Felicity added an, ‘Oh my gosh.’
Only Alexander was unimpressed. From his slightly different angle he could just see the edge of Malcolm Nix’s blazer sticking out from behind a cupboard in the corner of the room.
‘OK, Malcolm,’ he said, ‘transform back now. You’ve totally proved what special powers you have.’
‘Shut your eyes first, for your own protection,’ came a voice, which did – to give Malcolm the credit he was due – sound more or less what you’d expect a tortoise to sound like if it could speak English.
Then Alexander did a little mime, explaining that they should only pretend to keep their eyes shut for the reverse metamorphosis. Which meant that they all saw Malcolm sneak stealthily back to the chair, return the tortoise to the inside pocket of his blazer and sit down.
‘You can open your eyes now,’ he said, forgetting, until halfway through, to change back from his tortoise voice.
‘That was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen,’ said Alexander.
Malcolm smiled proudly. Or was it smugly?
‘Just one question, though,’ Alexander continued. ‘Could you show me what’s in your pocket? That one there?’ He pointed to the bulge.
‘That? It’s my, um, wallet. Yes, wallet,’ Malcolm replied rapidly.
‘Very thick wallet,’ said Felicity. ‘What a lot of money you must have.’ She sounded like she was enjoying herself.
Nice Melvyn couldn’t stand it any more.
‘Oh, come on, Malcolm, we saw what you did. You brought a tortoise in and then put it on the chair while you hid.’
‘Did not!’
‘Did!’
Then Alexander got up and, before Malcolm could stop him, reached into his blazer and pulled out the tortoise.
‘What’s this then?’
‘It’s a tortoiseshell wallet.’
‘It’s alive. It’s moving. Where do you keep your money and bus pass? Up its bum?’
‘He’s sweet,’ said Felicity, reaching over to stroke the passive tortoise’s nose. ‘What’s he called?’
‘Cedric.’
‘I don’t care what it’s called,’ said Alexander sternly. ‘Put this thing back in your pocket and go away.’
Without another word, Malcolm Nix grabbed back his tortoise and ran out of room 111.
CHAPTER 17
REALLY ANNOYING GIRL
‘I KNOW WHAT you’re finking. And I know exactly what you’re gonna say next.’
The girl standing in front of them now had a face as hard and brittle and pink as seaside rock.
‘Really . . . well, that’s quite a power – I mean, mind-reading, if you can actually do it,’ said Alexander, sounding sceptical.
The girl, whose name was Esther Buttle, had come straight into the room without knocking, and just started talking. Hers was not a beautiful voice. When she opened her mouth, the sound that emerged somehow managed to squeak like a rusty mouse, squawk like a tortured parrot, shriek like a monkey, and honk like a goose.
‘I knew,’ said Esther triumphantly, ‘that you was gonna say that.’
‘What?’ Puzzled.
‘I knew you was gonna say that. What you just said, then, I knew you was gonna say it.’
‘But you’re just saying that.’ Slightly annoyed.
‘And I knew you was gonna say that.’
‘No you didn’t.’ Annoyed.
‘I knew you was gonna say that. Exactly that, in them words.’
‘Whatever I say, you’ll pretend you knew.’ Very annoyed.
‘I knew you was gonna say that.’
‘You’re cheating!’ Enraged.
‘I knew you was gonna say that.’
‘Prove it!’ Disgusted.
‘I knew you was gonna say that.’
‘Elvis Presley jumbo sausage roll Moby Dick biscuit barrel, nim-nim-nim-nim-wim-bim-nim-bim-lim.’ Silly.
‘I knew you was gonna say that.’
‘I’m going to kill her.’ Resolved.
‘I knew you was gonna say that.’
‘Not if I kill her first,’ said Felicity, joining in.
Melvyn was, weirdly, enjoying it. ‘I think we should let her in,’ he chuckled. ‘She’ll irritate the hell out of our enemies.’
‘I knew he was gonna say that,’ said Esther.
‘It’s not worth it,’ said Alexander.
‘I knew you was gonna say that.’
‘Get out, please.’
‘I knew you was gonna say that.’
‘OUT!’ Alexander was shaking with rage. He searched about for something to throw at Esther.
‘No need to shout. And I knew you was gonna say that.’
‘NOW!’ His hand closed around a meat-paste sandwich.
‘So am I a member of your stupid gang or not then?’
‘We’ll let you know.’
‘I knew you was gonna say that.’
The sandwich splatted against the closing door.
‘I knew you was gonna do that,’ said the voice, diminishing as it floated off down the corridor.
CHAPTER 18
THE RETURN OF TORTOISE BOY
TEN MINUTES SLIPPED past without any more psychos, nutters, weirdos, freaks, mutants, idiots or, for that matter, superheroes turning up. Lunch hour was almost over, and it was time to go to their afternoon lessons.
‘So, what do you reckon?’ said Alexander, in a sensible, summing-up sort of way.
‘I—’ began Melvyn, but never got any further, for at that moment the door burst open, and a terrifying demon, a whirling, caterwauling ginger menace was upon them.
‘AAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEEAAAAHHHHHHH!’
Felicity screamed.
So did Alexander.
Melvyn cringed down behind the big desk, his arms crossed in the classic useless blocking position, adopted by the bullied and terrorized from time immemorial.
For about a second.
Then they realized who it was. Not a demon, but Malcolm Nix. He rushed towards them, a look of devilish malice on his face. His right hand was raised above his head, as if he were about to strike them a blow with a terrible weapon – a huge mace perhaps, or a battle-axe, or Thor’s hammer.
What he held in his hand was the tortoise.
Malcolm continued his onward rush, leaped, panther-like, onto the desk, fell, clown-like, back on the floor, climbed, goat-like, back on the desk, and stood there, towering above the other three, the tortoise still in his hand, its scaly arms and legs fully retracted, as if the reptile knew the grisly fate that awaited it.
‘What the heck are you playing at, Nix?’ said Alexander, rapidly recovering his limited cool.
Malcolm was still in berserker-mode.
‘AAAAAHHHHHHH!’ he bellowed. ‘I’M THE FAMOUS TORTOISE BOY. PREPARE TO BE BATTERED BY THE MIGHTY TORTOISE OF DEATH.’
‘Are you seriously suggesting,’ said Melvyn, ‘that you’re going to hit us with . . . what’s his name?’
‘Cedric,’ said Felicity. ‘And he’d better not or I’ll tell the RSPCA. Hitting people with tortoises is against the law.’
Malcolm climbed down from the desk. ‘You were worried though, weren’t you?’ he said. ‘I mean, when I first came in. You were terrified I was going to smite you with Cedric.’
‘Smite? Have you been sniffing the Tippex again?’ said Alexander. ‘It was a bit of a surprise, that’s all.’
‘But surprise is the most important thing in a battle. I could be your shock weapon. Like Hannibal’s elephants.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘Hannibal. When he fought the Romans. We did it in history.’
‘An elephant’s one thing, and, er, Cedric’s quite another. What would happen if he got broken when you hit someone with him?’
‘I know he’s prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice.’
‘Fine, but then you’ve used him up. You’re out of ammo. What next?’
Malcolm’s face became crafty. ‘I’ve got a spare one.’
> ‘A spare tortoise? Like a spare tyre? Malcolm, you’re nuts. You should be getting some kind of help.’
‘Cedric’s got a sister, Wendy.’
‘Oh, and you think this Wendy would be prepared to work with you after you’ve smashed her brother to a bloody pulp?’
‘She wouldn’t have to know. I could tell her that Cedric ran away.’
‘What, he was too quick for you, was he?’
‘So,’ said Malcolm, ignoring the question, ‘when do we start saving the world?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Alexander sadly, ‘but we can’t waste any more time. There are important things for us to do.’
‘Oh, go on, please let me join.’
‘Malcolm,’ said Alexander, more severely this time, ‘you’re a fantasist, and a bit of a liar. You pretended to be a shapeshifter, and then you acted like hitting people with tortoises made you a hero. We can’t use you. Goodbye.’
Malcolm almost seemed to grow smaller as Alexander spoke, like a beach ball with a slow puncture. He walked at tortoise speed from the room, looking back over his shoulder. Alexander pointed silently out towards the corridor, and Malcolm was gone.
CHAPTER 19
THE FIRST BATTLE: PHASE 1
ALEXANDER SHOOK HIS head. ‘What a bunch of losers.’ It wasn’t clear if he meant to include the three of them sitting in the room.
‘Definitely bad news for planet Earth,’ said Melvyn by way of reply.
‘When’s the next meeting?’ Felicity asked chirpily.
Alexander looked at her. ‘Are you crazy?’ he said. ‘Were you paying attention? I don’t know why I ever thought this could work. I . . .’
And then he trailed off. He trailed off because a massive figure had appeared in the open doorway.
‘Lovely,’ said Big Mac, in that surprisingly high-pitched voice, a smile filling his face like a Cornish pasty. ‘All the nerds together again. This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. And can you think of anything better to do with some fish and a barrel and a gun, eh? Eh? Ha ha ha.’
It wasn’t just Big Mac, of course, but his baboons as well. Four of them this time, following him into the room. None of them were quite as big as Big Mac, but all of them were as foul and meaty as a cheap kebab.
‘Just my luck,’ said Melvyn, under his breath.
Big Mac glared at Felicity. ‘You, Buck-tooth Betty, you can clear off – unless you’re feeling like a hero . . .’
Without a word, Felicity slipped out of the room, and her quick little feet pattered away.
Alexander wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved. Big Mac probably wouldn’t actually beat up Felicity, but he’d certainly enjoy goading her. He’d once seen Big Mac snatch some poor girl’s bag and then go through the contents, picking out anything embarrassing he could find and showing it round to the crowd, while the girl cried and begged. Finally he just chucked all her stuff in the air and strode off like he’d done something heroic – slaying a dragon or capturing an enemy machine-gun post. And Alexander didn’t want that to happen to Felicity. He also didn’t particularly want Felicity to see what was about to happen to him and Melvyn. The worst thing about being bullied wasn’t so much the pain (although that was bad enough) as the embarrassment of being a victim. Still, though, he thought wistfully, it would have been loyal of her to stick around.
The next stage happened pretty quickly. There was a flurry of punching and kicking, and the next thing Alexander and Melvyn knew, they were on the floor, looking up at their enemies.
‘Did I say like fish in a barrel? Nah. Fish in a barrel would be more of a challenge than you wimps. Still, one has to make do with the tools at hand.’ Then Big Mac turned to one of his companions. ‘Murdo?’
‘Yeah?’
‘How’s your cold coming on?’
‘Just nice, Macca.’
Alexander’s soul quailed within his breast. He knew what was coming and tried to get up. But Big Mac put a massive foot on his chest and pushed him back down.
Murdo was famous for his snot. He was a human evergreen, with a heavy cold all year round, and so there was always plenty of it. His big nostrils had a hard, caked-on layer of green crust on the outside, with a more liquid, glistening layer on the inside, like the devil’s own confectionery. Sometimes Murdo snorted it into his mouth and swallowed it, as if it were an oyster. Sometimes he blew it straight out of his crusty nostrils into his hands, and then rubbed it over the back of your blazer.
Big Mac nodded to two more of the goons. They put their boots on Alexander’s shoulders, holding him still. Then Murdo loomed over him. Alexander had a perfect view, right up the nose. He watched the green mucus begin its leisurely descent, almost like lava from a lazy volcano. He thrashed and writhed, but there was no escape. He could see Melvyn next to him. A fat kid was sitting on his chest, slapping his face with a sort of gleeful regularity, like the ticking of a clock.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
But Alexander didn’t have any sympathy left over for Melvyn. The slow green snotfall was halfway to his face now, the strand unbroken. Murdo’s art was to make it stretch all the way until it touched your cheek or lip – delicately, like a butterfly’s wing – then suck it back up a couple of centimetres, then let it fall again, caressing you with his dextrous, attenuated snot-finger. And so on until the filament broke, and Murdo’s phlegm coiled like a slug on your face.
Keep your mouth shut, Alexander told himself. Everything would be OK as long as he kept his mouth shut.
But there were four of them giving him their full attention, and what he did wasn’t up to him, but them.
‘Open wide,’ said Big Mac, using his fat sausage fingers to force open Alexander’s jaws. ‘Dinner time.’
And then it happened.
The ‘it’ was quite hard to put into words, but imagine a kind of explosion made up of bits of human body: hands, heads, arms, feet, legs, ears, mouths, teeth, along with splintered chairs and tables.
The four kids variously kneeling on and standing over Alexander were blown away. Big Mac was left sprawling, looking up at—
CHAPTER 20
THE FIRST BATTLE: PHASE 2
‘SUPERSTRONG!’
It was Jamie, his arms bent in that strongman pose again. He’d come careering into them at top speed, and there was really quite a lot of Jamie.
And there was something else.
Big Mac and his mates were ever so slightly afraid of Jamie because he was different; because of his Jamieness.
The trouble was, there were five of them and only one of him.
‘You’re gonna be sorry,’ said Big Mac, beginning to get up. He waved his hand towards Jamie. ‘Boys, what are you waiting for?’
The goons looked at each other, and then at Big Mac. They weren’t bright kids, and it took them a while to weigh up what was more dangerous – attacking Jamie, or disobeying Mac. And then suddenly it wasn’t just Jamie standing there. Titch appeared in the doorway, his face looking even angrier than usual. The cards were in one hand and his wand in the other.
‘Pick a card,’ he said, ‘any card.’
One of the thugs looked down, and couldn’t stop himself from putting out his fingers to take a card. With a vicious fizz, Titch brought the wand snapping down on the kid’s knuckles. Then, before he could get over the shock, Titch kicked him hard on the shin, leaving him hopping up and down on one leg.
Another of the thugs moved to help him, pulling back his fist to deliver a crunching punch. But before the blow fell, the lank hair and pale skin of Ed, the Human Hurricane, loomed up, right in his face, unleashing at the same time one of the most impressive, formidable, high-octane, full-throttle, hell-for-leather, resounding, resonant and noxious belches of all time – or at least since the last T. rex let fly after scoffing the last Apatosaurus. It sounded like the bellow of an enraged buffalo, brought to bay by a pack of ravenous hyenas.
It was a whale of a burp.
It was biblical.
&nbs
p; It was epic.
BOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPAAA AAHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The thug staggered back as if kicked by a mule. Perhaps he thought the worst was over, and that would have been natural, because usually a burp like that is going to empty the tank, leaving the belcher as spent as a burst balloon. But, amazingly, The Hurricane had just got started. He followed it up with four short, sharp blasts, like the cawing of a monstrous crow:
GRAAAAAAAK!
GRAAAAAAAK!
GRAAAAAAAK!
GRAAAAAAAK!
Each one hit the thug like a slap in the face, whipping his flopping head from side to side.
He was out of the action. His eyes rolled up in his head, and what followed was, strictly speaking, unnecessary. It showed a streak of both showmanship and ruthlessness that you might not have expected from The Hurricane. He leaped into the air, performing a perfect half-turn as he did so, and delivered the coup de grâce. It was barely more than a gentle breeze, a harmless phut, but it put the thug down on his back, just as, after Jackie Chan has pounded a towering enemy, a tiny push from a small child will finally push them over. It was the fart that broke the camel’s back.
Another of the goons moved – too late, perhaps, to help his comrade, but not too late to repay The Hurricane with a punch on the ear. But he never reached him.
He never reached him because something very annoying got in his way. Not only annoying, but armed and dangerous.
Really Annoying Girl was carrying her school bag.
Most school bags will contain a selection of books, a writing pad, some pens and pencils, perhaps a PE kit. Really Annoying Girl’s bag contained none of those things. What it contained was eighty-seven individual grooming products. There were four hairbrushes, thirty-one lipsticks, eighteen mascaras, twelve small pots of blusher, three cans of hairspray, ten lip-glosses in assorted flavours, three tubes of hair gel, five of those things that open up like a clamshell, with a mirror in the lid and a little pad and some powder, and, finally, a large glass jar of gloopy stuff to help remove any of the above which might have been applied to a human face.
All this weighed about as much as a cannonball, and carrying it around had given Really Annoying Girl an immensely strong and muscle-bound right arm, so that in her gym clothes she looked a bit like one of those funny little crabs you see on the telly with one huge claw and one puny one.
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