When Chicken Little arrived at the palace and urgently told the guards that the sky was falling, the other animals had expected the pike wielding soldiers to shoo her off. But they didn’t. The guards immediately let her in and took her straight to the throne room, because they knew their monarch had been a bit depressed lately about the poor raspberry crops and could do with a good laugh.

  Before they knew it, all the animals were walking into the royal throne room. The room itself was magnificent – there were beautiful big tapestries, fancy gold painted furniture and lots of antique porcelain lying about where anyone could accidentally smash it. But when Chicken Little saw the King she was a little taken aback, because the King was in fact a Queen.

  ‘Where’s the King?’ asked Chicken Little.

  ‘There isn’t a King,’ said the Queen. ‘There’s just me, the Queen. I’ve been the monarch here for sixty-two years. Don’t you ever read the newspapers?’

  ‘I can’t read,’ confessed Chicken Little.

  ‘Well, you should learn,’ said the Queen. ‘Apart from many educational benefits of literacy, there are lots of excellent storybooks to enjoy, which might take your mind of pestering me with your problems.’

  ‘But that’s just it,’ said Chicken Little. ‘I have a terrible problem. The sky is falling!’

  ‘What?’ said the Queen.

  ‘The sky is falling,’ said Chicken Little.

  ‘Yes, I thought that’s what you said,’ said the Queen. ‘But it’s so ridiculous that I wasn’t sure if I misheard.’

  ‘But it’s true,’ said Chicken Little.

  ‘Prime Minister,’ said the Queen, summoning an important-looking courtier who stood nearby. ‘Make a note. I want you to immediately set up free universal education for all. It’s one thing to not know how to read, but to not realise that the sky is simply sunlight passing through a combination of gasses held close to the surface of the earth by the universal force of gravitation – that’s just an unacceptable level of ignorance. We must rectify it immediately.’

  ‘Yes, your majesty,’ said the Prime Minister with a bow.

  ‘Now,’ said the Queen, turning back to Chicken Little. ‘This is precisely why you need to learn to read, then read lots of books. If you had read these fabulous stories about Sherlock Holmes, you would be familiar with the notion of deductive reasoning.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Chicken Little.

  ‘It means using common sense to figure something out,’ explained the Queen. ‘Without allowing emotional hysteria to cloud your judgement.’

  ‘But I know it’s true, because when it fell it hurt,’ said Chicken Little.

  ‘Yes, that’s the bit that made you emotional and clouded your judgement,’ said the Queen. ‘Now tell me, where were you standing when you suffered this blow to the head?’

  ‘In the forest,’ said Chicken Little.

  ‘Yes, we know that,’ said the Queen. ‘But where in the forest?’

  ‘Under an oak tree,’ said Chicken Little.

  ‘Ah-hah!’ said the Queen. ‘Did it not occur to you – that instead of a piece of sky falling – that in all probability you were more likely to have been hit by a falling acorn?’

  ‘Or a lump of squirrel poo,’ suggested the cow.

  ‘Yes, another far more likely possibility,’ agreed the Queen.

  ‘Or a rat who lost his footing and fell out of the tree,’ suggested the sheep.

  ‘Also a possibility,’ agreed the Queen.

  ‘Or a rock dropped by another chicken that didn’t like you,’ said the giraffe.

  ‘Another idea, good lateral thinking, highly possible. I’ve only just met you and I’d consider climbing a tree to drop a rock on you,’ said the Queen.

  ‘But it felt like the sky,’ said Chicken Little.

  The Queen was getting tired of using logic to explain the situation to Chicken Little. Fortunately, in the throne room, there was a flower arrangement, and that flower arrangement featured a bough from an oak tree, and that bough had several acorns attached to it. The Queen decided to abandon reason and use demonstration instead. She grabbed one of these acorns and threw it at Chicken Little’s head.

  KAPOW.

  Chicken Little went down like a sack of potatoes.

  ‘Ow,’ said Chicken Little.

  ‘That’s very mean,’ said Boris.

  ‘You have to be firm when you’re a monarch,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Just ask Henry the Eighth. He had two of his wives beheaded. So imagine what he would have done to Chicken Little. She was lucky to just be sconed on the noggin with an acorn.’

  ‘Did it feel like that?’ asked the Queen.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Chicken Little, rubbing her head.

  The Queen threw another acorn.

  ‘Ow!’ cried Chicken Little.

  ‘Does that jog your memory?’ asked the Queen.

  ‘It does feel familiar,’ conceded Chicken Little.

  ‘Now, what have we learned here today?’ asked the Queen.

  Chicken Little thought about everything the wise Queen had said and reflected on her own behaviour. ‘I have learned to apply the scientific principle of reasoning and logic to problem-solving, and not to leap to improbable conclusions, then spread fear among my peers.’

  ‘Very good,’ said the Queen. ‘But not what I was getting at. No, the lesson in this is simple – you need to eat more chocolate. Chocolate is full of calcium, which is essential for healthy bones. A high-chocolate diet will ensure a thick skull that acorns bounce off, so you barely even notice them.’

  Then the Queen treated everyone to giant, royal-sized blocks of chocolate and they all had a tremendous chocolate party. Everyone’s skulls were much thicker from that day forth and they all lived happily ever after.

  The end.

  Fun Fact

  The story of ‘Chicken Little’ as it is known in America, or ‘Henny Penny’ as it is more commonly known in Britain, can be found in storytelling traditions throughout Europe.

  After the Grimm Brothers wrote their collection of German folktales, a lot of writers from other European countries did the same. The story of ‘Kylling Kluk’ was included in an 1823 Danish collection of folk stories (kylling is the Danish word for chicken), but the story could be way older than that.

  There is a very similar story in 2500-year-old Buddhist scriptures from India, in which Buddha tells a story about a hare instead of a chicken. The hare hears falling fruit and thinks the world is coming to an end, the other animals panic and it starts a stampede. A wise lion stops the stampede and uses reason and logic to figure out what really happened. Perhaps this ancient Indian story made its way to Europe when it was told by traders along the Silk Road. (See the Geography of Stories map at the back of this book to see what I mean.)

  ‘Did I ever tell you the story about the twelve dancing pigcesses?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘The twelve dancing what?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘Pigcesses,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘What’s a pigcess?’ asked Michael.

  ‘It’s like a princess, only better because it’s a pig,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  The children paused for a moment to consider this.

  ‘No, you haven’t told us that story,’ said Samantha.

  ‘Is it from the olden story days?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Actually, no,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘It’s a story about my sisters.’

  ‘Surely, that’s not right,’ said Derrick. ‘The twelve dancing princesses was a story from Grimms’ fairytales, which was written two hundred years ago.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. Everyone knows those Grimm brothers were master story collectors (or story thieves) but I strongly suspect they were also time travellers. I thought I saw them at my last birthday party trying to steal a slice of cake. They probably heard about my sisters over the buffet table then rushed back in time to put in their book. Authors are the most despicable people.

  ‘Anyway, the real original story of the twelve dancing pigcesses was about my identical fourteenuplet sisters Anthea, Beatrice, Abigail, Gretel, Deidre, Jeanette, Ursula, Nadia, Sophia, Sue, Charlotte and Wendy.’

  ‘But there are fourteen of you, not twelve,’ Samantha pointed out.

  ‘Ah, but at the time of the events in the story I wasn’t there. I’d been kidnapped by the Ringmaster and forced to become an internationally renowned circus star,’ explained Nanny Piggins.

  ‘That leaves thirteen,’ said Samantha.

  ‘Who else was missing?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘Katerina,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘The one who’s obsessed with vegetables?’ asked Michael.

  ‘Yes,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘She was in prison.’

  ‘What for?’ asked Derrick.

  ‘Forcing a teenager to eat a brussels sprout,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘The judge took a very dim view of the matter. He said it was assault. I think the judge had been traumatised by being forced to eat broccoli as a child, so he had strong views on the subject. He sentenced poor Katerina to five years hard labour.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said Samantha. ‘I don’t like brussels sprouts, but five years . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘She only served five months. That’s how long it took her to weave a rope ladder out of sweetcorn husks. But during those five months is when the events of the story take place.’

  My other twelve sisters were adopted by the King of Bottomlypottscavia.

  ‘I’ve never heard of that country,’ said Derrick.

  ‘No,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  It’s subsequently been shut down. The King was a bit of a fruit loop. He didn’t have any children of his own so he decided to adopt. He had been planning to adopt a baby. But he bumped into my sisters one day and they are all staggeringly beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that it may have caused him to have some sort of stroke or brain injury, or they may have tricked him into eating a slice of mud cake so sweet it sent him into a temporary sugar hallucination. When he regained his senses two weeks later, he had twelve daughters – my sisters – who as we know are all staggeringly beautiful, but despicably evil each in their own unique way.

  The King really did want to have children so he decided to make the most of it. He gave them a room in the castle, bought them the finest clothes and the most beautiful shoes befitting a princess. And thought that would be that.

  Suffice it to say – that was not that.

  You see the problem with having twelve children is that they are devilishly expensive to keep. Especially when they’re princesses and they like nice things.

  ‘And my sisters particularly liked nice . . .’

  ‘Cake?’ guessed Michael.

  ‘Of course!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘They weren’t brain damaged. But that wasn’t the problem – the problem was their shoes.’

  ‘A lot of stories seem to revolve around shoes, or cobblers and elves having to make shoes,’ observed Derrick.

  ‘That’s because bakers are too busy baking cake and making people happy to lark around making up stories about themselves,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘But I digress.’

  The King’s problem was the shoes. Twelve pairs of pigcess-worthy shoes are expensive!’

  ‘If father had to buy us a new pair of shoes each day,’ said Samantha, ‘I think he’d just chop our feet off.’

  ‘Good gracious, Samantha, what a horrible thought,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘An accurate observation of your father’s character, but a horrible thought. This may be one of Grimms’ fairytales, but it’s not that grim.’

  No, the King was getting angry because every night the pigcesses would go to bed like normal pigcesses. But, come the morning, their shoes would be entirely worn out as if they had spent the whole night dancing. He tried locking them in their room, but still every night the pigcesses would somehow escape, go dancing and totally wreck their footwear.

  The King didn’t know what to do. Royalty aren’t great problem-solvers. So he offered a prize. Any man who could figure out how the pigcesses were wrecking their shoes could pick one of the pigcesses to marry AND he would become heir to the kingdom.

  ‘He must have really hated paying for shoes,’ said Michael.

  ‘He did,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘But he didn’t want to make it easy. The King didn’t want just any old ninny-hammer getting his job. There was a catch.’

  The contenders would have three nights to figure out how the pigcesses were doing it. If, after that time, they couldn’t explain the damaged footwear, not only would they not get to marry a pigcess, they would also not get to keep their head.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Michael.

  ‘The King would chop their head off,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Whoa, that’s crazy,’ said Michael.

  ‘Yes, insanity does tend to run in royal families,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘It’s all the crown-wearing. It crushes the brain and makes them do the silliest things.’

  So anyway, the first contender was a prince from a neighbouring kingdom. He was seriously good looking, so he thought he’d figure it out in no time. Sadly, this confidence was entirely caused by pretty-privilege. He was so lovely to behold, no one had ever had the heart to tell him he was an idiot, which he was.

  The prince watched over the pigcesses for three nights in a row, but he didn’t hear or see a thing. And yet each night, the pigcesses danced their shoes to ruin. So on the third day the King kept his promise and chopped the prince’s head off.

  ‘How horrible,’ said Boris.

  ‘I know,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  But it didn’t deter the contenders. Next, a scientist came to observe the pigcesses, confident that with rational thinking and logic he would work it out. But after three days, he still had no idea, so the King chopped his head off too.

  ‘That must have hurt,’ said Boris.

  The next contender was a clown.

  ‘A clown,’ said Michael.

  ‘Yes, he ran away from the circus to give it a go,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘And he got the pigcesses to reveal the secret by making them laugh?’ guessed Derrick.

  ‘No,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  He spent the whole three days making balloon animals and didn’t learn a thing. So the King chopped his head off too.

  ‘How dastardly,’ said Boris.

  ‘He chopped the heads off the balloon animals as well,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘He was not a terribly nice King.’

  By this stage there weren’t a lot of people interested in trying to figure out how the pigcesses were ruining their shoes. True, they were pretty, and being a King would be nice, but you can’t enjoy it if you’re headless. So all the well-known princes, scientists and entertainers stayed away.

  Now, it just so happened that at this time there was a soldier passing through the kingdom. He had been discharged from the army because of an injury. One night, as he was sitting by his campfire, an old lady pig, all bent over and wizened, drew near.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said the wizened old crone. ‘Would you mind terribly if I sat by your fire? It is such a cold night.’

  The soldier knew how awful it was to be cold so he immediately said, ‘Yes’. And he knew how awful it was to be hungry, so he offered the old crone one of his biscuits. Soldiers’ biscuits aren’t the best biscuits. They’re no iced vovos and they never have chocolate chips, but a mediocre biscuit is a gazillion times better than no biscuit, so the old crone took it gratefully.

  ‘Where do you go from here?’ asked the crone.

  ‘I thought I might try to win one of the royal pigcesses,’ said the soldier, half joking.

  ‘Because you have been so kind and generous to me,’ said the crone. ‘I shall give you a gift to help you. I shall give you . . . my cloak.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of taking your cloak,’ said the soldier. ‘You’d be cold.’ He actually didn’t care about that, but the cloak was bright pink and very frilly, and while it looked fabulous on the crone, he knew it wouldn’t suit his colouring.

  ‘It is a magical cloak,’ said the crone. ‘You see, I am not an ordinary crone. I am a pig-witch!’

  As she said this, the light from the fire shone against her face and the soldier realised that the crone was younger than he had realised.

  ‘My cloak,’ continued the crone. ‘Will give you the power to hide yourself. When you wear it, you will become . . . completely invisible!’

  The soldier liked the sound of this. He definitely didn’t want to be visible if he was wearing something so ridiculous.

  ‘My other gift is . . . wisdom,’ said the crone. ‘Mark my words. When you go to watch the pigcesses – do not eat anything they give you.’

  ‘Because it will be high in calories and I should watch my weight?’ asked the soldier.

  ‘No, because they have been tricking the other contenders with sleeping cake,’ said the crone.

  ‘Gosh!’ exclaimed the soldier. ‘Thanks for the tip.’

  So the next day, the soldier went to the castle and presented himself. The king was glad to see him. He wanted to solve the shoe problem, but he also enjoyed chopping heads off – so he was going to enjoy the next three days either way.

  The soldier was shown to the walk-in wardrobe of the pigcesses’ bedroom. He was to sleep in there so he could keep an eye on them during the night. As the soldier lay down, the oldest sister brought him a slice of chocolate mud cake. It looked delicious. The soldier’s instinct was to shove the whole thing in his mouth at once. But he remembered the wise words of the crone and instead, when she wasn’t looking, he shoved the cake down the front of his shirt. Then lay down and made snoring noises to pretend to be asleep.

  As soon as the pigcesses heard his snoring they leapt up and put on their dancing shoes. Then they slid aside the bed belonging to the eldest sister. Underneath it there was a trapdoor, which led down into a staircase. They all hurried down it.

  The soldier put his pink cloak about his shoulders, became invisible and rushed after them. When they emerged from the bottom of the staircase, the soldier followed the pigcesses out into a forest of banana cake. It was the most beautiful cake he had ever seen.