The Day the Hearbeat Stopped

The school holidays are stretching out long and quiet for ten-year-old Eli, until an ancient tree opens the door to a dream world... and a legendary rescue mission. When Eli falls asleep tucked into the massive roots of an old oak tree next to the local canal, he expects to wake up to the quiet lapping of the water. Instead, he opens his eyes to the roaring engine of the Cloud-Clipper - a wondrous, flying steam-bus sailing through a breath-taking sky realm! Guided by an ancient, wise heron named Findlay, Eli steps into his role as captain and assembles an eccentric crew of talking animal companions. To help him on his journey, Findlay entrusts Eli with a magical, opalescent Wish-Shell. But their very first voyage takes them far from the safety of the clouds, charting a daring course all the way to the mist-shrouded waters of Scotland. Deep in the highlands, a legendary creature is in desperate need of help. Eli and his crew must pull off a brilliant rescue to save Vanessa - the Loch Ness monster! But when the mission succeeds, Vanessa's ancient gratitude fills the Wish-Shell to the very brim, causing it to surge with a pure, raw magic that changes Eli's holiday adventures forever. What is the secret of the Wish-Shell, and how will its newfound power affect their next journey? Find out in this heart-warming, beautifully illustrated portal fantasy that blends the magical charm of classic British folklore. The Day the Heartbeat Stopped is the enchanting first instalment in the Tales of the Cloud-Clipper series. Join Eli on his first magical holiday adventure!

The long, quiet days of the summer school holidays always felt a little heavier for Eli. While the other children from the nearby cottage estates were away on busy family trips, Eli spent his Tuesday afternoons exploring the sun-drenched fields of Gamston. It was a stiflingly quiet day, the kind where the air felt thick and still. Eli sat cross-legged in the tall reeds along the banks of the Grantham Canal, idly tossing bits of dandelion fluff into the slow-movingwater. From here, he could hear the distant, comforting rumble of training aircraft taking off from the airfield, their propellers buzzing lazily against the blue sky. He often fell asleep under the massive, ancient oak tree that guarded the canal bank, dreaming of adventures that would carry him far beyond Nottinghamshire. His lonely summer changed forever when a great bird landed with a soft flap-flap on the wooden beam of the Gamston lock gates. It was Findlay, an old, regal Grey Heron who stood as straight as a king. Findlay did not fly away from the boy. Instead, he tucked his long neck into his shoulders, fixed Eli with an ancient, golden eye, and began to speak in a voice like dry reeds rubbing together in a November wind. He told Eli of a grand world far beyond the canal—about the jagged, mist-shrouded peaks of the Scottish Highlands, and a body of water so deep and dark that it held a secret the rest of the world had spent centuries trying to find. "They call her a monster, Eli," Findlay croaked softly, looking down at his own long, spindly legs reflected in the calm water. "The humans hunt for her with big boats and flashing lights, calling out for 'Nessie'. But to those of us who truly know the deep water, her name is Vanessa. And she is the gentlest soul in all of Scotland." With a slow, majestic sweep of his beak, Findlay recounted the legendary Tangled Fishing Line Rescue. Decades ago, when he was a young, adventurous bird, he had flown north, only to find Vanessa trapped in the absolute dark of the loch floor, her great flippers hopelessly snagged in a discarded deep-water trawler net. "The land animals could not reach her," Findlay whispered, his feathers rustling. "But a heron is built for both the shallows and the depths. I dived into that freezing, peat-black water. It took three days and three nights, picking at the heavy ropes with my beak until my chest burned for air, but I cut her free. When she rose to the surface, she didn’t roar. She gently nudged my feathers, and the water grew warm around us." As the grand tale faded back into the quiet hum of the canal, Eli noticed a mystical object tucked safely beneath the heron’s folded wing. It looked like a large, ancient freshwater mussel shell, but its smooth inner surface shimmered with a strange, deep-loch emerald glow, like the rainbow oil that floats on puddles or the scales of a magical fish. "What is it, Findlay?" Eli asked, leaning forward on his knees. "What does it do?" Findlay lowered his head, his long beak gently nudging the smooth, cool shell out of his feathers and onto the grass by Eli's sneakers. "When I cut Vanessa free all those years ago, I swore a sacred vow to her," Findlay croaked softly. "I promised that no matter how many miles lay between us, if she was ever in true danger again, I would find a way to help. She gave me this shell to hold me to that promise. It is bound to her spirit. It doesn't matter if I am standing here by the Gamston locks or flying over the open sea—if Vanessa needs me, the shell will speak. Lift it to your ear, Eli. Listen to the heart of the Highlands." Eli knelt in the damp mud and picked up the shell. As he pressed it to his ear, a wide smile spread across his face. From hundreds of miles away in Scotland, a deep, slow, comforting thump... thump... thump... echoed clearly through the shimmering, moonlit curves of the shell. It was the rhythm of Vanessa’s giant heartbeat, steady and peaceful in the dark waters of Loch Ness. But then, the rhythm violently shattered. The slow heartbeat skipped, instantly turning into a frantic, terrified thud-thud-thud-thud. Eli winced as a harsh, deafening metallic scraping sound tore through the shell, followed by a low, booming rumble that vibrated right against his palm. Then, the line went completely, chillingly dead. Only a cold, hollow wind whistled out of the dark contours of the shell. "She needs help," Findlay whispered, his great feathered shoulders sagging as his golden eyes filled with despair. "I do not know what has happened in those deep, dark waters, Eli, but her heart has never cried out like this before. Something is terribly wrong. The vow must be answered." The old heron looked down at his own frail, trembling talons. "But my wings are too old. The harsh northern winds would break me before I ever reached the Scottish border, and she does not have time for a bird who must stop to rest." Eli looked down at the silent, cold shell in his hands, then looked up past the ancient oak tree toward the distant runway of the airfield, where the sound of roaring test engines echoed over the fields. His lonely heart suddenly sparked with a fierce, burning determination. "You won't have to fly, Findlay," Eli said, standing up straight. "We need something that can run like a racecar and fly like a plane to get to her in time. I know exactly where to look." Eli turned to sprint toward the airfield perimeter, but the sharp, heavy tap of Findlay’s beak on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. "Wait, Eli," the heron croaked softly, gently nudging the shimmering shell back into the boy’s hands. "I cannot join you on this journey. My place is here, guarding the gates of the canal. But you must take the shell with you. When you reach the deep loch, show it to her. When Vanessa sees this shell, she will know that I cannot come—but she will also know that I have sent my very best friend to save her." Eli clutched the cool, iridescent shell tight against his chest, nodding fiercely. "I won't let either of you down, Findlay." With the shell secure, Eli spun around and raced into the late afternoon, heading straight for the boneyard to awaken a legend.