Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face and the Pizza of Peril Read online

  Then he stood back again, folded his arms, and waited.

  CHAPTER 3

  In Which the Door Is Answered

  Very soon there came a voice from behind the door.

  “Was that the secret knock?” it said.

  “Yes,” said Stinkbomb.

  “Oh,” said the voice. “I didn’t think the secret knock was as long as that.”

  “Well, it is,” Stinkbomb said. “I did it brilliantly, didn’t I?”

  “Yes,” said the voice. “I don’t know how you managed to remember it all.”

  “Actually,” said Stinkbomb, “I might have gone a bit wrong in the middle. Shall I do it again?”

  “Er, no, that’s all right,” the voice said quickly.

  The door opened and there, wearing a pair of dark glasses, a serious expression, and a little badge, stood King Toothbrush Weasel.

  “Hello, King Toothbrush Weasel,” said Ketchup-Face brightly.

  King Toothbrush Weasel gave her a stern look. “I am not King Toothbrush Weasel,” he said firmly. He pointed at his badge, which said , and said, “I am the Head of Palace Security.” Then he looked at the little shopping cart. “Why have you got a carrot jammed into the front of your basket?”

  “It’s a disguise,” the shopping cart said.

  King Toothbrush Weasel’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “Why have you disguised yourself as a carrot?”

  “Er, no,” the little shopping cart said shyly, “I’m disguised as a horse. Neigh, whinny, neigh.”

  “A horse?” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “Horses don’t have carrots jammed in the front of their baskets.”

  “I’m pretending to eat it,” explained the shopping cart.

  King Toothbrush Weasel shook his head impatiently. “Horses don’t eat carrots,” he said. “They eat goldfish.”

  “No they don’t!” protested Ketchup-Face.

  “Yes they do,” insisted King Toothbrush Weasel. “The horse climbs up a tree and sits on a branch, waiting for a nice fat goldfish to come trotting along, and when it does, the horse drops down out of the tree onto the goldfish and eats it up.”

  “I think you’re thinking of jaguars,” said Stinkbomb politely. “But they drop onto deer, not goldfish.”

  “No,” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “Jaguars don’t eat deer; they turn into them. The deer lays eggs in a sort of jelly, which is called deerspawn, and they hatch out into jaguars, which swim around the pond until they grow legs and their tails drop off and they turn into deer.”

  “No, you silly king,” Ketchup-Face said. “That’s not jaguars and deers, it’s frogs and ow! what did you do that for? I only said it was ow!” she added as Stinkbomb elbowed her in the ribs again.

  “Let’s not stand here arguing about animals,” Stinkbomb hissed. “I want to get on with the adventure.”

  “Okay,” Ketchup-Face said. “I only said it was ow! okay, okay, let’s get on with the adventure.”

  “Very well,” agreed King Toothbrush Weasel. “You’d better come in.”

  CHAPTER 4

  In Which They Go In

  The hallway of King Toothbrush Weasel’s palace was small and cluttered. King Toothbrush Weasel squeezed past a bicycle that was leaning against a radiator, and walked into a broom closet.

  “Come along!” he said impatiently. Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face looked at each other, shrugged, and followed, the little shopping cart squeezing in behind them.

  “Why are we in a closet?” Ketchup-Face asked.

  King Toothbrush Weasel gave her another stern look. “It is not a closet,” he said firmly. “It is a secret elevator, which will secretly take us to the secret headquarters of the Great Kerfuffle Secret Service.” He pressed a button on the wall—quite a big button, which looked as if it had fallen off a cardigan or a woolly coat, and which was fastened to the wall with sticky tape—closed the door, and made a noise like an elevator.

  After about thirty seconds, he stopped making a noise like an elevator, went, “Ding!” and opened the door, and they all emerged into the hallway again.

  “This way,” King Toothbrush Weasel said, and led them all down the hallway, into the kitchen, around the table, back out into the hall again, and into the room opposite the broom closet. They waited politely while he took off his dark glasses and the little badge that said , put on a small crown and a badge that said , and sat down on a comfy armchair that was trimmed with tinsel and had a label on it saying .

  “Good morning, Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face,” he said gravely. “I have called you here to meet with the Great Kerfuffle Secret Service.”

  “Wowsers,” said Stinkbomb excitedly.

  “Wowsers my trousers!”

  “Gosh!” said Ketchup-Face. “Er . . .

  Gosh my pants!”

  “As you know,” King Toothbrush Weasel said, “all the badgers in Great Kerfuffle are in prison, having been found guilty of extreme naughtiness. But we think they are planning to escape.”

  “Oh,” said Stinkbomb disappointedly, “not the badgers again. We’ve done them twice now. I thought this was a story about spies and things.”

  “Still,” Ketchup-Face said, “at least we’ll get to meet the Secret Service.”

  “That’s true,” said Stinkbomb, brightening.

  “And here he is now!” said King Toothbrush Weasel.

  The Secret Service came in. It was Malcolm the Cat in a pair of dark glasses.

  “Oh,” said Stinkbomb, disappointed again.

  “Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face,” King Toothbrush Weasel said, “our special agent, Double-O Malcolm the Cat, has been on the secret mission of hanging around outside the jail all morning listening to the badgers.” He turned to Malcolm the Cat. “Have you brought your report with you?”

  Malcolm the Cat sat down on the rug and stared at the king without blinking. “Yes,” he said eventually.

  There was a long pause.

  “Well . . .” said King Toothbrush Weasel, “could I see it, please?”

  Malcolm the Cat stared at him some more. “All right,” he said, standing up and producing a bright yellow folder with pictures of dead mice on it. He held the folder up so that they could all see it, and then put it on the rug and sat on it.

  King Toothbrush Weasel sighed. “No, I mean, could I read it, please.”

  “Oh,” said Malcolm the Cat. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  After the next pause had gone on for a bit, King Toothbrush Weasel said, “So . . . could I read it, please?” After a further pause, he added impatiently, “Malcolm the Cat, give me your report!”

  “All right, all right,” said Malcolm the Cat. “Keep your pants on. Some people are so impatient.” He slowly got up, stared down at the folder, licked his paw, washed carefully behind his ears, straightened his tail, brushed a bit of fluff off his sleeve, polished his buttons, picked up the folder, went into the kitchen, made himself a snack, ate the snack, did the dishes, went to the shop, bought a newspaper, came back, licked his paw, washed carefully behind his ears, read the newspaper, did the crossword, wrote a letter to the editor, did the sudoku, licked his paw, and washed carefully behind his ears. Then he held the folder out. “Here you are,” he said. “Oh, wait,” he added, taking it back. “Is this the right folder?” He opened it up and looked inside, carefully checking the contents three times. Apparently satisfied, he closed the folder and held it out again. “Here you are,” he said again. “Or maybe you aren’t,” he added, snatching it away as King Toothbrush Weasel reached for it. “No, my mistake, here it is.” He held the newspaper out and gave it to King Toothbrush Weasel.

  “At last,” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “Thank you.” He opened it up and began to read it. “Wait a minute,” he said. “This isn’t your report. It’s the newspaper.”

  “O
h, sorry,” said Malcolm the Cat innocently. “I don’t know how that happened. Now, where did I put that report?”

  “It’s in your paw,” said Stinkbomb.

  “No it isn’t,” said Malcolm the Cat, looking at his paw.

  “No, the other paw,” Stinkbomb said.

  Malcolm the Cat looked at his back paw.

  “No, the front paw,” said Stinkbomb crossly. “No, the other front paw,” he went on. “Look! That paw!”

  “Oh, so it is,” said Malcolm the Cat. “Here you are.” He held the report out toward King Toothbrush Weasel, and then snatched it away again.

  There was no telling how long this could have gone on if Stinkbomb hadn’t suddenly remembered that he had a can of cat food in his pocket. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the can of cat food, and dropped it on Malcolm the Cat’s tail.

  “Ow!” yelped Malcolm the Cat, and let go of the folder. Quickly, Stinkbomb snatched it up and gave it to the king.

  CHAPTER 5

  In Which We Finally Find out What Was in Malcolm the Cat’s Report

  King Toothbrush Weasel opened Malcolm the Cat’s folder and pulled out a thick wad of paper. On the front was written in large letters:

  TOP SECRET FILES

  Malcolm the Cat’s

  Secret Mission Report

  “Right,” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “Listen carefully, Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face.” He flipped to the next page and began to read aloud:

  MY REPORT

  by Malcolm the Cat

  The following is everything I heard the badgers say while I was on my secret mission of hanging around outside the jail listening to them.

  “Whisper,

  whisper,

  mutter,

  mutter,

  SHUT UP, EVERYONE,

  THERE’S MALCOLM THE CAT!”

  King Toothbrush Weasel paused, and flipped the page over. Then he flipped to the next page, and the next, and the next. When he had flipped over the very last page, he looked up impatiently. “Malcolm the Cat,” he said, “all the rest of the pages are blank.”

  Malcolm the Cat shrugged. “They didn’t say anything else,” he said.

  Stinkbomb sighed. “Come on,” he said. “This must be the part where we go to the jail to see for ourselves what they’re up to.”

  CHAPTER 6

  In Which We See What the Badgers Are up To

  Meanwhile, in the jail in the little village of Loose Pebbles, the badgers were plotting.

  “If only we had a shovel,” said Rolf the Badger, a big badger with a big badge that said . “Then we could dig our way out.”

  “Good idea, Rolf the Badger,” said Harry the Badger, taking a sip of tea from a mug marked . “How could we get a shovel?”

  “Well,” suggested Stewart the Badger, the smallest of the badgers, “we could go to the store and buy one.”

  Harry the Badger sighed. “We can’t go to the store and buy a shovel,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Stewart the Badger. “Why not?”

  “Because we’re in prison,” explained Harry the Badger.

  “Oh,” said Stewart the Badger. “Maybe we could dig our way out, and then go to the store and buy a shovel?”

  “And how,” asked Harry the Badger impatiently, “are we going to dig our way out?”

  Stewart the Badger scratched his head. “Um . . . With a shovel?”

  Harry the Badger sighed again. “Has anyone else got any stupid ideas?” he said sarcastically.

  “Oooh! Me! Me!, I’ve got a stupid idea!

  said all the other badgers at once, and they began to tell Harry the Badger their stupid ideas. Some of them really were very stupid ideas indeed.

  Harry the Badger held up his paws for silence. “Maybe I wasn’t very clear,” he said, cutting off a particularly stupid idea about a cup of coffee and a flying jellyfish. “When I said, ‘Has anyone else got any stupid ideas?’ what I really meant was ‘Shut up.’”

  “Oh, okay,” said the other badgers, and they all shut up.

  “Now,” said Harry the Badger, “if we can’t dig our way out, we’re going to have to find some other way of escaping. Let’s see.” He looked at the floor. “We can’t go down without a shovel . . .” He looked at the door. “We can’t go forward without a key . . .” He turned around and looked at the wall. “We can’t go backward without, um, a thing for smashing holes in walls . . .” He looked up at the ceiling. It was quite a long way up, and right in the middle of it was a small square skylight. “Ah-hah!” he said meaningfully.

  “Er, no,” said Stewart the Badger helpfully. “That’s not a hah. It’s a window.”

  Harry the Badger sighed. “Maybe I wasn’t very clear,” he said. “When I said, ‘Ah-hah!’ what I really meant was ‘Oh, look, there’s a skylight. Maybe we could make a tower of badgers and climb out of it.’”

  “Oh, okay,” said the other badgers, and they made a tower of badgers. It was a very tall, thin tower of badgers, but it didn’t quite reach the skylight.

  “Bother,” said Harry the Badger. “If only we had something to stand on.”

  “What about the game cabinet?” said Rolf the Badger from somewhere underneath Harry the Badger. He pointed at the small cabinet full of games that sat in the corner of the jail. “We could move that and stand on it.”

  “Oh, no,” said Stewart the Badger from somewhere underneath Rolf the Badger. “We mustn’t move the game cabinet.”

  “Why not?” said Harry the Badger.

  “Because someone might fall down the hole,” explained Stewart the Badger.

  The other badgers stared so hard at Stewart the Badger that they all lost their balance and the tower collapsed, spilling badgers all over the floor. Harry the Badger picked himself up again. “What hole?” he demanded.

  “Well,” said Stewart the Badger, “when we first got put in prison, I noticed there was a big hole in the floor. So I moved the game cabinet on top of it so that no one would fall down it.”

  Harry the Badger took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “This . . . hole,” he said, in an odd sort of voice. “Would it be big enough for, say, a badger to get through?”

  Stewart the Badger nodded. “Oh, yes,” he said cheerfully.

  Harry the Badger took another big breath and let it out even more slowly. Then, in the same odd voice, he said, “And . . . do you think the hole goes a long way down?”

  Stewart the Badger nodded again. “It looked like it went ever such a long way,” he said.

  Harry the Badger took a third big breath and let it out more slowly still. “All the way out of the prison, perhaps?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Stewart the Badger.

  Harry the Badger took a fourth big breath and forgot to let it out at all. After a while he went purple and made a funny squeaky noise, and then he remembered and let it all out at once. “Did it not occur to you that a big hole that goes all the way out of prison might be useful to badgers who are locked up in prison?”

  “Nope,” said Stewart the Badger. Then his eyes widened. “Wait a minute!” he said. “If the hole’s big enough for a badger to get through . . .”

  “Ye-es?” said Harry the Badger.

  “ . . . and if it goes all the way out of prison . . .”

  “Ye-es?” said Harry the Badger.

  “ . . . then a badger could go through the hole . . .”

  “Ye-es?” said Harry the Badger.

  “ . . . and get all the way out of prison . . .”

  “Ye-es?” said Harry the Badger.

  “ . . . and go to the store and buy a shovel!” said Stewart the Badger. “And then we could dig a hole and escape from prison!”

  “Well, yes,” said Harry the Badger.

  “Or we coul
d just

  USE THE HOLE

  THAT’S BEEN HERE

  ALL THE TIME,

  AND GET OUT OF PRISON

  THAT WAY!!!!!!”

  There was a long pause, during which nobody spoke or moved or went to the bathroom, and then Stewart the Badger said, “Oh, yeah!”

  And then all the other badgers said, “Oh, yeah!” as well, because they’d only just understood it, too; and they rushed over to the corner and dragged the game cabinet out of the way, and revealed the hole.

  CHAPTER 7

  In Which the Badgers Escape from Prison

  The badgers all gathered around the hole and looked down.

  “How far do you think it goes?” asked Rolf the Badger.

  “All the way to the bottom, I reckon,” said Harry the Badger.

  “The bottom of what?” asked Stewart the Badger.

  “The bottom of the hole, of course,” said Harry the Badger. “Right, Stewart the Badger: off you go. Tell us when you get to the bottom.”

  “Okay,” said Stewart the Badger, clambering into the hole. “It’s very deep,” he went on, fumbling in the gloom for a paw-hold.

  “Eeeek!”

  he added, plummeting into the darkness. “Oof!” he concluded, landing on his back at the bottom of the hole. “Er . . . I’m at the bottom!”

  There was a skidding noise in the darkness above him, and moments later he said “Oof!” again as something large and warm and badgery dropped out of the shaft and landed on his tummy.

  The badger on Stewart the Badger’s tummy peered down at Stewart the Badger, and suddenly realized that this was his big chance. For two whole books, all he had done was the same things as the other badgers. He hadn’t even been given a name. Now here he was, all alone with one of the stars of the stories! Maybe they would have a proper conversation, and he would say something really important, and Stewart the Badger would say his name, and then all the readers would know who he was, and love him, and demand he be brought back in the next book, and he would be a star!