Licence to Fish. Justin Richards

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      wheelchair was packed with gadgets and defensive equipment. “That would make it more fun.”

      Jack said something in reply, but his words were drowned out by the noise of Beth arriving—on a rocket-powered scooter. She was wearing a bright pink crash helmet, and stopped so suddenly beside her desk that the crash helmet kept going. It flew across the room and hit Harry as he came through the door.

      “Oof,” he said, and doubled over.

      “Do stand up straight, Harry,” Chloe said, stepping into the classroom past him. “And give Beth back her helmet. Though I have to say it’s a bit old-fashioned. Pink is so last week.”

      “Have you heard about the new fishing club?” Jack asked Harry.

      “Fishing club?” Harry looked confused. “What do you do—hit them over the head with it?”

      “Not that sort of club,” Alfie said.

      “I’ve got a golf club,” Chloe said. “My dad gave it to me. There are eighteen holes in it and lots of famous people play golf there.”

      “Even though there are holes in it?” Harry asked.

      “You don’t go fishing with a club,” Sam explained to Harry.

      “That’s right,” Chloe said, taking back her pink crash helmet. “You go with a rod.”

      Harry was still looking perplexed. “Who’s Rod?”

      “Maybe he runs the club,” Alice suggested.

      “Some people go fishing with a net,” Jack pointed out. “That would have holes in.”

      Harry sat down heavily. “Who’s Annette?!”

      “Must be a friend of Rod,” Chloe told him.

      Luckily, Miss Jones the class teacher arrived before Harry got any more confused.

      “Good morning, everyone,” she said. “Now, before we go to Assembly, I have a message from Mr. Cryption. He’s very sorry that the homework he set you for last night didn’t really make sense and he’s asked me to apologise.”

      “Extraction Luggage Mangle,” Sam muttered. “I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”

      “Yes,” Miss Jones went on, “in fact, the question should have been…” She paused to check on a piece of paper. “Ah yes, here we are, it should have been: ‘Igloo pest under armada brackets?’”

      Sam slapped his palm to his forehead. “Of course!”

      “But what does it mean?” Alfie whispered to him.

      “Haven’t a clue,” Sam said. “I just put my answer as ‘167 Wednesdays’. I don’t think I’ll bother to change it.”

      Assembly started in the usual way, with the Head Teacher Mr. Trenchard forgetting why everyone was there or what was going on. Years ago, Mr. Trenchard had trained himself to forget anything that might be useful to the enemy if he was captured. But now he seemed just to forget everything. All the time.

      Eventually he remembered what the Assembly was about, and explained the plans for the day ahead.

      “And finally,” Mr. Trenchard said, reading from his notes, “we have a new after-school club starting this week. The Fishing Club. There’s already been a lot of interest, so each class will be allocated a day when they can go to the club. Today that class will be 3D.”

      “Oh how boring,” Jack said. “I’m not going.”

      “Nor me,” Beth agreed.

      Sam shook his head too.

      But Mr. Trenchard hadn’t finished. “Because the timetable is already so crowded, I’m afraid that anyone who does join the Fishing Club will have to miss the last lesson of the day. Which for Class 3D today would be…” he paused to check on a piece of paper, “…Political Destabilisation, with the Chaplain.”

      “I think fishing is way cool!” Jack said.

      “Fishing Club—can’t wait,” Sam whispered.

      “I’m there,” Beth agreed.

      “It’s cruel to fish,” Alice muttered.

      Mr. Trenchard was explaining which day each of the other classes could go fishing and what lessons they would miss. “You will meet by the school lake at the start of the last lesson. Any questions?”

      The other teachers all sat on the stage beside Mr. Trenchard. Alfie had noticed that there was always an empty chair on the end of the line. Beside the empty chair was the Major. He was in charge of sabotage training. “One thing,” he said gruffly. He struggled to remain upright as a leg fell off his chair. “Who will be running this Fishing Club?”

      “Ah, very good question.” Mr. Trenchard paused as the Major’s chair toppled sideways and tipped him off the stage. “We have two experts coming in from the Advanced Fish Inspection Board.”

      “That’s AFIB,” the Chaplain announced, in case there was any confusion.

      “No, no,” Mr. Trenchard insisted. “It’s absolutely true.”

      “Experts!” Harry whispered to Alfie, obviously impressed.

      “And their names,” Mr. Trenchard announced, “are Rod and Annette.”

       Chapter 2

      The first lesson was Surveillance, with Mrs Nuffink. But it was clear that Class 3D was more excited by the thought of fishing than by watching grainy black and white CCTV footage of a supermarket car park.

      “There!” Mrs Nuffink exclaimed in exasperation. “Did none of you see that?”

      “See what?” Chloe asked.

      “It was just a woman pushing a trolley,” said Jack.

      “A woman in dark glasses and combat gear,” Alfie added.

      “And what did you notice about the trolley?” Mrs Nuffink demanded.

      They all looked at her blankly. “I’ve got better wheels?” Sam suggested.

      “Inside the trolley?” Mrs Nuffink prompted. “Didn’t you see anything worrying?”

      “Groceries,” Jack said.

      “Frozen peas,” Harry suggested.

      Ideas came thick and fast now:

      “Meat.”

      “Carrots.”

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