Future Ratboy and the Quest for the Missing Thingy. Jim Smith

yellow sheet covering the statue.

      ‘Ooh a ribbon,’ squeaked Norman, swishing his blades open. ‘I just can’t resist!’

      He swished his blades shut, snipping the ribbon in half, and the sheet flopped to the floor revealing a concrete Mayor Goodhair standing on top of a pillar.

      ‘Another statue of me – just what I’ve always wanted!’ beamed the mayor, and the crowd cheered.

      Norman flew down towards one of the mayor’s trouser pockets and slid himself into it. ‘Hover-scissors get extremely tired after snipping a ribbon,’ explained Jamjar. ‘He’ll need a nice nap now.’

      ‘O-K . . .’ I said, thinking how ridikeelous the future could be sometimes.

      Mayor Goodhair turned to the floating pink parcel. ‘And who bought me this great big one?’ he asked.

      ‘I thought you said he bought his own pressies?’ I whispered to Bunny.

      ‘Must be from a secret admirer!’ she giggled.

      A humungazoid label was hanging off the pink parcel. ‘Somebody flip that tag round so I can read it, would you?’ smiled Mayor Goodhair.

      Not Bird flew up to the label and turned it over with his beak. ‘Happy bday!’ said the mayor, reading out what was written on it. Underneath the writing was a big black ‘X’ for a kiss.

      ‘Ahh, that’s nice!’ smiled Splorg, as the mayor began to frown.

      ‘Hmmm, there’s something about that handwriting that rings a bell . . .’ he mumbled, as the ground shook beneath me and the crowd started to scream.

      I turned round to see a giant metal scorpion appear from between two skyscrapers. I peered into the cockpit and gasped.

      ‘It’s Mr X!’

      Mr X grimaced down at the crowd, his teeth jaggedy like a dinosaur’s. ‘How nice of you all to turn out like this for Mayor Goodhair’s birthday!’ he boomed.

      Bill Aardvark narrowed his eyes on the hover-screen above our heads. ‘Something tells me Mr X didn’t really mean that,’ he said, and Cecelia rolled her eyes.

      Mayor Goodhair peered up at the label hanging off the floating pink parcel and snapped his fingers. ‘That “X” isn’t a kiss, it’s Mr X’s signature!’ he cried.

      ‘Got it in one, Mr Mayor!’ cackled Mr X. ‘Happy birthday, old pal!’

      Jamjar pulled her Triangulator out of her pocket. She pointed it at the ginormous floating parcel and pressed a button.