The Mystery of Stormy Island

  To my readers

  With special thanks to all those who came up with spectacularly evil villains

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  Copyright

  Far to the north, on a remote clifftop, stands Stormy Cliff Caravan Park. The caravan park has seen better days – days when humans were content to spend their holidays huddled behind windbreakers eating damp sandwiches and drinking from thermos flasks of lukewarm tea. Now the holidaymakers have gone and the caravans have fallen into disrepair. The only visitors to the place are occasional birdwatchers and walkers. No one lives there except for a flock of chickens, which are tended to twice a week by the park keeper.

  The one thing that hasn’t changed over the years, however, is the view. On a clear day you can see for miles along the rugged, empty coastline and imagine a time millions of years ago, before humans ever existed; a time as far back as when dinosaurs walked the earth. For this part of the country is known for its fossils: it is a place where dinosaurs once congregated by the shore and where their remains have been preserved in layer upon layer of chalk and clay.

  The best of the fossils are to be found on Stormy Island – a bleak, towering hunk of rock that lies a little way out to sea, cut off from the mainland except at low tide when a rough stone causeway connects it to the beach below Stormy Cliff.

  Stormy Island is not an inviting place: it is surrounded by jagged rocks and riddled with deep, dark, dangerous caves. Its main visitors are gannets and gulls. Few humans venture there and most of its fossil treasures have remained undiscovered.

  That is, until now …

  One chilly summer’s morning at daybreak – before the chickens of Stormy Cliff had begun to stir – an enormous bird sat tall and erect on the branch of a tree on the cliff edge. The bird had, in fact, been sitting there like a statue for most of the night, watching the tide come in and cover the causeway, occasionally twisting its head very slowly round to the left, then round to the right, before fixing its unblinking, bright orange eyes once again on the jagged outline of Stormy Island.

  This bird did not need daylight to see the view. Nor did it need to shift its position to take in its surroundings. This bird was nocturnal, with binocular vision and a neck that could turn two hundred and seventy degrees in either direction. This bird was an eagle owl.

  And it was here for a purpose.

  Unsettled by the gathering light, the bird finally blinked. ‘So, Vladimir,’ it addressed itself in a series of clicks with its small, flat beak, ‘you have found the perfect place at last. Now it is time to begin your experiments. But first, some breakfast.’ The owl’s sharp hearing caught the sound of the soft clucks and sighs of the chickens roosting in one of the nearby caravans. A pang of hunger almost undermined its resolve. It clicked its beak firmly. ‘No, Vladimir,’ it muttered, ‘the chickens may be useful for your work. Besides, you do not want the humans to know you are here. They may try and return you to captivity.’

  The owl looked about for something else to satisfy its hunger. Its piercing eyes fell upon a rabbit nibbling a patch of grass a little way from the tree, oblivious to its presence. Measuring the distance with precision, the owl dropped noiselessly from its perch and grabbed the startled rabbit with its great, curved talons. Then with one flap of its wings it rose into the sky and, still clutching its limp prey, glided over the cliffs and across the sea towards Stormy Island.

  ‘So, how fast can a chicken run?’

  In the grounds of Dudley Manor at the Dudley Coop Academy for Chicks, Amy Cluckbucket was watching the month 4’s science lesson. The lesson was being taught by Amy’s brainy friend, Ruth. The two chickens were part of an elite-chicken squad whose job was to protect chickens everywhere from evil predators under the direction of their mentor, Professor Emeritus Rooster.

  But today they were having a day off.

  ‘Is it a) twenty-seven miles an hour, b) eighteen miles an hour, c) nine miles an hour or d) one mile an hour? Hands up for each one.’ Ruth went through the choices again.

  Amy scratched her head. She wasn’t very good at running, or counting for that matter. She put her hand up for one mile an hour, which was about what she thought she could manage.

  ‘And the answer is nine miles an hour!’ Ruth said with a grin.

  ‘Yay!’ The chicks who had got the answer right congratulated each other with high fives. Amy felt slightly deflated. The chicks seemed to know a lot more than she did. She wished she’d paid more attention when she was at school.

  Ruth raised her wings for calm. The chicks stopped talking immediately.

  Amy was impressed. Ruth had an air of authority about her without being mean or shouting like some teachers did. Amy supposed it must partly be her appearance. Ruth was a tall white chicken with a long grey scarf and spectacles. It was the spectacles that gave her the edge, Amy decided.

  ‘You’ve got to admit that nine miles an hour is pretty good,’ Ruth said. ‘Especially if you think that the fastest human runs at twenty-seven miles an hour, and he’s about ten times taller than we are!’ She put a slide on the screen showing the size of the human world-record holder compared to a chicken.

  The chicks giggled. They were having a wonderful time and learning lots in the process. Amy smiled at Ruth proudly.

  ‘So, if chickens were ten times bigger, how fast would they run?’ asked Ruth.

  One of the chicks stuck its hand up. ‘Ninety miles an hour?’

  ‘Very good!’ Ruth gave the chick a sticker. ‘Ten times nine is ninety.’

  Ninety miles an hour! Amy was a small brown chicken with puffs of grey feathers round her tummy and very red cheeks. She tried to imagine being ten times bigger than she actually was (although maybe not round the tummy). It would be fun to be able to run really fast, especially if she was being chased by a villain. Normally she had to rely on her wrestling moves.

  ‘Now, next question,’ said Ruth. ‘Which extinct animal is a chicken distantly related to?’

  The chicks waited with bated breath. So did Amy. She had no idea science could be so much fun.

  ‘Is it a) a mammoth, b) a dodo, c) a sabre-toothed tiger or d) a T. rex?’ Ruth showed them the slides.

  Amy and the chicks fell about laughing. A T. rex? Ha ha ha! It couldn’t be that, or a mammoth, or a sabre-toothed tiger! The whole class, including Amy, put their wings up confidently for dodo because a dodo was a bird and looked a bit like a chicken except with a bigger beak.

  ‘And the answer is …’

  Amy and the chicks were on the edge of their seats, waiting to be proved right.

  ‘… a T. rex.’

  ‘NO WAY!’ Amy and the chicks exploded. The classroom was full of excited chatter.

  Ruth waited for calm. ‘It’s true,’ she said, when the din had died down. ‘Scientists have proved that chickens are the closest living relatives to the mighty T. rex.’ She put the slide of the enormous dinosaur up for the class to have another look at. Amy had never seen such a scary-looking monster. She couldn’t imagine how a chicken could be related to it in any way. Luckily none of her family back at Perrin’s Farm looked anything like that!


  ‘So, you see, chicks, that’s two scientific reasons why us chickens are pretty cool,’ Ruth concluded.

  Everyone chirped in agreement. Just then the bell went. The hen-mistress of Dudley Coop Academy stood up. She had been sitting in on the lesson as well. She made her way to the front of the class and presented Ruth with a bunch of freshly picked dandelions. ‘I’m sure we’d all like to thank Ruth for giving up her time today and coming in to teach us such amazing facts about chickens,’ she said. ‘Let’s give her a big round of applause.’ The classroom erupted into wild clapping and cheering.

  Ruth looked embarrassed.

  Amy joined in the noise. She was pleased for her friend. Ruth’s special skill was intelligence and it was nice for her to have the opportunity to share some of it with the chicks. Actually, thinking about it, her own special skill was courage. Amy wondered if the hen-mistress would let her come and give the chicks a wrestling lesson one day? She must remember to ask.

  ‘Now, it’s break time.’ The hen-mistress led the way out of the coop.

  The chicks rushed outside in a jolly throng to play on the grass.

  Amy scuttled over to Ruth and gave her a pat on the back. ‘That was brilliant!’ she said. ‘I wish I’d had a science teacher like you when I was at school!’

  ‘Thanks, Amy,’ Ruth said, collecting her books. ‘It was nice of you to come and watch.’

  ‘It’s a pity Boo couldn’t be here too,’ Amy said. ‘She’d have loved it.’ Boo was the third member of the elite-chicken squad. She was very good at gymnastics and her special skill was perseverance.

  ‘I know,’ said Ruth. ‘But someone had to stay behind at Chicken HQ in case the professor called for us.’

  Chicken HQ was where the three chickens lived. It was hidden away from the humans in some dilapidated potting sheds in the old walled vegetable garden of Dudley Manor, a short distance beyond the chicken coops.

  ‘I wish the professor would call for us,’ Amy said wistfully. ‘It’s been ages since our last mission.’

  ‘That’s a good thing, if you think about it,’ Ruth reminded her. ‘It might even mean that we’ve got rid of Thaddeus E. Fox once and for all.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Amy said. Thaddeus E. Fox was the chickens’ mortal enemy. He lived in the Deep Dark Woods next to the Dudley Estate and, together with other members of the MOST WANTED Club, dedicated his life to making foxy plans to catch and eat chickens.

  ‘Well, he hasn’t been seen for ages by any of the professor’s bird spies,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Maybe he’s gone on holiday,’ Amy replied a little glumly. She never thought she’d miss Thaddeus E. Fox, but it had to be said that life at Chicken HQ was a smidgeon dull without him around.

  ‘Why don’t you read one of my books if you’re bored?’ Ruth suggested. ‘They’re full of interesting facts. And you never know when they might come in handy.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Amy. She wasn’t very good at reading. She picked up one of the books and flicked through it. ‘What’s this one about?’ she asked curiously. It had lots of diagrams of skeletons in it.

  ‘The evolution of birds,’ Ruth said.

  Amy looked blank. ‘What’s ev-o-lu-shun?’ she asked.

  ‘Evolution is the scientific study of where things come from and how they’ve changed over time,’ Ruth told her. ‘This book is about how birds have evolved over millions of years.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Amy.

  Ruth was warming to her theme. ‘For example, some scientists believe that birds are a type of dinosaur. They say that birds are actually the only dinosaurs left on earth. That’s where I got the information about us being related to the T. rex,’ she added.

  ‘Wow!’ said Amy. She was beginning to feel muddled. Did that mean she was a dinosaur as well as a chicken? Unlike Ruth she only had a tiny brain.

  She was just about to ask her friend when the door to the classroom burst open. A beautiful chicken with thick honey-coloured feathers down to her toes rushed in. It was Boo. ‘Quick, you two,’ she said, ‘you’ve got to return to Chicken HQ.’

  ‘Why, what’s happened?’ asked Amy, passing the book back to Ruth. She’d already forgotten all about dinosaurs. Her heart was beating fast with excitement.

  ‘Professor Rooster’s just called,’ said Boo. ‘He’s got another mission for us.’

  The chickens squeezed through a hole in the wall of the vegetable garden and dashed up the path to the potting sheds. There were three sheds in total. From the outside they looked as if they were all separate, but inside the potting sheds had been joined together to make one big space.

  Amy pushed open the first of the three green doors and hurried through. At one end of the sheds was the chickens’ sleeping quarters and a birdbath. At the other end was the gadgets cupboard. And in the middle, on an upturned wooden crate, was a laptop.

  The laptop was how Professor Rooster communicated with the chickens. He lived in a secret location and never came to Chicken HQ. In fact, the chickens had met him only once, when they’d rescued him from being kidnapped by Thaddeus E. Fox and his gang during their second mission.

  The chickens gathered round the computer. Each of them had a small garden stool to sit on. Amy scrambled onto hers and promptly fell off again, she was so excited.

  ‘Whoops!’ Boo extended a strong wing towards her.

  Amy took it gratefully. When they had first met during their training at the International School of Kung Fu for Poultry, thousands of miles away in Tibet, Amy had been a bit in awe of Boo and Ruth. But now she never felt embarrassed in front of them, even when she did something silly like fall off a garden stool. They were a team and they watched out for one another, which is why the elite-chicken squad had been such a success. She heaved herself back onto the stool with Boo’s help and got comfortable.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Amy!’ A stern-faced black cockerel with a scarlet comb stared out at them from the screen.

  ‘Hello, Professor.’ Amy gave him a wave. The screen was two-way so that the professor could see them too.

  The professor’s stern expression didn’t change but his eyes twinkled. He had grown fond of the chickens, especially Amy, but he liked to keep things professional and make sure they followed instructions.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Professor,’ Ruth said. ‘I was giving the month 4 chicks a science lesson.’

  ‘I know,’ said the professor. ‘Boo told me. And if I may say so, I think it’s an excellent way to spend your spare time. Although you won’t have much of that over the next few days.’

  ‘Is it another mission, Professor?’ Amy squawked.

  ‘Yes.’ The professor’s face became even more serious and the twinkle in his eye disappeared as he got down to business. ‘And I can tell you that you’re going to need all the scientific knowledge you have, Ruth, if the team is to succeed again.’

  ‘In what way, Professor?’ asked Ruth, puzzled.

  ‘I’ll explain in a minute. First, let me introduce you to one of the most evil villains known to chickens …’

  ‘Not Thaddeus E. Fox?’ Amy interrupted.

  The professor silenced her with a look. ‘No, not Thaddeus,’ he said shortly. ‘This creature’s much worse.’

  The chickens glanced at one another. Much worse than Thaddeus? They must be really bad.

  The professor had disappeared from the screen. His image was replaced by a picture of the most ferocious-looking bird Amy had ever seen. It was incredibly tall with brown-and-beige spotted feathers, and a sort of fluffy, striped chest. Its face was round and outlined with a rim of black, and its head was topped off by two feathery tufts as big as a cat’s ears. It had piercing, bright orange eyes, which seemed to stare straight at you, and its beak and talons looked sharp enough to slice through chicken wire.

  ‘It’s an eagle owl,’ Ruth whispered.

  ‘Indeed it is, Ruth,’ the professor’s voice confirmed, ‘but not just any eagle owl. This is Vladimir Alexei Raptorov, t
he world’s most intelligent bird. Also known as Vlad the Impaler thanks to his unpleasant habit of skewering his victims through the heart with his talons and nibbling the meat off them like a kebab.’

  Amy swallowed.

  ‘In case you’re wondering, he also has a two-metre wingspan, binocular night vision and can hear the drop of a pin from twenty metres away. Oh, and did I mention his favourite food is chicken?’

  Amy listened carefully. She knew better than to interrupt even though she had loads of questions she wanted to ask.

  ‘Like I say, Raptorov isn’t any ordinary bird,’ the professor continued. ‘He was bred in captivity to be used by the humans for their scientific experiments, hence his love of chicken. That’s what the humans fed him, you see.’

  ‘What kind of experiments?’ asked Ruth, as the slideshow moved to a picture of Raptorov tethered to a perch in a laboratory. He was tearing into a chicken leg surrounded by humans in white coats.

  ‘Genetic engineering,’ the professor replied.

  ‘Oh,’ said Ruth, apparently taken aback.

  Amy and Boo glanced at one another. ‘What’s genetic engineering?’ Amy mouthed.

  Boo shrugged. ‘Search me!’ she whispered.

  Amy stuck her wing up boldly. ‘Please, Professor, could you tell me and Boo what that is?’

  ‘Certainly,’ said the professor. He scratched his comb. ‘Hmm, now how can I put it simply?’

  ‘Perhaps I can help, Professor,’ Ruth said. She turned to her friends. ‘Genetic engineering is the process of adding one animal’s DNA to another animal to change it.’

  Amy didn’t feel any the wiser. ‘What’s DNA?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s the teeny tiny stuff in our bodies that makes us what we are,’ Ruth said. ‘It’s what gives Boo honey-coloured feathers and me bad eyesight, and Amy red cheeks.’

  Amy screwed up her face in concentration. She was determined to keep up with what Ruth was saying even if it stretched her little chicken brain to the limit!