Mylor: The Kidnap

By Michael Maguire

Alfie and Angel Young return to Parkway Grange for the holidays. The last time they saw Mylor, he had had a terrible accident. Had the Professor been able to restore the magnificent, lifelike electronic horse? Would he be the same? Luckily, Mylor is as perfect as ever, but almost everything else isn't
Parkway Grange, the beautiful maze-surrounded home of the Professor and Boff, is to be demolished and replaced by high-rise flats unless 100,000 can be raised.
Glen Striker, a sinister and cruel neighbour, constantly turns up at the oddest places and clearly has plans for Mylor.
Angel, Alfie and Boff's new friendship with Davina and Prince Aziz seems threatened by the fact that Davina's father is the man who wants to bulldoze Parkway Grange.
Trouble follows trouble when Mylor disappears. There are threats, fights, and a kidnapping, all building towards an action-packed climax at a tournament

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781467884105

Michael Maguire

Surrey author, Michael Maguire is the author of nine published novels, in both the adult and juvenile fiction genres. His adult novels have featured in the Sunday Times outstanding titles list and the film rights to his first juvenile book were bought by Walt Disney.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Action and adventure fiction

By Michael Maguire

Shot Silk

Slaughter Horse

Scratchproof

Scorcher

Kool Kidz: The Serpent of Destruction

Swiftly

Swiftly 2

Mylor: The Most Powerful Horse in the World

Chapter One

There’s only one thing I hate more than a five-hour train journey and that’s spending it in a cramped compartment with a sister who never stops talking and a little cairn terrier who insists on panting and steaming up windows. It’s the worst part of a holiday—the getting there. When we finally pulled into our station I was hot, weary and tired. I had a suitcase in each hand and I wobbled under the weight. The ticket-collector, a tall man with friendly blue eyes and a cap two sizes too big for him, watched with a slight grin as I struggled to the barrier.

‘Would I be right in thinking you’ve come from Paddington?’ he sniffed heavily and his eyes never left my face.

‘Yep,’ I said, slightly puzzled.

‘Thought as much. You’ve arrived then?’

‘Arrived?’

‘Arrived as expected,’ he bent to stroke our cairn, sniffed again and added, ‘Alfie and Angel Young with their dog Spider. You’re twelve and your sister’s eleven… and yes, you are very small for your age.’

‘How did you know… ?’ Angel’s mouth fell open.

‘Tickets please.’ He held out his hand.

’Er… Alfie,’ Angel swung to me. ‘They’re in your leather jacket.’

I dropped the cases and dug through my pockets. ‘You seem to know a lot about us,’ I said.

‘I’ve good reason to, boy.’ Again the sniff. It seemed he had hay fever or a summer cold. ‘I’ve just spoken to a young friend of yours on the telephone. He described you both in great detail and asked me to pass on a message.’

‘Boff Parkway?’

‘No, Algernon Parkway.’

‘Same person. Boff’s a nickname. We’re staying with him and his grandfather at Parkway Grange.’

‘Parkway Grange… the big house with the maze? Ah, well that would explain it.’ He tut-tutted and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Never mind, these things happen.’

‘The message?’ Angel prompted.

‘Stay put. Don’t attempt to get a taxi, you’ll be met. There’s…’ he paused, tut-tutted again, ‘there’s been a change of plan.’

Angel and I swapped worried glances. ‘What kind of change?’ I asked.

‘Not for me to say, boy. I could give a rough guess but I reckon you’ll find out soon enough.’

‘It’s something to do with Parkway Grange,’ Angel declared positively. ‘I know it is. I saw your face change when Alfie mentioned it.’

He said nothing, just lowered his eyes to check our tickets.

‘If it is the house…’ I began.

‘These are in order,’ he cut me off and waved us on. ‘Pass through the barrier please. I can’t stand here all day chatting… things to do.’

Angel was about to question him further but it seemed pretty pointless, so I nudged her on. As we reached the exit Spider began pulling like mad. He’d seen somebody or something in the station car park and was hell-bent on dragging us there. A flash of headlights and three blasts from a horn made us turn towards a white Range Rover. The driver was waving.

’C’mon, Alfie!’ Angel released a struggling Spider and followed him across the tarmac. ‘It’s Paul! It’s Paul! He’s been sent to fetch us. Oh, what a really cool start to a holiday!’

The Range Rover glided forward as I struggled with the cases, fighting to keep my balance. Although Angel hadn’t seen Paul since Easter, her schoolgirl crush on the jockey seemed stronger than ever.

‘Welcome to Devon.’ Paul leapt out grinning broadly. He took hold of Spider and lifted him high into the air. ‘And how is my favourite little terrier?’

‘Overweight,’ I said. ‘Angel feeds him too well.’

‘And out of condition,’ he remarked. ‘Rather like Alfie.’

‘Me ?’

‘Very definitely. You’re wheezing like an old cart horse.’

‘These cases are heavy,’ I said. ‘My sister’s packed everything including—’

‘The kitchen sink?’

‘More or less.’

‘Good, because where you’re staying you’ll need one. We use a large plastic bowl and pump water from a well. It’s a bit old fashioned but fun.’

‘I was right,’ Angel’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘We’re not going to Parkway Grange because… because something’s happened to the house.’

I looked at Paul. He rubbed a muscled forearm against his chin, hesitated, and then began unlocking the passenger door and loading the cases. He waved us inside.

‘I’m afraid Angel’s right,’ he admitted as we moved off, ‘Parkway Grange is empty. Boff and the Professor are staying at my old crofters’ cottage on the outskirts of Milford. It’s near the coast, you’ll like it.’

‘Empty?’ Angel repeated the word, a little as though she hardly knew its meaning. ‘But why? I—I don’t understand.’

‘I’m not too clear myself,’ he sighed and pushed a hand through his wavy hair. ‘You’ll have to ask Professor Parkway the reason. The only thing I can tell you is that the house is due shortly for demolition.’

‘They’re going to knock it down?’

Paul took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

‘Holy Moley!’ I said, ‘Boff might’ve told us. We checked that everything was okay for the holidays on the last day of term. He said everything was fine. He never mentioned—’

‘He didn’t know.’ Paul’s smoky grey eyes flicked from the windscreen to me. ‘When he arrived two days ago it was as much of a shock for him as it is for you.’

‘He must be feeling sick about it,’ I said weakly.

‘And Professor Parkway,’ Angel murmured.

‘And me,’ Paul moistened his lips and forced a smile. ‘Suddenly my single life has been turned upside down. I’ve inherited a family of four and a dog!’

The Range Rover slowed as we approached a major road junction. Paul ignored the MILFORD 8 Miles signpost and cruised towards the one marked SWANFIELD. None of us spoke. Angel and I knew the road well. It was only minutes before Parkway Grange loomed ahead of us. Paul slowed to a halt, notched on the handbrake, and gazed through the windscreen.

‘Take a good look,’ he said, indicating the assortment of bulldozing machinery that crowded the driveway. ‘At the moment they’re idle, but come Monday…’

‘Oh, don’t!’ Angel clamped her hands over her ears.

My eyes were drawn to a huge concrete ball which hung suspended from the arm of a crane. I could imagine it in action, whooshing through the air, ripping and tearing at Parkway’s timbers, smashing the latticed windows, crushing everything that stood in its path.

We’d had such good times messing about in the grounds. We’d eaten in the rickety old kitchen, slept in the lopsided bedrooms, and spent many an hour in the workshop watching the Professor fiddle with his incredible inventions. Even now it was hard to believe that a giant swing of a ball would prevent us doing any of it again.

Dry mouthed, Angel asked, ‘What will happen to the maze? Surely they won’t—’

‘They will,’ Paul replied. ‘It’ll be ripped up and flattened when the equipment moves in. The whole site has to be cleared to make space for a block of high-rise flats.’

I hated the thought. The tall privet hedges of the maze had been planted many years ago as a very clever method of keeping intruders away from the house. Nobody could get in without first using a code word to activate the mazemobile—a car shaped like a huge ladybird—which had been programmed to carry passengers to the centre. I was about to ask Paul what had happened to the car, but Angel beat me to it.

‘It’s in bits,’ he said simply. ‘All the pieces are back at my cottage.’

‘And what about…’ Angel hesitated. ‘Wh-what about Mylor?’

‘The most powerful horse in the world?’ He grinned and restarted the engine. ‘I thought you were never going to pluck up the courage to ask.’

‘Tell us, Paul,’ I prompted.

‘He’s safe. The Professor keeps him in my garage and spends most of his time making what he calls improvements and adjustments. Mylor hasn’t been used since your last visit. That’s why the Professor wouldn’t cancel your holiday. He needs both of you to give the horse some exercise.’

Angel brightened immediately. She brushed her blonde hair from her eyes and hugged Paul’s arm.

‘Girls and horses,’ he muttered, slipping the Range Rover into gear. ‘They’re the same the world over. Put them together and they go all stupid.’

‘Mylor’s very special,’ I said.

‘And don’t I know it, Alfie. I rode him in the Grand National or have you forgotten? Professor Parkway never talks about anything else. Old, absent-minded, and rheumatic he might be, but he can recall every detail of the way Mylor saved Angel’s life.’

‘We all remember that day,’ I said, snatching a last look at Parkway Grange.

‘It’s just so sad when financial matters have to creep in and spoil everything.’

‘Does the Professor have money problems?’

‘’Fraid so. He’s poured his life savings into Mylor and…’ He faltered, swallowed hard.

‘He’s lost the house?’

Paul nodded.

‘Oh, lordy. Now I understand.’ Angel’s face clouded.

Paul seemed pretty choked up to talk about it. He managed a weak smile and decided to change the subject. ‘Let’s give the bad news a rest. All this talking has made me miss the Milford road.’

The Range Rover slowed as Paul tried to recover his bearings. Spider got in on the act by placing his front paws firmly on the dashboard, stretching, and glancing all around. We reversed to what was no more than an overgrown track. Paul said that it was a short cut but that he hadn’t used it in months.

‘Hang on to your seats,’ he added. ‘The scenery’s pretty good but some of the bumps can shake your teeth loose.’

He wasn’t joking. The Range Rover offered a fairground ride as the rugged tyres dipped in and out of the potholes. Spider decided that the dashboard wasn’t the most comfortable place to be and curled himself tightly between us. The only sign of life was an inquisitive rabbit which scampered out of the bracken to flick its ears at us before scampering back in again. The banks were heavy with the scent of hawthorn, the grass tall, bleached and feathery. A narrow stream flowed silently past little clumps of heather, its smooth surface disturbed only by the occasional plop of a fish and the telltale circle of widening rings. Open moor land stretched as far as the eye could see and the sky was a dazzling blue with only a few puffs of cloud being streaked along by the wind. It was very different from the noise, the crowds and the traffic jams of our London home.

We lurched and bounced for another couple of miles and then the track began to smooth and widen. I saw Paul’s forehead crease into a frown as he steered the Range Rover across a surface of freshly laid tarmac.

‘This is all new.’ He slowed and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘The last time I came through here—’

‘Oh, look!’ Angel broke in. ‘Over there—through that fringe of trees. A horse and rider. Can you see?’

I heard the sharp crack of a whip, a whinny, and then the dull thud of galloping hooves.

‘Shamrock Farm,’ Paul murmured, bringing the Range Rover to a halt. ‘Somebody must have bought it. It’s been empty for more than two years.’

Angel was already out of the cab, her blonde hair streaming over her shoulders as she headed for the trees. Spider scampered along at her heels. Paul, looking curious, suggested we join them.

‘It’s a beautiful grey gelding,’ Angel said, keeping well hidden behind the trunk of an oak. ‘A rider’s putting it through its paces and—’ She broke off, gasped as the whip cracked again. ‘Shiznicky! I felt that!’

Paul sucked in his breath as the horse only just cleared a high, light-railed parallel jump. Another six strides and it spanned the water, its heels just clipping the top of the rustic dolly fence. The rider did a sharp turn, yanking the grey round with unnecessary force. Another two strokes of the whip brought the now heavily sweating horse in line for the last three jumps.

‘Two at a metre and a half and a very high wall,’ Paul breathed haltingly. ‘That’s an extremely tired animal. It’s being pushed to its limits.’

We watched open-mouthed as the horse cleared the first fence and rattled the second. Its balance was all over the place as it came into the wall. It tried to put in an extra stride to correct itself but it was too late. The centre section of bricks scattered in all directions as it rammed through the top, legs collapsing under it, nose-diving into the turf.

‘Sheesh!’ I exclaimed, cringing as the rider catapulted out of the saddle. He hit the ground hard and only just managed to roll clear of the grey’s squirming body as it tried to stand. ‘That was one heck of a fall. He’ll be feeling those bruises for weeks.’

‘No more than he deserves,’ Angel replied hotly. ‘Whipping a tired horse is gross.’

For the first time I could see the rider’s face clearly. He was younger than I’d imagined—perhaps mid-twenties, about the same age as Paul. He was tall, extremely skinny, with close cropped hair and eyes that were set in a rigid glare.

He picked mud and grass from the elbows of his suede jacket and dusted down his jodhpurs. The grey gelding was now upright, reins flapping loose around its sweat-soaked neck. It looked to be in a distressed state. The rider swore loudly as he stooped to retrieve his hat and whip.

‘You clumsy dolt!’ he added, ‘I’m gonna teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry!’

The grey blew through its nostrils and began backing away.