by Adam Wallace
The Incredible Journey of Pete McGee Adam Wallace
Adam Wallace
Published by JoJo Publishing
First published 2011
ePub edition 2012
‘Yarra’s Edge’
2203/80 Lorimer Street
Docklands VIC 3008
Australia
Email: [email protected] or visit www.jojopublishing.com
© Adam Wallace
All rights reserved. No part of this printed or video publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
JoJo Publishing
Editor: Mandy naylor
Designer / typesetter: Chameleon Print Design
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data
Author: Wallace, Adam, 1972-
Title: The incredible journey of Pete McGee / Adam Wallace.
Edition: ePub
ISBN: 978-0-9872959-4-1 (DG)
Target Audience: For primary school age.
Subjects: Fear—Juvenile fiction.
Children with disabilities—Juvenile fiction.
Self-actualization (Psychology)—Juvenile fiction.
Dewey Number: A823.4
Adam Wallace is not a knight … he would like to be one though, that would be extremely cool.
He is, however, an author, and he thinks that being an author is the most coolest job ever! He also knows most coolest is not very good writing, but he thinks it sums his feelings up perfectly.
So most coolest job ever it is!
Adam likes writing so much he does it full time.
He also draws a little bit.
He also plays golf a little bit.
He also takes naps a little bit.
He also barracks for Collingwood a little bit.
Adam has many other books apart from The Incredible Journey of Pete McGee. He even wrote some of them. Check it out!
The most grossest book by Adam Wallace
Better Out Than In
Picture Books by Adam Wallace
The Share-a-not
Mac O’Beasty
The Negatees.
Adam’s website is:
www.adam-wallace-books.com
If you email Adam he will do his very best to write back to you.
His email address is:
[email protected]
A message from the narrator
Chapter 1 Let the story begin
Chapter 2 Nice speech, Your Majesty
Chapter 3 Sir Loinsteak enters, stage left
Chapter 4 The Green Book
Chapter 5 The Wilderene Flower
Chapter 6 And awaaaay we go
Chapter 7 Gherkins get their just desserts
Chapter 8 Well done, Sir Loinsteak, well done
Chapter 9 Choices and consequences
Chapter 10 Santora’s wisdom
Chapter 11 Mantril madness
Chapter 12 Bandragon
Chapter 13 New friends, new hope
Chapter 14 Mmmm, food
Chapter 15 And now, the end is near
Chapter 16 COME ONNNNNN! !
Chapter 17 Home time
Chapter 18 And now, the end is here
For Mak, the best niece ever.
reetings readers and listeners. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am the narrator, the teller of stories, the words on these pages creating pictures in your mind. I bring to you a wonderful quest, a fantastic journey. The story you are about to be immersed in is a fairytale. Well, I guess it’s a fairytale ‘of sorts’. Okay, okay, okay, let’s analyse this. It has magic, but that’s nothing new. There’s a hero. Well, there’s always a hero. There’s a villain. In fact there’s an evil, wicked, dastardly villain. Nup, that’s pretty much par for the course in fairytales too. A fair maiden waiting for her lost love? It’s been done once or twice.
Ah, let’s face it, when I said this was a fairytale ‘of sorts’, I was kidding myself … and you! This is an out-and-out, magical, good-versus-evil, dashing-hero, beautiful-maiden, dastardly-villain, marvelous, fantabulous fairytale! And that is so good. In fact it’s more than good, it’s necessary! There can never be too many fairytales in the world. You might need some tissues though, ‘cos there are sad bits. Go on, get the tissues. I’m not going anywhere. Dum dee dum dee dum dee … Oh hi. You’re back. Right, got your tissues? Good. Now, what else will you need? Ummm, ahhh, okay, you’ve got the book, you’ve got the tissues … I know there’s something else as well. How about you go and get a drink or something while I think about it. Or talk amongst yourselves. Pretend it’s like you’re watching the telly and there’s an ad on or something.
Okay. Book, check. Tissues, check. Ummm, a sense of wonder and joy, yes, that’s it! HELLO! I’VE GOT IT, YOU CAN COME BACK NOW! Hi, yep, sorry for yelling, but you need to have a sense of wonder and joy. You need to get out of the real world to really enjoy this story. Are you ready then? Okay. Get comfy, and let’s go.
Ahem hem …
Welcome, welcome. You are about to be taken on a journey. A journey of danger, of laughter, of magic and of love. So strap yourselves in, and enjoy … the incredible journey of pete mcgee!
Turn the page keep reading. Go on, you know you want to.
he sun streamed through the window.
It had been doing so for a while, but eventually it came through at just the right angle. Just the right angle, that is, to go over the top of the chipped cup on the table, straight through the open bedroom doorway and smack into the left eye of a sleeping Pete McGee. The eye flinched, quivered, then opened. It closed straight away, tight, but now there were millions of tiny spots breaking the peaceful darkness of sleep. Pete rolled over but the sun wouldn’t be defeated that easily. It rose a little more so its rays bounced off the dressing table mirror, this time brightening the right eye of an annoyed Pete McGee.
Pete growled but then realised with a start what had happened. He’d overslept! How could he have done this? He never slept in. The covers were sent flying as Pete, with his pillow-hair and pyjamas, leapt out of bed. Today of all days was not the day to sleep in.
Every morning Pete would get up early in order to clean the house and make breakfast for his mother. They lived on the outskirts of town, on a little block of land. They had a few animals and they grew crops which they gave to their landlord as rent, keeping only a little for themselves. Although it wasn’t a big house, cleaning took Pete a little longer than it might have taken others, for he had been born with just one arm, his left arm. People had said Mrs McGee should get rid of him, that he would be a burden to her. But she had known better. She had cradled her newborn son in her arms and whispered, ‘You’ll not be a burden to me. Sure, those with two arms will have an advantage over you, but none will have your heart. You will go far, Pete McGee. Your courage and determination will make up for your losses.’
When he was seven years old Pete’s mother had written him a note. It was a day where nothing had gone right and Pete was feeling about as low as he thought possible. It was certainly the lowest he’d ever felt in his short life. But then his mother handed him his note, and now he never went anywhere without it. It read:
You are Sir Pete McGee, a brave and noble man, slayer of monsters and righter of wrongs. You are strong in so many ways. Believe in yourself and the world will see just how great a man with one arm can be.
Sir Pete McGee. That was what she called him. She said that there was a great knight just waiting to burst out of him.
If he was good and true, one day a situation would arise when the knight within would be awakened.
But for now, all that mattered was that he was running late.
Meanwhile, in one of the many corridors of King Cyril the 23rd’s castle, a shabby-looking servant edged along the wall towards the Throne Room. He looked like he could do with a good meal. He was dressed in torn and dirty clothes, and his big toe poked out of his right shoe. His name was Marloynne, and in his hand he held a note from the King’s doctor. Sir Clancy, King Cyril’s leading knight, had taken ill and wouldn’t be able to go on the planned journey. Marloynne knew no details about this journey, but he knew King Cyril the Short-Tempered was going to be mad. Really mad. Marloynne had worked as a cleaner and general dogsbody in the castle for only three months, but he had already witnessed the King’s awful temper on many occasions. As he reached the massive doors to the Throne Room he leant against the wall and took some deep breaths. He brushed as much dirt off his clothes as he could, trying to make them look respectable. He smoothed back his hair, and as he did so he noticed his hands were shaking.
‘Be brave Marloynne, don’t be a wuss,’ he said to himself, trying to will the words to have some effect. He turned and knocked on the door. An impatient voice came from inside.
‘Enter.’
Marloynne turned the door handle and winced at the creaking sound the door made. He looked around the room and saw that all eyes were on him. Ashlyn smiled from where she was cleaning and Marloynne winked at her. He longed to talk to her, but that would have to wait until mealtime. He had met Ashlyn on his first day at the castle and they had been inseparable ever since. He loved her deeply, she was by far the best thing about working in the castle. But, first things first, he needed to deliver the note. He walked over and bowed low, holding out the piece of paper at arm’s length.
‘Your Majesty.’
King Cyril the Temperamental took the note without a word and read it to himself. A small noise began in his throat, building like a volcano until it erupted in a massive roar. He stormed around the Throne Room, still yelling, waving the note in the air. He was a fearsome-looking man. He had a hooked nose, as most dastardly people seem to have. It made him look rather like a vulture, or an eagle, or an evil parrot. On either side of the nose were cold, hard eyes, and they were set in a face of stone that only ever smiled devilishly. Actually, it wasn’t even really a smile. It was more a sneer, a sneer that never reached his eyes and that gave away his evil intentions. The great royal cloak billowed out behind the King as he ranted. He grabbed whatever obscenely expensive objects he could and started hurling them around the room. The King was a strong man, and many items smashed into pieces against the rough, stone walls. The servants were forced to dodge as well as they could. Marloynne ran and stood in front of Ashlyn to protect her from any danger, wincing as a vase thudded into his back. King Cyril the About-to-Explode stopped for an instant, hunched his shoulders, then yelled as he straightened up:
‘How will I find this flower without Sir Clancy?
How?’
He wheeled around, grabbed Marloynne by the collar and wrenched him away from Ashlyn. Marloynne’s feet dangled in the air as the King lifted him so that their noses were touching. The King breathed deep and roared again.
‘HOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW?’
Marloynne’s hair blew back and his body went limp. Along with a fearsome temper, King Cyril the Garlic-Lover also had fearsome breath. The King grunted and dropped his servant to the ground. Ashlyn rushed over, dropping to her knees as she tried to rouse Marloynne, stroking his face as she spoke to him.
‘Oh, how sweet,’ the King simpered. ‘The two lowest, scungiest people in the castle are in love. Ahhhh, it makes me WANT TO THROW UP! To vomit! To chuck, chunder, spew! Get it?’
He turned to a guard.
‘Remove this girl from the castle. I never want to see her again. The slave boy will come with me in search of the Wilderene Flower.’
Ashlyn threw herself at the King’s feet, pleading with him as she clutched at his robes.
‘No Your Majesty, please. He will be killed if he travels with you, and he is the sole reason I rise in the morning. Without him I shall surely die.’
‘Then die you surely shall, sho shuffer Shtupid … I mean, suffer. Yes, that’s it, suffer. There will be sacrifices needed on this journey. Your lover boy will come in very handy as one of them. Be thankful I am a kind and noble king and don’t have you killed on the spot for daring to touch the royal robes.’
Ashlyn stared for an instant before speaking in low tones.
‘You are vile and evil. One day you will pay for your actions. I hope I am there to witness that moment.’
King Cyril the Yeah-Yeah-Whatever laughed arrogantly and waved his hand at Ashlyn as he turned away.
‘Remove her! I said I don’t ever want to see her again. Revive the boy from his cowardly faint and take him to Faydon. NOW!’
A guard moved over to Marloynne.
‘Come on Princess,’ he chuckled as he dragged the still unconscious Marloynne out of the room. Ashlyn watched them go, offering no resistance as she was led by two other guards out of the castle grounds. Outside, with heads lowered, the guards told Ashlyn she must not return, for to do so would mean her death.
‘My death is assured as it is,’ she answered. ‘My heart has been removed and it is only a matter of time before my body realises it is so.’
The guards shook their heads, their faces betraying their sadness. They re-entered the castle grounds and slammed the gates.
ete McGee cleaned the house first and then he cooked breakfast. His mother couldn’t do much around the house, for barely six years after Pete had been born she had been stricken with an illness. As the McGees were poor, the illness had remained undiagnosed. The pain through her body, the dizzy spells and the coughing attacks confined Mrs McGee to bed, apart from the short walks to the front yard she would take on her good days. Such days became rarer as time went by. She had arrived at a stage where eating was difficult, and the pain was a constant sharpness that reminded her of her fate. Mrs McGee knew that she was dying, and Pete knew it too. Neither of them spoke of it though, as if by keeping it secret would put off the inevitable.
Pete’s father had left not long after the sickness struck. A disabled boy and a dying wife? The place must be cursed. The whole town spoke of the McGees in whispers behind their backs.
‘The poor boy, with his problems and having to look after his mother as well.’
‘How they get by is anyone’s guess. They’re both pretty much useless.’
And so on …
Occasionally the McGees would hear such talk. Rather than get them down, it raised their determination to be as normal as they possibly could.
The smell of a cooked breakfast reached Mrs McGee before the actual food did, wafting in and teasing her nose before darting away on the breeze from the open window. Pete raced in, the tray of food balanced precariously on his open palm.
‘Sir Pete, good Sir, why the rush?’
In his excitement Pete basically threw down the tray, then jumped onto the edge of the bed next to his mother.
‘You know exactly why, Mum. You know today is the greatest day of the whole year. The rides. The games. The Tellings.’
Putting on her confused face, Mrs McGee shrugged.
‘Good Sir, this means naught to me. Methinks thou art a young man of twelve years who merely wishes to see that of which he speaks.’
‘Oh cut the fancy talk, Mum. You know.’
‘Sir Pete, thy tongue is vicious. Surely thou can talk like a knight to get thy message across to a poor, sick maiden.’
Pete knew that the only way he could please his mother was to play along. Usually he loved this game, but today was different. He groaned and brushed his hair out of his eyes.
‘Do I have to?’
Mrs McGee nodded. Pete jumped off the bed, placed his hand over his heart and began to speak.
/>
‘Hear ye. Hear ye. It doth please me to announce that this day marks the fifth anniversary of our King’s inauguration. That snot-faced shoe-licker, whose taxes mean you cannot get any pain relief, has ruled us harshly for five years now. Verily, though I do believe him to be an evil and wicked swine fit to wallow in mud and eat slops, he doth put on one humdinger of a soiree.’
‘Very well then, Sir Pete McGee, be gone. Be sure to have many great tales to relate as we sup tonight.’
Pete grinned a broad grin that did reach his eyes. He kissed his mother’s forehead and bolted out the door. Mrs McGee smiled. She knew that she would struggle to keep down the breakfast her son had cooked, but she couldn’t let Pete know that. He lived to help her, so she wanted more than anything for this to be a perfect day for him.
Pete raced into his room and grabbed his pack. He slung it over his shoulder and flew down the corridor. The Green Book on the shelf caught his eye, as always, but he ignored it and burst out the front door. The note his mother had written all those years ago was tucked safely in his inside jacket pocket. Pete skidded to a stop in the dirt in the front yard, turned around, and closed the door. A sudden itch attacked his back. He tried to reach it, twisting and squirming. Unfortunately, the combination of holding a pack and no right arm meant the itch remained unscratched. Pete edged up to the house and relieved his discomfort by rubbing his back against the rough wooden surface. His look of relief turned into a smile as he saw one of the pigs in the yard in exactly the same pose, with a look of relief on its face, rubbing against the wooden post. Pete laughed and ran off again, chickens clucking and scurrying out of his way. He headed for the town centre, which was where all the action would be. He rounded a corner and the royal castle came into view. As always, Pete was struck by how huge it was. Also as always, he stopped and stared, wondering why it was he was stuck in a little peasant’s shack when someone like the King got to live in luxury. Pete knew that King Cyril the Crooked wouldn’t have got his money through honest means. Rather, it would have been at others’ expense, through unfair taxes or imaginary fines. He shook his head clear, knowing he would much rather be with his mother in their house anyway. He was about to move on again when he heard a voice calling to him.