Sky High!

by Gareth P. Jones

  “Why aren’t you at the school?” asked Holly.

  “The school’s shut for summer. I work here for a few months of the year. I’m on the late shift. I’m not so keen on being locked up with all these animals but, thanks to you, it’s already proving more exciting than I’d expected.”

  “Where’s Bruno?” asked Holly, remembering the poodle Hamish had tried to train to be more aggressive.

  “Bruno? In this place?” said Hamish, gesticulating towards the cat. “He’d have a field day.”

  “What’s wrong with this cat?” asked Holly, trying to stroke the unresponsive animal again.

  “Don’t worry about the moggy. Come on.” Hamish began to frogmarch her out.

  “Can’t you just let me go for old time’s sake?” she pleaded.

  Hamish laughed a loud throaty laugh and said, “The last time I saw you I was trying to stop you breaking out. This time you’ve broken in. You’re a right wee criminal in the making, aren’t you?” He led Holly up the stairs she’d passed before. At the top he said, “In you go,” and pushed the door open.

  The room she walked into was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. Instead of white walls and a tiled floor, it had cream walls and a plush green carpet. Buchanan sat behind a desk made entirely from glass. At the other end of the room, Holly’s stepmum sat on a purple sofa, staring at her, aghast and furious.

  “The irrepressible Holly Bigsby,” said Mr Buchanan, standing to greet her.

  Holly avoided eye contact with Mrs Bigsby but could feel her furious glare burning a hole in the back of her head.

  “Your mother is angry with you but I am impressed,” said Mr Buchanan.

  “Stepmother,” said Holly.

  The billionaire bowed his head, acknowledging his mistake. “When I designed this laboratory I knew that ill-informed animal activists and prying investigative journalists would try to get in. So there are no windows on the ground floor and these on the upper floor don’t open. Both entrances, front and back, are under constant surveillance. The roof is made out of a synthetic material too strong to be cut by any conventional tool. No one has ever got further than the silver gates without my say so. Except you.”

  Holly said nothing.

  “What really annoys them, you see,” continued Mr Buchanan, “is that for all their protests and leaflets and slogans, they have absolutely no idea what we do here. For all they know we’re making marmalade.”

  “You don’t make marmalade,” interjected Holly. “You experiment on animals.”

  “Everyone experiments on animals,” said the billionaire. “When NASA sends an astronaut into space or when a country sends a soldier off to war. When a politician tries out a new policy or a teacher tries a new lesson plan. These are all animal experiments. Only the animals are humans. Why should our furry friends be excluded just because they can’t talk, write or hold a gun?”

  “I don’t care how cleverly you say it, you’re still hurting animals.”

  “You’re too young to understand,” said Mr Buchanan dismissively. “Now, I need to check that you haven’t taken anything from my laboratory. Empty your pockets.”

  Holly did so, hoping he wouldn’t notice the book-shaped bulge in her bag.

  Too late. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “It’s just a book.” She shrugged.

  “May I see it?”

  “No.”

  “Holly,” hissed Mrs Bigsby, finally breaking her silence. “You have trespassed on Mr Buchanan’s property, you have insulted him. I can’t begin to tell you how … how disappointed I am. Your father will be livid. Now, do as you are told.”

  Holly pulled out the book and handed it to Mr Buchanan across the desk. “It’s just a silly book about mythical creatures, anyway,” she muttered under her breath.

  He took it but his gaze remained on her open palm.

  “Your hand has healed remarkably quickly,” he said.

  “It wasn’t that bad after all,” replied Holly, whipping it away.

  “Once again, I’m sorry for my husband’s daughter, Brant,” said Mrs Bigsby.

  “Not at all, Angela. My driver, Weaver, will take you both home.”

  Buchanan pressed a button and spoke through the intercom. “Weaver, prepare the car.”

  “Can I have my book back?” said Holly, trying to sound casual, not wanting them to know how important it was.

  “You’ll get your book back when you’ve learned your lesson,” replied Mrs Bigsby.

  “I’ll hang on to it if you like,” offered Mr Buchanan. “I’ve always had a soft spot for myths. Dragons were my favourite as a child.”

  He slipped it into the top drawer of his desk.

  “Thank you,” said Mrs Bigsby.

  As the desk was made entirely of glass, Holly could still see the book easily enough but Buchanan locked the drawer and her stepmum led her out of the room. She felt bad. She had promised Mrs Klingerflim she would look after it but now there was no chance of getting it back.

  Archie had been leaning against the wall outside the door, just out of sight of the camera, listening to the angry animal activists shouting slogans, when he felt himself picked up by the armpits and hauled to the end of the alleyway. He looked up to see a man in a collarless grey suit, with jet-black hair combed up into a Mohican. The man must have moved very quickly and quietly to have snuck up on him like that without being heard.

  “Oi, you can’t go picking up people and moving them!” protested Archie.

  The man didn’t respond. He had his back to Archie, blocking the entrance to the alleyway.

  The door opened and Holly appeared with her stepmum behind her. The grey man marched towards them. “Mrs Bigsby,” he said, “I’m Weaver. The car is just up here.”

  Holly’s stepmother tried not to stare at the man’s hair. “Ah, thank you, Mr Weaver.”

  “Just Weaver. Is this child anything to do with you?” Weaver pointed at Archie.

  “Hey, Archie,” said Holly miserably.

  “Yes, I think we better take them both back home if that’s all right, er … Weaver,” replied Mrs Bigsby.

  “Very good.” The strange man pointed the keys at the car, unlocking it and opening the back door.

  “Wow!” said Archie, peering inside.

  “Wow!” repeated Holly.

  Mrs Bigsby didn’t say anything but it was obvious that she was thinking wow! too. Stepping into Brant Buchanan’s Bentley was like entering a top-of-the-range, high-tech, futuristic living room. It had soft black leather seats, tinted windows, a plasma TV screen and rows of glowing red buttons along the doors, each one screaming out to be pressed. Weaver closed the door behind them and soft lighting came on.

  “Don’t touch anything,” said Mrs Bigsby, sitting opposite them to keep her eye on them. Holly had never seen her look so angry.

  The plasma screen behind the driver’s seat where Weaver sat flickered to life and his unsmiling face appeared. “Could I take the young man’s name, please?” he said.

  “Archie Snellgrove,” said Archie, fastening the seatbelt. “Why?”

  “To find your address.”

  “It’s OK. I’ll just walk back from Holly’s house,” said Archie anxiously.

  Weaver’s face, which had been full-screen, shrunk into a small box in the corner. Archie’s name appeared one letter at a time as Weaver typed it out. The cursor flickered and a map of London appeared. The picture zoomed in on South London where a small red car was flashing. There was a flag nearby with an address on it.

  “Number seventy-eight Sidney Clavel Estate,” read Weaver. “If you would like a drink, the button on your door has a selection.”

  “Cool,” said Archie. He reached his hand out to hit one of the glowing red buttons only for Weaver to say, “Better not press that one. We don’t really need to summon the helicopter right now. Also, it would be better if you avoided pressing the one that calls the US President. The drinks are controlled by the row above
.”

  Archie found the right row and pressed a button. Instantly the armrest between Holly and him twisted around and a glass of orange juice rose up.

  “That’s neat,” said Holly. “I wonder what this one does.”

  She pressed another button, turning on soothing classical music.

  Mrs Bigsby leaned forwards and snatched the glass of juice. “No more buttons.” She took a sip. “You two are in enough trouble.”

  With the gentle melody of the violins and cellos, the smooth running of the car and the tinted windows, it was as though they were gliding invisibly through the world.

  The luxury of the car interior was a stark contrast to the block of flats where Archie lived. A group of boys who had been kicking a ball against a wall stopped to stare as Weaver parked.

  “Home sweet home,” said Archie, opening the door. “See you tomorrow then?” he asked Holly as he stepped out.

  “Holly won’t be seeing anyone for the foreseeable future,” stated Mrs Bigsby. “She’s grounded.”

  “Grounded?” Holly exclaimed. “How long for?”

  “For the rest of the summer.”

  “Oi, nice car!” shouted one of the boys. “Can I have a drive?”

  “Hey, that’s little smelly-grove,” yelled another.

  “I’ll see you later then,” said Archie, making a sudden dash across the lawn towards the block of flats on the far side.

  The boys took chase, but Archie was quick and he beat them to the building, through the outer door and to the central staircase that led up to the flats.

  As they drove away, Holly twisted round to look out of the back window. Archie ran along the top walkway to a green door. She could feel his panic as he pounded on the door until it opened. He dived inside with seconds to spare. The door slammed shut just as the boys arrived outside it. She didn’t like to think what would have happened if they had caught him.

  “Sit down properly,” snapped her stepmum irritably.

  Holly did as she was told and neither of them spoke for the rest of the journey.

  When they arrived at the house, Weaver opened the door and Holly climbed out. Mrs Bigsby led her to the front door.

  “Go to your room. I need to talk to your father in private.”

  Holly walked up the stairs, feeling miserable, frustrated and angry. In her bedroom, she sat on her bed and stared at the door. Tears built up in her eyes. She tried to hold them back but she couldn’t help herself. Willow crawled out from under the bed and scrambled up on to the bed and into Holly’s lap, offering a soft, comforting meow. Holly stroked her and wondered what she should do next.

  In general, Mountain Dragons felt at home in wide open spaces where they were free to spread their wings, but Dirk Dilly wasn’t most Mountain Dragons. London was his home. He felt safe there.

  “I still do not understand why we are coming back to this big humano nest?” said Alba.

  “You don’t need to understand,” said Dirk, landing on an old-fashioned red-brick library at a busy crossroads. “You need to keep quiet and stay close.”

  He stood on his hind legs to work out the best route.

  “Excuse me, Mr Dirk, which way is the place called Deptford?”

  “That direction,” replied Dirk, pointing. “Why do you want to know that?”

  “I am just a natural curiosity,” she replied.

  “Naturally curious,” corrected Dirk. “Come on.”

  The lights changed and he leaped across the road. Alba made the jump and landed with a loud THUD on the roof.

  “Frank, did you hear that? It sounded like something just landed on the roof,” shouted a woman’s voice.

  “It’s probably those blasted squirrels,” another voice responded. “I’ll get the broom.”

  “Will you be careful!” Dirk whispered angrily to Alba. He knew that Alba and London didn’t mix well but he wished he had a way of shaking her off. He needed to look at that book. He hoped there was something in Dragonlore that would help him find a Sky Dragon and solve this case once and for all.

  Dirk paused on a rooftop by a grassy roundabout near a row of shops. He looked down at the shoppers in the high street. Humanity’s love of shopping had always fascinated him. It always looked to him like a kind of hobby that made people miserable. Big droplets of rain began to fall and the already disgruntled shoppers groaned and put up umbrellas.

  The rain gave Dirk and Alba enough cover to move more quickly across the city. It wasn’t long before they were soaring through Dirk’s office window.

  Inside, Dirk picked up the remote control, out of habit pointing it at the TV, before remembering that Alba had smashed it.

  “What does it do, this box of light and noise?” asked Alba.

  “It was a television,” replied Dirk pointedly. “Before you broke it, it told me what was going on in the world,” he said, even though he spent more time watching old detective films and reruns of cop shows than news programmes.

  Looking around the room he realized that Mrs Klingerflim had tidied up. There was no sign of the book but on the desk was a note.

  “I’ve got to go out,” said Dirk.

  “I will be coming with you,” said Alba.

  “Not this time. The city isn’t safe for you. You can’t blend and you don’t know these roofs like I do.”

  “But I must stay with you at all times.”

  “Listen to me, Alba. We will find the Sky Dragon and your sister, but I can’t risk you going out there again. Besides, I’ve got to go and visit a humano. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

  “Meet a humano? That would not be good.”

  “OK, so stay here,” he replied. “Keep the blinds down and don’t answer the door. If anyone knocks, I’m not in, you’re not in, there’s no one here, OK?”

  “OK, I understand,” said Alba. She picked up a tin of beans. “Can I eat some of your crunchy-shelled food?”

  “Knock yourself out, but maybe avoid the bathroom products this time.”

  Across the road from Holly lived a nosy old woman who spent her days sitting by her window, behind her net curtains, watching every single event in Elliot Drive and noting them down in her diary. If the man at forty-seven got an extra pint of milk delivered, or the lady at forty-one had a suspiciously long conversation with the postman, it went down in her diary.

  She had noted that Holly hadn’t left the house at all since she and her stepmother had been spotted stepping out of a very expensive-looking silver car on Saturday. A blond-haired boy had visited every day but had been sent away.

  Had she only looked up at the roof that evening, she would have seen a medium-sized dragon squeeze its green belly through Holly’s window. Luckily, she was too busy jotting down all of the number plates of the cars parked on the pavement.

  Inside, Holly threw her arms around Dirk and hugged him. “Where have you been? I kept trying to call.”

  “I’ve been out of town on a case. That’s why I’m here.”

  “So you didn’t come to see me,” said Holly, unable to hide her disappointment.

  Dirk lifted her chin with his paw. “I’m sorry, kiddo, I’ve been wrapped up in this case,” he said.

  “What’s it about?” she replied.

  “In four words: Sky Dragon Kidnaps Sea Dragon,” said Dirk.

  “That’s five words,” pointed out Holly.

  “Yes, but two of them are the same word.”

  “So what are Sky Dragons like?” asked Holly.

  “Most of the time they’re like clouds,” said Dirk.

  “Clouds?” repeated Holly. “You mean dragon-shaped clouds—”

  “Are dragons,” Dirk finished her sentence. “Precisely. The problem is they’ve been living in the clouds for a long time. No one knows much about them. I was hoping I’d be able to find something that might help in Mrs K’s book.”

  Holly looked down. “Oh.”

  “‘Oh,’ doesn’t sound good.”

  “I haven’t got it,
” Holly admitted. “It was confiscated.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Well… Yes.”

  “Fine, just tell me where and I’ll swing by and grab it,” said Dirk.

  “It won’t be that easy,” said Holly.

  “Come on.” Dirk spread his paws and grinned. “Remember who you’re talking to here.”

  “It’s been confiscated by the seventh richest man in the world and is being kept in the upstairs office of a high-security animal experimentation lab in Kennington,” said Holly.

  Dirk laughed. “You’ve been busy, then?” he said.

  Holly brought Dirk up to date with all that had happened over the last few days. She told him about Brant Buchanan, her stepmum accepting a job for Global Sands and the conversation she had overheard about the AOG Project.

  “He must be after the earthquake creator,” said Dirk.

  “That’s what I thought but why would a billionaire businessman want a weapon?”

  “I can think of lots of reasons,” he replied. “For a man like that, business is war. So how did he end up with the book?”

  “I wanted to find out what they were up to, so I broke in but I got caught.”

  “They didn’t see you blending, did they?”

  “No, but they took away the book as a punishment.”

  “You think he knows what it is?” asked Dirk, nervous about a human with so much wealth and power possessing a book that told the truth about dragonkind.

  “I don’t think so. He just thinks it’s a silly book for kids.”

  “Good. Talk me through the security.”

  Holly recounted everything Mr Buchanan had told her about the building and how she had got in with Archie’s help.

  Dirk thought for a moment. “We’ll need a distraction,” he said.

  “Archie could help again,” suggested Holly.

  “No, the security guard might recognize him. Besides, I don’t want any more humans knowing about me. We need someone the guard won’t know, someone we can trust,” said Dirk, looking at her with a knowing wink.

  “I’ll make the call,” replied Holly, understanding instantly what he meant. “What time?”