by Greg James
‘That,’ said Nellie’s mum, Lara Lee, ‘is Katerina Kopylova. Or, as she is better known in the world of Rogues, Kopy Kat. And this –’ she was pulling out another sheet of paper – ‘is also her.’ This time, the picture showed a hugely fat man with a full beard. ‘This is her, too,’ Lara continued, slapping down another picture, this time of a little girl holding a red balloon. ‘And this is the most recent suspected picture we have.’ This last photo was cut out from a newspaper. It showed Nicholas Knox being helped into an ambulance by a kindly young paramedic. She was looking at him in concern as she reached up to lift her long dark hair from her face.
‘We have very good reason to believe that Kopy Kat is part of the reason he was able to take control so swiftly and efficiently,’ Murph’s mum said briskly.
Murph realised that for every question that was being answered, seven new ones were occurring to him. He felt as if he was trying to climb out of a pit full of spiders, only to realise that the ladder was made of actual live snakes. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘Mum – how come you’re suddenly talking like a Hero? Since when did you become, like, a rebel commander or whatever?’
‘Since the day of Presidential Decree Number One,’ she told him.
Murph’s mouth dropped open into the internationally recognised expression for ‘What the actual plum soup are you going on about?’.
‘While you were all at school that day,’ she continued, ‘Knox was allowed by the Prime Minister to make a special broadcast. We now believe that it wasn’t even the real Prime Minister – it was Kopy Kat. But Knox used some kind of technology during that broadcast – some kind of mind control, as you’ve rightly guessed. Anyone who watched it believed him utterly. He declared himself President, and made a decree that anyone with a Capability must be rounded up. For treatment, he said.’
‘So none of you were watching it?’ said Mary. ‘But Hilda’s parents were. And Jasper.’
‘And Andy,’ said Murph, suddenly serious. ‘Right? That’s why he’s not here with you?’
His mum nodded, sombre. ‘He’s at Dad’s,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve told him to stay there until …’
‘Until we defeat Knox, break his mind control and save the entire world?’ Mary finished encouragingly, putting a comforting arm around Murph’s shoulders. ‘Andy will feel like a right idiot. We’ll tease him about it for literally years.’
‘He was already a bit too interested in Knox and all his rubbish,’ said Murph sadly.
‘He wasn’t the only one,’ said Lara Lee. She bent down beside the wooden picnic table and hefted up a pile of newspapers. ‘Remember, a lot of people were already falling for Knox’s lies about Heroes.’
‘Knox made sure Heroes were painted in the worst possible light,’ said Lara Lee, leafing through the papers. ‘But look how the headlines changed after that mind-control broadcast …’ She handed Murph a newspaper bearing a large colour photograph of Nicholas Knox standing proudly outside a huge palace.
SAVIOUR OF THE COUNTRY DECLARED PRESIDENT TO DEAL WITH EMERGENCY, ran the headline. ‘Nicholas Knox was today granted control of the entire system of Government, after overwhelming public support. His first Presidential Decree will be the capture of all abnormals, for their own safety …’
Murph threw the paper down, fighting a wave of nausea.
‘President Knox?’ asked Mary disgustedly.
Nellie gave a furious squeak of outrage.
‘President Knox,’ confirmed Lara Lee. ‘President Knox … backed up by the remainder of the Alliance of Evil … and most of the population.’
‘What about The School?’ demanded Murph.
‘Closed down,’ his mum told him sadly. ‘Deserted.’
‘What about Miss Flint?’ asked Hilda. ‘The Heroes’ Alliance?’
‘Well,’ Lara Lee told her, ‘most Heroes turned themselves in. There were a few who didn’t watch the broadcast, of course, but Knox is gradually rounding them up. Miss Flint was on the run for a couple of weeks, but they got to her in the end. Knox has spies everywhere now. Anyone who displays a Capability will immediately be reported.’
‘We have a few Cleaners who aren’t mind-controlled working with us here,’ said Murph’s mum. ‘But basically –’ she waved a hand around – ‘this is it. Welcome to the Rebel lion. It’s good to have you all back. Let’s get some rest, and then in the morning we can start planning our next move. We need to work out how Knox got hold of mind-control tech and work out how to shut it down.’
Murph smiled, but was unable to tamp down a lurch of quease as he thought about the task ahead of them. They weren’t just fighting one lone villain this time, like Nektar – or even a villain backed up by a few powerful allies, like Magpie. Nicholas Knox had the entire country believing that his friends were all some kind of threat to society. Everybody outside this dairy was a potential enemy.
His eye fell on the final newspaper headline left on the table:
OBEY KNOX.
Rabbit Warning
In the first three Kid Normal books, we broke the action in the latter stages of the plot to enjoy an interlude in the life of everyone’s favourite fluff-tailed carrot-fancier, Alan Rabbit.
Since our books were first published, we have travelled the world (well, parts of it), meeting our readers in person, and many of you have told us that you found these interruptions not only irritating but also irritating and, not to put too fine a point on it, irritating. Some of you even felt that they verged on irritating.
Reader feedback is very important to us; very nearly as important as cheese.
Therefore, we will not be inserting a stupid, childish story about Alan Rabbit into this book to break the tension at an extremely dramatic moment.
Unless, that is, anyone reading this book is thinking about rabbits at that point.
So, if you do not want to be interrupted by an Alan Rabbit tale later on in the book …
DO NOT THINK ABOUT RABBITS.
In fact, let’s get it all out of our systems now, shall we?
Lovely little bunnies, hoppity-hoppity-hop. See their little button noses and their cotton-bud tails as they flollop around the meadow. Sniff, sniff, sniff, go their tiny little nosies as they have a good old snort on a dandelion. Pop! goes the cork on a bottle of Château Mouton Rothschild 1982 as they gather to pour wine into their tiny rabbit glasses. Whoo! It’s a rabbit party! Let’s all sing the Rabbit Party song.
Come to the rabbit party,
Rabbit party today.
It’s fun at the rabbit party,
Rabbit party, hey!
Now let’s stop singing the Rabbit Party song, and STOP THINKING ABOUT RABBITS. Put them right out of your mind, otherwise there’ll be another one of those silly Alan Rabbit stories just when you’re really getting into the drama.
You’re not thinking about rabbits, are you? STOP IT.
And … breathe. Turn the page without thinking about … you know. Those flop-eared meadow-monkey things. Just put them right out of your mind.
On with the adventure.
10
The Palace of Peculiarities
‘Don’t worry about a single thing, my foxy Knoxy,’ soothed Katerina Kopylova, reaching out a hand to give the President’s arm a calming stroke. He snatched it away, brushing down his suit sleeve irritably and striding off across the room. Countless gilded mirrors reflected him as he stalked around the enormous room, his over-shined shoes making no sound on the thick antique carpets.
‘I expressly told them,’ he complained. ‘I specifically said, “Do not let anyone close to the Super Zeroes.” What part of that was in any way hard to understand? Idiots!’ He fiddled peevishly with a small golden clock that stood on the marble mantelpiece. ‘Now they’re out there with that Rebellion, planning who knows what?’
‘Let them plan,’ purred Katerina, stretching out her leather-trousered legs and plopping them on to a small gold table. She was in her true form, but had made her legs slightly longer than us
ual, simply so they could reach that table. The rest of us would probably just have moved the table closer, but we’re not villains, are we? ‘Is simple, my sweet,’ she purred. ‘Just tempt these little Heroes somewhere, and I shall enweasel my way into their gang.’
Knox stopped fidgeting. ‘What?’ He briefly pondered to himself whether ‘enweasel’ was a real word and decided that even if it wasn’t, it should be. ‘You mean … you could become one of the Super Zeroes?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she went on. ‘Is easy – just like we did with the Prime Minister, yes? I just grab one of them, change into them and – pop! You have … what is the expression? A dog in the playground, yes?’
‘You mean a cuckoo in the nest,’ said Knox distractedly, gnawing on a thumbnail. ‘Yes … yes. That might work. If we lure them in … you impersonate one of them … then they’ll take you right to the heart of the Rebellion. You can tell me their every move. Then, just when they think they’re winning, I can turn their triumph into disaster!’ His face lit up with a cold glow. ‘That would be rather delicious.’
‘Is easy,’ said Kopy Kat, airily waving a hand. ‘This is … what is the expression? Easy as a pork pie.’
‘Not quite right,’ said Knox. ‘But never mind. It isn’t important.’
‘Is important!’ insisted Katerina, adopting a stern expression. ‘How will I impersonate Heroes if I cannot speak the language correctly? I need to know this things.’
‘These things,’ corrected Knox absently. ‘But listen … You’ll have to distract the Heroes for long enough to snatch one of them. We need something for them to battle. You should take a weapon with you.’
‘Yes!’ She clapped her hands delightedly. ‘I love weapons! Bring me a big weapons!’
‘Weapons, yes,’ he agreed, turning to a footman who was standing impassively by one of the doors. ‘Tell the Research Division I want to inspect the new weapon immediately,’ he snapped. ‘I’m on my way down.’
‘Certainly, Mr President,’ said the footman smartly, reaching for a walkie-talkie as Knox swept past him, Katerina Kopylova following in his cologne-scented wake.
Beneath the Presidential Palace were a series of heavily reinforced underground rooms that had once been designed to protect the occupants of the palace in the event of any kind of war or attack. When he had taken over, Knox had known exactly what to use them for – to hide his most secret and darkest projects. The deepest and most secure room was given over to his most daring and most dangerous project: the master plan, towards which he had been working for months and months, and which will be revealed later on, in a dramatic plot twist. Do not think about rabbits when that happens. But for now, he headed for the first room, a large air-conditioned laboratory.
‘Ah, Mr President,’ said a voice in a strong German accent as the metal door hissed open. ‘We have been expecting you.’ A man with an unruly shock of hair stood in the centre of the lab beside a large wooden crate. He was wearing a lab coat with the buttons done up wrong.
‘Good evening, Professor Smith,’ answered Knox. ‘I understand you have finished your latest creation? I tasked you with creating a super-weapon that could be used if any abnormals escaped. Your timing could not be better.’
‘Yes indeed!’ declared the man – still in the strong German accent. If you’re reading this out loud, do not let the accent slip under any circumstances. We’ll find out about it and come round and take this book back. No refunds. ‘Jawohl! Sehr gut!’ he continued, just to give you some extra practice.
Professor Graham Smith had been one of Nicholas Knox’s colleagues at Ribbon Robotics. He was a gifted scientist who had grown up, as you may remember, just outside Reading. His strong German accent was a mystery, as were most of his inventions. Once, he had invented a self-stirring spoon, but some of his other creations that had never seen the light of day included a bicycle that went sideways, a mirror that showed the back of your head, but only if you turned your back on it (it had just been a mirror, to be honest), and a kilt for cats.
Knox had provided Professor Smith with his mind-control research, as well as some other, secret, technologies he’d been tinkering with, and tasked him with creating the ultimate weapon. He didn’t have massively high hopes – remembering the ULTRA SPOON and the KITTY KILT – but he had escaped Heroes to deal with and, to be honest, he’d take anything he was offered.
Kopy Kat had entered the laboratory behind Knox. The door hissed closed behind her. ‘So, you have a weapons for me, little Professor Graham?’ she cooed.
‘I have created the most terrifying fighting machine the world has ever seen!’ enthused Professor Graham Smith.
‘Oooh, exciting!’ said Kopy Kat. Suddenly her head seemed to melt, bubbling like warm clay and re-forming in the exact image of the professor’s. ‘The most terrifying fighting machine the world has ever seen!’ she mimicked.
‘Stop that!’ complained Smith.
‘Stop that!’ his doppelgänger echoed.
‘Kopy Kat,’ said Knox sharply. ‘Desist! We don’t have time for this!’ Katerina’s head morphed once more until her own face reappeared, wearing a sulky pout. ‘The ultimate fighting machine, you say?’ continued Knox, his interest piqued. Maybe, just maybe, this mad scientist had come up trumps for once.
‘Behest!’ said Professor Graham Smith dramatically, gesturing towards the wooden crate. ‘No, not behest. What’s the word I want?’
‘Behold?’ suggested Knox.
‘Beehive!’ shouted Smith very loudly and suddenly. There was a frightened squeaking from inside the crate. ‘Stand back, everyone, please,’ instructed Professor Smith, and he began to drag the crate towards a large open space at the back of the lab. ‘You are about to witness the most terrifying super-weapon since the invention of the atom bomb.’
Knox watched eagerly. In the centre of the cleared-off area was a mannequin like the one you see in clothes-shop windows. It had one slender arm bent, hand on hip, and the other pointing skywards in a heroic pose. Professor Smith had fastened a red cape round its neck, but otherwise it was wearing no clothes at all.
‘There is the enemy!’ said Smith dramatically.
‘The enemy is naked,’ pointed out Kopy Kat. ‘The enemy has plastic rudey bits.’
‘That is of no consequence!’ insisted the professor.
‘It is rather distracting,’ complained Kopy Kat. ‘I can’t stop looking!’
‘Pay no regard to the plastic rudey bits!’ ordered Smith. ‘You are about to witness the future of war!’ The crate was now in position, and Smith pushed a button on the wall as he walked back to join them. A clear plastic screen descended from the ceiling, sealing off the end of the lab.
‘Behove!’ intoned Professor Graham Smith dramatically, pulling a remote control unit out of the pocket of his dirty white lab coat. He pushed a button and the end of the wooden crate fell away with a clatter on to the scrubbed tiled floor. Knox and Kopy Kat pressed close to the transparent screen, excited to see what this super-weapon would look like.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then a small pink nose became visible at the end of the crate, surrounded by a halo of fluffy brown fur. The nose was followed by two bright, curious eyes, a pair of unbearably cute ears, and a chubby, fuzzy body supported by chunky little legs.
‘It’s a wombat,’ said Nicholas Knox, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. It’s rare for anyone to be disappointed by an unexpected wombat. Research shows that in 99.9 per cent of circumstances, the appearance of a wombat is 100 per cent likely to make your day better. Especially a cute little wombat like this one. But Knox had been expecting a weapon, not a wombat, which is a lesson for all of us. Don’t go looking for weapons, because you’ll only be disappointed. Look for wombats instead. If you take one message away from our books, that should definitely be it.
‘This is not just a wombat,’ said Professor Graham Smith in husky tones, sounding like he was in an advert for posh food and was about to follow it
up with the words, ‘This is a line-caught, slow-roasted wombat with a burnt-butter sauce, served with purple sprouting broccoli and thrice-cookified chips.’ But he didn’t, luckily for wombats everywhere. This is what really happened:
‘This is not just a wombat,’ said Professor Graham Smith in husky tones. ‘This … is a Combat Wombat.’
There was a moment of silence. Well, there would be, wouldn’t there?
‘Are you quite mad?’ said Nicholas Knox, finally, and more than a little icily.
‘Oh, yes, absolutely,’ replied Smith. Knox sighed. ‘Would you like me to demonstrate the destructive capabilities of the Combat Wombat?’ Smith continued, his eyes glinting eagerly as one finger hovered above a red button on the remote control.
Knox glanced at his watch. There was an hour before dinner would be served in the banqueting hall. There was nothing he particularly wanted to watch on TV, and despite having access to a private library he didn’t like reading. (Along with shiny shoes, this is a clear indicator of villainous tendencies, FYI.) He may as well see this out. ‘Yes, why not?’ he told Smith. ‘Activate the Combat Wombat.’
Smith was slightly nettled, because this was the big line he’d been building up to. Knox had stolen it from him and, instead of shouting it dramatically, had drawled it out in a bored, sarcastic tone. He decided to go for it anyway. ‘Activate the Combat Wombat!’ he declared loudly and dramatically.
‘Who are you talking to?’ asked Kopy Kat,
‘Silence!’ roared Professor Smith, adding ‘Activate the Combat Wombat!’ once again for extra effect. This was now the third time the phrase had been used and it was starting to lose its sheen.
There was another pause. ‘You have the control, Professor Smith,’ Knox reminded him wearily.
‘Ah, yes, so I do. Activate the … Never mind.’ Smith coughed to cover his embarrassment, and pressed the red button.
