The Fabulous Phartlehorn Affair Read online

  Bruno wasted no time in setting to work with the elixir. There was just enough liquid in the water bottle to pour a tiny drop onto every canapé. It was a much lower dosage than had been given to Monsieur Zidler, and Bruno hoped fervently that it would be enough.

  “Right,” he said, sprinkling out the last drop. “Back to the dormitory.”

  Humbert suddenly clutched at Bruno’s arm. “Someone’s coming!”

  Before they could think of a place to hide, a Trumpenhund bounded into the room, running so fast that its enormous paws skidded on the polished flagstone tiles. Sir Oswald was hot on its heels. The children cowered behind the open fridge door.

  “Aha!” roared the knight. “What have we here, then? Two little mice come to steal crumbs from the kitchen?”

  Bruno’s brain was racing as fast as his heart. How could they explain what they were doing out of bed? Humbert was no use. He was just standing there twiddling the ring on his little finger. Then, to Bruno’s surprise, his classmate found his voice.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” said Humbert. “I know we’re not meant to be out of bed. But we were only looking for some Stunkenstew. You see, I’ve been having a few problems with my phartling. I thought an extra portion might help. Bruno said he’d come with me because I’m afraid of the dark.

  Sir Oswald looked stern. “By rights, I should have you both thrown into the dungeon.” He chuckled to himself. “But it’s getting rather crowded down there! Since you were only keen to put in a good performance, just this once I shall overlook it. Now, back to the dormitory before I change my mind!”

  The two boys needed no further encouragement. They ran back to their room as fast as their legs would carry them.

  “That was amazing,” panted Bruno. “How did you think up a lie on the spot like that?”

  “Just practice.” Humbert shrugged. Although as you know, there was more truth in his lie than he cared to admit.

  34

  The Duke’s Guest of Honour

  The day of the gala concert had arrived.

  An hour earlier, under the watchful eyes of the knights, the children had eaten their last bowl of Stunkenstew. They were pretty sure it wasn’t poisoned, but they still found it hard to swallow. In vain, Bruno searched the serving knights’ faces for some small sign of guilt or second thoughts. Instead he read there nothing but excitement. As they ate, the children heard the sound of helicopters whirring overhead.

  “Aha!” pronounced Sir Oswald. “Here come our celebrity guests!”

  After lunch the children were sent to polish their phartlehorns and change into freshly laundered suits. Then they joined the glamorous throng hobnobbing in the courtyard of the Chateau Mistral. The mosaics on the walls flared gold in the late afternoon sun. Rose petals had been scattered across the ground. Bunting hung from the castle turrets. The children hovered together in an anxious circle. The guests were beautiful, but there was something ghoulish about them, too. They looked dead behind the eyes, as if they had witnessed things too horrible to imagine.

  Bruno looked nervously around. Where were the waiters with the canapés?

  “Oh my goodness!” whispered Grace. “Look who’s over there!” Bruno followed her finger. He started in shock. Dressed in a sheaf of crimson silk was a woman he’d last seen not four days before.

  “It’s Desiree Draws,” murmured Xanadu.

  It was, and it seemed the American actress had eyes for no one but the duke. She was hanging off his arm and onto his every word. The duke was dressed for the occasion in flowing pink robes. For once he had dispensed with his trusty moustache-bearers. Instead, the ends of the Royal Moustache were attached to the cuffs of his shirt with pink satin bows.

  “I can’t believe that someone like her would be in on this,” said Natasha. “She looks so wholesome. That dress is from Chanel, you know.”

  Grace pulled a face. “My mum always says that famous people get up to some strange things. Now I understand what she means. What’s wrong with normal hobbies like gardening or bird-watching?”

  The duke noticed the children staring. He beckoned them over. Reluctantly, they crossed the courtyard to greet him.

  “I see you’ve spotted this year’s guest of honour,” he said with a wink. “Now, don’t be shy. This is Ms Draws’ f-f-first time in Phartesia and she was just telling me how she’d love to meet the children before the concert.” He gave a peculiar giggle. “I’m afraid you won’t have much of a chance to talk to her afterwards.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Grace muttered to herself.

  The duke pushed Bruno forward. “Allow me to present our f-f-formidable solo phartiste. A young man of quite f-f-ferocious talent!”

  The actress beamed down at Bruno. Her eyelashes twitched like spiders’ legs as she spoke in her slow Southern drawl. “Now, isn’t he the cutest thing? Won’t you just look at his bushy eyebrows and sticky-out ears? Why, Dukey, if you hadn’t discovered him first, I’d snap him up for a part in my next movie!” She turned to Grace. “And what’s your role, sweetheart?”

  Grace opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The duke spoke for her.

  “Miss Chalk will phartle the lead canon in Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. Xanadu and Natasha here will accompany.” He did not mention Humbert, but for once the bully was happy to go unnoticed. He cowered behind the others, not speaking.

  Desiree Draws squealed with delight. “Canons? Why, Dukey, that’s inspired! Well, now I think that’s going to be my favourite part.”

  “Oh, really?” Xanadu’s smile was as fake as the starlet’s nails. “I’d never have guessed.”

  Bruno glanced around the courtyard and breathed a sigh of relief. Waiters were weaving in and out, refilling the guests’ glasses and handing round trays of poisoned canapés. As fast as the waiters could bring them out, the guests gobbled them down. Bruno prayed that the dosage would be strong enough to work. The effect on Monsieur Zidler had been almost instant. But he’d swallowed a whole bottle of the elixir. What if the guests failed to explode before the end of the concert? They’d travelled a long way to get their warped musical kicks. If they didn’t, who could predict what the duke would do to save face?

  Over by the entrance to the West Tower, Bruno could see the Countess Strudel flirting with a famous Latin American pop star. Was it Bruno’s imagination, or had he once read some strange rumours about this man? Something about a dead body and a champagne-filled jacuzzi?

  As the countess raised a poisoned vol-au-vent to her rosebud lips, Bruno felt a pang of guilt. Then he remembered her face in the photographs. How she’d danced a little jig of joy as the exploding children sailed through the air. Bruno felt Grace nudge him gently in the ribs. He looked up to see a waiter approaching with a tray.

  “Care to try a canapé, Ms Draws?” asked the duke, proffering a miniature strawberry tart.

  “Well now, Dukey, you know I couldn’t. As we say in Texas, a moment on the lips costs a fortune at the surgeon’s.” She flung back her head and let out a peel of laughter. Then, parting her scarlet lips into a honeyed smile, she bent down to Bruno. “How’s about you eat mine for me, cutie?”

  All five children blanched. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  “No, thanks,” gulped Bruno. “I’m, er, feeling a bit queasy. Stage fright.”

  “Ah, well, that’s all right, sweetie. I’ll just find a waiter to take it away.”

  The duke snatched the canapé from Ms Draws. He crouched down beside Bruno. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s bad manners to refuse a gift?”

  Suddenly, the duke’s smile had turned into a snarl. He pushed the canapé towards Bruno’s face. “Eat it!” he ordered.

  Bruno shook his head. “Sorry,” he said through closed lips, “but I’m really not hungry.”

  “Honestly, Dukey,” begged Ms Draws, “don’t make the boy eat it if he doesn’t want to.”

  But the duke was not to be denied his sport. Helpless, the other children watched
as he squeezed Bruno’s cheeks between his jewelled white fingers. Bruno’s lips opened into a squashed ellipse. The duke forced in the canapé.

  “There now,” he said, holding his hand over Bruno’s face long enough for to him swallow. “Don’t tell me that wasn’t f-f-fabulous.”

  Bruno couldn’t speak.

  Desiree Draws dragged on the duke’s arm to steer him away from the children. Just then, Sir Oswald appeared and stopped the duke in his tracks. “Your Majesty. May I have a word with you in private?”

  “What is it?” demanded the duke. “Can’t you see I’ve got company?”

  Sir Oswald nodded at Desiree Draws. “I’m sorry to interrupt, ma’am. But I really do think, Your Majesty, that it would be better if we talked in private.”

  The starlet pouted, flicking back her golden waves of hair. “Come now, soldier, you’re not going to take my Dukey away from me, are you? Not when I’ve flown all this way just to see him. Why, I’m sure there’s nothing you can’t say in front of a harmless gal like me and these five innocent little children. You’re not keeping secrets from me, are you, Dukey?”

  The duke had turned as pink as a sugared almond. “You know I could never keep secrets f-f-from you, Ms Draws. What is it you want to tell me, Sir Oswald?”

  The Phartesian Chief of Security stood to attention. “Very well,” he said. “I am afraid the prisoners we caught last night are causing something of a disturbance. They have been attempting to fight their way out of the dungeon. One of my guards has sustained a rather painful injury in a rather personal place.”

  “Well then, what are you standing here f-f-for?” barked the duke. “Get rid of them! And since we have guests, I trust I can rely on you to deal with the matter discreetly?”

  Sir Oswald nodded and turned to walk away. “Stop!” cried Desiree Draws. “Deal with them discreetly? Why now, Dukey, don’t you dare! A man as powerful as you should never do anything discreetly. Do things discreetly and folks might get the impression you care what they think. A powerful man like you should deal with anyone who disobeys you right out in the open.”

  The duke clapped his jewelled hands in glee. “What a splendid idea!” he squealed. “Now come along, Ms Draws, I must introduce you to my daughter.”

  Hand in hand, they walked off across the courtyard to where Strudel was still fawning over the pop star.

  “Quick!” whispered Grace as soon as they were out of earshot. “Spit it out!”

  Xanadu clapped Bruno on the back as he coughed the soggy strawberry tart up into his hand.

  “I tried not to swallow any,” he gasped. “But it’s hard to be sure. What if I’ve eaten enough for the elixir to work on me?”

  Natasha looked nervous. “Don’t be silly,” she said, struggling to sound like her normal cynical self. “That tart looks as good as new to me. I’m sure there’s not a single crumb missing.”

  Bruno stared down at the pink and beige mush in his hand. “Thanks for trying. But we all know that’s a lie.” He paused. “The thing is, the tart’s not the only thing worrying me. What if the guests don’t start exploding before the end of the concert? There’s no way they’ll leave Phartesia without witnessing the destruction they’ve come to see. All the knights would have to do would be to give us another dose of the elixir.”

  Grace’s face was determined. “Bruno,” she said. “I think it’s time to resort to Plan C.”

  “There’s a Plan C? Brilliant! What is it?”

  “Stay calm and keep our fingers crossed.”

  35

  This Year’s Solo Phartiste!

  “Thirty seconds to go!” called a stagehand.

  Darkness engulfed the Phartling Hall, where everyone was now gathered, ready for the concert to begin. At the flick of a switch a single spotlight illuminated the Royal Box. The audience fell silent.

  Into the golden circle of light flounced the duke. He lifted his hands, unfurling the twin strands of his moustache like a pair of silver wings.

  “My dear f-f-friends,” he declared, “it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to our annual Grand Gala Concert! As always, I can promise you an evening of truly explosive entertainment!”

  The audience guffawed with laughter.

  Bruno stood behind the velvet curtains, prickling with rage. Now that he finally understood the duke’s jokes, he knew how deadly serious they were. He glanced over at Grace. She was staring nervously down at her fingers, all of which were crossed. Behind her, as if for protection, Xanadu, Humbert and Natasha clutched their phartlehorns tightly to their chests.

  “In keeping with the glorious traditions of Phartesia,” continued the duke, “the concert will begin with the f-f-famous aria from The Magic Phartlehorn. So, without f-f-further ado, if you could please join me in giving a warm welcome to this year’s solo phartiste, Bruno Pockley!”

  As the curtains rolled back, the applause from the audience was deafening. Now the spotlight shone directly on Bruno. He squinted out into the sea of faces. It was hard to make out much, but sitting in the front row he could just about recognize the beautiful Desiree Draws.

  The duke flicked down with his baton and the countess struck up the first tune on the piano.

  There was nothing Bruno could do but play. His fingers fumbled for their place on the keys. He took a deep breath and blasted out through his phartlehorn: Parp, parp, parpagena.

  The audience gasped. Never before had they heard such a talent!

  Despite everything, Bruno felt a sudden surge of pride. Instinctively he knew that he could control the emotions of every single person in the room in the way that the moon controls the sea. For five blissful minutes he abandoned himself to the music. The walls of the Phartling Hall echoed with the sound of breaking wind. Bruno’s worries floated away on the ebbs and flows of his own exquisite expulsions.

  Then it was over. There was a moment’s silence before the audience erupted. They jumped to their feet. They whooped and hollered and whistled and cheered. Tears formed in Bruno’s eyes. This was all he had ever wanted. To phartle in front of an audience. To have his talent appreciated. If only Grandpa Trevor and his parents had been there to hear him play.

  But Grandpa Trevor was far away, back on The Jolly Codger with Chippy.

  And his parents were dead and gone.

  36

  The Grand Finale

  The countess had moved on to the next tune. Bruno halfheartedly joined in. Already he could sense the adrenalin trickling out through his toes. Never again would he know such happiness.

  Now that Bruno’s moment in the sun was over, he felt his fears mount up like overdue homework. Even now a poisoned crumb from the strawberry tart could be whizzing its way around his intestines, casting spells upon his cells and preparing to send him hurtling into the air. And why oh why had no one in the audience started to explode?

  “Air on the G String” passed without incident. As the orchestra performed the opening interlude of Wagner’s Ring Cycle, Bruno scanned the sea of faces in a vain attempt to spot a trace of discomfort. But everyone he could see looked bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked.

  He glanced across at Grace. Her face was white with terror as she waited to play. Bruno could guess what she was thinking: they should have tried to escape while they still had the chance.

  “There’s no way out now,” she whispered, catching his eye. “The doors to the Phartling Hall are locked. If people don’t start exploding soon, we’re finished!”

  All too soon, the first movement of Wagner’s Ring Cycle had come to an end. Next on the bill was the 1812 Overture: the piece in which the children would phartle the part of the canons; the piece in which they were due to go up in smoke.

  Bruno felt a strange fizzing in his stomach. He prayed that it was just fear, and not the elixir starting to take effect.

  The duke turned to face the audience. “Dearest f-f-friends,” he declared, “I trust that you have enjoyed our concert so f-f-far. Now we come to the part f-f-for which
I know you have all been waiting. I am delighted to announce an unexpected addition to tonight’s programme. Some political prisoners have been attempting to escape from my dungeons. I was going to deal with them in private, but our guest of honour, Ms Desiree Draws, has suggested that you might all like to witness the spectacle of their deaths!”

  The audience roared their approval.

  “What’s going on?” whispered Natasha. “What’s he talking about? Why haven’t the audience started to explode? I told you we should have made a run for it!”

  Grace looked down at the floor.

  “If we’d done that, we’d have been caught for certain,” said Bruno, rushing to her defence.

  Sir Oswald marched the prisoners out onto the stage. Bruno’s breath caught in his throat. They were huddled together so tightly that it was hard to make out all their faces. But three of them looked just like Grandpa Trevor and his parents! His stomach lurched with nausea. The poisoned canapé must be playing tricks on his mind.

  Grace stumbled forwards as if she was about to faint. “Mum! Dad!” she managed to gasp.

  Bruno looked on in bewildered horror as the prisoners were ordered to kneel. The audience was on its feet now, jeering and baying for blood.

  “Noooo!” screamed Bruno, coming to his senses. “Stop! Please stop!”

  But it was too late. Sir Oswald was already standing over Grandpa Trevor and drawing his sword. There was nothing Bruno could do. A phalanx of knights barred his way.

  Then Bruno saw a woman in red jump up from the front row and dart across the stage. Whipping off a red-soled stiletto, she flung it like a spear towards Sir Oswald’s head. He let out a screech of pain as the heel spiked him in the back of his skull.

  “Take zat, you brute!” she yelled in a strong French accent.

  Gobsmacked, Bruno watched as the woman scissor-kicked the sword from the knight’s hand. Snatching it up from the ground, she bravely fought back the other knights who were now rushing towards her. It was Desiree Draws! But why did she sound French? And why was she trying to save them?