by Emma Read
A MESSAGE FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
I’d love to welcome Milton back with open arms, but I don’t have as many limbs as he does. Besides, he’s become a bit of a handful since his first adventure in Milton the Mighty . . . But luckily his friends are here to bring him back to earth, despite some ghastly threats from humankind! Fun, friendship and concern for other living things are what makes Emma Read’s series a Must Read!
BARRY CUNNINGHAM
Publisher
Chicken House
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1: Running and Flapping
Chapter 2: Fan Mail
Chapter 3: Mini
Chapter 4: Break Time
Chapter 5: Super-Suspicious Spider Smuggler
Chapter 6: Bradley O’Hair (Billionaire)
Chapter 7: Everything Is Awesome
Chapter 8: Shaken and Stirred
Chapter 9: Private (Eight) Eyes
Chapter 10: The Man with the Golden Toilet
Chapter 11: Discovery!
Chapter 12: A Catastrophic Eruption
Chapter 13: Scruffy O’Hair
Chapter 14: Tremors
Chapter 15: Things That Can’t Be Unsaid
Chapter 16: Peace Talks
Chapter 17: The Climb
Chapter 18: The Slow and the Furious
Chapter 19: Don’t Worry, Be Happy
Chapter 20: Initiation
Chapter 21: Spinnerettes Assemble!
Chapter 22: Rumbled in the Jungle
Chapter 23: Missing on the Mountain
Chapter 24: Beach Buggy
Chapter 25: Hawaiian Happy Family
What Happened Next . . .
More Spidery Sciencey Stuff
‘Don’t Worry, We’re Just Spiders’ by Hau‘oli and the Spinnerettes
Copyright
To all the Spider Warriors
Also by Emma Read
Milton the Mighty
Running and Flapping
‘Milton said he would get the ladybird juice himself,’ Audrey called, from the top of a rose bush.
‘Careful up there!’ said Ralph. ‘That bunting’s not worth being eaten by a bird over.’
‘I’m fine. You concentrate on moving those benches and setting the tables. This must be the biggest charity fundraiser he’s done yet – there’s still loads to do.’
‘At least he’s mucking in this time. Not like the last—’ Ralph stopped mid-sentence. ‘Shh, here he comes.’
Milton scurried across the patio towards his best friends, his eyes darting about at all the party preparations. ‘Do you think that banner should be higher? I think it should be higher.’
Audrey abseiled down from a rose, her long legs trailing out behind her. ‘Milton, it’s fine. Calm down, you’re getting yourself in a tangle.’
Milton closed his eyes, pressed his front two claws together and did some mindfulness breathing.
‘I know it’s an important cause.’ Audrey put a claw gently on his small brown abdomen. ‘But you must look after yourself.’
Milton glanced again at the banner, flapping gently in the early summer breeze.
BugKILL! Benefit Buffet
Six months had passed since the terror of last autumn, when Felicity Thrubwell and her company, BugKILL!, came to their road. She and her spider-hating exterminators had convinced the humans that Milton and his species of false widows were deadly, and she’d tried to kill them all. If it hadn’t been for Milton and his BHF (best human friend), Zoe, creating the #NotScaredOfSpiders campaign, they would’ve all been wiped out. Spider-kind had been saved, but the effects of Felicity’s reign of terror were still felt all over town. Everyone knew someone who had been affected by the BugKILL! disaster.
Milton looked at Audrey, who’d lost the sight in three of her eyes thanks to Felicity’s pesticide spray, and sighed. There was still work to be done.
Despite her injury, Audrey always managed to pull off a perfect stern look. ‘You’re working too hard. Perhaps you should cut back on the public appearances.’
Milton was unmoved. ‘Being a celebrity means hard work. I have to do what the campaign needs. Spiders look up to me now.’ He turned to Ralph, but instead of saying ‘hello’ to his big friend, he pulled a face. ‘Agh! Sticky webs! I forgot the ladybird juice.’ And he ran back towards the house in a flap.
Ralph waited until Milton was out of leg-hair hearing. ‘Aren’t you sick of this, Audrey?’
‘It’s for a good cause,’ she said, not sounding very convinced.
‘I know, but . . . oh, ignore me. The sight of all this food I can’t eat is making me grumpy. It’s just . . . don’t you miss the old days, before the #NotScaredOfSpiders campaign? Before Milton was famous and we could hang out and do proper spider things. Not fundraisers, or photo shoots, or sponsored woodlouse-eating competitions . . . actually, that one I enjoyed. I’m fed up of serving vol-au-ants to snooty orb-weavers, and getting my claws glued together opening fan mail. All the “Oh, Milton, we love you so much, we want to have your spiderlings” is making his cephalothorax twice as big as it was before.’
‘Hmm, he has changed,’ agreed Audrey. ‘Here, no one will miss a honey-roasted lacewing – eat it and cheer up. It’s supposed to be a party.’
The fundraiser was a tremendous success, and attracted many species of local spider – jumping spiders, crab spiders, the event was glamorous enough even for a wasp spider to swing by, creating quite a stir. Food, ladybird juice and dark spaces were donated and their best garden spider friend, One Short, offered to build a new web for a group of homeless young orb-weavers every night for a week!
By the end of the evening everyone was exhausted.
‘Let’s clear up tomorrow,’ said Audrey, pushing aside fruit-fly flan crumbs before sitting down beside Milton.
Milton leapt up. ‘Too much to do. I still need to see Zoe and talk to her about the zoo promotion, and check the interweb for any messages from Hawaii. I’ve not heard from Dad in a while.’ He bit his claw. ‘And there’s more fan mail to open . . .’
Ralph groaned.
‘Surely it can wait until tomorrow?’ Audrey asked gently.
‘Well, not really. There’ll be something else tomorrow. Come on, Audrey, you know better than that. Can you at least get those banners and bunting down?’
‘Steady on, buddy,’ said Ralph. ‘Audrey’s worked proper hard on this for you. Have you even said thanks?’
Audrey held her leg out to Ralph. ‘It’s fine, I don’t mind. Milton’s right, let’s get this done, then we can relax tomorrow.’
‘Well, you can, maybe,’ said Milton, fussing over some spilt ladybird juice. ‘I’ve got a photo shoot to organize with a company who are building a bridge almost as strong as a spider silk.’ He rubbed his aching shoulders. ‘Aha, there’s Zoe now.’ And with that, he sped off towards the house.
Being the approximate size of a raisin, ‘sped’ was a relative term, and by the time Milton reached the dining room, Zoe and her dad were halfway up the stairs.
He sighed and collapsed in a puffed-out heap on the table.
Typical.
What was less usual was that they were talking in a whisper and Mr Macey’s arm was around Zoe as they walked. He gave her a reassuring pat which piqued Milton’s interest.
Something’s wrong.
He strained his leg hairs to listen to the conversation as he dashed up the banister.
‘. . . I’m sure he’s fine, Zoe – you heard the message, it was almost impossible to make out properly. Please try not to worry.’
‘I hope he’s OK. He’s so tiny,’ said Zoe, with a long sigh.
Milton hid in a gap.
What message
? Is she worried about me? I am feeling pretty tiny right now.
Zoe glanced anxiously back down the stairs, past Milton, towards Mr M’s phone which was still glowing on the table.
Milton took a deep breath and ran. He reached the phone just as the call list blinked off, back to black, but as he’d got closer Milton was sure he’d seen the word ‘Hawaii’ on the screen.
Fan Mail
‘Are you all right, Milton?’ said Audrey, hauling herself on to the table with her long legs. ‘You look like you’ve seen the ghost of Old Hairy Lou.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Milton, jumping up and down on the phone.
‘Let me try,’ said Ralph. He climbed on to the edge of a half-drunk cup of tea and leapt on the phone screen. It came to life in a bright explosion of faces – Mr Macey’s background was a hilarious picture of the three house humans with daft expressions. Zoe and Greta had glitter on their cheeks and Mr M was wearing red heart-shaped sunglasses.
It wasn’t what Milton had seen a moment ago. ‘Ralph, jump on it again. I’m sure I saw something about Hawaii on there.’
Ralph bounced up and down on the phone like a miniature hairy basketball. ‘Mr M and Zoe would’ve told you if they had a message from your dad, surely?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m just tired – I must be seeing things.’ He smiled at Ralph, who was still pogoing on the screen. ‘You can probably stop now.’
As they headed up to the attic, Milton thought of his dad.
He must’ve been on my mind for me to imagine seeing ‘Hawaii’ on the phone.
Before #NotScaredOfSpiders, Milton thought his dad was gone for ever. Then, thanks to the campaign, they’d reconnected using the human web. But somehow it made the distance between them feel even greater, and Milton wondered if he’d ever see his dad again.
Upstairs in their shared attic was a pile of Milton’s fan mail under one of the eaves. Ralph yawned and stretched his hairy legs. ‘Come on, then, Milt. Let’s sort out this flippin’ post of yours.’ Since #NotScaredOfSpiders went global, Milton got a lot of mail, mostly drawings and letters from children who had been inspired to overcome their fears. Sometimes he received gifts – eight matching socks, abdomen polish, a tiny T-shirt with #NotScaredOfHumans on the front.
But he’d never had a parcel that moved before.
Ralph frowned, as the box, which was wrapped in brown paper and covered in tiny holes, jiggled across the attic floor.
‘Do you think it’s a bomb?’ said Ralph, somewhat matter-of-factly.
‘Don’t bombs tick?’ said Milton.
‘Oh, yeah, that’s right. What moves, then?’
‘I don’t know. It’s making a scratching noise.’
‘A jumping bean? Wind-up chattering teeth? A remote-control helicopter?’
‘Perhaps you should open it.’
‘Perhaps you should.’ Ralph pushed the parcel over to Milton. ‘It’s yours after all.’
‘You’re in charge of deliveries.’ Milton pushed the box back to Ralph, who sighed.
‘It’s just a box.’ Ralph took a deep breath and looked inside. ‘It’s a cake,’ he said. ‘Look – from the Caterpillar Cupcake Company.’ He brought out a little cupcake with pink frosting on top.
‘Cakes don’t move,’ Milton said, scowling at the cake over the top of the box.
It shuddered for a moment, then suddenly a tiny speck of something leggy exploded out of the pink frosting. It did a mid-air somersault and landed in between Milton’s front legs.
Milton screamed and fell over backwards. ‘WHAT IS IT?’ He squeezed his eyes shut and scrabbled to get upright and away until Ralph started laughing.
‘Milt! Calm down.’ Ralph plucked the tiny creature from Milton’s flailing claws and held it up. ‘What have we here?’ He wiped icing from its leg. ‘Tasty.’
Milton opened his eyes and peered at the tiny creature.
‘I’m a money spider,’ grinned the little black dot in Ralph’s legs. ‘And I’m your number-one fan.’ It waved a tiny flag at him, which Milton could just see had ‘I Milton’ drawn on in a spidery scrawl.
Milton let out a sigh, making the flag ripple. ‘Great.’ He scowled. ‘A fan. Just what I need.’
‘This is so exciting. My name’s Mini. You’re my hero, I loved you on Countryfile.’
Ralph put the money spider down and pushed her over to Milton.
Milton did not look amused. ‘Very clever. Now go home. I’ve got work to do.’ It came out much harsher than Milton intended, but he was so tired and stressed and no one seemed to care.
Mini’s almost microscopic fangs trembled and she sniffled.
‘Milton!’ exclaimed Ralph, looking uncharacteristically cross. ‘You’ve upset her.’
Milton became agitated. ‘What about how upset I am? I don’t want followers, I don’t want any of this.’ He kicked aside the box that the money spider had delivered herself in and it knocked over the pile of unopened fan mail. ‘Oh, sticky webs!’ he shouted. ‘I didn’t organize the photo shoot!’
Milton suddenly came over very pale, ran around in circles eight times, then slammed his front claws on the floor. ‘I can’t take it any more, Ralph. I’m a spider, not a celebrity. I’ve had enough. I just want to be left alone.’
And with that, he ran into the nearest dark hole and began to spin a web.
Mini
Downstairs, Zoe was cleaning her teeth. She studied her expression in the mirror with curiosity, before rinsing. Something felt odd and it wasn’t until her toothbrush rattled in the glass holder that she realized what it was.
The house was quiet.
Ever since they’d moved to the new house, the noise had changed. In the old days, Dad used to tuck Zoe in, then go back downstairs and watch a box set with the door shut, or read a book. Sometimes he listened to his favourite show tunes, but whichever it was, there was either silence, or a sort of low hum.
Now Greta was here, there was noise. There was laughing and chatting. And it was a cheerful sound, that filled the house with fun, and Dad was happy.
But for reasons Zoe couldn’t figure out, it made her sad, and so it made no sense at all that tonight, with Greta away at a conference and with the old, familiar silence back, she felt even worse.
She got into bed. Probably she felt funny because of the phone message. Dad was right, it had been really hard to make out – she wasn’t even sure it was about Milton’s dad, maybe something about the mountain they were on in Hawaii? His human friend, Mako, sounded worried but perhaps it was nothing, just bad reception. Shaking off the feeling, she picked up her book, but had hardly read a page when Dad came in.
‘So, how’s things?’ he said, leaning on the rail of her cabin bed.
Zoe put her book down. Things were, to be totally honest, weird. Things had been happening so quickly just lately, it was hard for her to keep up. First, they’d moved house and Greta had moved in with them, which was lovely and Dad was his old self again. But then there were SATs and the end of term coming and new school uniform to buy and the prospect of proper homework. And her current school friends had only just got their heads around her being a minor celebrity, so who only knew how people would feel about this at her new secondary school?
‘Things are fine, Dad.’ She held her dad’s gaze. ‘Honestly.’
Satisfied, her Dad stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. Zoe tried to let it soothe away all the worries she’d already thought of and the new one she’d added – that Milton’s dad was possibly in trouble on a faraway volcano.
It was a big ask of one kiss.
Two days passed and Milton still had not emerged.
Audrey and Ralph had taken to sleeping on the floor outside the hole where Milton had webbed himself in, and they took turns to keep watch overnight.
They’d tried reasoning with him and bribing him. Ralph had tried to trick him out by pretending Steve Backshall was downstairs. Audrey had tried getting cross, and even Zoe had been up to the attic with
the Nutella jar. But nothing worked. Milton had spun enough web to completely barricade himself in. The only way they even knew he was still there was because occasionally he would shout at them to go away and leave him alone.
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Ralph for the tenth time that evening.
‘We could get One Short to have a go.’ Audrey scratched her cephalothorax, otherwise out of ideas.
‘She’s building webs for the fundraiser raffle winners.’ Ralph tickled Mini the money spider superfan under the abdomen and gave her a fly antenna to chew.
Audrey paced outside the hole. ‘Milton? Are you at least eating in there?’
No answer.
‘He can’t be eating, Ralph. I’m so worried.’
‘You hear that, buddy? Audrey’s worried about you. She’s looking very pale.’
‘That won’t work, Ralph. I always look pale.’
‘We could chew our way in,’ whispered Ralph.
‘If this goes on much longer, we’ll have to, otherwise he’ll starve. But that’s a last resort – he has to want to come out, or at least let one of us in.’
Just then, a tiny voice spoke up. ‘I could help,’ said the little speck on Ralph’s back.
Ralph lowered Mini to the floor. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘I’m small enough to squeeze through even the tiniest gap. See there, at the entrance to the hole? It’s a criss-cross of web, with teeny-weeny spaces. All it takes is someone small enough to fit through them.’
‘You’re a little genius!’ Ralph clapped his front claws together. ‘But once you’re in there, how will you persuade him to come out?’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Mini as she climbed on to the thick mat of web. ‘I usually know what to say.’
Milton had done a thorough job of webbing himself off from the outside world, and as luck would have it, he’d found the perfect hiding hole. It was narrow at the entrance, gradually opening out into a round space. Most of the surround was brick, with a piece of felt flapping loose over a gap in the roof tiles.
