Casper Candlewacks in the Time Travelling Toaster. Ivan Brett

Чтение книги онлайн.

      “Oh…” Casper let that flow over him. “But why would you want toast from anywhere through time and space?”

      “If you’re hungry, of course.”

      “Couldn’t you just make some real toast?”

      Lamp blinked. “Didn’t think of that. But listen, this is way better.” He pulled out the crumbling slice he’d shown Casper earlier. “Sniff this.”

      He did. It smelt of toast.

      “See?” grinned Lamp. He took a bite. “Mm, futurey.”

      Casper waited patiently while Lamp invented a jam magnet.

      When the toast was finished and the jam wiped off the walls, Lamp licked his lips and said, “So. Fancy a slice?”

      “I... er…”

      “Me too!” Lamp bounced across the garage to his Time Toaster and twizzled some buttons. “Ready?”

      Casper took a few steps back and shoved on a motorcycle helmet that was lying on its side. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

      “Then Let’s TIME!” Lamp did a heroic pose involving pointing one finger at the ceiling.

      “Wait!” shouted Casper. “Can we think of a better catchphrase first?” He was worried that Let’s Time would stick.

      “Erm…” Lamp chewed on his tongue. “How about ‘Let’s Hope We Don’t Get Sucked into the Time Vortex and End Up Getting Trampled On by a TRICERATOPS!!’”

      Casper shuddered. That was a hope that he too shared, but he didn’t want to think about it every time Lamp made toast. “Shall we stick to the first one, then?”

      Lamp nodded. “In that case, Casper, there’s no time to lose. Let’s TIME!” He pushed the toaster’s lever down with a geeky flourish and the alarm clock went off. A dim, pulsing buzz came from the toaster’s bowels. The watches began to tick round now, slowly at first, but speeding up and up, until the springs shook and the hands were a blur of minutes and hours.

      Smoke poured from the machine, and Casper smelt toast. A lick of flame danced from the top of the slot, then a crackle and hundreds of little clangs as the whole machine shuddered and the watches clashed into each other.

      The cloud of smoke engulfed Lamp and his Time Toaster. Casper coughed into his shirt, his eyes stung, the smoke plumed across the garage and surrounded him too.

      “Lamp!” he coughed. “Has it gone wrong?”

      Through the smoke Casper saw somebody stumbling about inventing a fire extinguisher, but there was no response.

      “Turn it off!” Casper shouted. “Turn–” but his lungs filled with smoke and he bent double, coughing. He longed for fresh air, for a cool breeze, for a friend who didn’t burn things down all the time.

      Then… SPRUNGG!

      Something popped up. The cacophony ceased, the flames died and the smoke began to thin. Through Casper’s watery eyes he could see Lamp plucking something from the toaster’s tray and blowing it out with sharp puffs. Little cinders still burnt at the corners, so he threw it to the floor and gave it a good stamp.

      “You can have that slice,” said Casper, straightening up and rubbing the ash from his eyes. “Not a big fan of stamped toast.”

      Lamp picked it up and gasped. “But, Casper, this isn’t toast!”

      “More like charcoal.”

      “No, no, look. This is writing! It says…” He scratched his nose, leaving a black smudge. “Casper, can I read?”

      “Not often, no. Give it here.”

      The oily boy was right. He held out a charred strip of paper, yellow and curled and peppered with cinder holes. Most of the blackened bottom half melted away into ash as Casper took it, but some words at the top were still visible through the soot. A title, an author and a date.