Thunder Raker

by Justin Richards

  “Thank you.”

  Alfie wondered where he was supposed to go, but before he could summon the courage to ask, Sergeant Custer showed him the way to reception. “They’ll be waiting for you,” he assured Alfie. “Oh, and if you happen to be speaking to You-Know-Who…” He winked again, and tapped his nose.

  Alfie didn’t know who You-Know-Who could be, and he felt confused and embarrassed.

  “You know,” Sergeant Custer insisted. He leaned down and whispered a name in Alfie’s ear.

  “But that’s my dad,” Alfie said in surprise.

  Sergeant Custer looked surprised too. He straightened up quickly and saluted. “It’s all right,” he told Alfie, looking round quickly to check they couldn’t be overheard. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Alfie followed the drive up to the large, imposing house that was Thunder Raker Manor. The front door was standing open and an elderly man with a beaked nose introduced himself as Mr Trenchard the Head Teacher. He told Alfie he was very welcome, and that Alfie should spend his time at the school wisely. He should learn as much as he could, and then forget it all. For “security reasons”.

  Alfie wasn’t quite sure how it would help to forget everything he learned, but he didn’t like to ask. At that moment a young woman arrived and introduced herself as his teacher, Miss Jones.

  “Goodbye, Mr Trenchard,” Alfie said as he followed Miss Jones along to meet Class 3D.

  “Goodbye, er, that boy,” Mr Trenchard called after him.

  “He forgets everything,” Miss Jones told Alfie. “Makes a point of it.”

  “Why?” Alfie asked.

  “I don’t think he can remember,” Miss Jones replied. She had to shout to be heard over the roaring of some kind of engine. The noise got louder as she opened the door to the classroom. “Now, come in and meet the rest of your class.”

  Chapter 3

  The engine noise was even louder inside and the classroom was full of dark smoke.

  “Beth!” Miss Jones shouted. “If it’s you making that racket, then stop it now.”

  With the door open, the smoke began to thin and clear. Alfie could see there were half a dozen children in the room, most of them sitting at their desks. The exception was the girl in the pink helmet whom Alfie had seen on his way to school. The flames at the back of her roller skates faded and died as the jet engines coughed and spluttered to a halt. But she was still moving very fast, circling the desks. A fair-haired boy in a wheelchair reversed rapidly out of her way as she passed.

  “Sorry, Miss—no brakes!” the girl yelled as she shot by.

  Miss Jones grabbed the girl’s shoulders and was dragged along for several metres before they both skidded to a halt. The soles of the teacher’s shoes were smoking, and there was a strong smell of burnt rubber.

  “Thank you, Beth,” Miss Jones said. “Now if you will please put those skates in the stock cupboard and sit down, I’d like to introduce Alfie, who’s joining Class 3D today.”

  “Wicked,” shouted a boy with close-cut dark hair. “Can Alfie sit by me, Miss? Can he? Please?”

  “We’ll sort out where Alfie sits in a minute,” Miss Jones told the boy. She waited for Beth to sit down. Under her helmet, Alfie saw that Beth had brown hair that was cut into the same exact shape, so it looked like she still had the helmet on.

  “Right, then,” Miss Jones said, “I think we should all introduce ourselves.”

  A smug-looking girl with dark hair and glasses cleared her throat and stood up. She looked at Alfie suspiciously. “I’m Chloe,” she said. “And my dad is just so important. He’s a spy, but obviously I can’t tell you his name or where he is. But I expect you know all about him anyway, he’s just so famous.” She looked expectantly at Alfie.

  “No, sorry,” he said.

  Chloe went as pink as Beth’s helmet and sat down. She glared at Alfie.

  The boy with short dark hair laughed and Miss Jones pointed at him. “Jack.”

  Jack stood up. “I’m Jack and my dad’s far more important than Chloe’s. During the holidays we went to Russia because Dad has to go to meetings at the Kremlin with the President and other important people. I worked out how they could keep the streets clear of snow and ice, but Dad said it would cost too much.”

  Next was the fair-haired boy in the wheelchair. One arm of the wheelchair opened and a clipboard with notes on it popped up on a metal rod. He read out loud from the notes. “I’m Sam. My mum works at the Hush-Hush Department inventing stuff for agents. She made my wheelchair because the NHS one didn’t have a very good anti-missile protection system. And one of the wheels was wonky.”

  Alfie tried his best not to look puzzled, because he didn’t want to look stupid in front of his new class. But it seemed to him that this was the most peculiar bunch of children he had ever met.

  Then Beth stood up. She had taken off the jet-skates and was now wearing a pair of ordinary looking trainers. “I’m Beth and I invent stuff. My dad’s in the Government Inventing Taskforce.” She paused and sniffed. “That’s GIT to you,” she said to Chloe, who scowled and looked away. “Anyway, I have my own laboratory and everything and I’ve designed tons of great stuff including a robot that can tie your shoelaces.”

  “She brought it in for show and tell,” Sam said. “It tied her shoelaces together and she fell over.”

  “That is not true,” Beth shouted. “Alice tripped me up.”

  “Did not,” said the last of the girls. She was short and thin with long blonde hair. “Never in a million years. And if I did, you deserved it. So there.” She caught Miss Jones’s severe look and stood up. “Anyway, I’m Alice. My dad’s a double-double agent.” She frowned and checked on her fingers. “Or it might be double-double-double. It gets very confusing.”

  “Isn’t that a triple-double?” the last of the boys asked.

  “No,” Alice snapped back. “That’s just stupid. How can you be so stupid, Harry? It might be a double-triple, but whoever heard of a triple-double?”

  “You next, Harry,” Miss Jones said quickly.

  Harry stood up. He was a large boy—taller and broader than Alfie. “Harry,” he said. “I like PE best. And the assault course.” He started to sit down again, then changed his mind and stopped halfway between standing and sitting. “Oh, and my dad’s infiltrated SPUD. Again.”

  There was a hushed silence.

  “Really?” Sam said, impressed.

  “You can’t tell us that,” Jack hissed in a loud whisper.

  “Yeah,” Chloe told him. “And you can’t tell us your dad is head of the Secret Service, but you do.”

  “Never!” Jack shot back.

  “Like, all the time,” Alice said.

  Miss Jones held her hands up for silence. “Alfie,” she said, “why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?”

  Alfie was still trying to make sense of what everyone else had said. “SPUD,” he said at last. “Isn’t that a potato?”

  “Hey—good one!” Jack said. “Alfie thinks Harry’s dad’s a potato!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Sam said from his wheelchair. “Alfie thinks Harry’s dad has infiltrated a potato.”

  “With a knife and fork?” Beth suggested.

  “Children!” Miss Jones shouted above the noise. “Please—we are welcoming a new member of Class 3D. Alfie was about to tell us about himself.”

  “So what’s your dad do, Alfie?” Chloe asked. “Bet he’s not as important as my dad.”

  Alfie looked at her. He looked at all the children, staring back at him expectantly. He felt nervous and alone and it was a struggle to say anything at all. “Well, actually,” he said at last, “my dad’s a postman.”

  The class collapsed into laughter. Even Miss Jones was having trouble keeping a straight face. “I can see you have a great sense of humour, Alfie,” she said. “You’ll fit in just fine with Class 3D.”

  Chapter 4

  Miss Jones taught Alfie’s class all the ordinary subjects th
at Alfie recognised and remembered from his previous school. Class 3D stayed in the same room with her for Maths and Literacy, for reading and for history topic work. But for other lessons they had other teachers, and went to those teachers’ classrooms.

  Alfie tagged along with the other three boys in his class—Jack, Harry and Sam, whose wheelchair was motorised so no one had to push it. “Mum fitted a turbo boost during the holidays,” Sam said quietly. “But don’t tell Beth. I’m going to race her on her roller skates at afternoon break.”

  “Why not do it now?” Harry asked.

  “Better not. From top speed, it takes me a hundred metres to stop.”

  “So what’s this SPUD thing if it isn’t a potato?” Alfie asked when the others had stopped talking.

  “You really don’t know?” Jack said.

  “I really don’t know,” Alfie admitted. “Sorry.”

  “Actually no one knows who they are,” said Sam. “But we do know that SPUD stands for Secret Partners for Undertaking Destruction. They’re the bad guys.”

  “My dad…” Harry began slowly. Then he stopped. “Nothing,” he said quickly.

  Jack slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s all right, we know.”

  “This is a very strange school,” Alfie said quietly.

  Alice had come up behind them. “Isn’t it?” she agreed. “It’s great! So, your dad’s a postman?”

  “That’s right.”

  Alice shook her head in obvious admiration. “What a fantastic cover story. I mean, a secret identity and everything. Wicked!”

  The next lesson was Codes. Alfie thought that might be about how to find books in the school library, or maybe something to do with programming computers. He liked libraries and he liked computers. You could work quietly and on your own with both.

  “It should be double Camouflage now,” Alice told him. “That’s taught by Mr Trick.”

  “I’m the absolute best at Camouflage,” Chloe said loudly. “But we haven’t had it all year.”

  “Why not?”

  Chloe looked at Alfie like he was mad and he knew she was still annoyed at him from earlier. “No one can find Mr Trick.”

  Codes was taught by Mr Cryption. He was a tall thin man who beckoned them all into the classroom with an extendable metal rod like a radio aerial that he waved and pointed.

  Alfie sat at the same table as Jack. “Shouldn’t we have books or paper or something?”

  Jack shook his head. “No need. You wouldn’t know what to do with them anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  But before Jack could answer, Mr Cryption started the lesson. “Xylophonics,” he announced in a loud voice.

  “That’s why,” Jack said. “None of us know what he’s on about.”

  Mr Cryption glared at Jack. “Fester block garden tailor vision,” he warned. “Visible run dilemma phoenix fin passion on gold identity submarine.”

  “Are all the lessons like that?” Alfie asked as they moved on to the next class. He was beginning to worry about the sort of homework he might get.

  “Not all of them,” Beth assured him. “Mr Cryption is just strange.”

  “That bit about the trombones was interesting,” Harry said.

  They reached the next classroom to find a notice taped to the door. Alice read it out: “Class 3D—Go to Room 11F.” She sighed. “Not again!”

  “Where’s Room 11F?” Alfie asked.

  “Miles away,” Sam told him. “Typical.”

  “Why’s the lesson been moved?”

  “Because it’s Tracking Skills,” Chloe said. She folded her arms and glared at Alfie. “Something else I’m good at. And I bet you’re rubbish at it.”

  “It’s always moved,” Alice said before Alfie could respond. “Never where it’s supposed to be.”

  Room 11F had another notice on the door sending them to 17C, where they were directed again to the main school hall. But when Jack opened the door to the hall, there was another class in there already.

  Alfie watched in amazement as a large man in a black cloak ran round the hall making aeroplane noises, his cloak spread out behind him like wings as he ran. Children leaped out of his way. “Dugger-dugger-dugger,” went the man, making the sound of a machine gun.

  Jack closed the door.

  “Who was that?” Alfie asked.

  “It’s just the Chaplain, Reverend Smithers,” Alice said.

  “What is he teaching, running about like that?”

  “He used to be a fighter pilot,” Harry said. “He takes us for PE.”

  “Was that PE?”

  Chloe looked at Alfie like he was mad again. “That was Religious Studies,” she said.

  They never did find where their Tracking Skills lesson was being held. It was supposed to be taught by Sir Waverly Compass, but no one had seen him since he set off for the kitchens to get a pint of milk for the Staff Room.

  Chapter 5

  On the way to lunch, Jack suddenly grabbed Alfie and pulled him to the side of the corridor.

  “Look out!” he hissed.

  Alfie struggled to see what was going on, but the corridor was empty—apart from the rest of his class pressed against the walls, and a harmless-looking lady with greying hair who was walking slowly towards them.

  “It’s Miss Fortune,” Sam explained, keeping his wheelchair as close to the wall as it would go. Up close, Alfie could see there were buttons arranged along both arms. Sam pressed one, and the chair scrunched up so that it took up less room.

  “Miss Fortune teaches Assassination Techniques,” Chloe said. “Why don’t you go and say hello to her?”

  But before Chloe had finished speaking, the harmless-looking lady let out a highpitched wail: “Hai-char!” and leaped suddenly into the air. Her right foot lashed out and Alfie saw that there was a hollow tube extending from the point of her shoe. Smoke and flame erupted from the tube—a gun barrel—and a chunk of wall close to where Alice was standing exploded into dust and fragments.

  Miss Fortune settled back on her feet, the gun barrel shrank out of sight and she walked slowly past the children of Class 3D.

  “Good afternoon,” she said in a frailsounding voice. Then she spun round on her heel, smacking a fist out rapidly at Harry, who ducked just in time.

  “It’s best to keep out of her way,” Beth said to Alfie. “Whatever Chloe says.”

  “What are her lessons like?” Alfie wondered as Miss Fortune disappeared round a corner in the corridor.

  Jack waited for the blood-curdling sound of a ninja attack cry to fade before he said: “No idea. We don’t do Assassination Techniques until the sixth form. But the Major once told me her classes always seem to be short of pupils.”

  “She sent Felix Hamilton to get something from the stock cupboard and he never came back,” Alice said darkly. “And Sarah Middlesworth.”

  “I heard it was Lester Bigmore,” Sam said.

  “Yeah. Him too,” Alice said.

  “Who’s the Major?” Alfie asked.

  “You need to keep out of his way as well,” Jack said. “He teaches Sabotage. We have that on Wednesday afternoon. Just before Maths.”

  Alfie met the Major at lunch. No one seemed to know what his name was—he was just “The Major”. He was a straight-backed, militarylooking man with a bushy white moustache that stuck out beyond his cheeks in a way that defied gravity. He also had his left arm in a sling and several plasters stuck on his cheek.

  Jack pointed out the Major as he was getting a plate of stew to take to the table where the staff were having their lunch. Alfie watched each of the teachers sit down and take it in turns to introduce themselves to Mr Trenchard as if he’d never met them before.

  But the Major didn’t get that far. As he turned from the serving area, his sling caught on one of the metal struts supporting the raised shelf where the plates were kept warm. The strut fell away and one end of the shelf dropped with a loud clang. But it was nothing like as loud as the plates as they slipped dow
n the shelf and crashed to the floor.

  “Sorry!” the Major said loudly to no one in particular as he knocked a small girl flying, then bumped into a table. Which collapsed,

  sending dinners and drinks into the air.

  “Uh-oh—me again!” the Major said, so loudly that a passing boy stumbled and clutched his ears, dropping the jug of water he was carrying.

  “That wasn’t me,” the Major said, looking down at the puddle and the broken glass. “Er, was it?”

  “Like I said,” Jack whispered to Alfie, “the Major teaches Sabotage.”

  “I see,” Alfie replied, watching the Major set his dinner down carefully on the table. There was a crack as the plate broke. The Major sat down. His chair fell apart beneath him.

  There was only one lesson in the afternoon before the class returned to Miss Jones. It was Surveillance. This was taught by Mrs Nuffink, and Alfie found it the hardest lesson of the day.

  This was partly because Mrs Nuffink seemed to be able to tell if anyone whispered or wasn’t paying attention, or mucked about. Even when she was facing the other way, writing on the board, she called out: “Beth— don’t do that,” as an expertly designed paper plane glided across Alfie’s desk.

  Alfie also found it hard because the subject was quite difficult. They spent a lot of time examining photographs and trying to spot where people could be hiding, or watching a video of the outside of a house where nothing seemed to be happening.

  “There—did you see it?” Mrs Nuffink shrieked at one point. “Nobody? None of you saw anything? I despair, I really do. Class 3D, what were you doing?”

  As far as Alfie could tell, nothing had happened.

  But then Mrs Nuffink rewound the DVD. “I’ll play it forward very slowly,” she said with a sigh. “Look out for the boy delivering a secret letter.”