‘We won’t look like heroes in a tugboat,’ said Venk, image-conscious even in times of epic danger.
‘Do we even know where FRYKT is?’ asked Clover, once again hoping the answer might be ‘no, so let’s not worry about it’.
Hamish held up The Explorer. The hands were still stiffly pointing in the same direction. No matter which way he turned the watch, the hands stayed rigidly pointing one way, like a compass pointing north. Earlier, Hamish had thought these hands had been pointing at 13 Lovelock Close. But no. They’d been pointing at the coast.
‘I’m sure Mr Slackjaw won’t mind us borrowing his boat,’ said Hamish. ‘It’s a matter of life and death. I mean, Dad sent me a message, right? To say he really needs our help.’
The idea that his dad, so big and so brave, might need Hamish’s help filled him with pride. But also fear.
‘We should leave as soon as possible tomorrow,’ he continued, hiding this fear from the others. ‘We have to find out what’s going on. We don’t need to get too close, just take a look. But I’ll understand if you don’t all want to come. I mean, that place looked terrifying.’
The PDF took a collective deep breath and looked at each other and nodded.
‘All for one,’ said Elliot, and Venk agreed.
‘Plus,’ said Buster, ‘I’ve got a little something up my sleeve. A new design I’ve been dying to try out.’
‘Well, you’re not going without me,’ said Clover. ‘After all, I’ve already got a half-spy, half-pirate costume. It would be nice if it actually came in handy for once.’
The gang high-fived.
‘Good,’ said Alice. ‘Now let’s all go home and try to get some rest.’
Hamish traipsed upstairs.
He knew he had to act. The message had made it clear that FRYKT was important and going to see it for themselves was the only way to work out what the Superiors’ plan was and hopefully stop it. Everything would be so much easier if his dad was back. Still. His dad had given him a clue. And that clue was like a mission. It had to be the right thing to do.
He still felt silly he’d nearly given up. His dad wouldn’t have and his message showed that he needed the PDF’s help!
As he brushed his teeth, Hamish wished he could tell his dad what he’d been up to. How they’d taken on the spytraps and won. How they’d rid the town of every single one of them. He knew his dad would be proud of him and that made Hamish feel better. It gave him confidence in what lay ahead. Sure, it would be dangerous, but it was just a reconnaissance mission. They were only going to have a look.
He finished brushing his teeth, wiped his mouth, and walked towards his bedroom door with the football stickers and the big ‘H’ on it.
Hamish was so focused on thinking about tomorrow and what lay ahead that he had completely forgotten that behind that very thin, plywood door something unspeakable was lying in wait.
Guest Who?
Hamish walked into his bedroom, turned to close the door, then spun back to look at the room.
Something was definitely not right here.
What the . . . ?
His ‘I ♥ OCELOTS A LOT’ duvet was on the floor.
His bedside lamp was missing its shade.
His life-sized Captain Beetlebottom model had lost its head.
The light bulb dangling from the ceiling was swaying from side to side.
And there were feathers everywhere!
Hamish stooped to pick one up. He stared at it and, as he stood back up again, he noticed the remains of his ocelot pillow nearby. It must have exploded!
As he moved, his carpet squelched underfoot. Yeuch! What was that stuff? It was slippery and green and looked just like the slime he’d noticed coming from . . .
Uh-oh.
SSSCRAAAAAWWWWWLLLLL!
The curtains billowed out towards him and out from between them loomed the giant face of a Venus spytrap!
Hamish jumped and yelped. He’d forgotten all about the one in his bedroom!
The plant was still rooted to the little plastic Tupperware container he’d potted it in, but was wiry and quick and reaching for him.
SNAP-SNAP-SNAP! went its jaws, weaving and bobbing towards him, and Hamish put up his hands to defend himself. Hamish fell to the floor, crawling backwards to avoid the creature’s quick lunges. He felt behind him for a weapon, but all he could find was an old boxing glove Jimmy had left in there. He quickly shoved it on as the beast went SNAP-SNAP-SNAP! at him again.
Hamish managed to land one soft blow to the creature’s face – WHOFF! – and knocked over his bedside table with a CRASH as he tried and failed to scrabble to his feet. Wait – there were Chomps in there! His secret night-time stash!
But he couldn’t quite reach the drawer!
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK went the enormous plant, lunging for Hamish again, this time knocking books off his shelf and smashing his Xbox controller right against the wall.
‘Will you KEEP THE NOISE DOWN?’ yelled Jimmy, opening the door, and making a pompous face. ‘These walls are VERY THIN and I am TRYING to Skype with my GIRLFRIEND, Felicity Gobb!’
‘Jimmy!’ yelled Hamish, pointing at the spytrap.
‘It’s JAMES!’ screamed Jimmy, oblivious, and closing the door again so quickly that a hundred more feathers now danced around the room from the force.
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK! SNAP-SNAP-SNAP! Now the spytrap was really stretching and straining to get closer to Hamish.
The boy pushed himself as far back as he could, but he was almost up against the wall. One hand tried to swipe at the plant with his boxing glove, while the other felt desperately around on the floor beside him.
Where was the drawer? Where were the Chomps?!
The plant was right up to his face now, breathing and seething. There was nowhere left to run. Hamish squinted, back pressed flat against the wall, sweating and ready for whatever was about to happen. He could feel the hot, wet burn of breath from the creature’s nostrils flaring on his face. He could smell its acid breath and it stung his eyes.
The beast stared at Hamish, and moved its great head around his, wondering what to start with. A nibble on the ear? A snap at the nose?
Hamish could hear Jimmy in the room next door, dully mumbling some dreadful poetry to Felicity Gobb.
If this is my last moment on Earth, thought Hamish, I really don’t want it to be while listening to Jimmy’s soppy poetry.
And then the Venus spytrap seemed to make its decision.
It opened its mouth and stretched its jaws W I I I I I I D E open.
Hamish could hear its skin crackle and pop.
Tiny green blisters exploded, spraying a fine mist of plant juice all over Hamish’s hair.
And then, as his tummy sank and he closed his eyes, a thick red tongue flopped out and licked Hamish right up the face.
SCHLUUUUUUCK.
Hamish felt his nose being dragged upwards, then his eyebrows, then his forehead.
There was silence for a moment.
There was gunk everywhere.
The plant’s head shot back, and Hamish and the spytrap stared at each other.
And then the plant roared ‘EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!’, shrieked and retreated, shocked.
It shook its head, and spittered and sputtered to rid itself of the taste of yucky Hamish Ellerby.
‘UCCCCHHHUCCCCCHHHHHUCCCCCHHHHH!’ It wiped its mouth with its lank, viney arms. And then it stared at Hamish, looking almost hurt that he’d decided to taste so bad.
Hamish didn’t know what to do. So he just shrugged, apologetically.
In a way, he was a little offended that he seemed to taste so revolting. He’d had a shower only yesterday, and had even used some of Jimmy’s Tropical Pumpkin Man Mist on his underarms.
The plant was still making those strange noises and looking befuddled. It didn’t seem very dangerous now. Its eyes had softened, and it wasn’t standing as tall as it had before. It looked beaten and annoyed, like it had been banking on eating Ham
ish and now it was back to square one, in a right old huff.
Well, Hamish had been raised always to be polite and try to put people at ease. So he looked at the floor, spotted a Chomp and, moving very slowly, he offered it to the spytrap.
The plant backed away. It didn’t trust Hamish any more. Not since he’d dared taste so foul.
But Hamish persisted, unwrapping the Chomp and pretending to take a bite and saying, ‘Mmmm!’
Now the spytrap, which must have been starving, moved a little closer – but like a wild dog, suspicious of Hamish’s motives.
Then it sucked the Chomp from Hamish’s hand and chewed it slowly . . .
Then quicker, devouring it in just two bites!
Its great tongue hung from its mouth and its eyes widened, asking for more.
‘That’s all I have,’ said Hamish, feeling awkward again and like a very bad host. The plant growled a low, sad growl.
Mind you. Hamish did know where he could get some.
Sweetness and Fight
‘Are you KIDDING me?’ said Madame Cous Cous, standing at the door of International World of Treats very early the next morning. ‘We only just took care of these horrible things and now you want me to . . . take care of one?’
She looked disgusted.
‘What am I supposed to do with it?’
‘This one isn’t like the others and he could be important,’ said Hamish. ‘For research! We might learn something about the Superiors! Alice always says things like: “Know your enemies!” and “Be prepared!”. I’ve named him Vinnie. I’m pretty sure he’s vegetarian so he’s perfectly harmless. He just likes to lick people, like they’re lollies.’
SCHLUUUUUUK.
Unfortunately, Madame Cous Cous’s hair was not the type of hair that responded well to licking. The gunk on the spytrap’s tongue was like hair gel, and Madame Cous Cous now looked like one of those weird troll dolls that are supposed to be cute, but instead give you nightmares.
‘I am NOT A LOLLY!’ yelled the old lady.
Hamish had tried to keep Vinnie fed all night, but the plant hadn’t responded particularly well to any of the leftovers that Mum kept in the fridge. He hadn’t liked her Duck à la Chocolate Orange. Nor her Extra Fiery Chilli Jam Lamb. Hamish hadn’t wanted to tell his mum that he had a ravenous alien super-plant in his bedroom, so he just told her he was planning an enormous midnight feast and wasn’t to be disturbed. She was still so distracted by the obnoxious emails she was getting from awful Goonhilda Swag, and the ever-growing complaints from the rest of Starkley about the battle with the spytraps, that she hadn’t even noticed when Hamish got up early and wheeled the spytrap out of the house in his grandma’s old tartan shopping basket.
‘Vinnie likes Chomps,’ said Hamish, as Madame Cous Cous shook her head and tried to do something with her hair. ‘Maybe you’ll finally be able to get rid of those Goat Cheese Gobstøppers. Just make sure you keep him away from the Candgrenades. We don’t want to blow this one up!’
SCHLUUUUUK.
Now Hamish had troll hair too.
A piercing whistle made him spin around.
It was Alice. She was in full combat gear. Black shorts, black shirt and she’d dyed a bright yellow stripe through her hair. She looked like a walking hazard sign.
‘Let’s rock,’ she said.
Down at the coast, as the waves crashed onto the cliffs, Hamish and Alice skipped down the steps to a small area of beach.
The kids knew it was important to visit FRYKT. The island must have something to do with whatever the Superiors were trying to do with the Nuclear Ball. Hamish was sure his dad must still be at Port Fenland Nuclear Power Station, defending it, which was why he couldn’t get to FRYKT himself. Well, Hamish wouldn’t let him down!
But what would he find, he wondered? What was at the end of the rope that the Holonow had showed them?
Buster was loading the tugboat and mopping his brow. Mr Slackjaw had said Hamish could have the boat for the whole day, on account of ridding Starkley of those spytraps.
It was nice to be appreciated.
Hamish looked at the boat. It didn’t seem all that impressive. It had a white two-storey cabin with little steps and a small yellow winch. There were fat black tyres all around the outside to stop it from bumping into things too hard. And it had a level platform at the back, onto which Buster was now dragging the team’s mopeds. They hadn’t needed them in a while and it was nice to see them again. Still, Hamish thought, that was a weird thing to bring.
‘Um, Buster,’ said Venk, voicing Hamish’s thoughts, ‘I’m not sure we’ll be needing the mopeds at sea. On account of being . . . you know . . . at sea.’
‘ALWAYS BE PREPARED!’ cried Alice. ‘Plus, Buster’s made a few nautical adjustments.’
Buster looked proud but said nothing.
‘Are we ready?’ asked Clover, from the cabin. She had decided against the half-spy, half-pirate costume, because wearing dark glasses and an eyepatch made it very difficult to see, plus she’d never enjoyed hopping around on one leg. So she was dressed up in her best sea captain disguise. Her big fake beard was covered in cheese as she’d already eaten all her sandwiches for the day even though it was only about 7 a.m.
The rising sun cast an orange blush across the sea, as they all strapped on their life jackets. It looked peaceful out there. Sure, they’d have to be careful not to be spotted. And yes, they were going straight to an island which may or may not be owned by the most powerful beings in the universe. But as he looked around at his friends on the boat, a small part of Hamish felt like perhaps this adventure could be fun.
‘AAAAARRRRGGH!’ yelled Elliot, clinging to the roof of the cabin. ‘This is NOT FUN!’
About four miles outside Starkley, with the town not even a tiny dot on the horizon, the waves had begun to get really rather huge indeed.
The tugboat was made of very sturdy stuff, but the PDF? Not so much.
They seemed to have been sailing on these giant waves for ages. Well, not ‘sailing’ exactly. This was more like lurching.
‘I think I see FRYKT,’ said Venk, lying. ‘Right, can we go home now?’
Up, up, up the tugboat went, in what felt like slow motion.
Down, down, down it came again, its stern crashing into the next wave and splattering the front of the cabin window.
Clover had been sick a record four times so far. Maybe she shouldn’t have had her lunch so early. Hamish remained with Buster by the wheel of the boat, staring intently at his watch to make sure they weren’t being blown off course.
Up, up, up the boat went again, and then the heavens opened and the rain started. Real rain. Hard rain. The type of rain you feel in your bones. It was cold out at sea. The sun, which had looked so promising, seemed to have given up on the day.
‘Um, did any of us actually tell our parents where we were going?’ asked Venk, swaying around. ‘Only now it seems like we probably should have.’
‘Oh, sure,’ said Alice, sarcastically. ‘ “Hey, Mum, we’re just going to drive a tugboat into the sea to spy on an alien race who are trying to steal a nuclear reactor. Should be home about four.” ’
And then, in the dim distance, Hamish spotted it.
Not the island.
No, no.
He went white in the blink of an eye.
‘WHAT IS THAT?’ yelled Venk.
‘Is that . . . a boat?’ asked Elliot, trying to defog the window. ‘Or a lighthouse?’
‘Is it an old fort?’ tried Clover, hopefully, opening a side window, which just wet her face and made the rain far louder.
‘No,’ said Alice, her face darkening. ‘No, I know what that is.’
The thing was solid. It was wide. It was hard. Seagulls landed on it, uncertainly. It was the height of a bus, and as the waves smashed and bashed at it, it did not move at all.
‘It can’t be,’ said Hamish, shaking his head.
But it could. And it was.
‘It’s s
o green!’ said Elliot. ‘And . . . it’s getting BIGGER!’
Elliot was right. This thing in the middle of the sea was growing. And, every time it gained another tiny millimetre in height, it GROANED.
This was the biggest Venus spytrap in the world.
Out here. In the sea.
This was BAD.
The kids screamed, Buster wrenched the steering wheel and the tugboat suddenly managed speeds no one would ever have thought it capable of.
A few miles away, the sun was brightening the waves ahead, and Buster began to slow the speed of the boat.
‘I think it’s our fault,’ Hamish said.
‘What is?’ asked Alice.
‘That thing. That enormous planty thing in the sea.’
‘How can it be our fault?’ asked Clover, wrinkling up her nose.
‘When we swept all the seeds up,’ said Hamish, ‘Mr Slackjaw said the grown-ups were going to dump them all in the sea. The salt water must have carried them off and bound them all together. Maybe it made the seeds grow into that huge thing out there. Who knows what happens when you mix space stuff with Earth stuff?’
Standing in the rain outside the cabin, they all stared at the spytrap in the distance. Somehow it looked just as big as it did when they were much closer.
‘We can’t have a terrifying sixty-metre Venus spytrap in the sea off Starkley,’ said Elliot, standing at the front of the boat. ‘What would Goonhilda Swag think about that? I’m pretty sure it would definitely count against us, having a local sea monster.’
Poor Mum. A local sea monster would be all she needs, thought Hamish.
Buster turned off the engine so they could think.
As they drifted quietly further towards FRYKT – with Hamish’s watch pointing the way as ever – Hamish didn’t notice that the rain had completely stopped. It was only when he felt the sun on his face that he did.
Hamish and the GravityBurp Page 7