Amy X and The Great Race: Amy X, #1

By Danny King

The remote island of Pompolonia is so small that it's not even on most maps. But what it lacks in size it makes up for in tradition. Each year a Great Race is run, from the white sands of Octopus Bay, all the way up the mountain to Lake Pomp, a volcanic crater at the island's summit. All islanders turning 12 are compelled to race. With no exceptions. 

 

The winners always come from one of the seven 'Great Houses' and this year will be no different. The King's own beloved daughter is set to take part and the outcome is assured. Such is tradition.

 

But somebody forgot to tell Amy X, a Lowland so poor that she can't even afford a last name, let alone shoes to run in. But Amy's not the type of girl to take notice of ancient traditions. She has her own ideas and her own dreams and they are every bit as precious as any Princess's.

 

For one hundred years the great families of Pompolonia have had it all their own way. But this year things will be different. This year a scrawny girl with no shoes and hardly any name will give them a real run for their money.

 

WINNER of The Story For Children Competition – Wells Festival of Literature 2016

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danny King
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393394686

Danny King

Danny King is an award-winning British author who has written for the page, the stage and the big and small screens. He lives and works in the city of Chichester and can be found on Facebook at 'DannyKingbooks'.

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Amy X and The Great Race

(book 1)

Copyright © 2021 Danny King

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Front cover art

Photography: Charlie King

Model: Frankie King

Design: the author

First published as Amy X: Rennt Allen Davon by You & Ivi, an imprint of Piper Verlag GmbH, München 2019

Quality Control

Every effort has been made to edit and proof-read this book but in the unlikely event that you should spot a typo, please contact me at the below address and I will amend it and add your name to the acknowledgements with grateful thanks.

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1. The Island of Pompolonia

The island of Pompolonia might be small in size but it is big in tradition.

Cast away in the opal blue Southern Oceans half a world from their nearest neighbours, the Pompolonians have no TV reception, no internet, no satellite dishes and no wi-fi whatsoever. Therefore, their worldview is about as wide as their ‘world’ view. Which is to say about five square kilometres in all.

Pompolonia’s only contact with the rest of civilisation is a container ship, the SS Aquarius, which sails halfway around the world each year to pick up Pompolonia’s only natural resource — water.

Pompolonian water is highly prized by the finest restaurants of the world. It collects as rainwater in the volcanic craters of Mount Pomp and trickles down its steep and craggy sides as rivers, streams and waterfalls. The tropical sun then works its magic, lifting it from the seas once more and the whole process starts over again as if the island were some almighty fountain.

Along the way, the waters pick up all manner of minerals that are said to be good for a person’s health if not their wealth. At £100 a bottle, Pompolonian water is a luxury that only the richest diners can afford.

But how does it taste?

Like water, of course. How else might water taste?

Typically, the average Pompolonian sees little of this wealth. Most simply go about their business filtering, bottling and packaging the water in the island’s enormous bottling plant and working steadily towards the day when the SS Aquarius is sighted on the horizon, chugging slowly into Octopus Bay and bringing back the empties from last year.

And what a day that is. All work stops, the streets are decorated with bunting and the King of Pompolonia throws a great party at his Castle in the Sky, the royal residence perched on the very lip of Slate Ridge. The party is a magnificent affair, with the finest foods, the finest drinks and the finest entertainments known to Pompolonia. Anyone who is anyone attends with great excitement.

Anyone who is not, hangs the bunting. 

Additionally, each year, to celebrate the water harvest, a Great Race is run, starting on the beaches of Octopus Bay, heading up into the highlands, around the mountain trails and finishing in the waters of Lake Pomp itself. All those who’ve turned twelve in the previous year are compelled to race. There are no exceptions. Euan Pinemore, the eldest son of Lord Pinemore, was the reigning champion and the envy of all Pompolonia (at least, in his own mind) but he would not win the race this year. He would compete, but he would not win. That privilege would fall to the Princess Honor, the King’s own beloved daughter, who had turned twelve in March and who was duly required to race by law.

But it wasn’t something she was particularly happy about.

2. The Princess of Pompolonia

Character Spotlight

I’M NOT DOING IT. I don’t care what you say. I don’t have to run. Mummy told me I didn’t have to, so there! Princess Honor said blowing a raspberry at the King when he came to ask her why she still hadn’t tried on the jewel-encrusted trainers he’d ordered from London just for the occasion.

Yes well, your mother, the Queen, the King replied, to give Mummy her proper title, doesn’t make the laws around here. I do. At least this was what it said on the statute book but it wasn’t something he would’ve put to the test had the Queen been in the room. She was a marvellous woman, the Queen. Firm but fair — as long as you stayed on the right side of her — but disappoint her and Mount Pomp wasn’t the only thing around here that could explode.

Then tell them, the Princess said. Tell them I’m not running. Tell them I don’t have to. Tell them I am the Princess and Princesses are not like everyone else. Princesses are beautiful snowflakes: unique, delicate and above such things, she demanded, stamping her foot so hard that her glass slipper cracked right down the middle. Fortunately, her feet were still wrapped in plasters from the last pair of glass slippers she’d smashed in a fit of rage. The Princess got through a lot of glass slippers.

We all have to race, my angel. I had to race, your mother had to race and every Goldwyn-Glory before us had to also, the King explained. 

I’m not doing it. I’m not. I’M NOT! she shouted, her pale skin turning beetroot at the thought of having to walk (let alone run) up a mountain alongside a lot of smelly Lowlanders. The Princess didn’t mix well with poor people although, to be fair, she didn’t mix well with rich people either. She was a sensitive soul and other people offended her. It wasn’t her fault, the King told himself, she simply had impossibly high standards. Wasn’t this a good thing in a Princess?

But sugarpie, you don’t have to win if you don’t want to. You just have to take part. It’s the tradition, the King said, trying to take the pressure off her as he followed her around her enormous bedroom.

What do you mean I don’t have to win? Of course I’ll win. I’m Princess Honor, the most fabulous girl in all of Pompolonia. I always win. And indeed she did. It didn’t matter what she turned her hand to, snakes & ladders, noughts & crosses, table tennis or Guess Who? Princess Honor ALWAYS won. The King and his staff worked very hard to make sure of it.

Of course you’ll win, my precious. That goes without saying. But it might be a little difficult to win if you’re not actually taking part in it, the King said as delicately as he could.

Why? Princess Honor demanded. Just declare me the winner and let everyone else run for second place.

The King looked over at Lord Pinemore, a hunched and scrunched little man who acted as his chief advisor, and asked: Can we do that?

Lord Pinemore thought for one moment before reluctantly shaking his head. The King may have written the rules but Lord Pinemore was the one who kept track of them, for better or for worse.

The King now tried a different tack.

But what if I were to throw you a party? The most magnificent party this island has ever seen?

We always throw a party after the race. What’s so special about that? Princess Honor groaned, flopping face-first into the silk sheets of her enormous heart-shaped bed at the very idea.

Well, we can have an even bigger one, even more magnificent and more fabulous than any we’ve had before, that’ll go on all night... in your honour, the King declared with an enthusiastic wave of the arms.

Is that it? the Princess grumbled, barely able to lift her head at the thought.

And a new gown. A winner must have a new gown, the King said, which was easily done. As well as owning the island’s main bottling plant, the King also employed a team of tailors to turn out Pompolonia’s latest fashions. Unfortunately, as nearly all of the materials had to be imported from the other side of the world, the results were eye-wateringly expensive. Where the royal family led, few followed. But then again, the Princess’s clothes wouldn’t have been that special if every Tom, Dick or Harriet could afford them. Fortunately for most Pompolonians, the weather was hot and coconuts were plentiful so the majority of islanders let Mother Nature take care of their wardrobes. Who needed silk underpants when long grass and scallop shells were just lying about?

And jewels? Princess Honor said, not being the type to wear coconuts or seafood.

Why of course, jewels, the King readily agreed. A Princess must have lots of jewels. She’s not a Princess if not.

And a title? the Princess suggested hopefully.

Er... you already have a title, my darling. You’re the Princess, the King reminded her.

Yes, and I’ve been a Princess forever. I want to be a Queen, Princess Honor snapped, returning to her sulk in an attempt to force