Authors: Clémentine Beauvais
Text copyright Â© 2014 ClÃ©mentine Beauvais
Illustrations copyright Â© 2014 Sarah Horne
First Published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hodder Children's Books, an imprint of Hachette Children's Group. An Hachette UK Company.
The rights of ClÃ©mentine Beauvais and Sarah Horne to be identified as the Author and Illustrator respectively of the Work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in the United States of America by Holiday House in 2016
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 978-0-8234-3616-3 (ebook)w
ISBN 978-0-8234-3617-0 (ebook)r
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Beauvais, ClÃ©mentine. | Horne, Sarah, 1979- illustrator.
Title: Scam on the Cam / by ClÃ©mentine Beauvais ; illustrated by Sarah Horne.
Description: New York : Holiday House, 2015. | Series: A Sesame Seade mystery; #3 | “First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hodder Children's Books”âCopyright page. | Summary: Eleven-year-old self-proclaimed supersleuth Sophie “Sesame” Seade gets more than she bargains for when she discovers why Cambridge University's rowing team is mysteriously falling ill.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015032752 | ISBN 9780823436309 (hardcover)
Subjects: | CYAC: Boats and boatingâFiction. | RowingâFiction. | University of CambridgeâFiction. | Cambridge (England)âFiction. | EnglandâFiction. | Mystery and detective stories.
Classification: LCC PZ7.B380587 Sc 2015 | DDC [Fic]âdc23 LC record available at
Holiday House/ New York
We had to win that race.
Not because there was anything exciting to win, like our own weight in cotton candy; teachers are just as stingy as parents. But because Julius Hawthorne and his crew from the Laurels School were in the other boat.
The problem was that they'd overtaken us approximately ten minutes before, shouting, “Look at the cute little kids from Goodall! Don't damage the boat too muchâit's ours, remember!”
It was. The Laurels, out of immense kindness (according to Mr. Halitosis) or pity (according to us), were sharing their boats and oars with our school that term. Goodall School doesn't
have any boats; it barely has enough money to pay Mr. Halitosis a decent salary, judging by his very economical use of toothpaste.
Anyway, a little bird was telling me that it would be difficult to catch up with the Laurels crew. That little bird was a tiny yellow duckling who was also racing us, and also beating us.
I stared glumly at my pathetically slow crew. Due to being perfectly useless at sports, but very good at bossing people around, I'd been made cox. Sitting at the back of the boat, facing the meanders of the dangerous river, I was responsible for the steering of the splendid ship and the survival of its seamen and seawomen, by shouting to them that they should row harder.
Gemma, sitting opposite me, was stroke, setting the rhythm for the rest of the crew. She was the only one who was actually motivated to win. Due to having recently developed a detestable crush on Julius Hawthorne, she was eager to impress the eye-scratchingly ugly boy. Behind her, Solal, Lily, Emerald, Ben and,
at bow, Toby, were idly splashing along and staring at the landscape like a group of senior citizens on a Sunday outing.
“Bow, take a stroke!” I commanded.
Bow, at the front of the boat, didn't take a stroke.
“Bow, take a stroke!” I shouted louder.
Bow still wasn't taking a stroke.
“Bow! Bow, do you copy? Take a stroke or else!”
(He said later that he'd been watching a very fast frog.)
“TOBY! Take a stroke, you useless sloth! We're heading straight to disasâ”
I was unable to finish my sentence due to
crashing into a weeping willow. This was only moderately fun, as everyone in the crew got ferociously whipped and strangled. Since I was facing forward, I swallowed a whole bunch of leaves in the manner of the bamboo-loving panda bear.
“So what does weeping willow taste like?” asked Gemma.
“Shut it!” I spluttered. “All right, crew! Let's get started again or we'll lose the race. Everyone alive?”
“No,” said Emerald.
“Apart from Emerald, everyone alive?”
“Yes!” said everyone except for Toby.
“Bow, you alive? Bow? Toby?
Tobias Frederick Appleyard!
Your cox is talking to you!”
But Toby's voice emerged from the shady depths of the weeping willow jungle:
“Oh, give it a rest, Sesame! I've found a treasure!”
So, like a parliament of owls, everyone turned
their necks one hundred and eighty degrees to look at Toby, who'd half-crashed into the bank. Underneath the cascade of willow leaves was the pirate chest.