The Bare Bum Gang and the Valley of Doom (7 page)

So, that wasn't very good, I think you'll
agree. I stayed in the box and closed my eyes
and kept them shut until the bell sounded.
I didn't want to see anything that was
happening around me, because it would
most likely be something terrible, and the
chance of it being anything apart from
terrible was maybe one in a million.

It was actually quite pleasant, lying
there on top of the soft beanbags as the
playground sounds grew quiet, like the
water slowly growing cold around you in
the bath.

Lying there meant I was going to be late
back into class, but I decided I'd tell Miss
Bridges that I'd fallen down and hurt myself
and that was why I was late, which was
nearly true.

I'd just decided to get up when I heard
some voices. Quiet voices. Not quiet because
they were far away, but quiet because they
were whispering. It's always extra interesting
when people whisper. In fact whispering is
the worst way of keeping a secret, because
people always know you're saying something
worth listening to. Especially if the whispers
are angry whispers.

I peeped over the
top of the box

The first thing I
saw was Dockery's
back. The next thing
was Alfie's front. Alfie
and Dockery were
whispering together. I
strained hard to hear
what they were saying:
'You filthy sneak. You betrayed us. You
were supposed to betray them. We had them
cornered in the woods, and you helped them
get out. You get a thump for that.'

'No, no, it was all part of the plan.'

Then there were some bits I could hardly
hear at all, except for the odd word:
'Money . . . sweets . . . Ludo . . . Bare Bum . . .
ha ha ha.' That sort of thing. And then I saw
Alfie give something to Dockery. It looked
like it might have been money, although it
could also have been an amulet or some
magic beans, although that's not very
likely.

'I'll let you off, this time,' said Dockery,
louder. 'But any more mess-ups and you're
gonna find yourself wearing your own bum
for a hat.'

Then they both started to walk back
towards the classrooms, and I ducked down
into the beanbag box.

Interesting.

Very interesting, I thought (I mean about
Dockery and Alfie, not the beanbag box,
which was really quite boring).

But what could it all mean?

The doorbell rang. It was half past seven,
and I'd just finished my literacy homework,
which was all to do with words,
and I was about to start my numeracy
home-work, which was mainly to do with
numbers.

When our doorbell rang it was usually
someone asking if we wanted to change
our gas supplier, or sometimes two nice
men asking if we wanted to be saved from
the Horrible Burning Fires of Hell. If my
dad answered the door, he would either just
say no thanks, or sometimes start ranting
at them, saying things like, actually he'd
rather have his nose chewed off by a pack
of weasels.

What I saw when I opened the door
surprised me as much as if it had been a
pack of nose-eating weasels. Or two packs,
for that matter.

Noah.

I have to tell
you something
about me and
Noah, to explain
why I was so
upset about him
not believing
me and joining
the others in chucking me out of the
Gang. You see, I had known Noah
before either of us could even walk. Our
mums used to put us in the same playpen
together when we were still shuffling
about on our bottoms. We used to chew
each other's chewy toys, and drink out of
the same beaker and even poo in the
same potty. When we were three we were
sent to the same nursery, a scary place
full of children who would bite you given
half a chance, and grown-ups who seemed
to think that carrot sticks counted as a
treat.

At big school we'd stuck together through
thick and thin, me watching his back and
him watching mine. When we were old
enough, we formed the Gang, before it
was even called the Bare Bum Gang. I
was Leader and he was Gang Doctor. The
others, The Moan, Jamie, Jennifer, they all
came later. We were the originals. We were
the heart. I could stand the others rejecting
me, but not Noah.

'Hi,' he said.

'Hi,' I said.

Then we didn't say anything for a few
moments. Noah looked at me, and then
down at his shoes.

Then he said, 'Can we have a talk?'

'Is it all about what a rubbish leader I
was, and how I ate all the sweets, and about
how much better things are now that Alfie's
in your gang instead of me?'

'No!' said Noah violently. 'It isn't about
any of those things.'

And then it all came out in a gush.

'It's terrible now. I hate it. I'm sorry about
what we did to you. I know you wouldn't
have stolen the sweet stash. Alfie's taken
over the Gang and made himself the leader
and it's not like it used to be. We don't do
anything fun any more, but the others don't
really mind because he gives them sweets
and presents, especially Jennifer, because
he wants her to be his special friend. And
none of our traps are properly looked
after any more and the Smarties-tube Fart
Bombs haven't been filled up for ages, so
they probably won't even work if we get
attacked. And even worse, Alfie told us that
we could do a wee just outside the den, when
everyone knows that you have to go at least
a hundred metres away when you do a wee
or the smell will give away your position
to your enemies and wild animals.'

By this stage I'd led Noah into the kitchen
and poured him out some milk to calm him
down.

'Yes,' I said, in my wise voice, 'it's exactly
like the last days of the Roman Empire,
when they had rubbish emperors who
cared more about feasts and watching
ladies dance around with hardly any
clothes on than looking after their borders,
such as Hadrian's Wall and the Great Wall
of China and the Berlin Wall. But what
am I supposed to do about it? It's not my
gang any more. I'm in the Dockery Gang
now.'

'Don't be silly,' he replied. 'I know you're
not really in the Dockery Gang. I read
about it in a spy book. It's called "being
in deep cover". But I saw what you did
with my shoe. That's why I came here.
You deliberately threw it so that it hit the
gutter, didn't you?'

'Well, er, yes, I suppose . . .'

'And you're only pretending to be in the
Dockery Gang, aren't you?'

'Oh, yes, well . . .'

'I knew it. So you're a kind of spy, just
finding out their secret plans, aren't you?'

'Yes, that's it, I guess . . .'

And when Noah put it like that, it all fell
into place. Yes, I was a secret agent. I did
aim the shoe so that it hit the gutter and
not the roof. Yes, I was planning a brilliant
campaign to defeat our enemies and win
back the trust of the Bare Bum Gang.

'Let's go to my room,' I said, 'and I'll tell you all about
it.'

The very next day Alfie received a letter
written on a scrunched-up piece of paper
with bogeys smeared on it. The English was
completely rubbish, with useless spelling and
bad handwriting, exactly as if the person
who wrote it was a stupid big bully. This is
what it said:

At the same time Dockery received a
letter written on pink notepaper decorated
with flowers and smelling of perfume.

The writing was incredibly neat and the
spelling was perfect. In fact just the sort of
letter you would get from a creepy swot.

OK, so I guess you're desperate to find
out what my plan was. You'll probably
have realized by now that coming up with
brilliant plans is my speciality, but this one
was the most brilliant I'd ever had. In fact
it was probably in the top ten most brilliant
plans ever invented in the history of the
world, even if I say so myself.

The thing about this brilliant plan is
that it arrived in the nick of time. You see,
getting massacred in the Valley of Doom,
and then being kicked out of the Gang, and
then temporarily joining the Dark Side, had
dented my confidence, and it's hard to think
up brilliant plans when your confidence is
dented. But Noah's visit had changed all
that. Heroes often have periods when they
lose their powers and have to go off and
sulk for a while. It makes the story much
more exciting. Well, I'd definitely lost my
powers. And, if I was being honest, I'd have
to admit that I'd gone off and sulked.

But now I was back, and my powers were
back, and I was ready to rock!

Perhaps the most important part of any
plan is good preparation. Lots of perfectly
good plans in the history of the world went
wrong because of bad preparation, such
as the Charge of the Light Brigade in the
Crimean War. It also works the other way
round (or vice-versa), such as when England
won the World Cup in 1966. Well, I wanted
my plan to be like winning the World Cup,
and not like getting all blown to pieces in
the Charge of the Light Brigade.

When preparing a good plan you need to
have everything arranged in steps. The first
step was writing those two cunning letters.

The second step was getting some fresh
batteries for my walkie-talkies, which I'd been
meaning to do for ages anyway. They each
needed two AA batteries, four altogether. I
dug around in my toy cupboard and got out
all my old toys that used batteries, including
three robots, a remote-controlled digger, a
scary clown that laughed at you in a way
that gave you nightmares, and a toy train
that made embarrassing chuff-chuff noises.

Not a single one worked.

So then I moved on to the rest of the
house. I found two batteries in my dad's
electric toothbrush, which my mum got
him because she said his teeth were looking
green. Then I extracted (which means took
out) two more from my sister Ivy's electronic
potty.

According to the instructions, the potty
was supposed to say 'Well done' and 'Good
girl' and 'That's a big one' when you did a
wee or a poo in it. But my sister's didn't
work properly, and it shouted at you in
Chinese, saying things like 'HONG CHOW
PONG YU', which frightened her so much
that she didn't go to the potty for a whole
week, and had to go to hospital to get her
poo extracted (which means – oh, I already
explained that) by a doctor with a special
kind of spoon, called a poo spoon. So taking
the batteries out of it was probably the
best thing you could do, and not stealing
at all.

The third step was to check on the supplies
of Special Mixture Number Seven. There
was still some left in the bucket in the garage,
but not quite enough, so I filled it up with
more wee. Technically this made it Special
Mixture Number Eight.

The fourth step was Noah's responsibility.
He went secretly round to see everyone in
the Bare Bum Gang – except of course evil
Alfie – and told them the plan. No, not the
whole plan, just the part they needed to
know, which was where and when they had
to meet up, and what to bring with them.

The rest was down to me, my raw courage,
and the stupidity of my mortal enemies.