Hattori Hachi.’ My Favourite Books
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Praise for ‘A great debut novel.’ The Sun ‘Hattie is joined on her terrifying adventures by some fantastic characters, you can’t help but want to be one of them by the end – or maybe you’re brave enough to want to be Hattie herself . .’ Chicklish ‘Hachi is strong, independent, clever and remarkable in every way . I can’t shout loud enough about Hattori Hachi.’ My Favourite Books ‘Jane Prowse has completely nailed this novel. I loved the descriptions, the action, the heart-stopping moments where deceit lurks just around the corner. The story is fabulous, while almost hidden profoundness is scattered in every chapter.’ Flamingnet reviewer, age 12 ‘Hattori Hachi is like the female Jackie Chan, she has all the ninjutsu skills and all the moves! The Revenge of Praying Mantis is one of my all time favourite books! I love the fact that both boys and girls can enjoy it.’ Jessica, age 12 ‘I couldn’t put this book down – it was absolutely brilliant!’ Hugo, age 9 ‘This delightful book is full of ninja action and packed with clever surprises that will hook anyone who reads it!’ Hollymay, age 15 ‘This was the best book I’ve ever read. It was exciting and thrilling and when I started reading it, I could not put it back down.’ Roshane, age 18 ‘Amazing! Couldn’t put it down. Bought from my school after the author’s talk and finished it on the very next day! Jack, age 12 This edition published by Silver Fox Productions Ltd, 2012 www.silverfoxproductions.co.uk First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Piccadilly Press Ltd. Text copyright © Jane Prowse, 2009 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the pr ior permission of the copyright owner. The right of Jane Prowse to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978 0 9573009 0 3 (paperback) 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2 eBook also available Printed in the UK by Lightning Source, Milton Keynes, MK11 3AW Cover design by Patrick Knowles Cover photo © btrenkel/istockphoto For Ian, who makes everything possible CHAPTER ONE ‘Accept your destiny . .’ The Samurai warriors of old Japan considered the cherry blossom, with its beautiful but short life, as a symbol of their own lives – which could end violently at any moment. My mum always kept a bonsai cherry tree in our living room, and every year in early spring when it blossomed, we’d have a tea ceremony to give thanks for the fact that we were all still healthy, happy – and alive. This year, for the first time ever, it seemed there would be no such ceremony. My mum’s Japanese. Chiyoko’s her name. It means ‘child of a thousand generations’, and she’s a great one for rituals and tea ceremonies. My dad’s from Yorkshire and always jokes that he’ll have a Tetley’s because he likes a proper cup of tea. Secretly though, he loves Mum’s little ceremonies and strange cultural quirks. Dad’s a community police officer – his name’s Ralph and he’s funny and down to earth. Although I look quite like Mum, really I’m more like him. 1 I’m Hattie Jackson. We live in a characterful attic flat in North London – which my dad laughingly calls ‘the penthouse apartment’. It’s got crooked walls and low beams across the ceilings, but I love it here. I’ve moved around my whole life because of Dad’s work but about eighteen months ago we settled back here in Camden, which is actually where I first went to school. When I say we’ve ‘moved around’, I mean it. In London most people say they belong either north or south of the Thames. I’ve lived all over – Camden, Brixton, Willesden and now back in Camden again. Between times, we’ve lived in Arbroath in Scotland, Totnes in Devon and spent over a year in Carlisle in Cumbria. I consider myself very well travelled, though surprisingly I’ve only been out of Great Britain once, and that’s because I was b orn in Japan. We moved to the UK when I was a few days old, so that doesn’t really count anyway. I’ve always been on at Mum to take me back for a holiday, but she’s never done anything about it. I like exploring, but I’d much rather live in one place – which Mum had promised we’d do now we were back in Camden again, at least until after my GCSEs. I don’t have a boyfriend, or brothers or sisters, and until last summer, I thought nothing unusual would ever happen in my rather ordinary life. But that was then, when I was still fourteen and blissfully unaware. It was the twelfth of June – I know that because it was three days before my birthday. It was a scorchingly hot afternoon and I was lying on my bed looking over summer courses at the leisure centre, thinking how lucky I was to be nearly fifteen without a care in the world. Dad had offered to pay for whatever classes I wanted as my birthday present – as long as they included first aid and self-defence. He’s a great one for being prepared but I didn’t mind if it meant I could learn fencing or judo or something fun as well. 2 I should have been revising for my maths exam, but I was taking a break and also planning all the birthday treats I was going to have with my best friend, Neena. I’ve known Neena since I started school – right back in Year One. She’s always celebrated my birthday with me, even when we’ve lived miles apart. This year, Neena had promised to make a cake, so I was weighing up Death by Chocolate versus blueb erry cheesecake – Neena says calories don’t exist on birthdays. Suddenly, I heard the gentle sound of wind chimes. Nothing strange there, except at five o’clock on that Wednesday afternoon there was no breeze. I knew it was five o’clock because I’d just looked at my watch, realising I hadn’t heard Mum come home. Without stopping to think, I reached under my bed for my black canvas shoes and put on my black hooded jacket – which I wasn’t too happy about, since I was already sweltering. The wind chimes were always a sign for me to go out on the balcony of our flat, dressed in the clothes my mum made me keep hidden. My bedroom’s at the back of our building behind the market in Camden and the balcony stretches from my room, across the back of the open-plan living area, to my parents’ bedroom on the other s ide. We’re on the fourth floor and, although there’s wasteland below, the view is amazing. The whole of London rises up in the distance. And directly beneath us is a pretty walled Japanese garden that belongs to the bottom flat. So on this blistering afternoon, as I’d done many times before, I checked around to make sure no one was about, then I silently lowered the rope ladder we keep on the balcony for emergencies. It slipped over the handrail and down to the garden, which belongs to Yazuki, the old Japanese lady who runs the laundry on the ground floor. She’s nearly blind and so deaf you could explode a nuclear bomb down there and I doubt she’d notice. She’s always had a soft spot for me and Mum, and says we can use her garden whenever we 3 want. The ladder’s there in case of fire, Dad says. He always has everything covered. He walks into a room and cases it for potential disasters. I’ve learnt that from him. I go to a party and I’m thinking, If that candle falls and sets fire to the curtains, then I’ll get everyone out through the back bathroom window. Neena can’t believe me sometimes as I patrol the place working out my strategy while she’s making a beeline for the food and the first available boy. The climb down was nothing unusual to me – I practised it with Mum all the time. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears though, because I knew that any second something might happen and I needed to be on my toes. Mum always played these games, testing my agility, my strength – having fun, but not like anyone else ever seemed to. Today though, something was different. Usually, Mum would be at the bottom, waiting. She’d be timing me to see how fast I could get down, or distracting me with some treat like an ice lolly if I looked scared. But today, no one was in the garden. I started to wonder if I’d really heard the chimes. Then I saw something move in the branches of one of the bamboo trees. I watched carefully, and then I saw that the thing that was moving – swaying gently to keep its balance – was a person! It moved again – and for a second it didn’t look like a person any more, it looked like a cat.