by Adam Stower
For Matt
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Acknowledgements
About Adam Stower
By the Same Author
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
If there’s one thing that is sure to get a boy out of a warm bed on a chilly morning, it’s the smell of smoke.
Ben shrieked, jolting wide awake. ‘Mum! Dad! FIRE! FIIIRE!’
He leaped out of bed and hurled himself down the stairs with all the grace of a donkey on skates.
Thick smoke curled from the kitchen. Ben took a deep breath and burst through the door.
‘Dad?’ Ben coughed, peering through the plumes of smoke that billowed from the frying pan in Mr Pole’s hand. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m on breakfast duty.’ Mr Pole beamed proudly. ‘Mum starts her new job today. At the museum, remember?’
Ben wiped the tears from his stinging eyes and flinched as another sausage exploded and burst into flames.
‘Oh dear, crack open a window will you, Ben?’ said Mrs Pole emerging through the fug. She kissed Mr Pole on the cheek and cast a wary eye over the sausages rattling around in the pan. ‘Just cereal for me I think, thanks love. I don’t want to be late.’
‘All the more bangers for us, eh, Ben?’ said Mr Pole enthusiastically. ‘But perhaps you’d best pop on some clothes, eh?’ he chuckled, looking Ben up and down. ‘Aren’t you a bit old to be running round in nothing but your under-grumblies?’
Ben got dressed and was back at the kitchen table just as his dad was dishing up breakfast.
‘I like your uniform, Mum,’ said Ben, tapping his sausage with the edge of a knife, trying to find a soft spot.
‘Thanks, love,’ said Mrs Pole, giving her gold badge a little polish with her napkin. ‘It’s not bad, is it? Oh dear, hold on, listen to this,’ she said, turning up the volume on the radio. ‘It sounds like there’s been another burglary!’
‘Bumbleton?’ said Ben. ‘That’s quite near, isn’t it?’
‘Yup!’ said Mr Pole, who was busy trying to cut his sausage in half with a bread knife. ‘They’re getting closer. I expect that’s why they’re hiring more guards down at the City Museum. Better safe than sorry, eh?’
‘You will be careful, won’t you, Mum?’ said Ben, a little anxiously. He didn’t fancy the idea of his mum being alone at work in the museum with burglars about.
‘Ha! It’s those rotten robbers who need to be careful, now that your mum’s on guard!’ boomed Mr Pole proudly. He had given up on the bread knife and was taking a swing at his sausage with a meat cleaver. ‘Isn’t that right, my love?’
Mrs Pole ducked as the sausage pinged out from under the cleaver, shot past her at about eighty miles-per-hour, smashed through the kitchen window and landed in the back garden with a loud, solid CLUNK!
She smiled at Ben. ‘I’ll be fine, dear. At least there won’t be any low-flying missiles to worry about,’ she said, nodding at the banger that lay smouldering in the grass. ‘You’ll love the museum. You must come and visit. It’s full of weird and wonderful things.’
‘Is that where you got this, Dad?’ grinned Ben, holding up his shrivelled sausage.
‘Ah, erm … yes,’ said Mr Pole sheepishly. ‘How about some toast?’
Ben decided cornflakes would be the safest option. So he wolfed down a bowlful and headed out the door. It was the last day of his summer holidays, and he knew exactly where he wanted to be.
‘Cheerio, love,’ shouted Mrs Pole. ‘Have fun, and say hello to Coo from us!’
CHAPTER TWO
Ben knew the way off by heart by now. He slipped through the maze of alleys that ran between the high windowless buildings in the heart of the city. In a gloomy corner, down a dead-end, Ben swung back a loose board in a high wooden fence and squeezed through a small gap. It was dark on the other side.
Ben felt his way along a tunnel through a mass of twisting roots and branches until at last they thinned out, and he could see daylight shining at the other end.
He stepped out into …
… Coo’s magnificent woods.
Not many boys had a best friend like Coo. Ben was just lucky, he supposed. I mean, a genius who lives with a pet wombat in a secret wood in the middle of the city? In a tree house? He had to admit, it was pretty amazing! OK, so Coo’s woods might be riddled with tricky traps and bonkers contraptions that were as dangerous as they were fun, but it was here that he felt most happy.
Ben couldn’t wait to see Coo and Herbert again, but this time he was determined to reach Coo’s tree house without stumbling into one of her traps. So, instead of running along the path like normal, Ben moved slowly and carefully, peering at the ground with every step.
And it worked, too. There, stretched across the path, he spotted a tripwire. Ben grinned and jumped over it.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t Ben Pole,’ said Coo, grinning at him from her perch on a branch above. ‘You all right there? Need a hand?’ she asked, her gold crown glinting in the sunlight and her long beard blowing in the breeze.
Ben groaned and looked up at her.
‘Oh, OK, you got me again,’ he said, giggling. ‘The tripwire – it was a decoy, wasn’t it?’
‘Yup! You’re learning, Pole,’ said Coo, hopping down from the tree. ‘You were pretty impressive, I think you hit a new top speed on that final bend.’ She tugged a rope and the net fell open, dumping Ben in a heap on the ground. ‘So, what do you think of the “ZOOM of DOOM”? Pretty good, eh?’
Ben groaned and held his head in both hands until everything stopped spinning.
‘And you’ve turned up just in time,’ Coo said, grabbing Ben and sitting him on a log. She fumbled about in her bag and pulled out a pair of odd-looking boots. ‘Here, put these on.’
‘Er, OK,’ said Ben nervously. Coo’s inventions had a nasty habit of being dangerous, so you can imagine how Ben felt, being a boy who thought mixing two flavours of ice cream was pretty risky.
‘Hmm, not a bad fit,’ Coo said, tightening the buckles of the strange boots.
‘Right, follow me!’
‘Hold on! What are these things? What do they do?’ said Ben, picking up his bag and trotting awkwardly after his hairy friend as she shot off through the woods.
He caught up with her in a clearing a little further on.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Ben. ‘Who are you shouting at?’
‘Oh, just that furry idiot up there. I tell you, sometimes I reckon he’s got all the intelligence of a dim plum.’
Ben’s gaze followed Coo’s pointing finger into the highest branches of a tall silver-grey tree and there, clutching a slim branch and trembling with worry, was Herbert.
‘Wombats are meant to BURROW IN THE GROUND, not CLIMB TREES, you DAFT PUDDING!’ shouted Coo.
‘How are you going to get him down?’ asked Ben, shading his eyes against the glare of the white sky.
‘I’m not.’
‘Eh?’
‘You are.’
‘What? Me? No, I mean, I can’t,’ said Ben. ‘All the way up there? You must be bonkers! Anyway, there’s no way up, how would I even—’
; ‘Oh, you’ll manage,’ grinned Coo crouching down and pressing a button on Ben’s boots.
Ben shot straight up through the trees, leaving Coo far below.
‘AAARGH! What’s happening?’ Ben screamed, as he came to a sudden shuddering halt. ‘I don’t like it, Coo! Get me down! What’s going on?’
‘Telescopic stilts, spring-loaded,’ shouted Coo. ‘Pretty sweet, eh?’
‘NO!’ wailed Ben. ‘NOT sweet, actually! GET ME DOWN!’
‘Grab Herb!’ Coo shouted.
‘What?’
‘HERBERT! GRAB HIM!’
The skinny branch Herb was clinging to was barely sturdy enough to bear the weight of a beefy sparrow, let alone a fat wombat. It bowed and creaked under the strain and looked likely to snap at any moment.
Ben’s clumpy boots were tricky to walk in, but with a great effort he managed to swing his legs forward and totter over to Herbert.
As soon as Herb saw Ben, his rump began to wag with excitement.
Uh-oh, Ben thought, recognizing the look in Herb’s eye.
‘Now then, Herb, just wait there,’ he said. ‘I’m coming for you … No, no, NO! DON’T—’
Herb jumped.
He landed in Ben’s arms, thumping against him like a furry wrecking ball.
Ben teetered on his long stilts, crashing back and forth through the treetops, desperately trying to keep his balance. He glanced at the ground and gulped. It was a LONG way down.
As he wobbled about, he could just see Coo far below, her hands cupped to her mouth, shouting up at him.
‘Sick … poor … seals!’
‘What?’ Ben was so high up he could barely hear her.
‘Lick … more … eels!’
‘Lick more EELS?’ shouted Ben. ‘What do you mean, lick more eels? How on earth will THAT help?’
‘CLICK … YOUR … HEELS!’ yelled Coo as loud as she could.
‘Oh, HEELS!’ said Ben, finally making sense of it.
He clicked his boots together and, in a flash, the stilts retracted, shrinking Ben back down to ground level and dumping him and Herb on the soft leafy forest floor.
‘Ha-ha! “Lick more eels”? You’re crackers, Ben,’ chuckled Coo as she patted Herb affectionately.
‘CRACKERS? ME? You could have warned me! Ohhh my head. That was horrible.’
‘You were brilliant, Pole. I knew you could do it.’ Coo grinned, punching him on the shoulder. ‘Those Stretch’n’Fetch Superboots worked a treat. I must admit, I had my doubts.’
‘You mean they were untested? I could have been killed!’
‘Well, they’re tested now, aren’t they? You don’t half fuss, Ben,’ said Coo. ‘Herb loved it, didn’t you, Herb? I think he wants another go.’
Ben flopped onto his back to catch his breath. Life was never dull with Coo around.
‘Come on then,’ Coo said, helping him up. ‘You’ve earned yourself a ginger beer.’
CHAPTER THREE
Back at the tree house, Coo lit a fire and soon the hut was as warm as toast. Ben settled on a hammock with Herbert who curled up beside him for a nap.
‘Oh, here, these are for you,’ said Ben, digging a brown paper parcel from his bag.
‘What is it?’ said Coo, weighing the packet suspiciously in her hand.
‘Sausages, apparently,’ chuckled Ben. ‘They’re from Dad.’
‘Er, thanks,’ said Coo, the sausages clinking together as she tipped them into a bowl.
Herb raised his head from his folded paws, sniffed the air, shuddered ever so slightly and turned away.
‘Oh well.’ Coo grinned. ‘Thanks anyway.’
Ben played about with Coo’s ukulele while she poked at the fire with a stick and nibbled a handful of enormous roasted chestnuts.
‘So, Mum started her new job today,’ Ben said, ‘at the museum.’
‘Yeah? Great!’ said Coo. ‘Good timing too. Did y’hear? That Midnight Mob have struck again.’
‘Yeah!’ Ben was impressed. ‘Hold on, how do you know about that?’
‘I live in a tree house, Ben, not on the MOON,’ said Coo with a wry smile. ‘And I’ve got that there too,’ she added, nodding over at an odd-fangled contraption with an enormous horn protruding from the top of it.
‘Is that a … a radio?’ said Ben taking a closer look and twiddling a big wooden knob.
‘Of course it’s a radio,’ said Coo. ‘This IS the twenty-first century, you know.’
‘I’m going to miss this,’ sighed Ben, sitting back on the hammock and scratching Herbert behind the ears. ‘School starts tomorrow. Mum wants me to join an after-school club now that she’s working too. I won’t be able to come over so much.’
‘Well, since it’s the last day of your holidays, how about some ice skating?’ said Coo with that kind of sidelong smile that made Ben suspect that she needed another contraption testing.
‘Er, of course I’d love to, Coo, yeah nothing better, but we can’t, can we?’ said Ben with obvious relief. ‘The pond isn’t frozen.’
‘Yeah, maybe not,’ said Coo, crossing to a workbench. She picked up a strange backpack with a hose thingummy-jig hanging off the side, heaved it onto her shoulders, fastened a buckle on the front and winked at Ben.
CHAPTER FOUR
The following morning Ben found himself back at school. It was a brand-new term and the feeling had just about returned to his toes after the Snow’n’Blow incident the day before.
During the holidays the school had been scrubbed clean. The whole place smelled of floor wax and the corridors bustled with packs of new kids who milled about in their big shiny shoes and oversized blazers.
The bell rang for assembly, and Ben shuffled into the main hall with everyone else and sat near the back. The kids all fidgeted and chatted noisily. Ben was just admiring the excellent aim of a boy who had managed to clonk a kid at the front with a perfectly lobbed cheese roll when …
It was Mr Gigglethwick, the headmaster. The gap in his front teeth might have meant that he couldn’t play the bassoon with any confidence, but he could whistle loud enough to shatter glass at a hundred metres.
‘Right then, you lot, simmer down, simmer down,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘That’s better. Well, good morning, children. Welcome to a new school year.’
While the headmaster droned on, Ben’s concentration wandered. He enjoyed a few moments imagining Coo building him a cheese-roll catapult. He was just considering which type of cheese would be most aerodynamic when his attention snapped back to what the headmaster was saying. He had mentioned something about a ‘disaster’.
‘The police still aren’t certain how it happened,’ said Mr Gigglethwick. ‘I mean, it’s not clear what Mr Travis was even doing in the pudding factory last night, let alone how he fell into the vat of boiling jelly.
‘If only he’d landed in the cream and custard tub or on one of those slabs of soft sponge cake he might not have been hurt so badly. It’s all a trifle baffling.
‘Anyway, until Mr Travis has all his bandages removed, I’m afraid he won’t be here to run the History Club. I’m sure we all hope he gets well soon.
‘Now, before we finish, I would like to introduce you to some special guests. Please welcome Professor Pickering and his pupils from the Lilly Lavender Private Academy for Exceptional Girls.’
Ben craned his neck for a better view as Mr Gigglethwick beckoned a tall man and four girls to join him on the stage.
‘Good morning, Professor Pickering,’ the children chanted all together.
Professor Pickering smiled and bowed. His head was bald on top and fringed with curly hair, he wore a tweed jacket with elbow patches and he even had a wonky eye. The girls stood in a row beside him. Their school uniform was pink and yellow, and they peered out shyly from beneath straw hats tied with ribbons.
‘The professor and the girls will be spending some time here at our school as part of a project they are working on; comparing all the schools around the city,’ explaine
d Mr Gigglethwick. ‘So, make them feel welcome. And be good,’ he added sternly, glaring at the boy who had thrown the cheese roll.
‘Thaaaank you, headmaster,’ said Pickering smoothly, smiling at the assembled children.
‘We look forward to a happy time here with you all at your school. May I say how dreadfully sorry I am to hear about your poor Mr Travis,’ the professor added, bowing his head. ‘It so happens that I run a History Club too, at the Lilly Lavender Academy.’ He turned to Mr Gigglethwick. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d be happy to run your History Club while Mr Travis is still in his … ahem … sticky situation.’
‘Well that will be wonderful, professor, won’t it, children?’ Mr Gigglethwick beamed. ‘Thank you.’
The professor bowed and the girls curtsied awkwardly before returning to their seats.
‘Marvellous!’ said Mr Gigglethwick. ‘Right then, children, off you go! Hurry up! Time for your lessons.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Ben emerged from his final lesson of the day feeling dazed and clutching a list of homework as long as his arm.
He wanted to go back to the woods and drink cold ginger beer in front of a hot fire with Coo and Herb, but he had promised his mum that he’d join an after-school club so he wandered over to the noticeboards to see what was on offer.
