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  For Ethan Holt

  ~ G P J

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Teaser

  Questions for the Author

  Copyright

  Well, here we are again. Or at least, here I am. Precisely where you are, I cannot say, but I would hazard a guess that you are holding a book in your hands.

  This is the story of my kidnapping and how I came to be rescued by the mighty Clan of the Scorpion. However, I am sorry to say that I am unable to recall a great many of the events featured in this tale. Apart from the fact that I spent a good deal of it asleep, my memory has gotten worse over the years. At least, I assume it used to be better but, to be honest, I cannot properly remember.

  Even so, I could never forget the heroism of the Clan of the Scorpion: the team of four deadly ninja meerkats who risk their lives to keep the planet safe from the clutches of the Ringmaster—a villain intent on world domination.

  In case you’ve been living under a rock and you need to be reminded, they are …

  Jet Flashfeet: a super-fast ninja whose only fault is craving the glory he so richly deserves.

  Bruce “the muscle” Willowhammer: the strongest of the gang, though in the brain race he lags somewhat behind.

  Donnie Dragonjab: a brilliant mind, inventor, and master of gadgets.

  Chuck Cobracrusher: his clear leadership has saved the others’ skins more times than I care to remember.

  And me? I’m Grandmaster One-Eye: as old and wise as the sand dunes themselves—even if my memory is a little hazy.

  Even so, I can still recall a good many poems—such as this one, penned by the great enlightened thinker Claire Verclogs.

  Never pander to a panda,

  and never bear a bear.

  Avoid badgering a badger,

  or hassling a hare.

  If you seal a deal with a seal,

  ensure it’s sealed tight.

  If you harangue an orangutan,

  you’ll end up in a fight.

  But now, it’s time to settle down and enjoy the story of …

  ESCAPE FROM ICE MOUNTAIN.

  The pilot of the twin-engine plane looked down at the Chilean mountain range. Even in the fading evening light, he could see all the way down to the southernmost tip of South America.

  But what he failed to see were five small furry stowaways jumping out of his plane and parachuting down to earth. Chuck Cobracrusher, Donnie Dragonjab, Jet Flashfeet, and Bruce Willowhammer were all using parachutes designed by Donnie, with toggles on either side allowing them to steer. Bruce was having the most difficulty, as he had their ancient mentor, Grandmaster One-Eye, strapped to his back.

  “What are we aiming for?” shouted Jet, pulling his right toggle and swooping around in front of the others.

  “The ground,” smirked Donnie.

  “We are aiming for the Academy of Revered Grandmasters, for Grandmaster One-Eye’s school reunion,” Chuck yelled over the sound of rushing wind.

  “Did you really go to school here, Grandmaster?” asked Bruce.

  Grandmaster One-Eye nodded.

  “It seems like a long way to travel every day from the Red Desert,” said Bruce.

  “Bruce, the students who attend the ARG live at the academy,” said Chuck.

  “So, where is this place, Grandmaster?” asked Bruce. “I can’t see it yet.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot see it either,” replied One-Eye.

  “Bruce, remember that Grandmaster One-Eye’s eyesight is not as good as yours,” Chuck pointed out.

  “It isn’t that,” said One-Eye. “I’ve had my eyes shut since we jumped out of the plane. If meerkats were meant to see the world from such heights, they would have wings.”

  “My granddad had wings,” said Bruce.

  “No, he didn’t,” sighed Donnie.

  “Yes, he did. I never saw them myself, but I remember Mom saying she wouldn’t have him in the burrow because he had such a bad case of wings.”

  “I think that would have been wind,” said Jet.

  “Oh. That does make more sense now that you say it,” admitted Bruce.

  “Follow me,” said Chuck, pulling his toggles and aiming for a spot near the top of a hill. When he was moments from the ground, he released the parachute and landed into a roll. The others followed suit, except for Bruce, who took the force of the landing in his knees to avoid flattening Grandmaster One-Eye. In front of them were two large wooden gates. A long golden rope hung to one side.

  “Ah, now this brings back memories,” said Grandmaster One-Eye as Bruce set him on the ground. “Would you give me a moment before we go any farther?”

  “You need time to reflect on all that has happened since you were last here?” said Chuck.

  “No, I drank rather a lot of tea while we were waiting for that plane to take off and I need the bathroom,” said Grandmaster One-Eye.

  Jet chuckled and the Grandmaster disappeared into a nearby bush.

  “Bruce, keep an eye on him,” said Chuck.

  “What? Watch him go to the toilet?” exclaimed Bruce.

  “Yes. The last time he went, we lost him for an hour,” replied Chuck.

  “Don’t worry,” replied Donnie. “I’ve attached a tracking device to his robe so there’s no chance of losing him again.”

  “I’m looking forward to getting inside and having some grub,” said Bruce, carefully watching the bush Grandmaster One-Eye was hidden behind. “Oooh, I used to love school dinners. Mealworm mash, mealworm stew, mealworm Bolognaise…”

  “We will not be entering the grounds,” said Chuck. “According to ancient ninja code, no one is allowed to walk into the temple without an invitation.”

  “So, no mealworms?” said Bruce, disappointed.

  “Not unless you find them yourself. We will set up camp nearby,” said Chuck. “After the reunion, we will accompany Grandmaster One-Eye back home.”

  “I wish we could get inside and take a sneak peek,” said Jet. “The ARG is the coolest academy in the world.” He scurried onto a rock and jumped up, trying to see over the wall, but it was far too high.

  “Please remove yourself from my shell,” said a voice.

  “Who said that?” asked Jet, spinning around.

  “It was that rock you’re standing on,” said Donnie.

  “That is no rock,” said Chuck. “Jet, climb down at once.”

  Jet leaped off, and a small wrinkly head appeared from under what was in fact the shell of a giant tortoise.

  “Professor Longtooth!” said Grandmaster One-Eye, reappearing from the bushes.

  “Ah, young One-Eye.”

  “Young?” said Donnie, sniggering.

  “Clan of the Scorpion, this is my old tutor, Professor Longtooth.”

  “Old is the right word,” exclaimed Jet. “If you taught Grandmaster One-Eye you must be ancient!”

  “I am old enough to remember when the young still showed their elders respect,” said the professor. Jet bowed in apology.

  “What are you doing out here, professor
?” asked Grandmaster One-Eye.

  “Do you know, I can’t remember. I came out for something, then decided to have a little nap. When you get to my age there really is no substitute for a nap, you know.”

  “You must teach such awesome things in there,” said Jet.

  “Our students do not seek awesome things,” scolded Professor Longtooth. “During their stay here they exist in peaceful isolation from the rest of the world, dedicating their minds and bodies to the study of kung fu.”

  “Except on Thursdays when they visit the local disco, as I recall,” added Grandmaster One-Eye.

  “Well, yes, Thursday night is disco night,” said Professor Longtooth. “And on Wednesdays we do knitting, of course.”

  “Knitting?” exclaimed Jet.

  “Needlework involves the same principles as kung fu,” said the professor. “Precision, timing, control … and an ability to not drop stitches. Actually, I’m not sure about that last one…”

  “But when do they learn special moves?” asked Jet. “They’re the most important thing! I’m working on the Single-Claw Hole Punch at the moment. I can almost get right through a tree trunk.”

  “In my class you would learn to punch a hole through an entire mountain,” said the tortoise.

  “Wow,” exclaimed Jet, impressed. “Would you teach me how to do that?”

  “Perhaps one day I will. Right now, young One-Eye needs to accompany me inside.” He turned to Grandmaster One-Eye. “Many of the other masters are already here. Your old friend the Delhi Llama has been asking for you.”

  Professor Longtooth raised his long neck and, with his mouth, pulled on the rope by the side of the door. A gong sounded and the huge door creaked open. The party was already in full swing, and the aroma of delicious-smelling food wafted past.

  “Can’t we just pop in for a snack?” begged Bruce.

  The tortoise slowly turned his head to face Bruce. “I’m afraid the rules are quite clear.”

  “I will bring you something tomorrow,” said Grandmaster One-Eye, patting Bruce’s paw comfortingly. “The academy’s canteen does the best deep-fried lizards’ tails.”

  “Deep-fried lizards’ tails are my favorite,” said Bruce wistfully.

  Chuck, Donnie, Bruce, and Jet watched as the huge gates slammed shut behind One-Eye and Professor Longtooth.

  “We should set up camp,” said Chuck. “Come on.”

  They settled in a peaceful spot down the hill from the temple, by a stream. The trees were spaced farther apart here, allowing the meerkats to see the night sky.

  “The perfect place for some tranquil meditation,” said Chuck, sitting cross-legged on a rock and closing his eyes.

  “I’ll put up the tent,” said Donnie.

  He pulled a huge pop-up tent out of his backpack and set about banging pegs into the ground. Bruce noisily foraged for lizards and bugs, while Jet practiced his new move, closing his eyes and letting out a cry of “Eeeyah!” as he punched the trunk of a fallen tree, ripping a hole through the rotten wood.

  “Do you all have to make so much noise?” Chuck sighed.

  “At least I’m doing something useful—we need somewhere to sleep,” said Donnie.

  “And something to eat,” said Bruce.

  “And I need to practice the Single-Claw Hole Punch.”

  “But surely you do not need to make quite so much noise, Jet,” said Chuck. “The Way of the Scorpion teaches us to—” He stopped mid-sentence.

  “To what?” asked Jet.

  “Balloon,” said Chuck, pointing up.

  “The Way of the Scorpion teaches us to balloon?” Bruce said.

  “No, look.” A large, round object was floating silently above them.

  “It’s a hot-air balloon,” said Donnie. He shone his flashlight into the sky, illuminating the balloon. It was decorated in red and black stripes—identical in color to the Ringmaster’s circus tent …

  “Looks like we have an unwelcome visitor—but what is the Ringmaster after this time?” Chuck wondered, as the hot-air balloon drifted directly above the temple. “Clan of the Scorpion, we must alert the grandmasters.” They scrambled up the hill and Donnie pulled the golden rope, but the noise from the party drowned out the gong. Bruce tried to shoulder the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “What now? These walls are far too high to jump over, even if we used the Helicopter Leap,” said Jet.

  “Wait, I have just the thing,” said Donnie.

  He unfolded a device from his backpack that consisted of a long stick with a spring at one end and propellers at the other.

  “I call it the Elephant’s Pullover,” announced Donnie.

  “Why’s that?” asked Bruce.

  “Because it’s a really big sweatshirt. D’you get it? Because an elephant’s pullover is like a really big sweatshirt?”

  Bruce frowned. “Nope, I don’t get it. How does it work?”

  “I’ll show you. Take hold of the handle,” Donnie told them, as he pulled back the spring. “This thing’s got quite a kick.”

  He flicked a catch, releasing the spring and sending the pole flying into the air. The propellers spun faster and faster.

  “Whoooah!” cried Bruce, as they soared high above the temple walls and past the hot-air balloon.

  “Sorry! Think I overshot,” Donnie shouted over the sound of the whirring propellers.

  In the courtyard, ancient lemurs, llamas, monkeys, mongooses, and other animal species were sitting at a large banquet table. In spite of their age, all were behaving like giddy teenagers, unaware of what was happening above.

  Slowly, Donnie’s device brought them down, level with the basket hanging below the hot-air balloon. Inside, seven identically dressed siblings jostled for space.

  “It’s the Von Trapeze family,” said Jet. “We can handle these flying siblings, no problem.”

  “It’s those miserable meerkats!” exclaimed the eldest Von Trapeze boy.

  “They’re not our only problem,” said Chuck. “Look.”

  Underneath the basket hung a number of fine threads. Large, sinister-looking black spiders were rapidly descending toward the party below.

  “I’ll burst the balloon, and you three head to the banquet and stop the spiders,” cried Chuck. He drew his sword and leaped into the air. But the Von Trapeze children were one step ahead. Suddenly, the balloon shot upwards, and Chuck’s perfectly aimed leap fell short. He crashed down to the banquet table below. Moments later, Donnie, Jet, and Bruce landed beside him, sending bowls and goblets flying into the air.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” demanded Professor Longtooth.

  “Grandmasters, you’re under attack!” shouted Chuck.

  One of the spiders landed directly in front of the meerkats and instantly sprang up into a spinning attack. Jet ducked as another spider flew past. Quick as a flash, Donnie grabbed a teapot, lifted the lid, and caught the spider inside.

  “And he’s not itsy-bitsy enough to climb up the spout either,” said Donnie.

  “I’ve heard of spiders spinning webs, but not themselves,” said Bruce.

  “These are the Trained Tarantulas of Santiago!” cried Professor Longtooth. “Deadly assassins for hire.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll deal with them,” said Jet, drawing his nunchucks.

  Bruce cracked his knuckles, and Donnie pulled out a rolled-up newspaper.

  “What’s that for?” asked Bruce.

  “You know a better way of dealing with spiders?” replied Donnie.

  But before they could leap into action, several spiders flew over their heads and splatted into a wall.

  “Look—the grandmasters are fighting back,” said Chuck.

  “And they’ve got some moves too,” added Jet. “Old school Ninja-boom!”

  An ancient porcupine was executing a perfect roundhouse kick; a decrepit badger was plucking spiders out of the air and bowling them at Smo Ka, the Delhi Llama, who was hoofing them away as though it were a game. Even Profess
or Longtooth was helping by swatting the spiders off course with his long claws.

  “Looks like they don’t need us after all,” said Bruce.

  “I don’t understand,” said Jet. “Why would the Ringmaster send a group of trained assassins to attack these old-timers?”

  “The spiders are a distraction,” said Chuck. “I think the real villains are up there.”

  The meerkats watched as the Von Trapeze family formed a human ladder down from the basket of the balloon.

  “We must stop them,” said Chuck.

  They made their way as fast as they could across the courtyard, dodging flying spiders and lunging grandmasters.

  The chain of trapeze artists touched the ground but, with the chaos of the battle, by the time the meerkats reached them, it was too late.

  “I’ve got him!” shouted the young acrobat at the bottom.

  Only as they began to climb back up did it become apparent whom they had got.

  “It’s Grandmaster One-Eye!” cried Donnie, spotting their mentor struggling to free himself.

  A burst of flame sent the balloon back up into the night sky. The meerkats watched helplessly as their old friend and master was passed up the line and into the basket.

  As the balloon climbed into the sky, the tarantulas scurried away.

  “The Trained Tarantulas of Santiago are retreating,” cried Professor Longtooth.

  “Try saying that after two sticks of sugar cane,” chuckled the Delhi Llama.

  “Professor Longtooth,” said Chuck, “while we were kept busy with the spiders, I’m afraid our enemy the Ringmaster’s henchmen kidnapped Grandmaster One-Eye!”

  “What?” said the professor. “Then we will follow them!”

  The huge tortoise moved one of his feet, then another, slowly making his way after the balloon.

  “Forgive me, Professor Longtooth,” said Chuck. “I think this may be a task for younger and … ahem … faster feet.”

  “You are probably right,” said the wrinkly-faced old tortoise. “And I could do with a little nap after all this excitement.”