Cows In Action 8 Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The C.I.A. Files

  Prof. McMoo’s Timeline of Notable Historical Events

  Chapter One: Custard Alert

  Chapter Two: Danger in the Dark Age!

  Chapter Three: A Wizard Bull

  Chapter Four: A Knight to Remember

  Chapter Five: Vanishing Act

  Chapter Six: Discovered!

  Chapter Seven: A Curious Quest

  Chapter Eight: Merlin RE-VEAL-ED!

  Chapter Nine: The Power of Excowlibur

  Chapter Ten: From Noon Till Knight

  Chapter Eleven: Signal of Doom

  Chapter Twelve: A Kind of Moo-Gic

  About the Author

  Also by Steve Cole

  Copyright

  About the Book

  ON A QUEST FOR COW-ME-LOT!

  Genius cow Professor McMoo and his trusty sidekicks, Pat and Bo, are star agents of the C.I.A. – short for COWS IN ACTION! They travel through time, fighting evil bulls from the future and keeping history on the right track . . .

  In Dark Age CAMELOT, on the trail of a terrifying NEW type of ter-moo-nator, McMoo and his friends discover the famous wizard, MERLIN, has been turned into a bull – and that KING ARTHUR and his knights have turned COW CRAZY! A dia-BULL-ical plot is in full swing, and the C.I.A. agents must brave MAGIC, MOO-GIC and MAYHEM to stop it – before the forces of KNIGHT conquer all . . .

  It’s time for action. Cows In Action.

  To Kit and Alex

  THE C.I.A. FILES

  Cows from the present –

  Fighting in the past to protect the future . . .

  In the year 2550, after thousands of years of being eaten and milked, cows finally live as equals with humans in their own country of Luckyburger. But a group of evil war-loving bulls – the Fed-up Bull Institute – is not satisfied.

  Using time machines and deadly ter-moo-nator agents, the F.B.I. is trying to change Earth’s history. These bulls plan to enslave all humans and put savage cows in charge of the planet. Their actions threaten to plunge all cowkind into cruel and cowardly chaos . . .

  The C.I.A. was set up to stop them.

  However, the best agents come not from 2550 – but from the present. From a time in the early 21st century, when the first clever cows began to appear. A time when a brainy bull named Angus McMoo invented the first time machine, little realizing he would soon become the F.B.I.’s number one enemy . . .

  COWS OF COURAGE – TOP SECRET FILES

  PROFESSOR ANGUS MCMOO

  Security rating: Bravo Moo Zero

  Stand-out features: Large white squares on coat, outstanding horns

  Character: Scatterbrained, inventive, plucky and keen

  Likes: Hot tea, history books, gadgets

  Hates: Injustice, suffering, poor-quality tea bags

  Ambition: To invent the electric sundial

  LITTLE BO VINE

  Security rating: For your cow pies only

  Stand-out features: Luminous udder (colour varies)

  Character: Tough, cheeky, ready-for-anything rebel

  Likes: Fashion, chewing gum, self-defence classes

  Hates: Bessie Barmer, the farmer’s wife

  Ambition: To run her own martial arts club for farmyard animals

  PAT VINE

  Security rating: Licence to fill (stomach with grass)

  Stand-out features: Zigzags on coat

  Character: Brave, loyal and practical

  Likes: Solving problems, anything Professor McMoo does

  Hates: Flies not easily swished by his tail

  Ambition: To find a five-leaf clover – and to survive his dangerous missions!

  Chapter One

  CUSTARD ALERT

  “Switch off those alarms!” yelled Yak Buttbuster, stomping into the C.I.A. operations room. Sirens were going off, red lights were flashing, and the big, black bull could hardly think.

  Seeing the scowl on his face, Yak’s staff of highly trained cows rushed to obey. Being Director of the Cows In Action, an elite band of constantly crime-busting, time-travelling cattle commandos, Yak often had plenty to scowl about. But right now he was feeling scowlier than ever. C.I.A. spies had just reported that the F.B.I. – the dreaded Fed-up Bull Institute – was committing a time-crime in one of the murkiest, most mysterious periods of Earth’s history . . .

  As the sirens shut off, Yak turned to his Chief Operative. “Quick, Dandi – send an alert signal to our top agents. And you’d better make it a custard-grade alert!”

  “Yes, Director.” Dandi, a plump and pleasant white cow, hit a large, yellow button. “I’ll just trace the signal back through time to make sure it reaches them . . .” She switched on a large TV screen built into the wall and started fiddling with the controls. In moments, it showed a peaceful, empty field.

  Yak watched eagerly. While he and his team were based in the twenty-sixth century, his best agents lived on a small, organic farm way back in the twenty-first . . .

  “No sign of them, Director,” Dandi reported. “Where can they be?”

  Suddenly, a blaze of purple light shone into the operations room. Staff milled about in alarm, mooing loudly.

  But Yak smiled. “They’re right here. It’s the Time Shed!”

  Sure enough, a large, ramshackle barn was appearing in the corner of the room. Built from old farm machinery and techno-junk saved from a scientist’s bin, this incredible invention had helped change the course of cow history – allowing cattle to become the first ever travellers through time.

  A second later, the wooden doors swung open and a reddy-brown bull with white squares patterning his hide strode out: the Time Shed’s creator, Professor Angus McMoo.

  “Spot on! C.I.A. headquarters in the year 2150 AD, just as I planned.” McMoo beamed round at the sash-wearing cows, pushed his glasses up onto his snout and gave a jokey salute. “Kettle on, is it, Yak? I’m parched!” Despite the state of emergency, Yak couldn’t help but smile. McMoo was a bull like no other. One of the bravest and most brilliant of all time, his incredible thirst for knowledge was matched only by his even more incredible thirst for tea.

  “Glad you showed up,” the black bull rumbled. “I’ve been looking for you and your friends, Professor.”

  A dairy cow with a rosy red-and-white coat burst from the shed behind McMoo. “And now you’ve found us, Yakky-baby!”

  “Shhh, Little Bo,” said a young, light-brown bullock with zigzags on his coat, following her out. “Yak’s very important; you can’t call him ‘Yakky-baby’ in front of everybody . . .”

  “You’re so boring, little bruv,” Bo complained. “Besides, Yak doesn’t mind – do you, Beef-cheeks?”

  Yak grimaced and tried not to blush. Little Bo Vine was not a typical cow in this time, her own time or any time in-between. Like the professor and Pat, she belonged to a rare breed of twenty-first century clever cattle called the Emmsy-Squares. But unlike them, this feisty cow’s hobbies were fashion, fighting and dying her udder different colours (today it was bright yellow).

  “Sorry for barging in like this, Director Yak,” Pat went on quickly. “You see, the professor has just finished rewiring the Time Shed’s engines—”

  “So I thought I’d razz over here on a test-drive!” said McMoo. “You won’t believe how fast we whizzed through the twenty-third century . . .” He stared round anxiously. “You do have a kettle, don’t you?”

  “I have an emergency situation on my hooves,” said Yak, as Dandi duly trotted up with a big bucket of tea for the professor. “That’s why I sent out a custard alert.”

  Pat raised an eyebrow. “Custard alert?”<
br />
  “Like a red alert, only yellow with added egg yolks and an accompanying banana,” McMoo explained, between gulps of tea. “Well, a banana if you’re lucky.”

  “We’re not lucky,” Yak declared. “As I was saying, we’re on a banana-free custard alert because—”

  “Ugh!” Bo pointed to the big TV screen and pulled a face. “That’s enough to put anyone on alert!”

  The screen showed a familiar huge, hairy figure standing in the field, like a cross between a very ugly woman and a weightlifting gibbon. Pat shuddered – it was Bessie Barmer, who ruled the farm with an iron fist, a steel boot and, most likely, rocks in her head. She hated all the animals and couldn’t wait to turn them all into pies – which was why the professor had built his Time Shed in the first place, so that he, Pat and Bo could zoom away and escape danger.

  Things hadn’t quite worked out that way. The only thing they had zoomed into was adventure after adventure, fighting for the Cows In Action!

  “Bessie Barmer is not the reason we’re on custard alert, Bo,” said Yak, starting to lose his patience. “That’s just the P.O.O. scanner.”

  “Well, it found some poo all right!” said Bo.

  “No, P.O.O. stands for Past Object Observation,” Dandi explained. “I was about to look for you on your farm when you showed up here!”

  “Oi, husband!” Bessie yelled from the screen. “Are you still trying to get that old pickaxe out from that lump of concrete? You big wimp!”

  Pat clutched his stomach. “She makes me feel ill even when I’m five hundred years away in the future!”

  “I’ll pull it out, easy!” Bessie boasted. “My family have links all the way back to King Arthur, that bloke who pulled the sword from the stone ’cause he was born to rule – just like me!”

  Bo blew a raspberry. “She’s always boasting about her famous ancestors. Somebody turn off that screen, before I’m sick.”

  “It’s funny she should mention King Arthur,” said Yak as Dandi turned off the P.O.O. scanner. “Arthur and his head wizard, Merlin, seem to be at the centre of the F.B.I.’s latest evil plot.”

  “Plot-ever do you mean?” McMoo drained his bucket and stared at Yak. “I thought Arthur and Merlin and Camelot were just folk tales made up in the Middle Ages – not real history.”

  Yak shook his head. “That’s what everyone thought in your time. But new evidence found in our time has proved that many of those old stories were actually based on fact.”

  “Wow,” breathed McMoo, and Pat smiled to see his idol look so amazed.

  “Yeah, that’s a real thrill.” Bo yawned. “So, what’s going down with this Arthur King bloke, then?”

  “Our spies report that an important F.B.I. agent named Moodrid wants to use him to change history,” Yak explained. “And apparently, a brand-new type of ter-moo-nator is involved . . .”

  Pat shivered at the mere mention of the word. Ter-moo-nators were tough, scheming creatures – part robot, part bull – which the F.B.I often used to do their dirty work. “The old ter-moo-nators were bad enough,” he said. “What will this new one be like?”

  Bo shrugged. “What will it be like to PUNCH? That’s what I can’t wait to find out!”

  “Well, whatever Moodrid and his mate are up to,” said McMoo, “we’d better get stopping them.”

  Yak passed the professor a small, electronic device. “This place-date datachip has the time and destination programmed in. But take care, troops. Something tells me this mission will be extra-dangerous . . .”

  “Good!” Bo blew him a kiss and ran back into the shed. “See ya soonie, Yak-a-roonie!”

  McMoo waved. “Ta for the tea! We’ll be in touch soon.”

  “We hope!” added Pat as he followed the professor inside.

  “So do I,” Yak muttered. He and Dandi watched anxiously as the Time Shed blurred and vanished in a blaze of purple light – off to the Dark Age . . .

  Chapter Two

  DANGER IN THE DARK AGE!

  McMoo loaded up the place-date datachip and started skipping gleefully about the Time Shed. The unlikely vessel’s high-tech insides were a big contrast to its drab exterior. Panels full of switches and buttons lined the wooden walls. Thick, snake-like power cables hummed with energy. A huge bank of controls shaped like a horseshoe rose up from the middle of the room and a computer screen dangled from the rafters. Several hay bales served as chairs. The only other piece of furniture was a special cupboard crammed full of costumes from all times and places, specially made to fit cows.

  Pat smiled. “You seem very excited, Professor.”

  “How could I not be?” McMoo cried. “We’re on our way to see Camelot in the year 521 AD. Imagine that!”

  “What is Camel-Hot?” Bo wondered. “Something you get in the desert?”

  McMoo was about to give a very pointed reply when the Time Shed lurched. Pink sparks shot out of a cable on the wall, and the noise of the engines dipped.

  “Oops! Must be a blockage in the new power feeds. Soon have it fixed.” McMoo grabbed a screwdriver and started checking his precious engines. “While we’re waiting . . . Computer. Give us the Camelot file.”

  * * *

  ++Camelot. ++Magnificent Dark Age city, said to be home to Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons. ++Arthur and his knights met at the Round Table – round so that all positions were equal (and so it was easier to pass the salt). ++They did good deeds, went on quests, rescued damsels in distress and slew strange beasts. ++Arthur’s friend and most trusted advisor was an old man named Merlin, a wizard with many mysterious powers. ++Arthur also had a magical sword called Excalibur, given to him by the supernatural Lady of the Lake. ++The blade was so bright it blinded his enemies, and its scabbard protected its wearer from harm.

  * * *

  “What an amazing story!” cried Pat.

  “That Merlin bloke sounds dodgy,” Bo declared. “He’s not really a wizard, is he?”

  “Wizards have been known to exist, Bo. Just look at me!” McMoo popped up from behind the engines, covered in grease. “There. Give the boosters ten seconds to warm up and we can get off again.” Pat smiled. “Shall I get you a cloth, Professor?”

  “No need.” McMoo ran off to the costume cupboard. “The grease will help me squeeze into my Dark Age disguise!” He pressed some buttons on the side of the cupboard door and two spindly metal arms whizzed out. “I fixed the auto-dresser earlier, let’s test it . . .”

  “Ten seconds!” called Bo, keen to get going.

  “Righto.” The professor smiled as the auto-dresser started rummaging inside the cupboard. “Just press that big black button on the console.”

  Pat nudged it gingerly with his hoof – and suddenly the Time Shed zoomed off like a rocket! Pat and Bo yelled, clinging on to the horseshoe of controls as the hum of the engines rose to a fearsome shriek . . .

  Then just as suddenly, with a squeal of brakes, the shed came to a dead stop.

  “Whoaaaaaaaa!” yelled Pat, as he and his sister were sent flying into the costume cupboard. CR-RUNCHH! Clothes exploded from inside, and the cupboard itself was smashed to matchwood.

  Bo groaned. “Now you’ve fixed up the engines, Prof, how about getting some seatbelts for this thing?”

  Pat raised his aching head and looked around. “Where is the professor?”

  Even as he spoke, something stirred beneath the mound of clothes and splintered wood. The next moment, a huge, menacing figure burst up into sight, its face a blank mask of milk-white metal, its body encased in shining, studded armour . . .

  “Argh!” cried Pat. “It’s that new top-secret ter-moo-nator!”

  “Stay back, little bruv.” Bo jumped up. “I’ll get him!”

  The ter-moo-nator shook his head frantically – but Bo was already kicking out with both her back legs. CLANG! Her hooves struck the figure right in the chest and it collapsed with a crash of clanking metal.

  “Ow!” came a very familiar voice from inside the armour.

/>   Bo looked at Pat. “Whoops!”

  Pat gulped. “Professor?” The figure wrenched off its helmet – and sure enough, Pat and Bo saw McMoo’s miffed face looking back at them.

  “I know you meant well, Bo – but unfortunately, you also bent well!” McMoo held up an assortment of flattened metal pieces. “You knocked me into the suit of armour that Pat was going to wear!”

  Pat sighed as he helped up the professor. “I would have loved to have been a knight, too.”

  “Sorry, bruv,” said Bo. “But I hope my suit of armour isn’t squashed!”

  McMoo cleared his throat as he crossed to check his controls. “Er . . .I’m afraid there weren’t any girl knights.”

  Pat grinned. “They were too busy being damsels in distress.”

  “Yuck! I’m not being a damsel in distress for anyone.” Bo stooped to grab a gauntlet from the pile of clothes. “Look, this metal glove is still OK. I can wear it on my udder!” She went on rummaging through the heap of fashions. “Do you think it goes with this cape?”

  “Forget the clothes for now,” said McMoo. “That sudden spurt of speed might have blown the controls. We’d better see if we’ve pitched up in the right place.” He slipped a silver nose ring – a ringblender – through his snout. This brilliant C.I.A. device projected an optical illusion that made cows look like humans and translated all languages too. “There!” He put his helmet back on, ran over to the doors and threw them open. “If we bump into anyone they’ll see me as a human knight, and you two as normal cows.”

  “Normal?” Pat looked at the metal glove hanging down from Bo’s belly and the black cape round her neck. “Her?”