No, Fergus was the only one on his own out there. Jambo and Grandpa and Chimp weren’t the same – they had to be there. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself it was okay, nothing could make him stop missing Mum and Daisy.
Round and round the thoughts buzzed and battered, and try as he might, Fergus couldn’t find any answers or, worse, get any sleep. Nervously, he checked the clock: 22:31 it read in luminous letters. Less than eight hours to go before they’d have to get up. This was ridiculous. He needed to rest. He needed to dream. He needed …
“Chimp!” he whispered.
The dog cocked an ear, then padded from the foot of the bed (where he’d ended up after all) to the pillow.
“Fancy a quick spin?” asked Fergus.
Chimp licked his face, which was all the reply Fergus needed.
“Come on,” he said, pulling a jumper over his pyjamas and putting a pair of trainers on his feet. “Quick and quiet.”
And for once, Chimp did exactly what he was told, and followed Fergus swiftly and softly out of the door.
Chapter 6
Place Your Bets
WHOMP!
“Ouch!”
“You great galah!”
Fergus and Chimp pulled themselves out of Queen Woebegot’s prize rosebushes, picked prickles out of their hands and paws, and made their way to the back of the palace. When they got there, it sounded as if someone else was in as much bother as Fergus was.
“How about a thousand dragons?” offered King Woebegot.
The king’s brother, Duke Dastardly, clad all in black and with an even darker look on his face, scoffed. “A thousand dragons? What would I want with a thousand dragons?”
“Where would you even get a thousand dragons?” asked the queen. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Dragons ‘R’ Us,” replied Unlucky Luke. “Second on the right on the ring road past Knight Supplies.”
“Lawks-a-mussy,” cried Queen Woebegot. “Whatever next? Horrible Hounds Holiday Park?”
“Oh, there’s one of those out by Darklands Castle,” replied Cousin Derek. “You should visit. There’s an all-you-can-eat diner. For anyone who hasn’t already been eaten, that is.”
“Maybe that should be the booby prize,” said Prince Waldorf. “A week trying to avoid hellish dogs.”
“Steady on, mate,” said Chimp.
“Fergus!” cried Princess Lily, turning to see her friend. “Maybe you can settle the bet?”
“This betting business is nonsense,” said Hector.
Fergus frowned. His dad, the Palace Pedallers’ coach, seemed a little grumpy.
“It’s not nonsense,” insisted the king. “It’s serious business.”
“Well, if you want to get serious, why didn’t you say?” demanded Duke Dastardly, giving his brother an evil look. “Dragons, schmagons. Let’s make a proper bet. Winner gets … the loser’s castle.”
“What?” shouted the king.
“Orf with his head!” shrieked the queen. “Guards!”
“I don’t think so, Deirdre.” The duke smiled a slippery smile. “I am your brother-in-law, after all.”
“Being family doesn’t stop her,” muttered the king. “She’s tried to orf my head several times already this week, and I’m her husband.”
“I like the idea,” said Derek. “Two castles for me to rule.”
“As if!” snapped Waldorf. “Two castles for us, you mean.”
Fergus shook his head. In the bad old days Wallace’s Winners and Hercules’ Hopefuls had spent more time bickering than winning anything, but this lot were worse. If he wanted his own issues sorted, clearly he’d have to help sort out this argument first.
“Instead of winning a castle forever,” Fergus said, “why not just get the loser’s castle for a day?”
“Why?” demanded the duke.
“One day?” added the king. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Well, where’s the fun if you lose your palace for good?” replied Fergus. “Where would you live?”
“Fergus has got a point,” his dad agreed.
“Even better,” continued Fergus, “the prize is for the team captain. Not the adults. So, if the Palace Pedallers win, Lily gets to be queen for the day. And if the Darklands Demons win, Derek is king for a day.”
“And make up our own rules?” asked Derek.
Fergus nodded.
“Ooh, I like it,” said Lily.
“Well, I don’t,” said Waldorf. “What about me? And besides, you can’t be queen, Lily. I’m a boy so I’m first in line.”
“But I was born first,” said Lily.
“Boys rule,” said Waldorf, shrugging. “Literally.”
“Seriously?” asked Fergus, looking at his dad.
Hector nodded. “Never mind the Darklands. It’s still the Dark Ages round here sometimes.”
“Muuuu-uuuum?” wailed Lily. “Do something. And not ‘orf’ with anyone’s head.”
“Don’t be silly, Lily,” said her father. “Your mother agrees with me. She has to.”
“Oh do I, indeed?”
Fergus looked on in astonishment as Queen Woebegot pointed her sceptre at her husband.
“I’m with Lily,” she announced. “If that little team of hers wins, she’ll be queen. It’ll be good preparation for the future. Seeing as you’ll be changing the law tomorrow morning, making girls as important as boys.”
“Oh, will I?” asked the king, narrowing his eyes and adjusting his crown.
“Yes, you will,” retorted the queen, glaring fiercely and adjusting her own bigger crown.
“Oh, very well then, dear,” said the king, looking sheepish.
Lily and Fergus high-fived. They’d done it!
“Brilliotic!” yelled Lily.
“Too right!” agreed Fergus.
“Er, aren’t you bozos forgetting something?” asked Chimp.
“What’s that?”
“The race?” he said. “You haven’t actually won yet.”
Lily gulped. Fergus pulled a face. Chimp was right. Never mind tomorrow’s Internationals in Manchester. Today was the final of the Nevermore Tournament, and the Palace Pedallers had to win. Not just so Lily could be queen for a day. It was more important than that.
So that King Woebegot finally accepted girls were as brilliant as boys, and that, one day, Lily might be queen of Nevermore for good.
Chapter 7
Ruler for a Day
As the teams lined up and made last-minute adjustments to their kit, Fergus thought again about the whole hoo-hah in Nevermore: how bicycles had been banned, how his dad had been banished and then imprisoned, and how hard it had been pleading with King and Queen Woebegot to let Lily and Waldorf even try cycling again. But now there was a chance that Lily might be officially allowed to inherit the castle. This race just had to go well.
At least this time there were no wizards trying to cast spells on the cyclists, or dragons trying to destroy the track. No, this race was down to just two things: talent and determination. The Palace Pedallers had plenty of both, but so did Derek and his teammates Nigel, Norman and Norris – the Darklands Demons.
Yes, thought Fergus to himself as the starting pistol was raised, this was going to be a race to remember, all right.
“Come on, Lily!” called Fergus as the racers took the first turn. “Give those Demons a licking.”
“Demons?” Chimp joined in. “Drongos, more like. And I wouldn’t lick them in a month of Sundays.”
“It means beat them in the race,” Fergus explained. “Not actually lick them!”
Chimp clapped a paw over his eyes. “I know! I was joking, mate.”
“I don’t think we’ve got time for jokes,” hissed Hector. “Check out Scary Mary.”
Fergus looked back at the track to see Nigel, Norris and Norman all swerve in front of Mary in perfect triangle formation, pushing her into a barrier.
“One down, Derek!” called Duke Dastardly. “You’ll
be making up rules in minutes.” He cackled horribly.
“Don’t you believe it,” called back King Woebegot. “My Lily’s still leagues ahead. She’ll be the one bossing your boy about, mark my words.”
“You’re sure about that?” asked the duke, as Unlucky Luke found himself next in line for the triangle treatment.
“Foul!” called the queen. “Orf with their heads!”
“Fair!” replied the duke. “Orf with yours!”
Queen Woebegot puffed herself up like an angry cat. “No one tells me what to do!” she snapped.
Duke Dastardly smiled. “Give it five minutes and you might find that’s changed.”
More like two minutes, thought Fergus as the remaining riders rounded the back straight. Lily was neck and neck with Derek, and Waldorf was bringing up the rear, chased by the rest of the Darklands Demons, who were already eyeing up their next target.
“Look out, Waldorf!” called Fergus. “They’re behind you.”
“Oh, no they’re not!” shouted the duke.
“Oh, yes they are!” shouted the queen.
And they were. But Waldorf was ready, and before they could do the triangle trick to him Waldorf had swung off to the left, leaving them heading straight for the barrier themselves.
Whomp! Whomp! Whomp!
One by one, Nigel, Norris and Norman hit the buffers, then the ground.
“Woo-hoo, Waldorf! Go, Pedallers!” yelled Fergus.
“Go, Lily, more like,” Chimp said, pointing with a paw at the track.
“You’re not wrong,” Fergus admitted. Waldorf was way behind now, after seeing off the three Demons, and as Lily and Derek headed into the last lap, it was clear this race was now a head-to-head.
“Go, Lily,” Fergus urged, crossing everything he could think to cross. “Don’t let Derek take the crown!”
“For real,” agreed Chimp. “Imagine the laws he’ll invent.”
“No talking dogs?” suggested Fergus.
Chimp crossed his paws and huffed.
“My turn to joke,” said Fergus, giving his pal a pat. “But it is the final straight, so maybe save it for later?”
Chimp mimed zipping his mouth. Fergus did the same. Along with them, the whole crowd who had gathered to watch fell silent as Derek and Lily started to sprint for the finish line.
Go on, Lily, Fergus said in his head, too tense to shout out loud. Do this for the Pedallers. And for girls. And for cycling itself!
As if his words were carried on the wind, over the crowd, along the track and into Lily’s head, no sooner had Fergus thought them, Lily dug deep and pushed down hard on the pedals.
Fergus saw she was pushing harder than she’d ever done before.
Lily pulled ahead of Derek.
“Nooooooo!” called the duke.
“Yeeeeeees!” called the king.
“Yeeeeeees!” echoed Fergus, Hector and Chimp as Lily slipped over the finish line with seconds to spare.
“She’s done it!” whooped Luke, who had recovered from his fall, along with Scary Mary, who enthusiastically nodded her agreement.
“Hurrah for Lily!” called King Woebegot.
“Long live Queen Lily!” quipped the queen.
“Queen? Pah!” spat Duke Dastardly, decidedly downhearted.
Prince Derek yanked off his helmet, and slammed his own crown back on. “Only for a day,” he muttered. “And I won’t be abiding by any of her rules, whatever anyone says.”
“Orf with his head!” demanded Queen Woebegot.
“No, not orf with anything,” said Lily. “I’m giving the orders now, remember?” Then she glared at Derek. “And you don’t even know what I am going to say.”
“So what is it then?” her cousin asked. “Boys to be banned from racing? Girls to get the best bikes?”
“No chocolate pudding for brothers?” asked Waldorf, with a worried air.
Lily laughed. “You’re both daft,” she said. “I’ve only got three rules. One, girls can become queen. Two …” she turned to Fergus, nodding at him to take over.
Fergus grinned. He knew what she wanted.
“Two, cycling to be made a protected sport, so it can never be outlawed again.” He looked at Lily for approval, and got it back in a wink.
“And last of all,” continued Lily, “rule three: I don’t have to be queen when I’m grown up if I don’t want to.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to?” demanded Derek.
It was Lily’s turn to grin. “Isn’t it obvious? Because I’ll have far better things to do being in charge of the national cycle team, as well as being their number one racer!”
“Yes!” said Fergus, delighted. He grinned at his dad and Hector grinned back.
“Well, I suppose …” King Woebegot agreed.
“Orf with nobody’s heads!” cried Queen Woebegot. “And now it’s time for tea at the palace. If Queen Lily agrees, of course?”
“Of course,” Lily replied. “Only no chocolate pudding for Waldorf.”
Her brother’s face fell.
“Joke!” she said, then turned to Fergus. “Coming?”
Fergus shook his head. “Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“What?” Lily looked confused.
“Just … well, it’s the Internationals in the morning and Mum can’t come and nor can Daisy and I wondered …” His voice trailed off.
Lily smiled. “Oh, Fergie. I’d love to. But Dad’ll be back in charge by then, and me and Waldorf aren’t allowed out of Nevermore until we’re at least eighteen.”
“Oh.” Fergus felt his heart sigh and his stomach slump. “Okay then.”
“But I’ll see you soon?” Lily asked.
Fergus nodded. “Aye,” he said, sadly, still feeling disappointed. “I expect so.”
Lily gave him a quick hug and hurried off to oversee afternoon tea, leaving Fergus to say his goodbyes to his dad.
“You’ll ride a blinder in the Internationals, Fergus,” Hector said. “I just know it. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I don’t suppose …?” began Fergus, a seed of hope taking root.
“I can’t,” said his dad before Fergus could finish. “You know that. Besides, your mum’s about to get married. I’m the last person she needs to turn up and surprise her.”
“But she’s being weird,” Fergus blurted then. “She’s off her food, and she’s tired all the time, and she won’t come to Manchester and she won’t say why and it’s not just work, I know it.”
His dad was frowning, but slowly, as he listened to Fergus, a smile spread across his face instead. “Off her food, you say? And tired? Och, sonny,” Hector said. “I’m pretty sure your mum is right as rain. You just stop your worrying and get on with racing. If I remember Jeanie right, that’s what she’d want.”
“Really?” Fergus asked. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Really,” Hector replied. “I know I’m your dad and I’m supposed to say stuff like that, but it’s true. Ride like the wind, son. For me. For your mum. And for Lily and Daisy too.”
Fergus felt the seed of happiness sprout, and his heart sing with it. His dad knew what to say to make him feel better, even if he couldn’t come and watch him in the Internationals.
“I will ride like the wind,” he promised. “I absolutely will.”
“Now get going,” Hector said.
“I’m gone,” said Fergus.
And he was. Back to his bike, back into the sky with Chimp, and back to his bunk in the Manchester Grand, where, at 10.32pm precisely, he quickly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Chapter 8
The International Finish Line
“I feel sick,” said Wesley, staring queasily at his porridge on the morning of their third and final day.
“I’m not surprised,” Choppy told his son, as he tucked into eggs and bacon himself. “Second in the knock-out to the Brisbane Belters, and neck and neck with the Shanghai Shooting Stars after
yesterday. There’s everything to play for.”
After the road race and the knock-out race, Hercules’ Hopefuls were in the top three and the pressure was on. Doing well in the team track final that day was crucial.
“It’s just nerves,” Fergus reassured Wesley, eating his own breakfast with gusto. “We all get them.”
“Well, not me,” said Wesley. “I must be ill. Or poisoned!” He eyed Bruce Hunter from the Brisbane Belters, sitting opposite them, with suspicion.
“Och, Wesley, your imagination is as wild as our Fergie’s at times.” Grandpa laughed. “Now, get that porridge down you. You’ve a race to run. And I’ve a bet to win,” he added, nodding at someone on the far side of the restaurant.
“Who’s that?” asked Fergus.
“Major Margaret Menzies,” said Choppy.
“From the Velociraptors?” Wesley demanded, nerves (and poison) forgotten.
“Aye,” said Choppy. “Herc’s fancy lady.”
“Och, she is not,” insisted Grandpa. “We’ve just a little bet going on, remember?”
Fergus nodded. He did remember: double or quits to win the Internationals. Well, Fergus would be racing for the team’s glory first. But winning the bet might come in handy, what with the wedding. Mum and Jambo had certainly seemed worried about having enough money lately.
“Come on, Hopefuls,” he said, pushing his chair back with a screech. “Time to get sweaty!”
“Half an hour’s rest!” warned Choppy. “Give your food time to go down.”
“Then we want you back at the track, warmed up and in full kit,” said Grandpa. “You too.” He nodded at Mikey and Calamity, the reserves, as well as Dermot, who wasn’t on the team sheet for the race, but was still part of the squad.
Just like Daisy. Once a Hopeful, always a Hopeful, Fergus thought.
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