Kid Normal and the Rogue Heroes

by Greg James

  PAAAAAAAAAAARP! Mrs Fletcher’s Capability was the power to transform her head into a large foghorn.

  A hush fell on the hall as the last few stragglers rushed in and took their seats. Amongst them was Nellie, who slipped around the corner like a shy snake and slid into place beside Murph, wiping her hands on her jeans. They seemed to be covered in oil stains.

  ‘Where have you been hiding?’ Murph whispered to her. But Nellie, who was not given to long speeches at the best of times, only squeaked briefly and shook her long, green-tipped hair at him.

  At that moment Mr Souperman strode purposefully into the hall, waving an unnecessary hand for silence. (His hand in general wasn’t unnecessary – he found it useful on an almost daily basis. But the wave wasn’t necessary, because Mrs Fletcher had already silenced the room. Look, we’re getting bogged down here. Let’s close these brackets and move on, shall we?)

  Mr Souperman climbed the steps to the stage at the front of the hall and faced his students.

  ‘Welcome in,’ he began, before correcting himself. ‘Welcome here … back here. Welcome back in here. Good morning.’

  Mr Souperman could get a bit flustered speaking in front of large crowds from time to time, and it appeared that today was no exception. But he rallied valiantly, and went on in dramatic hushed tones: ‘It is the start of a new school year.’

  It’s amazing how many speeches start with something really obvious, thought Murph to himself. He might as well have stood up and said, ‘Well, here we all are, then, in the hall.’

  Mr Souperman had paused, as if to find exactly the right words with which to continue. ‘Well, here we all are, then,’ he said eventually, ‘in the hall. Ready to begin another exciting journey. But for you first years, this will all seem a little strange and overwhelming. So let me say a few words of reassurance. You have been admitted to this school because you are … special.’

  Mr Souperman gazed intently at the youngest students as he continued. ‘The world can be a dangerous place for people like us. But here at The School we will teach you to control your Capabilities, so you can keep them secret and live in safety.’

  Murph heard Mr Flash harrumph scornfully from his seat along one wall.

  ‘Or, if you are exceptionally skilled,’ continued the head, ‘we will give you the tools you need to take on the duties of a Hero. You will rise to the top … of the glass. Like cream. This school is the milk – no, wait – the school is the glass. We put the milk in … you are the milk. But some of you … are the cream. And I … in some ways, I am the cow.’

  He paused and furrowed his brow, his public-speaking jitters having apparently resurfaced once again.

  ‘What on earth is he talking about?’ muttered Mary.

  ‘Anyway – we’re getting sidetracked with milk,’ said Mr Souperman.

  ‘Time to moo-ve it along?’ said Billy, more loudly than he’d intended.

  ‘What was that?’ asked the head, looking over towards them.

  Billy’s right foot inflated in consternation, sending his shoe flying off. It bounced off the wall and landed near Mr Flash. The CT teacher glared balefully in their direction.

  ‘As I was saying,’ continued the head, ‘those of you who are truly world class will have the chance to take this vow.’

  He indicated an impressive stone tablet that hung proudly above the stage:

  THE HEROES’ VOW

  I promise to save without glory,

  To help without thanks

  And to fight without fear.

  I promise to keep our secrets,

  Uphold our vow

  And learn what it means

  To be a true Hero.

  ‘Ooh, it gives me the shivers every time,’ said Hilda excitedly, then blushed furiously upon noticing that most of the hall was now staring in their direction. Mr Souperman was pointing at them.

  ‘Last spring, five of our students stood on this very stage and became the youngest people ever to say those words, and –’ Mr Souperman had begun dramatically, but this time Mr Flash interrupted him with a harrumph the size of a hippo’s sneeze, and it seemed to bring the head down to earth with a bump.

  ‘Yes, well,’ Mr Souperman blustered, ‘I wouldn’t want any of you to get too excited about that. Those were exceptional and … highly surprising circumstances. We certainly don’t expect anything quite as dramatic to happen this year.’

  At these words, the daddy-long-legs of doubt returned to bother Murph’s brain. He felt even more deflated now – as did Billy, apparently, as his foot sank sadly back to its original size (four).

  ‘But nonetheless …’ continued Mr Souperman, ‘we like to use the first day of each new school year to show you what it’s possible to achieve. And so without further ado I would like to welcome you to Veterans Day: the day when we invite former Heroes’ Alliance operatives to The School to spend time in your lessons. Last year, as most of you will remember, we were lucky enough to have a visit from Countess Fireball and her faithful sidekick, Dominic Sledgehammer.’

  Murph turned to Mary and jacked his eyebrows up a few notches in surprise until they met his hair coming the other way. This was brand spanking new news to him. He had joined The School two weeks late last year and hadn’t heard one peep out of the others about Veterans Day or getting to meet actual Heroes.

  ‘Oh yeah, Countess Fireball was pretty cool actually,’ Mary acknowledged in a whisper. ‘The sidekick guy was a bit weird though. He kept on breaking stuff and shouting, “Hammer Time!”’

  Murph calmed one eyebrow, but kept the other at high alert. By now the left-hand side of his face was beginning to ache, and he was actually quite looking forward to ditching this expression completely.

  But he was forced to keep it, because just then Mr Souperman spread both arms wide and announced grandly, ‘So please welcome our special guests for Veterans Day this year. The Ex-Cape Committee!’

  There was a dramatic pause, followed by an even more dramatic clang from the hallway, and finally a loud whirring noise.

  Everyone craned their necks to try to see what was happening – even Mr Souperman, who by this time seemed anxious to be getting on with his assembly.

  Just as the tension was becoming unbearable, a sleek silver wheelchair glided through the doorway. Sit ting in it was a white-haired man with a keen, intelligent face and a neat beard. He was dressed in a smart grey jacket and had a red silk scarf knotted at his throat. The man moved smoothly through the hall, stopping only when he reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the stage.

  Everyone in the hall now looked across at Mr Souperman, who was standing up on the stage expectantly. Then they looked back at the man in the wheelchair. Then they looked at Mr Souperman again, then back at the wheelchair, like they were watching the oddest game of tennis ever.

  For a while nobody dared say anything, until one first year finally squeaked out, ‘How’s he gonna get up the stairs?’ before the people sitting on either side shushed him embarrassedly.

  ‘Excellent question from our vole-voiced young friend there!’ grinned the man in the wheelchair. He spoke with a clipped, upper-crust accent. ‘Never be afraid to ask a question. And here’s your answer.’ He moved the fingers of his right hand across a small control panel set into the arm of the chair.

  There was a click, followed by a low hum, and without fuss, the wheelchair rose slowly into the air.

  ‘Oooh,’ said almost everyone.

  ‘Oooh indeed,’ said the man in the chair, chuckling as he flew delicately around the room like an amused cloud. In a flying wheelchair. With a scarf on.

  The chair passed right over the Super Zeroes as it looped across the back of the hall. Murph could just make out what looked like a bright metal fan spinning underneath, but he couldn’t feel any downdraught. This was so puzzling he was forced to keep his quizzical expression in place; the left-hand side of his face was now cramping up quite severely.

  At that moment Murph heard a familiar
chuckle, and he followed the sound to the back of the hall, where Carl, the school caretaker, was leaning against the wall and gazing up at the flying chair with an affectionate expression.

  The wheelchair glided towards the stage, turning in mid-air. The man touched more buttons on the control panel as he swooped in and landed beside Mr Souperman, who raised his hands and began clapping. Gradually, the whole hall followed suit.

  While this impressive display of wheelchair aeronautics had been taking place, three more people had entered the hall and reached the top of the steps to the stage in a less interesting fashion. Two of them were slim elderly ladies, obviously twins, with long straight silver hair and shrewd, intelligent faces. The other was a large, grizzled old man who walked with the aid of a stick. He was bald, with a strong neck and a red face. In fact, he looked not unlike Mr Flash would if you shaved off his moustache and then waited around patiently for forty years.

  As the applause died down, Mr Souperman introduced his guests, starting with the man in the incredible wheelchair.

  ‘We are very honoured to have with us today Sir Jasper Rowntree,’ he announced, ‘formerly known as “Tech-Knight”.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Tech-Knight,’ said Sir Jasper, inclining his head politely to acknowledge the head’s welcome. ‘That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long while. But in times past, tele-tech was indeed my Capability: the power to control electronics with my mind.’

  ‘And please also welcome the Gemini Sisters,’ said Mr Souperman, waving a hand in the direction of the twins.

  ‘Marian and Vivian to you,’ said one of the pair. ‘That’s Marian there.’

  ‘Vivian and I were shape-shifters,’ added the other.

  ‘We could squeeze through even the tiniest of spaces,’ her sister went on. ‘Very useful on missions back in the day.’

  ‘It certainly was,’ broke in the final member of the team, clomping his stick on the wooden stage as he stepped forward. ‘I fought alongside these ladies many times, as the super-strong Lead Head. Tommy Biggs, at your service.’ He waved his stick out at the assembled students in salute, many of whom were regarding the quartet on the stage open-mouthed.

  The initial hubbub of excitement that had greeted the entrance of the flying wheelchair was gradually curdling into confusion as the true meaning of the Ex-Cape Committee’s name dawned on them.

  ‘That lot aren’t Heroes! They don’t even have Capes any more!’ Murph heard someone say scornfully. He looked across to see Timothy, a student from his class and one of Mr Flash’s favourites, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms in a gesture of disdain.

  ‘The people on this stage,’ continued Mr Souperman loudly, waving a hand as if to try to dispel the air of disappointment that was spreading through the room like a suspect egg sandwich, ‘are founder members of the Heroes’ Alliance, and we are privileged to have them here. They may no longer have Capes, but they were once operational and will have plenty of advice and tips … erm, memories … that I am sure they will be glad to share as they visit your classes during the day. Ladies and gentlemen, the Ex-Cape Committee.’ He led The School in a final, noticeably less enthusiastic smattering of applause.

  Under cover of the clapping, Hilda turned to the other Super Zeroes with her brow furrowed. She spoke in a tense, hushed tone, as if voicing her greatest fear …

  ‘How can you lose your Cape?’

  A LONG, LONG WAY AWAY, the man in black sat on the cold stone floor and listened.

  He listened to the world far above, to the hum and buzz of a thousand conversations. And he singled out one voice in particular. A voice that whispered only to him. It said: ‘Master …. can you hear me? I have returned.’

  ‘Welcome back, my friend,’ whispered the man in black. His voice croaked with lack of use. ‘Did you find everything as I had expected?’

  ‘The laboratory is perfectly intact, master, just as you predicted,’ whispered the voice from the world above. ‘There has been no interference, and the … the project is undisturbed.’

  The man in black grinned thinly into the darkness, a grin without a morsel of warmth or friendship.

  ‘Excellent,’ he murmured. ‘Everything is going to plan.’

  ‘Soon, master,’ whispered the voice, ‘soon you will be free.’

  The man in black looked around his prison. His smile curled and warped like burning paper into a grimace of malice and hatred.

  ‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘Soon.’

  4

  The A Stream

  ‘Not exactly role models, were they?’

  ‘What a bunch of weirdos!’

  ‘I thought this was supposed to be a day when some proper Heroes visit?’

  ‘What’s the point in talking to them if they don’t have Capes any more?’

  Murph and the rest of his class had made their way to their form room after assembly, where the topic of conversation was still firmly fixed on their visitors in the main hall. And most of the class seemed about as impressed as they’d been last year when Katie Johnson was sick in the middle of an English lesson – and it had smelled so bad that five other people had been sick too. ‘It’s not my fault my mum made asparagus soooooooooup!’ Katie had wailed. Their special Veterans Day guests seemed be going down equally badly.

  ‘Maybe he just invited them to keep Kid Normal company,’ sneered Timothy. His friends giggled sycophantically.

  Murph was just cooking up a real zinger of a comeback – which may or may not have included an unkind comment about Timothy’s hair – when the room was silenced by Mr Souperman marching in, followed by Mr Flash.

  ‘Do please sit down,’ the head told them, waving a benevolent finger. This confused things briefly, as everyone was sitting down already, but the class forgot all about it as they stared in surprise at the person who had slipped into the room behind the two teachers.

  It was a young woman with long dark hair. She was wearing a fringed leather jacket, skinny jeans and boots. Deborah Lamington had only graduated from The School last year, and her reputation amongst students was legendary. She was one half of the Posse, the only team of working Heroes in the local area until the arrival of the Super Zeroes. Deborah’s amazing Capability to control objects in mid-air made her a force to be reckoned with. If the coolness scale went from one to four, she was nudging a strong nine.

  ‘She’s awesome,’ Murph heard someone whisper, and he fervently hoped it hadn’t been him.

  ‘Before you get started on lessons, second years, I just have a quick announcement about staffing,’ said Mr Souperman, raising a hand to quell the hum of speculation. ‘As most of you know, Mr Drench has disapp– that is to say, Mr Drench will not be joining us at The School this year due to, ahm, due to his current state of … nobody knowing where he is.’

  Unfortunately for the head, these words only served to increase the excited hum. Mr Drench was a short, mole-like man with a reedy voice. Back in the Golden Age, before Heroes had started working in secret, he had been Mr Souperman’s sidekick – the Weasel. More recently, his job at The School had been to teach the less able students how to hide and control their Capes in public. But it had always seemed to Murph that the little man was bitter about being considered second best, both as a Hero and a teacher. When Nektar had at tacked The School last year, Mr Drench had been one of the first people to be enslaved, and after the battle was over, he was nowhere to be found. The mystery of his disappearance was a matter of huge gossip amongst the students, fuelled by the fact that Mr Souperman seemed spectacularly reluctant to talk about it.

  The head teacher battled on. ‘As a result, I am delighted to say that one of our former students has agreed to fill in for the time being. Miss Lamington is familiar to many of you, of course, and I’m sure you’ll make her feel very welcome.’

  Deborah swooshed her hair like a glossy horse and raised a hand in greeting.

  ‘Miss Lamington will be teaching you CT this year,’ clarified the head. ‘Everyone exce
pt the lucky few who will be joining Mr Flash in the A Stream, of course. And I’m sure you’re all anxious to know who those students will be …’

  At this the excited hum rose to deafening levels. Murph could see one of Timothy’s friends patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. The most ambitious students in The School were desperate to join Mr Flash’s special lessons and they had been waiting months to find out who was going to make it.

  ‘After all, as you will remember, there was a slight hitch with the Practical Capability Aptitude Test last term,’ Mr Souperman reminded them, in a truly world-class display of understatement.

  ‘What, when the school was attacked by that hideous wasp-man hybrid and taken prisoner?’ asked Elsa, a girl whose Cape was freezing things, from the front row.

  ‘And you were knocked unconscious by one of your own students and had to be rescued by five first years?’ added someone else.

  ‘One of who has no Capability?’ finished Timothy, with a sly glance at Murph and his friends.

  ‘One of whom, Timothy,’ corrected Mr Souperman, hoping that he might have won back the respect of the room with this small grammatical triumph. ‘Yes,’ he continued airily, ‘well, after that slight hitch, we have decided that perhaps the P-CAT isn’t the most effective way of gauging your Hero potential.’

  Behind him, Mr Flash tried to do that thing where you do a cough that is actually the word ‘rubbish’, but sounds cough-like enough to get away with. Unfortunately, subtlety was not the CT teacher’s Capability, and all he did was bark the word ‘rubbish’ in a slightly hoarse voice.

  ‘Did you have something to add, Mr Flash?’ asked the head blandly.

  ‘NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO. NO, NO, NO,’ replied Mr Flash innocently. ‘No, not at all. No. I just coughed.’

  ‘My mistake,’ said Mr Souperman. ‘It sounded rather like you shouted the word “rubbish” in a slightly hoarse voice. Anyway,’ – he turned back to the class – ‘this year, in collaboration with Mr Flash, I have handpicked the students who will be joining him for his special lessons from today onwards. Mr Flash?’ He waved the CT teacher forward.