Spynosaur

by Guy Bass

  “Da-ad,” began Amber. “Would you please stop with the p— AAAH!”

  The cliff edge came without warning. Spynosaur and Amber found themselves falling through the air. As they spun and spiralled, Amber saw the ground far below. Craggy rock jutted from beneath a covering of snow.

  “We’re going to SPLAAAAAAT!” she howled.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you – and dinosaurs always land on their feet!” said Spynosaur, his eyes flashing with a confident glint.

  “That’s cats!” shrieked Amber as the ground rushed towards them.

  “Is it?” said Spynosaur. “Oh, dear.”

  “Owww,” groaned Amber, dragging herself out of the snow. As she got to her feet, still clinging on to the attaché case, she was surprised to find herself in one piece. “Dad…”

  “Don’t panic – it takes more than a fall from a great height on to ragged rocks to stop your old dad.”

  Amber spun round to see Spynosaur leaning against a tree. She looked up to see the top of the cliff, obscured by cloud.

  “We fell forever!” Amber cried. “How are we not completely dead?”

  “It’s really very simple,” replied her dad. “As we plummeted to certain death, I— Oh, deer!”

  “What is it?” asked Amber.

  “No, not dear … deer,” replied Spynosaur.

  In a clearing in the woods stood a red deer with great, branching antlers. Its ears pricked at the sound of the explosion, hot breath puffing out of its nose.

  “HUNGRY…” snarled Spynosaur, his yellow eyes narrowing.

  “Dad…?” said Amber, but it was too late. Her dad already had that look and Amber knew it well. His long, reptilian tongue licked around his mouth. He let out a low, ravenous rumble and gnashed his teeth.

  “Oh, no,” Amber sighed. “Dad, stop! Don’t give in to your dino-side!”

  But Spynosaur wasn’t listening. He hunched his back, ready to pounce.

  “Dad!” Amber said again. “Please don’t make me do it, please don’t make me do it, please don’t make me do it…”

  roared Spynosaur, leaping into the air faster than a cobra. He raced towards the startled deer, which immediately broke into a panicked sprint. Spynosaur gnashed his jaws, gaining fast. Amber howled with frustration.

  “Fine!” she cried. Then she took a deep breath … and sang.

  Spynosaur’s jaws suddenly snapped shut inches from the deer’s neck. He skidded to a halt and turned to see a red-faced Amber, forming the shape of a teapot with her arms as she gently sang.

  “RRRR…?” Spynosaur grunted, shaking his head.

  “RRRAA—Amber! I … I appear to be back,” said Spynosaur, watching the panicked deer disappear into the trees. He ruffled his daughter’s hair with a claw. “What would I do without my poppet? Only you seem to be able to purge me of my prehistoric rage…”

  “Are you sure that stupid song is the only thing that works?” grumbled Amber, red-cheeked with humiliation.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Spynosaur. “It appears this new body is more than just a vessel for my astonishing brainwaves. I’ve ended up with what you so charmingly call my ‘dino-side’ … the insatiable appetite of a hundred-million-year-old carnivore. For some reason, your timely tune is the only thing that brings me back to my senses.”

  “Well, don’t let it happen again, ’cos I’m not ever doing that when there’s other people around. It’s the most embarrassing thing ever … ever!” snarled Amber, still blushing. “I don’t care if you eat all the fluffy animals in the world! I don’t care if you eat the whole of Department 6 and Grandma on top! I don’t care if you eat—”

  “Hold that thought,” said Spynosaur, checking his Super Secret Spy Watch™. “M11! Keeping busy?”

  “Actually, I was taking bets with Newfangle about how much destruction you’d caused since this morning,” M11 huffed.

  “Things have rather gone off with a bang,” Spynosaur confessed.

  “Spynosaur, you maddening maverick!” tutted M11. “Must chaos and destruction follow you on every mission?”

  “Not every mission…” said Spynosaur, sheepishly kicking the snow with a clawed foot.

  “Oh really?” snapped M11. “What about:

  “They were one-offs … all three of them,” Spynosaur noted, giving Amber a wink.

  “But we found the McGuffin!” cried Amber, waving the case.

  “Actually,” began Spynosaur. “I said it might be the—”

  “You have the McGuffin? Well, that changes everything! Excellent work, agents – return to headquarters immediately,” said M11.

  “Keep your moustache on, M11,” said Spynosaur. “Danger Monkey is still missing and I’m not about to leave an agent out in the cold…”

  “Blast it to smithereens, this is not open for debate – our priority is keeping the McGuffin out of the hands of P.O.I.S.O.N.,” M11 snapped. “You may have no respect for rules, Spynosaur, but I wrote the book on them … or at least I edited the most recent edition. Now get your tail back to headquarters – that’s an order!”

  The Dino-soarer docked silently on the roof of London’s Natural History Museum and dropped the scaly super-spy and his sidekick down the museum’s chimney. With a FWOOOOMP they were swallowed into metallic tubes, which transported the pair at dizzying speed to the Department’s underground headquarters.

  “Spynosaur!” squealed a voice as the tubes deposited Spynosaur and Amber (still clutching the attaché case) in a wide, starkly lit room filled with banks of computers, doodads, thingamabobs and whatchamacallits. A distractingly tall man in a long white coat made a beeline for Spynosaur. He had wild hair that seemed to be trying to escape from his head, and glasses so thick that his eyes looked ready to explode.

  “And how is my greatest spy-entific triumph doing today?” continued Dr Newfangle, shining a torch into Spynosaur’s large, lizard eyes. “Still functioning at maximum capacity?”

  “I’m fine, Doctor … if that’s what you’re asking,” replied Spynosaur, as Newfangle began measuring his tail.

  “And how are your motor functions? Balance? Claw-eye coordination?” Newfangle continued, poking and prodding Spynosaur with various spy-entific implements. “Any odd sensations? Any peculiar appetites?”

  Spynosaur shot Amber a look.

  “Do put him down, Newfangle,” huffed M11 as she strode into the room, her moustache twitching. She pointed to the case held in Amber’s hand. “The only important thing is to get that under lock and key … and ensure that no one ever gets their hands on it.”

  “Out of the question,” said Spynosaur. “We need to crack open the case and find out what’s inside.”

  “Open it? Are you mad?” howled M11. “The McGuffin is a super-secret weapon! It could blow us to smithereens!”

  “Or shrink us to the size of insects!” added Newfangle.

  “Or release a fog that brain-melts us into blank-eyed, slobbbery, face-chewing zombies!” cried Amber.

  “No more late night TV for you, poppet,” said her dad. “Look, Ego wanted us to find the McGuffin. He’s playing a game with us … and I don’t like games. Except KerPlunk.”

  “Uh, Dad? Something’s … happening,” said Amber.

  Everyone turned to see the case rattle and shake in her hands.

  “It’s going to blow!” shrieked M11. “Smithereens for everyone!”

  “I don’t think so…” said Spynosaur, taking the rattling case from his daughter.

  “Spynosaur!” yelled M11. “What are you going to—? Don’t you dare!”

  “‘Dare’ is my middle name … I changed it from ‘Simon’,” said Spynosaur – and sank his teeth into the lock with a

  A moment after Spynosaur tore the lock off the attaché case with his teeth, the case sprang open – and out leaped a screaming monkey dressed in a black spy-suit.

  “Danger Monkey?” blurted Spynosaur as the monkey latched on to Spynosaur’s face and began pummelling it with tiny fists.


  PAP-AP-AP-AP!

  “Lock me up, willya?” screamed the monkey madly. “I’ll knock yer teeth into next-door’s garden! I’ll slap yer socks inside out! I’ll judo-toss yer legs over yer neck!”

  With a shake of his great head, Spynosaur flung Danger Monkey across the room. The monkey bounced along the ground before leaping to his feet again.

  “I’ll play xylophone on yer funny bone! I’ll chew on yer fatty bits! I’ll stub yer toe!” Danger Monkey howled. Then he reached his hand behind his back.

  “I’ll— I’ll— WAOOAH!”

  “Umm,” began Amber. “Is he about to do what I think he’s about to—”

  “He’s got a whole handful!” shrieked Newfangle. “And he’s not afraid to use it!”

  “Duck and cover!” M11 barked.

  “Danger Monkey, stop!” Spynosaur cried. “You may have had your brainwaves transferred into the body of a spider monkey following an unfortunate incident with a punctured parachute and a pool of piranhas, but that doesn’t mean you should give in to animal instincts!”

  Amber was panicking that her dad would ask her to sing that song to calm the monkey down, when:

  “S-Spyno? Spyno, me ol’ china!” Danger Monkey suddenly cried, pausing mid-toss. “Sorry ’bout losin’ me cool back there – I thought you was Ergo Ego. That pain in the tail locked me up in there…”

  “Why would Ego lock you in a case?” asked Amber.

  The monkey squared up to her. “You callin’ me a liar? Tryin’ to make a monkey outta me?” he growled, brandishing his handful of excrement. “I’ll dip me tail in chilli sauce and stick it in yer ear!”

  “Enough! Report, Danger Monkey!” barked M11. “What happened to you?”

  “Ego rumbled me, Boss … he caught me midspy,” explained Danger Monkey, clearly irked. “He tempted me inside that case with a nice, juicy banana. Stinkin’ fruit must’ve been drugged, ’cos next thing I know, I’m waking up in the dark. Curse me uncontrollable cravin’ for bananas!” He glared at Newfangle. “I s’pose that’s what comes with ’avin’ yer brainwaves put into a monkey instead of a dinosaur…”

  “For the last time, Danger Monkey, I had no choice!” insisted Newfangle. “It’s not easy growing a dinosaur, even with the almost limitless power of the Science Ray … not to mention trying to retro-engineer Ergo Ego’s brain-box technology. But rest assured, just because you are not a dinosaur does not make you any less extraordinary. Allow me to explain, in the best way I know…”

  “Not this again, Newfangle!” growled M11. “We don’t have time for your—”

  Newfangle pressed a button on the wall and it slid aside to reveal a brightly lit stage, complete with a microphone stand and backing dancers in white coats. Newfangle hopped on to the stage, and so began:

  “Blast it to smithereens! Have you quite finished, Doctor?” snapped M11.

  “So you see, Danger Monkey? Spy-ence made you super-special!” added Newfangle, dropping the mic and hopping down from the stage.

  “Special? What are you talkin’ about? That was just about how awesome dinosaurs are! Monkeys don’t even get a mention!” screeched Danger Monkey, holding his fistful of foulness aloft. “I’ve got a good mind to fling this right in your—”

  “Um, I don’t mean to interrupt,” Amber interrupted. “But is your poo … flashing?”

  Everyone’s eyes darted to Danger Monkey’s hand. Sure enough, the handful of excrement was blinking with a faint red light.

  “Well spotted, poppet,” said Spynosaur. He cautiously reached a claw into the poo and pulled out a small piece of plastic, illuminated at one end by a flashing light.

  “Who put that in there?” growled Danger Monkey. “Nobody messes with my mess!”

  “It’s a data drive … hidden inside that drugged banana you ate, no doubt,” said Spynosaur, carrying it at arm’s length over to a bank of computers. He plugged it in. An image appeared simultaneously on every screen in the room.

  “Ergo Ego!” cried Amber. The egg-shaped head of their arch-enemy loomed large on the screens.

  “Is this recording?” Ego began. “I can never work these things… Do I have to press something? You would think an evil genius could fathom how to—Wait, wait, I’ve got it. OK…” Ergo Ego sat back in his chair and cleared his throat. “Greetings, dummies of Department 6! So, I bet you totally thought the McGuffin was in that attaché case, didn’t you?

  I bet you were all, ‘Hey, we totally found the super-secret weapon! I can’t believe Ego just left it here – what a stupid head!’ But no! It is your heads that are stupid!”

  “What you sayin’ about my ’ead?” growled Danger Monkey. “I’ll boil-wash your underpants and give you a wedgie! I’ll break out me watercolours an’ paint an unflatterin’ portrait of ya!”

  “Quiet!” insisted M11. “Ego may be about to needlessly explain his next move!”

  “But … since you are so keen to find the real super-secret weapon, I have arranged a demonstration of its power,” Ego continued. “Tonight the world will witness my McGuffin in all its glory! And you won’t even know until it’s too late, you stupid heads!”

  The screen went black.

  “What are we going to do?” said Amber. “He could be anywhere in the world! How do we know where he’s going to—”

  “Venice, Italy,” said Spynosaur. “That’s where Ego plans to unleash his weapon.”

  “How’d you work that out?” said Danger Monkey, scratching his head, among other things.

  “It’s very simple … from the tone of his voice, Ego’s mouth was numb from cold – a clear sign that he’s been eating ice cream,” explained Spynosaur. “Ice cream goes well with cheesecake. Cheesecake contains no cheese. ‘No cheese’ sounds like ‘Noches’, which is ‘night’ in Spanish. In Spain, the rain falls mainly on the plain. ‘Plain’ crisps are merely salted. Salt is accompanied by its less popular counterpart, pepper. ‘Pepper’ makes you sneeze. The longest sneezing spree lasted nine hundred and seventy-eight days. And nine hundred and seventy-eight is the favourite number of the King of Italy … who is hosting a masquerade ball at his grand palace tonight. A perfectly public place for Ego to unleash his McGuffin.”

  “Wait… What?” said Amber.

  “You’re right, poppet, it’s almost too obvious – I barely had to use my spy skills at all,” added Spynosaur. “It’s as if Ego wanted us to know his plans … but why?”

  “There’s no time to question the whys and wherefores,” interrupted M11. “Ergo Ego’s going to unleash his McGuffin, Spynosaur. What are you going to do about it?”

  Spynosaur raised a scaly eyebrow. “Save the day, of course,” he said. “Now somebody get me a cocktail dress…”

  The grand palace’s ballroom was vast, with marble floors and chandelier-covered ceilings as far as the eye could see. It teemed with guests dressed in finery and ornate masks, all boasting about how rich and shiny-haired they were. At the far end of the ballroom stood the King of Italy, dressed in a gold tuxedo and an elaborate crown, which doubled his height. The king regaled his guests with tales of his eminence and sipped pink champagne through a solid gold straw. Standing in the doorway at the other end of the ballroom, Amber adjusted the black mask that covered her eyes.

  “So, what’s the plan?” she whispered.

  “The plan is to stick to the plan,” said M11’s voice in Amber’s earpiece. “Danger Monkey is covering the building from the outside. You two split up and look for the McGuffin. And for goodness’ sake, remember you’re spies – you don’t have to blow everything up. Try to keep a low profile.”

  Amber looked up at her dad. He was wearing a long black dress squeezed over his huge, scaly frame, a blonde wig on his head, long white gloves and high-heeled shoes over his great clawed feet. He took a glossy red lipstick out of his handbag and painted it round his mouth.

  “Low profile,” repeated Amber. “Right.”

  “Let’s save the day, shall we?” said Spynosaur, rai
sing a feathered mask to his face.

  “Bet I can find the McGuffin before you!” declared Amber. She hurried inside and up a grand sweeping stairwell, keen to get a bird’s-eye view of the ballroom.

  “That’s my girl,” said Spynosaur proudly. Then he straightened his wig and slipped into the crowd of masked revellers, his long dress and even longer tail swishing behind him.

  “I spy with my little eye…” he said. “Something beginning with—”

  “You!”

  “No, not U…” muttered Spynosaur, spinning round.

  The crowds duly parted as the portly shape of the King of Italy waddled towards him. He halted in Spynosaur’s shadow and peered up at him, his eyes wide.

  “It cannot be… You’re … you’re…” he uttered. “You’re the most enchanting creature I have ever seen, Madame!”

  “I am?” Spynosaur replied, pressing the mask to his face. In a high-pitched voice he replied, “Uh, I mean, most kind, Your Majesty.”

  “I don’t believe we have been introduced,” the king continued, holding out his hand. “I am the King of Italy. And you are…?”

  “Yes, I am,” Spynosaur replied coyly, holding out a huge gloved hand.

  The king kissed it excitedly. “Such a beguiling enchantress!” he said. Then he grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and drank it in one gulp. “May I have this dance?” he asked.

  “Dance?” Spynosaur replied, fanning himself with his mask. “Oh, I’m afraid I don’t—”

  “Then I shall teach you, Madame!” interrupted the king. “I shall teach you!”