Free Fennymore and the Brumella by Kirsten Reinhardt

obviously done a bunk. It definitely wasn’t funny.
    He cleared his throat but said nothing.
    Then Herr Muckenthaler read:
I’ve got Fizzy. If you want to rescue her, bring the tin. This evening. Uhrengasse.
    Dr R. U.
    If you want to rescue her. This evening. Uhrengasse. How come he hadn’t been able to work that out for himself? Fennymore’s heart beat faster.
    â€˜Herr Muckenthaler, we have to go. We have to …’
    The teacher gestured towards Beardy, who was standing at the window now, muttering to himself.
    â€˜Hourgood. In a hood,’ he was saying softly to himself, looking seriously into the garden. ‘Seldom good, seldom good,’ he muttered on, almost inaudibly, and Fennymore could see a tear glistening on his cheek.
    * * *
    It took a while to convince Herr Muckenthaler that they had to do something. He was fascinated by Hubert and the way he would materialise. He kept asking Fennymore to repeat details about how that happened.
    â€˜Interesting, most interesting,’ he kept murmuring and then he would stand up to look something up in one of the books on the bookshelves. Then he’d give a little nod and stare into the distance. Beardy had that effect on him too. He kept trying to get him to talk. A few times, Beardy had let out something in rhyme, and Herr Muckenthaler had seemed very impressed and had made notes.
    â€˜Very interesting, Fennymore. A very special case. He is very intelligent. You can tell from his utterances. Was your father very mathematical?’
    Fennymore did eventually manage to get his teacher to concern himself first and foremost with Fizzy and the letter.
    â€˜Right then,’ Herr Muckenthaler said, slamming his book shut. ‘So what’s in this tin, then?’
    The tin! Fennymore had almost forgotten about the tin. Reluctantly, he handed it over to Herr Muckenthaler. Herr Muckenthaler weighed it in his hand and looked curiously at Fennymore.
    â€˜I don’t really know,’ Fennymore said. ‘It all happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to open it. I think it’s Aunt Elsie’s valuables.’
    Herr Muckenthaler clicked his tongue and held the tin out to Fennymore. ‘You’re the one who should open it,’ he said. ‘After all, it’s yours now.’
    Fennymore took the tin in both hands. Most of the dust had been rubbed off it by now. Carefully, he placed his thumbs under the lid and pushed it up. In the tin, neatly arranged in rows, were about two dozen vinegar chocolates wrapped in silver foil. So these were Aunt Elsie’s valuables? Ancient confectionery?
    Fennymore unwrapped one of the sweets. The chocolate had gone mouldy and it smelt of feet. Though that might have been coming from Beardy’s socks.
    â€˜Urgh,’ went Fennymore.
    Herr Muckenthaler said nothing.
    At least he’s not laughing his head off at me , thought Fennymore. First salt-baked dachshund and now mummified vinegar chocolates.
    Irritated, he let the tin fall onto the carpet. The dusty spheres went rolling off in every direction, but now Fennymore could see something else. Fennymore reached out quickly for it. Flat and heavy, the thing lay on his palm. A large silver key.
    â€˜Excellent,’ said Herr Muckenthaler. ‘Do you know what it’s to?’
    Fennymore said nothing. He’d been expecting jewellery, gold coins, gemstones – although, or perhaps because, he had never seen Aunt Elsie with such things – or at the very least an envelope full of money. But a key?

    Then he suddenly remembered. His father, with short hair, making his way through the currant and gooseberry bushes and past the compost heap right to the very end of the garden. To the Invention Capsule. He was taking a large key out of his pocket and opening the padlock. Then he gave Fennymore a friendly slap on the back and told him to go and play in the sunshine. But Fennymore wanted to go in and watch his father. To