The Great Brain Robbery

  First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Simon and Schuster UK Ltd

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Anna Kemp 2013

  Illustration copyright © Teresa Murfin

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Anna Kemp and Teresa Murfin to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  1st Floor,

  222 Gray’s Inn Road

  London

  WC1X 8HB

  Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney

  Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-0-85707-996-1

  eBook ISBN 978-1-47111-797-8

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  www.simonandschuster.co.uk

  www.simonandschuster.com.au

  For

  my brainy and beloved husband Jim

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  What is the best question ever? Answer: What do you want for your birthday? Well now, let me see. I would like a train-set, and a mermaid outfit, and one of those time-machines that sends you back to the days when there was no school and people had dinosaurs for pets – pleeeeeease!

  I love presents. I bet you do too. Problem is, you don’t always get what you asked for. And that’s because some things are just ‘too many pennies’, as my nan used to say. Frankie Blewitt did not have many pennies, so he did not have many toys. But, all the same, there was one toy that Frankie really, really wanted. One toy that would make all his dreams come true. It was the toy of toys. The toy to end all toys. The Greatest Toy of All. It was, of course, a Mechanimal. What do you mean, ‘What’s a Mechanimal?’? Wake up! Pay attention! For those of you who have been living on the moon, Mechanimals are the most wanted toys on the planet Earth: Gadget the Rabbit! Sparky the Squirrel! Gigawatt the Gila Monster! In shiny blue, or sparkly pink, or glow-in-the-dark green. And Gadget the Rabbit was right at the top of Frankie’s birthday wishlist – double underlined and surrounded by stick-on stars. But Frankie knew he was never going to get one. So as soon as he had finished his list, he tore it up and threw it in the bin.

  Not having a Mechanimal was a big problem for Frankie. Not because he was a greedy little so-and-so, but because he was the only kid in school who didn’t have one. Every lunchtime Frankie’s classmates would grab their Mechanimals from their rucksacks, run to the playground and play Mechanimal Farm or Battle Mechanimal. But Frankie just had to watch. None of this would have been so bad if Frankie’s friends had been around, but his best friend Neet was off school with chickenpox, and his pal Wes had moved away. So every lunchtime, Frankie sat on a bench at the edge of the playground, stared at his trainers, and waited for Mrs Pinkerton to blow the whistle – which wasn’t much fun at all.

  But Frankie’s problems didn’t end there. They were made a whole lot worse by a new arrival: Timothy Snodgrass. Little Timmy Snodgrass was one of those children who got everything on his wishlist and some extras besides. All he had to do was blink his big blue eyes and say, ‘But Mummy, Mummy! A Mechanimal spaceship is the only thing I have ever really wanted!’ and, before you knew it, he not only had a spaceship but a funhouse, farm and fairground too. As you can imagine, having all those toys made Timmy an instant hit with his classmates. When the schoolbell rang at the end of the day, everyone would race over to Timmy’s to play in his spectacular playroom – everyone, that is, except Frankie. No Mechanimal meant no invitation to Timmy’s. So Frankie would pack up his schoolbag and set off home alone. It was the worst feeling ever. Or so Frankie thought. Then, one drizzly September afternoon, things got even worse.

  It was the end of the school day and everyone was whispering excitedly about Timmy’s new Mechanimal racetrack. Frankie didn’t expect to be invited, so he collected his things and tried to slink away before anybody noticed. But it was too late. As he headed for the door, a pair of smart new trainers stepped into his path.

  ‘Aren’t you coming round to play?’

  Frankie looked up in surprise. Timmy was standing in front of him smiling. The sort of smile you’d see on a venomous snake.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Timmy smirked. ‘I forgot. You don’t have a Mechanimal, do you? What dreadful luck. Oh well, I guess you’ll just have to go home and play with the beetles under your bed.’

  The whole class went silent. Frankie could feel their eyes on his skin and his face began to prickle. He moved to walk out of the door but Timmy blocked him again.

  ‘I bet they all have names, don’t they? Your beetle friends.’

  The class giggled nervously. They didn’t want to annoy Timmy. He had a Mechanimal racetrack after all. Frankie felt a tightening in his throat. He tried to think of something clever to say but his mind was buzzing like a TV screen when it goes all black and white and blizzardy. He screwed up his eyes to try and shut the buzzing out but it just grew louder and louder until suddenly he blurted:

  ‘SHUT UP, Timmy! I actually HAVE a Mechanimal! I just don’t want to play with YOU, because you’re a—’ Then Frankie said a very rude word that I mustn’t repeat.

  Timmy’s face went pink and his eyes turned into thin little slots, making his head look rather like a piggy bank. ‘Oh, really,’ he snorted. ‘Well we’ll see about that.’ Timmy lunged forward, seized Frankie’s rucksack and tipped it upside-down. Books, pencils and bits of old sandwich went tumbling onto the mucky floor of the cloakroom along with a two-pound coin that started rolling quickly away.

  ‘Hmmm . . . I don’t see any Mechanimals here,’ Timmy scoffed. The class was in fits of giggles, but Frankie wasn’t listening. He had dived to the floor to stop the coin from rolling under the lockers. He had been given it to buy some bread for dinner and couldn’t afford to lose it. Frankie’s knees skidded across the rough carpet then WALLOP! he collided heavily with a locker-door, knocking a deep dent in its side. The class howled with laughter.

  ‘What’s all this fuss?! Shhh! Quiet children!’ Mrs Pinkerton came bustling through the crowd like a pink rhinoceros and stopped in front of Frankie, her hands planted squarely on her enormous hips. ‘Frankie Blewitt!’ she honked. ‘What on earth are you doing? Look at your knees! What a mess!’

  ‘Frankie slipped over,’ said the treacherous Timmy, blinking his big, b
lue eyes. ‘It wasn’t his fault, Miss.’

  ‘Well it is very noble of you to stand up for your friend, Timmy,’ cooed Mrs Pinkerton, patting his curly head, ‘but I know trouble when I see it. Now pick up your things, Frankie, and go home!’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘NOW, Frankie!’

  Frankie couldn’t believe the total unfairness of it all. It was SO unfair – even more unfair than the time he had got blamed for teaching the class budgie to say ‘Mrs Stinkerton’ – which he hadn’t! (Though right now he sort of wished he had.) Frankie looked around at the faces staring down at him. Timmy was standing behind the teacher mouthing something silently: Frankie – no – friends. Frankie felt his ears burn with embarrassment, but before he had the chance to say anything, the whole class snatched up their coats and, without a glance in his direction, hurtled off to Timmy’s house, sprinting and jumping and shrieking like fireworks.

  Frankie felt like a punctured balloon. He picked himself up and slowly dragged himself home. His knees were raw in the chilly September air and his cheeks stung with tears as he tried to rub them away with the itchy cuff of his school jumper.

  ‘Urrrrgh . . . stupid . . . Timmy . . .’ he muttered angrily. ‘Stupid . . . stupid . . . urrrrrgh!’ Frankie didn’t want anyone at home to see his red eyes, so he took the long route to let them cool off a bit. He always took the long route when he’d had a bad day. That was because it took him past the doors of the most marvellous, the most extraordinary, the most spectacular toyshop in the world: Marvella Brand’s Happyland.

  Marvella’s was a new addition to the village of Cramley-on-the-Crump. When the news broke that a Marvella’s was opening the local children gasped with joy. And when they heard that this Marvella’s would be the biggest in the country, the children gasped so deeply they almost turned themselves inside-out. You see, Marvella Brand’s Happyland was more than your regular toy emporium. It was an enchanted kingdom, a magical realm where all your dreams came true – dreams you hadn’t even had yet, dreams of things you didn’t even know were possible.

  Frankie stopped on the pavement outside the shop and gazed up at this magical dream castle. Brightly-coloured flags flew from masts, turrets sparkled like candied fruit, and two red-cheeked toy soldiers stood guard at the entrance. Above the door, ‘Marvella’s’ was spelt out in glittering letters and, perched on top of these was the store’s famous mascot, Teddy Manywishes, waving and smiling mechanically. The shop wasn’t yet open so the golden doors were still tightly shut. But peering through the window, Frankie could see boxes being stacked on the shelves in preparation for the grand opening. Pride of place, of course, went to the store’s star toys: the Mechanimals. Row upon gleaming row of them, like a miniature army, and leading the charge was Frankie’s favourite – a smart blue Gadget the Rabbit.

  Now you’ve probably been wondering what’s so special about Mechanimals. Well let me tell you. A Mechanimal is not just any robotic pet. It is much much more. Each and every Mechanimal is specially programmed to recognise you, its owner. From the moment it sets its electronic eyes on your beaming face, your Mechanimal becomes your most devoted friend. It doesn’t tease you, or ignore you, or sulk when you don’t share your crisps. It doesn’t tip your schoolbag out on the floor or snitch to the teacher. No, your Mechanimal thinks you are the best thing since stripy pyjamas. It will follow you to the ends of the earth and love you for as long as its batteries last – guaranteed.

  Frankie pressed his head against the cold glass of the window and sighed. He really needed a friend. Even a mechanical one would have done just fine.

  With all the teasing and trouble and grazing of knees, Frankie had almost forgotten that the next day was his tenth birthday. He closed his eyes and imagined how brilliant it would be to come downstairs and see a Gadget-the-Rabbit-shaped present on the kitchen table. But he knew it was impossible. Marvella Brand’s Happyland could make all your dreams come true, but not if you were skint. Frankie pushed his nose down into his scarf and trudged slowly home.

  Frankie Blewitt hadn’t always been skint. In fact, his parents, Mr and Mrs Blewitt, had been jolly well-off indeed. So well-off in fact that Frankie used to slurp his choco pops from a solid silver spoon. But if you know Frankie as well as I do, then you will know that, the year before, Mr and Mrs Blewitt got mixed up in some rather dodgy business that landed them both in jail. Frankie hadn’t heard from them since. Not a word. Not so much as a Christmas card. Mr and Mrs Blewitt were not exactly the nicest of parents and, as far as I’m concerned, they can stay in prison for a while longer. But with his parents gone, Frankie’s pocket money soon dried up. Mr Blewitt had taken care to stash his millions in far-flung places and Frankie did not receive a bean. Luckily for him, his old French nanny, Alphonsine, took him under her wing and Frankie had lived with her, her husband Eddie and their fluffy French poodle Colette ever since.

  Alphonsine and Eddie did not have a penny-chew between them. But being broke didn’t bother them much. After all they had seen worse – much worse – during the war many years ago.

  ‘Pffff!’ Alphonsine would splutter as she whisked her pancake mixture. ‘Do not worry about such things, little cabbage. There is worse things in life than not having the newest wotsit on the telly-box. Pffffff!’ Indeed, Alphonsine did not see the point in buying new wotsits when she could make them herself. She had spent most of the war working as a secret agent in the French Resistance and had spent much of that time sabotaging tanks and fixing bicycles. As a result she was an extremely skilled mechanic who could do pretty much anything with her spanner. If Eddie, Frankie or Colette ever needed something, Alphonsine would jump on her motorbike and head down to the local dump. There, she would scavenge for bits and bobs – a bolt here, a nut there – and hey presto! New kettle! New armchair! New bike for Frankie! But Alphonsine wouldn’t just fix things. No. She would improve them by adding special features of her own. So the kettle whistled the French national anthem when the water boiled and Frankie’s bike blew out lovely big bubbles when he turned the pedals.

  Frankie loved Alphonsine and Eddie and by the time dinner was on the table his tears had dried and he was already feeling much better. Then, as they were eating, a news report on the soon-to-be-open Marvella store flashed up on the telly.

  ‘Look!’ said Frankie. ‘There’s going to be a new Marvella’s, just down the road. How great is that!’ Eddie removed his spectacles and blinked his misty eyes.

  ‘Do you see this, Alphonsine?’ he asked, turning up the volume. Alphonsine craned her wrinkly old neck towards the television.

  ‘A Marvella’s?’ she said. ‘In Cramley-on-ze-Crump?’ Eddie nodded and Alphonsine raised her bristly white eyebrows. Frankie couldn’t work out why they were acting so strangely.

  ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Do you know something I don’t?’

  ‘Marvella’s has a long and curious history, you know,’ added Eddie.

  ‘Really?’ said Frankie, intrigued.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Alphonsine. ‘It all started many yonks ago when we were just tiny tiddlers. Tell him ze story, Eddie.’ Eddie turned off the TV and began.

  ‘When I was a small boy, there was a gentleman in the next village called Mr Crispin Whittle.’ Eddie spoke with the same precision and care that he used to spoon sugar into his tea. ‘Mr Whittle was a carpenter. He earned his living making door frames, crates and tables. But Mr Whittle found all that rather dull. So, once the day’s work was over, he would gather together the leftover wood, take it to his workshop in the forest and sit up all night long crafting the most exquisite toys imaginable.’ Eddie’s eyes shone like polished buttons. ‘Sometimes, my friends and I would go there late in the evening to see what he was making.’

  ‘What sorts of toys did he make?’ asked Frankie.

  ‘Oh, the most fabulous things you can think of: splendid castles with moats full of mechanical fish; wind-up dragons that puffed out jets of green fire; painted clockwork unicorns big enough for small pri
ncesses to ride. At first he made gifts for his nieces and nephews, but Mr Whittle couldn’t bear to see other children left out, so he was soon making gifts for everyone.’

  ‘Did he make anything for you?’ asked Frankie.

  ‘But of course!’ said Alphonsine. ‘Show him, Eddie.’ Eddie hobbled over to a dresser in the next room, rummaged around and came back holding what looked like a walnut. Frankie took it out of Eddie’s hand and inspected it. It was a walnut.

  ‘Open it,’ prompted Eddie. Frankie saw that there was a small, golden clasp at the join of the shell. He nudged it gently with his fingernail and, as the nut popped open, a tinkling waltz began to play. Frankie looked closer and saw, carved into the inside of the shell, a dozen miniature mechanical dancers sweeping around a tiny, Viennese ballroom. He was completely spellbound.

  ‘But it was not always hunky-monkey for Mr Crispin,’ said Alphonsine, taking over the story. ‘It was not long before every king and queen in Europe was wanting Mr Whittler to make toys for their little princelings. But princelings, as you know, is generally rotten eggs.’

  ‘Do you mean spoiled rotten?’ asked Frankie, trying not to giggle.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Alphonsine impatiently, ‘spoiled eggrot. And the most rottenest egg of all was His Royal Highness the Prince of Valkrania.’

  Eddie nodded and rolled his eyes in agreement. ‘Well this royal princeling,’ Alphonsine continued, ‘wants to impress all his royal friends. So he orders his mother to get him a pair of wings, made of real feathers, so that he can swoop about the sky like an eagle. Now, Mr Whittler is a toymaker, but he is not a magician. The queen, she is saying, “Do this”, “Do that”, and “I command you!” But Mr Whittler tells her, “You can command me all you like, Your Majesty, but I cannot change the laws of gravity.”

  ‘So Mr Whittler is working night after night, but no amount of cleverness will do the trick. The big day arrives and Prince Vladimir is given a most beauteous pair of eagle wings, but Mr Whittler tells him they is just for play. They is toys. The prince can flap about all he likes, he can even glide a bit, but he should not do anything knuckle-brained like jump out of his bedroom window, because gravity will get the better of him, no doubts about it! But of course the Royal Doughnut doesn’t listen. He huffs and puffs and he says to himself, “If I want to go jumping out of the window then I jolly well shall! Who does this gravity fellow think he is?” And that very afternoon, he invites all his friends to the palace, jumps out of the royal window and breaks his royal schnozz.’ Alphonsine demonstrated the prince’s crash landing with her spoon as Frankie spluttered with laughter.