The Shobble Secret (The Shocking Trouble on the Planet of Shobble)

  Everyone stared at him. Nicola wondered if he'd just lost his mind.

  And then suddenly they all got it.

  'YOUR MUM'S STRAIGHTENING IRON!' everyone yelled at once.

  26

  'I don't know if it's working,' whispered Shimlara to Nicola. 'Nobody is taking any notice of me.'

  The Space Brigade was walking down the main street of the village near the Why Not Drop Inn on their way to the hot-air balloon booking office. Shimlara's hair was now dead straight. It was about a foot longer than when it was curly and a curtain of glossy dark brown hair fell down past her waist.

  'Just wait,' said Nicola.

  At that moment a little girl walking nearby tugged at her mother's arm and pointed at Shimlara.

  'Here we go,' said Nicola. 'Get ready to be famous.'

  The mother and the daughter came shyly over to Shimlara, their faces flushed with excitement.

  'Excuse me,' stammered the little girl to Shimlara. 'Could I have your signograph? I think you're the most beautiful hairity I've ever seen.'

  'Of course,' said Shimlara grandly. She flicked back her hair and signed the little girl's book with a flourish.

  'What's it like?' asked the girl's mother, her eyes bright. 'What's it like being a hairity?'

  'Well, I know it seems glamorous,' said Shimlara, 'but honestly, I'm just an ordinary, down-to-Globagaskar, I mean down-to-Earth, I mean down-to-Shobble person like you.'

  'Oh!' The woman clasped her hands together as if she couldn't think of anything more wonderful than to be Shimlara.

  As they walked off, Nicola noticed that Shimlara was already developing a different way of walking: a rather arrogant sort of saunter.

  As they walked on, there was a sudden blinding flash of a camera and a voice cried out, 'Shimlara! Shimlara! Over here!' An eager photographer was already dancing alongside them. He must have read the little girl's signograph book to get Shimlara's name so quickly. It was extraordinary.

  Shimlara tossed her hair over one shoulder, put a hand on her hip and posed for the photo.

  'Gorgeous! Fabulous! You're wonderful!' cried the photographer and blew her a kiss. Shimlara blew one back.

  Either Shimlara was an excellent actress, or being famous had gone straight to her head.

  'Here's the balloon hire place,' said Greta, who had been looking for the address on the brochure.

  'Maybe I should go in on my own,' said Shimlara.

  'Good idea, Your Highness,' muttered Greta.

  They all waited outside while Shimlara swept into the shop. A moment later she was back again, holding five tickets fanned out in her hand.

  'No problemo,' she said. 'We leave in twenty minutes. We meet the balloon and the pilot down at the edge of the Sweet Dream Swamplands. Our pilot's name is Philippe.'

  'Did they mind taking non-hairities?' asked Nicola.

  'They thought it was unusual,' said Shimlara. 'But I just acted like an eccentric celebrity. Actually, I could get used to this.'

  Luckily the Swamplands were within walking distance. On the way there, Shimlara was stopped every five minutes to sign another signograph or pose for a photograph. Her saunter became a swagger.

  The others lagged behind.

  'Look at the back of Shimlara's head,' whispered Tyler. 'The curls are coming back.'

  'It must be the humidity. At least that's what my mum says whenever her straightened hair begins to curl. Let's hope she doesn't have curly hair by the time we get to the balloon,' said Nicola, 'or the pilot won't let us on.'

  'That would take her down a peg or two,' grumbled Greta.

  'Speaking of the pilot,' said Sean. 'Don't you think it would be a good idea if we got rid of him?'

  'What do you mean?' said Nicola. 'You don't mean kill him?'

  'Yeah, and I've changed my name to Enrico,' said Sean. 'No! I mean it might be a good idea if we somehow took off without him. Otherwise we're going to have to convince him to wait around while we talk to Topaz. It might be useful to have the hot-air balloon to fly back to Enrico's mansion.'

  'So we'd be stealing it,' said Nicola.

  'No, we'd be borrowing it,' said Sean. 'Just for a little while. For an excellent cause.'

  'So how would we get rid of the pilot?'

  'I don't know. We'd have to wait and see if there was an opportunity. Do you think you could fly it, Tyler?'

  There was no question Tyler was the only one who would have a hope of flying a hot-air balloon.

  Tyler adjusted his glasses nervously. 'We took my sister on a hot-air balloon ride for her birthday,' he said. 'So I was asking the pilot lots of questions. All my sister did was take photos and scream. Typical. Anyway, you can't actually steer a balloon. You only control whether the balloon goes up or down by adjusting the heat in the burner. So you have to find the layer of wind going where you want to go. I guess I could give it a try.'

  Nicola saw that Tyler had that same half-exhilarated, half-petrified expression on his face as when he'd first flown a spaceship.

  'Okay,' said Nicola. 'Well, if we get a chance I guess we should try and take off without him.'

  Shimlara called out, 'The swamplands are just ahead!' A group of eager fans were now trotting along beside her, hanging on her every word.

  They came to a soggy swamp that stretched as far as the eye could see. Even with the rainbows overhead, it was depressing. Nicola was glad that Quicksilver was sleeping peacefully. She wouldn't have liked making him trudge through all that mud.

  'Look!' Tyler said. They're about to inflate the balloon! That's the best part!'

  Nicola could see a big brown wicker basket lying on its side. It was attached to a massive piece of shiny fabric that was obviously the balloon. As they got closer there was a whoosh sound and a flame burst alight in the basket.

  'They've turned the burner on,' explained Tyler. 'They're going to fill the balloon with hot air.'

  'Because hot air rises, right?' asked Sean.

  'Exactly.'

  Slowly the huge balloon began to puff out with air until it hovered above them, as tall as a building. The basket was anchored to the ground with a series of ropes and pegs.

  A man with red hair and a matching moustache approached Shimlara. Nicola glanced over at Shimlara and saw more curls popping up at the back of her head. None of her fans seemed to have noticed yet. They were too busy gazing at her adoringly.

  'Shimlara, maybe you should wear your baseball cap,' hissed Nicola. 'So you don't get sunburned.'

  'Oh, I quite like a tan,' said Shimlara.

  'No, I really think you should,' said Nicola meaningfully.

  Shimlara blinked. She was obviously reading Nicola's mind. She said, 'Oh yes! Good idea!' She grabbed her cap from her backpack and put it on so that only the smooth tresses falling over her shoulders were visible.

  The red-haired man came up to Shimlara and bowed low. 'I am Philippe. It will be my pleasure to be your pilot for today. They've forecast a minor hurricane so it might be a bit bumpy at times, but don't worry, I have plenty of experience. Now, I believe you also have some guests?' He looked around for the guests as if the rest of the Space Brigade was invisible.

  'Yes,' said Shimlara. 'These are my friends, Nicola, Sean, Tyler and Greta.'

  'These are your friends?' said Philippe disbelievingly. Then he smiled as if he'd worked it out. 'So you're a charity worker! How inspiring! Well, if you and your "friends" would like to climb aboard, we'll be off in a jiffy.'

  He helped Shimlara climb into the basket, holding her elbow as if she was a delicate old lady.

  'How are we going to get rid of him?' whispered Sean as they crowded in behind Shimlara. Not surprisingly, Philippe didn't bother to help the non-hairities.

  'I've got an idea,' Shimlara replied under her breath. She grabbed her ear and looked panic-stricken. 'Oh, no! I've lost a very expensive, irreplaceable diamond earring with sentimental value! Philippe, will you see if I've dropped it on the ground over there?'

&nbsp
; Philippe had been just about to climb into the basket with them.

  'Of course,' he said immediately.

  'I think I dropped it way, way over there.' Shimlara pointed vaguely into the distance.

  Philippe obediently scurried off in the direction she was pointing.

  'Hey!' called out someone in the crowd. 'What's happening to the hairity's hair?'

  Nicola saw that Shimlara's tresses were fast becoming curls and tendrils. The heat from the balloon must have been making her sweat. And sweat, Nicola knew from her mother, was the enemy of straightened hair.

  'She's not a hairity at all!' cried someone else. 'She's a fake! Her hair is curly.'

  Philippe turned back to look at Shimlara. He froze in horror.

  'Time to get out of here!' said Sean. He produced the big bread knife he'd brought from home and lunged for the ropes that were keeping them tethered to the ground.

  Philippe's face turned tomato red. 'I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING NOT RIGHT ABOUT YOU! YOU'RE JUST A LOT OF DIRTY COMMONERS! GET OUT OF MY BALLOON NOW!'

  Tyler was bent over the balloon's burner muttering urgently to himself.

  Philippe came running back and grabbed for the edge of the basket. Sean used the knife to slice through another rope and the balloon lurched sideways. Philippe jumped again and this time he managed to grab hold of the side of the basket.

  'Excuse me, we are not dirty commoners!' screamed Greta (although she didn't sound exactly lady-like, Nicola noted). She took off her shoe and used it to bang hard at Philippe's fingers.

  'OW!' Philippe released his hand and toppled to the ground just as Sean cut the final rope.

  At the same time Tyler said, 'Aha!' and turned a control on the burner. There was a hiss and a burst of hot air.

  The hot-air balloon floated straight up into the sky.

  27

  There was no sound at all.

  They were floating silently through the arch of a rainbow. It was like flying through a tunnel of shimmering colour. The fabric of the balloon fluttered gently in the breeze. The basket swayed softly.

  No one said a word.

  Nicola felt her shoulders sag. There was something about the sudden unexpected silence that was extremely relaxing. She looked at her friends and the rich colours flickering across their faces. If only Katie were here this would be one of those perfect memories that Nicola could store away in her mind ready to pull out next time she was stuck in a boring maths lesson.

  Beneath them Shimlara's angry fans and Philippe ran around in circles like furious ants.

  Shimlara removed her cap. Her hair blew wild and curly in the breeze. Everyone smiled when they saw it and Shimlara chuckled. 'Guess I'm just a dirty commoner like the rest of you.'

  'Did you like being a hairity?' asked Nicola curiously. It was a relief to see Shimlara looking like herself again.

  'It was weird,' said Shimlara. 'It sort of went to my head in the beginning. I thought I really was amazing just because everyone was treating me that way.'

  'It went to your head, did it?' said Sean, innocently. 'Wow. I couldn't tell at all.'

  'Okay, I know I went overboard. But even though I sort of loved it, it made me feel kind of lonely too. I missed being me.'

  'We missed you being you too,' said Tyler.

  He licked his finger and held it outside the balloon.

  'What are you doing?' asked Greta.

  'I'm checking which way the wind is blowing.'

  'So how does licking your finger tell you that?'

  'I don't know,' admitted Tyler. 'My dad does it before he puts up the beach umbrella. It seemed like the right thing to do.' He adjusted the burner of the balloon slightly and peered out over the edge of the basket. 'Anyway, it looks like we're heading in the right direction at the moment. Look. That's the Cloud-Capped Mountain.' He pointed towards the dramatic outline of a craggy mountain silhouetted crisply against a bright blue sky.

  Nicola said, 'We're lucky with the weather. It's a beautiful day.'

  'Yes.' Shimlara squinted thoughtfully up at the blue sky. 'Although don't forget what Philippe said.'

  Nicola had forgotten. 'What did he say?'

  'Hey!' At that moment a gust of cold air blew Greta's hat straight off her head and whipped it away.

  Nicola watched the cap being whirled this way and that and suddenly she remembered all too clearly what Philippe had said: They've forecast a minor hurricane . . .

  She said cheerily, 'At least they aren't forecasting a major -' She gulped on the word 'hurricane' as another gust of wind rocked the balloon and knocked her hard against Greta.

  'Watch it,' said Greta automatically, but she, like the rest of the Space Brigade, was frowning up at the huge banks of heavy grey cloud rolling rapidly across the sky like ocean waves. There was a deep rumble of thunder and a sudden spatter of icy rain against the fabric of the balloon.

  'This doesn't look good,' said Tyler. There were specks of water on his glasses. He brushed them away impatiently.

  'It's turned extra cold.' Shimlara shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Directly above them was a patch of bright blue sky like the leftover piece of a completely different day.

  'How are we going to fly this thing through a hurricane? We shouldn't have left Philippe behind,' said Greta crossly, as if she hadn't been bashing his knuckles with her shoe just five minutes before.

  'All we've got to do is stay in the eye of the hurricane,' said Sean. 'I saw it in a movie. That's where you're safe.'

  'Oh, is that all? Well then, we shouldn't have a problem!' Tyler didn't normally sound irritable and sarcastic. He must be frightened, thought Nicola.

  They were in a hot-air balloon with a hurricane sweeping towards them. It really couldn't get much worse than this. For some reason, instead of crying, Nicola started to laugh.

  'What's so funny?' snapped Greta. 'This isn't funny! There is nothing funny about this at all!'

  That only made Nicola laugh harder.

  'Is she hysterical?' asked Shimlara 'Nicola, are you hysterical?'

  Nicola decided to pull herself together before everyone started enthusiastically slapping her across the face.

  'I'm not hysterical,' she said, and tried to think of something leaderish and sensible to say. A notice stuck to the inside of the basket caught her eye.

  'Now will you all just calm down and take a look at this notice,' she said bossily, as if everyone else had been the ones falling about laughing. They all crouched down to read.

  WHAT TO DO IN THE CASE OF A MINOR OR MAJOR HURRICANE

  In the case of a minor hurricane, your chances of survival are approximately 48.5-63.5%. We recommend that you:

  1. Place an inflatable bubble-jacket (stored under the burner) over your head and tie the straps around your waist as per the diagram. Bubble-jackets are designed to inflate on impact with a hard surface. In this event you will find yourself encased within a bouncy rubber ball for your own safety. Unfortunately it is not possible to remove yourself from the ball without assistance. We apologise for any inconvenience.

  2. Sit on the floor of the basket.

  3. If you are accompanied by acquaintances or loved ones it might be a good idea to confirm your feelings. For example, 'I love you', 'I am quite fond of you', or 'I have never really liked you all that much', as the case may be. You may also want to ask for forgiveness for previous wrongs, such as hurtful comments, forgotten birthdays, etc.

  NOTE: DO NOT attempt to fly the balloon to any specific location. This is a HURRICANE, folks. The balloon is going to do whatever the hurricane wants. The best you can hope for is that you'll be slammed gently into the nearest mountain. By the way, there will always be some joker in the pack who suggests heading for the eye of the storm. This is like advising a bankrupt person to try to win the lottery. Sure it would be great, but what are the odds? (Teeny-weeny.)

  In the case of a major hurricane, your chances of survival are approximately 0%. We recommend that you:


  Enjoy your last few moments of life!

  Thank you for flying with Shobble's leading hot-air balloonists.

  Nicola was the fastest reader so she finished first. Her earlier laughter had vanished although she could still feel the giggly sensation at the back of her throat. She watched the emotions fly across everyone's faces as they read. They frowned, they chewed their lips, they went bright red or ghost white.

  One by one, as each person finished reading the sign, they turned their head towards Nicola in search of guidance.

  28

  'Philippe did say a minor hurricane, didn't he?' Shimlara gripped the side of the basket as it rocked aggressively. Long strands of her hair whipped across her face and caught in her mouth. 'Tell me he didn't say major!'

  'He definitely said minor.' Tyler squinted up at the mass of angry black cloud that was gathering above them. 'Although this looks pretty major to me.'

  'I don't see what's so bad about suggesting that you try to fly into the eye of the storm.' Sean looked offended by the notice. 'It makes perfect sense!'

  'I knew taking the hot-air balloon was a bad idea.' Greta pulled a Honeyville Primary raincoat from her backpack, her lips pursed as if someone had purposely arranged the hurricane just to annoy her.

  'Well it's funny you never mentioned it,' said Shimlara.

  'I knew there was no point. Nobody ever listens to me.'

  Suddenly it was pouring fat, heavy raindrops. Within seconds everyone was drenched and shivering uncontrollably, their hair plastered to their heads. Nicola felt raindrops running icily down the back of her clothes. Thunder boomed and lightning cracked like a whip, illuminating their wet, frightened faces. The basket rocked so hard everyone lurched clumsily about trying to keep their balance. Shimlara's elbow collided with Greta's nose.

  'OW!'

  'It's not my fault!'

  Nicola imagined how their hot-air balloon must look from the ground. Probably like a helpless butterfly being tossed about against the huge backdrop of the sky. Philippe was no doubt laughing his head off at their predicament. Would they survive? And what would happen to Katie if the rest of them were killed in a ballooning accident?

  Tyler yelled over the noise of the rain, 'We've got to put our bubble-jackets on like the notice says!'