CHAPTER TWELVE
EXPERIMENTS
The next morning, I let Wilbert loose in the field next door and dived into the task of solving the mystery of N.P.
My head was swirling with questions:
1. What did it mean?
2. What were those crispy bits I ate?
3. How was I going to solve this?
4. Should I eat a sandwich first?
It was quite the pickle. I needed some answers. And a sandwich. And maybe a pickle. But mostly answers.
I devoured Crunchie’s books (not literally, as I’d already devoured a sandwich and a pickle), but found them to be quite useless – not a single mention of ‘N.P.’
However, if books have taught me anything, it’s that the best place to find answers is in a book. Although I suppose books would say that. But if you think about it, the only place you’re going to find the answer to the N.P. mystery is in this book. So maybe they’re right!
Either way, during my downtime – when Martin was asleep or having a sudsy bath, and Wilbert was having a long, leisurely bum-scratch – I started popping back to the imaginary world to scour the books in the ‘Imaginary Research Facility For IFs Trying To Solve Weird Mysteries, Unexplained Anomalies And Wordsearch Puzzles With Their Realsies’. Or the I.R.F.F.I.T.T.S.W.M.U.A.A.W.P.W.T.R. for short.
One week later, I was still no closer to solving the mystery – but when Martin returned home from school one day, we did finally get one answer. There was a letter waiting for him in a shiny gold envelope stamped with the official seal of the Invention Convention!
The Invention Convention Dublin, Ireland
Greetings, Team Trepdem!
Thank you for your application. I daresay we have never received a proposal before that told us so little about an invention. In fact, you told us literally nothing, except that ‘Science will not know what hit it’. As scientists ourselves, I can assure you that we always know what hits it.
However, we were also intrigued by your impressive claims. And since your teacher, Mr Jackson, has signed your form and therefore vouched for your work (at risk of a massive fine and short jail sentence), we must assume that your invention is indeed a thousand times better than the toaster, the toasted-cheese-sandwich maker and the kettle all combined. This is a very exciting prospect indeed!
Therefore it is our great honour to invite you to participate in this year’s Invention Convention!
Congratulations, Team Trepdem!
Please transport your invention to the Convention Centre in Dublin by noon on the 20th of June for judging. After the winners are announced, there will be a short dance party. This will be followed by tea and buns. Tea is free, buns are extra.
All the best,
Mrs Maggie Magoonty
(Top Science Judge)
‘We’re in?!’ gasped Padraic, when Martin showed the letter to the gang the next day at school.
Declan Mannion was pleased. ‘Guess I won’t have to make any anonymous threatening phone calls after all. That’s my weekend freed up.’
‘So what happens now?’ asked Trevor.
Martin gave him a determined look. ‘Now we get to work!’
And get to work they did.
While I continued to trawl through the I.R.F.F.I.T.T.S.W.M.U.A.A.W.P.W.T.R., poring over every book with either an ‘N’ or a ‘P’ in the title, Team Trepdem constructed their first invention: a pair of rocket boots.
This might sound a bit dangerous, but what the team lacked in knowledge, they made up for in grit, enthusiasm and a total disregard for health and safety.
The rocket boots consisted of two big mucky boots, which came from Padraic’s farm – their main test site. The second ingredient was fireworks. Declan bought the largest available from Boyle’s black-market dealers (the Bonner brothers). The third and final ingredient was some strong, sticky tape. And once these three ingredients were combined – which took about forty-six seconds – they just needed a volunteer.
Everyone wanted to be the first rocketeer, but after an epic coin-flipping tournament, it was Trevor who claimed the lucky spot. He pulled on the flight footwear eagerly, imagining himself soaring over the treetops like a boot-wearing budgie, and it was only after they’d lit the fuses that a thought suddenly occurred to Martin.
‘Hang on . . . Don’t fireworks explode?’ he asked.
Trevor’s face went pale just before his feet flew out from underneath him. He slammed on to his back, and was then dragged along the ground by his fiery boots.
Within seconds, he was at the far side of Padraic’s field, screaming all the way, and would surely have had his feet melted, had the fizzing fireworks not carried him directly into a pond. They were extinguished in the water before they could pop, and instead of being exploded, Trevor merely found himself in a fight with a duck.
Now, it should be said that all inventors have setbacks. Harry Ferguson’s tractors fizzled, sputtered, collapsed and crumpled before they hummed like Lamborghinis*. He crashed his home-made tractors, motorbikes, aeroplanes and racing cars countless times. Failed experiments came with the territory. But after the near-demise of Trevor, the team decided to make three Safety Rules.
1. Avoid fire.
2. Avoid ducks.
3. Avoid death.
Hoping to steer clear of these hazards for their second invention, they decided to try something simpler: a Coat Zipperer.
At least, the idea was simpler, but the same couldn’t be said for the actual invention. It consisted of a metal belt that was worn around the waist. This held a long rod that arched up from the lower back and over the wearer’s head like a big ‘C’. A spring-loaded hook dangled down from this towards the front of the coat where it could be attached to the zipper. By pulling two levers, the spring-loaded hook would pop up, taking the zipper with it, and – hey presto! – you were zipped and ready to go!
That was the idea, anyway, and since Padraic was the one who came up with it, it was decided that he should be the one to test it out. He put on his coat, and then the rest of the team helped him strap on the heavy Coat Zipperer. Soon the hook was attached to the zipper, the spring was primed, and all was ready.
Padraic held the levers.
‘Activating zip!’
‘Activating zip!’ repeated Martin, with a nod.
Padraic hesitated nervously. ‘Eh. In T-minus three, two, one . . .’
Finally he pulled the levers. ‘Zip away!’
Nothing happened.
He pulled again. ‘Zip away!’
Still nothing. Padraic leaned down towards the zip, peering at it, and pulled again.
Suddenly the spring popped, and the zip was yanked upward with such force that Padraic’s whole head disappeared inside his coat. He gave a muffled wail, completely trapped.
Following these experiments, Padraic and Trevor strongly suggested that they build something that didn’t need to be worn. So they decided to construct a robot.
Using scrap metal, some old bits of plastic and wood, they built an impressive-looking mechanical man, which they named the ‘Trepdem Bot’.
But it had one slight flaw: it didn’t actually do anything. This was due to some confusion about who was in charge of electronics.
‘I thought you were doing that, Trevor!’ snapped Declan accusingly.
‘No, I was in charge of hair. Padraic was in charge of electronics.’
‘No, I was in charge of giving the robot a lovely smile!’ insisted Padraic.
They all blamed each other and ended up with a robot that was completely hollow. It did nothing but stand there, like a big, smiling, futuristic failure.
As they stared at their mindless creation, Martin suddenly had an idea.
‘Ya know, gang, if I’ve learned anything from films, it’s that if you want to bring something to life, or go back in time, or become magnetic, or get any superpowers really, there’s only one thing you need.’
‘Batman?’ suggested Padraic.
‘Lightning!’ proclaimed Martin. ‘Lightning can do anything! That’s science!’
‘But this isn’t like Back to the Future*,’ argued Trevor. ‘How are we supposed to get our hands on some lightning? We don’t know when it’s going to strike.’
Declan spat on the ground. ‘I know a fella that might be able to get us some. Wouldn’t be cheap, though.’
They pondered this for a moment . . . when suddenly Padraic blurted, ‘I’ve got it!’
‘You’ve got lightning?’ asked Martin.
‘Nope. But we’ve got the next best thing at our farm. An electric fence!’
And so, forgetting about Safety Rule # 3 (‘Avoid death’), they cycled out to Padraic’s farm to electrocute their robot. Padraic didn’t think that his dad, Farmer O’Dwyer, would approve of this experiment, so they decided to carry it out under cover of darkness.
As the sun set, Team Trepdem waited patiently in the bushes until Mr and Mrs Farmer O’Dwyer were settled on the couch watching Winning Streak*.
The four science ninjas then crept up to the electric fence with their robot. Padraic opened the control box and switched off the fence’s power before Martin and Declan leaned the robot against the metal wires. The Trepdem Bot drooped backwards over the fence like a clumsy gymnast trying to do The Crab.
‘Ready?’ hissed Padraic.
‘Ready!’ Martin whispered back.
Padraic pressed a button, turning the fence back on, and then shoved a lever upward, jamming it up to full power.
There was a low, intense HUMMMMMMMMM, and the robot started to vibrate.
‘Something’s happening!’ Martin squealed, astonished.
‘Is it coming alive?’ called Trevor, who was standing a very safe distance away.
‘Yes! I think it’s coming alive!’ cried Martin.
The robot was starting to smoulder. Thick smoke began to billow out from underneath it. And then suddenly it burst into flames.
‘Oh balls!’ moaned Martin.
All four of them fled in a panic, running in different directions.
Behind them, there was a crackle from the fence, a pop from the control box – and then Padraic’s house went dark. His neighbour’s house went dark. And then every house in Boyle went dark, as the whole town was plunged into a blackout.
