He pulled Alice back inside the sweet shop.
‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘Why did you say that? Why did you say we should bring the Superiors closer to Starkley?’
‘So we can give them the Nuclear Ball,’ said Hamish, still not making much sense.
‘We don’t have the Nuclear Ball!’ said Alice. ‘And, even if we did, isn’t the whole point that we don’t want them to have it!’
‘Not that Nuclear Ball,’ he said. ‘Our own Nuclear Ball.’
What's the Plan, Hamish?
‘It could work,’ said Elliot, striding around his war room. ‘It just seems incredibly unlikely to.’
‘But there’s still a chance?’ Hamish asked.
‘Well, there’s a chance I might turn into a lopsided French baguette called Nigel in the next five minutes,’ said Elliot. ‘But that doesn’t mean I will.’
Once Hamish had told Alice his plan, they’d run straight to the first person he needed for his plan to work. But Madame Cous Cous hadn’t been easy to convince.
‘It goes against everything I wish to do!’ she’d said, waving her stick around and handing Vinnie another massive candyfloss cone. ‘They are the last people I want to talk to!’
Nevertheless, as Hamish and Alice had begged so nicely, and because this might be their last-ever days in Starkley, she’d agreed to make the calls he’d asked her to, and promised to try her best to make it happen.
With Madame Cous Cous on board, Hamish had gathered the PDF together in Elliot’s war room and now that he had some backup, and a clear plan, it was time to talk to his dad again.
‘This is our town, Dad,’ Hamish said, pleading, as Agent Angus Ellerby strode around the town square, supervising the evacuation. ‘We need to fight for it. Okay, so it’s a bit of a boring place. But it’s our boring place. I was born here. We were all born here.’
‘I wasn’t,’ said Buster. ‘I was born in Frinkley.’
Hamish shot him a look that said: You’re not helping.
‘The point is,’ said Alice, reaching for Mister Ellerby’s sleeve, ‘everything we know comes from Starkley. This town is us. Would the PDF ever have happened without a town like Starkley? Would we ever have met?’
Hamish’s dad smiled, gently.
‘Sometimes to win, kids, you need to know when you’ve lost.’
‘Who’s trying to win kids?’ asked Venk, confused. ‘Was there a competition?’
‘Please, Dad,’ said Hamish. ‘I can’t pretend I understand everything that’s going on. I don’t understand why the Superiors keep targeting Starkley. But I know that we are strong, and that there must be a reason for all this!’
‘Please just listen to Hamish’s plan, Mr Ellerby,’ said Alice.
‘There’s no time,’ said Dad. ‘I wanted to give you a chance, Hamish, honestly I did, but now it’s time for the grown-ups to take charge.’
‘But you just want to give up. Is that what being a grown-up means, Dad? Giving up?’
Hamish watched his dad consider his words. This felt so unfair. It was like the more Hamish proved himself, the more he needed to keep proving himself.
So Hamish kept talking. He told his dad he knew his plan was a risk, that he knew it might not come off, but that if they all worked together, and just believed in it, then it might just succeed.
He talked clearly and with real passion in his eyes, while Alice stood right by his side, her eyes shining with pride in her best friend.
And, when he had stopped listening, Hamish’s father put his hands behind his back, thought deeply and very carefully, and took out his radio.
‘Stop the evacuation,’ he said. ‘New plan.’
Secrets and Spies
On paper, you really could argue that not much had changed about Hamish’s plan.
In fact, seeing as all this is already on paper, let’s look at Hamish’s new list.
You might think this seems like a terrible plan. But, as with all the best ideas, it was all in the detail.
‘If this doesn’t work, pal,’ said Dad, who remained to be convinced, but like his son was willing to believe, ‘that’s the end of everything. The end of Starkley. The end of Belasko. Maybe even the end of the world.’
That was quite a lot of pressure to put on a ten-year-old’s shoulders. Hamish almost wilted.
‘It will work,’ said Alice, sternly. ‘Because we’re the PDF.’
‘So we need to get the Superiors’ airship to fly closer to Starkley,’ said Dad.
‘How are we going to get them to do that?’ asked Buster, concerned. ‘We’re Britain’s fourth most boring town. No one wants to take a closer look.’
Dad smiled. That was it. ‘So you want to know what makes Starkley special, do you?’ he said.
Hamish’s dad beckoned the children into his study, brought out his little metal orange, and with a loud and confident voice said, ‘Holonow – play!’
The whole room turned into nothing but a field, as far as the eye could see.
Somewhere a cow mooed. Elliot moved his feet and heard them squelch in the holo-mud.
And weirdly everything was black and white.
‘I think the Holonow might be on the blink!’ said Buster. ‘Try hitting it.’
‘No, look,’ said Venk. ‘We’re still in colour.’
That was odd. Why was everything else in black and white?
‘STARKLEY!’ came a voice from behind, and Hamish steeled himself for whatever he was about to learn about Britain’s fourth most boring town.
Vapidia Sheen strode between them in wellington boots, pointing importantly, as the numbers . . .
. . . zoomed through the room and hovered in front of her, before whooshing off again.
‘In 1982, there was no Starkley,’ said Vapidia. ‘Just these fields and a cow with bronchitis.’
‘MOO-chooo!’ sneezed the cow.
‘Oh, just what I was hoping for,’ said Buster. ‘A history lesson about fields and a cow with a cold.’
‘No,’ said Hamish, excited. ‘This is more like time travel!’
‘But these were no ordinary fields,’ continued the hologram of Vapidia. ‘These fields were special.’
In the distance, they could see a group of men and women milling about. They were wearing black boiler suits and holding clipboards. One of them was pointing at the ground and smiling. Then they all shook hands.
‘Work on Starkley began immediately. Work that would affect all humankind.’
Hamish stared closer at the group of people in the distance. What was that on their boiler suits? Was that a Belasko logo?
‘Belasko set to work,’ said Vapidia, ‘with one aim in mind: to create the fourth most boring town in Britain!’
Around them, all at once, bricks flew through the air, landing on top of each other until they’d built boring, boxy houses . . . it was like a sort of Lego advert. But real!
‘They built houses! Shops! Schools!’
The kids ducked as more bricks flew through the air, creating Winterbourne School.
‘Everything you would expect from a modern, boring town!’
Thousands of bricks whooshed past, and now Starkley was in colour, as the high street took shape around them.
Lord of the Fries!
The Tooth Hurts!
Pizza the Action!
British Hairways!
‘But WAAAAAIT!’ yelled Alice, so loudly that everyone jumped.
‘Pause!’ said Dad and, just like when you pause a video, everything stopped still around them.
‘Why?’ asked Alice, in the silence. ‘Why would anyone want to build Britain’s fourth most boring town? It makes no sense whatsoever! Why not build . . . Paris? Or Moscow?’
‘Or Milton Keynes?’ said Buster. ‘They’ve got an ice rink in Milton Keynes. And you can go indoor skydiving.’
Dad smiled. ‘Wait and you’ll see. Play!’ he said.
‘Everything about Starkley was designed to blend in,’ Vapidia co
ntinued. ‘To avoid attention. To deter scrutiny. Starkley was scientifically engineered to be DULL.’
She walked around the town, pointing at things.
‘Every sign – brown. The only landmark – an old grey bridge. The town slogan – “NO OFFENCE IF YOU’VE SOMEWHERE ELSE TO BE!” A town where the streetlights are a little dimmer. The restaurants close a little earlier. A town that holds no promise. A place that doesn’t stand out.’
‘Why would they design it to be fourth most boring?’ said Buster. ‘Why not go the whole way?’
‘Because the most boring town would get attention,’ said Hamish, who was starting to piece it all together. ‘But who cares about the fourth most boring town?’
‘Only in Britain’s fourth most boring town could Belasko feel safe from its enemies,’ said Vapidia.
‘Okay, but wait,’ pleaded Alice, losing patience. ‘Why build a town at all, if you were just going to hide it?’
Dad stopped the hologram, immediately transforming the room back to how it had been before.
‘Because, Alice, Starkley has a bigger secret,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘Something incredible. Something amazing. Something that might just be the key to your plan, Hamish!’
The kids all stared up at him as he took a deep breath and revealed what he’d been longing to tell them.
‘Starkley . . . is the most important place on the planet.’
They all kept staring at him.
Buster scratched his chin. Clover frowned.
Hamish’s dad had gone mad, hadn’t he?
‘Sorry, Mr Ellerby,’ said Elliot, ‘but, uh, is that a sort of “dad” joke?’
Hamish’s dad shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Starkley is the most important place on the planet.’
Still no one seemed to quite believe him.
‘Starkley? Our Starkley?’ frowned Clover.
‘Yes. Our Starkley,’ said Hamish’s dad, who didn’t seem to understand why they found this so hard to believe. It was so easy. Literally all he was telling them was that out of all the hundreds of thousands of towns, cities, villages, hamlets, rural retreats, parks, towns, regions, counties, islands, metropolises, megalopolises, Mrs Chopalopalises, nations, states, back gardens, front lawns, understair cupboards, secret dens and countries on the planet – it was their little town that mattered the most of all. Simple.
‘But . . . but we don’t even have a McDonald’s in Starkley!’ said Buster. ‘Or a cinema! You can buy hot dogs in Frinkley! With all onions and stuff! Mum said they’re getting a Laser Quest!’
‘How can Starkley be more important than anywhere else?’ demanded Alice, hands on her hips, like she wasn’t to be messed with any further.
‘Because has anywhere else,’ said Dad, starting to smile, ‘got a special, secret hidden button?’
The kids all went, ‘Ooooh!’
Finally, Hamish was about to find out about the button!
Everybody loves a button.
Here’s a picture of a button.
You want to press it, don’t you?
Here’s a picture of another button.
I’ve put DO NOT PRESS on it.
You still want to, though, don’t you?
Now I’ve put a TERRIFYING SKULL AND CROSSBONES on it too.
It’s probably POISONOUS!
Yet now you want to press it more than ever! What is wrong with you?!
So imagine hearing that hidden somewhere near your home was a super-secret hidden button. One that had been there since the day the town was built. One you’d never ever heard about until recently. And, what’s more, you have absolutely no idea what it does.
Now that’s a button you’d want to press, isn’t it?
‘It’s time!’ said Dad into his phone, leading the kids towards the town clock. ‘Code K.’
Immediately, all the streetlights in Starkley started flashing red and blue again, like the top of a police car or ambulance. A siren rang out, and the bells on Winterbourne School started to ring and, somewhere up above, blackbirds took flight.
Belasko agents poured from a coach that had been ready to squirrel people out of town, as Hamish’s dad rallied the people of Starkley around the town clock.
Moments later, they were joined by some familiar faces.
Madame Cous Cous.
Mr Slackjaw.
Frau Fussbundler.
Mr Longblather.
What were they doing walking to the clock with such purpose? Why did they look so serious? So . . . important?
‘Hello, team,’ said Hamish’s dad.
Hamish frowned. Team?
Each of them moved forward, gave Hamish a small smile and silently took out a key.
For Madame Cous Cous, it was the key to the sweet shop.
For Mr Slackjaw, the key to his biggest Vespa.
For Frau Fussbundler, it was the big brass key to Winterbourne School.
For Mr Longblather, the tiny silver one for Brenda, his rusty 1984 Vauxhall Nova in terrier brown.
‘Every spy organisation has sleeper agents,’ said Dad. ‘In a town as boring as Starkley, we decided on sleepy agents. Four brave souls who have remained embedded in Starkley – only to be activated at a time of true and awesome peril.’
None of them looked sleepy now. They looked alive and alert. Each made a very serious face as they stepped up to the town clock. At last, this was their moment!
Hamish had never noticed before, but on each side of the clock tower, at about eye level, was a tiny hole.
The grown-ups slid their keys into these slits and turned.
A hidden flap at the front of the tower thumped down.
And inside . . . was a bright red button.
‘It’s time to reveal Starkley’s biggest secret,’ said Dad. ‘Hamish . . . why don’t you do the honours?’
Button It, Hamish.
Hamish moved his finger closer to the button and then paused.
What would the button do?
Well, let’s find out.
The very moment he pressed it down with a satisfying THUCK, the ground beneath his feet started to shake and judder.
The concrete on the streets began to move and crack.
The whole town began to vibrate.
What was this – an earthquake button?
‘Oh my days!’ yelled old Mr Neate, grabbing onto a bench as the balls of his feet skittered around on the ground so much he looked like he was tap-dancing.
The hands of the town clock began spinning round and round and round, as right across the town square whole buildings started slowly to move.
CRUUUUUUNCH.
‘Hamish!’ yelled a just-arrived Grenville, furious. ‘Why are you demolishing our town? Stop it at once!’
But if you looked closely – really closely – you’d see that these buildings weren’t being demolished.
In fact – they were getting stronger!
Winterbourne School was first to transform.
As its very foundations began to scream, the old building actually raised itself higher, like it was stretching after a long sleep, with a whole new level now bursting from the ground.
Soil and dust blew everywhere.
PFFFFFFF.
Grey metal grilles slid from the walls to cover every window.
SHUUUUUNK.
An enormous metal siren broke through the tiles on its roof, causing the school bell to fall to the ground with a dull thud.
The siren sang its song:
Now, across town, the whole of Slackjaw’s Motors literally flipped itself over – WHOOOMPF – to reveal a brand-new, domed building that had been underneath all along. The old Slackjaw’s Motors was now underground, and a new, computerised sign read WEAPONS & TECH.
‘Weapons and tech? What the heck?’ said Grenville.
‘This is no time for poetry, Grenville,’ said Alice. ‘This is a time for wonder!’
Madame Cous Cous’s International World of Treats
was splitting in two now, its walls rumbling as they slid apart.
Inside, as brick dust filled the air, all the shelves and trays that had been holding sweeties and chocolates for all these years simply disappeared into the walls. Out slid shelves of microscopes, Petri dishes, sample pots and a huge sign saying SCIENCE LABORATORY.
Hamish looked at Madame Cous Cous while this was happening. She didn’t seem at all surprised. She’d known all along this day might come. She’d been ready.
All over town, benches flipped over to reveal sleek telescopes that had been hidden in the ground beneath them. Phone booths turned into COMMUNICATION CENTRES, with little satellite dishes suddenly bursting through their ceilings and sniffing around in the air. Metal shutters slid across the windows of every house they could see. The bus stop turned itself into an airtight AIR-RAID SHELTER.
And now, right next to them all, the town clock which had been doing nothing but shuddering, suddenly extended itself up out of the ground. A whirring metal pivot burst through the concrete and bent the clock at an angle.
BVVVVVVT!
It aimed itself towards FRYKT and the innocent town clock had become a massive, fearsome missile.
Starkley had transformed itself into what it had always been designed to be – what the Superiors had always suspected it to be – Earth’s first line of defence against whatever threat may arise!
I told you: sometimes the most ordinary things can be the most special.
‘So, for the first time,’ said Hamish, ‘Starkley is not hidden in plain sight!’
‘Today,’ said Dad, importantly, ‘we want to be seen.’
And they had their wish.
Hamish and the GravityBurp Page 10