The Bare Bum Gang and the Valley of Doom

  I was still lying on my back. I hadn't been able to get up because Dockery had his fat foot on my chest.

  There was a flicker of interest in Dockery's eyes. He had good cause to fear the traps around the Bare Bum Gang den. Many times he'd fallen into one of the Smarties-tube Fart Bomb traps, or a Squirty Ink trap, or even the much-feared Dog Poo trap.

  'But I don't get it. Why do you want to be in our gang?' he said slyly. 'You've always been our mortal enemy.'

  'I don't want to talk about it. Let's just say I have my reasons.'

  Dockery looked deep into my eyes, trying to see if I was lying or not. Obviously he didn't know that I never told lies. Well, not unless I really had to, like in an emergency – say if we were invaded by aliens and I knew where the Prime Minister was hiding, and I told the aliens he was in Peru, rather than in our garden shed, or whatever.

  'How do I know this isn't some sort of trick?'

  'Because I'm here, and you've got me, and if it was a trick you could marmalize me.'

  Marmalizing was something Dockery understood all too well. He gave a little nod, took his foot off my chest and held out his hand to pull me up off the ground. But as this was still Dockery, when I'd got halfway up he let go and I fell back in the mud, which set off the baboon-laughing all over again.

  Then they trooped back into their tent and I was left alone, not knowing what to do. A few seconds later, Carl's greasy head came poking through the tent flap.

  'You coming in or not?' he said with a smirk. Or was it a scowl? Actually it was in between – a smowl or a scirk.

  Whatever it was, I followed him into the dark smelly interior of the Dockery den.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE TEST

  It was pitch black. I was in Mrs Cake's front garden.

  I was holding the rotten egg.

  Dockery and his gang had a supply of rotten eggs that they kept in their den the same way the Bare Bum Gang kept sweets. Dockery had written dates on them in felt tip. Some of them were two years old, which was how you knew they were really, really rotten. Eggs of Mass Destruction, you could call them.

  I sneaked up to the front door. I could hear the snickering Dockery and his greasy friends behind the hedge.

  I was supposed to throw the Egg of Mass Destruction through Mrs Cake's letter box. I wasn't happy about this, and I knew it was a Bad Thing, but it was the only way I'd be allowed to join the Gang.

  I reached the door. I could see some light escaping from between a chink in the curtains, and I could hear the telly. I paused.

  'Get on with it, poo-brain,' hissed Dockery from behind me. 'We haven't got all night.'

  With my heart in my throat I carefully lifted up the flap. The sound of the telly spilled out. People were laughing. I held the egg up in front of the opening. I felt sick. I felt dirty.

  'Come on,' said Dockery, louder this time.

  I put the egg through the letter box.

  Except that I didn't.

  I tried to, but it wouldn't fit. Tap-tap-tap, it went, as the shell clicked against the metal. I was so relieved I could have cheered. It was great. I'd tried to post the egg, but it wouldn't fit. I'd done my best, so they'd have to let me in the Gang, but poor old Mrs Cake wouldn't have stinky egg on her floor.

  I let the letter-box flap fall shut. It sounded as loud as an explosion. The next thing I heard was Trixie yapping like a demented yapping machine invented by a mad scientist. Trixie was Mrs Cake's Jack Russell terrier. Her favourite food was children's legs. That's Trixie, I mean, not Mrs Cake, who'd probably never even tasted a child's leg.

  I don't know why, but somehow the yapping dog froze me. I just couldn't move. It was as if I'd been zapped with a paralysing ray.

  The top half of the door was made of knobbly-wobbly glass, and I could see Trixie jumping up on the inside, her pointy snout snarling and snapping. I suppose you shouldn't really be afraid of a dog that's only a little bit bigger than a rat, but Trixie was definitely scary. After all, quite a few things are small and scary – like scorpions, black widow spiders, evil dwarfs and Brussels sprouts.

  And then, looming up behind Trixie, I saw the dark shadow of Mrs Cake herself. We used to say that Mrs Cake was a witch, but that was silly, because you don't really get witches any more, except in books. But even though I knew she couldn't be a witch, and that she was, in fact, quite nice, I was still a little bit worried that if she caught me putting a smelly rotten egg through her door she might turn me into a frog, or at least give me warts.

  The egg was still in my hand. Mrs Cake fiddled with the latch on her door. I crammed the egg into my back pocket the second before the door opened.

  Mrs Cake smiled. Trixie snarled.

  'Hello, dear,' she said. Mrs Cake, I mean, not Trixie.

  'H-h-h-hello.'

  'It's little Ludo, isn't it? What is it you want? Is your football in the back garden again?'

  'N-n-n-n-no. Sorry. I, er, came round to see if you needed anything. At school our teacher said we had to ask helpless old people if they wanted us to go shopping for them or rescue them if they were in danger or just be nice to them if they were sad and lonely because they had nothing interesting in their lives apart from Countdown and Coronation Street.'

  That part was actually true, although I can't remember if those were Miss Bridges' actual words. Anyway, I said it all so quickly that I doubt if Mrs Cake understood it all.

  'How kind,' she said. 'Why don't you come inside and I'll see if I've got something nice for you?'

  No one had ever been inside Mrs Cake's bungalow before. It was obviously a trap.

  She was going to lure me in so she could wartify me in private.

  I expected it to smell of old lady in there, but it just smelled of house. Her carpet, though, was so thick I thought I was going to sink into it up to my neck.

  'Just come into the living room and I'll get you some sweets. Or would you rather have a pickled onion?'

  'Some sweets, please.'

  Then Trixie started to bite my shoes, which made me jump up and down, while Mrs Cake shouted, 'No, Trixie, no!' Finally she wrestled the horrid little dog into the kitchen and then out of the back door.

  'You sit down, dear,' she shouted (Mrs Cake, not Trixie). There was a baggy old chair and a baggy old sofa. I sat on the sofa.

  CRUNCH .

  STINK.

  The egg!

  The gloopy slime oozed over my backside and the stench rose up like poison gas.

  Mrs Cake came in, smiling, carrying a plate of biscuits.

  'Sorry, got to go,' I yelled. 'I've had an accident!' And I ran out of the room and through the hall and out of the front door, trailing the eggy cloud behind me.

  If there was an Olympic gold medal for embarrassment, I'd have won it.

  Chapter Twelve

  YIPPEE!

  It was the next evening, a Sunday, and I was standing in front of the Dockery Gang outside their den, explaining what had happened.

  'You sat on the rotten egg?' Dockery was laughing so hard that tears rolled down his fat face.

  'And you said you'd had an accident, so the old bat probably thought you'd pooed your pants,' added Larkin, a big line of slimy drool dangling out of his mouth.

  'It wasn't funny,' I said. 'My mum had to throw my trousers away because of the smell. They were my third favourite pair.'

  The whole lot of them were bent double by now, laughing like hyenas.

  'OK, boys,' said Dockery at last. 'I say he's in. I haven't laughed so much since Miss Bridges slipped and broke her arm in the playground last year.'

  'I didn't think that was very funny,' I said.

  I liked Miss Bridges. She was kind and also good at doing the voices when she read us a story.

  'Yeah, well, that shows what you know,' Larkin replied, stepping up close to me. 'Because it was funny. But not as funny as this.' Then he tried to push me in the chest. But this time it didn't work. I'd noticed one of the others had moved behind me, and I k
new they were going to do the same trick again. When Larkin shoved, I dodged to one side, and he stumbled forward and fell over Furbank, who was the one kneeling down. They ended up sprawling together on the floor.

  I thought I might be in for it from the others, but they laughed even harder than they had when it was me falling over or getting rotten egg on his trousers. Weird sort of gang, I thought, where they're not even nice to each other.

  Dockery dragged them both up off the ground and gave them a little shake.

  'Enough messing about, boys,' he said, still chuckling. 'We've got to have a little celebration to, er, celebrate our new member.'

  'Good idea,' said Larkin. 'Sweets and Coke, that's what we want.'

  Dockery loomed over me. 'Right, give us two pounds then,' he said.

  'Two pounds!' I exclaimed. 'What do you mean?'

  'Three pounds then. It goes up every time you complain.'

  'I'm not complaining, I just didn't realize I had to pay to be in.'

  'Four pounds. Do you want to be in this gang or not?'

  Actually, I wasn't sure any more. I'd decided that there might be worse things in life than not being in a gang, especially if the gang tried to make you be horrible to old ladies and then gave you smelly trousers. But it was hard to say that when Dockery was looming over me like an evil German zeppelin bomber airship.

  So I nodded.

  'Cough up then,' said Larkin.

  'I haven't got any money with me.'

  'Well, you'd better go and get some then.'

  So I went home, got the four pounds out of my talking robot piggy bank, and brought it back. Then Dockery sent me to the newsagent's to get the supplies. I wasn't allowed to have any of the Coke or sweets because that was the rule.

  But it was done.

  I was in.

  I was officially a member of the Dockery Gang.

  Yippee.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE SHOE

  I was sitting by myself at break time the next day. I was reading my space-dinosaur book, which is one of my favourites. It's about dinosaurs in space. They fight other dinosaurs, who are also in space. It's one of the best books ever written about dinosaurs in space. But for once I couldn't concentrate on it. Jenny, Noah, The Moan and Jamie were chatting together. I wanted to go and talk to them, maybe hang out for a bit. I even closed my book, using a piece of cabbage I'd hidden in my pocket to keep my page. (I'd hidden the cabbage in my pocket because otherwise Mrs Muffit, the dinner lady, would have made me eat it at lunch time.) But then, before I'd had time to get up, Alfie joined them, and he said something. They all looked at me quickly and giggled.

  It was because they were laughing at me that they didn't see Dockery and his gang come sneaking up. They had to sneak up these days because of Jenny. Jenny was a black belt at every martial art you've ever heard of, including tae kwon do, karate, bum-kicking and happy slapping, so sneaking up followed by lightning attacks and running away was their only hope. They grabbed hold of Noah, and wrestled him to the ground. Furbank ripped off one of his shoes and chucked it to me before Jenny could do anything to stop them.

  I wasn't expecting the shoe, but I caught it anyway, because I'm good at catching as long as it's not something hard like a cricket ball or a Ninja death star.

  'Throw it on the roof,' Dockery yelled at me.

  There was a flat roof covering the bike shed. It was where things always got thrown – shoes, lunchboxes, Year One kids.

  I could feel everyone looking at me. The Dockery Gang, the Bare Bum Gang, the Commandos (that was another gang who weren't our enemies or our friends), even the ordinary no-gang kids.

  I sensed that this was a Decisive Moment in World History. What happened next would change my life for ever, along with the lives of everyone else involved and possibly the whole planet, including Alaska and Borneo.

  It came down to this:

  I could throw the shoe on top of the bike shed or I could give it back to Noah.

  I thought for a second.

  Then I took very, very careful aim.

  And I threw the shoe.

  It sailed through the air towards the bikeshed roof. It looked like a perfect shot, but then it dipped, pinged off the gutter and bounced on the ground.

  Normally by now Jenny would have been busy chasing off the Dockery Gang, handing out a few slaps and kicks (if you can hand out a kick, that is – I suppose really you have to foot it out). But she ignored the Dockery Gang, and came up to me. Her face was an interesting purple colour. Usually her hair was arranged to look like a volcano exploding out of the top of her head, but today she had it in about four (or maybe five) plaits, all sticking out in different directions. She reminded me of that famous monster from Greek mythology called the Medusa, who has snakes instead of hair, and if you looked at her you turned into stone and then died in horrible agony.

  That should probably have been a warning.

  'Hello, Jenny,' I said.

  Or that's what I tried to say. What I actually said was:

  'Hell—OW!' and then I fell, not on the floor, but into a big square plastic box that was behind me. The box was half full of beanbags, which made it actually quite a nice thing to fall into. The headmistress, Mrs Plunket, had insisted that there was a box of beanbags in the playground, which she thought would provide interesting entertainment for us children. I suppose she honestly believed we'd toss them gently to each other, boys and girls all playing nicely together. Or perhaps we'd practise walking about with them balanced on our heads. She was mistaken in that view.

  As I lay in the beanbag box, Jenny came and loomed over me. I knew better than to try to get out. She'd only push me back in again. Also, Jenny was polite and well brought up and didn't hit people when they were cowering on the floor, or in boxes, although I was hardly cowering at all, more just sort of lying there, looking up at the sky and minding my own business.

  'I hoped we might have been wrong about you, Ludo,' she said, sounding more sorrowful than angry. 'But now I see we weren't. You're just a dirty Dockery dog. I can't believe I ever liked you even a bit.' I wanted to explain some things to Jenny.

  I wanted to explain that I'd have given anything to be back in the Bare Bum Gang. That I didn't want to be in Dockery's stinky gang. That I'd deliberately aimed the shoe so that it bounced off the gutter, and that it was probably the best throw I'd ever done in my life, because any old idiot could have just thrown it up on the roof. I wanted to explain that Jenny was my favourite girl in the whole world, the only one I didn't think was really silly, the only one I liked to sit next to in the Gang den or anywhere else.

  But I didn't say any of that. I couldn't think of the words until it was too late and Jenny's back was turned. I could have sworn the snakes hissed and spat at me as she walked away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  OVERHEARD

  So, that wasn't very good, I think you'll agree. I stayed in the box and closed my eyes and kept them shut until the bell sounded. I didn't want to see anything that was happening around me, because it would most likely be something terrible, and the chance of it being anything apart from terrible was maybe one in a million.

  It was actually quite pleasant, lying there on top of the soft beanbags as the playground sounds grew quiet, like the water slowly growing cold around you in the bath.

  Lying there meant I was going to be late back into class, but I decided I'd tell Miss Bridges that I'd fallen down and hurt myself and that was why I was late, which was nearly true.

  I'd just decided to get up when I heard some voices. Quiet voices. Not quiet because they were far away, but quiet because they were whispering. It's always extra interesting when people whisper. In fact whispering is the worst way of keeping a secret, because people always know you're saying something worth listening to. Especially if the whispers are angry whispers.

  I peeped over the top of the box

  The first thing I saw was Dockery's back. The next thing was Alfie's front. Al
fie and Dockery were whispering together. I strained hard to hear what they were saying: 'You filthy sneak. You betrayed us. You were supposed to betray them. We had them cornered in the woods, and you helped them get out. You get a thump for that.'

  'No, no, it was all part of the plan.'

  Then there were some bits I could hardly hear at all, except for the odd word: 'Money . . . sweets . . . Ludo . . . Bare Bum . . . ha ha ha.' That sort of thing. And then I saw Alfie give something to Dockery. It looked like it might have been money, although it could also have been an amulet or some magic beans, although that's not very likely.

  'I'll let you off, this time,' said Dockery, louder. 'But any more mess-ups and you're gonna find yourself wearing your own bum for a hat.'

  Then they both started to walk back towards the classrooms, and I ducked down into the beanbag box.

  Interesting.

  Very interesting, I thought (I mean about Dockery and Alfie, not the beanbag box, which was really quite boring).

  But what could it all mean?

  Chapter Fifteen

  AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

  The doorbell rang. It was half past seven, and I'd just finished my literacy homework, which was all to do with words, and I was about to start my numeracy home-work, which was mainly to do with numbers.

  When our doorbell rang it was usually someone asking if we wanted to change our gas supplier, or sometimes two nice men asking if we wanted to be saved from the Horrible Burning Fires of Hell. If my dad answered the door, he would either just say no thanks, or sometimes start ranting at them, saying things like, actually he'd rather have his nose chewed off by a pack of weasels.

  What I saw when I opened the door surprised me as much as if it had been a pack of nose-eating weasels. Or two packs, for that matter.

  Noah.

  I have to tell you something about me and Noah, to explain why I was so upset about him not believing me and joining the others in chucking me out of the Gang. You see, I had known Noah before either of us could even walk. Our mums used to put us in the same playpen together when we were still shuffling about on our bottoms. We used to chew each other's chewy toys, and drink out of the same beaker and even poo in the same potty. When we were three we were sent to the same nursery, a scary place full of children who would bite you given half a chance, and grown-ups who seemed to think that carrot sticks counted as a treat.