Licence to Fish. Justin Richards
“Must be a friend of Rod,” Chloe told him.
Luckily, Miss Jones the class teacher arrived before Harry got any more confused.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said. “Now, before we go to Assembly, I have a message from Mr. Cryption. He’s very sorry that the homework he set you for last night didn’t really make sense and he’s asked me to apologise.”
“Extraction Luggage Mangle,” Sam muttered. “I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”
“Yes,” Miss Jones went on, “in fact, the question should have been…” She paused to check on a piece of paper. “Ah yes, here we are, it should have been: ‘Igloo pest under armada brackets?’”
Sam slapped his palm to his forehead. “Of course!”
“But what does it mean?” Alfie whispered to him.
“Haven’t a clue,” Sam said. “I just put my answer as ‘167 Wednesdays’. I don’t think I’ll bother to change it.”
Assembly started in the usual way, with the Head Teacher Mr. Trenchard forgetting why everyone was there or what was going on. Years ago, Mr. Trenchard had trained himself to forget anything that might be useful to the enemy if he was captured. But now he seemed just to forget everything. All the time.
Eventually he remembered what the Assembly was about, and explained the plans for the day ahead.
“And finally,” Mr. Trenchard said, reading from his notes, “we have a new after-school club starting this week. The Fishing Club. There’s already been a lot of interest, so each class will be allocated a day when they can go to the club. Today that class will be 3D.”
“Oh how boring,” Jack said. “I’m not going.”
“Nor me,” Beth agreed.
Sam shook his head too.
But Mr. Trenchard hadn’t finished. “Because the timetable is already so crowded, I’m afraid that anyone who does join the Fishing Club will have to miss the last lesson of the day. Which for Class 3D today would be…” he paused to check on a piece of paper, “…Political Destabilisation, with the Chaplain.”
“I think fishing is way cool!” Jack said.
“Fishing Club—can’t wait,” Sam whispered.
“I’m there,” Beth agreed.
“It’s cruel to fish,” Alice muttered.
Mr. Trenchard was explaining which day each of the other classes could go fishing and what lessons they would miss. “You will meet by the school lake at the start of the last lesson. Any questions?”
The other teachers all sat on the stage beside Mr. Trenchard. Alfie had noticed that there was always an empty chair on the end of the line. Beside the empty chair was the Major. He was in charge of sabotage training. “One thing,” he said gruffly. He struggled to remain upright as a leg fell off his chair. “Who will be running this Fishing Club?”
“Ah, very good question.” Mr. Trenchard paused as the Major’s chair toppled sideways and tipped him off the stage. “We have two experts coming in from the Advanced Fish Inspection Board.”
“That’s AFIB,” the Chaplain announced, in case there was any confusion.
“No, no,” Mr. Trenchard insisted. “It’s absolutely true.”
“Experts!” Harry whispered to Alfie, obviously impressed.
“And their names,” Mr. Trenchard announced, “are Rod and Annette.”
The first lesson was Surveillance, with Mrs Nuffink. But it was clear that Class 3D was more excited by the thought of fishing than by watching grainy black and white CCTV footage of a supermarket car park.
“There!” Mrs Nuffink exclaimed in exasperation. “Did none of you see that?”
“See what?” Chloe asked.
“It was just a woman pushing a trolley,” said Jack.
“A woman in dark glasses and combat gear,” Alfie added.
“And what did you notice about the trolley?” Mrs Nuffink demanded.
They all looked at her blankly. “I’ve got better wheels?” Sam suggested.
“Inside the trolley?” Mrs Nuffink prompted. “Didn’t you see anything worrying?”
“Groceries,” Jack said.
“Frozen peas,” Harry suggested.
Ideas came thick and fast now:
“Meat.”
“Carrots.”
“Books.”
“A set of matching saucepans.”
“A gorilla.”
“A gorilla?!”
“Why not?”
“Fish.”
“A rod and a net. Ha ha—only kidding, Harry.”
Mrs Nuffink sighed. She adjusted a control on the video player and the image of the trolley froze, then zoomed in.
“There—look!”
“Oh,” said Alfie.
“Ah,” Alice exclaimed.
“It’s a surface-to-air missile,” Beth said. “Heat seeking, with dual-stage ignition and anti-wobble stabilisers.”
“I didn’t know they sold those down the supermarket,” said Jack.
“That’s because you never help with the shopping,” Alice told him.
“Well,” said Mrs Nuffink with satisfaction as she let the video play through, “isn’t that a bit of a worry?”
“Not really,” said Beth. “You can’t launch those from inside a trolley.”
The image on the screen juddered as the trolley hurtled rapidly towards the camera, trailing flames and smoke behind it.
The screen went white.
“See what I mean?” said Beth.
“I really don’t think any of you have been paying full attention today,” Mrs Nuffink said as she handed out homework sheets.
“We’re excited about the Fishing Club,” Harry explained.
“I cannot think why. Everyone knows the best way to catch fish is to lie in wait. Be patient. Watch and wait for the fish to appear.”
“And then?” Chloe asked.
“Hit it with a club.”
All the teachers seemed to have different ideas about how to catch fish. In PE, the Chaplain paused in his description of how to crawl under the automated machine guns and avoid the marauding lions to suggest gelignite.
“Gelignite?” said Beth. “But that’s a powerful explosive.”
The Chaplain nodded. “Just chuck it in the water. The shock wave from the explosion kills the fish and they float to the surface.”
“Not much skill in that is there?” said Jack.
“Kill not skill,” the Chaplain barked. “Anyway, with fish it isn’t the skill that counts. With fish it’s the scale. Now where were we? Oh yes, I was going to tell you about the hidden bear pit.” He paused for a moment before saying