The Phantom Gears of Cotgrave

The school holidays continue, but the sky-high adventures of the Cloud-Clipper are about to take a dramatic plunge beneath the earth! On the journey back from their legendary Scottish rescue, the overcharged Wish-Shell causes a catastrophic electrical-blue magic overload. With its Aether-Engine failing, the Cloud-Clipper drops from the sky, making a dramatic emergency landing right on the local canal! Stranded on the water, Eli and his talking animal crew discover a hidden clue beneath the driver's mat: The Creator's Blueprint. The map reveals that to fix their flying steam-bus, they must find a replacement Clockwork Heart hidden eighty yards beneath the old Cotgrave Colliery. To get there, they must power up the Teapot Turbine, navigate traditional canal locks, and brave a pack of stray farm dogs with the help of a clever red fox named Copper. But the real danger waits deep underground in the hollowed-out wastes known as the Gob. Captured by the cruel Goblin King and thrown into a dungeon, Eli and his friends find themselves trapped in a subterranean kingdom where massive, blind moles are enslaved to dig for jewels. To survive, escape, and claim the Clockwork Heart, Eli must team up with a brave rebel mole named Bramble, outsmart the goblin guards, and find a way to bring peace and equality to a broken kingdom. Can Eli restore the heartbeat of the Cloud-Clipper before the holiday ends? Or will the crew be trapped in the deep dark forever? The Phantom Gears of Cotgrave is the thrilling second instalment in the Tales of the Cloud-Clipper series. Perfect for readers aged 8-12 who love cosy steampunk mysteries, brave animal companions, and classic British adventures. Grab your copy today and dive into Eli's next magical holiday mission!

For Eli, the real world always slipped away with a familiar pattern. First came the smell of damp earth and crushed clover. Then, the rhythmic hush-hush of the wind passing through the heavy green canopy of the massive, ancient oak tree that guarded the banks of the Grantham Canal in Gamston. Eli would lean his back against the rough, reassuring bark, close his eyes to the grey Nottinghamshire drizzle, and let his mind drift. It was beneath these protective, sweeping branches that his adventures un-folded. In the waking world, Eli was just a lonely ten-year-old boy. But in the golden, sun-drenched dreams of the oak tree, he was the captain of the Cloud-Clipper—a sleek, deep-green single-decker flying bus, salvaged from the airfield boneyard and given wings. But this evening, the dream was not starting peacefully. A high-pitched ping-whir-ping echoed through the passenger deck, vibrating right up through the soles of Eli’s trainers. It was the exact sound a metal kettle might make if it were trying to fly, which, under the circumstances, wasn't entirely inaccurate. "Watch the altitude, Barnaby!" Eli called out, bracing himself against a glossy, painted handrail. At the front of the bus, Barnaby 'Barn-Owl' Higgins stood proudly on his hind legs, his tiny paws gripping the oversized steering wheel. The Yorkshire Terrier’s long, silvery-tan whiskers whipped in the wind blowing through the open driver’s window. He barked a sharp, Yorkshire-accented reply, adjusted his leather aviator goggles, and steered them deeper into the sunset sky. Below them, the canal wound through the countryside like a ribbon of dark glass. From eighty feet up, the giant oak tree where Eli’s physical body lay asleep looked like nothing more than a tiny broccoli floret dropped in the grass. It had been three days since they returned from Scotland, where they had successfully rescued Vanessa the Loch Ness monster. Tucked safely in Eli’s coat pocket was the magical, opalescent Wish-Shell given to him by Findlay the old heron. It still thrummed with a gentle, comforting warmth. Unfortunately, the Cloud-Clipper’s engine wasn't handling the residual magic nearly as well. "He's pushing her too hard!" a frantic voice squeaked from the ceiling. A small, rust-coloured blur dropped from the luggage rack, landing squarely on Eli’s shoulder. It was Pippin 'Pip' Hazelnut, the ship’s engineer. A tiny brass spanner was tucked into the pocket of his denim dungarees, and his tail was fluffed up to twice its normal size with anxiety. "The Aether-Engine is coughing blue sparks, Eli!" Pip chattered, pointing a trembling paw toward the rear booth. "The Wish-Shell’s energy overloaded the main intake valve. Look at the pressure dial!" Eli looked back toward the rear seat, which had been completely replaced by an intricate maze of copper pipes, glass tubes, and whirring brass cogs. Normally, the glass tubes glowed a soft, steady amber. Tonight, they were pulsing with a wild, erratic, electric-blue light. "Anyone for a calming cup of Earl Grey?" Florence Thistlethwaite trundled out from the small kitchenette area, expertly guiding her signature tea trolley down the bus's center aisle. The plump hedgehog was wearing her favourite floral apron, balancing the jolting movements of the floor as she pushed a steaming teapot and a plate of jam tarts. "I find that when the machinery starts smoking, a good brew settles the nerves," Florence said soothingly, her nose twitching. "I must advise against consuming hot liquids during an imminent mechanical failure," Professor Hopkirk intoned. The scholarly toad poked his head out from a leather satchel resting on a passenger seat, surrounded by heavy, musty history books. He adjusted his round, wire-rimmed spectacles with a webbed finger. "According to my calculations, if the pressure exceeds thirty-two pascals, we shall experience what the locals call a 'sticky landing' right into the canal." Right on cue, the Cloud-Clipper gave a massive THUMP. The electric-blue light in the tubes flared blindingly bright. The bus shuddered, its single-decker frame groaning as the shimmering, bird-like wings fixed to its green sides tilted violently. "Welly! Wake up!" Eli shouted. At the back of the bus, a massive, shaggy Old English Sheepdog was curled up on a tartan blanket, snoring like a foghorn. Wellington didn't open his eyes, but his left ear twitched. In his sleep, he rolled over, his heavy paw landing squarely against the emergency exit door, jamming it shut just as a loose piece of luggage slid toward it. Welly’s legendary "sleep-guarding" was working perfectly, even if he wasn't technically conscious. "Rory! Put that back!" Pip shrieked suddenly. A sleek, mischievous pine marten with an impossibly glossy coat was hanging upside down from the roof lining, a stolen copper washer clamped firmly in his teeth. Rory gave a cheeky wink, flipped in mid-air, and bolted under a seat as a cloud of thick, violet smoke erupted from the engine block. The Cloud-Clipper’s engine gave one final, dramatic sputter-pop, and stopped completely. The roaring wind died. The steady vibration vanished. The flying green bus was suddenly suspended in a breathless, terrifying silence, hovering directly over the waters of the Grantham Canal as the nose began to point down. "Barnaby, glide us in!" Eli yelled, gripping the back of the driver's seat. Pip gripped Eli’s collar for dear life, his squirrel eyes wide. "We're losing altitude! If we don't land right now, Eli, the Clipper is going to drop like a stone!" As the fields of Gamston rushed up to meet them, Eli reached into his pocket and gripped the warm Wish-Shell. Even in a dream, the danger felt terrifyingly real.