Thunder Raker

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 (#ulink_a52befb2-345c-5cf2-beef-2b65abb7e180)

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.