Extraordinary! thought the park keeper. A genetically modified owl! And how on earth did he end up with a homing device strapped to his leg?
‘And in another amazing bird story, scientists have discovered that chickens share the same DNA as the T. rex …’
Amazing! Thought the park keeper. Chickens related to a T. rex? You couldn’t make it up!
She pulled up at the caravan park and got out of the van.
Everything looked just as normal. The flock was grazing peacefully in the field, the caravans were empty and there wasn’t a soul to be seen. It always amazed her that the place was so empty, apart from the occasional fossil hunter of course. The caves on Stormy Island were supposed to be the best place to find fossils (although personally she’d never been, as the island reminded her too much of a giant tombstone!). She took a lungful of fresh air, trying to imagine what Stormy Cliff had looked like in the Jurassic age. Then, mindful of the time, she strode towards the caravan where the chickens slept at night to replenish their food.
It was then that she noticed that the door was hanging open on another of the caravans – the one nearest to the loos. She frowned. It looked like someone had broken in!
She pushed open the door of the caravan and went inside. The place was a tip! There were feathers and bits of food scattered everywhere. Chickens! But it wasn’t like her girls to break into another caravan. Or to leave such a revolting mess. The flock had their own caravan, and they were usually very tidy. It really was most odd!
She took a step forward. CRUNCH! The park keeper bent down and picked up a piece of squashed metal. She scratched her head, trying to work out what it was. It had three legs and a bar at the top, almost like a chicken-sized zimmer frame, although of course it couldn’t be that, unless a bunch of old granny chickens had taken it into their heads to come and stay in her caravan while she wasn’t there! It was probably just an old water bottle holder off a bike.
Even so …
The park keeper’s eyes twinkled.
A seaside home for convalescent foxes …
A genetically modified eagle owl …
A dinosaur chicken …
A bunch of granny hens …
All you needed was a decent setting (Stormy Cliff?) and a few superheroes (an elite-chicken squad and their mentor perhaps?) and you had the makings of a good story! Now what could she call it? How about The Mystery of Stormy Island? Her granddaughter would love that. Perhaps she could make something up to tell her at bedtime?
The park keeper finished her chores quickly and got back into the van. The more she thought about it, the more excited she felt. The story was really taking shape in her head. She already had her first line. It went something like this:
Far to the north, on a remote clifftop stands Stormy Cliff Caravan Park …
About the Author
Jennifer Gray lives in London and Scotland with her husband, four children and a friendly but enigmatic cat. Her other work includes the Atticus Claw series and the Guinea Pigs Online books, co-written with Amanda Swift. The first book in the Atticus series, Atticus Claw Breaks the Law, was shortlisted for the Waterstone’s Children’s Book Prize and won the 2014 Red House Children’s Book Award – Younger Readers category.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Atticus Claw Breaks the Law
Atticus Claw Settles a Score
Atticus Claw Lends a Paw
Atticus Claw Goes Ashore
Atticus Claw Learns to Draw
Atiticus Claw on the Misty Moor
Atticus Claw Hears a Roar
Chicken Mission: Danger in the Deep Dark Wood
Chicken Mission: Curse of Fogsham Farm
Chicken Mission: Chaos in Cluckbridge
Chicken Mission: The Mystery of Stormy Island
Copyright
First published in 2016
by Faber & Faber Limited
Bloomsbury House
74–77 Great Russell Street
London WC1B 3DA
This ebook edition first published in 2016
All rights reserved
Text © Jennifer Gray, 2016
Cover and internal illustrations © Hannah George, 2016
The right of Jennifer Gray to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library
978–0571–29834–1
Find out about other crimes the
Elite Chicken Squad have foxed …
If you love
Then you’ll love Atticus Claw, the world’s greatest cat burglar!
Read on for a sneak peek of his first adventure:
Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw – the world’s greatest cat burglar – was lying on a comfy bed in Monte Carlo when a messenger pigeon landed on the windowledge. Atticus opened one eye, then the other. Finally, with a yawn, he stretched lazily, jumped off the bed and padded over towards the window.
‘Are you Claw?’ The messenger pigeon said cautiously.
‘Who’s asking?’ Atticus replied, examining his sharp talons.
‘Never you mind.’ The pigeon shivered. He blinked at Atticus. He had been told to deliver the note to a brown-and-black-striped tabby with a chewed ear, four white socks and a red handkerchief with its name embroidered on it tied round its neck. He was sure he’d got the right cat. It looked a nasty piece of work; but then most cats did as far as he was concerned. ‘I’ve got a message for you.’
‘Hand it over then,’ Atticus purred, jumping on to a table and holding out a paw.
‘No chance!’ the pigeon sidled away from him along the ledge. Carefully, watching Atticus all the time with his beady eyes, he unclipped the tube containing the message from his leg and threw it on the table.
Atticus flipped off the lid, reached in with a claw and uncurled a tiny piece of paper. He stared at the message. It was in a strange scratchy writing he didn’t recognise.
‘Who gave you this?’ Atticus demanded.
The pigeon looked frightened. ‘I can’t remember,’ he cooed.
Suddenly Atticus pounced. His left paw pinned the pigeon’s tail. ‘Don’t waste my time,’ he hissed. ‘I want to know who gave you this.’
The pigeon looked more frightened than ever. ‘I can’t say,’ he squawked. ‘They’ll kill me if I do. And worse! You’re not supposed to find out until you get there. Help! I’m in a tizzy!’ The pigeon fainted.
Atticus let go. ‘Hmmm,’ he said, reading the message again. ‘Interesting …’ He glanced at the dazed bird. Pigeons always talked. Yet this one had kept its beak shut. Whoever had sent the message, Atticus decided, had certainly scared the poo out of the pigeon.
For a moment he hesitated, wondering what to do. Then he grinned. All cats like mysteries – that’s why they’re called ‘curious’. And Atticus was no exception. In fact Atticus loved a mystery. Especially when he was at the centre of it.
The pigeon came to with a start. ‘Well?’ he trembled. ‘What shall I tell them?’
‘I’ll be there,’ Atticus said.
The pigeon looked relieved.
‘Off you go, then.’ With a sweep of his paw, Atticus pushed the startled bird off the ledge.
He watched it flap away. Then he padded down the stairs and went into the study. The computer was on. He tapped out the words Littleton-on-Sea expertly with his claws. A picture of a sleepy cobbled town next to a flat grey sea popped up on t
he screen. It didn’t look much, Atticus thought. Not exactly the sort of place you’d expect a summer crime wave. But he could soon change that! Tapping away at the keyboard, it didn’t take him long to work out exactly how he was going to get there. Then, without a backward glance, he slipped out of the cat flap, jumped on a train to the nearest port and boarded the next cruise ship to England.
The Mystery of Stormy Island Page 9