A Taste for Adventure

by Adam Frost

  This limited Rin’s movement and vision. Now Wily felt they could fight as equals.

  With a handful of squid rings in his fist, he leaped across the room, grabbing Rin’s arm. He squashed a squid ring into her ear. Rin stuck a breadstick up Wily’s nose, giving it a nasty twist. Wily winced and Rin struggled free. When he looked up, she was on the ceiling, flicking a button next to one of the fire sprinklers.

  Whoosh! Water started pouring down from the ceiling, washing the food off her fur. Wily flung a cake at her, but it disintegrated before it reached her. Within a few seconds, Rin was clean and sleek again.

  Time to take this to another level, Wily said to himself, a much higher level.

  A plan had dropped into his head. He texted one word to Albert, then grabbed a box of eggs from the cupboard and ran out of the office. He pushed open a door and found himself on a TV set. It looked like they had been filming a western – there was the saloon, the bank and the stables.

  Wily could hear Rin whistling through the air behind him. He put the eggs carefully in his pocket. He only had six, so he’d have to use his ammunition carefully. He ran down the TV-set high street and ducked into the saloon, looking for a quick way to get to a higher floor of the studios. But then Rin was in front of him. She jumped forwards, her foot aimed at his jaw. Quick as a flash, Wily threw an egg at her face, which knocked her backwards.

  Five eggs left.

  While Rin was wiping egg out of her eyes and ears, Wily ran out of the back of the saloon and found a lighting rig. He scaled it as quickly as he could and noticed, in the ceiling, a trap door leading to the floor above. He opened it and slipped through. Behind him, he could see Rin climbing the lighting rig at incredible speed.

  Now Wily was on another set. This time, it looked like they’d been filming a space series. There was a rocket, a crater and an empty alien suit. In the corner, he could see scaffolding on which had been hung a backdrop showing a spectacular alien sunset. He ran across to it and started to climb.

  But Rin was there in a flash, holding his leg in an iron grip. Wily threw an egg, then two more. Rin was still holding on. His fifth egg finally sent her flying backwards towards the ground. But almost all his ammunition was gone. He had only one egg left.

  Wily sped up, climbing to the top of the scaffolding in a matter of seconds. He saw another ceiling hatch and pulled himself through. He needed to get to the roof.

  Wily ran through the next two sets with Rin following close behind. Then he found a door marked “Emergency Staircase”. He dived through it and looked up. It led straight to the roof, but there were still five floors to go.

  He started to run, but Rin managed to leap in front of him. She pushed Wily down the stairs. As he fell on to his back, he felt hands tight round his neck – he was being strangled. He saw purple splodges in front of his eyes. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He reached into his pocket. Surely the egg had been splattered in the struggle? No, it was cracked, but it was still in one piece. It was his last chance.

  Wily dropped the egg through the centre of the stairwell. It plummeted down fifteen floors and splattered on the ground with a loud crack. And just as Wily expected, it echoed.

  It sounded like gunfire.

  Rin looked around anxiously and released her hold. Wily took his chance to get up and dash past her, up the staircase. In the few seconds it took for her to realize what was going on, Wily had a head start. He kept climbing until he reached the door to the roof. He burst through and flung it shut behind him.

  Had Albert got his message? Suddenly Rin was back again and he was flattened – she was on top of him, strangling him. What had gone wrong? Wily thought. He was out of eggs and out of ideas. He was beaten, scrambled, fried.

  But all at once the air rushed back into Wily’s lungs. He looked up and saw Albert and the robot waiter hovering in the air.

  “WE RECEIVED YOUR TEXT, SIR,” the waiter said. “THE WORD ‘ROOF’. NOW WHERE SHOULD I PUT THIS?”

  The robot had Rin in its left hand. She was lashing out at it, but couldn’t make a dent in its hard metal shell.

  “Just put her on the top of Mount Fuji for now,” said Wily.

  “VERY WELL , SIR ,” said the robot, and shot off into the sky.

  “Solving crime in record time,” Wily said to himself, and lay back with a smile.

  An hour later, Wily was sitting in a café opposite the TV studios, drinking a cup of coffee while Megachef blared out on a TV screen in the corner.

  Sybil Squirrel was sitting next to him.

  “Sorry I’m a bit late,” she said. “As soon as I heard how Julius had messed up, I got on a plane to Tokyo.”

  “It’s OK,” said Wily. “I handled it.”

  “So I see. Where have you put her this time?” asked Sybil.

  “She’s on the top of Mount Fuji, being guarded by a robot waiter,” said Wily.

  “Naturally,” said Sybil. “That makes complete sense.”

  “I’ve asked Albert to put a tracking chip on her shoulder,” said Wily. “Just in case – you know – Julius lets her escape again.”

  Sybil smiled. “Good plan.”

  “And if she does escape, it will trigger opera to be piped into her right ear,” said Wily.

  “Nice,” said Sybil. She glanced up at the TV. “So Megachef started on time?”

  Wily nodded. “Got everyone out of the fridge with ten minutes to spare. That was enough time to thaw them out.”

  “Did Shoma Shrew mind dropping out?”

  Wily shook his head. “He was petrified of being in the final. He knew his cooking skills weren’t up to it. He was delighted when Lenny took his place.”

  Sybil looked up at the screen again. “Looks like your boy’s going to win.”

  Wily smiled. “Well, he’s given up everything to be here.”

  “He couldn’t have done it without you, though,” said Sybil.

  Wily shrugged. “And I couldn’t have done it without you and Albert.”

  They both sipped their coffee.

  “You know you have a blob of jam dangling from your nose, don’t you?” said Sybil.

  “Of course,” said Wily, brushing it off.

  “And a lump of cheese in your ear,” Sybil added.

  “All deliberate,” said Wily, removing it.

  “In fact, you could start a restaurant with all the food in your fur,” said Sybil, looking him up and down.

  Wily shuddered. “No cooking. No restaurants. The only thing I’m hungry for is my next case.”

  His phone started to buzz. He didn’t recognize the number.

  “And here it is,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear. He winked at Sybil. “My mouth’s watering already.”

  Wily Fox, the world’s greatest detective, was outside the Griffin Theatre in London, staring up at a poster. It was 2 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. Usually a matinee performance would have just started, but not today. As the poster said, today’s performance of Escape from Spooky Manor was cancelled.

  Wily went round to the stage door and knocked. The theatre caretaker – an ancient mongoose wearing about nine layers of clothes – opened the door.

  “Ah, Wily Fox. Roderick Rabbit said you were coming. Who’d have thought it? An actual ghost! Here at the Griffin!”

  “Apparently so,” said Wily, stepping inside.

  “I mean, actors have claimed to see ghosts here before,” the mongoose said, leading Wily down some steps. “The Headless Hyena, for example. The See-through Sheep. But a ghost has never appeared on stage before. In front of an audience!”

  The mongoose ushered Wily through a set of double doors and into the stalls, where a rabbit was sitting in the first row of seats, biting his nails and murmuring to himself. He was wearing a long red scarf and a paisley waistcoat. He leaped up.

  “Mr Fox,” the rabbit exclaimed, “thank you SO much for coming!” He embraced Wily, giving him a kiss on both cheeks.

  Wily stiffened and cleare
d his throat. “No problem,” he said.

  The mongoose disappeared and the rabbit began his story.

  “My name is Roderick Aloysius Rabbit and I am producer and director of Escape from Spooky Manor – a spine-chilling, nerve-shredding journey into your deepest, darkest fears.”

  “I don’t scare easily,” said Wily.

  “This may test your courage,” said Roderick. “Allow me to set the scene.”

  The rabbit bounded up on to the stage. Behind him was an elaborate set: the entrance hall of a huge manor house.

  “So on Saturday night, all was proceeding as normal. It was the end of the final act – the ghost’s last appearance. The actors were assembled on THIS side of the stage.” Roderick sprang across to the left-hand side of the stage. “Gloria Gerbil says her line: ‘Perhaps we are finally free of this turbulent spirit’, there is a rumble of thunder, a flash of lightning and on walks the ghost.”

  Roderick pointed to the door on the other side of the set.

  “This is usually Vladimir Vole in a suit of armour,” said Roderick, “but on Saturday night, it was a glowing shroud, hovering above the ground. It gave an ear-piercing shriek and then disappeared.”

  “Weird,” Wily said.

  “At first the actors kept going,” said Roderick. “They assumed it was Vladimir, trying out a different costume. He takes his performances VERY seriously. Then, at the end of the show, they found him in a cupboard in his dressing room. Hiding. The ghost had appeared to him backstage, then taken his place in the scene. After that, the actors refused to go on the following night.”

  “Did you search the theatre?”

  “Of course,” said Roderick, “but there was no sign of the ghost. It had come from nowhere and vanished without a trace.”

  “So it was just a practical joke,” said Wily.

  “But who? Why?” Roderick protested. “I have no enemies. I LOVE everyone. Besides, the actors say the ghost looked so REAL. They’re superstitious at the best of times. Now they’re saying the play is CURSED.”

  “Well, I don’t believe in curses – or ghosts,” said Wily.

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Roderick, “but I have to say, they’ve convinced ME. A dark shadow has fallen over this production – and it’s going to bankrupt me!”

  “So what do you need me to do?” Wily asked.

  “Find the ghost, of course,” said Roderick. “I’ve had to cancel today’s performance. I can probably afford to cancel a few more. But Saturday! I must re-open on Saturday! Or all my money will be gone! My reputation – gone! Find the ghost by Saturday, Mr Fox, and send it back to where it came from!”

  He buried his head in his arm and burst into tears.

  Wily climbed up on to the stage and handed Roderick a handkerchief.

  “You’re very kind,” said Roderick, blowing his nose loudly. “There is one consolation. I made my actors promise not to tell anyone about this. Obviously if the public found out that the theatre was haunted, they might not come either.”

  “Can you rely on your actors to keep the secret?” Wily asked.

  “For now,” said Roderick, “but that’s another reason I need this ghost found quickly. Actors love to gossip.”

  Wily glanced around the theatre. “You know I’m a detective, right? Not a ghost hunter.”

  “Most ghost hunters are fakes,” replied Roderick. “They’re actors playing a part. I know the type a mile off. I need a proper detective. Someone who can solve mysteries.”

  Wily nodded and started to inspect the stage. “Let’s see if your ghost really did vanish without a trace,” he said.

  He walked over to where Roderick said the ghost had appeared.

  “Has anything been moved since Saturday night?” Wily asked.

  “Unfortunately yes,” said Roderick. “I wasn’t really thinking. We put all the props backstage and the caretaker swept the boards.”

  Wily took out his magnifying glass and squatted down. Then he searched the stage floor, looking for hairs, fingerprints, threads of clothing. There was nothing.

  “Shame the caretaker’s so good at his job,” Wily muttered.

  As he searched, Wily wondered about Roderick’s story. He tried to keep an open mind about ghosts. There was no proof that they DID exist, but there was no proof that they DIDN’T.

  Which type would this ghost be – real or pretend?

  Then he spotted something glinting in between the floorboards.

  He crouched down and looked through his magnifying glass. There, in between two of the boards, was a wisp of bright white fabric. Wily tugged on the end and pulled it out. The moment he held it up to the light, it turned black.

  “Maybe your ghost did leave something behind,” Wily said.

  “What is it?” Roderick asked.

  “I’m not sure,” said Wily, “but you can only see it in the dark.”

  He cupped his hand round the material and it glowed white again.

  “Wow,” Roderick gulped, “do you think it came from the … afterlife?”

  “Hmm,” said Wily. “I think it came from the shops.”

  Wily dropped the material into a small plastic bag. “I’ll ask

  my friend Albert to analyze it.”

  Wily then lifted up a rug in the centre of the stage and revealed a trap door.

  “That dates back to Victorian times,” said Roderick. “I don’t think the mechanism works any more.”

  “Well, it’s been used recently,” Wily said. “The dust round the edge has been disturbed.”

  Wily opened the trap door and leaped into the small dark room below. He peered into the trap-door mechanism.

  “It looks like the cogs have just been oiled,” Wily called to Roderick.

  “Not by any of us,” Roderick shouted back.

  “This ghost is either very resourceful,” said Wily, jumping up on to the stage, “or he has a helper here on earth.”

  Wily climbed up a ladder on the side of the stage and examined the lighting rig.

  He looked at the stage lighting plan for “Act Three: Ghost’s Entrance”.

  It looked like this:

  However the lights on the rig were positioned like this:

  “Has anyone changed these lights since Saturday night?” Wily shouted down.

  “No!” Roderick shouted back. “The stagehands have refused to come back, too.”

  So, Wily thought to himself, at the end of the third act, the ghost was meant to be under the spotlights. But someone had moved the lights so they were all pointing AWAY from the ghost. This kept the actor in darkness.

  “Who was up here working the lights on Saturday night?” Wily asked, as he climbed down the ladder.

  “No one,” said Roderick. “They’re all programmed in advance. We just press a button on that console over there at the start of the show. Then the lights move themselves.” He pointed to a large board in the wings.

  Wily walked over to inspect it. He pulled out his magnifying glass again and saw, between two of the sliders, another tangle of glowing fabric. He pulled it out and dropped it in his evidence bag.

  “Looks like there was a manual override,” Wily said. “Now, you said you had no enemies?”

  Roderick blinked. “I can’t think of any.”

  “What about the actors?” Wily asked. “Do they have enemies?”

  “I suppose other actors can get quite jealous of Vladimir,” said Roderick, “because he’s the most famous, you see.”

  “It’s interesting that the ghost didn’t just scare him – he also replaced him on stage,” said Wily. “Time to pay Vladimir a visit, I think.”

  “So you have a hunch?” Roderick asked anxiously. “You can solve the case by Saturday night?”

  Wily nodded and patted Roderick’s shoulder. “The criminal doesn’t have a ghost of a chance.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Adam Frost writes children’s books full of jokes, animals, amazing gadgets – and ideally all three! Whe
n he was young, his favourite book was Roald Dahl’s Fantastic Mr Fox, so writing about fantastic foxes all day is pretty much his dream job. His previous books include Ralph the Magic Rabbit and Danny Danger and the Cosmic Remote.

  www.adam-frost.com

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  Emily Fox is an Illustrator living in Bristol. She graduated from Falmouth University in 2013 and has been freelancing ever since. Emily loves to draw fun characters, mostly in her favourite blue pencil crayon.

  www.emilyafox.co.uk

  COPYRIGHT

  STRIPES PUBLISHING

  An imprint of Little Tiger Press

  1 The Coda Centre, 189 Munster Road,

  London SW6 6AW

  First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2016

  Text copyright © Adam Frost, 2016

  Illustrations copyright © Emily Fox, 2016

  eISBN: 978-1-84715-749-2

  The right of Adam Frost and Emily Fox to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  www.littletiger.co.uk