Danger in the Deep Dark Woods

by Jennifer Gray

  To Bruce and Roger

  With special thanks to Sarah and family,

  and the chickens of Thatched House

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  Copyright

  High in the mountains of Tibet, far away from the hustle and bustle of humans, lies an abandoned monastery. It is populated by birds; poultry, to be precise. Poultry have many enemies and it is here, to the International School of Kung Fu for Poultry, that they flock from around the world to learn the art of battle.

  On this particular day in the depths of a biting winter, a magnificent black cockerel with shiny green tail feathers and a scarlet comb sat in a mahogany wing chair beside a roaring log fire, reading from a folder. Opposite him an ancient emu with a black silk band tied around its head stood on one leg. Its eyes were closed. Its breath whistled in and out of its beak.

  The cockerel, whose name was Professor Emeritus Rooster, looked up from the folder. ‘Are you sure you can do it?’ he asked the emu. ‘I mean three young chickens with no previous martial arts experience don’t make the most obvious crack team of warriors.’

  Another much younger emu – this time with a red band wrapped around its head – poured some green tea into a china cup that stood on a table beside the professor. ‘Do not disturb the great Shigong Egg,’ he whispered. ‘The Ouj-jay leg-neck knot requires great concentration. Only he can achieve it without falling over.’

  Professor Rooster put down the folder. He sipped his tea and glanced out of the window. The monastery was perched on a rock. Outside in the snow-covered yard, rows of birds in silk pyjamas were being put through judo moves by two black-belted swans. There was nowhere better than the International School of Kung Fu for Poultry for three young chickens to learn combat. And no one better than Shigong Egg, the Highest Bird of Martial Arts, to teach them.

  Even so, it was a risk.

  Shigong Egg’s breathing became heavier. Slowly the ancient bird opened one wing, then the other. Then he gradually lifted the raised leg and twisted it around his neck until his foot met his knee joint. He tied the leg in an elegant knot around his long scrawny neck. The emu’s eyes opened. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Professor Rooster. Forgive me. That is the most difficult part of the posture. What were you saying?’

  ‘I … er …’ Professor Rooster gave a little cough. He didn’t want to be the one who disturbed the great Shigong Egg’s concentration. If he fell over like that, he could strangle himself. ‘Wouldn’t you rather sit down?’ he suggested.

  Shigong Egg shook his head slowly. ‘It is kind of you, Professor. But for Shigong Egg, the Ou-jay leg-neck knot is the most comfortable position for contemplation. Please continue.’

  Professor Rooster decided to come straight to the point. ‘Shouldn’t I just hire a professional poultry protector?’ he said. ‘I mean what’s the use of three kid chickens against one of the world’s most devious villains?’

  ‘Young minds are more ingenious than old.’ Shigong Egg bent forward towards the floor. ‘Have confidence, Professor. The young chickens I have selected for your mission each have a special skill. One has courage. One has intelligence. The other has perseverance. Together they will make the greatest elite chicken combat force the world has ever known.’

  Professor Rooster glanced at the folder. It contained the profiles of the three chickens Shigong Egg had chosen for the mission. ‘But none of them knows anything about martial arts,’ he said doubtfully. ‘And only one shows any interest in fighting.’

  ‘We will teach them.’ Shigong Egg raised his wings and placed them behind his back. ‘Do not fear, Professor Rooster. Fighting is not the only skill required for combat. We shall make warriors of them all.’

  ‘So you really think you can do it?’ Professor Rooster repeated the question.

  ‘Of course.’ Shigong Egg’s head met the floor. Slowly he raised his other foot off the ground so he was doing a perfect headstand.

  ‘Very well.’ Professor Rooster rose stiffly from his chair. He limped towards the door.

  ‘Remember, Professor,’ Shigong Egg called after him. ‘Your faith will be rewarded. This elite combat squad will be capable of any mission you choose to send it on once I have finished with it. The chickens will prevail against your enemies.’

  Professor Rooster bowed. ‘Then I request that you send for them at once,’ he said.

  ‘Who are you calling fat, goose-face?’

  At Perrin’s Farm a fluffy-looking chicken with puffs of grey feathers around its tummy, a small head and very red cheeks was circling a large goose.

  ‘Forget it, Amy,’ another chicken called. ‘He’s not worth it. Come and play in the barn with us.’

  ‘Yeah,’ the goose taunted. ‘You heard what your friend said. Now beak it.’

  Amy held her ground. ‘No one calls me fat and gets away with it,’ she hissed.

  ‘All right,’ the goose honked, looking down at her. ‘Let’s say you’re tubby instead.’

  ‘They’re just feathers!’ Amy ruffled her tummy fluff. Her cheeks glowed. ‘I’m not tubby. And even if I was, there’s no reason to be rude about it. Now apologise, or else.’

  ‘I’m not apologising to some kid chicken,’ the goose sneered.

  ‘Fine,’ Amy muttered. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ She glanced at the barn floor. It was filthy. Perfect for what she had in mind. She squatted down, gave a little wriggle, then launched herself at the goose and knocked him to the ground. The goose lay on his back, his legs in the air. Amy leaped on top of him with a cry and rubbed her tummy in the goose’s face.

  ‘What move do you call that, Amy?’ one of the other chickens shouted.

  ‘The feather dusty!’ Amy shouted back.

  ‘Amy!’ It was her mother. She sounded cross.

  Amy sighed. She scrambled away from the goose. ‘See you later, guys.’ She waved goodbye to her friends and trailed after her mother into the coop. She was surprised to see her father was there too. He was normally out practising his crowing at this time in the afternoon.

  ‘She was wrestling,’ her mother said. ‘Again! With a goose this time.’

  ‘That’s the third time this month you’ve got into a fight,’ her father commented.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault!’ Amy protested. ‘He called me tubby! I asked him to apologise and he wouldn’t.’

  Her parents glanced at one another.

  ‘Amy,’ her mother said, ‘your father and I had a letter this morning by pigeon post.’ She paused. ‘About you.’

  ‘Me?’ Amy said in astonishment.

  ‘Here.’ Her father held it out to her. ‘I think you should read it.’

  Amy took the envelope. It bore a strange postmark with a picture of mountains on it. She pulled out the letter.

  Amy turned the letter over. On the reverse side were instructions about how to get there by albatross.

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘Seeing how it’s nearly time for you to fly the coop …’ her mother began.

  ‘And how much you like wrestling �
��’ her father added.

  ‘We think it would be a good idea …’ her mother continued.

  ‘To accept,’ her father finished.

  ‘You mean I can go?’ Amy could hardly contain her excitement. This was the sort of adventure she craved. She’d been praying for this all her young chicken life.

  ‘If it’s what you want.’ Her mother gave her a hug.

  ‘Of course it is!’

  ‘We’d better be quick,’ her father smiled. ‘The flight leaves tonight.’

  Ten days later the albatross finally put down in the snowy courtyard at KFP. Amy slid off its back and said thank you like her mother had taught her. It had been a long, long flight: the albatross covering nearly five hundred miles every day. Amy could fly – sort of. But it took a lot of flapping and squawking to get airborne, and she couldn’t go very high before she got tired and had to come down again or rest in a tree until she got her breath back. She wished she could fly like the albatross. Maybe that was one of the things she would learn at her new school.

  Amy waved as the albatross took off. She watched until it was out of sight, then scuttled up the steps to the big wooden door of the monastery and pressed the bell.

  A tall bird with a red headband opened a hatch at the bottom of the door. ‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘Please come in and meet your fellow chicken warriors.’

  Amy hopped through the hatch and followed the bird along a stone passageway. The monastery was very quiet. She wondered where all the other students were.

  ‘It is rest time,’ the bird said, as if reading her thoughts.

  ‘Oh good.’ Amy liked resting, especially on a comfy pile of straw. If that was part of the training, she thought she’d be pretty good at being a chicken warrior.

  The bird headed left along another passageway. Amy trotted after him, feeling puffed out. The bird had very long legs and she had very short ones. She hoped it wasn’t too much further.

  ‘Here is your dormitory.’ The bird stopped in front of another door. ‘Dinner is at six.’ He disappeared back along the passageway.

  Amy felt nervous. It was like going to school for the first time. What if the other chickens didn’t like her? What if they had already made friends? But then she couldn’t very well stand out in the passageway until dinner time. Telling herself not to be silly, she took a deep breath, pushed open the hatch and stepped inside.

  The dormitory was a small oblong room with a stone floor. Along each of the three walls was a pallet of straw. Amy saw immediately that none of the pallets was occupied by resting chickens. On the contrary, the two chickens in the room were very busy doing something else altogether.

  In one corner a white chicken with looping black tail feathers, a grey scarf and spectacles was putting the finishing touches to some sort of machine with a spanner.

  And in the other corner a beautiful chicken with glossy, honey-coloured feathers was practising backflips.

  Amy stared at the honey-coloured chicken in admiration. It wasn’t just the backflips that impressed her. Or even the pretty purple ribbon pinned to the beautiful chicken’s chest. It was her legs! Most chickens, like Amy, had scrawny pink legs. This chicken had brown feathery boots all the way down to her elegant toes.

  As soon as they saw Amy, the two chickens stopped what they were doing.

  ‘Hello,’ the honey-coloured one said. ‘I’m Boo.’

  ‘And I’m Ruth,’ the white chicken said. She adjusted her spectacles. ‘You must be Amy.’

  Amy nodded. She suddenly felt very shy. These chickens were so cool. She wasn’t sure if they’d want to hang out with her.

  She needn’t have worried. Boo put her wing around Amy’s shoulder and steered her towards one of the straw pallets. ‘This one’s yours,’ she said. ‘I’m in the one opposite. Ruth bagged the best bed by the window.’

  ‘I was here first!’ Ruth protested. ‘And anyway, I need the light for making my inventions.’

  ‘Your inventions?’ Amy repeated, bouncing up and down on the straw.

  ‘Ruth’s very brainy,’ Boo explained. ‘That’s why she’s here. Special skill: Intelligence. That’s what her invitation said. She’s always inventing things, aren’t you, Ruth?’

  ‘Well …’ Ruth said modestly.

  ‘So you both got invitations to train for the elite combat squad too?’ Amy had brought her letter with her just in case she needed it. Her mother had rolled it up carefully, wrapped it in a bit of polythene bag, and tied it round Amy’s neck with a piece of string. Amy pulled it off to show to the others. She unwrapped the letter and spread it out on the floor.

  ‘Mine was exactly the same,’ Boo said, reading it carefully, ‘except for the special skill.’

  ‘And mine,’ Ruth confirmed.

  ‘What’s your special skill, Boo?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Perseverance,’ Boo said.

  ‘Per-see-what?’ said Amy.

  ‘Perseverance,’ Boo laughed.

  ‘It means being determined and not giving up,’ Ruth explained.

  ‘Oh,’ Amy felt awkward. It was the sort of thing she probably should have known. She wished she’d paid more attention in English.

  ‘Don’t worry, Amy,’ Boo said quickly. ‘I didn’t know what it was either until Ruth told me. I just have it naturally because if I didn’t I wouldn’t be any good at gymnastics. You’ve got to keep trying or you never get any better.’ She gave Amy’s wing a little squeeze.

  Amy felt reassured. She smiled at Boo. ‘Is that what you got the ribbon for?’ she asked. ‘Gymnastics?’

  ‘Yes,’ Boo nodded. ‘Purple’s my favourite colour,’ she added. ‘I won’t wear anything else.’

  ‘Your strength is courage,’ Ruth said, reading from Amy’s letter. ‘That’s really impressive. Boo and I are completely useless when it comes to a fight. We keep getting into trouble from the instructors here for chickening out. It’ll be brilliant having you on the team.’

  ‘Thank you, Ruth,’ Amy felt pleased. She really liked her new friends. This was going to be fun.

  ‘So what sort of fighting do you do, Amy?’ Boo asked.

  ‘Wrestling mostly,’ Amy told her. ‘But only when someone’s being mean,’ she added hastily, in case Boo thought she picked fights for no reason.

  ‘The question is,’ Ruth said slowly, ‘why are we here? I mean why has Shigong Egg decided to train up an elite combat squad of chickens? There must be something he wants us to do. You don’t have any idea what it is, do you, Amy?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘None at all.’ Actually, she hadn’t really thought about it before. It was a good question.

  ‘And why us?’ Ruth continued. ‘I mean we’re much younger than most of the birds who come here to train.’

  ‘Stop worrying, Ruth,’ Boo said. ‘I’m sure that nut-job emu will tell us what he wants when we’ve completed the training.’

  ‘What nut-job emu?’ Amy asked.

  ‘She means Shigong Egg,’ Ruth said. ‘Highest Bird of Martial Arts: Master of KFP – he’s the one who sent the letters.’ She giggled. ‘Wait till you meet him. Nothing he says makes any sense. And he smells like an old duster.’

  ‘He’s really bendy though,’ Boo conceded. ‘Until I got here, he was the only bird on the planet who could do the Ou-Jay leg-neck knot.’

  ‘What on earth’s that?’ Amy asked, bewildered.

  ‘I’ll show you after dinner,’ Boo promised. ‘Right now Ruth needs a volunteer to try out her latest invention. Do you want to have a go?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Amy. She scuttled over to the machine. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A poo-powered poultry projector,’ Ruth said proudly. ‘It’s to help birds who can’t fly very well fly better. Birds like me,’ she added ruefully.

  ‘And me,’ Boo said.

  ‘And me,’ Amy admitted. She was secretly glad that Boo and Ruth weren’t any better at flying than she was. They seemed to be so good at everything else. She stood patiently while Ruth placed the contraptio
n on her back and clipped the straps together under her wings.

  ‘Chin up!’ Ruth ordered.

  Amy lifted her chin as Ruth pulled the helmet down over her head.

  Amy heard a buzzing sound.

  ‘It’s working!’ Ruth cried. ‘It’s picking up your thought processes. All you have to do is imagine you’re airborne and the machine will do the rest.’

  ‘Go on, Amy,’ Boo encouraged. ‘You can do it.’

  Amy closed her eyes and stretched out her wings. She tried to imagine what it was like to be the albatross. Slowly she rose into the air. This is brilliant, she thought. I’m not even flapping.

  Suddenly the machine made a rude noise.

  Amy returned to the dormitory floor with a thud.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Boo helped her up.

  Amy nodded. ‘I’m fine.’ She slid out of the straps and removed the helmet. ‘I hope I didn’t break your machine,’ she said worriedly.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Ruth examined it. ‘Flip!’ she exclaimed. ‘We ran out of poo. That’s why it didn’t work. I’ll have to think of a way of storing more fuel.’

  ‘What about using fart gas instead?’ Boo suggested.

  ‘No!’ Ruth said impatiently. ‘I need the fart gas for the rotten-egg stink bomb.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course!’ Boo glanced at Amy and raised her eyebrows. ‘Silly me!’

  Amy giggled. Boo was funny. And Ruth didn’t seem to mind the joke. She was grinning too.

  Just then a strange bonging noise came from somewhere below.

  ‘What’s that?’ Amy asked in alarm.

  ‘It’s the dinner gong,’ Boo told her. ‘Come on. Let’s get down there before the turkeys eat all the grubs.’

  The three chickens hopped out of the hatch and raced down the corridor towards the dining room, squawking and chattering at the tops of their lungs.

  Three weeks later …

  ‘I’ve come to hand in my resignation.’

  ‘So have I.’

  Shigong Egg looked up in surprise. Two of his highest ranked martial arts teachers stood in front of him. He took a deep breath. ‘Be calm, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Do not act in haste. You have many moons to paddle.’