Contents
Title Page
Meet Fergus and his friends …
Meet Princess Lily and her friends …
Two Lots of Trouble
Disappearing Daisy
The Phantom Leaker Strikes Again
The Sorcha Henderson Sit-In
Dragon Danger
Who Needs a Handsome Prince?
Daisy’s Deception
Hold the Back Page!
Once a Hopeful, Always a Hopeful
About Chris Hoy
About Joanna Nadin and Clare Elsom
Copyright
Meet Fergus
and his friends …
Fergus
Chimp
Grandpa Herc
Daisy
Jambo Patterson
Mum
Mikey McLeod
Minnie McLeod
Wesley Wallace
Calamity Coogan
Dermot Eggs
Sorcha
Charlie Campbell
Choppy Wallace
Belinda Bruce
… and see where they live
Meet Princess Lily
and her friends …
Princess Lily
Hector Hamilton
Unlucky Luke
Percy the Pretty Useless
Demelza
Douglas
Dimmock
Prince Waldorf
King Woebegot
Queen Woebegot
Prince Derek
Duke Dastardly
Knights of No Nonsense
Scary Mary
… and explore Nevermore
Two Lots of Trouble
Fergus Hamilton was an ordinary nine-year-old boy. He liked footballs (but not when Dermot Eggs kicked them at his head), tennis balls (but not when his dog Chimp chewed them so much they went soggy and sticky and covered his hand in spit), and meatballs (but not if his mum’s fianzcé Jambo was there for tea because he always snuck them off Fergus’s plate when he wasn’t looking!). He didn’t like card games (because he always lost), board games (because he always got bored), or games lessons at school when they had to use the balance beam (because he couldn’t stay on one foot and always fell over).
Yes, he was ordinary in almost every way, except one. Because, for a small boy, Fergus Hamilton had an extraordinarily big imagination.
Some days he imagined a world in which, instead of planning an enormous wedding, his mum and Jambo were planning a secret ceremony safari adventure (although he wasn’t sure Mum’s white dress would look so great covered in jungle mud).
Some days he imagined a world in which, instead of maths and history, you could learn to do bike tricks like alley-oops and bunny hops and manuals all day (although he was pretty sure Minnie would ace all the tests, whereas he’d get a B and a lot of bruises).
And some days he imagined a world in which, instead of cats and dogs, you could have amazing mythical creatures like unicorns and hippogriffs for pets (although he was pretty sure Chimp wouldn’t take too kindly at sharing his bed with a hippogriff.) But this particular morning Fergus was imagining a world in which, instead of being in a massive grump, his best friend Daisy was her usual fact-spouting, joke-making, bike-loving brilliotic self.
He just didn’t understand what was wrong with her. When Daisy had missed out on getting into the starting line-up for the Internationals, Fergus had been upset too. But since then she’d been working really hard to prove herself as first reserve. With Mikey down with glandular fever, Calamity off visiting his gran, and Dermot fiddling with his phone most of the time, she didn’t have that much competition for the slot anyway.
It could be his new second best friend Sorcha, he supposed. Daisy hadn’t been too keen on her at first – after all, Sorcha and her sister had beaten them in the Wreck-It Run. But she and Sorcha seemed to be great mates now, and Daisy had learned more sign language than even he had, so the pair of them chatted away with their fingers, leaving Fergus floundering and asking, “What does that mean?” every few minutes.
No, there was something else on her mind, and something big.
And she wasn’t the only one.
Jambo picked up that evening’s copy of the Carnoustie Courier, read the back page, then slapped it back on the table with a sigh.
“Another one?” asked Fergus’s mum.
“Aye,” replied Jambo.
“Another what?” asked Fergus, who had been so busy worrying about Daisy, he’d missed most of what was going on at home in the last day or so.
“Another leaked story about us lot,” said Grandpa Herc, with a grim look. “At this rate, every team in the world will know all of our tactics before we even get to Manchester.”
A flustered Fergus snatched up the paper, turned to the headline sports story and began to read.
“What a lot of rot!” declared Grandpa.
“Too right!” agreed Fergus. “I mean, the pillow thing’s true, thanks to Choppy. And I reckon it’s a dancer of an idea. But the story makes it sound like we’re cheating!”
“And who’s the Phantom Leaker?” demanded Grandpa. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Me too,” said Jambo. “Because my boss reckons if I don’t come up with a scoop to rival Dickie Moore in the next week, then I might as well clear my desk.”
Fergus felt himself flush with anger for a second time. “But you’re the best sports reporter in the city, and the Evening News is the best paper.”
“Not any more,” said Jambo with a sigh.
“Och, love.” Mum gave him a hug. But not even that could put a smile on Jambo’s face.
“I’m worried, Jeanie,” he said. “With the wedding coming up, I really can’t afford to lose my job.”
“And you won’t,” she insisted.
“No, you won’t,” said Fergus, adding his support, as well as a hug of his own. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. Me and Daisy. You’ll see.”
Now all he had to do was persuade his best friend. Fergus knew that if this had been a few weeks ago she’d have been the one leading the investigation, with a list of suspects already drawn up, as well as tactics to take them down.
But with the way Daisy had been acting lately, Fergus was worried he’d struggle to even get her on board.
Disappearing Daisy
Fergus burst into the changing rooms at Middlebank to find the air already buzzing with talk of the Phantom Leaker.
“I reckon it’s Mikey,” announced Belinda. “He’s probably phoning the Courier from his sick bed this minute!”
“Don’t be daft,” snapped Mikey’s sister, Minnie. “He’s not been to practice in a week, so how would he even know any secrets?”
“You might be passing them on,” Wesley pointed out. “Maybe you’re in on it too. Maybe you’re selling secrets for money!”
“I’m not, and nor is Mikey,” said Minnie, folding her arms in a huff.
“Minnie’s right,” added Fergus. “He may be off ill, but Mikey’s a team player through and through. He’d never do that to us.”
“Well, what about Calamity then?” demanded Wesley. “Or you, even.” He pointed accusingly at Fergus.
Fergus felt himself bristle. “Now you really are talking rubbish,” he said. “Why would I do that to my own team? Or to Jambo? You know he might lose his job over this.”
“Really?” asked Minnie, softening now.
Fergus nodded. “His boss is worried Dickie Moore at the Courier’s scooping him on every story.”
“What’s scooping?” asked Wesley.
“Yeah, scooping?” repeated Dermot, looking up from his phone for the first time all morning.
“It means getting a big story first,” explained Fergus. “And e
ither he has to come up with one, or we need to stop the Phantom Leaker handing over any more details to that sneak Dickie Moore.”
“So why don’t we just tell Jambo our real tactics?” demanded Wesley. “He gets a scoop, problem solved.”
“I think looping round that track too fast has sent your head into a spin,” boomed a voice behind them.
Fergus turned to see Wesley’s dad, Choppy Wallace, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips and a dark look on his face.
“No it hasn’t,” said Wesley, his own face reddening.
“Well, you don’t seem to be thinking straight, son,” said Choppy. “We don’t want anyone to know our tactics, that’s the whole point. Not the Brisbane Belters, not the Lyon Licketysplits and especially not the Shanghai Shooting Stars.”
“Oh, right,” admitted Wesley. “Of course.”
“So what do we do?” demanded Belinda.
“We do what we do best,” said another voice.
Fergus grinned as Grandpa Herc walked into the room. “What’s that?” he asked.
“We get racing, of course,” said Grandpa, smiling.
“But what about the Phantom Leaker?” asked Wesley.
Grandpa raised one bushy eyebrow. “Well, we just have to hope that whoever it is has heard enough this morning to make them stop.”
Fergus frowned. He couldn’t believe it. It was almost funny when Wesley had accused them but now Grandpa seemed to think one of them really was the Leaker. Worst of all, Grandpa was hardly ever wrong which would mean … the Leaker was in this room right now! He scanned his friends’ faces, trying to work out who it might be. Definitely not Minnie, she was too loyal. And not Belinda – her dad owned Bruce’s Biscuits, and she had a pony, a parakeet and a swimming pool, so she definitely didn’t need the money. Could it be Calamity? Fergus didn’t think so. He might trip over his legs on a regular basis, but he never said the wrong thing. That left Wesley and Dermot. Dermot never came up with any ideas of his own, and lately he’d been more interested in playing on his new phone to notice what was even going on anyway. So maybe it was Wesley. He’d been the first one to accuse Mikey, but that could be to cover his own guilt. And he had a history of tricks behind him, after all. Most of them against Fergus.
As the team set out onto the track, Fergus stared at the back of Wesley’s head, imagining he could see inside, and find out what he was up to. But all he could make out was the number one emblazoned on his helmet.
“Hang on a minute,” Grandpa called out from the front of the pack. “Where’s Daisy?”
Fergus felt his heart jump. How could he have forgotten Daisy? They’d only just made up and he was messing up already. And Grandpa was right, where was she? She was never late to practice.
But then a horrible thought crept into his head and his stomach dropped.
She wouldn’t.
She couldn’t.
No. Of course she absolutely couldn’t and wouldn’t. Daisy would NEVER do anything to harm the Hopefuls.
Only …
“Well, that’s solved it,” said Wesley. “The Phantom Leaker must be Daisy. She’s selling secrets because she’s still in a sulk.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” added Choppy. “We all saw what a bad loser she was when she lost out on a spot on the team.”
“No,” said Fergus quickly. “Not Daisy.” But even as he said it, he couldn’t be sure he was right. It was all a bit odd – her moods, and now her disappearance.
“Haven’t we had enough of guessing games?” said Minnie. “No one knows the truth. Not yet.”
“Aye,” agreed Grandpa. “And we’ve work to do, with or without Daisy. So let’s get on.”
But out on the track, the squad were all over the place, their heads too full of the Phantom Leaker to concentrate on any of the new tactics Choppy and Grandpa had been trying out.
“I look forward to seeing this shambles on the back page of the Courier tomorrow,” grumbled Grandpa. “I can see the headline now – ‘Hercules Hopeless’ or something snide like that.”
“Don’t blame us,” said Wesley, angrily. “Blame Daisy.”
“It’s not Daisy’s fault you couldn’t take those turns today,” said Grandpa. “That kerfuffle was all down to you, sonny.”
“Whatever,” mumbled Wesley.
But as he cycled home, Chimp trotting behind, Fergus tried to push away a horrible feeling that Wesley might be right this time.
“I don’t understand it,” Fergus said to Mum as she looked through a brochure for expensive-looking flowers. “Daisy’s just disappeared. She won’t even come to the phone when I call.”
“I wish I could help, Fergie,” said Mum. “But you know what Mrs D’s like. She’ll not tell me anything. Remember when Daisy was off nursery and we were guessing she had the plague by the end of it because Mrs D wouldn’t say?”
Fergus nodded. “And it was only chicken pox.” Then he had a thought. “Maybe she’s ill now,” he added. “Maybe she really can’t come to the phone.”
“Maybe,” said Mum.
“She hasn’t been to the hospital, has she?” Fergus blurted, his head suddenly bursting with horrible thoughts of accidents or deadly diseases.
Mum shook her head. “Fergie, I don’t know anything. I don’t think Daisy’s ill, and I don’t think she’s the Phantom Leaker either. But I do think something big must be bothering her.”
Fergus nodded. “Aye,” he replied. “I just wish I knew what.”
The Phantom Leaker Strikes Again
When the Courier dropped onto the doormat that evening, and Chimp trotted into the kitchen with it in his mouth, Fergus could hardly bring himself to take it off his dog.
“It won’t bite,” said Jambo, looking up from the stew he was stirring. “The paper, I mean.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Fergus. But he took the newspaper from Chimp.
Chimp wagged his tail, waiting for a pat for helping, or maybe something tasty from the kitchen counter, but Fergus barely noticed his faithful friend. He turned straight to the back page, heart pounding faster than it did after a four-lap sprint. When he saw the headline, he let out a gasp.
“No way!”
“What?” demanded Jambo, his spoon stuck mid-air, dripping sauce on the floor, much to Chimp’s delight. “What is it?”
“No way!” said Jambo when Fergus read the headline out.
“Yes way!” said Fergus. “Listen to this: ‘Hercules Hopefuls’ first reserve Daisy Devlin failed to show up for team practice today, and rumour has it she’s been in a cycling strop for weeks over her low ranking.’”
“Och, no,” said Mum.
“There’s more,” said Fergus. “‘According to our mole, Devlin risks being dropped from the squad altogether if she doesn’t buck up her ideas.’” Fergus shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not even true. Grandpa would never do that.”
“Choppy might,” said Jambo.
“Do you think he’s the Phantom Leaker?” asked Fergus.
“Och, Fergie. I don’t know my own ankle from my elbow right now. But I do know one thing. I’m in big trouble with the big boss at the office tomorrow. Another scoop for the Courier – even if it’s not true – means I’ll be for the high jump.”
Fergus gulped. “There must be something we can do.”
Mum nodded. “Anything, Jambo?”
But Jambo shook his head, looking miserable. “Short of asking Dickie to name his source – which he’ll never do – I can’t think of a single thing.”
Fergus felt himself brim with anger. This wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right. Jambo had done nothing wrong at all, and nor had the team, and they were the ones suffering. And all the while the Phantom Leaker – whoever it was – was probably laughing at them.
“Can I go out?” Fergus said suddenly.
“Where to?” asked Mum.
“Sorcha’s,” said Fergus decidedly. Because Sorcha was the only friend he had who wasn’t tied up in th
e team. And the only friend he had aside from Daisy who was clever enough to work any of it out.
Mum frowned. “Well, tea’s nearly ready, isn’t it, Jambo?”
Jambo looked at the stew and shrugged. “This’ll keep,” he said. “I’ve lost my appetite anyway.”
“Och, go on then,” said Mum. “But only an hour, mind.”
Fergus nodded. “Come on, boy!” he called to Chimp, and the pair shot swiftly out of the door, down the stairs, and round the corner to Sorcha’s house.
Sorcha was having trouble writing words down fast enough for Fergus to read them, and Fergus found himself making another silent promise to learn more sign language. If only Daisy was here, he thought. But then, wasn’t that half the problem? He took the pad from Sorcha.
“I suppose,” signed Fergus, feeling his spirits lift a little. But only a little. “So who?” he signed.
Sorcha took the pad again.
Fergus thought for a moment. Mum had been looking at a lot of fancy wedding things recently. Maybe Jambo felt he had to get extra cash on the side … But no sooner than he’d thought it, he shook it off.
“No way,” he signed back, then took the pad.
Sorcha looked indignant and took the pad.
“Sorry,” Fergus signed.
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