by Susan Moore
For Mum and Dad
FUTURE TECH AND
OTHER COOL STUFF
BEETLEBOT: A robotic, flying cockroach with flex-diamond-coated shell and retractable wings. Water-resistant, fully-loaded with nanotech eye cameras. Available shades: Burnt Chocolate, Soggy Beetroot. Designed and manufactured by Spysecta.
FASTPAD: A flexible, tough, wafer-thin tablet computer, which can be rolled up. Invented by UK-based technology company Fenomenell.
GROOVERIDER: A low-slung, hydrogen-powered sports car with a distinctive grooved bonnet. Designed and manufactured by Choprider, Shanghai.
OCTOZEB GOGGLES: Diamond-def, virtual-reality goggles designed and made by SPIN, Hong Kong.
OVERRIDER: A super-sized, six-wheeled all-terrain truck. Originally developed for the Chinese army by Choprider, Shanghai.
POPKO JUICE: A range of juice smoothies served in striped layers containing a secret Popko ingredient.
ROCKETBOAT: A hydrogen-powered, cigar-shaped speedboat, capable of rapid acceleration and speeds of up to 200mph.
SLIDER: A skateboard-shaped, electrically powered hover board with pop-up handlebars. The Slider was invented by Beijing Bikes’ top engineer, Liu Lee, using the same principles of motion as the classic hovercraft from the twentieth century.
SMART T–SHIRT: An e-textile T-shirt containing soft, flexible screens on the front and back for display of movie clips, photos or text.
SPIN: The world’s largest virtual-reality games company. Designers and builders of three bestselling games – “Empire of the Shadow”, “Wand of Truth” and “Lavanter’’. Founded by Max and Catherine Walker. Headquarters – Hong Kong.
WARZWORLD: Virtual-reality games company with fully immersive war worlds ranging from Aztec kingdoms to Alien planets. Players must be certified 18 to play. Founded by Baroness Ivy Shiversand. Headquarters – London.
Chapter One
LONDON
The north wind was whistling through the rigging, batting the wolf’s head flag against the top of the mast. Fingers of pale sunlight crept across the polished wooden deck, up and over an orange hammock that was swinging from the front boom of the boat.
Nat lay dozing inside, cocooned in her sleeping bag, dreaming she was still in Hong Kong.
“AHOY there!”
A booming voice came blasting through the thin fabric.
“Yeouch!” A red-hot poker of pain shot up her arm.
Her eyes snapped open to find a pair of amber eyes flashing through a fug of smoke.
“Sorry,” said Fizz. “I didn’t mean to burn you. I set my intruder alert to ‘high’ last night when we entered the river.”
Nat pulled down the top of the bag and a gush of icy air greeted her. She squinted in the early morning dawn. Her arm really hurt, with a red whip-like mark forming across the skin.
“Zoinks, Fizz. I’m not an intruder!”
Her dragon robot lowered his snout and swept a green-scaled wing across his chest, taking a deep bow.
“Forgive me, my lady. I’d perchance set myself to be too sensitive in my effort to valiantly protect thee,” he said, his voice low, in an accent that was a million miles away from his normal, digital one.
“Why on earth are you talking like that?”
He raised his head.
“An ad came up last night in my BotBox for a ‘free British accent and mannerisms download’ for foreign robots. ‘Give yourself a classy edge and act like a local in London.’”
Nat sighed.
“You don’t like it?” asked Fizz.
“Just stay the ku dragon that you are. There are enough crazy changes happening right now.”
“I just want to fit in.”
She did too, more than anything – to blend in, not to be noticed.
“AHOY!” The booming voice came again.
Nat clapped her hands over her ears. Rats’ tails… She swung her legs over the side of the hammock and jumped down on to the rain-slicked deck. Her teeth chattered as the damp cut through the old purple kung fu suit that she’d repurposed into pyjamas.
“Voice overboard, starboard thirty-two degrees,” said Fizz, still in the hammock.
“Would have been ku if you’d detected that before you burned my arm,” Nat muttered, stepping over a coiled mooring rope to reach the side of the boat.
Leaning over the brass rail she found a navy-blue Rocketboat cruising alongside on the murky brown river below. The word “POLICE” was stamped in bold scarlet letters on the hull.
On deck stood a policeman wearing a black top hat and a long navy frock coat with shiny gold buttons, with a bushy beard down to his waist.
“How many crew are you, young lady?” he bellowed through an old-fashioned hand-held megaphone.
“Three and one robot!” she shouted back, wondering why he needed to know.
The policeman frowned. “You should have more crew to handle such an ancient vessel.”
“This is an ‘oversize replica of a Ming Dynasty treasure ship’!” she shouted, using Jamuka’s words. “It’s only fourteen years old and runs on a MaxEdge computer. It can sail without crew.”
The policeman let out a low whistle and turned to speak to his colleague at the helm.
Nat yawned and looked over at the riverbank, which was lined with rows of brick warehouse buildings and glass office blocks. It was all much lower than Hong Kong’s spiky skyline.
“Request to speak with your captain immediately!” said the policeman, still holding his megaphone.
She stepped away from the rail and turned to Fizz.
“Go and find Jamuka, quick.”
“Aye, aye,” he said.
She watched the little robot take off, shooting through the air like a green arrow. She still wasn’t used to the idea that he could fly.
The air tasted different from when she’d gone to sleep. They’d been crossing the North Sea then. Now they were on the Thames and it wasn’t just salty, but musty too, reminding her of Ken’s kung fu studio. It’d be a long time before she was back there again.
Burnt coffee wafted up from the open hatch that Fizz had passed through. Jamuka must already be up. She guessed he was probably in the kitchen, watching the horses from Hong Kong on his FastPad. His horse, Dragon Khan, would be getting warmed up for his race.
She shivered. Maybe she should go and grab her Slider jacket. She reached the hatch just as Jamuka stepped out on to deck, fully dressed in his customary long, midnight-blue mandarin suit with silver buttons. His grey hair was plaited into a ponytail, tied off with a black ribbon, and his eyes were shielded by round mirrored sunglasses. In one hand he held a steaming cup. In the other he was carrying the bamboo cage containing his prized green and white songbird, Gobi.
Fizz had perched on top of her cage. Gobi had her head back, looking up at him, singing in her high, chirping voice. She’d only started doing that since Fizz had his flying upgrade.
The smell of burnt coffee was so strong now it made her stomach churn.
“I thought you’d given up Vietnamese weasel coffee?” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“I need it to draw strength, Bao Bao. Dragon Khan went lame in the race. Now, I hear we have visitors.”
She pointed over at the police boat. Jamuka handed her Gobi’s cage and strode across to talk to the policemen.
If Dragon Khan was lame Jamuka was going to be on calls to his vet and trainer for hours. Maybe they’d have to fly back to Hong Kong to check on him, then she wouldn’t have to go to this silly school in London. She could stay with her best friend, Wen.
The boat’s engines cut. Their low hum was replaced with the droning sound of city traffic.
“We’re off autopilot,” Jamuka called. “The river police want a manual entry. Dock
rules, Bao Bao.”
Nat gulped. “Manual?”
She had a sudden flashback to the last time they’d manually docked the boat, and the brass band running out of their path as Jamuka reversed straight into the pier at the Harbour Club regatta using full throttle reverse by mistake.
Chapter Two
BEETLEBOT
The beetlebot’s antennae twitched, waking it up from sleep mode. The target destination was in range. It raised its flex-diamond-coated brown shell to release its wings, and took off from where it had been camped out all night on the riverbank.
A strong headwind was coming up the Thames, making progress slow flying over the water.
Up ahead the target was looming large through the beetlebot’s nanotech eye camera. It cross-checked the boat with the stored image it had been given. Direct match. Junko boat confirmed.
Its antennae twitched again. “Warning – police presence detected” came flashing through its databanks. Since it didn’t have a river robot licence it switched to “covert-ops” mode.
The Junko’s deck was now visible. The beetlebot scanned and locked on to the tall girl with red hair, dressed in a purple kung fu suit. It image-checked again. Direct match; Natalie Walker confirmed.
A red flashing light popped up to the left of its camera. It zoomed in to detect a policeman climbing a ladder up the side of the Junko. Time calculation showed forty seconds to him reaching the deck where the girl was standing.
The beetlebot accelerated wing speed to max. It flew as straight as an arrow towards the girl, programmed to complete its mission in the quickest time possible.
Ten seconds from contact. It was about to open up its underbelly to get the delivery ready, when “ZING!”, an electric-blue laser light shot straight through its body, immobilising its central processor. The Junko’s security system sent a shockwave bouncing it away with such force that it was propelled through the air, “PLOP!”, into the Thames below.
Chapter Three
AN INVITATION
A shadow fell over Nat. She looked up to find the policeman with the megaphone. He removed his top hat and made a low bow.
“Permission to come aboard, young lady, to help bring you in safely…”
He spotted Fizz and his mouth dropped open. “What kind of creature are you?”
Fizz ruffled his wings. “I am a unique, custommade dragon robot.”
He snorted a thin stream of orange flames out of his snout.
“We could do with a dragon like you in the Metropolitan Police Force to help fight crime.”
“All hands on deck!” shouted Jamuka from the helm.
Ah Ping’s head popped up from the fore hatch, before she darted across the deck. Her navy jacket and shorts were heavily creased, and her black hair was messily knotted back. She yawned, then gave Nat and the policeman a curt nod before rushing towards the stern to get her orders from Jamuka.
Nat looked over the bow. They were coming around a bend. The rumbling of a city at work carried in on the wind.
“What’s that?” she said, pointing at two ancient, square towers looming up out of the river ahead.
“Tower Bridge,” said the policeman.
“Zoinks, looks like a castle!”
“Home sweet home,” said Fizz.
Nat sucked in the cool air through her teeth. “Hey, wait a minute, Fizz…”
“Time to prepare,” said the policeman. “Fine dragon, I need you to scan for river traffic. It’s a busy time and with this boat we need to make sure we are clear.”
Fizz’s eyes glowed purple. He raised a talon, disconnected his Spiderwire charge-up and flew off to perch high on the foremast.
“Prepare for the lock!” shouted Jamuka.
Nat’s heart began to thud. They were nearly at St Katharine Docks. Her journey from Hong Kong was coming to an end.
The boat started to turn as a siren sounded from the right bank. She looked across the water to where a large moss-covered gate was swinging open, revealing a narrow channel.
“Not in a trillion years are we ever going to fit through that!”
“By my calculation we can fit in the lock. Though it will be fingers in glove,” called Fizz from the mast.
“Hand in glove. Ai yah! I hope you’re right.”
Nat gritted her teeth. Crossing the vast oceans, tossed over waves and turned in the swell, the Junko had seemed small and fragile, but here, hemmed in by land, it felt like a gigantic, floating island.
“To your ropes!” shouted Jamuka.
She leapt into action. Jamuka started to nose the Junko into the lock. Murky brown water cascaded through an ancient black lock gate at the other end. It was spilling in from so high up it could sink them. Nat was sure they were going to end up at the bottom of the Thames.
“Slow down!” bellowed Fizz, smoke pouring out of his snout.
“Reverse thrust!” ordered the policeman.
Jamuka pushed the Junko’s engines into reverse. A loud roar erupted as the propellers churned the water into a bubbling cauldron of brown froth, turning the lock into a giant jacuzzi.
Quick as lightning Nat unclipped the life-raft bag from the mast, sprinted to the front rail where water was now gushing down on to the deck, hooked the bag on to a rope and pulled the emergency inflation cord.
WOOF! The yellow life raft blew up in front of the prow. The prow nosed into it, pushing the doughnut-shaped raft up against the lock gate. The cover stretched so tight she thought it would burst. But just as she covered her ears, ready for a deafening POP! the boat bounced back.
“Cut engines!” shouted the policeman.
The roar vanished. The Junko stilled, holding steady. Behind them the gate to the Thames began to close, sealing them in.
“Good thinking, young lady,” said the policeman, tipping his hat at her.
She wiped the mucky river water off her face. Her old kung fu suit was soaked through.
A torrent of water started to gush through an upper channel.
“Lock filling. Haul in the raft,” said Fizz, swooping down to land on her shoulder.
She unhooked the raft from the rope as Ah Ping came sprinting across the deck.
“I help,” she said.
The policeman stepped forward. Between the three of them they dragged the wet raft up over the prow.
A large group of onlookers were now gathered on the quay below, filming their progress.
“Delivery for Miss Walker!” someone shouted in a tinny-sounding voice.
Nat frowned. How could anyone know her here, on the other side of the world?
“There’s a beetlebot at the gate,” said Fizz. “It’s holding an envelope, one of those old-fashioned ones made out of trees. It’s addressed to you.”
She looked over to where Fizz’s snout was pointing. A shiny, robotic brown beetle with long antennae had its beady black eyes fixed upon her. It was dripping with water, holding a cream envelope up between its hairy legs.
“Yeuch, it’s a giant termite!”
“Correction. It’s a giant cockroach.”
“Even worse.”
“I agree. At least you don’t have to be cordial to it,” said Fizz, flying down to the quayside.
He returned swiftly, the envelope grasped in his talons. She took it from him. On the front someone had written Natalie Walker in fancy, black-inked handwriting. Flipping it over she found the initials “I.S.” stamped into the paper in gold foil.
She slid her hand under the flap and opened it. Inside lay a thick, cream invitation.
Baroness Ivy Shiversand
Requests the Pleasure of
NATALIE WALKER
to afternoon tea
On April 14th
at 4pm
Shiversand Manor, London
No need to R.S.V.P. Saskia will escort you from
Boxbury School
“But that’s tomorrow. My first day of school!” she groaned.
She’d no idea who Baroness Ivy Shiversan
d was, or Saskia, but she had no interest in going there for tea. London life sucked already and they’d only just arrived.
Chapter Four
IVY
Ivy Shiversand tried to frown, but the Cementer paint had given her frozen-in-time skin, leaving her moon-shaped face wrinkle-free forever. She had been standing for two hours, motionless, one hand holding a golden spear, the other a jewelled shield. The armour suit she was wearing felt like a lead weight, even though it was woven out of light-as-a-feather silver Spiderwire.
It was her crown that was annoying her more than anything though. Even with the extra padding it was cutting in above her left ear in a most uncomfortable way. She was cross with herself for insisting that she pose for the portrait wearing the genuine solid-gold one studded with rubies. A fake crown would have done the job, but then again, maybe not, since Alton Hanbury was painting her.
She shifted her gaze from the window to where Alton was sitting at his easel in the middle of her office, or War Room, as she liked to call it. With his mad mop of brown and grey flecked hair, long bushy beard and crumpled clothes, he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. He was leaning in towards the canvas, brow concertinaed in concentration. He moved his gaze back to the palette in his hand and raised his brush.
“You moved! The light on your FACE has changed!” he roared, looking up.
Ivy jumped. No one ever dared shout at her. His palette came whizzing across the room like a Frisbee, paint flying everywhere. She ducked just in time. It flew over her crown, hitting the wood-panelled wall behind her with a loud BANG!
Alton Hanbury wrenched the canvas from the easel and stomped off, his biker boots thudding across the polished floorboards.
“STOP!” shouted Ivy. “I command you!”
But the door slammed and the artist was gone. Ivy let her shield and spear clatter to the floor, then waddled across the room to put her crown back on the shelf above her throne.