by Alan Dapré
“Just add water!” Gadget Grandad threw the boat towards the loch below. There was a wee whistling sound then a tiny splosh and a big WHUMPHF and the toy boat was suddenly a large rubber dinghy!
One by one, the three Big Yins landed on its big rubbery bottom. I tucked in my claws and landed on my big rubbery bottom too!
With all of us aboard, Gadget Grandad used his bagpipes as a motor and we twanged across the water like a rubber band.
“Where is McFungus going?” Isla shouted above the noise.
“I suspect he’s headed towards the secret, mysterious, volcanic island with no name, which spies like to call The Secret, Mysterious, Volcanic Island With No Name,” answered Gadget Grandad.
8
The Secret, Mysterious Chapter With No Name (because I can’t think of one)
“Follow me,” yelled Gadget Grandad, leaping onto the pebbled island shore.
Breathless and excited, we scrambled up a steep slope and keeked over the edge of a volcanic crater.
Hunched together in its secret sunken centre, on an outcrop above a lake of molten lava, were twelve spies dressed in kilts. Among them was the Chief Splotter, a wiry man with a splotty – I mean spotty – bag. He reached into it and solemnly plucked out The Splotter’s Guide To Cooking Up Trouble. Its golden cover sparkled in the sunlight and the spies had to put on dark sunglasses to look at it (except one, who had to squint a lot).
Just then, we saw Fergus McFungus spring onto the rim of the crater opposite. He gave Gadget Grandad a cheeky wave.
“We can’t let him nab the book or it’ll be a recipe for disaster,” Gadget Grandad groaned.
“We’ve got to do something,” urged Isla.
Gadget Grandad removed his wristwatch and straightened its silver strap into an aerial. Then he gave the stubby winder button a quick tap and sent his bagpipes whirring on their own, high above them.
Turning his watch left and right, Gadget Grandad manoeuvred the bagpipes above the huddle of spies and then tapped on a different button marked BLOW.
Now the bagpipes blared a catchy toe-tapping tune and the spies got up and danced a reel in dizzy circles, unable to run away or do ‘Strip The Willow’ properly.
“We’ll soon reel them in,” chuckled Gadget Grandad. He pressed the button marked SUCK. “Let’s catch those windbags in my windbag.”
One by one, the spies were sucked from their socks and up into the whirling bagpipes. Seeing the danger, the Chief Splotter dropped the recipe book, but before he could run he was sucked up with a satisfying shhclooop.
“Turn up the power!” urged the twins, seeing The Splotter’s Guide To Cooking Up Trouble spinning towards Fergus McFungus.
“I can’t. It’s up to full!” Gadget Grandad groaned. “And my bagpipes are full up too!”
He pressed another button marked QUACK, which sent his eye-in-the-sky, a flying spying gadget disguised as a duck, speeding towards us like a bullet.
Here was my chance to get the recipe book and be a hero and win a medal. Or at least get a fishy biscuit. I bent low, tensed my legs and – me-twangggg! – catapulted myself towards the robot duck.
“Great shot!” yelled Gadget Grandad as I plopped on its back. The downy duck ducked down under my weight and we crazily whirled to the crater rim. I sprang like a tartan tiger and batted the flapping book of secrets away from Fergus McFungus’s reach. The book fluttered down into the crater, but not before his sticky fingers tore out a single page.
“Just what I wanted!” crowed Fergus, skipping out of sight, because he was happy – and had a handy skipping rope in his pocket.
I dropped like a stone (or maybe a scone, depending on how you say it), but dug my claws into the crater edge to stop myself from falling into the molten lava. There was nothing I could do but swing from the rim like a tartan toilet freshener.
“Someone save Porridge!” shouted Gadget Grandad.
The Big Yins began skirting around the crater in a brave bid to rescue me.
“We’ve got 3.4 seconds before he falls,” calculated Isla. “Jump!”
She gave her brother a swift shove…
Ross flew forwards…
My claws slipped…
Me-HELP!
Ross grabbed my paw and I swung below him like a furry pendulum.
“Up you come,” said Ross. “Well done, Porridge. You stopped Fergus from getting the whole book!”
“You were very brave,” cooed Isla.
A passing pigeon cooed back, flying in formation with the gadget duck.
Mmmm. Pigeon.
“But Fergus will still stir up a pot of trouble with that one ripped-out recipe,” sighed Gadget Grandad. “If only I knew which one it was.” His shoulders slumped.
“Cheer up, Grandad. Today was way better than a boring snoring Sunday,” said Ross, hugging the old man.
“It’s not over yet. There’s one more thing to do,” said Gadget Grandad, waggling his watch. He jabbed a button marked MUTE and the brawsome bagpipes soared off with a belly full of scotch pies… I mean spies.
“Where are they going?” asked Isla.
“I’ll pop them somewhere they won’t be able to talk,” said Gadget Grandad, with a wink. “The library!”
9
Terrific Tuesday
Tuesday morning arrived with a sunny smile on its face that brightened everyone’s day.
It was time for breakfast. Fishy biscuits swimming in a sea of milk.
I was fishing out my last fish when Gadget Grandad came into the kitchen wearing a suit. A dazzling yellow wetsuit!
“What do you think?” he asked brightly.
“It’s very yellow,” said Isla, pouring milk into her cereal while she looked at Gadget Grandad.
Ross gave a big sigh. “I wish I had a wetsuit.”
“Why?” asked Isla.
“Because you’re tipping milk in my lap!”
“Oh! Sorry,” giggled Isla, only about 97% sorry. Gadget Grandad handed Ross a beach towel.
“What are you doing today?” asked Ross, drying himself.
“Walter-skiing!” whooped Gadget Grandad.
“Water-skiing?” asked Ross, thinking this really wasn’t what Grandad was like on Sundays.
“No, Walter-skiing,” said Gadget Grandad. “It’s far more fun. I do it every Tuesday. Today, we need to hurry to the beach, because a little birdie tells me Fergus McFungus is planning a splash-and-grab raid on my Walter-skiing fans. He must be stopped!”
It was all sounding very mysterious.
And wet.
Cats don’t do wet.
10
Walter
Down on the rocky beach, Gadget Grandad put on a pair of goggles with clever wee wipers to rub the salty spray away. He pressed a button on his flippers and they doubled in length. Then he picked up his bagpipes and flip-flop-flapped towards the choppy waves.
Everyone was fine with me coming along this time. I’d been such a hero on that crater the day before.
“Where’s Fergus?” asked Ross.
“I think he’s hiding at the whale-weigh station (get it?) out at sea,” said Gadget Grandad. “I’m off to find him and see if I can get back the page he tore out of The Splotter’s Guide To Cooking Up Trouble.”
The Big Yin twins ran to the end of a short wooden pier and peered over the railings while Gadget Grandad waded into the water. He bobbed about like a yellow bath duck, clutching his brawsome bagpipes under one arm.
There was no sign of a boat to pull him along.
Just a great, grey triangle slicing through the icy waves!
The mighty grey fin dipped underwater until only the tip was showing, and whooshed towards Gadget Grandad as fast as you can read: was he on today’s menu?
“Sh-sh-shark!” cried Isla, banging the railings to scare the fish away.
Mmmm. Fish.
“This is Walter,” Gadget Grandad shouted to the twins on the shore. He grabbed the shark’s fin tip and rose onto his long flippe
rs. “Walter and I have been skiing together since we were nippers!”
“Is he still a nipper?” Ross spluttered.
“Sometimes. But Walter only gobbles other fish. He’s turbot-powered!”
The mighty shark flicked its tail and pulled Gadget Grandad far out to sea, where he Walter-skied for the huge crowd of pensioners who had gathered on the beach with Isla and Ross. They waved the world’s biggest banner that said:
Mavis Muckle and her elephant were in the crowd. “We’re his biggest fins, I mean fans,” chuckled Mavis. “We come here every Tuesday to watch the fin, I mean, fun.”
Everyone OOOHED as Gadget Grandad Walter-skied on one leg and AAAHED when he Walter-skied upside-down on his head. He was getting further away.
“Looks like he’s heading for that strange blue island,” said Ross.
Mavis whipped a glass jam jar from her handbag and held it to her right eye.
“What can you see?” asked Isla.
“Jam,” grumbled Mavis, scooping out a stubborn spoonful stuck in the jar. The glass bottom now magnified the view nicely. “That’s nae island,” she spluttered. “That’s a blue whale as long as three buses – and the whale-weigh station says it’s as heavy as three buses too!”
(The old lady was wise in the ways of whales and buses.)
What she didn’t see was Fergus McFungus clinging to the back of the whale! I did, thanks to my mega-super-well-OK-not-bad cat vision.
The crowd left their banner and raced to the shoreline to get a better look. All eyes were on Gadget Grandad, Walter and the whale, except two. Those two eyes belonged to a man who was fond of toadstools and trouble. And big abandoned banners left behind on beaches. (Which is not easy to say – or type.)
Big abandoned banners left behind on beaches. Big abandoned banners left behind on beaches.
But wait…
Me-HELP!
That man, Fergus McFungus, was steering the whale straight towards us!
11
All At Sea
The whale (and Fergus) ploughed towards the shore, with only Gadget Grandad and Walter in the way.
“We meet again!” cried Gadget Grandad. “Give me that secret secret recipe!”
“Never,” growled Fergus, waving the page he had torn from the secret secret recipe book like a tiny white flag of surrender – but he wasn’t surrendering, he was waving goodbye!
At that same moment, the blue whale was opening its mighty mouth. Its ginormous fishcakehole was about to swallow Gadget Grandad – every bit, even his bald patch!
The twins couldn’t look.
Nor could I, because I was getting out of Fergus’s way. The whale had blasted him into the sky on a jet of water and he was heading straight for the beach.
SPLOSH!
I dived into the sea! (I was OK, I love the sea. It’s full of fish. I just wish it was a bit drier.)
Me-drip.
Meanwhile Gadget Grandad was OK too. He’d wailed a warning on his bagpipes to scare the whale off. The whale wailed back and dived out of sight, creating a giant wave! As the water spalooshed over Gadget Grandad, he let go of Walter and bobbed back up on his bagpipes. He floated gently towards us and grinned. “Saved by the bagpipes!”
Me-phew.
We dripped up the beach and were met by Mavis Muckle, who was jumping up and down on one wheelchair wheel because she was hopping mad and liked hopping.
“Someone’s burgled our banner!” she said, wobbling furiously.
“It was Fergus McFungus,” sighed Ross. “I saw him running off the beach with it.”
“Why would he need a giant cloth?” asked Isla. “If only we knew which recipe he took from that book.”
“He’s cooking up something terrible, sure as bad eggs are bad eggs,” said Gadget Grandad. “The big question is… what will he nab next?”
“Probably an elephant, like my Basil,” Mavis piped up. “Everyone wants an elephant.”
12
Wonderful Wednesday
The next morning, Isla put a drop of milk in my bowl for breakfast.
Just one teensy weensy drop.
“Sorry, Porridge,” she sighed. “Gadget Grandad didn’t know you were coming to stay.”
One lick and the drop was gone. I grumbled under my breath and my hungry tum grumbled under my coat. Before we could moan any more, Gadget Grandad squeezed through the kitchen doorway, wearing five thick woolly jumpers, three hats and two pairs of gloves.
“Looks like snow is on the way,” he said coolly. “Wrap up warm, you two.”
The children stared up at the sunny blue sky, more puzzled than a million-piece jigsaw, but glad their wacky week was turning unexpectedly exciting.
A paragraph later, we all traipsed outside into the sunshine with our cosy coats on. My coat looked the best. Tartan is always in fashion, especially when I wear it.
“I received a distress signal from my old pal Archie,” said Gadget Grandad. “And I think Fergus McFungus has got something to do with it.” He led us to his garage and flung open the door.
“Welcome to my No. Effort. Super. Saver. In. Emergencies… mobile vehicle. Nessiemobile for short,” the old man purred.
I purred too and hopped inside. The soft seats looked more comfortable than my cosy basket at home.
“This is megafabulificent!” said Ross, which was hard to say and even harder to spell.
“Why do you think Fergus McFungus is after Archie?” asked Isla as they sped away.
“Archie and I used to work undercover at a golf course. We were undercover because it rained a lot – and we were spies.”
“You were a spy?” shouted Isla.
“A long time ago, aye. Archie and I bugged an underground bunker by the 18th green where S.P.L.O.T. agents liked to hide.”
“What bugs did you use?” said Ross.
“Fleas mostly,” said Gadget Grandad. “By the time we finished bugging those S.P.L.O.T. agents, they were scratching like dugs!”
Me-arrgh!
Don’t mention fleas! Scratch.
Whenever anyone does, I start to scratch. (It’s a cat thing.) Scratch.
We soon reached the edge of Tattiebogle Town and rumbled onwards through fields of amazing maize and corny corn, towards the shimmering waters of Loch Loch.
“Loch out for the look!” cried Ross, getting his murds wuddled.
But Gadget Grandad went straight for the water!
Me-help!
I’ve already had enough WET on me for one book!
The Nessiemobile plunged into the murky wet stuff and all was black – because I had my eyes closed. Then we bobbed up like a cork. A pair of lights on the long-necked scoop glowed like green eyes and startled a group of tourists, who shrieked and took blurry photos from the shore.
We wound down our windows to wave, and a tasty salmon leapt right through mine and flopped out the other window before I could catch it!
“Never mind, Porridge,” said Isla. “Plenty more fish in the sea – er, loch.”
I’d rather the fish were in my tum.
13
Trouble Ahead!
The Nessiemobile sploshed through the shallows and trundled up the side of a pretty steep mountain, which was pretty and steep and a mountain.
As we climbed higher, a mischievous wind played with my fluffy fur, then got bored and played with Isla’s fluffy hat instead. We passed a turning that said Archie’s Farm but we didn’t stop.
“Archie took up farming when he retired, just like I took up gadgetry. He won’t be at home just now though,” said Gadget Grandad. “Every Wednesday he goes on a long mountain walk with his favourite coo, Morag.”
Just then, a snowflake symbol flashed on the dashboard.
“A snowstorm is coming,” muttered Gadget Grandad. “Hold on to your hats.”
And your cats.
I peered out at a cloudless sky full of no clouds at all. Didn’t look snowy to me.
“You’re looking the wrong way, Porridge,
” said Isla.
“Aye, trouble ahead!” shouted Gadget Grandad.
I watched in mild horror (suitable for a family audience) as the amazing Nessiemobile rumbled into an icy blizzard. We frantically wound up our windows as a million billion trillion (and whatever the next big number is) snowflakes covered us in a thick white blanket.
“We need extra light,” roared Gadget Grandad, jabbing a switch so his Nessiemobile glowed more brightly.
Two dazzling fog lamps revealed a ghostly white shape stumbling through the snow and whirling its arms so wildly I thought it would take off.
“It’s abominable,” squeaked Ross.
“It’s Archie,” said Gadget Grandad.
14
Snow Joking Around
“BRRRRRRRRRRRRRARGGGGH!” Archie rumbled, shaking the snow off his bushy eyebrows and warming his hands by the Nessiemobile heaters. “Ye came just in time for me, but Morag – ma best coo – is missing!” He pinged a frozen tear from his eye. “And she’s no’ been milked! Poor Morag.”
“We must find her,” said Isla. “This snowstorm is getting worse.”
“’Tis most unnatural for this time of year,” said Archie.
“Aye, the last time there was a snowstorm in summer it was all the fault of Fergus McFungus,” said Gadget Grandad. “He built a snow machine to try and steal The Splotter’s Guide To Cooking Up Trouble. It has to be him again.”
“Maybe this snowstorm is to cover his tracks?” said Isla.
