Eddy Stone and the Mean Genie's Curse Read online

  “Blimey – you’re way out of date. He’s long gone. Now it’s his son, Gumpert the Generous – long may he reign.”

  “So the Emperor gives you everything on these stalls?” said Eddy. “He must be fantastically rich.”

  “That’s not it,” said the man. “I mean, yes, he is fantastically rich. It is said that he blows his nose on sheets of gold. But it’s his genie. Every day the Emperor tells the Genie to clear the city of all the old stuff that everyone has thrown away, and make new things for us to take. Food, clothes, useful household items, even knick-knacks, doodahs and thingummywotsits – you name it, we get it for nothing. So no one needs to work any more. We just sit around all day finding ways to fill in the time.”

  “And you do colouring in?” said Hen.

  “Not just colouring in, obviously,” said the man. “That would be a terrible waste of the day. No. Sometimes I hum. Or twiddle my thumbs. I’ve even been known to do both at once, if I’m feeling very energetic.”

  “Here I come!” It was Mitzee. She was wearing a long pale purple silk shirt, a pair of baggy blue trousers, and had a selection of pink and red scarves draped round her neck. And she was carrying a full bag in each hand.

  “Take these, would you, Babes?” She tossed the bags at Eddy. “Just a couple of spare outfits. I’m not going to ask you how I look, because I already know. Fan-tas-tic. What are we doing now, then?”

  “I’d like to know that, too,” said Hen.

  “I think we should start with the Emperor and his genie,” said Eddy. “If it’s the same genie who put the curse on Wizard Witterwort, we might be able to get him to take it off. Where will we find the Emperor?” he asked the man.

  “In his palace of course. It’s over there. Big thing. You can’t miss it.”

  They didn’t miss the palace.

  They couldn’t have missed it if they had tried. It stood behind a tall wall that shone in the sun like polished silver – mainly because it was made of polished silver. Over the top of that wall they could see a thicket of towers and spires and domes that bristled into the sky.

  A great wooden door stood in the wall. Two men were sitting in front of it. They were wearing smart cream-coloured suits, and playing a game with coloured stones on a board.

  “Excuse me,” Eddy called to them. “We’d like to see the Emperor, please.”

  “I’m sure you would,” said one of the men, without looking up from his game. “Question is, would the Emperor like to see you?”

  “Have you got an invitation?” said the second man, moving one of the stones.

  “No,” said Eddy. “But…”

  “Well, then, there’s your answer,” said the first man. “Off you go.”

  “Now what?” said Hen. “We’ll never get over that wall. So if these guys won’t open the gate for us, we’re stuck.”

  “Go to the golden temple.” Eddy jumped with surprise. The voice belonged to a figure who was standing beside him, where Eddy was sure a moment ago there had been no one at all. The figure was dressed from head to foot in a black robe, with a hood that hung over his head and completely shadowed his features, leaving only the two ends of a long curled moustache showing. “Five. Twenty-six. Forty-three. Finish,” the man added.

  He pointed to his left. Eddy turned, and saw that he was indicating a street that ran away from the corner of the palace wall.

  When Eddy turned back, the figure had gone, as swiftly and silently as he had arrived.

  “What was that?” said Hen.

  “I don’t know,” said Eddy. “Except that it was a message. Two messages got us here – maybe this third one is telling us what we need to do now.”

  “And what about five, twenty-six, forty-three, finish? Do you think it’s some sort of code?” said Hen.

  “Could be,” said Eddy. “Or a combination to open a door or a safe or something. If we can find this golden temple, then perhaps everything will be clear.”

  “It shouldn’t be hard to spot,” said Hen. “A golden temple doesn’t sound like the sort of thing that you can hide.”

  But if it wasn’t hiding, it was certainly doing a very good job of blending in. Eddy, Hen and Mitzee searched along the street that the stranger had pointed to. They found brightly painted houses, cafes with tables and chairs to soak up the sun, and shaded courtyards where fountains bubbled among fruit trees. All of it looked like it belonged in a holiday brochure, and none of it looked anything like a golden temple.

  “We must have missed it,” said Eddy.

  “Or that stranger was just messing with us,” said Hen.

  “I’m going to find someone to ask,” said Eddy.

  “Well I need a rest,” said Mitzee. “We’ve been walking for ages.”

  “There are some chairs over there,” said Eddy, “in front of that cafe. Perhaps they wouldn’t mind if you – wait a minute.”

  “I don’t want to wait a minute,” said Mitzee. “I want to sit down now.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Eddy. “Look what that sign says.”

  He pointed to a painted sign that was hanging in the front window of the cafe.

  “I see it,” said Hen. “And the letters say squiggle, squirl, sort of triangle with legs, and that last one looks a bit like an h that someone sat on.”

  “Oh, you can’t read their alphabet, can you?” said Eddy. “Well I can’t read anything else thanks to my wish, and what I can read on that sign is ‘The Golden Temple Cafe’.”

  “You mean that’s it?” said Hen. “That’s what we’ve been looking for?”

  “Let’s go and find out,” said Eddy.

  The bell above the door clanged as he led the way into the cafe.

  “Hello.” A small round man with a shock of ginger hair and a bushy ginger beard stepped towards them. “Can I help you?” he asked in a husky voice.

  “That depends,” said Eddy. “What would you say if I said five, twenty-six, forty-three, finish?”

  “I would say, excellent choice. Your food will be ready soon. Please take a seat.” He turned and walked away.

  “At last,” said Mitzee. She plonked herself down on a chair.

  “I think I’ve just ordered lunch,” said Eddy. “Those numbers must be things that are on the menu.”

  “We don’t want lunch,” Hen called to the man. “We want to know the meaning of our code.”

  “What if this is the code?” said Eddy. “What if it means that if we eat the food, we’ll find out what comes next.”

  “It doesn’t sound very likely,” said Hen. “But as I’ve already fallen out of the bottom of a bed and landed in a strange city where I’m sitting with a doll that has come to life and a boy who released a wizard and his curse, I think ‘likely’ is probably having a day off. And anyway, I’m hungry.”

  The waiter returned carrying a large metal tray. He put a jug of water and three glasses on the table, followed by three bowls of steaming liquid.

  “Number five,” he said. “Your starter. Soup of the day. And for this soup, the day was last Thursday.”

  The soup was thick and grey and had a smell that was part hot Labrador, part stagnant duck pond and altogether quite unpleasant.

  “What’s it made of?” Eddy asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “Leftovers,” said the waiter.

  “What sort of leftovers?” said Hen.

  “Soup,” said the waiter.

  “So it’s soup made from old soup?” said Eddy.

  “Exactly,” said the waiter.

  “Babes, it looks lovely,” Mitzee lied, “but could I just have an omelette and a green salad?”

  “No,” said the waiter.

  Eddy dipped his spoon into the dingy liquid and took a cautious sip. The smell made him think that it would taste quite nasty, but it turned out that the smell was deceptive. It tasted very nasty.

  “EUGHHHH!”

  He put his spoon down again and took a large gulp of water.

 
; “But what am I thinking?” said the waiter. “Stop! You must not eat this soup!”

  Thank goodness, thought Eddy.

  “I have forgotten the garnish,” the waiter continued. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of lumps of pale yellow fat, which he scattered into the three bowls.

  “Now,” said the waiter, “enjoy!” And he stomped back towards the kitchen.

  Eddy looked at the soup. The fat had begun to melt, leaving an oily slick across its surface.

  “I hate to say this,” he said, “but the last word of the stranger’s message was ‘finish’. I think we have to eat it all if we want to find out what to do next.”

  It took a long time and many swigs of water to get through the bowl. It was quite the most horrible thing that Eddy had ever eaten.

  And it remained the most horrible thing that Eddy had ever eaten for approximately two minutes after he had put his spoon down by the empty bowl.

  Which is how long it took for the waiter to arrive with the next course.

  “Number twenty-six,” said the waiter. “Traditional pastries. An old peasant recipe from the old peasant village where my mother was an old peasant.”

  The pastries looked as large and lumpy as cobblestones. And about as appetizing.

  Eddy attacked his with a knife and fork. The pastry won.

  “They are usually eaten with fingers,” said the waiter. “But the kitchen has run out of fingers so I have to serve yours with a vegetable instead.” Then he let out a squeaky giggle. “That is a joke.”

  Unfortunately, the vegetable wasn’t a joke. It was boiled celery. It sat steaming in its serving dish, pale and floppy. Eddy’s least favourite vegetable of all. The big stick of tongue-punishment.

  Eddy picked up the pastry and bit down on the hard crust. It crunched into pieces, and he took a mouthful of the filling. Cold, slimy jelly slithered over his tongue. The taste reminded him of old fish and vinegar and a hint of toothpaste. And not in a good way.

  Groans came from either side as Hen and Mitzee did the same.

  “BLEAH. And I thought the flavours Crispy invents were bad,” said Hen. “Compared to this, even his egg and chutney potato twirls were delicious. And they were really horrid.”

  Eating was slow and miserable work. Every time Eddy took a bite of pastry, he just about managed to convince himself that a mouthful of celery would take the awful fishy taste away. And every time he swallowed a forkful of celery, he just about managed to convince himself that another chunk of pastry could only taste better. Finally, he cleared his plate.

  But before he had even had a moment to feel satisfied that the main course was over, the waiter was back.

  “Pudding time!” he shouted. “Forty-three – ice cream.” He plonked down three tall glasses full of the pale yellow dessert.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad, Eddy thought. Surely they can’t make a mess of ice cream?

  But they could. It was sour, and cheesy, and as it melted on his tongue it left behind bits of grit and fluff that made his mouth feel like he had been licking out a Hoover bag.

  But at last it was over. His spoon rattled in an empty glass. He took a huge gulp of water to wash all the bits of gunk off his teeth, and hoped that he wasn’t going to be sick.

  “You have finished,” said the waiter. “And three courses, too. Most people only manage one. Well, that is a little fib. Most people don’t even manage one. I think they are not used to our special spices and flavours. But you have done so well. So now, here is a little extra something.”

  “No more,” said Eddy. “Please, don’t make us eat anything else.”

  “It is not food,” said the waiter.

  “Neither was that lunch,” said Hen with a groan.

  The waiter pulled an envelope from his pocket and put it down in front of Mitzee.

  “I give this to the prettiest at the table. It is another of our traditions. For you, lovely lady.”

  Mitzee opened the envelope.

  “It’s just squiggles,” she said.

  “Just squiggles to you,” said Eddy.

  “And just squiggles to you, too,” said Mitzee. “Don’t be rude.”

  “I mean,” said Eddy, “it may not make sense to you, but I can probably understand it. Let me see.”

  He took the card and read out what was written on it.

  “Do you think that invitation is genuine?” said Hen. “I thought an emperor would be more formal and serious.”

  “Maybe he is not dull and dreary like other emperors,” said the waiter. “Maybe he is an all-round super guy and more fun than a sackful of squirrels. But what would I know about it, I am only a humble waiter in a traditional cafe.”

  “Well there’s only one way to find out,” said Eddy.

  “Follow me, please.” The gatekeeper in the cream-coloured suit handed the invitation back to Mitzee. He was sounding a lot more polite than the last time they had met at the front of the palace. He pushed open the heavy gate, and led Eddy, Hen and Mitzee into the palace courtyard.

  “Be careful how you go,” he said, as they walked across the tiled floor towards a broad stone staircase.

  “What do you mean?” said Eddy.

  “Well, for starters,” said the gatekeeper, “look out for the tripwire just below the first step.”

  “I see it,” said Eddy. “What’s it for?”

  “In just a moment, sir. First, please hop over the fifth step. We don’t want to set that one off.”

  “Set what off?” said Hen.

  “The high pressure hosepipe, miss. The Emperor enjoys keeping us all on our toes. Now if you would like to follow me through here.”

  There was a grand archway at the top of the stairs. A heavy blue and gold curtain hung across it. The gatekeeper pushed the cloth to one side. They just had time to glimpse a dazzling room beyond, that was covered from floor to ceiling in beaten gold, when—

  A wodge of something white and sticky hit the gatekeeper full in the face.

  “Oh,” he said. “That’s a new one.”

  “Are you okay?” said Eddy. “I think you’re bleeding.”

  A thick trickle of red ran down from the gatekeeper’s forehead, through the white mush and over his nose and mouth.

  The gatekeeper stuck out his tongue and licked round his lips.

  “Raspberry jam, I believe, sir. To go with the rice pudding. But thank you for your concern. Most kind.”

  “Ingenious,” said Hen. She was holding up the bottom corner of the curtain. “A thread from here runs back to a little cannon just over there. One tug releases a pin that sets off a spring that pings a flint that makes a spark that lights the gunpowder and BANG.”

  “Not to mention splat, miss,” the gatekeeper added.

  “Ha ha!” A short round man wearing a swirly-patterned shirt, baggy red trousers and gold-coloured shoes studded with jewels bounced into view. A tall figure in hooded dark robes padded a few steps behind him. “I so got you!” the short round man said.

  “Indeed, Majesty. Your Majesty so did get me,” said the gatekeeper. “And most amusing it was.” He didn’t sound amused at all. “Permission to have a wash, Majesty.”

  “Yes, yes, run along. Now – Hello! Hello! Hello! to you three visitors. Come on in.” He led the way into the golden room.

  “And hello to you,” said Eddy. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I should be calling you, but I guess you must be the Emperor?”

  “That’s me,” said the Emperor. “And what you should be calling me is His Incredibly Imperial Majesty Gumpert the Generous, Wise Judge and Leader, Protector of His People, Occupant of the Whopping Great Golden Throne, Lord of All He Surveys and a Heck of a Lot Further As Well, and All-Round Fun Guy. That’s what it says on the door of the throne room. It’s a very big door. But that’s a bit formal. And long. Slows down conversation no end to have to keep saying it. So you can call me Bob.”

  “Bob?” said Eddy. “Why Bob?”

  “Why n
ot?” said the Emperor. “It’s a good name. Short. To the point. Doesn’t mess around. I’ve always liked it.”

  The hooded figure coughed quietly.

  “Oh, yes,” said the Emperor. “And this is my genie. The mighty Genie of the Baked Bean Tin.”

  “The Baked Bean Tin?” said Eddy. “I’ve never heard of a Genie of the Baked Bean Tin.”

  “Some genies get rings,” said the Genie, in a booming voice. “Some get lamps. Some get other things. It’s no big deal. I am Bimbambombadour, Maker of Miracles and Worker of Wonders, Commander of the Four Winds and the Seven Seas…”

  “Blah, blah!” said the Emperor. “He goes on for hours like this if you let him. You can call him Bob, too.”

  “Won’t that get confusing?” said Eddy.

  “I do hope so,” said the Emperor. “It might lead to all sorts of entertaining misunderstandings and mix-ups. In fact, to make it even more likely that we’ll get in a complete muddle, I’m going to call you two Bob as well.” He pointed at Eddy and Hen. “You on the other hand –” he looked at Mitzee – “I’m going to call absolutely gorgeous.”

  Mitzee said nothing, but giggled.

  “Why would you want to get into a muddle?” said Eddy.

  “Because, Bob, it’s so boring when everything goes to plan,” said the Emperor. “And thanks to Genie Bob here, everything always goes to plan. No matter how daft. I’ll show you. O, Genie of the Baked Bean Tin.”

  “Yes, master,” said the Genie. “What is your command?”

  “Let’s think – um – I want a chicken that lays bananas, a mint-flavoured hat and a small raincloud in that corner over there.”

  “Your wish, oh master, is my command – even if it is utterly stupid.”

  “Less of the chat, thank you,” said the Emperor. “I may be the nicest master you’ve ever had, but that doesn’t mean you can be cheeky.”

  The Genie spread out his arms and began to mutter under his breath.

  “Are you the nicest master he’s ever had?” said Hen.

  “I’m certainly nicer than my dad, Gumpert the Glorious. It was all self, self, self with him. And grandad, Gumpert the Ghastly, was an absolute stinker. When I inherited the throne and the genie, I was determined to be nothing like them and to use the magic for the good of all the people. No one would want for food or clothes or a roof over their heads.”