Free The Spin by Rebecca Lisle

Ralf said with a grin.
    â€˜What’s the Star Squad?’ Stormy asked Al. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’
    â€˜The elite,’ Al said, leaning on the wagon. ‘Strongest. Biggest. Best.’
    â€˜They go on secret missions,’ Ralf said. ‘Do special work for the Director. Now, you do the next one. Number two’s OK, I promise.’ He handed Stormy the nearest bucket of food.
    â€˜But –’ Stormy looked at the bucket. ‘It’s for number five!’
    â€˜Who cares?’ Al said. ‘Otto won’t see, or Brittel, will they? We do Star Squad careful since we must, but the rest get what they get.’
    Stormy hesitated. Cleaning the kitchen had been a mistake . . . He mustn’t make another, he must do as he was told. He didn’t want to be sent back to Otto. He took the bucket.
    The spitfyre in the second cave was silvery-pink with shining coral-coloured wings. It was watching them closely, not face on, but like a bird, cocking its head on one side and staring with one gleaming dark eye. What an eye! It was as big as an eagle’s egg and it swivelled in its socket, showing the yellow-white around it. Its purple hooves pawed the ground as if it was going to leap at any moment. A chain clinked and rattled on one of its hind legs. Stormy had never imagined that. He’d thought they would be free to come and go, flying out into the wide sky whenever they wanted.
    Nobody, nothing was free if a spitfyre wasn’t.
    Stormy took off the lid. The food was red and orange with freshly chopped strong-smelling herbs sprinkled over it which made his nose sting.
    â€˜Go on, then,’ Al said. ‘Don’t be scared. Thork at the ready. Get in before the daft thing goes crazy with hunger.’
    Stormy squared his shoulders, ready to go in. ‘What’s its name?’ he asked.
    â€˜We don’t bother with names,’ Ralf said.
    â€˜Too much effort,’ Al said.
    But a name would help so much, Stormy thought, facing the massive spitfyre. I’d really like to call it something,
anything
. . . He was so terrified that he was trembling from head to foot as he inched forward, holding his wooden thork up in front of him, nudging the air with it tentatively as if trying to ward off a gnat.
    The whole of the cave seemed to be filled with the body of the spitfyre. Heat radiated from it like a boiler. Stormy felt a sweat break out all over his skin. The pink spitfyre puffed out a gust of hot breath, smoky, with a whiff of sulphur that made him cough.
    He held up the food bucket and the spitfyre sniffed noisily at it.
    â€˜Hello,’ Stormy said quietly, ‘I’ve got your dinner. I hope you like it. Brittel made it – it looks lovely.’
    â€˜It’ll be a bit wary of you to start with,’ Ralf shouted from the cave entrance. ‘They’ve a suspicious nature, spitfyres. And that one does bite, so keep it pushed back.’
    The spitfyre grumbled, jabbed its head at Stormy and sent out a cloud of ash, but nothing worse. Stormy edged towards the food trough with the bucket.
    â€˜Don’t mind me,’ he whispered. ‘I’m just nobody.’
    He must have been too slow, or the spitfyre was too bad-tempered or too hungry, because suddenly it snorted violently and a stream of fire shot towards him.
    â€˜Mind yourself!’ Ralf cried. ‘Oi! Watch out!’
    The flames narrowly missed Stormy’s feet. With a yelp he dropped the bucket and ran. The spitfyre bellowed deeply, dived on the food and began to eat it greedily.
    â€˜Ha, ha!’ Ralf laughed. ‘That was something! Number two doesn’t like you!’
    â€˜But . . . but I didn’t mean him any harm,’ Stormy cried, deeply hurt. He felt as limp as a rag, sapped of all energy and
so
disappointed.
    â€˜The Star Squad can be tricky, like you saw, but number two wasn’t
so
bad, was it? Not really? Buck up and try number