“AHEM.”
Ramzi grinned awkwardly. What if looking for beetles under stairs wasn’t allowed? But the Professor didn’t look cross.
“Ah – I remember you,” he said. “You’re the boy who won the balloon ride. I hope it was to your satisfaction. Ramzi Ramadan, wasn’t it?”
Ramzi nodded and hid his magnifying glass behind his back.
“Well, assalemu aleikum. It’s good to see you again.”
Ramzi was muttering his salaams back when Shaima came out from under the stairs.
“Ah! And if I’m not mistaken, it’s Shaima Stalk – we’ve heard great things about you already.”
“Salaam,” smiled Shaima.
“And are there any more of you under the stairs?” asked Professor Entwistle, peering into the darkness.
“Only me!” said Aunty Urooj. She stood up and smiled, the top of her red hijab covered in a thin layer of dust:
“I hope you don’t mind but you have such a wonderful staircase. Ramzi and Shaima were helping me look for a Long-Horned Capricorn Beetle.”
“A what?!” exclaimed Professor Entwistle. “A Long-Horned...well I never. I’ve been searching for one of those for years. I believe someone found one in Llanelli, you know. Most annoying. To be beaten to it.”
“Subhan’Allah,” gasped Aunty Urooj. “You mean, you’ve been looking for one too?”
The professor’s misty blue eyes twinkled with excitement as he fiddled with his bow tie. “Indeed I have. Not very successful, I’m afraid. I’d simply love to find one myself. But they’re such elusive little creatures. There must be one in here somewhere – what with all this ancient timber.” He patted the staircase and a small fog of dust floated to the floor.
Shaima grinned. “So you have an interest in beetles too, Professor?”
“Oh yes – an absolute passion for them. I’m sure you’ll think me strange. Most people do. But beetles are such fascinating creatures. And without them, I’m sure this world of ours would grind to a halt. May I?”
The professor took Shaima’s magnifying glass and cricked his neck to look under the stairs. It was at that moment that Ramzi realised what was happening. It was all part of Shaima’s plan!
“And I suppose...” Shaima said, following Professor Entwistle under the staircase, “that Mrs Entwistle shares your love of beetles...”
“Good heavens, no. There isn’t a Mrs Entwistle. I mean... obviously, there could be one... but there isn’t... not that... I mean... of course...” He blushed.
“Of course,” smiled Shaima. “You must be far too busy – what with all the time you spend on your INSECTOLOGY RESEARCH. I read all about it in the school’s prospectus.”
Aunty Urooj stopped still.
“Yes,” said Professor Entwistle, laughing awkwardly. “Just a little hobby of mine. I’m...” He paused mid-sentence. Something had caught his eye. He was looking at Aunty Urooj’s hand as it pressed against the staircase. “My goodness,” he said. “Are they stag beetles? How absolutely wonderful!”
Aunty Urooj smiled.
“Come on, Agent Ramadan,” winked Shaima. “I think our work here is done.”
The Butterfly Effect
With the ‘Curious Case of Rasheed Khan and the Beetles’ solved, there was only one thing left for the Black Cat Detectives to do. Ramzi crept down the garden path and opened the shed door to their HQ. Shaima was already inside, hiding behind the bikes.
“Were you followed?” she whispered.
“No,” smiled Ramzi. “Mum’s feeding Baby Zed. Have you done it?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d wait for you.” Shaima looked up at the shelf. It was crammed with oil cans and tins. Ramzi stood on tiptoe and rummaged behind the paints. Yes. It was still there.
He pulled out their top secret Black Cat Detective Casebook, blew off the dust and turned the key in the lock.
“Can I do it?” asked Shaima.
“Sure,” grinned Ramzi. He passed the book to Shaima and she flicked through the pages. Then she took out her pen and wrote:
“So that’s it, then,” said Ramzi. “We’ve solved our first case.”
“Yeh,” sighed Shaima.
Ramzi looked thoughtful. “Funny, isn’t it?” he said. “How it all kind of started when Iqbal got a chess piece stuck up his nose.”
“It’s called the ‘butterfly effect’,” said Shaima.
“What is?” asked Ramzi.
“You know... when a tiny event leads to lots of other bigger events.”
“What are you on about?”
“You know,” Shaima tried again. “That thing in chaos theory. You must’ve heard of it: when a butterfly flaps its wings in China, it can start a hurricane on the other side of the world.”
Ramzi laughed. “Shaima Stalk – you are so totally weird.”
“I am so not! Everyone knows about the ‘butterfly effect’. It just means that something small can make lots of really exciting things happen.”
“Yeh, right,” said Ramzi, leaping around the shed pretending to be a butterlfy.
Shaima scowled. “Stop making fun of me, Ramadan. You’re just like the others at school.”
Ramzi stopped. “I’m not... I didn’t mean to... it’s just that, well, I didn’t understand. Tell me again. I’m really interested. Honest.”
“OK,” said Shaima, thawing slightly. “I’ll do you a diagram.” She flipped to the back of the casebook:
“I get it!” grinned Ramzi. “So we’re Black Cat Detectives because Iqbal stuck a chess piece up his nose!”
“Exactly,” smiled Shaima. “Something small happens in one place and makes something REALLY EXCITING happen in another. The Butterfly Effect. Simple.”
“Cool,” said Ramzi, nodding his head. He put the book back in its secret hiding-place behind the old tins of paint. Then, they went back into the garden.
“But what are we going to do now?” asked Ramzi, kicking a ball against the fence.
Shaima shrugged. Nothing much was happening in Cinnamon Grove. Blackbirds were cluttering up the telephone wires. Clouds were drifting over chimney pots and lazy-day Dads were mowing weed-speckled lawns. No beetles. No black cats. No butterfly effect. Just long empty days stretching across the summer like a yawn.
Ramzi slumped down on the doorstep and started picking grass. Shaima sat down next to him and, chins in hands, they stared down Cinnamon Grove.
That’s when Ramzi heard it.
Hmmphhh.
“What was that?” asked Ramzi.
“What?”
“That noise!” Ramzi jumped up.
HMMMPHHH.
There it was again! “It’s coming from inside that bush,” said Ramzi, racing across the garden. He peered through the leaves.
A little boy was crouched between the branches, clutching his nose very tight.
“It just f...f... fell up!” said Iqbal.
“What fell up?” asked Ramzi.
“I don’t even know.”
“What is it?” called Shaima from the step.
Very slowly, a grin spread across Ramzi’s face. “It’s a butterfly, Agent Stalk. And I think it just flapped its wings!”
THE END
Ammi
This is what I always call my mother – even when I’m speaking in English.
Alhamdulillah
This is Arabic for Thanks be to God and I say it whenever I get 100% in a ‘mathematically puzzling non-verbal reasoning’ paper.
Assalemu aleikum
This means Peace be Upon You in Arabic.
Muslims always say it to each other when they meet. Actually, that’s not exactly correct because if someone says it to you first, then you have to say: Wa’aleikum assalem back. Which sounds rather difficult at first, but it really isn’t when you get the hang of it.
Asr
Nanna Stalk just means ‘mid-afternoon prayer’.
Astaghfirullah
Nanna Stalk is always saying astaghfirullah.
&n
bsp; It means God forgive me and she says it quietly when she thinks she’s done something wrong.
Boureks
Mr Ramadan loves making boureks – they’re very thin, rolled-up Algerian pancakes full of mashed potato, cumin, parsley, egg and cheese. (And when he makes them, he normally sets the fire alarm off. But they taste lush.)
Brother
Mr Ramadan and my dad always call each other ‘brother’, even when, technically speaking, they are not. I suppose it’s a little bit like ‘mate’.
Dua
It’s hard to explain this one. When you make ‘dua’, it’s a little bit like doing a prayer – but not the same as the normal Muslim prayers – this is a little private one where you ask God for a favour.
Eid
Eid just means festival. We have two of them in Islam – one after the pilgrimage to Mecca (called Eid-el-Adha) and one after Ramadan (Eid-el-Fitr). I could spend ages telling you all about these two festivals but I have to stop myself or this bit will be longer than the actual book! (Oh, and Ramadan is our fasting month.)
Fajr prayer
This is the really early prayer – the one before the sun comes up. Muslims do five prayers a day and they all have different names. But this one’s my favourite as it makes me feel really grown-up. (All my friends are still asleep – even Ramzi Ramadan.)
Halal
Halal just means lawful (or allowed for Muslims).
For example, I have to check if marshmallows are ‘halal’ before I let Iqbal eat them because some of them contain pork gelatine (and that is haram – not allowed). But it’s not just about food. I’m not allowed to say rude things or be mean about people because that’s ‘not halal’ either. Do you see what I mean?
Insha’Allah
This means God willing and you’re supposed to say it at the end of important things – like, ‘I’m going to study medicine when I’m a grown up, insha’Allah’. But Nanna says it ALL the time. So, if you ask her if she wants a cup of tea, she says ‘PG tips, three sugars, insha’Allah’.
Iqama
This is the call to prayer. Ramzi does it really well. But Iqbal doesn’t. Yet.
Jazak Allah kheir
Jazak Allah kheir means May Allah grant you goodness, so it’s a really nice thing to say instead of or as well as ‘thanks’.
Jilbab
Ammi always wears a really dull jilbab over her beautiful clothes. Sometimes, I wish she’d wear brightly coloured ones (like Marwa’s mum). But she says that’s not the point. And I suppose she’s right.
Masha’Allah
Masha’Allah actually means As God wills and people are always saying ‘Oh, Shaima is so gifted, masha’Allah.’ But it really gets on my nerves. Not because I mind being ‘gifted’, but because it’s totally embarrassing.
Niqab
This is a full veil that covers everything apart from your eyes – like the one Aunty Zakiya wears. I used to think that only shy muslims wore them, but now I don’t because Aunty Zakiya has started wearing one and she can burp the whole alphabet and do a cartwheel (but not at the same time).
Rahemahullah
This means May God have mercy on him or her in Arabic – and people normally say it about someone when they’re dead. So it’s a bit sad, really. But at least they haven’t forgotten about them. (The dead person, I mean.)
Rakats
These are the movements that we do during prayer. And as there are five prayers a day (containing 17 compulsory rakats, 3 almost essential ones, and 20 slightly optional ones), one can safely summarise that most praying muslims do 40 rakats a day.
Salaams
Giving salaams just means giving Muslim greetings.
Salem
This means Peace. It’s like saying ‘Hi’. Sort of.
Salat
This is just the word for prayer and there’s nothing mathematical about it.
Salwar Kameez
This is the traditional outfit worn by men and women (and boys and girls, obviously) in lots of parts of the world – it consists of baggy trousers and a longish top. Mine always have loads of sequins on because Ammi buys them when we’re in Pakistan.
Subhan’Allah
I love saying ‘Subhan’Allah’. It means God is glorious and is way better than ‘Wow!’
You will need:
* A name for your Detective Agency.
* A Headquarters, to be known as ‘the HQ’. (Perfect places include: a shed, a cupboard under the stairs or an airing cupboard.)
* A tall glass.
(For listening through walls and floorboards.)
* A magnifying glass or telescope.
* Some invisible ink pens.
(But if times are hard, pencils and rubbers will do!)
* A secret casebook.
(If you need extra security, try and get one with a lock. If this isn’t possible, just write ‘Do not open’ and ‘Dangerous’ on the front.)
* ID Cards.
(Of course, any good detective should also have a supply of false ID cards – make as many as you need.)
* Oh, and finally... detectives need at least one partner and one mysterious case to solve!
Acknowledgements
Lots of wonderful people helped me to write this book – even if they didn’t know it!
My parents – who read to me as a child and inspired my love of stories
My children – who made me laugh and shared me with my lap-top
My friends – who made me coffee and helped me meet my deadlines
My designer – who brought out the best in my illustrations
And finally, special thanks go to my patient and generous editor – Janetta Otter-Barry – who let me tell my story but made sure that I did it well.
About the author
As a child, WENDY MEDDOUR spent most of her time in the airing cupboard reading books. Huddled up behind the boiler, she dreamt of being a cartoonist, a comedienne and a football player.
Unsure how to go about it, she became an English lecturer instead – one that gave funny lectures, doodled in the margins and knew the off-side rule.
Since leaving the safety of the airing cupboard, she has acquired a doctorate, an Algerian husband, four children, a wobbly old house in Wiltshire, a farm in the Berber mountains and a huge cat called Socrates (that many suspect is actually a goat). Wendy’s début novel, A Hen in the Wardrobe, has already garnered critical success – winning the John C. Laurence Award for writing that improves relations between races, taking first place in the Islamic Foundation’s International Writing Competition, and being shortlisted for the Muslim Writers’ Award 2011.
Look out for another funny adventure in the CINNAMON GROVE series
Strange things are happening at night in Cinnamon Grove! Someone in pyjamas has been chasing frogs in the pantry, climbing trees like a leopard, and even looking for a hen in Ramzi’s wardrobe... Who could it be? Surely not Ramzi’s dad?
But Dad is sleepwalking because he’s homesick, and the only solution is for the whole family to visit Dad’s Berber village in Algeria.
Can the Spider in the woods, the Wise Man of the Mountains or the Tuareg in the desert help Dad – and what about Ramzi’s secret plan?
Dedication and Copyright
This book is dedicated to the wonderfully kind-hearted Ahmed family – especially Memoona (my very own Shaima Stalk!)
The Black Cat Detectives copyright © Wendy Meddour 2012
The right of Wendy Meddour to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (United Kingdom).
First published in Great Britain and in the USA in 2012 by Frances Lincoln Children’s Books, 4 Torriano Mews, Torriano Avenue, London NW5 2RZ www.franceslincoln.com
This eBook edition first published in 2012
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by an
y means, electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the United Kingdom such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6-10 Kirkby Street, London EC1N 8TS.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
eBook conversion by CPI Group
ISBN 978 1 781010 96 9
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