by Greg James
But somebody, somewhere, had a clue what was going on. Somebody, somewhere, was sent any medical records that recorded strange powers or abilities in children around the age of ten. And somebody, somewhere, notified the local operatives of the Heroes’ Alliance whenever a suspected Capability was discovered.
And that’s why, two days after her tiny horses first appeared, there was a knock on Hilda Baker’s door.
‘Good, ah, morning, to you, dear lady,’ said the handsome, well-muscled man who was standing outside when Hilda’s mother answered the door. ‘That is to say,’ he added, looking down at his watch and up again to see Hilda’s father also standing in the hallway, ‘good, um, afternoon. Good day to you, dear lady and indeed good, ah, gentleman. Good humans of this house. Greetings!’
‘We’ve come about the child,’ piped up a smaller, weaselly man who was standing behind him, peering at them through large spectacles. ‘The child and her Capability. We can help.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Hilda’s mum had said. ‘You can’t turn up at someone’s front door and start asking after their children.’
‘We’ve no time for pleasantries. This is a very serious matter. Let us in, please …’ replied the weaselly man.
Hilda’s mum held her hand up and shushed him.
‘I’m sorry. No. Good day,’ she added sternly as she began to close the door.
‘No! I mean, yes! I mean … Stop closing this. This door is not for closing. Don’t close the gate after the dog has bolted,’ blithered the handsome man. ‘HORSE!’ he bellowed finally in a panic.
The door stopped closing. Hilda’s mum peered around it at the men.
‘Horses,’ said the man in a more controlled manner this time. ‘It’s about the horses.’
‘The, ah, tiny horses,’ confirmed the little man.
‘Right. Well, why didn’t you just say that? You’d … better come in,’ Hilda’s mum had said, ushering the pair inside.
That had been the day Hilda had discovered the most exciting thing she could have imagined. A secret truth that had sent her head spinning. Heroes! There were actual, real Heroes, operating in secret to help keep everyone safe. When she was eleven, Hilda would be sent to a special, top-secret school to learn how to use her incredible tiny horse superpower. That night she had gone to sleep hugging herself in joy, the future alive with limitless possibilities.
But when the day had finally rolled around, The School had proved very different to Hilda’s expectations. Mr Flash had swiftly disabused her of any ideas about being an actual Hero.
‘’ORSE ’ERO?’ he had hooted scornfully in their first ever CT lesson, bearing down on Hilda with his hands on his hips and his ginger moustache flapping. ‘’OO HEVER ’EARD OF AN ’ERO WITH ’ORSES? DON’T BE SUCH A FANTASTICAL FINGER-PUPPET! I NEVER ’EARD ANYTHING SO RIDICULABLE IN ALL MY BORN LIFE.’ The rest of the class had laughed stingingly as she had sat there in silence, face reddening and eyes moistening.
Hilda’s Capability, Mr Flash had gone on to explain, was regarded by the Heroes’ Alliance as ‘anomalous’. Or, to put it another way, completely useless. She had been sent to The School so that she could learn to control her ability and avoid producing her horses by accident. She was being taught to hide her talent to avoid drawing attention to herself. Only students with cool Capes like super-strength or super-speed would ever stand a chance of becoming Heroes.
Hilda had sunk into gloom. All her dreams lay in shreds. Until, a few weeks after the start of term, a sandy-haired boy in tatty jeans and trainers had sidled in the classroom. A boy named Murph Cooper.
Like her, Murph didn’t have a Capability the Heroes Alliance would consider useful. In fact, he didn’t have a Cape at all. And more incredible than that – he didn’t seem to mind! Even when he’d been offered his very own power by Magpie, Murph had turned it down in order to save his friends and get their own stolen Capes back for them.
Kid Normal represented something that had kept Hilda’s spirits up during the long weeks of her imprisonment. Something that warmed her like a faraway sun behind the clouds, as she sat hugging her knees and listening to the booming of the waves far below. Because if Murph could be a Hero, it meant that your Cape didn’t really matter. Being a Hero was something you could choose. And so, even though her parents had somehow been turned against her, even though she was locked up and separated from her friends, Hilda chose to be a Hero. She chose not to give up hope. She chose to believe. Until one day there was a knocking at her cell door.
Hilda broke out of her reverie. It wasn’t time for her next sparse meal, surely?
‘Hilda?’ came a voice through the grille. ‘Hilda, is that you?’
‘Angel?’ said Hilda, scrambling to her feet in delight. ‘Angel!’
‘Shhh,’ said the voice. ‘Just wanted to check I’d got the right cell. Hang on a second.’ There was a scraping, scratching noise and a beep.
‘What’s going on?’ whispered Hilda. The cell door swung open. Standing outside in the passageway was her friend, dressed in silver armour so highly polished that Hilda could see her own grubby, astonished face reflected in it.
‘Rescue, anyone?’ asked the Silver Angel, breaking into an even wider grin as Hilda nodded emphatically. ‘Come on, let’s get the others!’
6
Aquatic Pachyderm Altercation
The rusting towers in the sea had a name, of course, and that name was Shivering Sands. Once, they had formed the prison where the Heroes’ Alliance kept all of the most dangerous Rogues they had captured. Now, for reasons that will be fully explained in the following chapters, they were being put to a very different use under very different management. When the Heroes were in charge, Shivering Sands’ central control room was run by the head of the Alliance, Miss Flint.
These days, there was a new boss in town.
He was large and orangey-coloured and he smelled absolutely revolting, like a sponge that hasn’t been dried properly. The reason for this was simple. He was made of sponge that hadn’t been dried properly. The Sponge had once been a prisoner here at Shivering Sands, but now the tables had turned. He was in control of the whole prison. Though he wasn’t having a particularly good day at work.
‘Where is the search party? I asked for a full report!’ cried The Sponge, flinging his arms out wide in frustration. The two Cleaners standing in front of him coughed and gagged.
‘What is that revolting wet-sponge smell?’ choked one of them.
‘Never mind that!’ The Sponge snapped crossly. The sea air made it very difficult for him to get properly dry. ‘What about the search party?’
‘They haven’t returned yet,’ replied the other Cleaner, holding a handkerchief over her mouth.
‘Unacceptable,’ burbled The Sponge, waving his arms about and unleashing more clouds of spongey scent. ‘The President tasked me with keeping this facility secure. I must not fail! Check all security systems immediately. Dispatch a second unit to the dock.’
‘At once, sir,’ replied the Cleaners, saluting smartly and sprinting off, delighted to be leaving.
The Sponge turned away, clasping his orange hands behind his back and casting his gaze out over the seascape visible out of a large semicircular window. ‘Something’s wrong,’ he worried, ‘I can feel it. The President will be displeased. I must neutralise any threat.’
He thought for a moment before marching over to the communications unit and lifting a receiver. ‘Commander Sponge here,’ he snapped. ‘Send an enforcement squadron up here immediately. We have a Hero incursion.’
Several floors below, Angel and Hilda were creeping cautiously along one of the corridors that radiated out from the centre of the tower like the spokes of an old-school wheel.
‘Get ready,’ Angel whispered, putting her silver helmet back on. They had stopped just short of a large metal door. Hilda nodded decisively, crouching into her trademark combat stance and getting ready to deploy her horses.
An
gel reached down to her belt, which was studded with interesting-looking gadgets. She pulled a slim grey box out of a pouch and placed it on the wall next to the door’s control panel. A series of lights flashed on the side of the box, and at once the control panel flickered green.
Angel slipped the box back on to her belt. ‘Just an old invention of Dad’s,’ she told Hilda. ‘Unlocks just about any door. Comes in useful when you’re raiding a maximum security prison. Mrs Fletcher had this one for ages – and all she used it for was going to the town library after closing time. Can you believe it?’
Hilda smiled, thinking of their rather prim, tea-drinking school librarian and her Capability of turning her head into a giant foghorn. Everything that happened at The School seemed a lifetime ago now, after her long weeks imprisoned out at sea.
‘There’s going to be a guard on duty here,’ Angel whispered. ‘So watch yourself.’ She reached up, pressed a button, and the metal door slid smoothly open. A slosh of chilly water immediately soaked their shoes.
Another long hallway lined with cells was ahead of them, ankle-deep in cold water. Only one of the rooms behind the thick, barred doors seemed to be occupied. A man in a full suit of bright red waterproofs, complete with hat, was guarding it. Above his head was a small grey cloud, which was raining on him steadily.
‘Looks like Nellie’s making life uncomfortable for her guard,’ giggled Angel. ‘Oi! Puddle boy! Over here!’ The figure in oilskins turned towards them, water churning round his boots as he did so. His eyes widened. He scrabbled at his coat frantically, reaching for something in his pocket.
‘He’s trying to raise the alarm!’ warned Hilda.
‘I don’t think so,’ cried Angel, sprinting through the rainwater. Just as the man pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket, she launched herself into a flying kick. The sound of boot meeting nose rang out over the chilly waters and the guard fell backwards with a splosh. ‘You can stop the rain now, thanks,’ said Angel to the cell door. A face appeared at the bars, mostly hidden behind long, green-tipped hair.
‘Sorry,’ said Nellie’s soft voice. The cloud dispersed, leaving a small indoor rainbow in its wake.
‘Ooh, nice touch!’ marvel led Angel, paddling underneath it to unlock the cell door.
‘Super Zero guard detail, status report!’ barked a voice from the walkie-talkie, which was lying on the ground not far away. ‘What’s happening down there?’
‘What’s happening down there?’ screamed The Sponge into the communications unit again, before flinging it aside in a fit of porous pique. There was no reply to his repeated queries except static. ‘The President will not tolerate any failure!’ he yelled across the control room.
A large set of double doors at the other end of the room slid open, and two guards came through, leading a much larger figure.
‘Ah, finally,’ fussed The Sponge. ‘The Enforcement Squad.’
‘This is our strongest operative, sir,’ said one of the guards, gesturing to the person behind them.
It was an elephant.
Well, that’s not strictly accurate. It was a human person dressed in overalls, but its head was the head of an elephant. And we don’t mean it looked a bit like an elephant. It wasn’t just a grey-faced guy with largish ears or anything. Look, what’s so hard to understand about this? It was a man with an elephant’s head, OK? Just imagine an elephant’s head, then make it a bit smaller so it’s kind of just-above-human size, then mentally stick it on top of a man’s body. Right? Sheesh!
‘I am Mr Tembo,’ rumbled the elephant.
‘Ah, yes,’ said The Sponge in a satisfied tone of voice. ‘The elephant.’
‘I am not an elephant!’ retorted Mr Tembo, stung. ‘I am a human being!’
‘You are a human being,’ reasoned The Sponge, ‘but you have the head of an elephant.’
‘Well, you’re made of sponge,’ retorted Mr Tembo. ‘I don’t see how that gives you the right to—’
‘It doesn’t matter!’ interrupted The Sponge. ‘We may be under attack! You are the Enforcement Squad.’
‘Ready for action, sir!’ said Mr Tembo, attempting a smart salute but finding it difficult for his hand to reach his huge elephant forehead. He swung his trunk upwards instead.
‘We have a likely Hero incursion in the maximum security tower,’ The Sponge told him. ‘Go and neutralise any invaders. Immediately! The President will hear of your good service! Now go!’
‘Aye aye,’ replied the elephant, turning on his large grey heel and lumbering back through the doors.
Nellie and Hilda were so pleased to be reunited that after the cell door had closed on the unconscious damp guard, they spent three entire minutes jumping around going ‘Scree!’ at each other.
‘What’s that weird noise?’ said a voice that sounded like it was coming from behind the door at the far end of the cell corridor.
‘It sounds like the splashing of feet in ankle-deep water while two people say “Scree!” at each other,’ replied another voice.
The door slid upwards to reveal Billy and Mary wearing grins the size of the International Space Station. The Blue Phantom was standing behind them, helmet tucked under her arm.
‘Yep, I was right,’ concluded Mary.
‘Scree!’ added Hilda and Nellie, jumping towards her like delighted frogs.
Once the four friends had completed a brief ninety-second scree-fest and hugathon, Flora and Angel led them back up the passageway.
‘One more to find,’ Flora said. ‘And I’m pretty sure I know where to look.’
The highest-security cells at Shivering Sands were located towards the centre of each of the towers. And it was towards the centre of this tower that Flora led them. As they walked, the cells became smaller and the passageways narrower, the lighting dimmer and the doors thicker. But they were together again, and felt more and more unstoppable with every step. At last they arrived at a set of enormous doors.
‘This has got to be it,’ Flora told them, consulting a paper blueprint of the tower she had pulled out of her own utility belt. ‘Stay alert, they must know we’re here by now.’
Angel placed the grey box beside the doors and after a few seconds of whirring and clicking, they rumbled into life, grinding apart to reveal a dimly lit row of cells. But the way ahead was blocked by a hulking figure. In the low light they couldn’t make out many details but he had two enormous ears on the sides of his head (conventional ear placement, to be honest) and he was stomping towards them threateningly.
‘It’s an elephant!’ squealed Billy, reaching such a high pitch that he woke up seventeen bats that had been napping in a disused cell nearby.
‘I am not an elephant!’ thundered the huge shape angrily.
‘You look a great deal like an elephant to me,’ said Mary grimly, preparing for combat.
‘Yeah, you’ve got a trunk and everything,’ confirmed Angel, who could see more clearly now that Mr Tembo (for it was he, if you hadn’t worked that out for yourself) was closer to them.
‘What the margarine sandwich is going on out there?’ rang out a voice from one of the cells.
‘Murph!’ yelled Mary. ‘We’re here to rescue you!’
‘Amaze-buckets,’ shouted Murph through the bars. (You’ll have to excuse him: he’s a bit out of practice at the big, excitable exclamations of late. There hasn’t been much to cheer about.) ‘Any time you’re ready’, he added desperately.
‘We just need to dispense with Jumbo out here first …’ replied Mary.
‘Hummmph. It’s Tembo. And that is actually hugely offensive,’ huffed Mr Tembo.
‘… then we’ll be outta here!’ finished Mary.
‘What’s going on down there?’ crackled a voice from the walkie-talkie clipped to Mr Tembo’s overalls. ‘Have you detected any intruders?’
Mr Tembo tried to reply, but his large elephanty fingers were too clumsy to press the TALK button. ‘Get him before he can call for reinforcements!’ yelled Mary, dashing to
wards him.
‘Mission accepted!’ replied Hilda joyfully, racing after her. ‘The boys have been cooped up for too long – they’re desperate for a good canter about.’ As she sprinted, she gestured with her left hand and her two tiny horses popped and neighed into being, lowering their heads, narrowing their eyes, and galloping at Mr Tembo with their tails streaming out behind them like banners.
Mr Tembo had been readying himself to attack, pawing at the ground with one large foot and huffing threateningly through his trunk. But when he saw the horses charging at him he suddenly trumpeted in panic:
‘Pharooooooooooooough!’
There is an urban myth that elephants are scared of mice. If you think about it, it’s quite ridiculous actually. Elephants are massive and have no particular reason to be afraid of mice, even if the mice are armed with tiny cudgels they’ve whittled out of twigs. We suppose if a load of mice got together and hijacked a lorry, and used it to steal all the elephant food, that might be a justification – but as far as we know that’s never happened. Basically what we’re saying is that elephants aren’t afraid of mice.
Elephants in general, that is. Mr Tembo, however, did happen to suffer from a fear of mice, or musophobia, to use its technical name. It’s derived from the Latin for mouse, which is mus. (Sorry we mentioned that. No one’s ever impressed when you give the Latin term for anything. Good life lesson, actually. Don’t ever speak Latin to anyone.)
‘ Pharoooogh!’ trumpeted Mr Tembo once again, only louder and higher pitched. ‘Mice!’ He did a comic scampering motion, wheeling his arms in panic and flinging the walkie-talkie desperately towards the horses as he backed up against the wall.
‘Quick! Get Murph!’ yelled Angel, tossing the door opener to Mary.
‘Mr Tembo! Come in!’ crackled the walkie-talkie from the floor. ‘What’s happening? We’re sending a squad down.’
Hilda crushed the unit underneath her foot. ‘Boring conversation anyway,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Mary – we’re gonna get company!’
