Frankie Fish and the Great Wall of Chaos

  FOR MY MATE TIM MULLIN:

  THANK YOU FOR THE JOY YOU

  BROUGHT iNTO THE WORLD.

  YOU ARE GREATLY MiSSED.

  (HO! HO! HO!)

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  A SHORT BIT BEFORE WE FIND FRANKIE FISH

  CHAPTER 1 THE BOTTLE-FLIP KING

  CHAPTER 2 TWO UTTERLY STRANGE WOMEN

  CHAPTER 3 WHO ARE YOU REALLY, FRANKIE FISH?

  CHAPTER 4 A FISH AND BIRD REUNION

  CHAPTER 5 ONE-ONE-ONE-ONE

  CHAPTER 6 THE VIEW FROM THE THIRD BRANCH

  CHAPTER 7 A THIEF!

  CHAPTER 8 THE THING ABOUT PING

  CHAPTER 9 REMEMBER THE TWINS? UM, WELL …

  CHAPTER 10 A CHANGE OF CLOTHES

  CHAPTER 11 THE GREAT WALL OF CHAOS

  CHAPTER 12 ONE HAIRY SISTER

  CHAPTER 13 THE LEGEND OF JACKIECHANLAND

  CHAPTER 14 LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE

  CHAPTER 15 THE KING OF BAD DECISIONS

  CHAPTER 16 AND YOU THOUGHT A FORBIDDEN SHED WAS IMPRESSIVE

  CHAPTER 17 ENTER THE DRAGON

  CHAPTER 18 MEANWHILE, THOSE TWINS AGAIN …

  CHAPTER 19 A TOTALLY TIME-WARPED FAMILY REUNION

  CHAPTER 20 THE GREAT BOBBY-PIN BREAKOUT

  CHAPTER 21 WHY, GRANDAD, WHY? AND HOW, GRANDAD, HOW?

  CHAPTER 22 A PAIN IN THE TUM IS A PAIN IN THE BUM

  CHAPTER 23 THE KING VERSUS THE EMPEROR

  CHAPTER 24 ONE MILLION GOLD COINS, PLEASE

  CHAPTER 25 A CHAOTIC HOMECOMING

  CHAPTER 26 PING WAKES IN A STRANGE NEW LAND

  CHAPTER 27 FRANKIE FISH’S HOME DELIVERY SERVICE

  CHAPTER 28 FLIPPING THE BIRD

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  THANKS!

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  An old man with a hook for a hand is walking through an ancient city. Beside him is an elderly woman wearing a bum bag and clutching a yellow guidebook.

  The old woman points things out as they stroll along. She looks very happy.

  The old man, however, looks extremely nervous. In his left and only hand is a battered-looking suitcase, which he is gripping as if his life depends upon it (and as a matter of fact, it does).

  The woman stops in front of an impressive building with a golden roof, surrounded by a solid red-brick wall. She hardly notices the many guards holding swords at the building’s entrance, but they are watching the elderly pair very intently. The guards do not look amused. The tips of their swords glint in the sunlight.

  ‘We’d better head home soon, Mavis,’ the old man says nervously.

  The woman pouts. ‘Oh, but Alfie,’ she says. ‘This is the first holiday we’ve been on together for years!’

  ‘If we don’t leave soon it might be the last holiday we go on,’ he retorts. ‘Ever!’

  Mavis sighs. ‘Fine, then. But I just need to pop to the loo first.’

  And before her husband can stop her, she has trotted right up to the armed guards.

  She turns to the ‘useful phrases’ section of her yellow guidebook and carefully sounds out the foreign words for, ‘Where is the bathroom, please?’

  Instantly, she is seized by two of the guards, while the others rush over and surround Alfie, shouting angrily and thrusting their swords into the air. One of the guards wrenches the suitcase from the old man’s sweaty hand.

  ‘Nooooo!’ Alfie cries, desperately trying to grab it back.

  But it’s no use. Moments later, he and the elderly woman (whose bum bag and guidebook have also been confiscated) are herded through the gates of the impressive – and clearly very well-guarded – old building.

  As you might have guessed, these hapless tourists are none other than the grandparents of Frankie Fish.

  But where in the world – and when in time – are they, exactly? And will Frankie ever see them again?

  To find out, you’ll simply have to read on.

  Frankie Fish was feeling grumpier than a giraffe in need of a neck massage as he stood in line to have his photo taken at St Monica’s Primary. It was a Monday, and even by Monday’s low standards, this one was off to a terrible start.

  Frankie’s alarm clock hadn’t gone off, which meant it was the second time-machine (of sorts) that had let him down recently. He also didn’t get a chance to do his hair properly, so his head currently resembled a toilet brush that secretly wanted to be a mop. And to make things worse, he’d thought it was casual clothes day! When he’d turned up in his favourite T-shirt and shorts, Miss Merryweather had handed him a stinky spare uniform from lost property and made him promise to wear it until the photos were done.

  Frankie couldn’t even destroy the pictures before his mum saw them, as St Monica’s was going to email them immediately to anyone his parents had nominated. And his mum had not held back. Tina Fish had already paid to send embarrassing school photos of Frankie and his sister, Lou, to all the Fish relatives, who would print them out and stick them on their fridges for at least a whole year.

  This included Grandad and Nanna Fish, who had, believe it or not, decided to buy a ‘whiz-bang’ computer and printer, and would receive Frankie’s bad-hair photo mere minutes after he said ‘CHEESE’.

  And finally – worst of all – there was The Bad Thing with his best friend, Drew Bird. But that was too depressing to even think about on a Monday.

  ‘You’re up next, kiddo!’ the photographer chirped. ‘Look at that crazy hairdo, huh? Kids these days.’

  Frankie ran his hands self-consciously through his hair as the photographer clicked away. Next in line, the identical Mosley triplets snickered loudly.

  ‘Hang on!’ Frankie said nervously, but it was too late. The photos were done. Frankie’s chronic bed-hair would officially be on record for future generations to laugh at forever. Maybe his epic hair fail would even go viral and he’d be humiliated across the globe.

  Sighing loudly, Frankie walked out of the assembly hall, changed back into his own clothes in a nearby toilet cubicle and went to join his perfectly groomed schoolmates at lunch.

  Outside, in a corner of the schoolyard, he could see a gaggle of students around Drew Bird. Like always, Drew was DAZZLING the crowd, but it gave Frankie a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Drew had always been the infamous prank king of St Monica’s, which had got him and Frankie into all sorts of trouble – and somehow also saved the entire Fish family from being erased from history (more on that later). But Drew didn’t want to be a one-trick pony, so he’d developed a new favourite hobby – bottle-flipping. Now he was a very successful two-trick pony.

  Drew was obsessed with bottle-flipping in the same way that little old ladies are obsessed with knitting and putting tissues up their sleeves. He always had a bottle with him, as well as a book called The Epic History of Bottle-Flipping (which was exactly six pages long and had been written by Drew Bird himself). It’s basically IMPOSSIBLE to have a one hundred per cent success rate when it comes to flipping a bottle into mid-air and making it land upright, but Drew Bird was pretty close to ninety-eight per cent.

  The Bottle-Flip King’s reputation had spread across all the schools in the state. There was even a rumour that an American university was going to offer him a bottle-flipping scholarship.

  In the good old days (a few weeks ago), Frankie would have been standing proudly by Drew as he bottle-flipped his way into history, but things had changed. At this point in time, Frankie and Drew weren’t exactly best friends, because it’s hard to be best friends when one of those friends is no longer talking to the other.

  The reason for the animosity was simple: Drew was angry with Frankie for lying t
o him. You see, after Frankie returned from his time-travelling adventure to Scotland in 1952, he thought it would be the most awesome idea ever to time-travel with his best friend, Drew Bird. And he’d told him so.

  The only problem was that when Frankie rang Grandad to ask if he and Drew could take the Sonic Suitcase out for a spin, the old man steadfastly refused. ‘You’ve got to be joking, lad!’ Grandad had snorted down the phone. ‘After what happened last time with me hand? Saving the day once was exciting, but having to save it again is irresponsible. Ye numbskull – ye shouldn’t even be talking about time-travel.’

  And though Frankie had pleaded and wheedled and begged, Grandad kept refusing until finally, with a loud huff, he’d simply hung up.

  ‘How rude!’ Frankie had muttered as he banged the phone down. ‘Who made him the time-travel police?’

  But Grandad had a good reason for saying no: time-travel was WAY too dangerous. Last time, the Fish family had nearly been obliterated from the pages of history, and this was something Grandad was not keen on repeating. He’d stashed the Sonic Suitcase away in the Forbidden Shed and double-padlocked it, swearing his time-travel device was never to be used again. And the Forbidden Shed was now absolutely no-questions-asked, completely and utterly FORBIDDEN for anyone else to use, too.

  Deep down, Frankie knew Grandad was probably right. He didn’t really want to risk wiping out his family either, even though Saint Lou could be really irritating, even on a good day. But this had left him in a rather awkward position with Drew Bird.

  ‘I made up the whole time-travel thing,’ Frankie had tried to explain to his devastated friend. ‘I guess it was a prank, of sorts?’

  Drew had responded by slamming his front door in Frankie’s equally devastated face. And they hadn’t spoken since.

  It seemed Frankie Fish had lost his one and only friend, but he refused to give up hoping that he’d get him back some day.

  Later that same, bad-hair Monday, Frankie saw an opportunity to mend his friendship with Drew. Drew was swaggering back to class after lunch, bottle-flipping the whole way and surrounded by his new band of disciples.

  ‘Nice flip,’ Frankie offered meekly as Drew went past.

  Drew ignored Frankie and executed another flawless flip to the cheers of his adoring fans. These kids wouldn’t even TALK to Drew Bird a few weeks ago, thought Frankie angrily. Now they were treating him like he was an actual king.

  When the next flip landed perfectly upright on the ground (of course), Drew glanced over and said, ‘Oh look, it’s Frankie Fish Guts, the LIAR.’

  Frankie’s cheeks burned. ‘I didn’t lie,’ he lied. ‘It was just a prank! And I said I was sorry, didn’t I?’

  ‘OK fine, Prankie Fish,’ Drew said with a sly grin. ‘I’ll give you a chance.’

  ‘A chance at what?’ asked Frankie, his hopes lifting.

  ‘A chance to prove you’re really sorry,’ said Drew. His minions smirked and nodded, as clueless as a herd of rhinos trying to make dinner reservations.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ squeaked Frankie.

  Drew lobbed a quarter-full plastic water bottle at Frankie. ‘Flip it,’ he said coolly. ‘If you can.’

  Roars of delight went up. One of the Mosley triplets (it’s always difficult to say which one) started to chant. ‘FLIP IT! FLIP IT! FLIP IT!’

  The chant spread like wildfire, until it seemed like everyone in the world was screaming, ‘FLIP IT! FLIP IT! FLIP IT!’

  Frankie gulped. He’d just wanted to make up with his best friend, and yet things had escalated quickly. He swore he could even see Principal Dawson and the Hedgehog (their sports teacher) chanting, which was super weird because bottle-flipping was banned after Miss Merryweather herself flipped out over the constant sound of bottles hitting the ground. ‘It’s turning me into a nervous wreck!’ she’d screamed during a staff meeting.

  ‘How exactly will this prove I’m sorry?’ asked Frankie now. But his protests couldn’t be heard over the flipping-hungry mob, who roared:

  ‘FLIP IT! FLIP IT! FLIP IT!’

  ‘OKAAAAAAY,’ Frankie screamed louder than he ever had before. ‘I’LL FLIP IT!’

  The bloodthirsty crowd cheered as though Frankie were a gladiator in a schoolyard Colosseum. The chanting dropped to a whisper. ‘Flip it … flip it … flip it …’

  Frankie frowned in concentration. He could feel the lid’s grooves as he gently swung the bottle back and forth. Back and forth. He needed to get the pace and the velocity just right.

  Frankie closed his eyes and counted in his head. One – two – three …

  He felt the bottle leaving his hand, and opened his eyes to see it flipping like an Olympic diver. It looked straight and it wasn’t rotating too much (over-revving is a classic bottle-flipping rookie error). It looked … good.

  The mob watched with their mouths agape. The entire universe fell silent as the bottle revolved through the air in what felt like slow motion, before its inevitable descent towards the asphalt.

  Frankie’s eyes widened as he dared to believe.

  Have I done it?

  With a faint smacking noise, the bottle landed almost perfectly … but not quite perfectly. As bottle-flipping experts have always said, ‘Bottle-flipping is a sport that demands perfection.’

  The bottle bounced a few millimetres off the ground, the water inside swirling like a whirlpool. Frankie’s half-smile became a full grimace as the bottle spun too far on one side, then hit the ground sideways, to the delighted roar of the crowd.

  ‘What is everybody doing here? Is that a bottle?’ shrieked Miss Merryweather. As she approached, students ran off in every direction like mice who’d accidentally turned up at the World’s Hungriest Cat Show.

  ‘Looks like you’re not really sorry after all, Fish Guts,’ Drew called over his shoulder as he raced off to class, leaving a crushed Frankie Fish alone with an almost-empty bottle at his feet.

  The rest of the day dragged like a trailer without wheels. When the final bell sounded, Frankie couldn’t leave the school grounds quick enough. He wasn’t in the mood for running into people he knew. Little did he know that as he fled, there were two strangers waiting for him with some very strange news.

  The final bell was still ringing as Frankie Fish dashed through the courtyard, across the basketball courts and over the school oval. And then, just as he reached the school boundary, he heard two voices speaking in unison.

  ‘Frankie Fish!’ they exclaimed, sounding urgent and excited.

  Frankie froze. His first thought was, Noooooo! No more teachers. I am DONE with school today! But there was a twang to these voices that he didn’t recognise.

  He turned to see two women with huge, blow-waved dyed red hair, wearing bedazzled glasses. One wore a bright yellow dress with shoulder pads so big you could land aircraft on them. The other wore an equally luminous orange frock. They were so brightly dressed that Frankie thought they might work in construction.

  Frankie had never seen these two women before and, judging from their accents, he was sure they weren’t from around here. As he had been taught to never talk to strangers, Frankie did the right thing and kept walking.

  ‘Frankie Fish?’ said the one dressed in canary yellow, stepping directly into his path.

  The one in orange joined her. ‘You are Frankie Fish, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course he is. Who else could it be?’ said the yellow one.

  Frankie tried desperately to think who these two strange women could be.

  They were now fawning over him the way grandparents fawn over newborn babies. Frankie half expected one of them to pinch his cheeks and say, ‘A-goochy-goochy-goo!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he asked warily.

  The yellow one reached into her rhinestone-encrusted handbag as the other one handed her a set of tweezers.

  She produced a small transparent snap-lock bag, like the ones Tina Fish used for storing snacks. Gently pinching the tweezers, the yellow o
ne pulled a folded piece of paper out of the bag.

  She unfolded it very carefully, and Frankie could see what looked like a faded photograph on one side. Judging by the worn edges, the discoloration, and the careful way the crazy lady was handling it, it was a very old photograph indeed.

  Then the yellow one did something very odd. She held the ancient photo up beside Frankie’s face. The two women gasped.

  ‘A perfect match,’ declared the orange one.

  Frankie twisted his head to look at the photo, desperate to figure out what on earth these women were talking about. But when he saw it, his brain almost exploded from the total and utter impossibility of what was there.

  For the person in that ancient picture was none other than Frankie Fish himself. And if that wasn’t weird enough, it was the exact school photo that had been taken only a couple of hours ago, with the bad bed-hair and all.

  The crazy-haired woman in the orange dress watched Frankie sipping his hot chocolate the way a cat watches goldfish swimming in a bowl.

  Frankie had taken them to his favourite cafe, the Cocoa Pit, to attempt to unravel the hows, whens and whys of this seemingly impossible turn of events. It felt strange being at the Cocoa Pit without Drew; back in the good old days, they used to come here all the time to pig out on thickshakes and giant chocolate-chip cookies.

  He wouldn’t normally go to a cafe with two strange women, but this all had a very particular time-meddling stench about it.

  The big-haired woman in yellow broke the silence. ‘My name is Carmel,’ she said, stretching her mouth into an alarmingly wide smile. ‘And this is my twin sister, Christine. We sure have come a long way to meet you, Frankie Fish.’ She offered him the plate of animal-shaped shortbreads that had come with their enormous coffees.

  Frankie, whose preference would have been a giant chocolate-chip cookie, carefully took a tiny shortbread elephant. ‘How far exactly? And how do you know who I am?’

  ‘Have you heard of America?’ asked Carmel.

  ‘Of course!’ replied Frankie. ‘That’s where Hollywood and the Statue of Liberty are, and where bottle-flipping was invented. My best friend – well, my used-to-be best friend – is going to university there on a bottle-flipping scholarship. It’s kind of a big deal.’