by Lou Kuenzler
“Help!” I squeaked.
But now, instead of Rory’s snapping teeth, his broad golden back was beneath me. He wasn’t going to eat me. He’d just thrown me in the air like a toy.
I landed on his back. It was surprisingly soft – like flopping on to a warm, squashy bed – except that Rory was moving beneath me as he leapt forward to follow the man with the beard.
“Slow down, Rory,” called the man as we drew level with him. “Wait for me.”
But the lion thundered past, bounding up the hill at . I grabbed hold of a handful of mane and clung on tight.
Riding a lion is one of the most exciting things I have ever done.
As Rory galloped, I could feel the muscles on his neck rippling beneath me. Looking down, I could see the grass under his huge soft feet.
I love shrinking! I thought to myself. One minute you think you’re going to be eaten alive … but the next you’re enjoying the ride of your life.
“Giddy-up!” I cried.
Rory swerved sideways and leapt upwards through a thicket of trees, out on to the top of the hill.
Suddenly, it didn’t look like we were in England any more.
There was a huge circle of clear ground spread out up here. Everything was dry and yellow – like the sandpit at King’s Park.
About ten or fifteen people were scurrying around, busy with jobs. A man with a spade was widening the circle, over tufts of green at the edge of the ring. Another was burning the leaves off a small bush with a fiery gun.
What was this place? It looked like … like Africa! What was going on?
As soon as they saw Rory, everyone looked up. But they didn’t seem surprised to see a lion – after one quick glance, they were back to work.
I spotted Stella Lightfoot standing beside the cameraman I’d seen by the limousine earlier.
She took a step forward with her hands in the air.
“Mr Arkmann,” she bellowed. “Mr Arkmann, where are you?”
Rory had slowed to a trot now and the man with the bushy yellow beard came running up the hill behind us.
“Sorry, Miss Lightfoot,” he panted, wiping his brow. He grabbed Rory by the mane as I ducked under a tuft of fur.
“This naughty lion’s been giving me the run-around,” he puffed.
“Let’s just get started,” ordered Stella. “I’d like to be finished in time for a late lunch. I want to make something nice. Maybe an omelette…”
An omelette? Why was Stella Lightfoot thinking about cooking when there was a lion breathing down her neck (even if he didn’t seem to be a very dangerous one)?
Rory was right beside her now. We were so close, I could have jumped off his neck and into the pocket of Stella’s purple-and-black jumpsuit if I’d wanted to.
“Get on with it, everybody,” she said, clapping her hands. “You’ve all got plenty of work to do.”
The more I saw of Stella Lightfoot, the less I liked her. In real life, she was nothing like she seemed on TV. She was so and , always shouting at everyone.
From my spot on Rory’s back, I could see Pete the driver, dozing in the shade of a tree.
I remembered how Stella had shouted at him when he picked her up from the
this morning. That was when things first seemed strange. Why hadn’t she been camping like she said she would? She’d stayed at the smart hotel with its gold doors and fancy French chef. Nothing made any sense.
Most of all, I had no idea what we were doing on top of a hill in the middle of England, with a circle of sand, a big tame lion and a man burning the leaves off a bush. It was obvious Stella Lightfoot was making a film here. But why?
The next twenty minutes were a of action. The man with the spade piled up heaps of sand that looked like giant anthills. The flame-gun guy burnt the leaves off yet another bush. The cameraman kept squinting at the sun and moving his camera from one position to another. Even Pete the driver was set to work, rolling a big rock to the edge of the sand.
“You have to wait here until I am finished, anyway,” said Stella. “You might as well make yourself useful.”
At least that meant Pete wasn’t about to drive away without me.
As Stella bellowed orders at everyone, they ran in all directions across the sand. The only person who seemed calm was Mr Arkmann. He sat at the edge of the circle stroking Rory’s ears. The huge lion lay with his head in his owner’s lap, as if he were a pet dog like Chip rather than a wild African beast or the King of the Jungle.
Still, I remembered the view I’d had of his teeth.
I kept well away from Rory’s dangerous jaws, tucked round the back of his neck, where Mr Arkmann couldn’t see me. I could have easily have jumped down and scampered off. But this was the perfect place to watch everything and find out what was going on. And while I was on Rory’s back, he definitely couldn’t eat me.
I peered out from under his So long as I stayed tiny, no one would ever guess I was here. I tried not to think about what would happen if I suddenly grew back to . How would I explain to Stella Lightfoot where I had come from? Or to Pete? As far as he knew, he had dropped me by the library in town.
Oh dear. I thought about Gran again. At least my text had told her I was safe. She’d love to hear how I’d ridden a lion. I just needed to get home in one piece so that I could tell her about it.
“Ready now, Mr Arkmann,” called a man with a clipboard. I think he must have been the director. “We’re about to start filming.”
Mr Arkmann stood up and clicked his fingers.
In an instant, Rory was on his feet. His whole body . The hair bristled on the back of his neck. The tame pet was gone. This was a
He opened his mouth and bellowed. The people on the sand scuttled out of the way.
Only Stella Lightfoot was left now. I was sure I had seen her over by the trees a moment earlier but now she was standing all alone in the middle of the ring. She stood with her back towards us, wearing her purple-and-black jumpsuit. Her blonde ponytail was blowing in the breeze.
Rory thundered forward.
“Stop!” I cried helplessly as he leapt into the air. Had he gone mad? He had suddenly turned savage.
Rory’s paws thumped against Stella Lightfoot’s back, knocking her to the ground.
“Stop it!” I screamed, tugging on his hair as he pounced on top of her.
He was going to kill her. Why was nobody helping?
For a moment I couldn’t see anything. Just a as the lion fought with the body beneath him.
“That’ll do,” said a voice beside me.
Then, just as quickly as it had started, I felt Rory relax.
I looked up to see Stella Lightfoot standing at Rory’s shoulder.
But how was that possible?
I looked down. If Stella was standing beside us, then who was the body lying motionless on the ground?
Stella Lightfoot looked down at the ripped shape, lying still on the sand.
I hid under Rory’s mane, my heart like a drum.
Stella nudged the body with her toe.
“Get up, Anne,” she barked. “We haven’t got all day.”
“Sorry,” mumbled the body, and she sat up.
She didn’t seem hurt. Perhaps Rory had been playing after all. But who was this person? I’d thought she was Stella Lightfoot when I had seen her standing alone in the middle of the ring – but her name seemed to be Anne. She staggered to her feet and brushed herself down.
As she turned, I saw her face for the first time.
“Huh?” I gasped. “What…?”
Anne’s face was the same as Stella’s. Exactly the same. The same green eyes. The same smooth blonde fringe. The same small turned-up nose. How could that be?
Unless… I thought of Cora and Dora, two old ladies who live at the same retirement centre as Gran. Mum can never tell them apart and I always have to whisper their names to help her out when she’s talking to them. It’s actually really easy to tell the difference between them. Cora has
freckles on her nose like me and Dora doesn’t. But nobody ever seems to notice that.
I glanced from Stella to Anne. They were almost identical – except Anne had a tiny scar above her lip.
“Was that all right, Stell?” she asked nervously. She picked a out of her hair. I suddenly remembered where I had seen that long, swishy ponytail – exactly like Stella’s – before.
The woman in the cap outside Pages Bookshop… She’d handed Stella the big felt-tip pen to sign my mermaid tail. I remembered how I’d noticed her dark glasses. It seemed Anne didn’t want the public to know she was Stella’s twin.
“We’ve got some great footage,” said the director with the clipboard. “You did brilliantly, Anne.”
“Yeah, but we’ve still got a tiger to film, or something,” huffed Stella, raising her eyebrows in exactly the same way Tiff does when Mum’s praising me.
“Not a tiger,” sighed Anne. And I knew that sound. It’s the same sigh I use when Tiff gets confused between a bulldog and a basset hound. Or thinks kick boxing and kung fu are the same thing. “We’re supposed to be on safari. Tigers don’t live in Africa. They live in India, silly.”
“Whatever!” said Stella, exactly like Tiff would say it.
These two definitely must be sisters, I thought.
“Good boy, Rory,” said Anne, the lion’s nose. “You were wonderful. Anyone would believe you really were going to eat me alive.”
I crouched under Rory’s mane as Anne rubbed his ears – her hands were just a few centimetres away from me. Rory made a soft noise and stretched his neck.
Anne turned and smiled at Mr Arkmann. “Thank you for letting us film him, Mr A. How’s your wife? And the baby?”
“Tip-top, thank you,” grinned Mr Arkmann, a red blush creeping up from under his beard. “Mrs A made a pot of jam for you actually. Fresh rhubarb, from the garden. She made one for Stella too.”
“Really?” grinned Stella. It was only about the second time since I had seen her in real life that she’d smiled properly – like she usually does on telly. It was strange. Why should a pot of jam make her look so happy?
“I would love to try and make some for myself,” she said, still smiling. “The gooseberry jelly you brought me last time was amazing.”
“Careful,” laughed Anne. “Stella will be after the recipe next.”
Perhaps Gran was right – like she had said when we found all the kitchen things in the make-up bag. Stella must be a really keen
Anne tickled Rory under the chin. But Stella glanced at her watch.
“Look at the time,” she thundered, all the joy gone from her face again. “Get that lion out of here. Will someone fetch whatever stupid creature we’re supposed to see next?”
Stupid creature? The Stella Lightfoot I’d seen on television was animal-crazy!
The director looked at his clipboard.
“We need the giraffe,” he called.
Giraffe? It was like a zoo round here. I stood up on tiptoes, trying to see. But Anne flung her arms around Rory’s neck.
“Goodbye,” she said.
As she hugged the lion, her elbow knocked me off his mane and sent me
I landed on the soft sand and rolled over in a ball as Mr Arkmann led Rory away.
Right beside me, I spotted a single green leaf. It must have fallen off the bush before the flame-gun guy had a chance to burn it. I underneath it, as secret as a beetle in a garden.
Peeping out, I could see the burnt bush beside me. With its blackened charcoal twigs, it looked like a thorn tree – the sort of thing you’d find growing on the African plains.
If I didn’t know better, I would actually have believed I was in the middle of an African game reserve. Although really, it was nothing but sand and tame lions.
I peeped out from the other side of the leaf, just in time to see a tall giraffe step daintily into the African scene.
“Good girl, Twiggy,” said Mr Arkmann.
“Wow!” I gasped, craning my neck to look upwards. Twiggy was beautiful – the giraffe I’d ever seen (maybe it was just because I was so tiny, but she towered above me like an elegant, dainty dinosaur).
As she came closer, I couldn’t see the top of her head any more. Just her tummy … then her legs … her knees … her ankles … her hooves … and…
“Yikes!”
Something long and black and slimy shot out towards me.
“Help!” Twiggy’s thick, wet tongue wrapped itself around tummy as she slurped up the fresh green leaf that I was hiding under. She had found the only thing to eat in the entire ring of sand.
“Help! Put me down!” I squealed as the giraffe lifted her head.
In less than a second, she would eat the leaf and I would disappear with it down her throat.
I flung myself into the air as the giraffe flicked her slippery tongue round the side of her face. I read once that giraffes’ tongues are so long they can lick their own ears.
For a split second I saw the mile-high drop to the ground beneath me – as if I were leaping from a crane. My dress spread out like a parachute. Then I felt the tips of my fingers grab hold of a soft tuft of fur.
I swung my legs up and clutched one of the stubby horns right on the top of her head – hugging it tight.
Below me, Twiggy opened her mouth and swallowed the leaf.
“Phew!” I could feel the panic in my chest like a butterfly in a jar.
“That was a close one,” I shuddered. “Too close!”
As my breathing steadied, I looked around me.
“Wow!” The view from up here was incredible. It was as if Twiggy was a giant flagpole right on top of the hill and I was standing on the very tip.
It seemed funny to see the green English countryside stretching away beyond the dry sand circle.
If I looked up, I felt as if I could almost touch the
I could hear Stella Lightfoot shouting on the sand behind us.
“Get that wretched giraffe out of the way, Mr Arkmann. I need to do my introduction first,” she roared.
Mr Arkmann led Twiggy towards the same thicket of trees I had charged through when I was riding Rory.
I clung tight to her horn.
“Welcome to,” I heard Stella say to the camera. Her voice sounded light and breezy now. “Here I am in search of the world’s tallest animal…”
“You stay here and nibble some leaves, Twiggy,” whispered Mr Arkmann, patting her neck. “I’m just going to make sure Rory gets a drink of water.”
Twiggy stretched her head up through the branches. As I watched Mr Arkmann hurry away, I had a brainwave.
I could slide all the way down Twiggy’s neck…
I was so small, I wouldn’t hurt her – but her hair would be like a slippery shoot … like the longest, fastest, coolest slide imaginable. Something only someone as tiny as me could ever ride on.
Once I was at the bottom of her neck, I could scramble across her back and shimmy down her leg somehow. Then I could hide in amongst the trees while I decided what to do next. No one would discover me there. I had been shrunk for ages – surely it wouldn’t be long before I grew back to full size.
“Here goes,” I whispered, staring down the long speckled slope beneath me. “This is SO cool!”
I edged forward and hitched up my dress.
This would be SO much easier if I were wearing shorts, I thought.
I sat myself down just to the left of Twiggy’s stubby mane. That way I’d have a smooth path down her neck – but I could still grab a clump of hair if I felt as if I was going to fall.
I slithered forward and lifted my feet so they wouldn’t drag and slow me down.
“Geronimo!” I cried.
Away I slid – facing forward, as if I was on a slide.
My dress was flapping around my face. It was awesome with the wind whistling past my ears – like the tallest, craziest, living, breathing helter-skelter in the world.
My ears popped. My stomach lurched. It felt as
if there was popcorn inside me as I down and…
“Oh no!” I knew that feeling.
I just had time to flip over as I shot off the end of Twiggy’s neck and landed FULL SIZE on her back.
At least I was facing the right way.
Twiggy and charged out of the trees.
Now I was full size she knew she had a rider. She twisted her hind legs like a corkscrew, kicking them in the air and bucking like a wild horse.
“Steady,” I breathed, clinging on to her neck and trying to pat her at the same time.
Everyone could see us now.
Mr Arkmann sprinted across the sand.
“Whoa,” he coaxed.
“Careful,” gasped Anne, leaping forward.
“Stop!” screamed Stella Lightfoot, from in front of the camera. “Get off that giraffe. Right now!”
Getting down from a giraffe is not easy – even when you’re FULL SIZE.
Mr Arkmann held Twiggy’s head while the director and the flame-guy fetched a ladder and held it against her side.
My legs were as I climbed to the ground.
“Who are you?” frowned the director.
“What are you doing here?” growled a man with a spade.
Only the cameraman was smiling.
“That was I managed to film you riding,” he said.
“What I don’t understand is how you got up there in the first place, young lady,” said Mr Arkmann, scratching his beard.
“I-I was in the trees over there,” I said, pointing to the little wood. “I sort of … fell on to her back from above.”
That was true – in a way.
“Hold on. I know you,” said Pete the driver, pointing at me. “You’re the kid who was in my limousine this morning.” He turned towards the director. “She disappeared all of a sudden. Her gran said she’d gone to the library but she must have hidden in the car.”
“A ,” said Stella Lightfoot.
“Gran!” I gasped at the same time. It was ages since I’d sent my text. I needed to let her know I was safely back to full size. I turned to Stella, who was staring at me with her hands on her hips.
“I promise I am not a spy. I’m here by accident,” I said. “But please, can I borrow your phone? I need to let my family know I’m all right.”
“Fine,” sighed Stella. “Make a call. But you’d better have some answers when you’re done. This is a private film location. I want to know what you are doing here and… Wait a minute…” She stepped closer and peered into my face. “I know you as well.”