Читать книгу Licence to Fish - Justin Richards - Страница 6

It was still quite dark when Alfie walked to school, but the men watching him from the hedges and ditches all wore sunglasses. This meant they had trouble seeing Alfie, and had to lean right out from their hiding places. Then they’d suddenly pull back into hiding when he got too close. Alfie ignored them and kept going.

He might have felt sorry for them, stuck out in the cold and the wet all night, except for two things. First, Alfie knew that they were agents of SPUD—the Secret Partners for Undertaking Destruction. They were spying on Alfie and all the other pupils and staff at Thunder Raker Manor School. And the second thing was that Alfie knew Mrs Prendergast would soon come out from her little cottage to offer them tea and biscuits.

Alfie was early this morning because he wanted to get to school in time to ask one of his friends about his homework. It had been set by Mr. Cryption the Codes teacher, and Alfie didn’t really understand what he was supposed to do. He had been given a sheet of lined paper, with a heading at the top. There was no explanation, and the heading simply asked, ‘Extraction Luggage Mangle?’.

So Alfie ignored the SPUD agents, and made his way up to the main school gates. He said hello to Sergeant Custer, who was on guard as usual. He paused to pat Gerald the guard dog. Then he made his way up the school drive and was soon in his classroom.

Only one of Alfie’s friends from Class 3D had arrived before him. It was Jack. His dad was head of the Secret Service, which sounded very exciting. In fact, all the children at Thunder Raker had parents or guardians who were in the Secret Service, or were spies or agents. All except Alfie.

His dad was a postman.

Everyone else thought this was great cover, and only Alfie knew he was at Thunder Raker because there had been a mistake. But Alfie loved the school and all his classmates, so he never said anything or complained.

“Hi, Alfie,” said Jack. “Did you get the Codes homework done, then?”

“I didn’t really understand the question,” Alfie confessed.

“Not surprised,” said Jack. “Have you heard about the new fishing club?”

“That’s it?” said Alfie. “Strange homework question.”

He got his homework out of his backpack, and wrote carefully under the heading: ‘No, I haven’t heard about the new fishing club’. He thought for a moment, and then added neatly: ‘Fester scribble’.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked as he watched Alfie write.

“Answering the question.”

“Great.” Jack pulled out his own homework sheet. It was as blank as Alfie’s had been. ‘So, what is it?”

Alfie frowned. “Have you heard about the new fishing club?”

“How strange,” said Jack. “I just asked you the same thing. And the notice only went up this morning, so I’m surprised Mr. Cryption knew about it.”

Alfie was beginning to think that maybe he had misunderstood. But the other children in Class 3D were arriving now.

“What’s that about a fishing club?” Alice asked. “I think fishing is cruel to fish.”

“Perhaps they can join too,” said Jack. “Sounds a bit boring though.”

Sam rolled up in his wheelchair. “Maybe I can get a special fishing attachment.” His

wheelchair was packed with gadgets and defensive equipment. “That would make it more fun.”

Jack said something in reply, but his words were drowned out by the noise of Beth arriving—on a rocket-powered scooter. She was wearing a bright pink crash helmet, and stopped so suddenly beside her desk that the crash helmet kept going. It flew across the room and hit Harry as he came through the door.

“Oof,” he said, and doubled over.

“Do stand up straight, Harry,” Chloe said, stepping into the classroom past him. “And give Beth back her helmet. Though I have to say it’s a bit old-fashioned. Pink is so last week.”

“Have you heard about the new fishing club?” Jack asked Harry.

“Fishing club?” Harry looked confused. “What do you do—hit them over the head with it?”

“Not that sort of club,” Alfie said.

“I’ve got a golf club,” Chloe said. “My dad gave it to me. There are eighteen holes in it and lots of famous people play golf there.”

“Even though there are holes in it?” Harry asked.

“You don’t go fishing with a club,” Sam explained to Harry.

“That’s right,” Chloe said, taking back her pink crash helmet. “You go with a rod.”

Harry was still looking perplexed. “Who’s Rod?”

“Maybe he runs the club,” Alice suggested.

“Some people go fishing with a net,” Jack pointed out. “That would have holes in.”

Harry sat down heavily. “Who’s Annette?!”

“Must be a friend of Rod,” Chloe told him.

Luckily, Miss Jones the class teacher arrived before Harry got any more confused.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said. “Now, before we go to Assembly, I have a message from Mr. Cryption. He’s very sorry that the homework he set you for last night didn’t really make sense and he’s asked me to apologise.”

“Extraction Luggage Mangle,” Sam muttered. “I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”

“Yes,” Miss Jones went on, “in fact, the question should have been…” She paused to check on a piece of paper. “Ah yes, here we are, it should have been: ‘Igloo pest under armada brackets?’”

Sam slapped his palm to his forehead. “Of course!”

“But what does it mean?” Alfie whispered to him.

“Haven’t a clue,” Sam said. “I just put my answer as ‘167 Wednesdays’. I don’t think I’ll bother to change it.”

Assembly started in the usual way, with the Head Teacher Mr. Trenchard forgetting why everyone was there or what was going on. Years ago, Mr. Trenchard had trained himself to forget anything that might be useful to the enemy if he was captured. But now he seemed just to forget everything. All the time.

Eventually he remembered what the Assembly was about, and explained the plans for the day ahead.

“And finally,” Mr. Trenchard said, reading from his notes, “we have a new after-school club starting this week. The Fishing Club. There’s already been a lot of interest, so each class will be allocated a day when they can go to the club. Today that class will be 3D.”

“Oh how boring,” Jack said. “I’m not going.”

“Nor me,” Beth agreed.

Sam shook his head too.

But Mr. Trenchard hadn’t finished. “Because the timetable is already so crowded, I’m afraid that anyone who does join the Fishing Club will have to miss the last lesson of the day. Which for Class 3D today would be…” he paused to check on a piece of paper, “…Political Destabilisation, with the Chaplain.”

“I think fishing is way cool!” Jack said.

“Fishing Club—can’t wait,” Sam whispered.

“I’m there,” Beth agreed.

“It’s cruel to fish,” Alice muttered.

Mr. Trenchard was explaining which day each of the other classes could go fishing and what lessons they would miss. “You will meet by the school lake at the start of the last lesson. Any questions?”

The other teachers all sat on the stage beside Mr. Trenchard. Alfie had noticed that there was always an empty chair on the end of the line. Beside the empty chair was the Major. He was in charge of sabotage training. “One thing,” he said gruffly. He struggled to remain upright as a leg fell off his chair. “Who will be running this Fishing Club?”

“Ah, very good question.” Mr. Trenchard paused as the Major’s chair toppled sideways and tipped him off the stage. “We have two experts coming in from the Advanced Fish Inspection Board.”

“That’s AFIB,” the Chaplain announced, in case there was any confusion.

“No, no,” Mr. Trenchard insisted. “It’s absolutely true.”

“Experts!” Harry whispered to Alfie, obviously impressed.

“And their names,” Mr. Trenchard announced, “are Rod and Annette.”