“You look well,” said Mum. “You haven’t changed a bit.” It was true that Tiny Jack seemed not to have grown an inch. He still had a mop of thick curly red hair, even though he must be one hundred twenty years old by now. “What’s your secret?”
“Tiny Jack is fabulously wealthy,” said Nanny. “Money can buy you anything, even youth.”
When Jem looked closer though, he could see that Tiny Jack had changed really. His eyes were dull and mean and weary. His fingernails were bitten to the quick. His hands were old.
“You all forgot about me. And all I wanted was to play a few games.”
“He just wants to play.” Nanny sighed. “He really does love to play.”
“Dear Red . . .” said Mum.
“It’s Tiny Jack,” said Tiny Jack. “Not Red.”
“We didn’t just leave you behind,” said Lucy. “We would have liked to take you with us. But we thought if we did, that would change the course of history. We were always trying not to change history. We even let poor Count Louis drive to his doom in the end.”
“History,” sneered Tiny Jack. “I OWN history.” He pointed to Stonehenge and to the Sphinx and all the other great treasures he had stolen.
“We could play a game now,” said Dad. “We’ve got Travel Scrabble in the car.”
“Too late!” roared Tiny Jack. “Soon I will play a different kind of game. A game called Destruction. Cities will be my pieces. Death will be my dice.”
“What about hide-and-seek?” said Mum.
“Take them away!” roared Tiny Jack. “Take them for one last ride in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. One last ride in my car.”
When Nanny cranked the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat, a great hope arose in Jem’s heart. Even as the Tootings got in behind her, he thought that Chitty wouldn’t start: not for her; only for them.
Chitty started the first time. Nanny drove her straight to the edge of the cliff and over it.
Of course! It was a trap! Chitty would surely crash into the sea and rid the world once and for all of that terrible supervillain and his nanny.
But Chitty floated lazily over the sea on her gorgeous wings.
Soon they were all lost in their individual memories of their Chitty adventures. Lucy thought about her last sight of the Count; Jem of the City of Gold; Mum and Dad of the breathless nights of partying in Manhattan. Dinosaurs, thought Little Harry. They were all so lost in their daydreams, they were all surprised to find that Nanny had parked on a busy London street.
“Everyone out,” she said.
Obediently they stepped out onto the pavement while she settled once more into the driver’s seat.
“You’ll never get away with this,” said Dad.
“Chitty won’t let you,” said Mum. “She likes us. She’ll never let you take her away.”
“I’m the only one who understands her,” said Jem. “We’re not going to let you keep her. We’ll get her back somehow.”
“Somehow I don’t think so,” said Nanny. “I’ve come up with a simple but brilliant way to stop you from stealing her back.” She slipped the hand brake and readied the clutch.
“Oh, really?” sneered Jem defiantly.
“Oh, really, really, really, really, really.” Nanny smiled before adding, “Really.”
She drove off. A few minutes later, they saw a small shape with powerful headlamps soaring high over the rooftops.
It was only when she had gone that they realized that the people around them looked different from the normal London crowd. They were mostly men, and nearly all of them were wearing hats. Mostly woollen hats with matching scarfs. Some of them were wearing rosettes and carrying wooden rattles.
“Football!” shouted Little Harry.
“He’s right,” said Jem. “She’s put us down outside a football match.”
“Oh!” said Dad, looking up at the white domed building across the road. “That’s the old Wembley Stadium. She might have left us a bit nearer to home.”
“You mean,” said Lucy, “the old Wembley Stadium with its iconic two towers built in 1923 and described by Pelé as the Cathedral of Football . . .”
“That’s right,” said Dad, “dear old Wembley.”
“The Wembley Stadium that was demolished in 2003?”
“Ah,” said Dad.
“Oh,” said Jem. “Nanny hasn’t just left us in London. She’s left us in the past.”
“But how long ago in the past?”
Dad stopped a passing family — a mum, a dad, and two children — and asked them who was playing.
“Who’s playing?” said the father, a distinguished-looking man in a Navy uniform.
“Who’s playing?” The little boy laughed.
“Why, England, of course!” said the girl.
“England and Germany,” said the mother.
Jem was staring at this family. He seemed to have seen them somewhere before.
“It’s the World Cup Final,” said the man in the Navy uniform. “And after that, fish and chips. Good afternoon.” He marched briskly toward the turnstiles, taking his family with him.
“England in the World Cup Final!” said Dad.
“How unbelievably exciting,” said Mum, squeezing his hand.
“The Potts!” said Jem. “That’s who they were. The man in the Navy uniform was Commander Pott, and the children were Jeremy and Jemima. We searched the Amazon for them, and now we’ve found them in north London.”
“How lovely!” said Mum. “We’ll have so much to talk to them about.”
“Doesn’t anyone understand what’s happening here?” spluttered Lucy. “When was the last time England was in a World Cup Final?”
“1966, of course,” said Dad. “Everyone knows that.”
“So where are we now?”
“We are in 19 . . . Oh,” said Dad.
“Exactly. Nanny and Tiny Jack are worried that we’ll try to get Chitty back. So they’ve solved that problem by dumping us in the past.”
“Perfect,” said Jem.
“How is that perfect?” said Lucy, “We’re in London over thirty years before we were even born. With no way of getting back to our own time, and now an evil supervillain and his nanny have got the means to travel back and forth in time doing whatever evil things they please.”
“We’re in the same time and the same city as the Potts. If we join forces with them, we know we can defeat Tiny Jack once and for all. And maybe even get Chitty back for good.”
“You’re so right,” said Mum. “Quick, everyone! After them!”
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Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and the Race Against Time is approved by the Ian Fleming Estate.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Text by Frank Cottrell Boyce copyright © 2012 by the Ian Fleming Will Trust Illustrations by Joe Berger copyright © 2012 by the Ian Fleming Will Trust
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is a trademark of Danjaq, LLC, and United Artists Corporation and is used under license by the Ian Fleming Will Trust. All Rights Reserved. The right of Frank Cottrell Boyce to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents act of 1988. The right of Joe Berger to be identified as the illustrator of this work has been asserted in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents act of 1988.
No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First U.S. electronic edition 2013
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2012952070
ISBN 978-0-7636-5982-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7636-6378-0 (electronic)
The illustrations were created digital
ly.
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Copyright
The Race Against Time Page 14