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Flooded England, 2216 ...

Lilly Melkun has outwitted the bloodthirsty reavers - who prowl the waters that cover most of England - and has escaped to Cambridge. But Lilly is far from safe, because still in her keeping is PSAI, the last hand-held computer in existence - a now malfunctioning treasure from the past.

Inside the jewel-like computer is a sinister-looking chip with an unknown purpose. Worse follows, when the professors of Cambridge plug it into an ancient mainframe computer, setting in motion a fiery chain of events leading back to London.  

A false anti-terrorist alert has been activated. Strange, out-of-control robots from a long-ago technological time threaten to use ‘maximum force’ to control everything in their way. Once again, it’s up to Lilly, Zeph and friends to save the world from burning.

The sequel to Flood Child, winner of the 2008 Times/Chicken House Children’s Fiction Competition.

Flood Child was shortlisted for the Branford Boase Award 2009. To date more than 100,000 copies have been sold.

It was also selected for Booked Up, the UK government scheme offering free books to every 11-year old. Rights have also been sold to 18 countries.

Cat sits bolt up and puts a paw on my hand, like he wants to steer the tiller.

‘Meow.’ he says, his eyes glinting gold-green in the night.

‘What is it?’

‘Meow!’ he says, his claws prickling into my skin. At the bow, Lexy lets out a squawk, then claps her hand over her mouth.

‘Up ahead!’ she whispers through her fingers, ‘There’s a hall.’

A dark lump of thatch against the star twinkling night, sat above the marsh on its stilts. Only a bend of the creek away, and probably stuffed full of reavers, just like the others we’ve snuck past these last weeks, since the battle at the Black Water.  I thought we’d get off easy after that, sail for the Last Ten Counties. But even next day there was reaver boats pacing the coast, and there wasn’t a chance of getting past them. So there was nowhere to go but further back into the marshes, hoping we’d find a sneaky way through, somewhere we could squeak back out to sea and head for home.

But it ent turned out that way, cos these marshes are full of reavers too. And they’re why we ended sailing at night, and hiding out in the marshes all the midge biting days, scared stiff some reaver’d come poking in the reeds and find us. They’re why we ent eaten anything cept the last of my biscuits, eked out in pieces, and the tiddling marsh fish and samphire we been able to find. And they’re how come we’ve ended up sailing in circles, lost so bad I ent even sure how get us back to Angel Isling, waters where Zeph could help us. I get a flash of his cocky-looking face and bright blue eyes, and I wish he was with us now.

 ‘There aren’t any candles burning.’ whispers Lexy.

‘They must be asleep’ I say, hoping.

‘I don’t feel well.’ comes a voice. From a head, bobbing in the air between me and Lexy, that could be a man, could be a woman and that’s glowing from inside, like a lantern.

‘Shhh!’ says Lexy, and I nearly laugh. Cos there she is, telling off a puter! Talking to olden times teknology like it ent nothing special, ‘stead of screaming, or throwing it out of the boat for devil’s work.

‘You have to keep quiet.’ says Lexy, and the head huffs and looks grumpy.

I pull on the lines to trim the small jib-sail, which is all I dare use in these narrow marsh channels. The reeds hush, and the water slip-slops as we glide along. I hate going so slow, but any faster we’ll make too much noise or hit muddy shallows. The hall gets nearer, and my heart’s thumping so hard I worry it’ll wake the sleeping reavers. But we pass underneath them, looking right up at the windows, with everything stayed calm and still. Lexy’s leaning out and Cat’s next to me, ears pricked and eyes wide. All of us staring for any light, listening for any sound. But there’s no-one awake, not even a look-out. Just the saggy thatch roof, the warped deckway with scraps of rubbish laid all over, a hen house and some rotten-looking boats. The only thing with its eye on us is a sorry-looking cow, up to her hocks in the mud.

‘I really am feeling unwell.’ says the head, loudly into the quiet. ‘I am need of urgent technical support.’

‘Shush!’ I say. ‘Do you want to end up as reaver booty?’

Though I reckon these reavers could do with some booty. Too idle to keep things proper, that’s what Granny would have said about this place. But it looks poor to me, worse than back home where everyone’s always saying what hard times we’re living. Maybe that’s why they come raiding, if this is all they’ve got to live in?

I watch the brown warped doors and the black hole windows for a movement, or call of alarm. But there’s nothing. I reckon we’ve done it! Crept our way past another hall without getting caught.

‘I can’t hold it!’ groans the head, ‘I think I’m going to ... grooarghwooogle ARGLEAARGH!’

A noise like fifty hunting horns blasts out of its mouth! A tower of light explodes in the air, colouring the reaver hall in reds and purples.

Panicked birds burst from the reeds, squawking into the night as the tower grows arms, then legs, then a square, bumpy head. Standing above us is a great glowing giant, twice the height of the reaver hall! He’s covered in shining armour, his eyes are red raging fires and bolts of lightning shoot from his fingers, blazing at the stars.