Googol Boy and the peculiar incident of the Great Quiz Trophy by John Michael (good short books .TXT) 📗

“Yes it did! That’s what Eugene told us.”

“Wasn’t Mr Perriman running the school Fat Camp for the last three days?”

“Fat Camp? What Fat Camp?”

“The Fat Camp that the school runs every year.”

“Hmm... that’s odd. I never heard about it.”

“Mr Perriman sent a letter to my mum, insisting that I should go!”

“When did this so-called Fat Camp finish?”

“They all arrived back early this morning.”

“Hmm... interesting point! I guess I overlooked that one minor detail. Good call Barney!”

“Ha ha Howie... you had me going there. I thought we’d be finally rid of Corporal Punishment!”

“No such luck Barn. No such luck at all!”

At that very moment a freckly face popped up from behind a shrub, like a jack in the box, and gave us both a fright.

“Oh! It’s you Freckles,” gasped Barney.

“Hi Barney... I’ve come for another round of Klonkers.”

“Oh, you have, have you?” replied Barney.

Klonkers was brought into Quockingpoll Flats by the early Scandinavian settlers. It was an ancient game which dated back to Viking times when men would settle their differences by ‘klonking’ each other on the head with big stones. These days, of course, that sort of behaviour was frowned upon and the game became less about brawn and more about tactics. It was a contest of strategy and risk and the game was a cross between checkers and conkers. Each opposing player had a king and three defenders, represented by a larger stone with a leather strap through the centre and three smaller plain stones. You drew a pentagram on the ground and placed your four stones on any point or intersection on the star. The object of the game was to jump your opponent’s piece and whoever captured the king was the winner of the first stage and would have the privilege of beginning the ‘klonking’ of the next stage. This second stage of the game was the sudden death phase where the leather straps of the king stones were unwound and each player would dangle their stone, taking turns ‘klonking’ each other’s king until one would break.

“You’ve come back for another defeat then?” enquired Barney.

“You should really take off that mask when you’re talking to me, it’s not Halloween yet!”

“Oh really Freckles? Talking about Halloween... your face is all trick and no treat!” retorted Barney.

“Well, your face could stop a herd of stampeding brabbensacks!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” shrieked Freckles.

“Bring it on Freckle-Face!” screamed Barney.

This type of trash talk was common banter before commencing a game of klonkers — in fact, it was somewhat of a ritual. Apparently the Vikings* would use a barrage of insults in order to get the adrenaline pumping in preparation for their intense klonking battles. Of course, the nature of such trash talk had changed significantly since those days. Some of the old Viking smack-downs had lost their lustre and just didn’t have the same impact nowadays. If someone called you ‘a stuffed, gorbellied sheep-sack of spongy, dankish walrus entrails’ or said that you ‘reek like the greasy tallow-catch of a fishmonger’s yeasty fishpot’ or stated that your mother was ‘an infectious, lumpish, full-gorged vat of barnacled whale blubber,’ you’d probably just walk away. Despite their grizzly beards and fierce reputation, Vikings could be quite sensitive and any mockery involving dankish walruses, yeasty fishpots or whale blubber would be an offence to one’s honour and could only be settled with some hard-core klonking.

In regard to modern day klonking, Barney had been on a lucky streak lately. He was undefeated and was developing a bit of a reputation amongst the playground klonkers crowd. He had gone twenty games without a loss and I had even heard a nickname starting to do the rounds, Barney the Brute.

It was risky business accepting Freckle’s challenge during lunchtime and out in the open like this. Klonkers had been banned ever since the Van der Hoosen incident. It was a klonkers showdown like any other but the leather strap broke and one of the king-stones went flying through the louvre windows of the staff toilets, resulting in a cacophonous of and glass. Mr Van der Hoosen, our English teacher, came charging out of the bathroom, trying to pull up his trousers and run at the same time (while clutching a roll of toilet paper in his hand). He had almost made it clear of the building when he tripped and went head over heels into a bush of barbed brambles and stinging nettles. It took over half an hour to free the teacher from the prickly ropes of thorns and the bristly needles. As he was led away, with his clothes torn, face swollen and hair dishevelled, he screamed out “the horror, the horror,” before fainting altogether.

If Barney and Freckles were to finish their game they would have to get a move on, time was ticking away and lunch was about to end. A small crowd gathered around the two combatants with eager excitement. At that very moment the teacher on playground duty walked past and everyone pretended that they were just your typical bored teenagers, standing around aimlessly and staring at the ground with intense boredom.

“How’s it going boys?” the teacher asked.

There was an immediate smattering of typical one-word answers and grunts to get the teacher off our backs and to trick her into thinking that everything was as per normal.

“Dunno.”

“Good.”

“Yep.”

“Nothing.”

“Alright.”

“Ugh.”

“Duh!”

“Hmm... great conversation,” she replied and carried on with her lap of the playground.

As soon as the teacher was out of sight, everybody huddled around Barney and Freckles once more. The atmosphere was intense. Would Barney be victorious? Would Freckles cause an upset? Alistair Doncaster, our resident commentator for every match of klonkers, stepped up to the mark. His family had migrated from Britain and he was one of the older students in the year. In a more official capacity, he was also the public announcer at the school swimming carnival and athletics competition.

“Welcome everybody. It’s a spectacular afternoon as we gather at