Project Spy Kids II
Mindspaces
Written by Hazel Edwards.
Illustrated and designed by Jane Connory.
On Tournament Day, teams solve problems. Art the part-time spy doesn’t want to take part. He’s not keen on reading and he can’t spell TOURNAMENT, but he’s good at solving problems. His friend India makes him join her Tournament of Minds team.
They get ready to present their problem. But then thieves try to steal secrets from the university.
With India’s help, Art solves an unexpected mystery.
Tournament of Minds is where problems are solved, and Art is a great problem ... solver.
Also in the Project Spy Kids Series, by Hazel Edwards.
Copyright © Hazel Edwards and Jane Connory, 2011.
Written By Hazel Edwards.
www.hazeledwards.com
Illustration and design by Jane Connory.
www.janeconnory.com
ISBN 978-0-9871078-7-9
Originally published by Random House, rights reverted to Hazel Edwards
All electronic rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
Teacher resources and activities available -
http://www.hazeledwards.com/shop/item/1657793
Contents
Chapter 1 Fell off a camel, backwards!
Chapter 2 TOM Problem
Chapter 3 Bird Mess Clues
Chapter 4 Rings!
Chapter 5 Terminal Room
Chapter 6 Rare Coin Thief
Chapter 7 I.D.
Chapter 8 Props
Chapter 9 Crutches
Chapter 10 Bring and Brag
Chapter 1
Fell off a camel, backwards!
‘Where are you, Art? I’ve got a problem.’
India was on crutches. She hopped into the classroom. Art was cleaning the mouse house. This week, he was mouse-minder. It was lunchtime. The other children were outside playing.’
’Yes, I can see.’ The plaster cast on her left leg was a bit hard to miss.
‘Not that problem!’ India stopped on one leg, beside the desk. She brought her crutches together and rested them against the desk.
‘What happened?’ Art liked details. When you’re a part-time spy, you need to listen a lot.
‘Fell off a camel, backwards.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Art laughed. Not another tall story. Usually he, not India made them up.
‘We went to the fete. Dad made me go on this little kids’ merry-go-round because he loves riding. I picked the camel. Then I fell off, backwards. My leg got caught under the came’s neck. It broke.’
‘The camel’s neck? ‘ asked Art.
‘No! My leg.’
‘Does it hurt? Your leg I mean.’
‘Not now. Just itches. But I heard the crack when it happened.’
‘Unreal,’ said Art. ‘What’s your other problem?’
Clumsily, India moved on her crutches. Art caught one as it fell. Luckily Mino the Mouse clung to his other arm and didn’t fall off.
‘Thanks. I need something for our mystery. I need a ring.’
‘Why? What mystery?’ Carefully Art rested the crutch on the desk. It was lighter than he imagined. Perhaps it was hollow.
‘For the missing ring. We’re doing the Detectives, Diamonds and Dastardly Deeds problem.
‘What sort of problem’s that?’ Art stroked Mino’s grey fur.
‘Tell you later.’
Being a part-time spy, Art was interested in the word ‘detective’. Just a bit. And in problems. He liked solving what went wrong.
‘I’ll see what I can find. Any kind of ring?’ Art put Mino back in the clean mouse-house.
‘An unusual one.’ India opened her sandwiches.
‘Be back soon,’ Art dashed off. ‘Have to go home for lunch because Mum’s there.’ Luckily Art lived around the corner from the school. His mum worked shifts. When she was home, they had lunch together. His dad was away driving his truck interstate.
‘Will this do?’
Carefully Art laid out the rings he had found. First was the alarm clock. He’d borrowed it from Dad’s shed. He wound it up. ‘RRRRRR…rrrr…’
‘See. It rings.’
‘I can hear it. What else?’
Art showed her his ring finger. ‘You could have a wedding ring. But Mum wouldn’t let me have hers.’
‘I don’t want a wedding ring,’ said India.
‘I wasn’t going to give you one,’ said Art. ‘But there’s a ring top from a Coke can. Then there’s a netball ring. And a mobile ring to access games. But I couldn’t bring that either. ‘ Art loved computer games. He knew all the ones the school owned. And a few others too.
‘That’s a good start.’ India reached for her crutches. ‘D’you want to join our team, Art? You’re good at working things out. And it’s a sort of competition. Since Jo left, we’re one short.’
‘What sort of competition? Art was a competition freak. As long as there wasn’t much reading, he entered. He loved being different people and using different names. Sometimes he forgot who he was.
Clumsily, India pulled a booklet out of her desk. It was hard to balance when your leg was out of action. ‘Listen to this. I’ll read it to you. The problem is to solve the mystery of the strange inscription. It was found on the wall of a famous writer’s tomb.’ India looked at Art. ‘An inscription is words written on stone or wood or something. And a tomb is where dead people are kept.’
‘I know that. Go on.’
India didn’t believe him, but she kept reading anyway.
‘The inscription appeared prior…that means before…’
‘Go on!’
‘... to the reading of the writer’s will. On the same day, an emerald and diamond ring was stolen from the writer’s house.’
‘Who did the ring belong to?’ Art twisted the ring top from the Coke can around his little finger.
‘I don’t know. It doesn’t say. You can make that bit up,’ said India. ‘It’s meant to be a sort of play.’
‘Sounds hard. ’Art didn’t understand all those words. ‘But I might give it a go. What’s the prize?’
‘A computer.’
‘Really.’ Art imagined all the game he could play.
‘The team gets it.’
How many in the team?’
‘Seven’
‘One day each to play.’ There was nothing wrong with Art’s maths. ‘Okay.’
‘Meet you in the General Purpose Room after school.’
India didn’t say the computer was given to the school. Art would find that out soon enough.
‘Give me a ring,’ said his mum as Art raced out the door, carrying his sleeping bag.
‘What sort?’ he called back over his shoulder. His mind was full of diamonds, detectives and dastardly deeds problem.
‘A ring. A call at work. So I’ll know what time you’re coming home. If I’m not here, leave a message on the answer phone.’
Art smiled. ‘Okay Mum. Thanks a lot.’
Sometimes mums were useful.
Chapter 2
TOM Problem
Mars Bar was a dog expert, or so he said. H
is grandfather raced greyhounds. But Mario couldn’t handle India’s dog Tiny. Tiny was a bitser. He had lots of dog relatives. Some of them must have been BIG.
Hanging onto the dog’s collar, Mars Bar was dragged by Tiny into the General Purpose Room. He tried to use his sneakers as brakes. They didn’t work against the dog’s weight. The dog leash dragged on the ground behind him.
Mario yelled at India.
Hey! Dogs aren’t allowed in the schoolyard. I found yours drinking at the taps. What’s wrong with him?’
‘Hot dog,’ muttered India. ‘Sit down, Tiny. ‘
Tiny’s tongue lolled out of his mouth in a dog smile.
‘He just likes people.’
“To play with or to eat?’
Just then, Mrs. Tasker swept into the General Purpose Room, her arms full of notes, boxes and cardboard sheets.
‘Is this animals yours, India?’
‘Unfortunately.’
India’s dog wasn’t tiny at all. He was a giant.
‘He should be a horse in the presentation, ’panted Mario.’ Someone could ride him. Go on, Art.’
Art shook his head.
‘You’re too scared. Look. Like this.’
Mario tried to scramble onto Tiny’s back. But Tiny objected and ran round and around Mario, wrapping him up with the leash. Everybody laughed.
‘Someone, take him outside,’ ordered Mrs. Tasker.
For a moment, Art wasn’t sure whether she meant the dog or Mario. ‘Okay, I’ll take him,’ he offered.
He unwound Tiny. But Tiny went the other way. The leash was tangled. So was one of India’s crutches. Then Mario stepped forward, tripped on the crutch and fell flat on his nose.
‘AWWWW!’
‘Are you all right Mario? ‘
Then Mrs. Tasker checked his nose. ‘You’ll live, ‘she said.
‘It hurts,’ complained Mario, but everybody was untangling the dog.
‘As coach, I must warn you. No real animals, firearms or naked flames allowed in TOM presentations,’ stated Mrs.Tasker firmly. Mars Bar always made a fuss.
Who is TOM? Art wondered.
‘Tiny won’t be coming on the day. I’ll take him outside now.’ India hobbled on her crutches. ‘Come, Tiny.’
But Tiny ran away. ‘Tiny!’ warned India. But Tiny liked playing .he jumped on Mario.
‘Get off!’ sneezed Mario. ‘I’ve got a cold too. I’m sick. My gran says there’s a virus going around.’
‘Computer virus?’ India was quick. ’My aunty was talking about that. She’s worried a hacker might mess up her experiments on the computer.’
‘No.’ said Mrs. Tasker.’ I think Mario just has a cold.’
Art took a tennis ball out of his pocket. He bounced it so Tiny could see. ‘Come on Tiny. Let’s have a throw. Fetch?’
This time, the dog followed. So Art threw the ball a few times. Tiny fetched it. Then Art tied the dog to the strong part of the fence. ‘Don’t wreck the fence, Tiny,’ he warned. ‘We need it for cricket practice tomorrow.’
Then Art hurried inside to hear Coach Tasker. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to join this competition she was talking about. The teams had six weeks to get ready.
‘On Tournament Day, each team has ten minutes. They must set up, perform and take down their props,’ said Mrs. Tasker. ‘The coach isn’t allowed to interfere. They must be your ideas.’
‘What do we have to do?’
‘Act out a problem. Each term will have seven people, but only five on stage at any one time. ‘
‘Will I still be in the team?’
Everybody looked at India, with her crutches leaning against the chair.
‘That’s up to the team to decide,’ said Mrs. Tasker.’Work things out. I have to get something from the office.’ She left.
The children talked loudly.
‘Could India’s broken leg be part of the act?’ asked Art.
‘But would we have to cost it?’ worried India. ‘We’re only allowed $50 for props.’
‘How much is a cast worth?’ asked Mike. ‘When I broke my nose playing footy,my dad said it would have to stay crooked.’
‘Can’t see the difference.’ Mario inspected Mike’s face. ‘Still ugly. And you missed the goal that time too,’ he remembered. Then he sneezed again.
‘At least I wasn’t born ugly! And you weren’t even playing.’ Mike said crossly.
Mario insulted most people. He always got in first, just in case they wanted to say something bad about him.
Insult swapping didn’t interest Art.
‘See you later. I’ll drop Tiny off at home for you, India,’ he called and vanished before Mario insulted him, or India yelled at him.
‘Excuse me.’
The chemist looked over his counter piled with jars, tubes and packets of pills. He wore a white jacket and his bald head shone under the light as he bent forwards. Art wondered if he polished it with Mr Sheen.
‘Yes?’
‘How much does a cast cost?’
‘What kind?’
‘A plaster cast.’
The chemist laughed. ‘I’ve never been asked that before. Well, I suppose it depends whether it’s new or used.’
Art thought for a moment. ‘Second-hand.’
The cast was on India’s foot, but it was old. Sort of. India had worn it for several days now. Since she fell off the camel.
‘Is it on a person, or loose?’ asked the chemist.
‘On the person.’
‘How much of the person? Full body? Arm? Leg?’
‘Leg.’
The chemist laughed. ‘Is it the fibula? That’s the little bone inside the leg.Is that the one?’
‘Probably,’ said Art. There couldn’t be that many bones to break in a leg. Later, India looked it up for him. Only two large bones in the bottom of the leg. Seven in the neck. And 208 in the whole body. You never knew when a detective might need to know that!
‘Cost of materials, about fifteen dollars.’
‘Great,’ said Art.’ That was less than fifty.
But then the chemist added,’ Of course, there’s the doctor’s fee- about $130.Most doctors would include the cost of the plaster in their fee. All up, it’s worth about $130,I suppose.’
‘Oh,’ said Art. That might be a problem.
Art wasn’t keen on joining the competition. There might be a lot of reading. If India’s leg could still be in the team because the cast cost more than the fifty-dollar limit, India mightn’t need him. He’d have to find a way of making the cast cost less./
‘Ah!’ Art had an idea.
Chapter 3
Bird Mess Clues
‘Last night, Mrs.Tasker said we did need one more for our team on Tournament Day.’
‘When’s that?’ Art imagined a tournament. Two knights on horseback racing to fight each other. ‘D’you have to be able to ride a horse?’
India laughed. ‘No way. Animals are out! Tournament is about solving problems.’
‘What is?’
‘Tournament of Minds.’
Art didn’t say the tournament word aloud. He knew he’d never be able to spell it. How could you go in for a competition if you couldn’t even spell the name? But India could spell anything.
‘What sort of problems?’
“Interesting ones. Maths. Engineering. Humanities.’
Art wasn’t sure what the H- word meant either. But he liked maths.
‘Humanities means things about people, history and that,’ explained India.
‘Yeah. What about Mario? Why don’t you get him in the team?’
‘He’s in another one already.’
Art groaned. No use.
Bumping her crutches on each step, India hobbled through the question-m
ark door of the Art-Craft room.
‘We need some ‘dress-ups’ from in here. Mrs.Tasker said we could borrow some from the art-Craft room. Borrowing props doesn’t count as a cost, so that’s okay.’
Art wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but he followed her inside. The Art-Craft room was stuffed with left-overs.Paint. Glitter. Rolls of material. Scraps of coloured paper. Empty plastic bottles.
Outside, children shouted ‘Shark’s Day. Run!’
Girls and boys ran away from the steps, chased by the ‘shark’. Through the window, India watched them play her favourite game.’It’s not fair. This plaster’s going to be on for ages.’
Like a colourful island, the Art-Craft portable waited in the grey yard. Students used the six steps to play Shark’s Day. Each step was a day. When the caller said ‘Monday’ you jumped to the first step. India loved jumping. And she loved running when the caller yelled ‘Shark’s Day’ .But now she couldn’t.
Inside, purple and pink dragons hung down from the roof. The big question mark painted on the door was Mrs.Tasker’s work. It was Art’s favourite room. He liked to think it was named after him.It wasn’t. But he liked to think so anyway. His real name was Arthur, but that was his parents’ fault.
India said,’ We’re allowed six weeks to get ready. And this is week one. We need you.’
‘No way,’ said Art firmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mario running towards him. But what happened next changed his mind.
India had left open the door of the Art Room. As Mario ran up the steps, a bird flew in, brushing his head.
‘Get away!’ Mario’s voice startled the bird and it flew up near the roof. The bird was frightened and its wings fluttered.
‘Catch it!’ India waved her arms, then her crutches. But the bird took off, landing on the picture rail. By now, Mario was standing on the table waving his arms. That didn’t work either.
‘Chase it towards the open door!’ Mario’s voice was loud enough to frighten anyone. To the bird he must have sounded like a monster. Trying to escape ,the bird headed for the window. But the window was shut. The bird hit against the glass then flapped away.
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