Escape from Ice Mountain

by Gareth P. Jones

  “Would you care to explain your plan?” asked Chuck.

  “This cage is made of titanium,” said Donnie. “We haven’t got time to get out before the snow explosives go off and bring the whole mountain down. But then Jet reminded me that bombs blow things up.”

  “Ah, yes, I see,” said Chuck. “Up.”

  “Exactly,” said Donnie. “As long as there is something to protect us, and about twenty feet of ice between us and the blast, the bomb beneath us should produce enough power to shoot us up and out … I think. Ideally, I’d have time to test this theory with a scale model, but given the circumstances … Hold tight!”

  Suddenly, there was a huge explosion accompanied by a cracking, rushing, echoing noise as the heat from the blast melted the ice and the cage was propelled upward through the mountain. The meerkats closed their eyes and clung onto the bars.

  The cage shot out of the mountain face, soaring up into the air. For a brief moment, it hung in the sky, far above the icy landscape.

  “Well. That wasn’t so bad,” said Bruce.

  Then the cage began to fall. It gathered speed as it went, and landed with a THUMP on the side of the mountain. As it slid down the slope, it was accompanied by twenty tons of snow.

  “Another avalanche!” yelped Bruce.

  “Ahhhhhh!” all five of them cried.

  “Hang on!” shouted Jet, pointing ahead. “Where’s the rest of the mountain?”

  Donnie reached into his backpack and frantically rifled around as the cage flew over the edge of the cliff and dropped like a lead weight.

  “Whoooo-ahhh,” yelled the meerkats.

  “DON-NIEEE!” yelled Jet. “Do something!”

  “Hold on! I’ve got just the thing!” Donnie bellowed.

  He pulled a cord inside his bag. A stream of material flew through the bars of the cage and opened up into a parachute, pinning Donnie’s bag to the ceiling.

  “How very thrilling,” said Grandmaster One-Eye, as they glided down to the ground.

  “Well done, Donnie,” said Chuck. “We all owe you our lives.”

  The cage landed with a thump on a snowy ridge and they all scrambled out.

  “Now to find the Ringmaster,” said Jet.

  “That will have to wait,” said Donnie. “I traced his call and checked his location when he tapped into our phone. He was telling the truth about being a long way from here. The west coast of America, as far as I can tell.”

  “So there’s no big fight at the end of this mission,” said Jet, disappointed. “But we always have a big fight at the end!”

  “Hey, Mr. Black, it’s those spies again,” said a penguin appearing from behind a ridge.

  “Indeed it is, Mr. White,” said Mr. Black.

  The rest of the Tuxedo Ten appeared over the snowy ridge.

  “Looks like you’ll get your big fight after all, Jet,” said Donnie.

  “These penguins are only trying to defend their natural habitat,” said Chuck. He turned to the Tuxedo Ten. “We have no wish to fight you.”

  “We have received information that Colonel Ron has employed additional help and, since you are strangers, basic reasoning leads us to believe that you are in cahoots with the seals,” said Mr. Gray.

  The meerkats looked blankly at him.

  “He means we think you’re spies,” explained Mr. White.

  “Yeah, and that means—” Mr. Black was cut off mid-sentence by two snowballs to the chest, which knocked him off his feet and sent him sliding backwards across the ice. The other penguins squawked and trumpeted furiously.

  “Take cover!” cried Chuck.

  More snowballs came flying through the air, bowling the penguins over like pins. The meerkats spun around to see the army of seals accompanied by Grimsby, Sheffield, and Barnie the polar bear coming over the opposite ridge.

  “The Tuxedo Ten must accept the authority of the seal army,” barked Colonel Ron.

  Mr. Black picked himself up. “We have already told you, we are happy to share this land, but we will not be ruled by you no matter who you bring in to help you.”

  “Don’t be foolish now,” said Colonel Ron. “I have an entire army, two armed humans, and a bear-knuckle fighter.” Barnie let out a ferocious roar. “What exactly do you have?”

  “They have us,” said Chuck.

  “Why are we on their side? They attacked us,” Bruce pointed out.

  “Because while the penguins understand that this land is big enough to live alongside other species, the seals want to dominate,” Chuck explained. “And the Clan of the Scorpion will fight any who seek to dominate others.”

  Chuck drew his sword, then cried, “Before the Clan each enemy cowers, for now we fight till victory is ours!” He led the charge toward the army. Donnie lobbed a handful of smoke grenades at the clowns so they misfired, sending the snowballs harmlessly over the meerkats’ heads.

  Grandmaster One-Eye remained where he was, picking up the misfired snowballs and hurling them straight back.

  “Armed battalion, ready, aim … fire!” cried the seal sergeant.

  Ice balls flew at the meerkats, but were punched away by Bruce, kicked away by Donnie, and shattered by Chuck’s sword.

  “Penguins, let’s get ready to rumble—tuxedo style,” shouted Mr. Black.

  The penguins dived onto their bellies, building up momentum as they slid across the ice. They sped toward the seals, catching them off guard and jabbing them with their beaks. Jet, meanwhile, had planted himself deep in the ranks of the seals and was causing chaos by spinning, kicking, and punching anything in sight.

  While the clowns were occupied with firing snowballs at the penguins, Donnie and Chuck snuck up behind them and kicked the cannons out of their hands. Chuck rested one gun on his shoulder, aiming it at the clowns, while Donnie pulled the trigger, pummeling them with snowballs.

  Meanwhile, Bruce found himself face to foot with Barnie the bear. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” Bruce snarled.

  The polar bear roared angrily and raised his fists.

  “Bruce Force!” cried Bruce. He shot into the air with his arms outstretched and landed a powerful double-fisted punch on Barnie’s nose, causing him to topple over like a falling tree. Then Bruce leaped onto the bear’s belly and pummeled his chest with all his might, until Barnie could take it no more. He got to his feet and ran off as fast as he could.

  “I guess he couldn’t bear any more,” said Bruce, looking around to see if anyone was there to hear his joke.

  No one was.

  Barnie wasn’t the only one to have accepted defeat. Without their snowball guns, the clowns were running as fast as their huge shoes would allow them through the deep snow. The seals were retreating too, in spite of Colonel Ron’s protests. “Come back, you cowards.… We outnumber them four to one.… Victory will still be ours.…”

  But the seals were barking loudly as they made their way over the ridge. Grandmaster One-Eye hurled a snowball into the side of Colonel Ron’s face. “Oh, all right. I know when I’m beaten,” he said. He turned and waddled off. “Wait for me!”

  “Nice work,” said Mr. Black. He sidled up to Chuck. “I’m sorry we misjudged you. The Tuxedo Ten are in your debt.”

  “It was an honor to fight by your side,” said Chuck, bowing.

  “What was that huge white thing?” said Mr. White.

  “It’s called a polar bear,” said Chuck. “And it’s a long way from home.”

  The meerkats were keen to jump on board the first boat heading north. They were desperate to find out what terrible scheme the Ringmaster was concocting next. And they wanted to get Grandmaster One-Eye back home where he would be safe. But most of all, they wanted to get warm.

  The only problem was, the penguins had insisted on throwing them a party and it seemed rude to say no.

  As it turned out, the Tuxedo Ten were excellent hosts. They provided a feast of snow cones, ice cream, and more fish than even Bruce could eat. There were games and races, a
nd the meerkats discovered that the penguins liked to make music, too. They kept the beat with their webbed feet and trumpeted tunes as loudly as they could.

  “These penguins are really good,” said Bruce. “They should be in show business.”

  “Don’t you mean snow business?” asked Donnie.

  The others groaned.

  “I still wish I had got to fight the Ringmaster,” said Jet.

  Chuck smiled. “We escaped from a deadly trap and helped these penguins defend their home. I think that is enough for one day.”

  “Yeah, but who knows what he has planned next?”

  “We will find out what he is up to soon enough. And when we do, I guarantee our appearance will come as an unpleasant—as well as unexpected—surprise,” Chuck assured him.

  “Talking of unexpected, take a look over there,” said Donnie.

  Grandmaster One-Eye was standing in the middle of a crowd of trumpeting penguins, spinning in circles and moving his hips, using his walking stick for balance.

  “What on earth is he doing?” asked Jet. “He’ll make himself dizzy.”

  “I believe he’s breakdancing,” said Chuck.

  “Isn’t he a bit old for that?” said Bruce.

  The ancient meerkat noticed them looking and called over. “Hey, it’s just like the old days. I’ve still got it!”

  “Well, whatever ‘it’ is, I just hope it’s not contagious,” chuckled Donnie.

  Hundreds of planes arrive at Los Angeles International Airport every day, bringing tourists from around the world to the city. They come to soak up sunshine, glamour, and excitement, and to visit the city’s most famous district: Hollywood. It was on one such plane that Chuck, Donnie, Jet, and Bruce (otherwise known as the Clan of the Scorpion) had arrived, hidden in an overhead luggage compartment. They were now making their way across the airport arrivals hall, heading for the exit.

  You might think that four ninja meerkats walking through a bustling airport would cause something of a stir. But the Clan moved around undetected, thanks to one of Donnie’s cunning disguises. As far as humans were concerned, all they could see was a child in a pair of baggy jeans and a hoodie. Inside the outfit, however, were four meerkats balanced on each other’s shoulders.

  Bruce Willowhammer, the strongest of the team, was at the bottom of the pile, and had his furry feet strapped to a pair of stilts. On his shoulders were Jet Flashfeet and Donnie Dragonjab, whose trademark bag of gadgets was strapped to his back. Jet and Donnie were each operating one of the child disguise’s arms, opening doors, pressing elevator buttons and, at one point, batting away an over-friendly dog. At the top of the stack was Chuck Cobracrusher, the leader of the group, his face hidden inside the hooded top.

  The only problem with this arrangement was that it meant Bruce was in control of where the Clan went.

  And Bruce was easily distracted.

  As he strode across the arrivals hall, he peered through a pair of eyeholes at the top of the jeans. “Hey, that’s Vin Pain!” he exclaimed, spotting a TV screen showing an entertainment news program. He quickly changed direction and headed for the TV.

  “Bruce, remember our mission,” warned Chuck. “We need to find out where the Ringmaster is, and what he is up to!”

  “Who’s Vin Pain?” asked Jet, folding down a specially designed pocket flap in the hoodie so he could see the TV, too.

  “Sounds like something you’d tell the doctor about,” said Donnie. “Ooh, I’ve got a nasty Vin Pain all down my back.”

  “Who’s Vin Pain?” exclaimed Bruce. “Only the best action hero in the world, that’s who! Haven’t you seen Blown to Pieces? What about The Smash-Up Man or Big Guns and Loud Bangs? Brilliant films. Some of them are really clever, too.”

  The TV showed a clip from a film in which Vin Pain was jumping across the tops of cars hurtling down a busy highway, while dodging a storm of bullets that rained down on him from a helicopter.

  “Yeah, looks really clever,” said Donnie sarcastically.

  “Bruce, we do not have time to watch TV right now. We need to keep moving,” Chuck called down.

  “Vin does all his own stunts and everything,” said Bruce, ignoring Chuck.

  “Ha,” snorted Jet. “I bet he can’t do a Super Looping Somersault Leap. That’s my new move. I read about it in How to Flatten Your Enemies and Beat People.”

  “Shhh!” said Bruce. “Vin’s about to say his trademark line.”

  On the screen, a building burst into flames for no good reason. Standing in front of it, the muscle-bound star turned to the camera and said in a gruff voice, “Things are getting rough around here … so I’m about to get tough.”

  “Brilliant,” said Bruce, clapping his paws excitedly, causing the others to wobble precariously above him.

  Chuck tutted. “The Way of the Scorpion teaches us not to engage in such showy displays. Calmness and serenity are our goals. We should only lift a paw to fight when we have no other choice.”

  “Actually, that was pretty cool, Chuck,” said Jet.

  “Why does everything always burst into flames in Hollywood films?” sighed Donnie.

  On the TV, a female reporter with alarmingly white teeth filled the screen. “Action hero Vin Pain is used to saying how things are getting rough, but in Vin’s next film it’s a case of things going woof.” She smirked, then continued. “Why? Because Vin’s new co-star is a dog. Her name? Doris the Dancing Dog.” The screen showed the familiar face of Doris, the Ringmaster’s faithful canine companion.

  “So, Doris is a movie star now,” said Chuck. “Most interesting…”

  The picture changed to show Doris having her photo taken alongside Vin Pain on the red carpet at a film premiere.

  “The film’s title is a closely guarded secret and very little is known about the canine newcomer,” continued the reporter, “except that she is currently being trained at the Real Academy of Dog Actors, or RADA for short. The acting school is run by celebrity dog trainer Honor Longlead, who joins us now.”

  The TV showed another smiling woman with equally white teeth.

  “So, Honor,” said the reporter, “is Doris the Dancing Dog a superstar in the making?”

  “Absolutely. Doris is a very talented pup,” she replied. “She’s been circus trained, but you should see her during the fight scenes. She’s a natural.”

  “I bet she is,” muttered Jet. The Clan of the Scorpion had come up against Doris on more than one occasion and had the scars to prove it.

  “Well, we look forward to seeing her in action! Thanks, Honor. That’s it for this week’s edition of Hollywood Spotlight. Or should I say, Hollywoof Spotlight?” The presenter smiled and moved on to the next item. “Coming up after the break, we’ll be discussing why the U.S. president flew into L.A. this morning along with his super-cute pet sausage dog, Chip O’Lata. Some are saying it’s a popularity-boosting trip before the beginning of election season next month.…”

  Bruce turned away from the screen and headed for the exit.

  “Well, Bruce, it would appear that your love of film has given us our first lead,” said Chuck, “and it is a dog lead. We will head straight for this acting school. The Ringmaster is sure to be behind Doris’s newfound fame, so he won’t be far away.…”

  “Can we go and see where Vin made Dynamite for Dinner later? And the sequel, Destruction for Dessert?” asked Bruce.

  “Once we have defeated the Ringmaster, perhaps,” Chuck replied. “Until then, we must be like movie cameras, and stay focused.”

  GOFISH

  QUESTIONS FOR THE AUTHOR

  Gareth P. Jones

  What did you want to be when you grew up?

  At various points, a writer, a musician, an intergalactic bounty hunter and, for a limited period, a graphic designer. (I didn’t know what that meant, but I liked the way it sounded.)

  When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?

  I don’t remember realizing it. I have always loved stories. From a
very young age, I enjoyed making them up. As I’m not very good at making things up on the spot, this invariably involved having to write them down.

  What’s your most embarrassing childhood memory?

  Seriously? There are too many. I have spent my entire life saying and doing embarrassing things. Just thinking about some of them is making me cringe. Luckily, I have a terrible memory, so I can’t remember them all, but no, I’m not going to write any down for you. If I did that, I’d never be able to forget them.

  What’s your favorite childhood memory?

  To be honest with you, I don’t remember my childhood very well at all (I told you I had a bad memory), but I do recall how my dad used to tell me stories. He would make them up as he went along, most likely borrowing all sorts of elements from the books he was reading without me knowing.

  As a young person, who did you look up to most?

  My mom and dad, Prince, Michael Jackson, all of Monty Python, and Stephen Fry.

  What was your favorite thing about school?

  Laughing with my friends.

  What was your least favorite thing about school?

  I had a bit of a hard time when I moved from the Midlands to London at the age of twelve because I had a funny accent. But don’t worry, it was all right in the end.

  What were your hobbies as a kid? What are your hobbies now?

  I love listening to and making music. My hobbies haven’t really changed over the years, except that there’s a longer list of instruments now. When I get a chance, I like idling away the day playing trumpet, guitar, banjo, ukulele, mandolin (and piano if there’s one in the vicinity). I also like playing out with my friends.

  What was your first job, and what was your “worst” job?

  My first job was working as a waiter. That’s probably my worst job, too. As my dad says, I was a remarkably grumpy waiter. I’m not big on all that serving-people malarkey.

  What book is on your nightstand now?