Ian Whybrow - Meerkat Madness

“How dare you speak to us like that!” spluttered Princess Dangerous.

Little Dream took no notice. “ And he is the King of the Click-clicks!” he went on. “And he’s not scared of Vroom-vrooms, and he can stand on a Blah-blah’s head, so you be careful!” It was the longest speech he had ever made.

A dreadful hush fell. This was unheard of! A kit – a commoner kit at that – speaking up without an invitation! In front of Her Majesty! Some of the humbler Sharpeyes began to murmur.

“Who does that kit think he is?”

“He must be mad!”

“It’s all that Fearless’s fault, putting ideas into his head! Secret king, indeed!”

“Yes, because he had The Madness himself – remember?”

“You’re right! Do you remember the time, just after the eagle owl attacked him and dropped him on his head? He twitched, he was helpless . . . he talked rubbish, poor kat.”

“Such a shame!”

The Queen silenced them all with a sharp cry. Nobody moved. She returned for a moment to her grasshopper, snapping off the legs one by one. For a moment there was no other sound except the whirring of insect wings. Then she said, “I have no time for any more nonsense. Tell me, Fearless, are you or any of these kits likely to be a danger to me or to my tribe?”

“N-n-not at all, Your Majesty.” Fearless was flustered but trying to seem steady.

“A babysitter’s job is to mind babies,” she said. “Not to fill their heads with nonsense. Mind them. Teach them how to be useful and how to obey. Anything else is . . . unwelcome. Do you understand?”

“Absolutely, Your Majesty. I—”

“Chancer, children, come!” she interrupted. “I lost more weight in the darktime than is good for me. I must forage for food without delay.”

With that, she turned and galloped off towards the hunting grounds.

Chapter 5

“I say, look here, my dear young Dreamer,” said Uncle as they stood alone by the burrow entrance on the very edge of the Upworld. “You mustn’t go about saying that I’m your . . . your actual king . I mean it’s awfully kind of you but it’s just not done.”

“Ah, but we like you being our king,” said Little Dream. Small flurries of hot sand blown on the wind made him stagger and squint. Luckily nature had fitted him with little wind screen wipers, so the sand in his eyes was quickly flicked away.

“It was supposed to be a secret , Dreamie, you bedbug! You’re not supposed to tell anybody secrets!” scolded Skeema. He turned to Uncle, who was looking ruffled and uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, we won’t say you’re our king out loud, we’ll just know it,” he assured him, anxious to make him feel better about himself.

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