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Illustrations by Jim Hansen
For Chris—whose dad is a writer. No, really.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Hedgehog Slab Illusion
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Introduction
Welcome to Thunder Raker Manor
An Introduction to the School
By Mr Trenchard, Head Teacher
Thunder Raker Manor is an exclusive school for boys and girls from 8 to 18. Some of the children come daily, some are boarders. Some of them I remember, some of them I—er, what was I saying?
Anyway, all our students are here because their parents or guardians are connected with the Security Services. Spies and agents are happy to send their children to Thunder Raker Manor secure in the knowledge that they will be safe from any possible threats.
We teach a full curriculum at Thunder Raker, fully compliant with the National Thingummy. And alongside the English and Maths and History and Geography, our students learn skills that may just come in handy back home or in their future careers —if they have inherited their parents’ inclinations and aptitudes.
As well as being an honorary CT (Classified Training) Academy, Thunder Raker is especially pleased with its latest SATS results. We take the Special Agent Training Standards very seriously indeed and have achieved excellent levels in Surveillance, Code-Breaking, and Sabotage.
And if the Security Services need a bit of help from some youngsters for a special mission, or if the villainous agents of that dastardly organisation known only as the Secret Partners for Undertaking Destruction (S.P.U.D.) try to take over the school or kidnap one of the teachers—rest assured, every one of our students is ready and prepared.
Mr Trenchard has been the Head Teacher of Thunder Raker Manor since Mrs Muldoom’s unfortunate accident on the assault course all those years ago. He is superbly qualified and takes great pride in his work. When he can remember what it is. Very good—carry on. Um. Yes…
Mr Trenchard
Colonel Hugh Dare-Swynne’s Class of the Week This week the Colonel focuses on Class 3D, which is taught by Miss Jones.
Miss Jones
Miss Jones says:
3D is a lovely class and works hard. This week was especially exciting for everyone as we had a new student start—Alfie (surname classified). Alfie is already settling in very well, and even has his own cover story—some nonsense about his father actually being a postman. As if!
Alfie
Alfie fits in well with the other children. He is nine years old, and he’s a clever, practical boy with lots of common sense. He’s brave and loyal and fun. Though I have to say he doesn’t always quite understand some of the lessons or the way we do things here at Thunder Raker. But his common sense approach is a breath of fresh air and he sees the world—and our problems—in a much less cluttered and complicated way than the other children..
Jack
Next up is Jack. Jack’s dad is head of the Secret Service, though of course we don’t mention that. But it does explain why Jack’s a bit full of himself. He is always coming up with terrific ideas and plans, though usually they are rather impractical and just too involved ever to work.
Harry
Harry’s dad has infiltrated SPUD and sends him strange, coded text messages and letters written in invisible ink. Sometimes the children have to go and rescue or help him, which cuts into the school day. Harry isn’t the brightest of the bunch by a long way, but his questions often throw up problems with Jack’s ideas. He is brave and loyal and willing and likes doing PE—on the school assault course.
Sam
Sam’s mum works in Whitehall for Hush Hush, designing equipment for agents and spies. Sam uses a motorised wheelchair—which looks ordinary but has amazing gadgets built into it. Sam’s mum made him his wheelchair because the NHS one didn’t have a very good anti-missile protection system. And one of the wheels was wonky.
Chloe
Moving on to the girls, Chloe is the daughter of a renowned spy (and doesn’t she know it). If you thought Jack was a bit full of himself, he’s got nothing on Chloe. She just has to be the centre of attention, wearing the latest fashion—and spying—accessories. At home she’s got her telly wired up with a Playstation 3, a Wii, and the very latest omni-processing decryptortron. Unfortunately Alfie isn’t terribly impressed by all this, so he and Chloe haven’t really hit it off.
Alice
Alice’s dad is a double agent (but it’s a bit unclear which side he’s actually on). You never know where you are with Alice—she says one thing then does another. Her moods are volatile and she’s got a temper like a tank-buster missile when it goes off.
Beth
Beth is a swot and a techie. Her dad is a super-boffin who runs the Government’s Inventing Taskforce (GIT). She’s inherited his absented-minded braininess. She’s not so hot on the practical side of things though—she can design a robot to tie your shoelaces, but she’s always tripping over her own feet. She comes to school on her rocket-powered rollerblades.
A Passion for Excellence
Miss Jones
Miss Jones is responsible for teaching Class 3D the ordinary everyday subjects like Maths and English and History. She’s newly-qualified, quiet and unassuming. Like Miss Jones, all the subject teachers at Thunder Raker Manor are fully qualified and at the very peak of their profession. Many of them are former agents and spies, so together they bring a wealth of experience to the school.
Mr Cryption
Mr Cryption—teaches Codes. He’s tall and thin and no one understands anything he says.
Miss Fortune
Miss Fortune teaches Assassination. Her classes always seem to be a few pupils short—they get sent on errands or asked to help fetch something, and never come back…Note, though, that Class 3D is too young for Assassination, which is only taught in the Sixth Form.
Sir Westerley Compass
Sir Westerly Compass is in charge of Tracking Skills. He’s always late for class, and his lessons are often moved at short notice.
The Major
The Major—that’s all he’s ever called—is in charge of Sabotage Training. He has an enormous moustache and he’s rather accident prone. Everything he touches breaks—even the plate he gets his school dinner on…
Mrs Nuffink
Mrs Nuffink teaches Surveillance. Don’t mess around in her class—she’s got eyes in the back of her head. No, really.
Mr Trick
Camouflage is supposed to be taught by Mr Trick. But no one can find him.
Reverend “Bongo” Smithers
The Chaplain is Reverend “Bongo” Smithers, a former fighter pilot more interested in war stories than Bible stories. He also teaches PE. Ruthlessly.
Peace of Mind
So whatever your parental requirements or security clearance, you can rest assured that Thunder Raker Manor will provide a first class education for your child in every respect. We can’t tell you how much the children enjoy being here. No, really—we can’t. It’s an official secret.
Chapter 1
Alfie’s dad had a very ordinary name. Loads and loads of people had exactly the same name. In fact, one of those people who had the same very ordinary name was the Prime Minister.
And that was how the misunderstanding happened.
When Alfie’s dad got a new job and the whole family moved house, Alfie’s parents wanted him to go to the very best school in the area, a school where he would be happy and would learn lots.
One morning, while Alfie was eating his cornflakes and his mum was making toast, Alfie’s dad came home from work. This was not as strange as it might sound, because Alfie’s dad was a postman so he started work very early and finished when Alfie and his mum were just starting their day.
Alfie’s dad dropped his postman’s cap on the table beside Alfie’s cornflakes and declared, “I’ve found it.”
“Your cap?” Alfie asked. “I didn’t know you’d lost it.”
“No,” said Dad. “I have found your new school.”
The cornflakes in Alfie’s mouth became a
spray of soggy breakfast that spattered across Dad’s cap. “School?!”
“You have to go to school,” Dad pointed out. “Ask your mother.”
“Mum?” Alfie said.
“You have to go to school,” Mum said. “Ask your dad.”
Alfie sighed.
“What’s the school like?” Alfie’s mum asked.
Alfie’s dad sat down and helped himself to a slice of toast. “It’s a strange looking place. I didn’t realise it even was a school until this morning. Their post comes in a special sealed bag. I just hand it to a man in uniform at the gate. He has a hat too, very official.”
“Where is it?” Alfie asked.
“On his head, of course,” said Alfie’s dad.
“I think he means the school,” Mum said. “Not the hat.”
“Oh. It’s just up the road. The big old house behind the electric fences and security gates.”
“I thought that was a government place,” Mum said. “Secret.”
“No,” Dad assured her. “It’s a school. I know that because their special post bag is labelled ‘Thunder Raker Manor School’.”
“Weird name,” Alfie said. But he wasn’t surprised: he’d seen the big house Dad was talking about and it was pretty weird too. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go to a school that had security gates and electric fences round it. He was a quiet boy who liked to keep himself to himself and not cause or get into trouble. Security gates and electric fences sounded like trouble.
“The man at the gate says it’s the best school of its kind in the country, maybe in the world,” Dad said proudly. “And it’s in our neighbourhood. And I think we should send Alfie there.”
“But it looks weird,” Alfie said, very quietly.
Dad didn’t seem to hear him, and Mum was buttering more toast. “Good,” she said. “The new term starts next week, so I’m glad that’s all sorted.”
That afternoon, Alfie’s dad wrote a letter. He addressed it to The Head Teacher, Thunder Raker Manor School. The next day he would slip the letter into the special post bag before he handed it to the man at the gate.
Alfie’s dad signed the letter with his name—his very ordinary and not at all unusual name that he just happened to share with the Prime Minister. And because Alfie’s dad knew that his name was very ordinary and not at all unusual, he put in brackets after it the letters “PM”, for Post Man, so that the Head Teacher would be sure to know who the letter had come from.
And that’s how the misunderstanding really got going.
“Come in, come in,” called Mr Trenchard, the head teacher of Thunder Raker Manor, when Miss Jones knocked on his door. He peered at her suspiciously over a pair of wire-framed spectacles. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Miss Jones.”
Mr Trenchard gave a funny sort of cough. “Never heard of you. What do you want?”
“You sent for me, Mr Trenchard.”
He tried looking at her through the spectacles, in case that made any difference. “Why would I do that?” he said.
“I teach Class 3D,” Miss Jones said patiently. This was not the first time Mr Trenchard had claimed not to know her. “Miss Jones, remember?”
Mr Trenchard considered this. “Are you wearing a disguise?”
“No.”
“Is that beard real, then?”
Miss Jones frowned. She was a young lady who considered herself to be rather attractive. “I don’t have a beard.“
“Ah, so it’s a false one then. Oh, no, hang on, my mistake.” Mr Trenchard pulled off his spectacles and examined them carefully. “Bit of fluff on my glasses.”
He gave them a polish on the sleeve of his jacket. “There, that’s better. Now, I’m glad you’re here, because I’ve had this letter,”—he picked it up and waved it about vigorously—“from the PM—the Prime Minister. So it’s probably very secret. Best way to deal with secrets, I find, is to forget them straight away. I used to practice that when I was younger, you know. I got to be terribly good at forgetting things. Do it all the time now. Just goes to show what practice can do.” Mr Trenchard nodded happily. “I’m good at forgetting things too,” he said proudly.
“So what does the letter say?” Miss Jones asked.
Mr Trenchard looked blank.
“The letter in your hand, from the PM,” Miss Jones said.
“Ah, yes, very important.” Mr Trenchard brandished the letter excitedly. “The Prime Minister wants us to take a new boy, a lad called Alfie. Must be a pretty special chap if the PM has written personally to tell us about him. He will start next week when the new term begins.” Mr Trenchard clicked his tongue. “Didn’t realise the old term had ended actually,” he muttered. “Oh well. Anyway, yes. Alfie—he’ll be in Class 3D. Don’t suppose you know who teaches that class?”
“Yes,” Miss Jones said. “I do.”
“Really?” Mr Trenchard said. “Lucky you were here then.”
“Isn’t it just?” Miss Jones said quietly as she left the room.
Chapter 2
Alfie was a very ordinary boy. And like any ordinary boy starting at a new school, he was a bit nervous as he walked from home that first morning of term. There didn’t seem to be any other local children walking to school. But he saw other children being taken to school by their parents.
A large, black car with little flags on the sides of the bonnet swept past Alfie. The windows were so dark he couldn’t see in, but a smudge on the glass might just have been a girl’s nose pressed hard against the window as she looked out. The smudge moved to keep track of Alfie as the car went by.
Further up the road, a helicopter passed over Alfie’s head then swooped noisily down and headed in the direction of Thunder Raker Manor School. Alfie could see it hovering over the grounds. Ropes dropped down from the open side of the helicopter and several dark figures slid down them to the roof.
Alfie was just turning into the road that led to the school when he heard the rumble of an engine. It grew louder, and Alfie saw with surprise that a huge armoured tank was driving up the road towards him. Poking up from the turret was the top half of a man in army uniform wearing thick goggles. The man saluted Alfie as the tank went past, the whole road shaking under its weight. Behind the tank the tarmac was churned up by its tracks.
“It’s the same every time term starts,” a voice said as the tank rumbled into the distance.
Alfie looked round and saw a little old lady standing by the gate of a small cottage set back from the road. Her white hair was tied up in a bun on the back of her head and she had smiling, friendly eyes.
“Noise and upset,” she said, shaking her head. “The council will have to resurface the road you know. Again.”
“Oh, dear,” Alfie said. He felt uncomfortable now the lady was talking to him. But he couldn’t just walk away.
“Not to worry,” she said. “I don’t mind the school too much. It’s nice to hear the sound of children playing nearby.”
From the direction of the school came the dull crump of an explosion.
“Reminds me of when I was young,” she said.
Alfie thought he could hear machine gun fire now. “I’m Alfie,” he said loudly, over the noise.
“Mrs Prendergast,” the old lady said. “Haven’t seen you go past before, have I?”
“I’m new, starting today.”
Mrs Prendergast nodded. “That’ll be why then. Usually it’s just those men in the black overalls and dark glasses hiding in the shrubbery and taking pictures of the school.” She sniffed. “I give them cups of tea, but they don’t seem very pleased. Oh, well, nice to talk to you. I must put the kettle on.”
On his way to the school’s big iron gates, Alfie was passed by several more large cars, an armoured personnel carrier and a girl in a pink helmet and goggles on roller skates.
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