Flying Fergus 7

by Sir Chris Hoy

  “Woof!” agreed a voice.

  Fergus turned and felt the butterflies in his tummy flit away at the sight of his faithful friend. “Oh so you are speaking to me, are you?” he said. “Well, I hope your legs can keep up after all that sitting around, we’ve got work to do.”

  Because to get to Nevermore Fergus would have to ride as hard as he could for the magic to happen. And right now he really needed that magic.

  His legs were a little rusty, but soon they were speeding across the concrete. Fergus tucked his head down and elbows in without even thinking – aerodynamics were as natural to him now as breathing. A little more effort and he could feel they’d hit the sweet spot. He closed his eyes and let his feet – once, twice, three times …

  Team Trial Trauma

  “Waaahhhh!” he yelled as he found himself whizzing through Queen Woebegot’s prize petunias in the palace garden before coming to a crash in the compost.

  “Interesting landing,” said a voice.

  “Lily!” he replied, as his friend helped haul him to his feet. “Sorry about the flowers,” he said, looking back at the path of devastation he’d cut through the middle of the bed.

  “Oh, we’ll sort those out later,” said Lily. “Bit rusty, are we?”

  “Rusty? I should coco,” grumbled another voice, this one from under the compost.

  Fergus and Lily pushed a pile of potato peelings aside to find Chimp with an eggshell wedged on each ear.

  Lily laughed as she plucked them off. “Well, I’m just glad you two made it at all. You’re just in time, come on!”

  “In time for what?” Chimp asked, as he and Fergus hopped back on the bike and hurried after Lily.

  “Beats me,” said Fergus, but whatever it was, his dad was sure to be involved, and at that thought, he picked up the pace, feeling again the thrill of being back on a bike.

  “What in the name of Waltzing Matilda needed that kind of speed?” asked Chimp, as they came to a halt at Nevermore’s brand new and unusual cycle track, where Unlucky Luke, Prince Waldorf, and his sidekick, Dimmock, were waiting.

  “Team trials,” said Unlucky Luke, gloomily. “All right, Fergus?”

  Fergus nodded back a greeting. “But I thought you’d all just be on the team, you two and Waldorf and Dimwit – I mean, Dimmock.” Fergus smiled. He knew he should have felt bad about getting Waldorf’s sidekick’s name wrong, but the boy really was a bit of a fool.

  “Dimwit or not, he should still be on the team,” barked Waldorf. “As should I.”

  “And me,” Luke said miserably.

  “Well, in your case I can understand it,” scorned Waldorf. “Until you get those chicken feet fixed you’re no use on legs, let alone wheels. But me? I’m the fastest cyclist in the Kingdom.”

  “Well, we don’t actually know that yet,” Lily pointed out to her brother. “Which is why Hector wanted to hold the trials. What if there’s someone super speedy living in a far-flung corner of Nevermore?”

  At the mention of his dad’s name, Fergus felt his spirits lift immediately. His dad really did know best about bikes. Better than Charlie, he was sure of it. Not that Waldorf thought so.

  “I doubt it,” the prince scoffed. “Have you looked at that lot? Not one of them seems to know how to ride.”

  Fergus gazed at the gathering crowd. Waldorf had a point: there were a lot of people lining up to take their turn on the trial bikes, but most were falling off, or getting on backwards …

  “Hardly surprising,” said Lily, “seeing as cycling was banned until a few months ago.”

  “So why bother with trials?” Fergus asked out loud.

  “Just in case,” came the reply. Hector Hamilton was walking towards Fergus with a smile on his face.

  “Dad!” Fergus cried, and hugged his father.

  “All right, all right,” Chimp muttered. “Back to business. In case of what?”

  Fergus let go of his dad and looked at him expectantly.

  “In case there’s a cycling natural out there. Winning races is about hard work, but talent helps too, and one of these kids just might have what it takes. It’s only fair to offer everybody an equal opportunity. Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  Waldorf made a snorting sound.

  “I seem to recall you practically running me over when you first started,” Fergus’s dad warned the prince.

  “But you – you weren’t even here then …” Waldorf scratched his head.

  “Cat,” Dimmock said.

  “Huh?” said Fergus.

  “Where?” demanded Chimp, warily.

  “Him,” Dimmock said, pointing at Hector. “He was a cat, wasn’t he?”

  Fergus remembered – of course, Unlucky Luke’s dad had turned his dad into the kitchen cat, Suet. Maybe Dimmock wasn’t such a fool after all.

  “Right, now we’ve dredged up that depressing memory, shall we get to work?” Dad suggested.

  Everyone nodded.

  “Good,” he replied. “Then let’s get cracking.”

  “Dad?” Fergus asked as they headed for the start line. “I need to ask you something.”

  “And you can, but not until this is sorted. Here.” He handed Fergus his clipboard with the competitor list.

  “What’s this for?” Fergus asked.

  “I can’t do everything, can I?” Dad replied. “You’re my assistant coach. I’ll need your help.”

  Fergus nodded. He’d forgotten how much work Dad had cut out for him here: setting up the track, and organising races, as well as taking on coaching the team. Nevermore needed Hector, that was for sure. But Fergus needed him more. Then it pinged into Fergus’s head – if he helped Dad out now, then Dad would have to help him in return. That’s definitely how it worked.

  Or at least, that was what Fergus told himself as he got into place, ready for the first contestant.

  The Palace Pedallers

  “This is hopeless,” Lily sighed, after the tenth rider had fallen off in front of the starting line.

  “Ridiculous, more like,” Waldorf said.

  “Dad?” Fergus said, gently.

  “Okay, okay,” Dad replied. “I admit, it’s not looking great.”

  That was an understatement, Fergus thought to himself. So far, apart from Lily and Waldorf, who were certs anyway, only two people had even made it round the course: Unlucky Luke, who had lived up to his name and got his claws tangled in the pedals, coming a cropper a few times and falling over the finish line, and Mary the kitchen maid, otherwise known as “Scary”, on account of her mother being the terrifying Cook. Mary didn’t seem to be trying to live up to her nickname: when Dad told her she’d made the team she hadn’t said a word, just gone bright red.

  And to cap it all, Dimmock had spent most of his round trying to run into other contestants, earning himself a three-month ban from King Woebegot in the process.

  “There’s only one person left to try out,” Lily sighed.

  “Then let’s hope he’s a bobby dazzler,” said Dad.

  Fergus took a deep breath. The thin, pale boy with his dark sunglasses and large helmet didn’t look up to much, but then, he supposed, nor had he with his second-hand bike. Or the rest of Hercules’ Hopefuls come to it, like Calamity with his crashing, or Minnie, who was smaller than some of the under-7s. Looks could be deceiving, he knew that for sure.

  “Ready?” Fergus called out to the boy.

  The boy nodded, and lowered his head.

  A good sign already, Fergus thought. “On your marks, get set, GO!” he yelled.

  And with that, the good sign turned into a great one. The boy was unbelievably speedy, spinning down the straights and cornering with ease.

  “Woah!” Chimp exclaimed.

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Waldorf. “What’s his name?”

  Fergus checked the clipboard. “It just says ‘P-D’.”

  “Well, whatever his name is, I reckon he’s made the team as first rider,” said Dad, as the mystery boy crossed the
finish with two seconds on Lily and three on Waldorf.

  They all rushed over to meet him.

  “That was brilliant,” said Dad.

  “Beast!” agreed Lily.

  “Brilliotic!” added Fergus.

  “It was rather, wasn’t it?” the boy said snootily, unclipping his helmet.

  Fergus felt himself bristle. The boy had done well, but showing off like that was bad form.

  “So, PD?” said Chimp, before Fergus could blurt anything. “What’s that stand for, then?”

  The boy pulled off his helmet, took off his sunglasses and looked with disdain at the group assembled before him. “Derek,” he replied. “Prince Derek to you.”

  Fergus frowned. Lily and Waldorf didn’t have a brother, did they?

  “W-what?” stammered Waldorf. “Cousin Derek? Derek … Dastardly?”

  “Son of Duke Dastardly, ruler of the Darklands, and Dad’s biggest rival?” spluttered Lily.

  “The very same,” gloated Prince Derek. He flicked his long, blonde fringe out of his face. “My dad is rather a devil, isn’t he?”

  “He is to us,” said Lily. “Last Christmas he sent me an exploding toy bear.”

  “And he sent me a fake dog poo,” snapped Waldorf. “Only it turned out not to be fake.”

  “Ugh!” exclaimed Fergus.

  “Don’t look at me,” said Chimp.

  “Ha!” laughed Prince Derek. “So he did. What larks!”

  “Hardly,” said Waldorf. “It took weeks to wash the smell out of the carpet, and my velvet slippers.”

  Fergus caught Lily trying not to snigger.

  “Well, you probably deserved it,” Prince Derek countered quickly.

  “I don’t understand,” said Dad. “If you dislike Nevermore so much, why do you want to be on our team?”

  “Your team?” said Prince Derek. “Oh, no, I don’t want to be on your poxy team. I just wanted to show you what you’ll be up against in the first race.”

  “No way!” cried Lily.

  “Yes way,” replied Prince Derek. “And mission accomplished, I’d say.” With that, he gave his fringe another flick, popped on his helmet, and disappeared off towards the palace drive, where a black hover van was waiting.

  “What a dag,” said Chimp.

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” snorted Lily.

  “Absolutely,” said Waldorf, agreeing with his sister for once.

  “But that still leaves us one team member short,” Dad sighed. “Unless …” He turned to Fergus, a strange smile on his face.

  “Unless what?” Fergus asked, baffled.

  “Unless you sign up,” his dad replied.

  “What?” Fergus blurted. “But I’m the assistant coach. And I don’t live in Nevermore. It’d be against the rules.”

  “So move here,” said Lily.

  Fergus felt his tummy jump. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it. But not yet, not now. He was supposed to focusing on getting his dad back to Scotland, not staying here himself. And then there was Mum and the wedding, and all his friends – even Wesley.

  “No,” he said eventually. “I can’t be on the team. But I know someone who should be.”

  “Who?” asked Lily.

  “Yes, do tell,” said Waldorf. “Because as far as I can see, the only other possible is Unlucky Luke. And that’s, well, impossible.”

  “He’s not wrong,” admitted Unlucky Luke. “You saw what happened. My paws can’t grip the handlebars and my claws get snagged in the pedals. We’d come last anyway.”

  “That’s what you think,” said Fergus. “Come on, Luke – and you too, Chimp. We’ve got some work to do.”

  “Really?” asked Unlucky Luke.

  “Really?” asked Chimp.

  “Really,” replied Fergus.

  It wasn’t going to be easy – definitely out of his comfort zone. But with a little help from his friends he reckoned he could pull it off.

  “I don’t believe it!” said Waldorf as Luke rode round the track for a second time, not as speedy as Lily, or Waldorf, or even Scary Mary, but fast enough, and straight and, more importantly, determined.

  “I told you,” Fergus grinned.

  “A specially adapted bike!” Dad shook his head in amazement. “Now, why didn’t I come up with that?”

  Fergus shrugged. “Just thinking outside the box,” he said, remembering Charlie. Maybe she did know what she was talking about. Well, a little bit anyway.

  “Thanks,” said Dad. “And you too, Chimp. I owe you both. We’ve got the starting line-up for the Palace Pedallers.”

  “I love it!” cried Lily.

  “Me too,” admitted Waldorf.

  “Me three.” Unlucky Luke grinned, wiggling his chicken feet in their special braces.

  Scary Mary just smiled and nodded.

  Fergus smiled back. “Well, I reckon it’s time to be getting off,” he said, turning to Chimp, whose fur was still puffed in pride.

  “Er, didn’t you want to ask your dad something,” his dog said behind his paw.

  “I heard that,” said Dad. “He’s right, you came with a question, Fergus. What was it?”

  Fergus took a deep breath. “Nothing,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Really?” Dad asked.

  “Really?” asked Chimp.

  “Really,” Fergus replied. “Why does no one believe me today?”

  “Och, I’ve always believed in you, son,” Dad told him. “You’ll be back for the first race, though?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Fergus smiled. “What, watching you lot beat Prince Derek and his lot?”

  “Fingers crossed,” said Lily.

  “You can do it,” said Fergus. “If you practice.”

  “Aye,” agreed Dad. “Good advice from the assistant coach, there. Now, go on then – see you next time, Fergus.”

  Fergus smiled and clipped on his helmet as Chimp jumped up. “See you,” he said. And with that, he pushed his foot down hard on his pedal and set off down the drive.

  He should have got it before, he thought as he picked up speed: why Charlie had made them do all the yoga and wheelbarrowing and building the machines for the Wreck-it Run. And why she’d banned the bikes too: because now he was truly hungry for it, now he couldn’t wait to get his legs pumping like pistons, to hear the wind whistle past his ears, to feel like he was almost, almost … flying!

  The Wreck-it Run

  “I don’t understand,” said Daisy, as they wheeled their machine down to the start line in the hospital grounds. “I thought you were on Wesley’s side with the others. I thought you wanted Charlie gone?”

  “I was,” admitted Fergus. “And I did. But I worked something out.”

  “When you and Chimp went off?”

  Fergus nodded.

  “On your bike?” she added.

  Fergus felt his heart leap like a highland salmon. “Shhhh!” he hushed. “How did you know?”

  “I’m not daft,” whispered Daisy. “I know you disappear off sometimes. I just wish I knew where. Don’t worry, though, no one else has even an inkling.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” Fergus breathed deeply, grateful that Daisy was so loyal, even if she did have eyes in the back of her head.

  “So what did you work out?” she asked.

  “Yes, do tell,” said Wesley, who’d caught up, and was moodily pushing his own machine with Dermot.

  “Okay,” said Fergus. “If we’re going to win the Internationals, we need to think outside the box – that’s just like Charlie said. But more importantly we need to be hungry for it. I mean really hungry. And not the cake kind.” He frowned at Dermot who was busy demolishing a doughnut.

  “And you think the Wreck-it Run will make that happen?” asked Mikey, sounding less than convinced.

  Fergus stopped, and smiled. “Yes, I really do.”

  The others pulled up too and looked at the competition already lining up. There were all sorts of machines,
and all sorts of people pushing and steering them, and most of them looked a lot more ready for the race than any of Hercules’ Hopefuls, including Grandpa and Choppy themselves, who were still bickering, but clearly ready for action.

  Charlie scooted up to them, smiling widely. “So, squad. Want to be back on your bikes?”

  “Yup,” said Minnie.

  “Yu-huh,” agreed Belinda.

  “Like nothing else,” said Wesley.

  “There you go,” said Charlie. “You’re ready. Mission accomplished. Now all you need to do is smash the Wreck-it Run!”

  Chimp barked in agreement and jumped up onto Charlie’s lap.

  Fergus smiled. This was going to be a disaster, he was sure of it. But he was sure of something else too – it was going to be totally worth it.

  “Come on, Fergie!”

  “Nice one, Dais!”

  Fergus heard Jambo and Mum yelling from the crowds as he and Daisy sped round the second corner, Fergus braced low behind the push bars, Daisy with her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

  He glanced to his left and then his right to see Wesley and Dermot on one side and Minnie and Belinda on the other. He daren’t look behind, but up ahead wasn’t looking too bad. Calamity was crashing into all and sundry. Before hitting the buffers with Mikey, he’d taken out Grandpa and Choppy, but also the McTaggart brothers, Julie Gilhoolie the lollipop lady and her friend Selma, as well as Mr Minto the deputy head who was racing with the dinner lady Ms Grogan. That left Fergus and Daisy battling it out against the rest of the squad, and only one other crew up ahead. Fergus wasn’t sure who they were, but they seemed pretty practised – more than him and Daisy, anyway.

  “Come on,” he called out to his co-driver.

  “I am coming on!” she cried. “I’m steering for Scotland! You come on yourself!”

  Fergus’s legs were complaining, but he couldn’t listen to them. Daisy was right, he had to dig deep for the last extra push.