Free Casper Candlewacks in the Time Travelling Toaster by Ivan Brett Page B

tyrant, Briar Blight, has a stranglehold over the village. What was it now…” He took a peek at the script from his pocket. “Ah yes. He’s using his slaves to produce his spit-water, while he takes all the profits. We both remember how bad the conditions were.” He shivered. “The truth is, your family, your friends, the whole village, Casper…” His voice cracked, so he blew his nose on a handkerchief. “They’re all slaves in that factory. It’s your duty to free them. Liberate Corne-on-the-Kobb again; return it to its former glory and save the future.”
    Saving the future sounded epic. But it was what superheroes did, not eleven-year-old boys from Corne-on-the-Kobb. “Can you help me? I’ve never saved the future before.”
    “You’ll work it out,” smiled Old Casper. “It’ll be tough, but you’ll live to tell the tale. I am proof of that.”
    The younger Casper grinned.
    Lamp awoke. “Ooh, have you finished? Can I…?”
    “Yes, Lamp, go on,” said Old Casper wearily.
    With a grin, Lamp leant too far forward and his chair rocked over, sending him toppling to the floor with an almighty thump.

    Somebody came running up the stairs. She burst through the door. “Oh, Grandad, why do you keep doing that?”
    “This is the most fun I can have given my bad hip, Flanella,” Lamp said. “Would you mind picking me up?”
    Old Casper folded up the script and leant towards Young Casper, his bones clicking wearily. “Keep that safe,” he said, the effort of reaching out evident on his face. “You’ll need it.”
    Flanella positioned Lamp on his chair, brushed him down and turned to the younger Casper. “Lottie Landscape’s made you a bed out of earth and things. It’s more of a flowerbed, really. But it’s comfy enough and the worms won’t bite. And you should sleep. Malcolm predicts it’s a big day tomorrow.”
    As Casper left his room, he turned to say goodbye to himself, but he was already fast asleep and snoring like a warthog.

The pigeons had already begun their scratchy dawn chorus when Casper finally got to sleep on his bed-shaped pile of earth, with its mossy pillow, on the floor of what used to be the laundry room. What with all the time taken up by escaping and swimming and remembering who he was and meeting his future self, it really was getting on for bedtime.
    But just as he was settling into a really good dream about slaying goblins—
    “GOOD MORNING!”
    Casper groaned and rolled over. Standing above him was a slightly-earthy-on-one-side Flanella, proudly holding a big tray.
    “I didn’t know what breakfast you wanted, so I brung all of them.”
    Scraping some mud from his face, Casper sat up and received his tray. Flanella plonked herself down next to him.
    There was cereal and muesli, black pudding, hard-boiled eggs and a cup of orange juice all on one plate, topped off by a dollop of golden syrup, a squeeze of ketchup and a raisin.
    “Wow,” said Casper, wishing he could go back to slaying goblins. Tentatively, he took a forkful of black pudding dripping with syrup.
    It was a surprising combination. Casper chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, washing it down with a spoonful of orange juice and ketchup that had pooled in the corner of his plate.
    “Thanks,” he said, putting down his spoon – desperately hungry, but aware that another mouthful might end in disaster.
    Flanella grinned. “Did I do good? I’m trying to branch out from sandwiches.”
    “Oh,” Casper said hopefully. “Are you good at sandwiches?”
    “No. That’s why I’m trying to branch out from them.”
    Casper set his tray aside. “So you’re the granddaughter of Lamp Flannigan, eh?”
    “Yeah,” she said, with sadness in her eyes. “My mum ’n’ dad ’n’ gran ’n’ uncle got rounded up, though.”
    “They’re in Blight Manor?”
    “Did you see them?” Flanella’s face lit up.
    “There were a lot of people in there. I didn’t catch many names…” He thought it best not to tell