The Case of the Exploding Loo

Porter wakes me at three in the morning by thrusting his laptop in my face to show me the latest group email.

“Fawning?” I mumble sleepily, reaching for the light. “Doesn’t that mean giving birth to baby deer? Why would people be doing that?”

“Wake up! And don’t turn on the light, you muppet. Fawning also means grovelling. It’s a stupid word they chose because it rhymes with dawning. It’s not important. What’s important is stopping this Age of Intelligence. It can’t be a good thing if it leaves people in the state Gemma’s in.”

“Mmm,” I murmur, remembering where we are as my brain kicks into action. “Back here again? Do you have a thing for girls’ dorms, Porter?”

“Ugh. Seriously? Imagine if they all wake up.” Porter shudders. “Bathroom. Quick.”

“Whatever. Move faster. I need to show you these.” Porter reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pile of Kazinsky Electronics flyers:

KAZINSKY ELECTRONICS:

FREE iPOD GIVEAWAY

Be outside the store at 9 a.m.,

Friday 22^nd February

“The 22^nd of February? That’s tomorrow!” I look at my watch and squeak in horror. “No, it’s today! This is happening in six hours’ time! You know what an iPod giveaway means?”

Porter nods. “It means the Age of Intelligence is about frazzling as many brains as possible. We have to stop them.”

“That’s why we need a Faraday cage. It’ll block the electromagnetic waves.”

“A Faraday cage is a metal cage built to stop electromagnetic radiation travelling through it. Faraday cages are usually created to shield the things inside – keeping electronic equipment safe from lightning strikes, for example – but we can make a back-to-front version, like a microwave oven, to stop the waves from the brain ray escaping. It’ll work as long as the metal is thick enough and the holes are smaller than the wavelength of the radiation.”

“The maths is a bit boring, but generally a gap of one twentieth of the wavelength will reduce the signal by two-thirds and a gap of one two-hundredth of the wavelength will reduce it by ninety-nine per cent.”

“Meccano and silver foil should do it,” I finish quickly. “I need to speak to Meccano Morris. He’s always wanted to cover a building with Meccano. This is his chance.”

Porter waves the hairgrip and screwdriver in the air triumphantly. “I used my new trick! You said we needed a phone, so I took mine. Go on, call your friend.”

Meccano Morris is a bit dopey at first, probably because it’s three a.m., but he’s quick to grasp what I want and says he’ll get his brother to fill his van with Meccano and drive over to Kazinsky Electronics.

“We’re running out of time,” I tell Porter. “We need to get the police involved. They could raid the store and find a brain ray.”

“You’ve got the phone. Call them. Don’t forget to mention Gemma. I know we’ve put our faith in the Great Leader, but how can you trust a man who refuses to show his face.”

“No. Never have,” Porter says. “Isn’t that weird? Why would someone want to stay hidden?”

“To avoid being identified as a kidnapper and a torturer?” Another possibility lingers on the outskirts of my brain, but I refuse to let it in.

Policeman:	Lindon Police.
Me:	Hello? This is Noelle Hawkins.
Policeman:	[groans]
Me:	Are you hurt?
Policeman:	Not physically, no. What can we do for you today, Miss Hawkins?
Me:	I have important news concerning The Case of the Exploding Loo.
Policeman:	At three o’clock in the morning?
Me:	Yes. My dad’s alive and has been kidnapped by LOSERS.
Policeman:	Your dad’s been attacked by losers?
Me:	Don’t laugh. This isn’t a joke. You have to save him. Gemma too, or they’ll make her listen to the iPod again.
Policeman:	Miss Hawkins, are you aware that wasting police time is a criminal offence?
Me:	I’m not wasting time. You are, by not listening to me. You have to find out what’s in Mr Kazinsky’s Electronics shop.
Policeman:	Let me guess – electronics?
Me:	That’s what they want you to think. But they’ve hidden a real-life version of my imaginary brain ray in there. I’m worried it’ll give people radiation nosebleeds.
Policeman:	Let me get this straight. You want us to contact this Mr Kazinsky and ask him about an imaginary machine that makes people’s noses bleed?
Me:	No! Don’t be stupid. If you contact him he’ll know you’re after him. You need a search warrant. Last time I watched Lewis I saw . . . Hello . . . ? Don’t hang up. Hello . . . ? Hello?

“What?” I protest. “Okay, that didn’t go exactly as planned, but the police might follow up.”

“Ugh. Stop it. I swallowed that bit. Look, I’ll write a note for Jangly Keys Dave to take to PC Eric. PC Eric will help us. I know he will.”

I find a pencil in my dressing-gown pocket and grab a sheet of toilet paper. But it’s hard to explain everything – harder still when the toilet paper keeps ripping.

29

It’s Starting