‘Will!’ The engines puttered and the motorcycles stopped alongside the stone wall lining the lane. There was a huge cheer as Will clambered to the top of the wall with the bags of wool.
‘Hurrah!’
‘Woo hoo!’ called Ivy as the engines died down. She was sitting behind Matilda on the Bullet, waving the loo-roll cover. ‘I haven’t had so much fun in donkey’s years!’ She was the only one not wearing a helmet.
‘Is Sophie OK?’
‘Home asleep by now,’ said Matilda, ‘though it was sticky wickets sneaking her back into your house!’
‘We made Holly do it!’ said Hortense.
‘Fortunately we’d gone to get the motorbikes as soon as we saw you leave,’ said Jun-Yu, her face becoming stern. ‘You naughty, wicked, mischievous, reckless—’
‘It’s a jammy thing I keep my motorbike ready to ride,’ said Ivy, ‘just for sentimental reasons!’
‘And lucky my granddaughters are a bunch of rip-tackle tomboys who’ve kept the old farm bike up so they can back-racket round the fields,’ said Dorcas.
‘And you put the Seven-League Slippers over the handgrips!’ said Will. He should try that out on his bike.
‘Then Ivy put the Locator Hat on to steer and stood with one foot on each bike as we rode.’
‘What?’ said Will. ‘Don’t lose your onion, old bean,’ said Matilda, picking up one of the woolsacks. ‘Ivy’s top-hole at motorbike tricks.’ She tossed the bag to Hortense.
‘Oof!’ said Hortense, falling backwards on to the grass.
‘A little less enthusiasm there, Matilda dear,’ said Jun-Yu.
‘That way we could get both bikes here,’ Ivy explained. ‘In case you needed reinforcements.’
‘Right!’ said Jun-Yu. ‘Everyone ready to get back?’
‘What, and not ride just a little bit of the TT course while we’re here?’ said Ivy.
‘This is no time for larking about,’ said Jun-Yu. ‘We’ve got to get Will home before his parents wake up! Are you up for doing your trick again?’
Ivy gave a thumbs-up. ‘Everything cushti!’ Will noticed a far-off rumble. Another motorbike was coming.
‘Bandits! Bandits!’ said Hortense, who was standing next to him. ‘Two o’clock!’
The grans stood up like meerkats, staring into the distance.
It was a Norton Dominator. ‘It’s Fitchet!’ Will cried. ‘Ankle it!’ said Matilda. ‘Blues and twos!’ said Hortense.
They all piled on to the motorbikes, with Will in the sidecar of the Bullet next to one of the woolsacks. ‘Hold on tight!’ said Matilda, and started the engine. It was like sitting on a pneumatic drill. Next to them, Hortense started the Scrambler and then helped get Dorcas on in the driver’s position. Jun-Yu climbed into the Scrambler’s sidecar with the other two bags of wool, while Ivy clambered up behind Matilda to sit sideways, with both legs on the right side of the bike.
‘Tally ho!’ called Hortense.
The Scrambler pulled off with a roar and a puff of dust. The Bullet followed, springing down the rocky lane. Will clutched the edges of the sidecar to keep from being thrown out of the back. He looked over his shoulder. It was definitely Jasper Fitchet. He was close enough that Will could see the man’s little grin, pressed more tightly than ever as he hunched over the handlebars of the Dominator.
‘Go! Go! Go!’ shouted Will above the racket of the engine.
The grans’ bikes picked up speed, curving round bends. Will looked back again. Jasper’s bike was powerful, but it couldn’t handle the gravel and grass like the Scrambler and it was no match for the Bullet’s knobbly tyres. His handlebars swerved, and he slowed down. Meanwhile, the grans’ bikes barely wobbled on the loose road surface, though the bags of wool bounced whenever they hit a dip or a bump, and they would have fallen out at one point if Will and Jun-Yu hadn’t grabbed hold of them. The distance between the grans and Jasper Fitchet widened.
The lane twisted again and then finally joined a proper road, wide enough to get the bikes next to one another. The Scrambler pulled out on to the tarmac and the Bullet followed. Slowly the Bullet crept up alongside the Scrambler, the engine rumbling more loudly than ever, until they were side by side, the Bullet on the left and the Scrambler on the right.
But by now, the Dominator had reached the tarmac too, and the distance between them was shrinking again. Jasper Fitchet was grinning widely, his eyebrows knitted together.
‘He’s getting closer!’ yelled Will.
Up behind Matilda, Ivy put the Dalek loo-roll cover on her head. Holding on to Matilda’s shoulder with her left hand, she stood up on the right pillion peg of the Scrambler.
‘Don’t fall!’ yelled Jun-Yu, clutching the bags as they bounced against the back of the sidecar.
They were coming into a town now, and the edges of the road were already lined with spectators. There must be a race this morning, and people had come early for a good spot. It was lucky they hadn’t closed the road yet, thought Will.
A huge cheer went up as Ivy stood straight, her silver plaits flying, and put her right arm and leg out into the air, stretching towards the Scrambler.
‘It’s the White Helmets!’ came cries from the crowd.
Ivy waved and smiled then slowly stepped across the gap, her right foot landing on the peg of the Scrambler’s sidecar.
‘Hurrah!’ screamed the crowd as Ivy stretched out in an X shape between the two bikes.
Will peeked under his arm again. Jasper Fitchet was centimetres behind them, his wheel beginning to edge in between the two bikes, as if he wanted to drive them apart. Leaning forward, he took his hand off the left handgrip and reached towards Will.
‘Woo hoo!’ yelled Ivy. ‘Where is—’ Fitchet lurched forward and grabbed a fluttering corner of Will’s woolsack.
‘No!’ shouted Will, and gave an almighty tug on the bag. It flew out of Fitchet’s grip and thumped Matilda on the back. The Bullet only swerved for a second before Matilda had it under control again, but that was all it took. Ivy wobbled, her arms waving. Will and Jun-Yu both swooped to steady her, letting go of the sacks. The bags of wool seemed to sail off the back of the bike in slow motion through the air. Will looked behind him in time to see them hitting Jasper Fitchet in the chest before everything went blurry.
The side of Will’s face was struck with a freezing blast of air, and his fingers, clutching the rim of the sidecar, felt like someone was whacking them with an ice hammer.
Then they hit tarmac. Matilda braked so hard that the back wheel lifted up and the whole bike nearly went over. Beside them the Scrambler skidded sideways and stopped in front of the Bullet. Ivy soared towards the sky and came down to land in a hedge, turning a somersault as she went.
The grans all tumbled off the bikes and rushed to the hedge.
‘Are you all right, Ivy?’
Ivy sat up, laughing. ‘That was terrific!’ she cried.
‘Are you injured?’
‘I think I’ve broken four legs!’ she said. ‘Did we make it?’
‘We made it!’
They were on a familiar lane. The tower of Knittington Abbey rose up above the trees just ahead.
‘Fitchet got our wool!’ said Will.
‘Pipped at the post!’ said Hortense.
But nothing was going to dampen the grans’ moods today.
‘Never mind,’ said Jun-Yu. ‘We’ve still got some in Sophie’s rucksack.’
‘I’ve got a bit in mine too,’ said Will.
Jun-Yu and Hortense were helping lift Dorcas off the bike. ‘I haven’t had so much fun since the last millennium!’
‘Brings it all back, doesn’t it?’ said Matilda.
‘Wait,’ said Will. ‘Were you guys actually . . . the Motomaids?’
‘Hmm . . . well, you might well think so,’ said Hortense.
‘We couldn’t possibly say,’ said Matilda, laughing.
‘Don’t believe a word of it!’ said
Ivy, winking.
Will was disappointed not to go all the way home by motorbike, but he had to agree with Jun-Yu that the noise would not help him sneak in un-noticed. They let him off at the end of the alleyway, and he slipped through the back door seconds before Dad ambled downstairs, yawning.
‘Wow, I’ve slept late!’ he said, stretching. ‘And it’s Open Day at the museum tomorrow. I’d better get a move on with my lecture – and see if I can drum up some volunteers.’ He was still worried, Will knew.
They found Sophie asleep on the living-room sofa in her muddy pyjamas and red wellies. ‘What on earth have you two been up to?’ asked Dad, looking from Sophie to Will. ‘Is that gorse in your hair?’
‘We woke up really, really early,’ said Will. ‘And we didn’t want to wake you so we, er, went to play outside.’ It was more or less true.
‘Well,’ said Dad, scratching his head, ‘let’s get you some breakfast.’
Once Mum had decided that neither of them had a fever, no one seemed to mind that Will and Sophie went back to bed after their scrambled eggs.
Ding-dong.
Will’s eyes snapped open. The wool. The grans! Sophie?
He scrambled out of bed and ran to Sophie’s room. She sat up in bed and yawned, surrounded by stuffed dogs. Phew!
‘Someone’s at the door,’ she said.
Ding-dong.
It was Holly. She was standing on the front path holding a dripping rucksack.
‘I stole the fleece,’ she said.
‘You what?’ asked Will.
‘Hello, Holly!’ Dad came out of the study. ‘I’m glad to see you’re awake, Will. We were starting to worry.’
Dad let Holly put her rucksack in the kitchen sink while he made sandwiches. ‘Is it OK if I take Will and Sophie out on a mission?’ Holly asked.
‘Yes, that’s fine, if you want to,’ Dad said. ‘But you’ve all got to eat some lunch first.’ Fortunately there was no more kale salad.
‘But what are we doing on this mission?’ asked Will, when Dad went up to get Sophie.
‘It’s like Sleeping Beauty’s castle over at The Knittery,’ said Holly, grabbing a sandwich from the plate. ‘They put the fleece in a basin to soak, put the kettle on to boil, and then just fell asleep, from the looks of it.’
‘They’re going to bust a gasket when they wake up and find the fleece gone,’ said Will, peeling the top of a sandwich up and looking inside suspiciously.
‘Serves them right!’ said Holly. ‘I can’t believe they took the Scrambler to the Isle of Man and didn’t take me!’ She swallowed. ‘You’re safe. It’s just cheese and pickle,’ she said. ‘Anyway, we haven’t got time to waste! There’s a lot to do before they can knit with that wool.’
‘Really?’ asked Will, closing his eyes and taking a bite. Ahh. Regular old cheddar, just like Gran’s.
‘Really,’ said Holly. ‘It’s got to be washed and carded and spun. So there’s no time for gadling.’
‘A still bee gathers no honey,’ Will said.
‘Oh, crikey, we both sound like them now!’
Dad had to work on his Open Day stuff after lunch, and Mum was filling out job applications, so they didn’t mind if Will went to the river with Holly. Of course, Sophie wanted to come too. ‘Cronk said I should.’
‘Oh, well, if Cronk says you should . . .’ said Will, chuckling. But then he remembered.
‘Actually,’ said Holly. ‘If Cronk says she should . . .’
‘Right,’ said Will.
They went to the riverbank just downstream from Jasper Fitchet’s factory. Will stopped to look through the windows with Holly’s binoculars. The shop was closed, the factory windows dark, the car park empty. There was no sign of a Norton Dominator. However fast Jasper Fitchet’s fancy motorbike was, it wasn’t as fast as Seven-League Slippers. Maybe the grans would win after all. Maybe they could make something to stop him before he got back with the bags of Magic Wool.
It was a warm day, and they were all glad to get their feet into the cold river. The grans had put the fleece into mesh bags, like the ones Mum used to wash her tights. Holly said to sway the bags back and forth under the water, so the current could run through. Soon it became a game, trying to walk through the river on the mossy stones without slipping, while sweeping the fleece back and forth.
Even without the skipping rope, Holly was a fun magnet. Whatever she was doing, somehow she always made you want to do it too. It wasn’t long before Isabelle and Robyn turned up, and then Vivien and Finn, and then Olive and Annie and Ivan and Alexi. Soon they were passing the bags back and forth and splashing each other and then falling in and swimming, and it was only because Will had tied his bag to his wrist that he didn’t lose his share of the Magic Wool.
‘We should spread it on a lawn next,’ said Holly, wringing out Sophie’s T-shirt. Everyone else had gone home to get dry.
‘Where?’ asked Will.
‘At my house,’ said Holly. ‘He can’t see it from the factory.’
She took them on her bicycle, with Sophie in the basket saying, ‘Faster! faster!’ and Will on the back, each of them holding their bag of fleece up in the air. The fleece looked just as beautiful spread out on the grass behind Holly’s farmhouse as it had on the Isle of Man. It glittered when the sun came out from behind the clouds.
‘Right!’ said Holly when she’d pedalled them back. ‘You let me know if you see anything from your window, and I’ll let you know when this stuff is dry.’
The next morning Dad and Mum literally bumped into each other in the kitchen.
‘We’ve got to find a craftsperson!’ Dad was saying into his phone, reaching for the bread. ‘Historic Crafts are on the schedule.’
‘So you need to find a teacher,’ Mum was saying into her phone, reaching for the tea tin. ‘That drawing class has to run.’
‘Well, check, then. I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ said Dad, shooting towards the refrigerator.
‘I’ll check,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll ring you back in five.’ She dived for the kettle.
Bam!
‘Oh! Darling, I’m sorry!’ said Mum.
‘No! Darling, my fault!’ said Dad.
‘You wouldn’t be able to take Will and Sophie to work with you for an hour or two this morning, would you?’ asked Mum, rubbing her forehead where it had bumped Dad’s chin.
‘Today? It’s the Open Day!’ said Dad, rubbing his chin where it had bumped Mum’s forehead.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Mum. ‘It’s just that the drawing teacher hasn’t shown up to the summer school, and they’ll pay really well if I can step in for him—’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Dad. ‘It’s just that our blacksmith hasn’t shown up for the demonstration, and the museum inspector lady’s coming, and if anything goes wrong today—’
‘Don’t worry. You just get going,’ said Mum. ‘Goodbye!’
‘Good luck!’
‘Get out!’
Dad ran up the front path with a tie in one pocket and a sandwich in the other. Mum shut the door and began dialling her phone. The doorbell rang.
‘Can Will and Sophie play?’ It was Holly.
‘I love you, Holly!’ said Mum. She grabbed Holly’s hand and put some money in it from the basket in the hall. ‘I’ll be back at noon!’
Mum ran up the front path, with an apple in one pocket and a bundle of drawing pencils in the other.
‘I guess that means yes,’ said Holly.
‘Are the grans OK?’ asked Will.
‘The grans are in their Combat Cardigans, unravelling everything in sight.’
‘They’re unravelling magic knitting? Even Gran’s magic knitting?’
‘Yep. They say they’re going to need every bit of Magic Wool we’ve got.’ She paused. ‘They’re inventing something new.’
‘They’re inventing a pattern? A new pattern?’
‘Cometh the hour, cometh the gran,’ said Holly. ‘They’ve even agreed that we should do the cardin
g and the spinning of the new wool. It’s dry now, by the way.’
‘They’re letting us take over?’ asked Will.
‘Uh-huh,’ said Holly, bobbing up on the balls of her feet with a smug smile. ‘Apparently we did all the right things yesterday.’ Her face got serious. ‘But today is a whole different ball game. I don’t suppose you know anyone who can help us card and spin?’
Will laughed. ‘Every kid in Knittington knows how to spin! At least if they’ve had Gran as a supply teacher!’ Gran’s speciality had been teaching the children to spin with drop spindles, and then, once they had their hands busy, reading them stories. They had held contests to see who could spin the most by the end of the story.
‘Does it matter if it’s bumpy and uneven?’ asked Will.
‘It only matters that it’s fast,’ said Holly.
‘We can have a race!’ said Will.
‘Brilliant!’ said Holly.
‘Cronk says to find the spindles,’ said Sophie.
Will was puzzled. ‘What spindles, Sophie?’
‘The ones Grandad made for Gran.’ She was wearing the loo-roll cover on her head.
They didn’t even laugh. Instead Will and Holly followed Sophie down the back garden and out into the alley.
‘What are you up to? Can we come?’ It was Olive and Annie. Soon they were following, along with Clara and Marius, Henry and Jacob, Finn and Vivien, and Rafi with all his brothers. Sophie skipped along at the front, leading them up to the back gates of the museum.
‘Oh, I remember!’ said Will, as they crunched over the white pebbles of the courtyard. ‘Gran used to demonstrate wool crafts here sometimes.’ There was a box of her old spindles and carding combs under the stairs. The spindles all had little animal heads carved on them.
Dad wasn’t in his office, but there seemed to be a crowd in the gift shop. Will slipped inside. It was full of people with big cameras and name-tags saying PRESS. Dad was behind the ticket counter with the museum director, looking pale.