Flying Fergus 9

by Sir Chris Hoy

  “I’ve got this,” answered Derek, a touch smug, and pulled what looked like a long, green, flashing pole from a sheath attached to his bike frame.

  “What’s that?” demanded Waldorf.

  “Oh, only a Dragon-Defence 3000 Stun-Sword,” drawled Derek.

  “You had that all along?” demanded Unlucky Luke. “Cheater!”

  “Hardly,” said Derek. “Check the rules if you don’t believe me.”

  Fergus knew Derek was right. His dad hadn’t put anything in the rules forbidding weapons, because he hadn’t known Stun-Swords would be needed, or even existed.

  “Stand back,” said Derek then, aiming his Stun-Sword at Demelza, who was the closest to Lily.

  “Are you sure that won’t hurt?” asked Waldorf. “She’s a very … sensitive dragon.”

  “She doesn’t look that sensitive to me,” said Chimp, eyeing the massive beast.

  “Oh, it’ll just sting a bit, then she’ll sleep for a week.” Derek hovered his finger above a red button.

  “Stop!” screamed the queen. “You’ll hit my Lily.”

  “Exactly, stop!” added Lily, finally finding her voice. “Who said I wanted his help anyway?”

  “Oh, every princess needs a handsome prince to rescue them.” The duke smiled.

  “Not this princess,” snapped Lily. “And besides, I can’t see a handsome prince.” She pretended to survey the track.

  “Thanks a lot,” protested Waldorf.

  “Nope,” said Lily. “No handsome princes. All I need right now is a friend. Fergus?”

  Hearing his name, Fergus snapped to attention, his fear suddenly slipping somewhere deep inside. “I’m coming,” he called. “Don’t move!” And he jumped over the barrier, Chimp springing behind him.

  “Oh, and what are you going to do? Read them a poem?” demanded the duke nastily. “Do a little dance?”

  “Actually,” said Lily, “that’s the best idea you’ve had all day. Possibly ever.” And she nodded at Fergus, who nodded back, suddenly realising exactly what Lily wanted.

  After all, the dragons were no scarier than Mrs Devlin. Not really. “Yoo-hoo!” Fergus yelled, waving his arms about and dancing a reel. “Look over here!”

  The dragons looked. So did everyone else.

  “That’s right!” he called. “You don’t want Chimp to do a wee on the flowerbeds, do you?”

  “Steady on, mate,” said Chimp. “We’re in company.”

  “Just follow my lead,” hissed Fergus, and began to boogie across the track.

  Chimp followed, wiggling his own Waltzing Matilda in time to a tune in his head.

  Fascinated, the dragons followed too. First Douglas, then Demelza, then Beryl and Gladys, who seemed to be swinging their hips along with Chimp.

  “That’s it,” urged Fergus.

  “Good dragons,” added Lily, managing to mount her bike again, even giving Gladys a pat on the backside as she passed.

  “You’re good to go!” shouted Fergus.

  Lily didn’t need telling twice. Pushing down hard on the pedals, she sped down the final straight to cross the finish line.

  “Race is over,” snapped Derek, sulking that he hadn’t got to use his Stun-Sword.

  “But not the championships,” Lily pointed out. “And now we’re even. And besides, I feel like I won anyway.”

  “How?” demanded Derek. “Because you look like you’re standing in last place to me, little girl.”

  “Little girl, is it?” Lily scoffed. “Well, this little girl just proved she doesn’t need a Stun-Sword or a handsome prince. Not now and not ever. I can rescue myself, thank you very much.”

  Fergus coughed.

  Lily laughed. “With a little help from my friends.”

  “See you soon, son,” said Dad as the gang gathered to say their goodbyes after a slap-up lunch at the palace.

  “Aye,” agreed Fergus. “Last race of the championship. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Sure you can’t hang around?” asked Lily. “We could go swimming tomorrow if you did. In the Lake of Swords.”

  “Rather you than me, mate,” said Chimp, shuddering.

  Fergus smiled. “I wish I could. But you know I can’t.”

  “I know,” said Lily. “And I know something else. Doesn’t matter how long you’re gone, or how far away you are, you’ve always got a friend in me.”

  “And me,” said Unlucky Luke.

  Waldorf pulled a face but Lily nudged him. “And me,” he admitted.

  As Fergus climbed back on his bicycle, his heart felt fuller than it had in days. He would always have Lily. And, no matter how far away she was, he was pretty sure he’d always have Daisy too. With a little help from her, and Sorcha, he’d find out who the Phantom Leaker was and fix things for Jambo and Mum so the wedding could go ahead.

  Well, actually he might need more than a little help this time, because right now he was out of ideas. But he was determined, and as Grandpa – and Dad – were always saying, that’s halfway to winning already.

  Daisy’s Deception

  “What took you so long?” asked Daisy, as Fergus and Chimp blustered back into the bedroom.

  Sorcha wrote on the pad.

  “Or getting chased by cats again?”

  Fergus smiled. “Och, just the odd dragon or two,” he said.

  Daisy rolled her eyes. “Well, while you’ve been having a laugh in La-la-land, or wherever it is you disappear off to in your head, back here in the real world we’ve come up with a plan.”

  Sorcha wrote, using her new favourite word.

  “You’re seriously suggesting we make up fake tactics, tell them to a team member, and then hope they show up in the paper?” said Fergus, once the girls had explained their scheme.

  “Aye,” said Daisy, Sorcha nodding along with her. “That way we catch the crook, and no one’s the wiser about what we’re up to. Well – what you’re up to,” she corrected herself.

  “‘We’,” Fergus corrected back. “It’ll always be ‘we’.”

  Daisy shrugged, her face falling again. “Maybe,” she said. Then Fergus saw her jaw set as she gathered herself. “But if we don’t do this there might not be a team to be part of, I can tell you that for nothing.”

  “So what do we try out first?” asked Fergus.

  Sorcha waved the pad at Fergus.

  “You have got to be joking.” Fergus shook his head. “Who’d believe we were using heated knickers?”

  “We’ll say they keep our bum muscles warm before the race,” said Daisy. “That’s important, keeping muscles at the right temperature. Even you know that.” She raised a cheeky eyebrow.

  “Ha-ha,” replied Fergus. “But really? Knickers?”

  Sorcha and Daisy looked at each other, then back at Fergus, big grins on their faces. “Knickers!” they signed.

  The knickers story was the easy part, it turned out. The three friends had taken ages to decide who to tell the story to.

  Daisy was all for starting with Wesley. “He’s been difficult before,” she pointed out. “And his only loyalty is to himself.”

  “Aye.” Fergus had to agree. “But he was so angry about it. You didn’t see him, Dais. I don’t think Wesley’s that good an actor.”

  “So who then?” asked Sorcha.

  “Mikey?” Daisy suggested.

  “Still in quarantine,” replied Fergus.

  “Belinda?” tried Sorcha.

  “Still rich,” said Fergus. “Why would she need to sell stories? Besides, her dad has got shares in the Evening News so she’s hardly likely to sell stories to the Courier and put her dad’s paper out of business – then they’d have no money.”

  “Fair point,” agreed Daisy.

  Fergus thought and thought. They’d already ruled out Minnie and Calamity on loyalty grounds. They just knew none of the original Hopefuls could be behind the leaks. Choppy was a suspect, but he was off buying stock for his shop so they’d have to wait until tomorrow to try
him. There was no way it could be Grandpa. Then Fergus remembered something. “Dermot!” he blurted.

  “What, Dermot the Dimwit?” asked Sorcha.

  Fergus nodded. “He’s been so busy on his new phone I assumed he wasn’t really interested in tactics at all. But what if he’s been earwigging all along and instead of playing games he’s been texting secrets straight to Dickie Moore?”

  “He was taking an awful lot of photos on his phone up at the track last week,” added Daisy.

  “So we start with him then,” said Fergus.

  “Makes sense,” signed Sorcha.

  “Do you want to tell him or shall I?” asked Daisy.

  Fergus felt himself shudder at the thought of discussing heated knickers with anyone, let alone Dermot. But, he had faced those dragons. “I’ll go,” he said. “You’ve got packing to do,” he added, his heart sinking a little at the thought.

  But Sorcha had other ideas. “No,” she signed. “Daisy has to do it.” She switched to her pad, writing quickly.

  Daisy nodded. “I’m not ready to pack yet,” she said. “It feels too … final. And this might be the last chance I get to help the team. And, what’s more, I owe you. I owe everyone.”

  Fergus smiled. “No, we owe you,” he said. “We doubted you, and all along you were in trouble.”

  Tears threatened to spill down Daisy’s cheeks again.

  Sorcha quickly wrote,

  “And no buts,” added Fergus. “Because …” he prompted.

  Daisy brushed the tears away, then allowed herself the smallest of smiles. “Butts are for sitting on,” she finished.

  So with that, the threesome and Chimp set off down the stairs, past an astonished Mrs Devlin, and straight down the road to Dermot’s house.

  While Daisy disappeared into Dermot’s, Fergus, Sorcha and Chimp found themselves sitting on a doorstep for the second time that day – this one belonging to Julie Gilhoolie, the lollipop lady. “Well, you can hardly sit on Dermot’s doorstep!” Daisy had pointed out.

  And there they stayed until, fifteen minutes later, Daisy hurried round the corner to join them.

  “Did you do it?” asked Sorcha.

  Daisy nodded.

  “And do you think he believed you?” asked Fergus.

  Daisy nodded again. “He was typing on his phone the whole time I was telling him,” she said. “And he even took a photo of me. Though Dickie Moore had better not put that in the paper.”

  “If it’s him,” pointed out Sorcha. “Dermot, I mean. We don’t know for sure, after all.”

  “Aye,” agreed Fergus. “If.”

  But as the four of them walked slowly home, Fergus had a funny feeling that they were right.

  The funny feeling stayed with him all through lunch, as he and Grandpa munched marmalade sandwiches, and all through the afternoon, as he and Chimp played footie on Carnoustie Common, right up until the moment when the letterbox rattled, and that evening’s copy of the Courier dropped PLOP! onto the doormat.

  Hold the Back Page!

  “Hot Pants A-Go-Go for Hercules’ Hopefuls!” screamed the headline.

  Then, underneath, the lies continued.

  Fergus felt his stomach flip at the same time as his mouth slipped into a smile. Because those were Daisy’s exact words – the ones they’d agreed she would tell Dermot and swear him to secrecy.

  Well, the secret was out now, that was for sure.

  “Blimey O’Riley,” said Jambo, scanning the page for a second time to make sure he’d read it right.

  “Is it true?” asked Mum.

  “What do you think?” asked Grandpa, shaking his head solemnly. “Heated knickers! Where do they get these ideas?”

  At that, Fergus could hold it in no longer. “We did it!” he blurted. “We made it up! Daisy told Dermot and he must have fed it to Dickie. It was Dermot all along!”

  “No way,” said Jambo.

  “Yes way,” replied Fergus.

  “Och, Fergie. You lied to the paper?” said Mum.

  Fergus felt his elation deflate. “Well … I …”

  “Hang on, Jeanie,” Grandpa said, saving Fergus from his struggle to find words. “The boy’s played a blinder. He didn’t lie to the paper. He set a trap for Dermot, that’s all. He’s outed the Phantom Leaker, and given Jambo here the scoop he’s been waiting for!”

  Jambo’s face lit up as he realised what was staring right at him in black and white. “Herc’s hit the nail on the head, Jeanie. This is the story of the century! Well, of tomorrow’s sports pages anyway. I’m phoning the boss now to tell him to hold the back page.”

  “Hang on,” Fergus said. Because he’d thought of something then. The hard pip at the heart of all this hoo-hah. “Don’t name Dermot,” he pleaded.

  “Why ever not?” asked Jambo. “He didn’t do you any favours, after all. He put the team in danger.”

  “I just … I don’t think he meant to be mean,” Fergus said. “I think … I think something else is going on.”

  Mum nodded. “Good boy, Fergie,” she said. “You and Grandpa need to get to the bottom of it before anyone starts naming names.”

  “We will,” Fergus promised. “Won’t we?” He turned to Grandpa.

  “Sure as eggs is eggs,” Grandpa replied.

  “Dermot Eggs.” Fergus smiled, thinking of his team-mate’s last name. But the smile slipped no sooner than it had started. Solving the story had been one thing, but maybe there was a bigger story behind it. A badder story.

  “It wasn’t me,” repeated Dermot for the fifth time. “It was … Chimp!” He pointed at the dog in desperation, having already accused half of the squad.

  “Och, Dermot,” said Grandpa. “We know you did it. Daisy here only told you about heated knickers so you’d leak it to Dickie Moore. No one else knew about that silly story.”

  Daisy nodded in agreement. “As if we’d use heated knickers,” she added.

  “As if we could afford heated knickers,” Fergus added.

  As he realised his defeat, Dermot’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean to make things worse. I only did it –”

  “Yes, why did you do it?” interrupted Daisy, still miffed.

  “Let the laddie finish,” said Grandpa softly.

  Fergus felt sadness soak his own thoughts as he saw Dermot wipe his face on his sleeve.

  “I … I needed the money,” he said. “You can see where I live.”

  Fergus found himself checking the shelves and noticing how little there was on them. And when Dermot had offered them a drink, the fridge had been almost empty too.

  “How can I keep up with Wesley?” continued Dermot. “My Swift’s getting rusty and I haven’t got half the kit. No wonder I’m last reserve.”

  “Hey,” Grandpa warned. “The reason you’re last reserve is nothing to do with your kit. That’s down to commitment – or lack of it.”

  “And some things are more important than money,” said Daisy. “Like honesty!”

  Dermot reddened.

  Fergus’s face fell. Daisy was right, and so was Grandpa. But now Dermot had admitted it, they needed to move on. They could moan about him, or they could do something to help him. Mum had taught Fergus that. “But that’s not to say we don’t understand,” he said to Dermot then. “Look at me. I didn’t even have a bike when I started out.”

  “Nor me,” admitted Daisy. “Fergus and Herc helped me mend an old one.”

  “Really?” asked Dermot.

  “Really,” said Fergus. “And if you want, I’m pretty sure we can do something for you. Can’t we?” He turned to Grandpa, hope written all over his face.

  Grandpa’s frown slowly fell. “Aye, sonny,” he said finally. “I reckon we can. Nothing is ever so broken it can’t be fixed.”

  Fergus thought of his best friend, and all the worries they’d had, and the worries to come now she was moving. But, like Grandpa also said, where there’s a will, there’s a way. And Fergus was always willin
g.

  “I’m not doing everything for you,” Fergus said, as he handed Dermot the oil can. “I’m just showing you how to take better care of your bike so it doesn’t matter that it’s not brand new.”

  Dermot took the can and smiled. “Your grandpa’s already done enough,” he said. “Herc got all the rust off for me, and your mum mended my old jersey.” He turned to show off the invisible stitching, which of course, they couldn’t see.

  “And you can have this too,” said Daisy holding something out to him. “I … I won’t be needing it any more.”

  “Your Hopefuls water bottle?” Fergus asked. “But –”

  “No buts …” said Daisy.

  “Butts are for sitting on!” finished Dermot.

  Fergus felt happier than he had since the whole Phantom Leaker episode began as he, Daisy and Dermot worked on the bike together that afternoon. Happier still when Jambo held up the Evening News outing Dickie Moore for being pranked – a picture of Fergus and Daisy grinning out from the back page, taken by Dermot himself.

  But as Fergus slipped under his Spokes Sullivan duvet that night, the loss of Daisy washed over him again, and the sorry sight of her handing over her precious team water bottle pricked tears in his own eyes. How were the Hopefuls going to win the Internationals without her?

  How was he going to do anything without her?

  No, he thought to himself, clutching Chimp for comfort (a little too tightly for Chimp’s liking), things were never going to be the same again.

  Once a Hopeful, Always a Hopeful

  “Och, Fergie, for the fifty billionth time, will you get out into the sunshine?” Mum flapped a magazine at Fergus as he lay morose on the sofa.

  “Aye,” agreed Jambo. “You look like you’ve lost a pound and found a penny. Go on, it’s a dazzler of a day out there. Why not go for a quick spin – say, over to Daisy’s?”