(GIT). She’s inherited his absented-minded braininess. She’s not so hot on the practical side of things though—she can design a robot to tie your shoelaces, but she’s always tripping over her own feet. She comes to school on her rocket-powered rollerblades.
A Passion for Excellence
Miss Jones
Miss Jones is responsible for teaching Class 3D the ordinary everyday subjects like Maths and English and History. She’s newly qualified, quiet and unassuming. Like Miss Jones, all the subject teachers at Thunder Raker Manor are fully qualified and at the very peak of their profession. Many of them are former agents and spies, so together they bring a wealth of experience to the school.
Mr. Cryption
Mr. Cryption teaches Codes. He’s tall and thin and no one understands anything he says.
Miss Fortune
Miss Fortune teaches Assassination. Her classes always seem to be a few pupils short—they get sent on errands or asked to help fetch something, and never come back…Note, though, that Class 3D is too young for Assassination, which is only taught in the Sixth Form.
Sir Westerly Compass
Sir Westerly Compass is in charge of Tracking Skills. He’s always late for class, and his lessons are often moved at short notice.
The Major
The Major—that’s all he’s ever called—is in charge of Sabotage Training. He has an enormous moustache and he’s rather accident prone. Everything he touches breaks—even the plate he gets his school dinner on…
Mrs Nuffink
Mrs Nuffink teaches Surveillance. Don’t mess around in her class—she’s got eyes in the back of her head. No, really.
Mr. Trick
Camouflage is supposed to be taught by Mr. Trick. But no one can find him.
Reverend “Bongo” Smithers
The Chaplain is Reverend “Bongo” Smithers, a former fighter pilot more interested in war stories than Bible stories. He also teaches PE. Ruthlessly.
Peace of Mind
So whatever your parental requirements or security clearance, you can rest assured that Thunder Raker Manor will provide a first-class education for your child in every respect. We can’t tell you how much the children enjoy being here. No, really—we can’t. It’s an official secret.
It was still quite dark when Alfie walked to school, but the men watching him from the hedges and ditches all wore sunglasses. This meant they had trouble seeing Alfie, and had to lean right out from their hiding places. Then they’d suddenly pull back into hiding when he got too close. Alfie ignored them and kept going.
He might have felt sorry for them, stuck out in the cold and the wet all night, except for two things. First, Alfie knew that they were agents of SPUD—the Secret Partners for Undertaking Destruction. They were spying on Alfie and all the other pupils and staff at Thunder Raker Manor School. And the second thing was that Alfie knew Mrs Prendergast would soon come out from her little cottage to offer them tea and biscuits.
Alfie was early this morning because he wanted to get to school in time to ask one of his friends about his homework. It had been set by Mr. Cryption the Codes teacher, and Alfie didn’t really understand what he was supposed to do. He had been given a sheet of lined paper, with a heading at the top. There was no explanation, and the heading simply asked, ‘Extraction Luggage Mangle?’.
So Alfie ignored the SPUD agents, and made his way up to the main school gates. He said hello to Sergeant Custer, who was on guard as usual. He paused to pat Gerald the guard dog. Then he made his way up the school drive and was soon in his classroom.
Only one of Alfie’s friends from Class 3D had arrived before him. It was Jack. His dad was head of the Secret Service, which sounded very exciting. In fact, all the children at Thunder Raker had parents or guardians who were in the Secret Service, or were spies or agents. All except Alfie.
His dad was a postman.
Everyone else thought this was great cover, and only Alfie knew he was at Thunder Raker because there had been a mistake. But Alfie loved the school and all his classmates, so he never said anything or complained.
“Hi, Alfie,” said Jack. “Did you get the Codes homework done, then?”
“I didn’t really understand the question,” Alfie confessed.
“Not surprised,” said Jack. “Have you heard about the new fishing club?”
“That’s it?” said Alfie. “Strange homework question.”
He got his homework out of his backpack, and wrote carefully under the heading: ‘No, I haven’t heard about the new fishing club’. He thought for a moment, and then added neatly: ‘Fester scribble’.
“What are you doing?” Jack asked as he watched Alfie write.
“Answering the question.”
“Great.” Jack pulled out his own homework sheet. It was as blank as Alfie’s had been. ‘So, what is it?”
Alfie frowned. “Have you heard about the new fishing club?”
“How strange,” said Jack. “I just asked you the same thing. And the notice only went up this morning, so I’m surprised Mr. Cryption knew about it.”
Alfie was beginning to think that maybe he had misunderstood. But the other children in Class 3D were arriving now.
“What’s that about a fishing club?” Alice asked. “I think fishing is cruel to fish.”
“Perhaps they can join too,” said Jack. “Sounds a bit boring though.”
Sam rolled up in his wheelchair. “Maybe I can get a special fishing attachment.” His
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