two-restaurant business is taking away valuable dining time. Why, while you stand out here squabbling, I could’ve stripped bare three racks of ribs. I just won’t have it. I won’t!” He broke the sausage over his knee, throwing the two pieces to the ground. There were tears in the mayor’s eyes. “Now look what you’ve done. I’ve gone and lost my appetite! No, this just won’t do. There can only be one restaurant in Corne-on-the-Kobb.”

    â€œThank you, Mr Mayor,” began Julius, bowing apologetically. “That’s exactly what I—”

    â€œWe’ll have a cook-off. Here in the square on Friday night. We’ll all vote, and the chef with the best food wins. The loser must leave the village forgood. Simple as that.”
    The villagers cheered.
    â€œNow, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a sausage to eat.” And he stomped back to his mayoral lodge (the one with the extra-wide door), wobbling as he went.
    Silence fell as the two chefs met each other’s stares.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Jean-Claude?” Julius demanded.
    A broad grin spread on to Renée’s face, breaking into a gritty old laugh that shook the ash from his cigarette and the hat from his head.
    The villagers started giggling too.
    â€œDad,” rasped Casper, blushing. “He’s called Renée.”
    â€œ Non , your fazzer is right.” Renée’s smiledropped suddenly. He plucked the stub of his cigarette from his lips with three grubby fingers, tossed it to the cobbles and ground it under his foot. “Renée is not my name, ze cheese shop is not my, ’ow you say, game. I am ’ere to do only one thing – to ruin you . On Friday, I will finally be ’aving my revenge. And you,” – he prodded a dirty finger on Julius’s nose – “you can do nussing. NUSSING. HA!”
    The man Casper had known as Renée stormed back to his restaurant. Those villagers who still wanted omelette scuttled after him like pigeons after a gingerbread man, with Lamp galumphing along at the back.
    â€œWhat a nutcase, eh?” Casper nudged his dad and grinned up at him, but the expression that met his wasn’t an amused one. It wasn’t even bemused.It was de mused, if anything. Casper had never seen his father’s face so white, not even after that time he fell asleep in a bowl of flour. This was bad, and worst of all, Casper had no idea why.
    â€œCome on, then,” Julius said, without gusto or interest or even a capital letter at the beginning of his sentence. He shuffled towards The Battered Cod, the already omeletted half of the village following him.
    Ting-a-ling.
    The rest of the evening’s service went by slowly, with Julius wandering about the kitchen in a dream. There wasn’t much more to serve, save for jellied eels and some glasses of English rainwater, but even those went down well with the remaining customers.
    Once the diners had all dispersed and the doorshad been locked, Casper found his dad slumped face down on Table 4.
    â€œWasn’t that bad, was it?”
    â€œSit down, Casper.”
    â€œOh. All right.” In front of Casper on the table sat a crumpled shoebox marked Tax forms etc. No long-kept secrets hidden in here so there’s no point even looking.
    â€œWhat’s in there?” asked Casper, although he probably didn’t need to.
    Julius looked up. “I think it’s