Jack Hunter
Secret of the King

Martin King

This book contains clues to the location of the code-breaker. If you collect the letters at the beginning of each chapter, you will discover the whereabouts of the code-breaker.

T

Jack sighed loudly; loudly enough for Mum and Dad to hear. He was twelve years old and no one ever asked his opinion; about anything. This move was the last straw.

The journey had been a nightmare. Two measly bananas and an out-of-date packet of Worcester sauce crisps, his least favourite flavour – was bad enough, but to be squashed tighter than a hamster in a matchbox for the longest journey in the world was the worst ever.

“Here we are, Jack, number fifty-six St Mary’s Avenue, your new home.” His mother’s voice was bright with false cheerfulness.

Jack stared gloomily at the house. ‘Great,’ he muttered.

The outside walls were overlaid in vomit coloured pebbledash and the front door had been painted an ogre-green. The white plastic number six swung upside down by a single screw.

Jack climbed out of the car, just as the removal van pulled up.

The neighbours were already out in force pretending to work in their gardens or wash their cars.

His dad bore more of a resemblance to Mr. Beanpole than Roger Hunter, as he unfolded his long wiry body out of the car, and smoothed down the single tuft of hair that grew out of the top of his head. He adjusted his thick-rimmed specs.

“Come on, Jacky,” he shouted as he sprang to open the dilapidated gate. “Let’s make hay while the sun shines.”

Jack winced. He hated being called Jacky, because it made him sound like a girl. And he hated Dad’s outdated expressions, ‘make hay while the sun shines.’ Yuk!

Jack looked around to see if anyone else had heard. Of course, they had! His dad had a voice like a foghorn.

Soon the removal men were unloading stuff from the lorry and carrying boxes and furniture into the house. Dad helped them while Mum directed operations.

Jack slunk around the house and into the back garden. He wasn’t going to help move stuff. What was the point? He wasn’t going to stay here. He was going to go back to Southend as soon as he could.

He wandered through the foot-high jungle of weeds and then limbo danced under a sagging clothesline. He heard a voice, just as he completed his move.

“Hello,” a girl called out. Jack spun around and looked in every direction. “Over here,” he heard her say.

A skinny girl with mousy-blonde hair and a pointed chin was leaning over the fence. She wore a mucky yellow, hand-knitted cardigan. It was so ghastly that Jack could only stare.

“So, you’re the newbies?”

Jack frowned and didn’t answer.

“I’m Jules,” she said. Suddenly, she smiled and as she did so, her cheeks rounded like bubbles. “I’m eleven and I’m off to high school after the summer holidays. I’m gonna be in year seven.” When Jack still didn’t answer, she stuck her tongue out rolling up the edges.

She looked so funny that Jack laughed. He wasn’t sure how to take this strange girl.

“Umm, that tongue thing it’s pretty sikk.”

“You talk funny,” she said. “Are you from Wales? You are from Wales, aren’t you, Welshy boy!”

Jack felt himself blushing. “I’m not from Wales; I’m from Southend.”

“Southend? Never heard of it, but you must be brave though, moving into a haunted house.”

“What are you on about?’

“Hasn’t anyone told you? Mr. Gammon died in his sleep in that house three months ago. You don’t want the front bedroom. Do you know which your bedroom is yet?”

“No,” Jack replied his insides feeling like a bag of popcorn in the microwave that was about to explode.

“And Holly, that’s my brother’s best mate, swore he saw the old man’s ghost peering out the window only last week.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Yea, I swear it’s true. My brother reckons he eats kids’ brains.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, hoping he sounded unimpressed.

She nodded and then changed the subject, “How old are you?”

“Twelve," he said shortly.

“The same age as my brother, Martin. Will you be going to our school as well? You’ll probably be in his class. Wait a minute and I’ll go and find him.”

“Er no need, I’m not staying,” said Jack, wasting his breath. She was already tearing off and calling Martin’s name.

“Jack…Jack where are you?” his dad shouted.

Jack loped back to the house.

“Where’ve you been? You need to tell the removal men where to put your stuff. Your bedroom is the one at the front of the house.”