The Great Brain Robbery Read online

  ‘Sure,’ said Neet, ‘but how? It’s a fortress. The whole place is alarmed. There are cameras everywhere. They’ll catch us in a flash and hand us over to Dr Gore!’ Frankie felt a panic rising in his chest as he remembered the time Dr Gore had locked him in a dark cupboard until he thought he’d go mad with fear. But Alphonsine seemed strangely calm. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a large, grubby-looking piece of paper. ‘Look what I found in ze dustbin!’ she grinned. Alphonsine spread the paper out on the table and sat back triumphantly. It was the architect’s plans for Marvella’s store.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ smiled Eddie proudly. ‘Nobody knows how to rummage in a bin like my Alfie!’

  The friends stayed up till the early hours of the morning plotting their break-in. Neet was right. It was a fortress. All the doors were heavily bolted and alarmed, and there were security cameras all the way around the building. But there was one route in – via a small air vent at the side of the shop. It looked just about wide enough for Neet and Frankie to crawl through, but there was no way Alfie or Eddie could come with them. After Alphonsine had removed the vent-cover with her trusty screwdriver Frankie and Neet would be on their own.

  It was three in the morning by the time Alphonsine’s motorbike purred to a halt outside Marvella’s. The store looked quite different at night. In the early-morning gloom, it looked less like a fairytale castle and more like an enormous black dragon. The towers and turrets ended in menacing spikes that pierced the sky and the cold light of the moon drained the rosy cheeks of the toy soldiers. Frankie felt a shudder pass through his ribcage.

  ‘Good luck, little cabbages,’ said Alphonsine. She unfixed the vent-cover then gave Frankie a leg up.

  Frankie flashed his torch into the vent shaft and gulped. The tunnel was full of cobwebs and incredibly narrow. Once you were in, there was no turning around and if you got stuck . . . well, Frankie tried not to think about it. The two friends helped each other clamber in, then they crawled and squeezed their way through, inch by inch, until they eventually dropped out into the shop.

  ‘Urrrgh, this place gives me the creeps,’ Neet whispered as they dusted themselves down and flicked off the fat little spiders they had picked up along the way.

  Frankie swung the torchlight about him. Without the music and the movement of mechanical toys, the shop felt as desolate as an empty fairground. Puppets hung twisted in the air and animal masks grimaced at them through the darkness.

  ‘Let’s get a move on, Frankie,’ Neet whispered urgently. ‘I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched.’

  Frankie had exactly the same feeling. Perhaps it was the hard, shiny eyes of all those stuffed animals. He wasn’t sure. He picked up a teddy bear and looked at it closely. ‘I think you’re right, Neet,’ he whispered. ‘Look at this.’ Buried in the bear’s eye-sockets were two tiny security cameras with blinking red centres. ‘There are cameras everywhere. Grab those masks.’

  Neet took a plastic tiger mask and Frankie slipped on a grinning monkey face. Then they stealthily made their way to the staff door at the back of the shop and climbed the stairs up to Marvella’s headquarters.

  ‘Brrr,’ shuddered Neet as they entered the slick glass corridors of Marvella’s business empire. ‘It’s chilly in here.’ The playful paraphernalia of the toyshop had disappeared and in its place were the hard lines and grey carpets of a modern office.

  ‘This is where Marvella’s employees work,’ said Frankie, spotting the diagram of the child’s brain that he had seen from the fire escape.

  Suddenly, the beam of Frankie’s torch flashed across a vision that made him shriek with fright. Looming over him was an enormous furry face with two black holes for eyes.

  ‘WAAAAAGH!’ screamed Frankie, dropping his torch and scrambling for the door.

  ‘Hang on a minute! Hang on, Frankie!’ Neet called, casting the torch back towards the source of Frankie’s terror. ‘Wait! It’s just Teddy Manywishes, look!’

  Frankie looked. Teddy Manywishes’ costume was hanging up on the coatstand, sagging and empty like an enormous chrysalis. Frankie felt quite shaken. But there was no time to waste.

  ‘Come on, Frankie,’ said Neet, ‘let’s get cracking! There’s got to be something here.’

  Neet and Frankie started to dredge through the paperwork that littered the desks and spilt out of filing cabinets. The store may have been selling toys, but there was nothing amusing about the business that went on there. Frankie yawned as he sifted through stacks of legal documents, graphs and calculations. It was like the worst kind of homework ever.

  ‘I don’t understand any of this!’ he grumbled.

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Neet, who was just as befuddled as Frankie, ‘and the sun’s coming up, look! We’re running out of time!’ But then, amongst all the papers and calculations and pie-charts, Frankie’s eye alighted on a name.

  Wesley Archibald Vernon Jones.

  It was near the top of a long list of names that looked rather like a school register.

  ‘Neet! Neety!’ cried Frankie. ‘It’s Wes’s name, look!’

  ‘Wow, Frankie, you’re right,’ gasped Neet, studying the list. ‘There couldn’t be another Wesley Archibald Vernon Jones, could there?’

  ‘I doubt it!’ said Frankie. ‘But why would they have his name?’

  Neet read the words at the top of the list out loud: ‘The Elves’.

  Frankie’s heart skipped a beat as he remembered those grinning waxen faces in the grotto.

  ‘Who are the elves?’ Neet wondered.

  ‘I thought Wes was staying with his Auntie Elv . . .’ Neet paused before she got to the end of the word.

  Frankie looked her straight in the eye. ‘There isn’t an Auntie Elvira, is there?’

  There was a creak and rumble of an elevator in motion. The two friends jumped out of their skins. Somebody was in the building! Frankie ran to the window. The sun was rising in the sky and Marvella’s employees were beginning to arrive for work.

  ‘Quickly!’ Frankie whispered in terror as they hurriedly stuffed the papers back into their files. They heard the march of footsteps down the corridor. They were trapped.

  Frankie looked frantically about him. There was a door at the side of the room. ‘This way!’ whispered Frankie, pulling Neet towards it and praying it was unlocked. They were in luck. Frankie and Neet crashed through the door and slammed it behind them, panting with fear.

  Looking about, they found themselves in a large auditorium that must have been able to hold a couple of hundred people. Frankie scanned the room for a hiding place. Against the wall stood a drinks trolley covered loosely with a white tablecloth. They both squeezed themselves under the trolley and pulled down the cloth.

  ‘What do we do now, Frankie?’ Neet gulped.

  They could hear the low chatter and the whirring of computers starting up as people arrived for work. Frankie peeked through a small gap in the tablecloth. At the front of the auditorium, behind the stage was a large screen, and on it, in swirly pink letters, were the words: ‘Project Wishlist’.

  Frankie took a deep breath.

  ‘We wait.’

  Frankie and Neet waited. And they waited. They stayed cramped under the trolley for so long that Frankie felt as if his body had been squashed into a cube like a lump of scrap metal. Then, just when he thought he might actually rust, there was a loud chatter of voices and the doors swung open. People were beginning to arrive for the meeting.

  Frankie squinted through the gap in the cloth. Men and women in suits and slick hair were filing into the room and finding seats. There was a buzz in the air and the odd burst of hearty laughter shook the room.

  ‘I heard they cracked it,’ one lady drawled through a thin pair of lips. Frankie recognised her as the woman with the tight bun that he had seen through the window of Marvella’s the week before. ‘Looks like we’re in the money.’ The man she was speaking to guffawed and smoothed the lapels of his jacket.
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  ‘I should hope so,’ he sneered. ‘We’ve thrown enough cash at it.’ The woman narrowed her eyes and turned down the corners of her mouth.

  ‘Marvella may look crazy,’ she replied, ‘but she’s as sharp as they come – you’ll see. Drink?’ Frankie and Neet held their breath as the woman stepped towards the trolley and poured a glass of water. Her shoes were as black and shiny as an oil slick and the toe was so sharply pointed it made Frankie pull back in alarm.

  ‘Who are these people?’ Frankie whispered.

  ‘Investors,’ said Neet, proud that she knew such a grown-up word. ‘They’re the people paying for all this. If Marvella sells a lot of toys, then they will make a lot of money.’

  ‘How do you know all that?’ asked Frankie, impressed.

  ‘Some of us actually listen in class, you know.’ Neet smiled, giving him a pinch on the arm.

  Suddenly the lights dimmed and the Marvella theme tune jingled over the speakers. Everybody hushed. Frankie peered through the gap in the cloth. Standing in the middle of the stage like a tiny Christmas fairy was the big boss of the global toy trade, the queen of games and gadgets, the high priestess of presents – Marvella Brand.

  Marvella may have been no bigger than a garden gnome, but her porcelain stillness commanded absolute attention. She smiled pinkly at the audience as if she were contemplating an enormous box of chocolates and began.

  ‘Welcome,’ she tinkled, clasping her small white hands in front of her satin party dress. ‘Welcome to my marvellous toyshop, my fabulous kingdom where children’s dreams come true!’ The audience was as entranced as toddlers at a magic show. ‘We have some special treats in store for you today,’ Marvella continued, her smile spreading like strawberry jam, ‘so let’s begin!’

  Marvella clapped her hands and the room was instantly filled with the sound of sleigh-bells. Frankie and Neet peered out carefully from behind the tablecloth so that they could get a better view. The screen was flickering to life and showing a series of happy Christmas scenes: fir trees twinkled, rosy-cheeked children unwrapped presents, and happy parents beamed with joy. Then a thick, treacly voice like the ones you hear in adverts began to speak over the music.

  ‘We all know that Christmas is a special time of year,’ it oozed. ‘It is a special time for children and for their mummies and daddies. But most of all it is a special time for toyshops.’

  Frankie frowned. That didn’t sound right. The images changed to show a large wobbly graph with lots of dollar signs that Frankie could make no sense of whatsoever.

  The voice continued, ‘Christmas is not only a time for caring and sharing, it is also a time for spending. This Christmas, the Marvella Corporation is set to take the largest slice of the Christmas pudding. With your support, our team of experts has been working hard on “Project Wishlist” – a revolutionary way to make sure that Marvella’s toys are the only thing on children’s minds, this year, next year and every year to come. Yes indeed, the future is Marvella’s and the cash registers will be ringing, ringing, ringing out for Christmas!’

  A smiling Teddy Manywishes flashed up on to the screen. Frankie felt ill.

  ‘Marvella Brand’s Happyland,’ said the treacly voice. ‘We know what children want.’

  The audience stroked their chins in thought. They were impressed.

  Marvella trotted back to the centre of the stage, as if she were about to perform a tap-dance.

  ‘At Marvella’s,’ she said, placing her hands on her heart, ‘we are devoted to children’s happiness. We never stop asking ourselves: What are the little darlings thinking? What they are dreaming about? What lights up their little eyes and makes their hearts go boom?’ Marvella’s smile broke into a shower of tinkling laughter. ‘In fact,’ she continued, ‘we are so committed to making children’s dreams come true that we have tracked down one of the top brains in the world to make it all happen.’

  Frankie felt a shiver run down his spine as if somebody had dropped a dead fish down the back of his shirt. He knew what was coming next.

  ‘Will you please welcome the brains behind Project Wishlist, the gentleman whose tireless work and dedication to children has made all this possible. Move over Santa Claus. Make way for Dr Calus Gore!’

  Frankie couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Dr Calus Gore who, not so long ago, had been scurrying round a hamster wheel in 4D’s classroom was now striding on to the stage, grinning like an imp. He looked just the same as he did when he was headmaster of Crammar Grammar, only instead of his headmasterly robes he wore the sort of long white coat that doctors wear when they are about to stick a needle in your arm. The scientist’s yellowish eyes ranged over the room and his curled moustache twitched like a large black moth. Frankie frowned. No, he didn’t look exactly the same. There was something changed about him. Frankie couldn’t put a finger on what it was – until he opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he smirked. ‘Thank you, Marvella, for your most accurate introduction.’

  Frankie had to suppress a giggle. Rather than the grating tone of his headmaster days, Gore’s voice kept veering into high-pitched squeaks. Whatever scientific wizardry Dr Gore had used to transform himself back into a person had not been completely successful. Dr Gore was still part rat. His front teeth were long and pointy and Frankie could have sworn that his ears were bigger and tuftier.

  ‘He sounds just like Teddy Manywishes!’ Neet whispered. Frankie did a double-take.

  ‘Wow, you’re right!’ he replied. ‘He is Teddy Manywishes. It must have been him in that costume when he came to visit the school!’ Frankie shivered to think that his old enemy had been so close and he hadn’t even known it.

  Dr Gore pressed the tips of his bony fingers together as he waited for the audience to settle.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, jutting his chin in the air, ‘I like to think of myself as an explorer!’

  Oh here we go! thought Frankie, sensing that Dr Gore was about to launch into one of his lectures. We’ll be stuck here for ages.

  The scientist sucked a lungful of air slowly through his narrow nostrils. ‘. . . An explorer of the mind.’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘The mind of the child is a ghastly place,’ he continued. ‘I know. I have seen it. Children may look like harmless little gnomes, but believe me, there are sinister things lurking inside those tiny heads.’

  There was a splutter of nervous laughter. Who was this strange fellow?

  ‘Beneath those blond curls,’ Dr Gore went on, ‘between those pink ears, is a primitive jungle full of hidden dangers and creeping with monsters!’

  ‘What is he on about?’ said Neet.

  ‘Search me,’ said Frankie. ‘I never understand a word he says.’

  ‘Who here has read a child’s story or seen a child’s drawing?’ asked Dr Gore, lifting two bristling eyebrows. A number of hands went up. ‘Well then, you will know that a child’s mind is full of the most abysmal nonsense. Fairy stories, magic, clowns, talking animals – children have no sense of reality whatsoever!’ Dr Gore’s moustache was twitching so fast Frankie thought it might fly off and flutter round the room like a bat. ‘But I, Dr Calus Gore, have fearlessly ventured into this wilderness and I shall tell you what I saw.’

  The audience shifted in their seats, intrigued by the weird brilliance of the speaker.

  The scientist flicked on the video projector and a large picture of a child’s brain appeared on the screen. It was divided into different colour-coded areas and at the centre was a large dark spot. ‘As you can see,’ Gore sniffed, ‘the child’s brain has only a few basic functions. This part . . .’ Gore tapped the green area with his fingernail, ‘. . . is for problem-solving. Children mostly use it for pointless activities like jigsaw puzzles.’ He gave a snort of contempt. ‘The pink area here,’ he continued, ‘is for inventing things or, in other words, making up the most appalling drivel. You would not believe the ludicrous creations I have encountered there: green horses, talking
toothbrushes, flying monkeys in bowler hats!’

  The audience laughed, but Dr Gore did not see the funny side.

  Widening his yellow eyes, Gore pointed to the mysterious dark zone at the centre of the diagram. ‘But it is here . . .’ he said in hushed tones, ‘that I have discovered the deepest, darkest possibilities of the child’s mind. This is the part of the mind that makes the child the person they are. It is the core, the keystone, the smouldering volcano at the centre of the island. It is where we find their most secret thoughts, their most intense feelings and their most precious memories. It is this that we must colonise if we are to win the race to Christmas!’ Dr Gore was so worked up that Frankie thought he could see a plume of steam rising from the dome of his head.

  The audience muttered amongst themselves. They weren’t yet sure what to make of this odd chap and his even odder ideas. ‘I’m not sure where he’s going with this,’ whispered one.

  ‘I hope Marvella knows what she’s doing,’ muttered another, ‘or it’ll cost us.’

  Then a silver-haired man who had been huffing and puffing for the past few minutes lost his patience and thrust his hand into the air. ‘This is all well and good, Professor,’ he began, in a voice that sounded like the stomping of boots, ‘but what we want to know is how all this is going to pay off. How is it going to make us money?’

  There was a general nodding of heads.

  ‘I believe Dr Gore is just getting to that.’ Marvella smiled frostily. ‘Aren’t you, Dr Gore?’

  Dr Gore grimaced and narrowed his eyes. He could see that he was surrounded by idiots. ‘Of course,’ he hissed through his enormous front teeth. ‘The first stage of Project Wishlist is complete. We have extracted the mind-matter from the core of children’s brains and stored it on a database.’

  ‘That’s what the Mechanimals are for,’ whispered Frankie, remembering his own memory flashing on to the screen in Marvella’s creepy computer lab. ‘They’ve been robbing our brains and beaming our thoughts back here.’