In the distance, above FRYKT, the clouds began to clear.
s filled the air.
The Superiors were watching.
Let’s Go!
Time was of the essence.
Now that the Superiors had seen Starkley reveal itself, they would absolutely want a closer look.
Well, of course they would. They would probably be congratulating themselves. The Superiors had been creating GravityBurps to panic Belasko so they would move the Nuclear Ball. But the secret organisation were obviously so terrified that they’d revealed their hidden base too. And it was the small town of Starkley. A place the Superiors had always suspected was at the centre of something.
If Starkley was so wonderfully defended . . . then it stood to reason that it must be defending something wonderful.
The Superiors would not have had to think too carefully before deciding that Starkley was obviously hiding the NUCLEAR BALL.
Now the Superiors had the chance not just to grab the power they needed, but to destroy their enemy’s base at the same time.
Oh, this would be easy, they must have been thinking.
The PDF knew they had to take advantage of this intergalactic arrogance.
For the rest of the day, Belasko set about securing the town, setting up agents in every house they could. There was an agent at every telescope, and one in every communications centre, and Hamish’s dad moved from person to person, making sure they knew what Hamish’s plan was.
‘We’re going to give them exactly what they want!’ he barked. ‘Nobody do anything until they’ve got the ball!’
With the PDF all fully briefed, Hamish sat down for his dinner.
‘An army marches on its stomach!’ Hamish’s grandma had used to say, which had always confused Jimmy, who’d thought armies definitely marched on their feet.
Hamish’s dad had said that the plan was too dangerous for the PDF to handle alone so the Belasko agents would be in charge. Because it was their idea, the PDF were being allowed to help at the start, so long as they then did what they were told.
Hamish was pleased that the PDF was going to be part of the plan he’d come up with. But he couldn’t help but be slightly cross that his dad and the other agents were still pushing them all aside.
The grown-ups might not be confident in his friends but Hamish was sure the PDF knew what they were doing. Elliot reckoned the Superiors would want maximum daylight, so would arrive at daybreak. Clover had found official Belasko boiler suits. Buster was bringing two-way radios. They’d arranged to meet up after dinner and set to work.
As Dad doled out chips and beans and more chips, Jimmy sat down. He was wearing headphones and listening to recordings he’d made of his own bad poetry. He said he was thinking of changing his name to ‘DJ JIMMY LYRICIS’ and needed forty pounds to release an album called Jimmy Jimmy RhymeTime. He didn’t seem quite as worried about the potential end of the world as other people were.
Hamish’s mum was equally preoccupied.
‘Oh, things just get worse and worse!’ She sighed holding up a print-out of an email.
PUBLIC OFFICE OF PRIDE
From the desk of Goonhilda Swag
ADVANCE NOTICE OF THE SURPRISE VISIT
Dear Mrs Ellerby,
This is just a polite advance warning of the totally surprise visit that POP (not POOP) will be making in order to ascertain just how much of a mess your ‘town’ is.
Please ignore the fact that I have warned you about this surprise visit and carry on as normal. Probably best if you pretend it isn’t happening. But it is. Though I haven’t told you that. I’m just dying for you to know.
See you very soon,
Goonhilda Swag
‘I don’t get it,’ said Mum. ‘So is there a surprise visit or isn’t there?’
‘Don’t you worry, my love,’ said Hamish’s dad. ‘It’ll all work out in the end.’
Hamish looked at his dad. Why had he said that? Because what if it didn’t all work out in the end? With Goonhilda and the Superiors? Maybe his dad was just saying that to make them all feel better and part of Hamish liked this because it did make him feel safer. But it also made him feel like even after everything, including Hamish’s upcoming plan, his dad wasn’t being totally open. Things were about to get dangerous. Surely they had to be honest with each other?
But then Hamish knew he wasn’t being honest either. He was upset his dad still wasn’t taking the PDF seriously. Hamish wasn’t sure he even wanted to tell the truth. What if his dad was annoyed at him? What if he went off again?
Or what if he thought Hamish was getting ideas above his station and stopped listening to his ideas?
So Hamish just ate his chips and kept quiet.
It was nearly eight o’clock at night and the sky was beginning to darken.
Hamish was relieved. Darkness meant security.
He led his friends to Madame Cous Cous’s International World of Treats, which since he’d pressed the button was now, of course, the STARKLEY INTERNATIONAL SCIENCE LABORATORY.
If all was going according to plan, then in just a few minutes’ time the lab would be expecting visitors.
Visitors that Madame Cous Cous would not be thrilled to receive.
As you know, Hamish had revealed his plan to her that morning. He’d done it by saying, ‘I have a special mission for you. We need your contacts!’
‘My contacts!’ she had replied. ‘Of course. Hang on – I wear glasses, not contacts.’
‘Your contacts in the sweet world,’ Hamish had clarified, with no time for incredibly bad jokes.
Madame Cous Cous had stared at him, blankly.
‘How on earth are they going to help?’ she’d said. ‘What – are you short on Chomps?’
‘The people we seek are dangerous. We need those who are capable of creating something of true devastation!’ Hamish had said.
Alice had stepped forward, importantly.
‘Madame Cous Cous,’ she’d said. ‘We need NORWEGIANS.’
Madame Cous Cous brought both hands to her mouth. Her eyeballs doubled in size.
‘No!’ she said, a moment later. ‘Not . . . Norwegians!’
And now, as Hamish waited nervously in the shop, the low growl of an approaching vehicle filled the room.
Outside, a red, white and blue motorcycle and sidecar pulled up.
They had arrived.
Into the shop walked two unusual men.
One very tall, bald man in a top hat with a twirly moustache.
And another, much shorter and wearing a beret and a monocle.
‘Hei!’ said the tall one.
‘Hallo!’ said the short one.
Madame Cous Cous’s face darkened.
‘Erik and Viktor Viktorius!’ she seethed. ‘You rotten Viking grotbags!’
Told you she wouldn’t be pleased to see them.
‘How lovely to see you again, Madame Cous Cous,’ said Viktor, politely bowing, but Madame Cous Cous did not seem impressed.
‘Do you know exactly how long I have been trying to sell your Goat Cheese Gobstøppers?’ she barked.
Erik looked sheepish and twirled his thick blond moustache.
‘They are an acquired taste?’ he explained, smiling uncomfortably.
‘A taste that has gone un-acquired for years!’ spat Madame Cous Cous. ‘And that’s to say nothing of your Salted Fish Bålls. Or your Oslo Østrich Gum! I tried one of your Såndefjord Sandals last year!’
‘What’s a Såndefjord Sandal?’ asked Hamish.
‘Disgusting!’ said Madame Cous Cous. ‘All leathery. Took me a week to eat one!’
‘Those aren’t actually sweets,’ said Erik. ‘They’re literally just sandals.’
‘We received your message and came swiftly,’ said Viktor, trying to move things on. ‘How can we help you? Perhaps you might like to reorder some quality Norwegian candies?’
‘ReORDER some?’ yelled Madame Cous Cous. ‘I haven’t SOLD one yet! Actually, that’s not entir
ely true. I sold one five years ago to a small child named Philately Burble. She immediately grew a beard. Her parents tried to sue.’
‘You might want to take a seat, Mr and Mr Viktorius,’ said Hamish. ‘I’m afraid the fate of the world is at risk and you might be our only hope.’
‘Please explain,’ said Viktor, cracking a knuckle, not for one second realising he was in for the challenge of a lifetime.
Are You Crazy?
There was no time to lose!
Inside Starkley International Science Laboratory, the kids had set straight to work.
Erik and Viktor Viktorius had thrown themselves into the plan too: barking orders, looking up old recipes, and beginning to craft a marvellous concoction using all the Petri dishes and mixing bowls that Madame Cous Cous could find.
They tasted. They sniffed. They seasoned. They shook their heads and started again.
‘More Tabasco! More soy!’ yelled Viktor Viktorius. ‘And bring us a compacting machine!’
Buster had his spanner out.
Clover sucked on liquorice and mixed paints.
Elliot did sums and measurements.
Venk made the tea.
Vinnie sat in the corner, munching on a candyfloss cone, every now and again trying to take a lick of whatever it was the Norwegians were making.
‘Careful, pal!’ Hamish had to say each time, before realising, slightly embarrassed, that he’d called Vinnie ‘pal’.
The air was thick with sweet-dust – great colourful puffs of sugary mist rising from bowls dotted all around the lab and coating every finger-marked surface. Alice walked around with a small fan, wafting dust from people’s faces and guiding it out of the window.
They worked through the evening. They worked through the night. They were hot and sweaty and focused in this dimly lit room and, as the clock ticked closer to five in the morning, they realised they were close.
‘Okay!’ said Hamish, as Mr and Mr Viktorius slumped heavily into armchairs, covered in sugar and shattered. ‘Over to Clover!’
And half an hour later – when they’d woken Clover and set her to work – it was complete.
It looked amazing.
‘Oh my word!’ shrieked Frau Fussbundler, who’d been standing guard outside Lord of the Fries with her umbrella. ‘Then it’s true!’
‘It is!’ said Mr Longblather, amazed at what he was seeing.
They watched in awe as the sun began to rise over Starkley and the PDF proudly pushed the fruits of their labour down the street.
Five kids pushing what at first sight appeared to be an enormous yellow boulder.
They had created their own Nuclear Ball!
It was the size of a Mini Metro. Perfectly round. Bright yellow, with black hazard markings all over it, and the words:
NOTICE: THIS IS A NUCLEAR BALL
Clover had sucked on six liquorice sticks to perfect the paintwork. Buster had added fake rivets and metal panels. It looked just like the one they’d seen in the Holonow.
To all intents and purposes, it was the same.
Except for one crucial difference.
‘Keep away from it!’ yelled Grenville, alarmed, spotting it for the first time as it trundled heavily past the town clock. ‘I saw a programme all about nuclear things. You give that a sniff and your ears fall off. Or your feet will grow extra feet and run away. You should be wearing washing-up gloves! That stuff is super dangerous!’
Hamish smiled at the others.
‘That’s just what we want the Superiors to think,’ he said.
‘Hang on,’ said Grenville, wrinkling his nose up and studying the ball a little more closely. ‘I recognise that smell . . .’
And indeed he did.
Because they had not spent the whole night creating a giant Nuclear Ball.
Are you crazy?
They’d spent the whole night creating a giant Scandi Candgrenade!
It was Alice who’d given Hamish the idea, the day before, when she’d looked at the sea monster and said: ‘Can you imagine how many Candgrenades we’d need to tackle that?’
Well, imagine indeed. Now imagine what would happen if the Superiors sucked this enormous, explosive edible up into their airship. They’d put it straight in the water tanks, thinking it was a NUCLEAR BALL that needed cooling down.
What would happen to the billions of tiny pieces of industrial-strength Norwegian popping candy when they did that? Think about what happened to the spytraps! Think about what happened to Grenville’s bottom!
The Superiors’ airship would explode.
There’d be no more GravityBurps.
No GravityBelch.
And no threat to life on Earth!
It was a brilliant plan.
As the sun rose over the sea, it brought with it the distant sound of the airship.
But was it getting louder? Closer?
‘The ball looks great Hamish!’ yelled Dad. ‘Okay – Belasko! We need to make this look as real as possible!’
Immediately, two Belasko lorries appeared from the new super-high-tech doors of Slackjaw’s Motors. Agents sat in the cabins, with the visors on their helmets pulled right down. Mr Slackjaw himself was in a Belasko uniform and saluted Hamish and the team as he watched the lorries leave.
‘We need to make it look like we’re moving the Nuclear Ball out of Starkley!’ said Dad, who’d drawn up a map for everyone to study.
‘The Superiors have already seen what’s happened to the town. They think they’ve put so much pressure on us that we’ve had to reveal our secret base. They’ll be taking a closer look soon to see where we’ve hidden the ball. We need them to think we’re moving it and they’ve caught us off guard.’
‘We’re going to head for the tugboat,’ said Hamish. ‘They’ll think we’re trying to hide the ball at sea. That’s when Belasko will take over and let them have it – in all senses of the phrase!’
The noise was definitely getting louder. Elliot had been right. The Superiors had waited until daybreak.
And now they were on their way.
‘To the coast!’ yelled Hamish.
Have a Ball!
Did you know that only 3 per cent of plans ever work?
Did you also know that more than 42 per cent of statistics are entirely made up?
Either way, the chances of this plan working out felt like they were dropping by the minute.
For a start, Hamish knew that for it to really, truly work, the NUCLEAR BALL couldn’t be hidden in a lorry. No, the Superiors had to be able to see it from the air.
But as he, Alice, Buster, Elliot and Clover pushed the ball through town, dressed in full Belasko uniforms – then down the rickety steps towards the rocky path to the coast – there was trouble they hadn’t anticipated. Small pieces of their Nuclear Ball kept being chipped away.
‘That’s not good,’ said Venk, who was following behind, pulling Vinnie in the old tartan shopping trolley. It felt right that Vinnie should be there to see the kids put an end to his evil masters.
Hamish looked at the ball. Little cracks appeared every time they hit another unexpected bump in the road.
‘The ball is getting dirtier!’ said Elliot, concerned, and trying to stay in control of it. ‘And muddier!’
‘It has to stay bright yellow!’ said Clover, desperately trying to colour bits in from a small paint pot she’d put in her pocket for emergencies.
Hamish’s dad had chosen a good route from town which allowed the Belasko lorries to follow on the road close behind, making the whole thing look like an official convoy. The more convincing it looked, the better, and right now it looked pretty convincing. The PDF would push the ball all the way to the tugboat, ready for the grown-ups to take over and sail the ball to sea. The Superiors would see the ball and steal it, then boom! Hamish and the PDF would be able to watch the fallout from the coast.
But then – disaster.
‘Oops!’ said Buster, tripping over his laces, and pushing the ball ahead of them b
y a few metres.
‘It’s okay!’ said Hamish, as they raced to try and catch up with it, but it wasn’t okay, because the ball was now always just out of reach.
‘No!’ said Alice.
It was rolling away on its own! They were losing control!
‘Come on!’ said Hamish. ‘We need to keep it on the road!’
But, as the street sloped downwards towards the coast, the ball picked up speed.
‘Grab it!’ yelled Elliot.
But how do you grab a ball? There’s nothing to hold on to! Especially when it’s so convincingly heavy and so wonderfully smooth and now moving faster and faster…
‘SCRAAAWWWWLL!’ yelled Vinnie, bouncing in the trolley behind them, sensing that this runaway ball was not part of the gang’s plan.
The fake Nuclear Ball bounced from one side of the street to the other as it gained speed, crashing into parked cars and clipping wing mirrors right off. Bins clattered and flew, tossing rubbish everywhere. Cats fled. The ball picked up more dints and dents and thundered on down the hill. It was like the worst game of pinball ever.
Through a puddle it splashed, the kids hot on its heels. The water in the puddle fizzed and sparked from the tiny chipped pieces of Candgrenade left in its wake.
‘It’s going off-road!’ screamed Alice, as the ball hit the kerb with a BANG and now began to BOUNCE through a field, heading at great speed towards the coastal path.
The lorries couldn’t follow any further now.
‘We’ll meet you down by the tug!’ shouted Hamish’s dad from the first lorry as they followed the road. ‘Don’t do anything without us!’
‘But Dad!’ yelled Hamish.
‘Don’t do ANYTHING!’
Hamish turned as the kids pelted into the field to chase their only hope against the Superiors.
What did Dad mean, don’t do anything? What if he had to do something?
Hamish and the GravityBurp Page 11
