Nanny Piggins and the Wicked Plan (4 page)

‘What shape do you need to be to be blasted out
of a cannon?’ asked Michael, thinking of the shapes he had learnt about in geometry – squares, circles and trapezoids.

‘That’s not what she means,’ explained Samantha. ‘When someone says they’re “out of shape” they mean they haven’t been exercising.’

‘No,’ said Nanny Piggins, contradicting her. ‘When I say “I’m out of shape”, I mean I’m out of shape. My shape’s become all lean and skinny. To be a flying pig I need to be rounder.’

‘Really?’ said Derrick, as he looked at Nanny Piggins. His nanny already ate more than a football team trapped in a lift for three days with nothing to eat but a packet of breath mints. He could not begin to imagine how much she would consume if she was actually trying to gain weight.

‘Oh yes, if I am going to be blasted an enormous distance tomorrow morning, I must immediately start eating,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You see it’s all to do with physics. You remember what I taught you about Isaac Newton?’

‘He was the man who invented gravity,’ said Michael. ‘Which is why it hurts if an apple falls on your head.’

‘Exactly,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Newton also said that force equals mass times acceleration.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Derrick.

‘It means that if you’re fat you’ll fly further,’ explained Nanny Piggins.

‘Really?’ asked Samantha. She did not know much about physics but she was pretty sure it was more complicated than that.

‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘Plus the fat helps cushion your landing if you miss your target,’ added Boris.

‘Now quick, Samantha,’ instructed Nanny Piggins. ‘You had better call Hans at the bakery.’

‘What should I tell him to send round?’ asked Samantha.

‘The truck,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘stocked full of everything from the shop. And tell him to start baking as many cakes as his oven will take. This is an emergency.’

And so Hans baked and baked. And Nanny Piggins ate and ate. And the children watched with awed fascination. Perhaps more than all the other things their nanny did brilliantly, Nanny Piggins was phenomenally good at eating. It was a sight to behold. If eating was an Olympic sport, Nanny Piggins would have been the gold medallist every time. Which is probably the only reason they do not have eating at the Olympics, because they do not
want the athletes to feel bad about being beaten by a lady pig.

By the time they arrived at Dead Man’s Gorge the next morning, Nanny Piggins had certainly managed to get herself ‘in shape’. She looked almost exactly like a huge round pink bullet. She had never had much of a neck but what little neck there was had now disappeared entirely.

The children and Boris pushed their borrowed cannon into position next to Eduardo’s. Nanny Piggins could not help. She was too busy rolling on the ground groaning, ‘Urrrgh uggrrr,’ because of all she had eaten.

‘I am surprised you’re here,’ said Eduardo. ‘I expected you to run away and cower in fear.’

‘Oh shut up,’ moaned Nanny Piggins. Because for some reason, overeating exhausts the part of the brain that thinks of clever things to say.

‘Shall we begin?’ asked Eduardo.

‘I’m ready when you are,’ said Nanny Piggins, which actually turned out to be untrue.

For a start, it took a while to get Boris to stop clutching Nanny Piggins to his chest and sobbing,
‘Please don’t do it! It’s too dangerous.’

Then there was another hitch. Eduardo climbed easily into the barrel of his cannon. After all, he was still working in a circus and was used to being blasted five times a night. Nanny Piggins, however, was out of practice. When she tried to get into her barrel, she soon discovered she had been a little overzealous about ‘getting into shape’.

‘You don’t fit,’ worried Samantha.

‘Thank goodness, let’s go home!’ said Boris.

‘Yes I do,’ argued Nanny Piggins, because she might be out of practice but she still knew a thing or two about pig ballistics. ‘Fetch me a big tub of butter.’

Fortunately they had a huge tub of butter in Mr Green’s car. Nanny Piggins kept it there for emergencies, such as suddenly coming across hot buns that urgently needed to be eaten.

‘Now smear it all over me,’ ordered Nanny Piggins.

So the children and Boris set to work buttering Nanny Piggins. It took longer than you might expect because Nanny Piggins got peckish and could not resist licking it off. It was not until Michael found a two-year-old out-of-date chocolate bar down the back seat of Mr Green’s car that they were able
to distract Nanny Piggins long enough to finish buttering her up.

‘Are you sure this is going to work?’ asked Derrick.

‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Nanny Piggins. And she was right. Although it did take all her strength and an enormous amount of shoving from all three children and Boris to jam her into the barrel.

‘And you call yourself a flying pig,’ scoffed Eduardo.

‘I’ll be calling myself ‘winner’ as you eat my dust in a minute,’ said Nanny Piggins in a muffled voice from deep inside the cannon.

And so the moment of truth arrived. Samantha was going to do the countdown while Derrick and Eduardo’s assistant (Sanchez, the Guatemalan guinea pig), stood by, ready to fire the cannons.

‘Five, four, three, two, one!’ said Samantha as she clamped her eyes shut because she could not bear to look.

Bam!!! went the cannons as they fired loudly, blasting the two animals into the air. Eduardo shot cleanly out of his cannon and made a perfect parabolic arc in the sky. It was a beautiful flight. And very long. Sadly, not quite long enough to get him all the way across Dead Man’s Gorge. He was only
twenty centimetres short of making the other side. But twenty centimetres is a long way when there is a two hundred and nineteen-foot drop below.

‘Aaaaaaagggghhhh!!!!!’ said Eduardo as he realised he had made a terrible, terrible, terrible mistake.

But, as it turned out, he was lucky. Michael had complete faith in his nanny, but did not have the same amount of faith in the ninety-year-old Howitzer or the prevailing headwind she was being blasted into. So he had, unbeknownst to Nanny Piggins, snuck out in the night and put his mattress at the bottom of Dead Man’s Gorge. So rest assured, Eduardo did not plummet to his death.

He plummeted to his wet. Because he fell all the way down, hit the mattress, bounced off and landed in the cold wintry sea. Which would be unpleasant for anyone, but was particularly unpleasant for a desert-living armadillo from Mexico who was not used to cold weather.

Now I should tell you what happened to Nanny Piggins. Unfortunately, it is not exactly clear. It turns out (for those of you who do know about physics, you might be familiar with this) that the tighter you pack the barrel of a cannon, the further the blast goes. So if you fire a pig that only fits into a cannon with the aid of five litres of butter, three small children
and a bear, then that pig is going to fly a very long way. Especially if that pig is not particularly good at maths, and she has particular difficulty with decimal places. So that instead of putting 0.02 kilos of gunpowder into the cannon, Nanny Piggins put twenty kilos of gunpowder into the cannon (for those of you who do not like decimals either, this means she used one thousand times too much).

Simply put, when Nanny Piggins blasted out of the cannon the children had no idea where she went. All they saw was a streak of pink pig flying across the sky at the speed of light. She passed over Dead Man’s Gorge and kept flying until she was a tiny pink dot disappearing over the horizon.

‘Oh dear!’ said Derrick.

‘Oh no!’ said Samantha.

‘Cool!’ said Michael.

Boris did not say anything because he was too busy whimpering with his paws over his eyes.

Never fear, Nanny Piggins was perfectly all right. She sent the children a telegram later that day to let them know she had landed safely. But they did not see her again for three days because that is how long it took her to walk back.

The first thing Nanny Piggins did on returning was go to the hospital to see Eduardo. Not that
there was anything wrong with him. He was just in hospital for his nerves. Falling two hundred and nineteen feet into the sea had really shaken him up and totally put him off cannons. So Nanny Piggins had mercy on him. Instead of biting him hard on the leg as she had originally planned, she merely slapped him hard across the face with a rubber glove that she borrowed from one of the nurses and told him to never claim to be the ‘Greatest Flying Anything’ ever again.

And so Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children returned home and everything was back to normal. Nanny Piggins had lost her flying ‘shape’ on the three-day walk back. She still held the title of ‘World’s Greatest Flying Animal’, and the children had the best ever story for show and tell on Monday.

Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children were in Mr Green’s bedroom. For once they were not there to rifle through his drawers looking for spare change, or to ‘borrow’ his clothes to make spaceman costumes. They were in Mr Green’s bedroom because it had the best view of the street. And since it was a rainy day and they could not go outside to harass the community in person, Nanny Piggins suggested that they
spend the afternoon blowing spitballs at passing pedestrians. Which, as it turned out, was a delightful way to while away their time.

Nanny Piggins had a point system worked out. You got five points for hitting someone wearing a hat; ten points for a bald man; fifteen points if you got it in their ear and twenty points if you got it in the ear of a bald man while he was talking on a mobile phone.

The children thoroughly enjoyed the game. Derrick had twenty-five points, Samantha had twenty and Michael had ten. But Nanny Piggins was easily winning. She had one thousand, six hundred and ninety-five points. Although admittedly she had an advantage. While she was touring with the circus, Nanny Piggins had met a South American pygmy who taught her how to use a dart gun with startling power and accuracy. She could hit a mosquito in mid-air from two hundred metres away. And, of course, it helped that she had Boris dangling her out the window by her hind trotters, allowing her to get as close as possible to her target.

Nanny Piggins was just about to hit a bald man in the ear as he talked on a mobile phone while picking his nose at the same time when she spotted a girl walking along the street.

‘Pull me in! Quick!! It’s the police,’ squealed Nanny Piggins. Which nearly caused Boris to drop her. He did not like being yelled at, even when the yelling was meant in the friendliest possible way. He had delicate nerves for a bear.

Derrick, Samantha and Michael leaned further out the window to see what Nanny Piggins was talking about.

‘It’s just a girl,’ said Derrick.

‘Yes, but she’s wearing a blue police uniform,’ countered Nanny Piggins.

‘I think she’s too short to be in the police force,’ suggested Michael.

‘Perhaps she’s wearing a disguise,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘and secretly she’s six foot two.’

‘Or,’ said Samantha, ‘perhaps she’s a Buzzy Bee. They wear blue uniforms too.’

‘A what-what?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

‘A Buzzy Bee,’ explained Samantha.

‘What are they?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

This stumped Samantha for a moment. She was not entirely sure how best to explain it. ‘It’s an organisation for girls … where they learn how to do good deeds for the community … and how to survive in the wilderness … and they go camping.’

‘Camping!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘The
poor creatures. How inhumanely cruel. What sort of wicked adults would condone taking children out into the wilderness and depriving them of toilet facilities?’

‘It’s supposed to do them good,’ explained Derrick.

‘Typical!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Humans never cease to amaze me. I still can’t get over how giving children an oval ball and letting them run at full tilt, slamming into each other, is legal.’ She did not at all approve of organised sports. Disorganised sports like pie throwing, ice-cream-van chasing and being shot out of a cannon held much more appeal.

‘Look!’ cried Boris. ‘She’s coming this way! Quick, hide!’

The blonde girl was, indeed, letting herself in through the Green’s front gate and approaching the front door. Unfortunately there was no time to avoid detection, because a ten-foot squealing Russian bear does tend to draw the eye.

The girl smiled and waved up at them.

Nanny Piggins and the children stared back down. (Boris was too busy ‘hiding’. Although he was not so much hiding as cowering in the corner with Mr Green’s doona over his head. But we should not judge him too harshly because it is hard to hide
when you are ten foot tall and weigh seven hundred kilograms.) ‘What does she want?’ hissed Nanny Piggins. She distrusted unprovoked smiling. She clutched her dart gun tightly and wished she had not left the poisoned darts in her own room.

‘We could go downstairs and ask her,’ suggested Samantha, knowing this was something Nanny Piggins would never think of herself.

‘All right,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘But if we are all arrested and dragged off to prison it’ll be your fault when we miss our soap operas.’

So they all went downstairs (except for Boris, who was still hiding under the doona) and approached the front door with caution. Nanny Piggins was holding a telescopic umbrella at the ready, just in case things got out of hand and someone had to be clubbed over the head.

‘If I am arrested, children,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘I just want you to know two things. One, it’s been a pleasure being your nanny. And two, I’ve got twenty-three family fun packets of mini chocolate bars sewn into the underside of my mattress.’

And with that Nanny Piggins bravely swung open the front door.

‘Good morning,’ said the girl. ‘Would you like to buy some Buzzy Bee biscuits?’

Nanny Piggins immediately slammed the door in her face.

‘What does she mean?’ Nanny Piggins asked the children.

‘I think she’d like to know if you’d like to buy some Buzzy Bee biscuits,’ said Derrick. (He realised it took his nanny no time at all to grasp things that made no sense, and a lot of time to understand things that seemed perfectly reasonable.)

‘But that’s the most stupid question in the entire world,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘It is?’ said Samantha. This surprised her because only the previous day, her maths teacher had told her that the stupidest question in the entire world was, ‘Why do I have to learn how to solve quadratic equations?’

‘Who would
not
want to buy biscuits?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘It’s like asking, “Would you like to breathe in and out?” or “Would you like to try to shove twenty-three family fun packets of chocolate into your mouth all at the same time?” The answer is obvious.’ And with that Nanny Piggins threw the door back open and told the now slightly frightened-looking girl, ‘Yes, of course I want to buy your biscuits. Are you out of your mind to be asking such a ridiculous question?’

As it turned out Nanny Piggins only bought nine boxes of biscuits. She would have bought more, but the problem was she was paid ten cents an hour and Nanny Piggins only found eleven dollars when she was rifling through Mr Green’s room (she had not gone into his room to do that, but that did not mean she was going to waste the opportunity while she was there).

So Nanny Piggins, the children and Boris (who had now been persuaded that it was safe to come downstairs) sat with the packets of biscuits laid out on the coffee table ready to enjoy a lovely afternoon tea. Nanny Piggins opened the first packet, handed them around to the others and then took one for herself.

Eating the first biscuit out of a fresh packet was a serious ritual for Nanny Piggins. First, she held the biscuit to her nose. It smelled good – buttery and sweet. Next, she held the biscuit to the light to inspect the colour – a perfect golden brown. And finally, she held the biscuit to her mouth and shoved in the whole thing, in one gulp.

Normally at this point she would moan with pleasure. But not this time.

‘Noooooo!’ screamed Nanny Piggins, biscuit crumbs flying out from her mouth in all directions.
She then leapt up and threw herself over the coffee table, scattering the biscuits all over the floor.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Derrick.

‘Don’t eat another bite!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins.

‘Why?’ asked Samantha, starting to feel worried because she had just swallowed rather a large bite.

‘Are they poisoned?’ asked Boris.

‘Are they disgusting?’ asked Michael.

‘Do you want them all to yourself?’ asked Samantha.

‘No. Much, much worse than all that. They’re stolen!’ proclaimed Nanny Piggins.

The others stared at Nanny Piggins in horror.

‘How can you tell?’ asked Derrick.

‘Taste them!’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘I thought you didn’t want us to have another bite?’ said Michael, who wanted a bite but did not want his nanny to yell at him.

‘You can have just one bite,’ conceded Nanny Piggins.

The children each took a bite of their biscuits. It tasted like biscuit to them. Very good biscuit, but biscuit nonetheless. But then they did not know what stolen property tasted like.

It was Boris who recognised it instantly. As
soon as the first cookie crumbs touched his tastebuds he was spitting them back out across the room and screaming, ‘You’re right! Definitely stolen!’

‘You see,’ said Nanny Piggins, who enjoyed being correct.

‘So you’re saying that girl broke into some one’s house and stole all these biscuits?’ asked Derrick. (He did not realise his nanny had such a good sense of taste.)

‘No, I’m saying she stole them from my family,’ said Nanny Piggins.

Now the children were really confused.

‘These are my great-great-grandmother’s biscuits,’ explained Nanny Piggins.

‘But surely they’d be past their used-by date,’ said Michael as he read the back of one of the packets.

‘No, I mean it is my great-great-grandmother’s recipe,’ said Nanny Piggins.

‘Oh,’ said the children as they finally started to catch on.

‘But are you absolutely sure?’ asked Derrick. ‘I mean, biscuits all taste much the same.’

Nanny Piggins gripped the sofa and stared at Derrick in horror. ‘Derrick,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘you are lucky I don’t believe in soap. Because I
have never felt the urge to wash your mouth out as strongly as I do now.’

‘Sorry,’ said Derrick, realising he had just said something terribly offensive.

Boris patted Nanny Piggins’ hand soothingly as she struggled to contain her emotions. ‘Every biscuit in the world is unique,’ Boris explained to the children. ‘The ratio of sugar to flour to butter to nutmeg – it’s as unique as DNA in humans.’

‘More unique!’ declared Nanny Piggins. ‘No-one has ever adequately explained to me how identical twins work.’

‘True,’ said Boris, nodding.

‘There is no doubt about it,’ said Nanny Piggins, sniffing another biscuit. ‘This is Great-Great-Granny Piggins’ biscuit. How else could it be so delicious?’

And so, while Nanny Piggins, Boris and the children thoroughly checked all the biscuits (by eating them), she came up with a plan. ‘I need to infiltrate the Buzzy Bees,’ decided Nanny Piggins.

‘Couldn’t you just report them to the police?’ suggested Samantha reasonably.

‘This is too serious a matter for the police,’ said Nanny Piggins unreasonably. ‘It’s not enough to just lock them up in jail for ever and ever. We need
to find out how they stole the recipe. Then punish them
properly
.’

‘Why?’ asked Derrick, who thought that sounded like an awful lot of work.

‘Because if they got the biscuit recipe, who knows what they might try to steal next?’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘Seventh-Cousin Gillian’s peanut brittle? Third-Niece Natalie’s blancmange? Or worst of all – what if Great-Great-Auntie Piggins’ mudcake recipe got out?!!’ Nanny Piggins had to stop speaking here because she got so emotional she could not say another word.

Boris patted her affectionately on the shoulder. ‘There, there. Don’t think about it. The possibilities are too horrific to imagine.’

‘So how does one go about joining the Buzzy Bees?’ asked Nanny Piggins, pulling herself together. ‘Is there an initiation ritual? Do I have to kill someone? Or ride a motorbike through a burning ring of fire?’

‘I’m pretty sure you just have to go along to one of their meetings and say you’d like to join,’ said Samantha.

‘Of course, how ingenious, they make it easy so they can lure more young people into a life of crime,’ said Nanny Piggins, nodding wisely. ‘Let’s all go and join tomorrow.’

As it turned out they did not all go and join the Buzzy Bees the next day. Derrick and Michael, after an enormous amount of explanation and begging, managed to excuse themselves. Nanny Piggins took some time to be convinced that the Buzzy Bees was only for girls. She was pretty sure this must breach some equal-opportunity law or another.

But in the end it was just Nanny Piggins, Samantha and Boris (who was a ballet dancer and therefore in touch with his feminine side, and did not mind pretending to be an eleven-year-old girl) who went along to the Buzzy Bee meeting.

When they arrived, the blonde girl who sold them the biscuits was also there. Although as soon as she saw Nanny Piggins she ran away screaming. The adult leader of the group, a stout, jolly, middle-aged woman came up to welcome them.

‘Hello, I’m Barn Owl,’ she said.

‘She does realise she’s not an owl, she’s a human, doesn’t she?’ Nanny Piggins whispered to Samantha.

‘I think so,’ said Samantha, who was entirely out of her depth.

‘Maybe she calls herself Barn Owl because her
head will turn around three hundred and sixty degrees,’ suggested Boris.

‘Good point,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Shall we find out?’

‘Maybe later,’ suggested Samantha, grabbing Nanny Piggins’ hand. Samantha thought that snapping the leader’s neck was probably not a good way to make friends and feel part of the group.