Flying Fergus 8 Page 3

  “No, you’re all right,” he told Jambo. “I’ll see you later.”

  Once Jambo was safely round the corner of Napier Street, Fergus whispered to Chimp, “Fancy a little ride?”

  All’s Fair

  Whomp!

  The bike landed with an expert thud right in front of the Palace Pedallers’ track. Fergus grinned to himself: he was getting good at this – all he had to do was get up to speed on his bike, imagine where in Nevermore he wanted to be, backpedal three times, and hey presto! Peering at the palava playing out in front of him, however, he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right choice. Hector Hamilton, King Woebegot and Unlucky Luke’s dad, Percy the court wizard (otherwise known as Percy the Pretty Useless) seemed to be locked in a shouting match. Unlucky Luke, Princess Lily, Prince Waldorf, Dimmock and Scary Mary watched agape from the sidelines.

  “What in the name of Waltzing Matilda is going on?” asked a familiar Aussie dog.

  Fergus looked down at Chimp, surprised to see him sitting with his paws on his hips … surprised he even had hips! “I don’t know,” he sighed. “But I think we’d better find out.”

  As the pair pedalled closer to the podium, they could see the king’s face getting redder and redder, and Fergus’s dad getting paler and paler, while the wizard stood between them looking worried.

  “I’m right!” yelled the king.

  “No, I’m right,” insisted Hector. “It’s wrong.”

  “Oh, do make up your minds about what’s wrong and what’s not,” pleaded Percy. “The spells won’t make themselves.”

  “Unfortunately,” muttered Prince Waldorf. “They’d probably do a better job.”

  “Oh, do shut up,” Princess Lily said crossly. “Dad’s wrong, it’s not right, and that’s the end of it.”

  “End of what?” asked Fergus, more perplexed than ever.

  “Fergie!” Lily cried. “About time. Perhaps you can talk some sense into my dad.”

  “About what?” Fergus asked. “What’s wrong? And what’s right? And what’s this about spells?”

  “Waldorf and Lily’s dad wants my dad to use spells against the Darklands Demons in the first race this afternoon,” explained Unlucky Luke. “But your dad says that’s wrong.”

  “Which is right!” said Lily. “Isn’t it, Mary?”

  Scary Mary said nothing but nodded quickly. Team member number three of the Palace Pedallers was very shy.

  “Well, if spells mean we beat Cousin Derek and his team then I say we use every weapon we’ve got,” Waldorf announced.

  “That’s my boy,” said the king, puffed up with pride.

  Fergus shook his head. “Dad’s right,” he said. “It’s cheating. Wouldn’t you feel rotten if you won knowing it was down to spells, not skills?”

  Waldorf shrugged. “A win’s a win,” he said.

  Hector Hamilton shook his head. “I’m the one with the coach’s cap,” Fergus’s dad said. “And I set the rules.”

  “And I’m the one with the crown,” retorted King Woebegot. “And I’m the one who can lock you back up in the Dungeon of Despair if I feel like it.”

  “Ha!” said Waldorf, delighted. “We win!”

  “Hector?” begged Lily, looking imploring at Fergus’s dad.

  Fergus crossed his fingers. Chimp crossed his paws. But deep down, they knew they were fighting a losing battle.

  And so did Hector. “Fine,” he said. “Have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. And don’t expect me to congratulate you if you win by foul means, not fair.”

  “Fair?” spluttered King Woebegot. “Duke Dastardly of the Darklands wouldn’t know fair if it hit him in the face with a kipper.”

  “Nor would Prince Derek,” added Waldorf.

  “So, crank up the cauldron.” The king grinned at Percy. “Spells it is!”

  “This,” whispered Lily to Fergus as they set off for a warm-up lap, “is going to go horribly wrong.”

  “I think you might be right,” replied Fergus. But he held out his hand for their special finger-wiggling handshake to show he was on her side.

  To his delight, she wiggled her fingers right back. “Friends first and forever,” she said and winked.

  “First and forever?” he asked.

  “It’s our new team motto,” she said. “Your dad’s idea. To remind us what’s most important. Do you like it?”

  Fergus thought about Daisy and his mates back home, and the team here too. “First and forever,” he said, nodding. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

  “What? So we don’t actually get to do any spells?” asked Waldorf, clearly disappointed.

  “No, no and no again!” blustered Percy the Pretty Useless, brandishing his wand in one hand and a bottle of fizzing purple potion in the other. “You’re not licensed to handle this kind of … special equipment.”

  “And you are?” yelled Waldorf.

  “I’ve got my Level Seven Wizard Skills diploma, I’ll have you know,” boasted Percy.

  “It’s true,” said Luke.

  “Level seven out of how many?” demanded Waldorf. He turned to Luke. “You gave your son chicken feet and bear claws.”

  “Well, yes, but … but that’s not the point,” stuttered Percy. “The point is, I’ll do my magic –”

  “And you lot concentrate on your bikes,” Fergus interrupted.

  “Aye,” Hector backed his son up. “You heard the lad. Just carry on doing what you do best.”

  “We will,” promised Lily, snapping the strap on her helmet. “Won’t we, Pedallers?”

  Mary nodded in agreement, while Luke looked up from adjusting his specially adapted pedals. “Definitely,” he said.

  “Waldorf?” asked Fergus.

  “I suppose,” said the prince, reluctantly. “Though I don’t see what it’s got to do with you.”

  “Assistant coach,” said Hector, putting his arm round his son. “Isn’t that right?”

  Fergus felt himself flush with pride. “Beast!” he said.

  “What am I then?” demanded Chimp.

  Fergus looked his dog up and down and clocked the spanner sticking out of his pocket. “Head mechanic,” he decided. “Right, Dad?”

  “Right,” agreed Hector.

  “Have you lot quite finished?” the king said. “Because that wretched duke and his Darklands lot are here and the quicker we can trick them, the quicker I can win back the fifty groats he owes me from that snail race thirty-seven years ago.”

  Fergus glanced over at Duke Dastardly and his team, who had assembled on the trackside. The duke was a tall, glowering man, with a coat as black as night and a hat that looked like it was made out of dead ravens. He shuddered.

  “Oh, you’ll win,” said Lily. “But by pedal power.”

  “I don’t care how you do it,” snapped the king. “Just get on with it. The queen’s already got a headache and you know what she’s like when she’s in a mood.”

  Fergus gulped. As if the duke wasn’t bad enough, they had Queen Woebegot to contend with as well. She was rather too fond of yelling “Orf with his head!” when she was cross. He hoped she didn’t shout that one out today; not even against Prince Derek. Anything might happen if Percy was in charge of the spells. Fergus looked at the Duke’s son lining up with his teammates – Norman, Norris and Nigel, according to the team sheet – all equally pale and grim-faced. Derek was fast, faster than Lily even, so this was going to be one tough race, magic or not.

  Pedalling Pandemonium

  “Orn your marks … ” called Queen Woebegot haughtily. “Get set … and tally ho!”

  Fergus held his breath as the teams lurched off down the first straight. He wasn’t used to seeing the race from the coach’s position. It was all he could do not to run out onto the track – now he understood how hard Grandpa and Choppy must find it standing on the sidelines. Then a terrible thought occurred to him: what if he didn’t make the final team for the Internationals? He’d be stuck in this spot back in Scotland
as well.

  “Don’t,” warned Chimp. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to help.”

  “So you’re psychic as well as a chatterbox?” said Fergus.

  “I can fix a sprocket, sing a lullaby and dance the cha-cha-cha,” said Chimp. “But I don’t like to boast.”

  Fergus was about to ask his dog to prove it when he heard a cry of “Abracadabra!” coming from Percy next to him. The king, sitting behind them, cheered as a swarm of very cross wasps shot out of nowhere and swarmed after Prince Derek.

  “Help!” cried the prince, swatting one from his visor and swerving from side to side to get away from them.

  “Don’t worry, they’re not the stinging kind!” called Percy.

  “How thoughtful,” said Fergus.

  “Actually, it’s because I haven’t worked that bit out yet,” admitted Percy quietly. “But they’re still scary, hey?”

  “Cheaters!” yelled Duke Dastardly, and nudged a small man in a spangly cloak standing next to him.

  The small man waved a wand and sparks shot out. Then a frog the size of a cow appeared on the track, unrolled a long sticky tongue, and licked the wasps into oblivion.

  “Holy mackerel!” yelped Chimp.

  “No,” said Percy. “Horrible Higgins. The Duke’s own wizard and my arch-rival.”

  “Orf with his head!” screeched the queen, though it wasn’t clear if she meant the giant frog or the wizard.

  Fergus watched, horrified, as Mary’s front wheel got stuck on the frog and she flew over the handlebars, landing with a squelch.

  “Help!” she mouthed silently as the frog began to unfurl its enormous tongue towards Mary herself.

  “Don’t you dare!” roared Cook, Mary’s terrifying mother who was watching from the other side of the tracks.

  “I’ll fix that!” cried Percy and let loose a shower of green flashes that rained down on the frog, dissolving it into a puddle of goop, and setting Mary free, although she was a little sticky.

  “What was that?” demanded Fergus.

  “Glue remover,” said Percy. “Obviously.”

  “Well, good,” said Hector. “But can you stop now and just let my team get on with cycling?”

  Fergus glanced at the pack – in the lead, Waldorf was head to head with Norman, followed by Lily and Luke battling it out with Norris and Nigel. The sticky Mary and a scowling Derek were bringing up the rear, working hard to catch up.

  “Come on, Pedallers,” Hector yelled. “Eyes on the prize!”

  But before Fergus could add anything about staying long and low, or keeping elbows in, a lightning flash lit up the track, and a two-headed serpent (one lion, one crocodile) appeared on the podium right in front of Queen Woebegot.

  “Orf with its heads!” she yelled.

  Hector turned to Percy. “You promised to stop!” he pointed out.

  “It wasn’t me!” replied the wizard. “It was Horrible Higgins! But this … ” He waved his wand “ … is all my own work.” And with that he conjured up a four-headed serpent (one lion, one crocodile, one fanged baboon, and one, rather surprisingly, poodle) to eat the two-headed one. “Take that!” he cried.

  “How dare you!” sniped Duke Dastardly, nudging Horrible Higgins, who immediately conjured up a six-headed serpent to eat the four-headed one, this time with added vampire bat, and, worse, a cat that looked alarmingly like Carol.

  Chimp yelped.

  The queen screamed, “Orf with all their heads!” and promptly fainted.

  “Och, for heaven’s sake,” cried Hector as Percy lifted his wand again.

  “Stop!” cried Fergus. “Please. What about the race?”

  “The race?” said a voice. “Oh, we won that about two minutes ago. Or rather, Luke did. He’s used to dealing with this sort of tomfoolery.”

  Fergus’s mouth fell open as he saw Lily unclip her helmet, followed by a beaming Waldorf, Luke and Mary.

  “But … ” he blustered. “How …?”

  “Oh, you can’t let a little fighting distract you,” said Lily, looking her dad right in the eye, who reddened as the duke paled. “Not when there’s something serious at stake.”

  “Is this true?” demanded Duke Dastardly, grasping Prince Derek by the collar. “You lost?”

  Derek yanked himself free. “Yes, but only because of your stupid magic tricks,” he said. “If you’d left it to me, we’d have beaten them easily.” And with a flick of his fringe, he stomped off to the hover van, followed by Nigel, Norris and Norman.

  The duke turned to the king. “Best of three, eh, Kevin?”

  King Woebegot nodded. “If you say so, Dave.”

  A thin smile flickered on Duke Dastardly’s narrow face. “We’ll get you next time,” he seethed, then stalked off too, whispering to Horrible Higgins as he went.

  “Well, thank heavens that’s all over,” said the queen. “Having the other side of the family over is always so trying.”

  “Well, only two more to go,” said Fergus’s dad, then turned to the king. “But no more magic tricks!”

  “It was way too dangerous,” said Fergus.

  “And we didn’t need them anyway,” added Lily.

  “Fine, fine,” said the king, slapping at a leftover wasp who was licking his shoe. “No tricks. Unless they try one first.”

  “Not even if they try one first!” snapped Lily, a bit cross her parents had missed her victory because they were distracted by wizard wars.

  King Woebegot sighed and nodded. “Time for tea?” he said. “There’s scones.”

  “And jam,” said the queen. “As long as Cook’s made some. If not, orf with her head, I say!”

  Mary looked more scared than ever.

  “Don’t worry,” whispered Lily. “She never really means it.”

  “Coming, Fergus?” asked Dad, as everyone set off for the castle.

  Fergus shook his head. “I need to get back,” he said. “Got some fighting of my own to sort out.”

  Dad nodded. “I’ve got every confidence in you, son. You showed today you know what matters most to a team.”

  Fergus nodded as he felt his chest puff with pride again, “Thanks, Dad.” It was true, he felt as if he could handle his own problems himself now, without needing to ask for help.

  “See you soon, though, eh?” Dad said, then added, “I suppose you’re too big for a hug now?”

  Fergus shook his head. “Never.” And he let his dad pull him in for a squeeze before he headed off after the others to the castle.

  Lily had lingered behind. “I’d better go,” she said. “Or it’ll be my head Mother wants offing.”

  “See you soon,” said Fergus.

  Lily grasped his hand then, wiggling her fingers. “Friends first and forever,” she said.

  “Exactly,” he said, wiggling back. “Everyone could do with remembering that.”

  “What about me?” demanded Chimp. “Don’t I deserve a secret handshake?”

  Lily laughed and took a paw; Fergus did the same. “Friends first and forever!” they chorused.

  Fergus smiled to himself. Now I just need to convince Daisy of that, he thought.

  “Good luck with that, mate,” said Chimp, reading his thoughts.

  Road Rage

  Fergus’s tummy was alive with butterflies as he arrived at Carnoustie Common to find the leader board up. Wesley, Minnie and Belinda were all front of the pack, and his name in joint fourth place with Daisy. So I need to come at least third to be guaranteed a place, Fergus thought. But then so did Daisy. And if Calamity or Dermot did really well they might still beat them both.

  “Today’s not going to be easy,” Grandpa said, as Fergus clipped on his helmet and checked his elbow pads. “But I know you’ve got what it takes.”

  “What’s that?” Fergus asked.

  “Commitment,” said Grandpa. “Determination. And a wee drop of talent too, of course.”

  But hadn’t they all got that? Fergus looked round at the rest of the
squad, each going through their own pre-race ritual: Wesley was doing press-ups, Calamity was trying to touch his toes, Minnie and Mikey were doing a few alleyoops, Belinda was fixing her hair, and Dermot was eating a biscuit. And there was Daisy, who he knew would be reeling off Spokes Sullivan’s race times in her head, just like she always did. They were all committed, determined, and though none of them were Spokes, not yet, they all had a wee drop of talent.

  Especially Daisy.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” Fergus said, handing his bike to Grandpa before going over to his friend, who was kneeling by her back tyre, checking the pressure. He crouched down beside her. “Whatever happens,” he said, “we’ll still be friends, Dais, won’t we.” He said it so it wasn’t a question, so Daisy couldn’t say “no”.

  She looked up, then away again quickly. “Friends,” she repeated. “I suppose.”

  “First and forever, yeah?”

  Daisy twisted the cap back on the valve and stood up, so Fergus did the same. “First and forever,” she repeated. “If you say so.” Then, without even a second glance, she snapped on her helmet, slid onto her saddle, and cycled to the start line, finding a place between Wesley and Minnie.

  Fergus sighed. She’d said the words, but it didn’t sound like she had meant them, not like Lily. But it was as good as he was going to get, for now. So, with his tummy fluttering, his heart dancing and his fingers crossed, Fergus saddled up and settled into place on the end of the line to listen to Choppy explain the course.

  “You’re off up Napier Street for a mile, come back down the hill past the Bruce’s Biscuits factory, then round the back of the church to end at Middlebank.”

  “That’s … miles!” Belinda moaned.

  “And uphill too!” added Wesley.

  “Aye, it’s certainly a tougher run than you’ll get on the flat in Manchester at the Internationals,” agreed Grandpa. “But if you do well in this, we know you’ll do even better at the event. Right, Choppy?”