‘It’s been a while,’ Thaddeus remarked.
‘Tell me about it, buddy!’ Tiny Tony Tiddles said rudely. ‘I spent the last six months with my paw in a sling, thanks to those mangy chickens and that Professor Rooster dude.’
‘Yes,’ Thaddeus E. Fox sneered. ‘I heard.’
Boo had led Tiny Tony Tiddles a merry dance across the rafters of Eat’em College during their first rescue mission. Tiny Tony had been so bedazzled by Boo’s gymnastics moves that he had fallen off the wooden beams onto the floor and sprained his leg.
‘You didn’t come out of it too well yourself, Fox,’ Tiny Tony snorted. ‘Don’t forget you got your whiskers covered in custard.’ (That was thanks to Amy and her new wrestling move, the feather custy.)
‘And mites,’ Kebab Claude reminded him. ‘Zey were all over your fur. You were scratching for weeks.’ (That was down to Ruth and the mite blaster.)
Thaddeus E. Fox scowled at them. ‘Moving swiftly on,’ he snarled, ‘there are two items on the agenda today.’ He passed round some bits of paper.
He waited patiently while everyone read it. ‘I think it’s time we organised another dinner …’ he began.
‘Forget it, Fox,’ Tony Tiddles interrupted. ‘I’m not going back to Eat’em College for another one of your get-togethers …’
‘… at Bloodsucker Hall.’ Thaddeus E. Fox stared him down.
‘You mean where ze vampire mink lived?’ Kebab Claude said in astonishment. ‘Ze one zat sucked ze blood out of her birdie victims and turned zem into zombies?!’ Countess Stella von Fangula was legendary amongst the predators of the Deep Dark Wood. They learned about her at school.
‘Precisely.’ Thaddeus E. Fox nodded. ‘Except in one small, but significant respect, Claude: your use of the past tense.’ He looked solemn. ‘Gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to inform you that the Countess Stella von Fangula has risen from the grave.’
‘How?’ Tiny Tony Tiddles demanded.
‘Thanks to the extreme carelessness of a rooster at Fogsham Farm called Ichabod Comb,’ the fox replied. Professor Rooster wasn’t the only animal who had spies everywhere: so did Thaddeus E. Fox – ferrets, mostly, and weasels. He told the other members of the MOST WANTED Club the story.
‘And you want to have dinner with her?’ Tiddles cried. ‘What? Are you nuts? What if she tries to eat us?’
Thaddeus E. Fox’s patience snapped. ‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll eat you.’
Tiny Tony Tiddles sank back on to the cushions.
‘Think about it,’ Thaddeus E. Fox said reasonably. ‘It’s not us Fangula wants to eat. It’s roosters. And hens. And pheasants. And ducks. Like we do.’ He paused. He could see he’d got their attention now.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Tiny Tony sulked.
‘We get von Fangula on side by asking her to become a member of the MOST WANTED Club,’ Thaddeus replied. ‘Then we arrange a dinner with her at Bloodsucker Hall. Claude can do the cooking. We’ll help her raid the chicken sheds at Fogsham Farm: she loves killing chickens even more than we do. It’s what she lives for. Well, sort of,’ he added. It was hard to know how to talk about the undead.
‘What about Professor Rooster and his squad?’ Kebab Claude said. It wasn’t just Thaddeus E. Fox who had been on the wrong end of the mite blaster once before: Kebab Claude had too.
‘Trust me: those three kids are too chicken to take on Fangula and her zombie army,’ Thaddeus scoffed. ‘My bet is Rooster will concentrate on protecting the coops at Dudley Manor. And if the chickens do show up at Fogsham Farm, they’ll end up on the dinner table with the rest of them.’
‘With a few ’erbs and a sprinkle of salt,’ Kebab Claude said dreamily.
‘Indeed!’ Thaddeus E. Fox grinned. ‘I can just picture it now.’
Thaddeus licked his lips. ‘So, gentlemen, are we agreed?’
‘Oui,’ Kebab Claude said.
‘I guess so,’ Tiny Tony said, ‘but you’d better be right about Rooster and his team.’
‘Coo, coo, coo!’ The members of the Pigeon-Poo Gang were restless. Their leader addressed the meeting. ‘What’s in it for us?’
‘You can strip out the chicken sheds.’ Thaddeus E. Fox said. ‘There’s plenty of grain. The Fogsham Farm chickens have been hoarding it for the winter.’
The leader consulted with his members. ‘We’ll do it,’ he agreed. ‘As long as you keep Fangula under control.’
‘You have my word,’ Thaddeus E. Fox said solemnly. He opened a drawer in the table and took out a piece of expensive writing paper and a pen. Very carefully he began to write.
The Burrow
Deep Dark Woods
Dudley Estate
Dear Countess,
Welcome back! The MOST WANTED Club of villains would like to invite you to become a member of our exclusive dining club. To celebrate your return to the land of the living (or undead, whichever the case may be), we propose to hold a banquet in your honour at Bloodsucker Hall. The menu will consist of locally farmed chicken. We will bring our own BBQ sauce.
Your humble servant,
Thaddeus E. Fox
‘Take this to von Fangula,’ he told the Pigeon-Poo Gang.
The leader of the Pigeon-Poo Gang rolled the paper up in his beak, placed it in a tiny tube and strapped it to his leg.
‘Tell her we’ll be there tonight to get the preparations for the banquet under way.’
Thaddeus E. Fox showed the pigeons to the door of the burrow and watched as they took off and headed north towards the moor.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’
Amy flew over the moor after James Pond. They had been flying for ages; the flight-booster engines battling against the howling wind. The moor spread out beneath her, bleak and empty. Tendrils of fog swirled across the grass. Above her the sky was heavy with the threat of snow. Even though it was only mid afternoon the light was fading.
‘I said, are we nearly there yet?’ she repeated plaintively. The wind whipped her words away. James Pond didn’t turn around.
Amy felt afraid. Normally she was tucked up at Chicken HQ by the time it got dark with Ruth and Boo in their cosy pallets of straw, or playing Chicken World Wrestling 3 before bed while Boo brushed her feathers and Ruth recited her times tables. She glanced behind at Boo and Ruth. She hoped they were okay. Boo hadn’t really wanted to be a chicken warrior in the first place. It was Amy who had persuaded her to complete their first mission. She had persuaded Ruth too, for that matter. If anything ever happened to either of them she would never forgive herself. The sooner James Pond got this over with, the better.
‘There it is,’ James Pond quacked.
Amy looked through her super-spec headset. Bloodsucker Hall was up ahead. It was even bigger and more desolate than she had imagined. The roof had caved in long ago and the walls were covered in thick vegetation. She scanned the building for signs of life. Three pigeons were sitting on a window ledge. They had their backs turned to her. For a horrible moment Amy thought it might be the Pigeon-Poo Gang. Then she told herself not to be silly: the Pigeon-Poo Gang wouldn’t go anywhere near a vampire mink! She pushed up her headset and flew on.
The chickens travelled over the ruined church and the dry stone wall that ran round the perimeter of Fogsham Farm.
‘Coming in to land!’ James Pond quacked. He began his descent to the farmyard. The chickens fluttered down after him.
Amy landed with a bump beside the chicken sheds.
‘Thank goodness you’re here!’ An elderly rooster popped his head out of one of the sheds. His feathers were a rich silky black except for the ones on his neck and back, which were as white as snow. His comb and wattle (the dangly bit underneath his chin) were scarlet. ‘Professor Rooster’s elite chicken squad!’ he said, nodding to himself. ‘I’m Rossiter Brown.’ Then he saw James Pond. ‘I wasn’t expecting four of you,’ he frowned. ‘The professor didn’t say anything about a duck.’
‘Don’t worry, Rossiter, you’re in good
hands,’ James Pond reassured him, stretching out a wing to give the rooster’s a shake. ‘I’m James Pond, Poultry Patrol. I’ve taken charge of the vampire slaying mission. You and your hens can rest easy in your hay now I’m here.’
Amy felt her cheeks glow. James Pond was being a massive big-head show-off again. She took a deep breath. Just ignore him, she told herself.
Rossiter Brown was looking at her for confirmation.
‘That’s right!’ Amy grinned through gritted teeth. ‘He’s in charge!’ She pulled a face behind James Pond’s back.
‘Well … er … good,’ Rossiter Brown said. ‘You’d better follow me, before the humans see your equipment. Not that there’s much danger of that,’ he added, ‘they don’t go out in this weather unless they have to.’ He sighed. ‘I’m having to do the dawn crow instead of Ichabod to remind the humans to give us our grain.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor Ichabod. Follow me, I’ll show you where he was snatched.’
He led them towards a second shed. The chickens scuttled after him. James Pond brought up the rear with a swagger.
‘This place gives me the creeps,’ Boo said in a hushed voice.
‘Me too!’ Ruth whispered.
‘Don’t worry,’ Amy said, ‘we’ll be out of here in no time.’ She tried to sound bright. The farm was bleak and miserable. The paint on the sheds was peeling from the rain and the grass underfoot was scratched up and muddy. The place gave her the creeps too but someone had to be brave.
‘That’s right, ladies,’ James Pond had overheard the conversation, ‘there’s nothing to fear: Pond is here.’
‘My turn to need the sick bucket,’ Boo groaned.
Amy couldn’t help giggling. At least Boo had managed to keep her sense of humour! ‘He’s awful, isn’t he?’ she whispered back.
Rossiter Brown pushed open the door to the second shed. ‘This is the juice shed,’ he explained. ‘This is where it happened, where that fiend attacked Ichabod.’
Inside the shed it was even darker. Something scratchy squeezed between Amy’s toes. She looked down. The floor was covered with sawdust.
‘We put it down to mop up the blood,’ Rossiter Brown said. ‘We swept up the china thimble as well. We didn’t want anyone else cutting themselves in case Fangula returned.’
Amy looked round the interior of The Bloodless Hen. There were stools for the chickens to sit on; upturned crates served as tables and there was even a dartboard hanging on the wall in one corner. It reminded her a little bit of the barn where she used to play at Perrin’s Farm before she had become an elite chicken warrior. The juice shed might have been a fun place to hang out before Ichabod Comb was attacked. Now it was just dead scary.
‘Hmm, a CD rack,’ Ruth had gone over to the bar to investigate.
‘What’s a CD rack?’ Amy asked.
‘It’s what humans used in the old days to store their music,’ Ruth explained. ‘Now they do it electronically.’
Amy was baffled, but she went over to have a look anyway.
The other side of the bar was hollowed out and divided into compartments. Lined up inside each of the compartments were stacks of plastic cups and bottles of worm juice. ‘Where were the rest of you,’ Ruth asked, ‘when it happened?’
‘In our sleeping quarters,’ Rossiter told her, ‘in another shed. We have five sheds in total: The Bloodless Hen, the shop, the leisure centre, the school and the sleeping coop. The rest of us went back there. It was just after nine. Ichabod said he’d stay here and clear up. Fangula must have sneaked in when we weren’t looking.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘That was the last we saw of him.’
‘Didn’t you think it was odd when he didn’t come back?’ Ruth asked.
‘No,’ Rossiter replied. ‘Ichabod told me he’d sleep here. I was a little worried about it, I must admit, but he insisted. He had an early start the next morning. He didn’t want to disturb us.’
‘Do you know how Fangula woke up in the first place?’ Boo enquired.
‘I think it must have been Ichabod’s doing, I’m afraid,’ Rossiter sighed. ‘We warned him, of course. When he first came to Fogsham Farm before Christmas, we told him about the curse. We told him not to go to the hall.’
‘Why did he, then?’ asked Amy.
‘Ichabod was brave,’ said Rossiter. ‘He’d been in the army – as a mascot for the humans. He said he didn’t believe in the curse. That’s why he went. Only when he got there he cut his foot on a broken slate.’ Rossiter shook his head sadly. ‘He told me afterwards he’d never felt so scared in his life before. He said it was as if the house had laid a trap for him.’
Amy felt sorry for Ichabod Comb, but she couldn’t help thinking that he was an awful idiot. Why couldn’t he just stay put at Fogsham Farm like all the other chickens? It was like one of those scary shows she’d seen on the BBC (Bird Broadcasting Corporation) where a bunch of silly teenage chickens went down into the basement in the dark even though they’d been told not to by the grown-ups.
James Pond was peering out of the window. Amy followed his gaze. It was almost completely dark. And darkness was when the Countess Stella von Fangula would rise from her grave.
‘We should get back to the sleeping coop and secure the doors,’ James Pond said. ‘We’ll get up early and finish the job in the morning when Fangula’s safely back in her coffin.’
Rossiter Brown gave a little cough. ‘I’m dreadfully sorry,’ he said, ‘but we can’t squeeze you all in, not with your equipment. I don’t suppose you’d mind sleeping in here tonight? There’s a hammer and nails and a few spare planks of wood to make the place safe. We can lend you some straw.’
Amy looked at Boo. Her face was stricken with fear. Amy was just about to suggest that the three of them should snuggle up with Rossiter and the other chickens and leave James Pond to guard the equipment in The Bloodless Hen when James Pond opened his beak.
‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘Amy and Ruth, you go with Rossiter and get the straw. Boo, check for holes. Von Fangula must have got in somehow.’
‘And what are you going to do,’ Amy said indignantly, ‘apart from boss everyone else around?’
‘Fix myself something to eat,’ James Pond said. ‘I’ve got a vampire to slay at dawn. Besides, I’m in charge. It’s my job to boss everyone else around.’
‘It’s okay, Amy,’ Boo said in a low voice. ‘I don’t mind doing what he says, as long as we get out of here tomorrow in one piece.’
‘I agree,’ Ruth whispered. ‘Let’s just leave it.’
Amy took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she hissed. ‘But if anything goes wrong, I’ll personally kick James Pond’s butt.’ She trudged across the freezing farmyard with Ruth to collect the straw.
The rest of the evening went better; to begin with, anyway. Once Amy and Ruth had returned with the straw, they arranged it into two neat piles: one for them and one for James Pond, while James Pond went round with Boo securing the doors and windows with the hammer and nails and patching up any holes in the planks that a mink could sneak through. Then the chickens helped themselves to some food. Luckily there was plenty of grain and grub scratchings to go round. Amy felt relieved. Her tummy had been grumbling for hours. It was hungry work being a chicken warrior.
When they finished their tea, Ruth laid out the mite blaster on one of the upturned crates.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Amy.
‘I’m removing the mite tube and replacing it with a garlic one,’ Ruth explained. ‘Just in case Fangula does show up tonight.’
‘You don’t think she will, do you?’ Boo asked anxiously.
‘Of course not,’ Amy reassured her. ‘But Ruth’s right. It won’t hurt to be on the safe side.’ Being on the safe side was something her mother was always very keen on. Amy had never paid much attention before, particularly when it came to wrestling. But something told her that now was a good time to start.
‘Put this one behind the bar, would you, Amy?’ Ruth gently withdrew the mite tube from
the blaster. ‘Be careful not to drop it, though. We don’t want mites all over the floor.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it.’ Amy took the mite tube from Ruth. She inched her way gingerly behind the bar.
‘Keep it upright, Amy,’ Ruth advised. ‘So none of the little beasts escapes.’
‘Okay.’ There wasn’t much space what with all the bottles and cups. Amy propped the mite tube up between two bottles of worm juice. It would be fine there as long as no one bumped it. She squeezed her way back round the bar to join the others.
James Pond had finished hammering. ‘You won’t need that.’ He said, taking a look at the garlic blaster. ‘Fangula can’t get in.’ He closed the curtains.
Amy glanced around the chicken shed. Maybe working with James Pond wasn’t so bad after all. She had to admit he’d done a good job of securing the shed. The door bristled with nails. So did the window. So did the felt roof. It would take an army of zombie chickens to get through them. And Fangula didn’t have an army this time: only Ichabod Comb. She rustled her feathers and jumped onto the hay. ‘Let’s get some sleep.’
‘Okay.’ Boo smoothed her feathery boots and joined her.
‘I’m eggshausted!’ Ruth said. She laid the garlic blaster next to the straw and took her glasses off. Then she jumped in beside the others. The three chickens snuggled down. They heard a satisfied quack as James Pond retired to his bed for the night.
‘I feel a lot safer with all those nails Pond hammered in,’ Boo admitted.
‘Me too,’ Ruth agreed. ‘Nothing can get through that lot. Not even a vampire mink and her zombies.’
Amy grunted. She felt safer too but she didn’t want James Pond to know.
BANG! The door rattled.
The chickens jumped.
‘What was that?’ Boo whispered.
The Curse of Fogsham Farm Page 3
