The Royal Bake Off Read online

  Contents

  The story so far …

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  The story so far …

  The heir to the throne of Britland, Prince Pepino, has been found again after disappearing for three days.

  ‘We bumped into Pepino at the wedding of Princess Violette of Francia,’ said Queen Sheila. ‘He’d been to Parii with his friends without telling us, the cheeky little monkey!’

  The prince and his two friends, Holly and Anna Burnbright, reportedly worked in Parii for Francian Royal Wedding organiser Mademoiselle Malypense. It’s been a busy week for the three children, who last Monday repelled the invasion of Britland by King Alaspooryorick of Daneland.

  The Royal Family of Britland was attending the wedding of Violette of Francia to King Dentu of Romany, although the Francian Princess changed her mind at the last minute and married a non-royal she was actually in love with.

  ‘Young princesses these days,’ sighed Queen Sheila. ‘They think they need to be in love to get married! When in fact it’s all a matter of how well your future spouse plays table football.’

  It is believed that the three children are trying to earn money to go on the Holy Moly Holiday advertised in all the Britland newspapers. Anna Burnbright stated: ‘We’re looking for another summer job, since we didn’t get paid for that one.’ Let’s hope for the sake of those greedy young girls that the next job pays a little more than that.

  Chapter One

  There is nothing quite so bothersome as badly combed seaweed, especially when it’s growing on a pile of rocks on the beach outside the windows of your royal palace. Thus Queen Sheila and King Steve of Britland, one sunny summer morning after returning from Francia, asked Prince Pepino and Holly and Anna Burnbright to work as rock hairdressers for the day.

  ‘Just make them look pretty,’ said Queen Sheila. ‘We’ll reward you, of course. You’ll each get a new island named after you.’

  ‘Can we have real money instead?’ asked Anna.

  ‘What a disgusting request!’ King Steve exclaimed. ‘What do you need money for?’

  ‘A holiday we saw advertised in the newspaper,’ said Anna.

  They had explained this to the King and Queen many times, but they kept forgetting. That holiday was called the Holy Moly Holiday, and it sounded like the absolute best experience of a lifetime. It was also very expensive.

  ‘Why can’t you ask your parents for money?’ asked King Steve.

  ‘We only have our mum, and she’s poor,’ said Holly. Their dad had disappeared years ago in the beak of a pelican. (That sort of thing is unlucky, but happens rarely enough that one shouldn’t worry too much about it in everyday life.) ‘She’s a writer of ABC books, and there isn’t much she can do to get paid more: A is always worth one pound and B another pound, and she’s never allowed to add more letters to the alphabet.’

  ‘We will pay you one pound per rock,’ said King Steve. ‘And I will pass a new law adding two letters to the alphabet. Or even three.’

  ‘It might be c*mplΔcat~d,’ said Queen Sheila, ‘but all right, dear, if you wish.’

  Prince Pepino, Holly and Anna started their job immediately, armed with a new rock hairdressing kit.

  They soon realised that the job wasn’t going to be easy. The brown seaweed was too rubbery to be plaited, and the green seaweed was full of sand mites.

  ‘That’s the tenth crab that refuses to be clipped at the end of a braid!’ Anna cursed.

  ‘And I’m having trouble with those anemones,’ Holly complained. ‘They keep squirting seawater on me when I try to cut that rock’s fringe.’

  ‘You’re just not very talented,’ said Prince Pepino. ‘My rocks are already much prettier.’

  Anna threw away the crab, which stuck its tongue out at her. ‘I feel,’ she said, ‘like my life is spent working, working, working, with no deeper meaning at all.’

  ‘I know,’ said Pepino sadly. ‘It happens to me when I’ve been learning times tables for three minutes. I just want to scr–’

  ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!’

  The three children looked up at the palace. That high-pitched scream could only have come from one moustachioed mouth: King Steve’s.

  ‘What’s wrong, Dad?’ Pepino shouted up. ‘Did you step on one of the Berties’ pet centipedes again?’

  The King appeared at the window, looking as pale as a frog’s belly. ‘I’ve just had my brother on the phone,’ he said.

  ‘Poor Daddy,’ whispered Pepino. ‘Let’s go back to the palace. He’ll need to be fed marshmallows through a tube.’

  King Steve was lying on his bed eating flapjacks, cookies, peanut butter cups and, of course, marshmallows. The Queen was fanning him with a cloud of candyfloss, which King Steve stuffed in his mouth as the children walked in.

  ‘My darling,’ said the Queen, ‘what can Sam possibly have said to make you so distressed?’

  ‘Uncle Sam,’ Pepino explained quietly to Holly and Anna, ‘is the Emperor of Americanada. He married the Empress, but she’s always abroad with her army, so he basically rules the country on his own. The biggest, richest country in the world! It makes Dad a little bit jealous.’

  ‘Jealous!’ sniffled King Steve, blowing his nose in the royal bedcovers. ‘I’m not jealous of my brother! I don’t care that he’s richer than me, and more handsome and successful! I don’t even care that he’s decided to – to start baking!’

  ‘Baking!’ the Queen exclaimed. ‘Oh, Stevie darling! Don’t tell me –’

  ‘That’s right! The ONLY THING I do well – he had to try it too! And of course he does it seriously now – he’s taking classes. He’s already won competitions in Americanada!’

  Queen Sheila tut-tutted. The King, having run out of bedcovers, attempted to blow his nose into the fur of one of their angora kittens (the kitten bit his chin).

  ‘And of course,’ said King Steve, ‘it’s not enough for Sam. He must show me that he’s the best at it. He’s organising a Royal Bake Off – and he wants me to be a contestant!’

  ‘Oh, you’ll win easily, Daddy,’ said Pepino. ‘You’re the best-ever cake maker. Remember when you won the South-East Britland Crab-Apple Crumble Competition? Look, the picture’s still on the wall!’

  ‘Crab-apple crumbles!’ King Steve snorted. ‘Look at the picture Sam’s sent me on the Visiophone. He’s just finished making a life-sized nougat and praline skyscraper. A hundred floors! With energy-drink-powered lifts! Of course his people adore him.’

  ‘Your people adore you too,’ said Queen Sheila. ‘The newspapers keep saying how much of a laugh you are.’

  ‘That’s because they laugh at me!’ moaned King Steve. ‘You think I didn’t read today’s news story mocking me because I still can’t count to ten? I’ve read it one, two, three, eight, four, five, nine, six, eight, ten times! I’ve had enough. I will take up his challenge – I will take part in the Royal Bake Off!’

  ‘Oh, Steve – we’re all so proud of you!’ the Queen stammered, a bit tearful.

  ‘I need to find some assistants,’ said the King. ‘Sam mentioned that each contestant could bring up to three kitchen helpers, who would be paid five hundred pounds each. The only condition is that they should have no baking experience whatsoever. Where could I find people like that?’

  ‘Ahem,’ coughed Anna. ‘Ahem, ahem, ahem!’

  ‘Ahem!’ coughed H
olly. ‘Ahem!’

  After ten or so minutes of coughing, the Queen, King and prince understood what they were alluding to – and King Steve phoned his brother to roar, ‘I’m coming, Sam! And with the three most unqualified assistants in the world!’

  Chapter Two

  The next day, Holly and Anna arrived at the Royal Palace Airport early with tidy little suitcases. Prince Pepino and King Steve’s suitcases were a bit less tidy.

  ‘It’s going to take a while to go through airport security,’ Holly murmured.

  Especially as the King and Pepino spent some time sliding into the X-ray machine and laughing at pictures of their skeletons.

  ‘Look!’ said Pepino. ‘That must be the apricot stone I swallowed last summer. It’s growing into a proper tree!’

  ‘We’re flying with Kryin’Air?’ grumbled Anna, looking at the departures screen. ‘It’s the worst airline ever! I thought Emperor Sam had super-powered rockets?’

  Their plane looked less nice than a super-powered rocket, but made just as much noise (CREEAAAK! CRAAACKK!!). They watched it flap its wings lazily to the landing strip, ready for boarding. Like every Kryin’Air plane, the passengers had to run on treadmills to make the engines work. On this flight, they were the only passengers, but around them three thousand hamsters in little wheels helped too.

  King Steve only ran half-heartedly for two minutes before declaring he was royally tired. So instead of running, he told the story of his sad childhood.

  ‘Sam was the oldest, before me and our sister Sharon. He was better-looking, more intelligent and more fun. He was everyone’s favourite – my parents’, the country’s, the world’s. Everyone loved him! Except us. We hated him. Look, here’s a picture of our family.’

  ‘Sharon was so sad to live in Sam’s shadow,’ the King went on, ‘that she left the palace when she was only thirteen years old, never to be seen again. And then of course the Empress of Americanada fell for Sam, and he married her and became the Emperor. So I ended up staying in Britland and being King in the Royal Palace here, where there are only five grown-up soft-play areas.’

  ‘Oh, poor you,’ Anna snorted. ‘That’s such a sad life.’

  ‘It is!’ said the King. ‘Oh, look – there’s a map of where we’re going!’

  ‘What?!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘We’re not going straight to Americanada?’

  ‘Are they even going to provide in-flight entertainment?’ the King asked. ‘I’m getting bored. And it smells of hamster poo.’

  Grumpily, he sat next to a window and spent the next half hour asking when they’d get there, singing nursery rhymes and picking at the seams of his coat. Then he fell asleep, dribbling into his beard.

  ‘Finally, some peace and quiet,’ Holly huffed. ‘I know he’s your dad, Pepino, but babysitting him is hard work.’

  ‘The plane’s landing,’ Anna observed. ‘We’ll be able to stop running for a bit.’

  The plane stopped at Sheriffhood Airport in Germanisland, where all the hamsters were changed for new ones and someone else got on the plane.

  ‘Hallo,’ said the newcomer. ‘I belief I haf not had ze pleasure to meet you before. I am ze Über-Sheriff of Germanisland, and zis is mein assistant.’

  ‘I see,’ said Holly. ‘You’re one of the contestants for the Royal Bake Off?’

  ‘Yes!’ the Sheriff nodded. ‘I am an expert of apfelstrudel, pretzels and prinzregententorte!’

  ‘Well,’ Anna said, ‘you’d better start running, Your Über-Majesty! We’re going round the world!’

  ‘Oh, I sink I’d razzer sleep a bit while you all run,’ said the Über-Sheriff, and he fell asleep next to King Steve.

  ‘I hate royalty,’ Anna groaned. ‘Where to next?’

  Next, they precariously skidded to a stop at the icy Emirate Airport in Antarktik. The hamsters were changed for some frozen-looking ones, who seemed grateful to be asked to run. The newcomer was the Emir of Antarktik himself, with his two helpers.

  ‘Since you are all running so well,’ said the Emir politely, ‘I will read my book instead.’

  He sat down next to King Steve and the Über-Sheriff, opened a book called Baking from A to Z, and fell asleep at the letter B.

  It was a long time until the next stop, since they had to journey to the other side of the planet to the immense land of Downunder and its Imperial Airport. The new hamsters ran backwards and upside down.

  The Empress of Downunder boarded the flight. She picked a treadmill and started running so vigorously that the plane was significantly faster on the next stretch of its journey.

  They soon landed at Princely Airport, Easter Island.

  ‘Is this where Easter bunnies come from?’ Pepino asked excitedly.

  ‘It might be,’ said Anna. ‘Look – they’re bringing bunnies on instead of hamsters.’

  The person who boarded was by far the oddest royal, and her wooden assistants the most mysterious.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said the new passenger softly. ‘I am the Easter Princess.’

  And she picked a treadmill and walked slowly on it, with seriousness and grace.

  ‘Even weirder royals than ours,’ said Anna. ‘This Royal Bake Off is going to be very interesting …’

  Chapter Three

  They arrived at the capital of Americanada, Bigapple, as the night fell. The city was an amazing explosion of lights, advertising everything from sandwiches to underpants.

  ‘Daddy,’ said Pepino, shaking King Steve. ‘We’ve arrived! You need to wake up.’

  ‘No, Mummy, I dunwanna go to school,’ grumbled the King. ‘The other kids are mean to me.’ He then opened an eyelid. ‘Oh, phew, what a terrible dream! Where are we?’

  ‘Just getting to Bigapple.’

  ‘Oh, no! That’s an even worse nightmare.’

  On an island facing the city, the Apple of Liberty shone Granny Smith green in the dark, catching and reflecting the twinkle of the capital.

  ‘Beautiful!’ said Holly.

  ‘Well,’ King Steve snorted, ‘it would be better with a climbing wall on the side and a waffle bar at the top.’

  They waited for the other contestants to get off the creaky plane before they did. Then they stood outside the door and blinked.

  FLASHFLASHFLASHFLASH!

  ‘Is it just me or have we landed in a TV studio?’ asked Anna.

  Indeed the landing strip had been turned into a gigantic stage and a huge audience wheeled in and all around the Kryin’Air plane were now hovering …

  ‘Filmcrews!’ Pepino mused. ‘I’ve never seen real ones before.’

  ‘And this looks like the Emperor’s guest of honour, his brother Steve!’ exclaimed a strong, twangy male voice through the amplifiers.

  ‘Look at his adorable old-style Britland pants!’ quavered an older female voice.

  ‘They can see my pants?’ shuddered King Steve.

  ‘I think they mean “trousers”,’ explained Holly.

  ‘And who are those cuuute Britlander children?’ the singsong lady’s voice resonated.

  ‘How totally awesome are those crooked yellow teeth of theirs?’ boomed the man’s voice. ‘I hear it’s a rule in Britland that teeth should never be straight or white. And we must respect that custom!’

  ‘Enough,’ Anna exclaimed. ‘We’re here to take part in a baking contest, not to be talked about like exotic monsters!’

  ‘Listen to this amazing accent!’ said the man’s voice. ‘Ex-ott-ic! How exodic is that?’

  From the blinding camera flashes emerged Emperor Sam, who climbed the stairs athletically to greet them.

  ‘Emperor Sam, nice to meet you!’ he said.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Anna sternly, shaking his hand.

  ‘You’re looking a bit tired!’ said the Emperor.

  ‘You would be too if you’d been running on a treadmill all day,’ retorted Anna.

  ‘Running on a treadmill all day!’ exclaimed the male voiceover. ‘That’s the way to go, Americanada!’<
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  ‘Those Uropeans certainly know how to keep healthy,’ agreed the woman.

  The Emperor walked up to Holly, who turned red, held out the wrong hand and finally stammered, ‘Good morning, Your Emperorship, erm, Your Imperial Highness, erm –’

  ‘Call me Sam!’ the Emperor roared. (The amplified male voice immediately commented, ‘No stiff Britlander protocol for Emperor Sam!’)

  Then Emperor Sam planted himself in front of King Steve.

  ‘Oh, Stevie,’ said Sam, choking back tears. ‘How happy I am to be with you again.’

  ‘Well, quite,’ said King Steve, and he coughed. ‘Nice weather, huh?’

  ‘Deep down in my heart, I know you must have resented me,’ said Emperor Sam. ‘I’m so sorry I was so much better than you at everything. This is’ – he sobbed a bit – ‘your opportunity to shine, Stevie.’

  And he hugged his brother.

  ‘Brotherly love!’ the singsong lady’s voice marvelled as the audience cheered.

  ‘An undying bond – the truest of them all,’ commented the invisible man’s voice.

  Emperor Sam quickly wiped away his tears, which left his eyes absolutely not red nor swollen, and turned towards the cameras.

  ‘Americanada! I officially declare the first Royal Bake Off open! Please welcome our hosts, Charlus Rockamel and Molly Flumpkin!’

  There was a gigantic roar from the audience. The stage began to shake and a hole opened in the ground near them. Slowly, in a cloud of pink smoke, a gigantic cake emerged – and from it leapt the hosts.

  ‘My dear little choux, let the royal baking start!’ quaked Molly Flumpkin. ‘In the next four days, we’ll have increasingly finger-licking-licious –’

  ‘But devilishly difficult baking tasks!’ interrupted Charlus. ‘Our contestants will have to fight against not just flour, eggs and oven times, but also fire …’