The Case of the Missing Dinosaur Egg by June Whyte Page A

Ferret, his horse, screeched to a halt and dug its hooves into the ground, as though to say, ‘no way’, while Jack kept going—over the log and into the water. It was like a tidal wave hitting the shore.
    Ka-splash
    Okay…I’d learned from watching Tayla and Jack. Not too slow and not too fast. Somewhere in between. Teeth clenched, heart bumping like a car on a rough road, I headed Shakespeare for jump six, a fence made from old car tires.
    Shakespeare broke into a comfortable rocking-horse canter and the jump was so smooth I hardly felt the lift before we were on the other side and heading for the wooden bridge and the little jump made out of forty-four gallon drums.
    Back to a brisk trot for the bridge. As we clip-clopped across, I imagined the big bad troll dripping water as he poked his head over the railing and growled, “Who’s that tripping over my bridge?”
    Of course I’d tell him it was only the Little Billy-goat Gruff and if he hung around for a little longer, there’d be lots more big fat tasty goats following me.
    Once on the other side, Shakespeare cleared the drums with a kick and an arrogant flick of his tail.
    Hey, this was fun…
    Back into that lovely rocking-horse canter, I gathered up my reins and aimed him at the water jump.
    Time to close my eyes and leave it to the horse.
    It was like sitting on an active volcano. Shakespeare bunched himself beneath me and exploded into the air. Kaapow! Was it a bird or a plane or a Super-Cha? Okay, I lost both stirrups, clung on like a burr with my soccer-ball strengthened legs and wrapped both arms around Shakespeare’s outstretched neck to keep from falling off—but hey, what a feeling!
    Opening one eye, I glanced down at the water far below. Not content with popping over the log into the water, Shakespeare jumped the log and the water in one bound. He landed like a cat, a good two meters on the other side, and slowed to an ambling trot, then to a shuffling walk and with a smug, Sarah-like-smirk, strolled back to his gob-smacked fans.
    Kate was the first to recover.
    “Oh you beautiful boy! You clever beautiful boy!”
    While I slid my feet back into the stirrups, Kate threw her arms around Shakespeare’s neck. I could see tears trickling down her cheeks.
    “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” Kate’s voice sounded scratchy. “Just like when you took me over that horrific water jump at the World Cup Show jumping finals in Switzerland.”
    And then it hit me…
    All those pictures lining the walls in Kate’s office of a beautiful dark grey horse called, ‘The Tempest’ leaping over huge fences with a young and pretty Kate aboard…
    That was Shakespeare.
    Grumpy, bony old Shakespeare was ‘The Tempest’.

THIRTEEN
    That night I had a bad dream.
    Or should I say a horrible freaky nightmare. You know, where everything that’s happening seems so real. Where your heart slams and crashes around like a trapped animal and threatens to burst through your chest. Where you try to call out for your mum but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a skinny grey rat that gives you the evil eye then scuttles away to its hole.
    Anyway…this dream started where I was cantering along on Shakespeare and we were both smelling the flowers and enjoying the sunshine. Everything was perfect—until we came across Professor Goodenough’s egg shed. For no reason at all, Shakespeare snorted in fright then took off in one of his huge sky-scraper leaps.
    At the height of the jump, I looked down. It was totally weird. I could see through the roof of the shed to where all the professor’s eggs had suddenly sprouted wings. And there was Pedro, yapping like a squeaky wheel and having a great time running around on his cotton-reel legs playing chasy with the flying eggs.
    Suddenly, from who-knows-where, this gigantic egg appeared. It split open with a bang and out stepped a baby dinosaur. Thick leathery wings. Fire hiccupping from its mouth. Smell like a rubbish