How I Became a Spy: A Mystery of WWII London

"Ms. Hopkinson slips lots of age-appropriate wartime history and a number of real individuals (including Eisenhower)—as well as practical details about codes and ciphers and how to break them—into this info-packed adventure for sleuth-loving readers. " — The Wall Street Journal "This middle grade mystery novel starts with a bang and sends readers on a breakneck journey through World War II London." — School Library Journal "Hopkinson has written a cleverly plotted, page-turning mystery that vividly evokes wartime Britain... Fans of puzzles, mysteries, and historical fiction will be delighted byxa0Hopkinson's latest." —Booklist "Red herrings, a poignant Bradshaw family backstory, ciphers to decode, a subplot regarding a young Jewish refugee friend of Bertie’s, cameos by real-life historical figures (General Eisenhower and his dog; cipher expert Leo Marks)—there’s certainly no shortage of entry points for young readers, and never a dull moment ." — The Horn Book DEBORAH HOPKINSON has written more than 40 books for young readers. She is the author of the middle-grade novels The Great Trouble: A Mystery of London, the Blue Death, and a Boy Called Eel ; A Bandit's Tale: The Muddled Misadventures of a Pickpocket ; and Into the Firestorm: A Novel of San Francisco, 1906 . Her picture books include Sweet Clara and the Freedom Quilt; Sky Boys: How They Built the Empire State Building , an ALA-ALSC Notable Children's Book and a Boston Globe-Horn Book Honor Book; Abe Lincoln Crosses a Creek , an ALA-ALSC Notable Children's Book and a Junior Library Guild Selection; A Boy Called Dickens ; and the ALA Notable Book Apples to Oregon . Visit her at DeborahHopkinson.com and follow her at @deborahopkinson. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. You see, but you do not observe. xa0 --Sherlock Holmes, in “A Scandal in Bohemia” xa0 xa0 I kept my head down as I went around the curve, hoping the pan wouldn’t fly off my head. With my right hand, I steadied my quivering spaniel and tried to keep her from toppling out of the basket. Still, even one-handed, I swear I would’ve made the turn with no problem. xa0 Except. Except the girl was standing in the middle of Maddox Street. I shouted, “Hey, watch out!” xa0 Too late. I had to let go of Little Roo. I grabbed both handlebars and pulled hard to the left. I wasn’t quick enough. My right pedal struck the girl’s shin; we all went down. I banged my left knee. The pan clattered away and LR tumbled out of the basket. She bounced up and began barking and twirling in circles like a crazy windup toy. Overhead, bombers roared. From the ground, ack-ack guns shot defensive fire into the sky. I scrambled to my feet, rubbing my knee. xa0 “Are you all right?” I yelled over the din. xa0 The girl didn’t answer at first. I reached out a hand to help her up. She pushed it away. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” xa0 “Me? You were standing in the street! You’re lucky I wasn’t a bus: You would’ve been crushed flat.” xa0 Then I stopped. Pointless. It was pointless to argue. I could tell from her accent that the girl was an American. The city was crawling with them. Soldiers in uniform, journalists, navy and army officers sporting stripes and medals, young women in crisp American Red Cross uniforms. Everyone had come to prepare for the invasion of France. It was the only way the Allies could defeat Hitler and end the war. xa0 I knew as well as anyone that we needed the Americans, but there was a part of me that resented these strangers. They hadn’t been here during the worst of it. Three years ago, the Blitz had gone on and on. We’d lived through all-night bombing raids, incendiary bombs designed to burn London to the ground, rubble and destruction on street after street. A lot of kids had been sent to the countryside. My older brother, Will, and I had begged to stay. xa0 The Americans hadn’t lived through that. Compared to us Londoners, they seemed to burst with hope and energy. Maybe they just ate better. They had money to eat in restaurants, where (so we heard) you couldxa0 still get “real” food. They hadn’t spent years waiting in long queues, ration cards in hand, to buy food that didn’t taste much like food. xa0 Latecomers. Too late to change what had happened to us. xa0 Dad, as always, looked on the bright side. “We can’t achieve victory without them, Bertie,” he explained. “Britain needs American troops and trucks and tanks. We need them all. Be polite when you encounter anyone from the United States.” xa0 And so I tried again. “Sorry I knocked you down, miss. I’m a civil defense volunteer. It’s my job to tell you to get to the shelter immediately. It’s just up the street.” xa0 The girl snorted as she stood. She brushed off her coat. “You don’t look very official. You look like a kid. And was that a tin pan on your head?” xa0 I felt my face burn. “I’m thirteen. It’s just .u2008.u2008. this is the first time I’ve been on duty during a raid and I couldn’t find--” xa0 That was as far as I got. All at once, the night splintered apart. Whoomph. Bam! xa0 “Get down!” I hollered. I had just enough time to grab LR and throw myself to the pavement. I curled over her warm, furry body and whispered, “It’ll be all right, girl.” xa0 We were lucky. I felt the ground shake, but the bomb had hit nearby, most likely a block or two away. I glanced up to check on the stranger. What is she even doing out alone at dusk? I wondered. Most people headed inside on a late winter afternoon, especially now that the German bombing raids had begun again. xa0 “Please, miss .u2008.u2008. it’s not safe to be out.” xa0 The girl shot to her feet. “I’ve got to go.” xa0 And then she was gone, flying off down the street, her dark blue coat flapping against her thin legs. Good, I thought. Maybe the noise has scared her. Maybe she’ll follow directions and get to safety. xa0 “Go past the big church on your left,” I bellowed. “You’ll see the sign for the shelter to your right.” I couldn’t be entirely sure, but it looked as if she’d darted right past it. I shrugged. Well, she wasn’t my problem. Time to get to the command post. xa0 LR wriggled out of my arms and started sniffing around. I went searching for the tin pan to stick back on my head. Next thing I knew, LR was at my feet, tail spinning like a propeller. Woof! Out came a muffled bark. Her little jaws were clamped onto something. “What have you got, LR? Drop it!” xa0 I was about to reach for the object when the sound of footsteps startled me. I turned to see an older couple passing by, heading in the same direction as the girl. “Let’s go, dear,” the man called to the woman. “Almost there.” xa0 “I’m a civil defense volunteer,” I hollered. “Take shelter now!” xa0 “Thanks, lad, but we’re almost home,” the man said, reaching out to grab his wife’s hand. “We’ve got a Morrison shelter under our kitchen table. We’ll be safe.” xa0 A hatless young man with short dark hair came bounding right behind them. I tried my warning again. “Get to the shelter!” xa0 He shot me a frown. I had a quick impression of an angular face and intense, blazing eyes. He looked preoccupied, as if he had something else on his mind besides ack-ack guns. And then, like the other three, he hurried off down Maddox Street. xa0 “I give up! No one pays me any attention,” I complained to LR, who was still wagging and waiting for me to claim what she’d discovered. I picked up a battered red notebook, small enough to fit in my trouser pocket. I slipped it in without thinking much about it, then reached out for LR. Read more