The 65-Storey Treehouse Page 4

  ‘That’s exactly what I am doing,’ says the inspector. ‘While he’s busy with the paperwork we can make our escape. Come on, let’s hide in the pyramid.’

  We run through the doorway behind us and down a long corridor into a dark chamber.

  ‘Great work, Inspector!’ I say. ‘But how did you know the mummy would be scared of other mummies?’

  ‘Just a hunch,’ he says. ‘Let’s go!’

  We head for a door on the far side of the chamber, squeeze through it … and fall straight through a trap dooooooooor!

  I was right.

  We are in a pit of asps.

  ‘Okay, that’s quite enough screaming for one pit of asps!’ says the inspector. ‘We’re safely covered in bubble wrap so they can’t bite us.’

  ‘Yes, but how do we get out of the pit?’ I say.

  The inspector shrugs and shakes his head sadly. ‘If only people would take the trouble to install emergency exits in their snake pits, this sort of dilemma could be easily avoided,’ he says.

  ‘We don’t need an emergency exit,’ says Terry.

  ‘We’ve got asps. We can charm them and use them as a ladder.’

  ‘Well that’s a great idea,’ I say, ‘but you need music to charm snakes, and as far as I know none of us brought our punjis.’

  ‘What’s a punji?’ says Terry.

  ‘It’s a wind instrument used to charm snakes,’ I say.

  ‘No, I don’t have one of those,’ says Terry. ‘But ‘I’ve got a balloon. That should work just as well.’

  Terry blows the balloon up, pinches the neck and starts releasing the air in a high-pitched screech. Sure, it might not be everybody’s idea of beautiful music, but the snakes seem to like it.

  The snakes rise up, swaying and threading themselves together until, eventually they form a ladder that leads right to the top of the pit.

  We scramble up the snake ladder as fast as we can and make it to the top just as Terry’s balloon runs out of squeak and the ladder collapses.

  ‘Wow,’ says Terry, panting, ‘that was even more fun than our snakes and ladders level back in the treehouse!’

  ‘I’m not sure that “fun” is exactly the word I would use,’ says the inspector, ‘but, I must admit, I do feel quite … unusually … energised!’

  I can hear shouting somewhere behind us.

  ‘We’d better keep moving,’ I say. ‘I think the pharaoh might have finished his paperwork.’

  We run down a long corridor, keeping a careful watch for mummies and trapdoors.

  ‘Look!’ says Terry, pointing to a series of pictures on the wall. ‘It’s Barky the Barking Dogyptian!’

  At the end of the corridor we come across two Ancient Egyptians working on the Barky cartoon.

  ‘It’s us again!’ says Terry. ‘Hi, Ancient Egyptian Andy and Terry!’

  ‘Who are you?’ says Ancient Egyptian Andy.

  ‘We’re your future selves!’ I explain.

  ‘Pleased to meet you!’ says Ancient Egyptian Andy.

  ‘Great Barky the Barking Dogyptian cartoon!’ says Terry.

  ‘Thanks!’ says Ancient Egyptian Terry.

  Ancient Egyptian Andy rolls his eyes. ‘I think it’s dumb,’ he says.

  ‘I agree,’ I say. ‘High five, Ancient Egyptian Andy!’

  ‘Well, we’d love to stay and chat,’ I say, ‘but we’re being chased by the pharaoh’s guards. Is there a fast way out of here?’

  ‘Sure,’ says Ancient Egyptian Terry. He quickly scribbles a map on a piece of papyrus and hands it to me. ‘Just follow this.’

  We say goodbye to our Ancient Egyptian selves and follow the map until at last we are back outside in the Ancient Egyptian sunlight. We peel off our bubble wrap as fast as we can. (That stuff is hot!)

  ‘Thank goodness we’re out of there,’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ says the inspector. ‘That pyramid is so dangerous it makes the treehouse look positively safe!’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ I say. ‘Here come the guards. Run!’

  We run. Behind us we hear the popping of the bubble wrap as the guards step on it.

  ‘Hey, this stuff is fun!’ says one.

  They all stop, pick up handfuls of bubble wrap and start popping it like crazy.

  We reach the bin, climb in and Terry resets the chronometer. We blast off and zoom up into the air through a cloud of sand.

  ‘Phew!’ says the inspector. ‘That was a close one.’ He takes off his hard hat and wipes his brow. ‘Oh dear …’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I say.

  ‘There’s an asp,’ he says.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In my hat … no … hang on, it’s not in my hat any more. It’s in the bin somewhere.’

  ‘YIKES!’ screams Terry. The bin swerves out of control and heads towards a giant stone nose—the nose of the Great Sphinx!

  ‘Terry, watch out!’ I yell.

  But it’s too late.

  ‘Oops,’ says Terry.

  ‘So that’s how the Sphinx lost its nose,’ says the inspector.

  ‘Another mystery solved!’ says Terry.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ I say, ‘but there’s still an asp in the bin!’

  ‘Not for long, though,’ says the inspector. He scoops the asp up in his hard hat, opens the lid and flings both the asp and his hat overboard.

  ‘Wow, that was brave!’ I say. ‘And risky!’

  ‘And just in time,’ says Terry. ‘Hold on, here we go againnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn …’

  CHAPTER 9

  BIN HUR

  We swirl through time until the chronometer reads 65 BC and we start plummeting towards the ground. We land but this time we don’t stop moving. I peep out of the lid and realise why.

  We’re hurtling along a chariot racing track in the middle of an Ancient Roman chariot race and, surprisingly, we don’t seem to be doing that badly. It looks like we’re in fourth place.

  ‘Oh dear,’ says the inspector. ‘This looks dangerous.’

  ‘Hey, look,’ says Terry, ‘an Ancient Roman Andy and an Ancient Roman Terry!’

  Terry’s right! Ahead of us are two chariots—one being driven by someone who looks a lot like Terry and the other by someone who looks a lot like me.

  Coming up behind them is a scary-looking woman driving a chariot with big spikes on its wheels.

  She is getting closer and closer to Ancient Roman Andy’s chariot, and then the metal spike crashes through his wheel and smashes it to pieces!

  His chariot skids wildly and tips over. Ancient Roman Andy is thrown from his chariot onto the racetrack.

  He’s still holding onto his horse’s reins, though, and is being dragged along on his stomach.

  ‘Ouch,’ I say. ‘That’s gotta hurt!’

  Our bin is slowing down but we’re still moving fast enough to catch up to him.

  I lean out and reach towards him. ‘Give me your hand,’ I say.

  ‘What the maximus?’ he says. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘No time to explain,’ I say. ‘Just do it.’

  He reaches up with one hand while still holding his reins in the other. The inspector and Terry hold on to me as I lean out and pull him into the bin.

  ‘I am Andronicus Grillius,’ he says, ‘and I thank you.’ He snaps the reins. ‘YAH!’ he yells, urging his horse on.

  With Andronicus driving, we are going much faster than we were before. We’re back in the race!

  ‘We must beat Drusilla the Dreadful,’ says Andronicus, pointing to the driver of the chariot with spiked wheels. ‘She is the most feared and ruthless charioteer in Rome—she has already destroyed almost all the others.’

  He’s not kidding. There is chariot wreckage everywhere.

  ‘Those spiked wheels seem very dangerous,’ says the inspector. ‘Surely there must be rules of some sort! It just doesn’t seem right.’r />
  ‘Alas,’ says Andronicus, ‘chariot racing rules have not been invented yet, and now she is after my friend Terencius Densus.’

  Drusilla is gaining on the only other chariot (apart from ours) left in the race.

  She drives in close and uses her wheel spike to destroy Terencius’s wheel. He jumps from his wrecked chariot onto his horse and rides after Drusilla.

  Andronicus drives our bin up beside Terencius. ‘Join us, friend,’ he calls.

  Keeping hold of his horse’s reins, Terencius leaps into our bin.

  ‘This is highly irregular,’ says the inspector. ‘The maximum capacity for a bin this size is four. We’d better not take on any more passengers.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘There’s nobody else left to take on. It’s just us versus Drusilla now.’

  With two horses pulling us we’re really starting to gain on Drusilla.

  She looks back and glares at us.

  ‘I don’t like her,’ says Terry.

  ‘Me neither,’ says Terencius. ‘Nobody does.’

  As we draw level, Drusilla the Dreadful veers towards us in order to wreck our bin with her terrible wheel spike. ‘Tibi delenda, losers!’ she snarls.

  ‘What does that mean?’ says Terry.

  ‘“You must be destroyed, losers”,’ says Andronicus.

  ‘Not on my watch,’ says the inspector, unfurling a long roll of bubble wrap. ‘Hold on to me, lads!’ he says.

  Terencius takes the reins while the rest of us hold on to Inspector Bubblewrap.

  The inspector leans out, his head only centimetres from the lethal spinning spike …

  and holds out the bubble wrap. The wheel spike on Drusilla’s chariot catches the end of the bubble wrap. As it spins, it wraps the bubble wrap around itself, rendering the spike completely harmless.

  Terencius manoeuvres our bin around to the other side of Drusilla’s chariot and the inspector bubble-wraps that spike as well.

  We pull the inspector back into the bin.

  ‘Way to go, Inspector!’ says Terry.

  ‘That is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen anybody do!’ says Andronicus.

  Inspector Bubblewrap smiles proudly and says:

  ‘I’m a safety inspector,

  That’s what I do:

  I make things safe

  For me and you.

  I’ll risk my life,

  If that’s what it takes,

  To make things safe

  For all our sakes.’

  Now the race gets really serious.

  ‘This is the final lap,’ says Andronicus. ‘We have done well, but Drusilla is going to win!’

  ‘If only we could get past her,’ says Terencius.

  ‘We can’t go past her,’ says the inspector. ‘But we can go over her!’

  ‘How?’ I say.

  ‘By using that pile of destroyed chariots as a ramp,’ he says. ‘That’s how.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ says Terry. ‘That sounds kind of dangerous.’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ says the inspector. ‘If there’s one thing I know about, it’s ramps: disabled-access ramps, freeway ramps, kerb ramps, folding ramps, boat ramps. Trust me, I know ramps.’

  Inspector Bubblewrap takes the reins from Terencius and steers our wheelie bin towards an especially big pile of crashed chariots.

  ‘Everybody hold on tight!’ shouts the inspector. We rocket up the ‘ramp’ and fly through the air. We sail up and over Drusilla …

  and cross the finish line. First!

  The crowd goes crazy.

  The emperor rises to his feet and gives us two thumbs up, which makes the crowd go even crazier.

  ‘We won!’ says Andronicus. ‘Thanks to you, we won’t be put to death.’

  ‘You were going to be killed?!’ says Terry.

  ‘Yes,’ says Terencius. ‘But Caesar Proboscis Maximus has spared us. That’s what the two thumbs up means.’

  ‘Wow,’ says Terry, ‘Ancient Rome is a really dangerous place.’

  ‘Yes,’ says the inspector, ‘but it’s a little bit safer now, thanks to bubble wrap.’

  Andronicus and Terencius climb out of the bin.

  ‘Thank you for your bravery, Inspector Bubblewrapus,’ says Andronicus.

  ‘We owe you our lives,’ says Terencius, ‘for you saved us with your courage, your knowledge of ramps and your strange, clear material with its many air pockets.’

  ‘That was an exciting race,’ says Terry. ‘It would make a great scene in a movie about Ancient Rome.’

  ‘It already has,’ I say.

  ‘Cool,’ says Terry. ‘Can we watch it when we get back to the treehouse?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘If we ever get back to the treehouse. But before we can do that we have to get to the building permit office.’

  ‘We’ll get there this time for sure,’ says Terry, ‘or my name’s not Terencius Densus.’

  ‘But it’s not Terencius Densus,’ I remind him.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ he says, as everything starts to swirllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll …’

  CHAPTER 10

  THE FUTURE

  The swirling stops and we slowly fall to the ground.

  ‘Wow, smooth landing, Terry,’ I say. ‘Yeah,’ he says.

  ‘It’s like we practically floated down.’

  I look at the gravity detector gauge on the instrument panel. ‘That’s because we did float down,’ I say. ‘Gravity is only one-tenth as strong here as it is in our time.’

  ‘And where—and when—exactly are we?’ says Inspector Bubblewrap.

  ‘We’re in the future,’ says Terry. ‘Sixty-five thousand years in the future!’

  ‘This is the worst time machine ever!’ I say.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ says Terry. ‘It’s a great time machine. It’s just the chronometer that’s not working properly.’

  ‘Well, it’s the worst chronometer ever, then,’ I say, smashing my head against the control panel in frustration …

  but my head just bounces off as if the panel was made of marshmallow.

  ‘Stupid reduced gravity!’ I shout.

  ‘Look on the bright side, Andy,’ says Terry. ‘Reduced gravity is cool! Let’s get out and have a bounce around.’

  Terry is in such a hurry to get out that he slips and falls and lands on his head.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I say.

  ‘Of course!’ says Terry. ‘It didn’t even hurt! Reduced gravity, remember?’

  I see a flying fried-egg car heading straight towards the inspector. ‘Watch out!’ I say.

  My warning comes too late. The car hits the inspector right in the head … but it just bounces off!

  ‘I just got hit by a flying fried-egg car and I didn’t feel a thing!’ he says. ‘It would appear that the future is 100 percent danger-proof!’

  ‘All right!’ says Terry. ‘Let’s party!’

  ‘Look at me! I can run headfirst into this wall and I just bounce off!’

  ‘Look at me!’ I say. ‘I’m swimming in a tank full of man-eating sharks but their teeth are made of rubber so they can’t eat me!’

  ‘Look at me!’ says Inspector Bubblewrap. ‘I’m totally on fire but there’s no heat in the flames so it doesn’t hurt a bit!’

  ‘THE 100 PERCENT TOTALLY DANGER-PROOF FUTURE IS AMAZING!’ we shout.

  Terry runs into the wall again.

  I jump back into the shark’s mouth.

  The inspector sets himself on fire once more.

  And then we do it again …

  and again …

  and again …

  and again …

  and again …

  and again …

  and again …

  and again.

  ‘I’m bored of running headfirst into a wall without getting hurt,’ s
ays Terry.

  ‘I’m bored of being chewed by a man-eating shark without getting mangled,’ I say.