About the Book

  After failing to apprehend some dangerously peck-happy hens, the LEAGUE OF LLAMAS are going undercover!

  But these aren’t any ordinary secret identities – Phillipe, Lloyd and Elloise are joining Bruno Llamars (and his grumpy manager, Wally Chimpopo) as band members on the pop star’s next tour . . . to Chickenlovakia.

  As the stakes – and tensions – climb higher and higher, will the LOL agents’ cover be blown before they can track down their feathery foes? Only time, and some rather alarming discoveries, will tell!

  Get ready to rock ‘n’ LOL

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  About the Author

  Collect Them All

  Imprint

  Read more at Penguin Books Australia

  Phillipe Llamar – aka LOL Agent 0011 – was in trouble.

  Not only was he lying bound and gagged in the cargo hold of a Chickenlovakian spy plane, he was also surrounded by three of the meanest hens he’d ever met. He hoped that his partner, Elloise, had escaped.

  ‘Bok-bok!’ the red hen clucked. ‘Tell us who you vork for. Come on, ve vant to hear it from your big, fat, hairy lips.’

  ‘And get a move on,’ the black hen added. ‘Before ve peck your eyes out.’

  Phillipe worked for the League of Llamas, a top-secret agency of elite llama spies run by the Llama Republic Government. Not that he was about to admit as much to the chickens.

  ‘Hurry up!’ the white hen – who Phillipe had learned was named Hilda – said, her eyes glinting as she pecked him on the head. ‘Ve haven’t got all day, you scruffy alpaca.’

  Phillipe blanched. He’d been called many horrible things, but the thing he hated being called the most was an alpaca.

  ‘Mff-mff-mff-mff-mff . . .’ Having a gag in his mouth didn’t help Phillipe or his situation. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t:

  (a) give the hen a serve for calling him an alpaca, or

  (b) lie about who he worked for.

  The red hen, who was called Freda, tugged the gag from Phillipe’s mouth. Unfortunately, she used her beak to do it, which made Phillipe’s three stomachs heave.

  ‘Eww! You touched my mouth with your beak,’ he gasped.

  Hilda kicked Phillipe with her scrawny, yet surprisingly strong, foot. ‘Enough! Tell us who you vork for or ve’ll use your head as a pecking bag.’

  ‘Come on,’ the black hen, Zelda, said. ‘Spit it out.’

  At the mention of spit, a teeny-weeny lightbulb pinged on in Phillipe’s head. If only he wasn’t so dehydrated, he might have been able to produce enough saliva to fight the chickens off.

  The peck-happy brood had ambushed Phillipe several hours ago. He’d been on their tail for days, having taken up the chase after his last successful mission, bringing a rather gross gecko to justice. Of course, being trussed up, tossed in a plane and taken – he suspected – to Chickenlovakia hadn’t quite been part of the plan when he’d set out to track down the group responsible for stealing important files from a Llama Republic government department.

  ‘I’m an innocent llama,’ Phillipe said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Phillipe received a peck to the head for his troubles. ‘Look who has egg on their face now,’ Hilda clucked. ‘Ve know you’re a spy. Admit it! Tell us all your secrets.’ The hen’s eyes bulged as she paused momentarily. ‘Oh, vait. Ve already have them.’ She held up a long, thin cylinder. ‘Llama Republic government secrets. Ha-ha! You lose!’

  ‘You’ve got the wrong llama, I swear.’ He sucked his tongue, desperately trying to work up some saliva. Come on spit, don’t fail me now.

  ‘Ve think not.’ Hilda strutted around Phillipe as he lay helpless on the floor, pecking at his head, legs and stomach.

  Phillipe shrieked and squirmed.

  ‘I know, girls,’ Hilda cackled, ‘let’s have a pecking competition.’

  Her hench-hens clucked in agreement. ‘How egg-citing! Yes, let’s!’

  ‘On your marks, get set . . .’

  ‘Anything but the pecking,’ Phillipe sobbed. ‘I’ll tell you every–’

  KUNG! POW! CHICKEN!

  An explosion sounded at the front of the plane, causing it to lurch wildly.

  The chickens squawked and flapped their wings. While they were distracted, Phillipe stretched his head as far as he could to the left. Then he stretched his neck, then his tongue. By a feat of pure anatomical miracle, he pressed his tongue against the LIT watch on his wrist.

  LIT stood for Llama in Trouble. The handy gadget was a distress beacon that sent coordinates to LOL HQ when an agent was in trouble.

  ‘Egg alert!’ Hilda shrieked. ‘Ve’ve been hit. Freda, go see if ve’re still on auto-pilot.’

  Freda stalked towards the cockpit. As Phillipe finally drew back on his spit, the door burst open with such force that it knocked Freda on her backside. The little red hen dropped to the floor, out cold.

  Elloise Llamaresky – aka LOL Agent 0077 – stepped into the cargo hold, a look of determination on her face. ‘Step away from the llama,’ she said.

  ‘Bok-bok! Vhat’s this?’ Hilda asked. ‘A stowavay?’

  ‘It’s a plague of alpacas!’ Zelda squawked.

  Phillipe spat on the ropes binding him. The spit greased his wrists, allowing him to slip out of the ties. In no time at all, he was standing.

  Elloise advanced, throwing kicks and punches at the foully-behaved fowls. Phillipe watched in awe as feathers flew. ‘That’s what you get for hen-pecking my friend,’ Elloise said.

  Seriously outgunned by the female llama, the hens made a hasty retreat.

  ‘Time to fly the coop!’ Hilda said, ducking under Elloise’s legs.

  Zelda followed, grabbing hold of the unconscious Freda. The hens threw tiny parachutes onto their backs and opened the cargo-hold door. Everything in the cabin was immediately pulled towards the gaping hole. With one final ‘Bok-bok!’ Hilda and Zelda jumped out of the plane, taking Freda with them.

  In danger of also being sucked out of the aircraft, Elloise and Phillipe held on for dear life. Their eyes met across the windy, noisy plane.

  ‘You saved me,’ Phillipe shouted.

  ‘Not yet,’ Elloise shouted back. ‘There’s still the small matter of that open door.’

  ‘I’ll check for more parachutes,’ Phillipe said.

  He pulled himself around the cabin, struggling against the vortex of rushing air that threatened to yank him out into the open sky. ‘For llama’s sake, come on!’ he cried in panic, before his gaze fell upon a tiny green square of material. He held it up. ‘There’s only one parachute left. You take it.’

  Elloise’s eyebrows jumped. ‘I appreciate your generosity, but that’s a chicken parachute and it’s the size of a sandwich. It’ll never hold me.’

  ‘I guess this is it, then,’ Phillipe said. ‘We’re going down with the plane.’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’ Elloise grabbed hold of a large, fluffy bag secured nearby.

  A pillow.

  Filled with chicken feathers.

  Elloise pointed to a similar bag secured near Phillipe. ‘Grab it and follow me!’

  Phillipe’s eyes bulged.

  Follow her where? he wondered.

  Before he could stop her, Elloise leapt out the open cargo-hold door.

  Phillipe gulped.

  Did she just do what I think she did? That is one crazy-brave llama right there.

  Music started playing in Phillipe’s head. It was always the same when he was around Elloise.

  When you’re in love with a beautiful llama . . .

  Rainbows swirled before Phillipe’s eyes. He couldn’t help it. There was so much that he admired about Elloise. She was smart, strong and brave. She was everything he wanted to be.

  Phillipe blinked, coming back to reality. If he stayed in the plane he’d die. If he jumped, he’d also die. But Elloise had told him to follow her, and he trusted her.

  ‘Geroni-llama!’

  Agent 0011 plummeted towards the earth, his lips flapping like wet sheets on a washing line in a tropical cyclone. Spotting Elloise below, he copied her stance. Stiff body, back legs straight out behind him and front legs reaching forward as he grasped the chicken feather pillow for dear life.

  How will we land safely? he wondered.

  Phillipe was going so fast he managed to catch up to Elloise. She gave him the hooves up sign, asking if he was okay.

  Phillipe nodded. Everything was far from okay, but he wasn’t going to let Elloise see his hesitation. She was a dare-llama, so today he was too. Still, he couldn’t stop a million thoughts and memories flashing through his mind, most of them featuring the times he and Lloyd had been on missions together.

  Lloyd.

  His one regret before his certain death was that he
wouldn’t get to say goodbye to his faithful sidekick and secret agent companion.

  Phillipe shook his head, refocusing on the present to see Elloise point at a lake below, indicating they should aim for it. Phillipe positioned the pillow beneath him, careful not to let it go in the whipping wind. His heart pounded as the ground rushed towards him.

  ‘Skree-skree-skree-skraaaaaaaaaaaaaa!’ he shouted, letting out the llama alarm cry as feathers exploded all around him.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Something was rapping on Phillipe’s head, pulling him out of a dream where he and Elloise were eating at a Taco Llama restaurant. He was about to bite into a clover and mint taco when a chicken started pecking his head.

  The chickens are back, Phillipe thought groggily. I hate being hen-pecked . . .

  ‘Phillipe! Are you alive?’

  ‘Please, no more pecking.’ Phillipe woke with a start, instinctively pronking high into the air, legs stiff and straight. The good old llama flight response.

  When Phillipe landed, he spotted a familiar llama face. ‘Lloyd! Pfft! Boy, am I glad to see . . . Pfft!’ He hugged Lloyd, spitting out feathers as he did so. ‘Pfft! Where’s Elloise?’

  ‘Right here.’ Elloise ran over, feathers floating in her wake. ‘We made it!’

  ‘Pfft! I thought we were going to die,’ Phillipe said.

  ‘How did you find us?’ Elloise asked Lloyd.

  ‘Pfft!’ A feather shot out of Phillipe’s mouth and straight into Lloyd’s eye.

  ‘Oh, LIT,’ said Lloyd Llamanator, aka Agent 0013.

  ‘I’d prefer if you didn’t use bad language.’ Elloise sniffed.

  ‘I didn’t swear,’ Lloyd replied. ‘I said, “LIT”. You know, Llama in Trouble. Someone pressed the beacon so I was able to target your coordinates. Although, I admit, tracking you was tricky after you JUMPED OUT OF A PLANE WITHOUT PARACHUTES!’

  Phillipe tried calming his friend, insisting the stunt wasn’t a big deal while they made their way back to the top-secret LOL HQ base under Mount Killamamanjaro. As their red llamaborghini pulled up to the compound, automatic sensors scanned Lloyd’s retina and hidden doors in the mountain opened, letting them in before closing behind them. They parked the car in the reception chamber and headed eleven floors down in the lift.

  When the elevator opened, the secret agents strode along wide marble corridors, passing llamas of all sizes, shapes and colours. Eventually, they came to Mama Llama’s office, where they knocked and entered.

  ‘Glad to see you’re all safe,’ the LOL boss said.

  ‘The Chickenlovakians spotted us tailing them,’ Elloise said.

  Mama Llama shook her head. ‘I’ve had those fiendish fowls in my sights ever since their botched egg-ssassination attempt on President Ollama. They’re too close to that odious badger, Bottomburp, and helping him escape our grasp in their chicken-copter was a big no-no in my eyes. They have the missing files, I’m certain of it.’

  General Ignatius Bottomburp was a thorn in LOL’s woolly side. He was notorious for spying on the Llama Republic, working with unfriendly nations like the Chickenlovakians and doing smelly parps wherever he went.

  ‘We need to get our files back and stop those chickens once and for all.’ Mama Llama held up a hoof. ‘And I have just the llama who can help.’

  ‘A famous llama singer flies out for Chickenlovakia this evening,’ Mama Llama said. ‘He started as a LlamaTube sensation and now he’s a star in his own right. It’s the first time an outsider has been allowed behind the Iron Wing in decades and it’s the perfect opportunity for you to infiltrate the country . . . deep undercover.’

  As Mama Llama spoke, Lloyd sidled over to the umbrella plant in the corner.

  ‘It’s too dangerous getting you in over enemy lines any other way. The Chickenlovakian PELLET radar system is impenetrable and you’re all familiar with their deadly chicken-copter. The quickest, safest way in is with this popstar. The bonus is that he’s worked with us before because of his free ticket to travel anywhere.’

  ‘LOL has a secret celebrity spy?’ Phillipe murmured.

  Mama Llama nodded.

  ‘Not as effective as us, obviously,’ Lloyd said.

  Mama Llama grimaced. ‘Well . . .’

  Phillipe crossed his front legs defiantly. ‘I’m not babysitting a spoilt popstar.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know who it is first?’ Mama Llama selected the music app on her L-Phone. A familiar song played on the office speakers.

  And when you smile

  The whole world stops and stares for a while

  ’Cause girl you’re llamazing

  Just the way you are

  Mama Llama tapped the music off. ‘Any idea who that was?’

  ‘I know.’ Elloise clapped her hooves together. ‘It’s Bruno Llamars, one of my favourite singers. I love him!’

  Phillipe’s ears pricked up. ‘Did you say Bruno Llamars?’

  ‘I did indeed,’ Mama Llama said.

  Phillipe smiled. ‘When do we start?’

  Before Mama Llama could reply, Lloyd let out a strangled cough. ‘Help! I think my throat is closing over.’ He slumped onto the sofa, clutching his neck. ‘Can’t . . . breathe.’

  ‘Oh my llama!’ Phillipe rushed to Lloyd’s side. ‘He’s been poisoned. Who would have done this?’

  Mama Llama shoved Phillipe out of the way and leaned over Agent 0013. ‘Lloyd, stick out your tongue.’

  When Lloyd obeyed, Phillipe recoiled in shock. His friend’s tongue was orange.

  ‘I knew it,’ Mama Llama said. ‘You’ve been eating my plant, haven’t you?’

  Lloyd’s eyes bugged. ‘Can’t . . . speak.’

  ‘I got the Tech Lab to create a coloured spray so I could identify what was eating my plant,’ Mama Llama explained. ‘I sprayed the sofa too. Don’t worry. The paralysis and burning will go away in a few hours.’

  Lloyd looked stricken. ‘A few hours?’

  Mama Llama took a rubber chicken from her desk drawer and threw it at Lloyd. It squawked as it bounced off his stomach. ‘Next time you’re tempted to nibble on something, use the chew toy instead.’

  Phillipe wanted to ask for one too, but now didn’t seem like the right time.

  ‘Report to the Disguise Department.’ Mama Llama sat down, steepling her hooves in front of her. ‘If we’re going to pass you off as band members, you need to look the part.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Phillipe spun around so Mama Llama could take in his transformation.

  No longer was he cool, calm, suave Agent 0011. Now, thanks to his deceptive disguise, he was a back-up singer and guitarist for Bruno Llamars. Phillipe wore ripped black jeans, a sleeveless flannelette shirt, a red bandana and silver chains around his neck. His luxuriantly long fringe had been streaked blond and teased so the roots stood high on his head before flopping down over his face.

  ‘You look sharp,’ Mama Llama said.

  Lloyd, who was going undercover as Bruno’s drummer, wore acid-wash jeans and a matching jacket. He scratched behind his ear with one of his newly acquired drumsticks. ‘Phillipe doesn’t look like a pencil.’

  ‘It’s a turn of phrase, Lloyd,’ Phillipe said. ‘We’ve talked about these before.’

  ‘We have?’ Lloyd asked.

  Phillipe’s reply flew out of his mind when Elloise strode in wearing a pink sequined dress with knee-high boots. Gold hoop earrings hung from her lovely banana-shaped ears, and her hair had been straightened so it hung like a silky sheet around her face.

  There was only one word to describe her: GLLAMAROUS.

  ‘Be careful over there,’ Mama Llama said, hugging Elloise. ‘You’ll have no support from HQ while you’re behind the Iron Wing. You’ll only have each other.’

  Phillipe elbowed Lloyd. ‘I swear, those two act like family. Why don’t we get a hug?’