The 91-Storey Treehouse Page 4

  ‘Don’t worry, Alice. I’m on my way. Can you and Albert look after Andy and Terry and the baby till I get there?’

  ‘Yes, but please hurry. I don’t like spiders.’

  ‘Cool!’ says Albert. ‘Now we’re the babysitters! And they’re the babies.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Smarter and Smarterer

  Hi, readers, it’s Jill here. As you know, something’s gone wrong with Andy and Terry so I’m going to narrate for a little while until we can fix them … Oh, look at that amazing butterfly—it’s a brush-footed, gossamer-winged loop-the-looper, if I’m not mistaken. Yep, look at those loops! It’s the loopiest insect in the whole animal kingdom—capable of up to one million loops per day!

  The only other insect to come close to that is the somersaulting silverfish of Soweto—

  which reminds me of a funny story—

  ‘Jill,’ says Alice. ‘You’re supposed to be narrating the book, not talking about animals.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ I say. ‘I got completely distracted by the loop-the-looper.’

  Now where was I? Oh, that’s right. At the end of the last chapter, I rescued Andy, Terry, Alice, Albert and the baby from the giant spider web in the treehouse.

  Silky and her flying cat friends helped to bring everybody back to my house, which is where we are now.

  ‘What’s wrong with Andy and Terry?’ says Albert.

  ‘Well,’ I say, ‘let’s see, shall we?’

  I shine a torch into Andy’s right ear.

  The beam of light passes through his head and comes out his left ear and then travels into Terry’s right ear, through his head, and out the other side.

  ‘Ah, I see the problem,’ I say. ‘Their heads are completely empty. It’s as if their brains have been drained of all knowledge.’

  ‘Oh no!’ says Alice. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Fill them up again, of course!’ I say. ‘Luckily I have an early learning centre for animals. I opened it just last week.’

  ‘But Andy and Terry aren’t animals!’ says Alice.

  ‘Yes they are,’ I say. ‘They’re human animals … we all are! And right now I need you both to be human animal teachers. You’re going to help me re-educate Andy and Terry. Let’s take them to the early learning centre.’

  I go to my shelf of learn to read books. I have one for each animal, including Andy and Terry.

  ‘Who would like to read this one to them?’ I say.

  ‘I will,’ says Albert.

  He opens the book and starts reading.

  ‘Well done, Albert,’ I say. ‘Now it’s time for Andy and Terry to learn their numbers. Alice, would you like to read them this treehouse counting book?’

  ‘Yes, please, Jill,’ she says. ‘I love numbers.’

  ‘Good work!’ I say. ‘Now they’ve got the basics, it’s time to put the rest of their knowledge back in. Time to sing my Everything there is to know about everything song!’

  ‘Wasn’t that fun?’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ says Terry. ‘And very educational! I feel much smarter now.’

  ‘Me too,’ says Andy. ‘I bet I’m much more smarterer than you!’

  ‘No way,’ says Terry. ‘I’m a million billion times smarterer than you!’

  ‘Are not!’ says Andy. ‘I’m a million billion frillion times smarterer than you!’

  ‘No you’re not,’ says Terry. ‘I’m a million billion frillion … (yawn) gillion hillion jillion nillion … (yawn, yawn) quillion spillion trillion willion xillion yillion … (yawn yawn yawn) zillionzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …’

  ‘Look!’ says Alice. ‘Terry fell asleep while he was talking.’

  ‘And Andy fell asleep while he was listening!’ says Albert.

  ‘They must be tired after all that learning,’ I say. ‘Not to mention all that boasting.’

  ‘So are they back to normal now?’ says Alice.

  ‘Almost,’ I say. ‘But they’re nowhere near as smart as they think they are. We’ll have to put some more knowledge into their ears while they’re asleep.’

  ‘Okay, I think we’re done,’ I say. ‘Let’s do the torch test again.’

  This time when I shine a light into Andy’s ear it doesn’t pass through.

  ‘Their brains are full to the brim!’ I say.

  ‘Yay!’ say Alice and Albert.

  ‘I think we should all have a little rest now,’ I say. ‘Andy will be able to take over the narration again when he wakes up.’

  It’s been really fun being your emergency narrator—thanks for being such great readers and listeners!

  CHAPTER 10

  WARNING!

  Greetings, dear reader! My name is Andrew. I am your humble narrator and—along with Terence Denton—the co-creator of the Treehouse Chronicles, which is a full and honest account of our lives in a unique elevated dwelling.

  If you show a kinship to the majority of our readership—that is to say, if you are possessed of a lively spirit and an inquiring mind—you may, perchance, have found yourself pondering the reasons for my—and Terence’s—frequent lapses of memory during the course of the preceding pages.

  ‘Hey, Andy!’ says Terence.

  ‘Not now, Terence,’ I say. ‘I am currently engaged in a matter of the utmost narratorial urgency and must not be interrupted under any circumstances.’

  ‘But—’ says Terence.

  ‘I am terribly sorry,’ I say, ‘but I really must insist that you refrain from these irrelevant interjections that threaten the great and important enterprise I am currently embarked upon.’

  ‘But—’ splutters Terence.

  ‘What is the matter with you today, Terence?’ I say. ‘Do you not have sufficient intellectual faculties to comprehend plain English?’

  ‘Plain English I can understand,’ says Terence. ‘But I can’t understand a single other word you just said and I don’t think our readers can either.’

  ‘Poppycock and fiddlesticks!’ I say. ‘I will have you know my multi-syllabic narrative powers are without comparison in the realms of literary endeavour and my works are admired across the entire universe by civilisations both known and yet to be discovered. There are more things in heaven and earth, Terence, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ says Terence. ‘But it sounds like you swallowed a dictionary for breakfast. And for your information, my name is Terry, not Terence!’

  ‘Actually, I think you will find that in actual fact Terry is an abbreviation of both Terrance and Terrell. It is also an Anglicised phonetic form of the French given name Thierry, a Norman French form of Theodoric from an older Germanic name meaning “small-brained one”.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Andy?’ says Alice.

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Albert. ‘I can’t understand him any more.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ says Jill. ‘I think we’ve made him too smart for his own good!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Terence. ‘I know exactly what he needs. I’ll be right back.’

  And with that, Terence departs with great alacrity.

  Barely a moment elapses before Terence reappears, bearing aloft an enormous mallet.

  ‘Hold still, Andy,’ he says. ‘This won’t hurt a bit. Well, when I say it won’t hurt a bit I mean, obviously, it will hurt a lot, so here goes …’

  ‘Is he all right?’ says Alice.

  ‘I’ll check,’ says Terence. He shakes my shoulder. ‘Say something, Andy!’

  ‘Um … er … ah … the sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side.’

  ‘Sounds like he might need another donk,’ says Terence.

  I open my eyes.

  Terry studies me closely. ‘What’s two plus two?’ he says.

  ‘Um … five?’ I say.

  ‘Yay!’ says Terry. ‘You’re back to normal!’

  ‘Thanks, Terry,’ I say. ‘I needed that
. Being a super genius brainiac is exhausting.’

  ‘Don’t thank me,’ he says. ‘Thank Jill and the kids for filling our brains back up. Something must have happened to them in Banarnia.’

  ‘I don’t think it was Banarnia that caused the problem,’ says Jill. ‘Alice, Albert and the baby went there too and they didn’t forget everything they knew. And don’t forget that both of you were forgetting other stuff before you went to Banarnia.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ I say. ‘I forgot. But if it wasn’t Banarnia that caused our brain meltdowns then what was it?’

  Before we can figure it out, however, Jill’s rooster doorbell rings.

  Jill’s animals react immediately. Laika and Loompy bark. Pat moos. Bill and Phil bounce around like superballs. Larry, Curly and Mo look up from their card game and the excited rabbits hop around like a bunch of excited rabbits.

  Jill answers the door.

  It’s Bill the postman!

  We all say hello and the animals crowd around him.

  ‘Good morning,’ says Bill. ‘I’m here on official poster posting business. The Forest Police Department wanted these WARNING posters put up. A dangerous fortune teller has escaped from a maximum-security travelling carnival. Apparently, she’s a brain-drainer.’

  We walk out into the forest. Bill really has been busy. He has put a poster on every single tree!

  ‘Yikes!’ says Terry. ‘She sounds dangerous.’

  ‘She is!’ says Bill. ‘Have any of you seen her?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘But thanks for the warning, Bill. We’ll certainly keep our eyes open.’

  ‘All right,’ says Bill, ‘but if you do see her, whatever you do, don’t ask her any questions or she’ll drain your brains. See you all later!’

  We wave goodbye to Bill and watch as Jill’s animals race alongside his scooter till he’s out of view.

  ‘Maybe we should have told Bill about Madam Know-it-all,’ I say. ‘She might be able to help the authorities track down that evil fortune teller. After all, she does know everything.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ says Terry.

  ‘WAIT a minute … Hang on …

  Just another minute …

  I’VE GOT IT! Prepare yourself for some shocking news … The dangerous brain-draining fortune teller who is on the loose is none other than …

  ‘Of course!’ I say. ‘That’s why we’ve been forgetting everything. Madam Know-it-all drained our brains!’

  ‘Oh, no!’ says Terry. ‘And now that our brains have been refilled she’ll drain them again!’

  ‘Calm down, you two,’ says Jill. ‘Remember what the poster said. She can only drain your brain if you ask her questions. So don’t ask her any questions and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘But how are we going to get her out of the treehouse?’ I say.

  ‘We could ask her to leave,’ says Terry.

  ‘But that’s a question,’ I say.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ says Terry. ‘Good point, Andy.’

  ‘I think you should just tell her to leave,’ says Jill. ‘Just say you’re really sorry but you made a mistake and you need the level for something else. My animals and I will all come with you. Just remember, whatever you do, don’t ask her any questions!’

  CHAPTER 11

  The Turbanator!

  We all pile into Jill’s flying cat sleigh and fly straight to the treehouse.

  We land on Madam Know-it-all’s level.

  ‘You go in first,’ I say to Terry, pushing him forward.

  ‘No, I’m scared,’ he says, slipping behind me and pushing me towards the tent flap. ‘You go in first.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ I say. ‘Let’s make the animals go in first!’

  ‘Good thinking,’ says Terry. ‘Give me a hand with Manny, Andy!’

  We’re pushing Manny into the tent but Jill stops us. ‘Andy and Terry!’ she says. ‘Stop pushing my goat!’

  ‘But Terry pushed me,’ I say.

  ‘Andy pushed me first,’ says Terry.

  ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right—and they certainly don’t make a good reason to push goats!’ says Jill. ‘How about we all go in together?’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ says Madam Know-it-all, emerging from her tent. ‘How about I come out since there are so many of you?’

  ‘Madam Know-it-all!’ gasps Terry in surprise.

  ‘Yes, it is I, Madam Know-it-all. I know all and see all,’ she says. ‘I believe you have something you wish to ask me?’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact we do,’ says Terry. ‘Would you—’

  I clamp my hand across Terry’s mouth.

  ‘We didn’t come to ask you anything,’ I say. ‘We came to tell you something. We came to tell you to leave.’

  ‘Immediately,’ says Jill.

  Alice and Albert nod their heads.

  ‘Goo-goo ga-ga,’ says the baby.

  ‘Why don’t you ask me to leave?’ says Madam Know-it-all. ‘That would be more polite.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘We’re not asking you any more questions ever!’

  ‘Oh,’ says Madam Know-it-all with a sly smile. ‘I see. So you’re telling me there’s nothing more you want to know.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ I say. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Not even whether you’re going to get this book written on time?’

  ‘I know we’ll get our book written on time,’ I say. ‘We always do—somehow.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ says Madam Know-it-all. ‘What about you, Terry? Wouldn’t you like to know what your eyebrows taste like? I know you’ve often wondered! All you have to do is to ask me.’

  ‘Yes, I have wondered,’ says Terry. ‘Quite often, actually. But I’m not going to ask you.’ He shakes his head and then clamps his hands over his mouth just to make sure.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ says Madam Know-it-all. ‘What about you, Jill? Wouldn’t you like to know what my snakes’ names are?’

  ‘No,’ says Jill, ‘because I’ve made up my own names for them—Slidey, Slithery and Roger.’

  ‘Those are their names!’ says Madam Know-it-all, looking surprised. ‘But wouldn’t you like to know their ssssurnames?’

  ‘Snakes don’t have surnames,’ says Jill. ‘That’s just silly!’

  Madam Know-it-all shrugs and turns her attention to the kids.

  ‘What about you, Alice? Wouldn’t you like to know what you’re going to be when you grow up?’

  ‘I already know,’ says Alice. ‘I’m going to be like Jill and live in a house full of animals.’

  ‘And I’m going to be just like Terry and live in a treehouse and draw cool pictures!’ says Albert.

  ‘Hey!’ I say. ‘How come nobody wants to be like me when they grow up?’

  ‘Is that a question?’ says Madam Know-it-all.

  ‘Not for you, it’s not,’ I say.

  ‘All right,’ says Madam Know-it-all. ‘If none of you are going to ask me any questions, then you leave me no choice but to unleash … The Turbanator!’

  She pushes the jewel on the front of her turban and dozens of tubes—each with a little turban on the end—spring out of the top.

  ‘Run!’ I say.

  We run, but it’s no use. The mini-turbans rain down from above and wrap themselves around our heads. We’re all wrapped and trapped—even the kids and all of Jill’s animals.

  We try to pull the turbans off, but they won’t budge.

  ‘There’s no use struggling,’ says Madam Know-it-all. ‘The Turbanator is a multi-brain-draining machine. Once activated it will drain your brains into mine. The turbans will not release until your heads are completely empty.’

  ‘Please don’t drain our brains again,’ says Terry.

  ‘Oh, but thanks to Jill, they’re filled to the brim with even more facts and information than before,’ says Madam Know-it-all. ‘I simply can’t resist!’

  ‘But why?’ pleads Jill. ‘You already know everything—or so you claim. What more could you possibly want
to know? What more could there even be to know?’

  ‘Ah,’ sighs Madam Know-it-all. ‘How little you know about how much there is to know! You see, the more you know, the more you know how much there is that you don’t know. And I’m not going to rest until I know every last thing there is to know in the entire world.’

  ‘Huh?’ says Jill.

  ‘It might be simpler if I sing it for you,’ says Madam Know-it-all. And so she does.

  I WANT TO KNOW

  EVERYTHING

  (as sung by Madam Know-it-all)

  I know more than Google,