The Case of the Wayward Professor

by Gareth P. Jones

  Holly heard a dog barking nearby.

  ‘Did you make that hole?’ she asked.

  ‘Yep, bit straight through.’

  ‘We haven’t got much time. The guards are coming. They can tell when the fence has been cut.’

  ‘I should get out of here,’ said Dirk.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ said Holly, worried. She hadn’t seen Dirk look so bad since he was knocked unconscious after swallowing poisonous Amphiptere blood.

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ve looked worse than this. Dragon skin is tough stuff. It’ll heal as I sleep. There are some caves on the other side of the forest where I can lie low long enough to heal up. A good night’s rest and I’ll be fine. Why don’t you come with me, help me solve this case?’

  Holly wanted nothing more than to go with him, but she touched her wristband, sighed and said, ‘I can’t. They’ll track me down. Come to Little Hope on Thursday. There’s a big concert and I’m going to escape then.’

  The barking dog was getting nearer.

  Holly said, ‘I did write to you, but they stopped the letters.’

  Dirk smiled. ‘I thought you’d forgotten about me.’

  ‘Forgotten about you?’ said Holly. ‘You’re a red-backed, green-bellied, urban-based Mountain Dragon, who works as a detective. How could I forget you? Besides, we’re friends, aren’t we?’

  ‘Sure we are,’ replied Dirk.

  They could hear the static crackle from the guard’s radio.

  ‘Hide,’ urged Holly and Dirk’s skin blended with the ground.

  ‘Hey, lassie, what are you doing?’ shouted a voice.

  Holly looked up to see a thickset man with a black bushy moustache in a security uniform.

  ‘I fell over while running and sprained my ankle,’ she said.

  In one hand, the guard had a walkie-talkie. In the other, he held back a rather angry-looking poodle, which barked at the invisible dragon he could smell on the other side of the fence.

  ‘Did you make this hole?’ asked the guard.

  ‘Aren’t guard dogs usually German Shepherds or Rottweilers?’ said Holly, looking at the poodle.

  ‘Oh, aye, but one of the dogs attacked a student last week, nothing serious, just a wee bit of mauling. But the school board has insisted we use less-aggressive dogs. He’s called Bruno.’

  ‘Hello, Bruno,’ said Holly to the perplexed poodle.

  ‘Does it noh look stupid, me with a poodle?’

  ‘Not at all,’ lied Holly. ‘He seems quite … well, barky.’

  ‘Aye, Ah’ve bin trying to increase his aggression levels, using North American war chants and a sophisticated Pavlovian behavioural technique involving energy bars, Irn-Bru and spam.’

  ‘Looks like it’s working,’ said Holly.

  ‘Noh really. Shut up, Bruno. Now, did you make this hole?’ asked the guard pointing to the fence.

  ‘No, it was here when I fell,’ said Holly truthfully.

  ‘I see. It’s probably another wee creature gnawing through it again.’

  Holly smiled, thinking if only he knew what sort of ‘wee’ creature it was that had made the hole.

  ‘Right, come on, then, let’s get you back to school.’

  She followed the guard back and noticed that his name badge read ‘Hamish Fraser’.

  ‘So, Hamish,’ she said, ‘how do you know when there’s a hole in the fence?’

  ‘An alarm goes off in the security cabin,’ he replied.

  ‘What else can you control from the cabin?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘Almost everything,’ said the guard.

  ‘But the cameras are activated by movement, aren’t they?’

  ‘Oh, aye, but you can override everything from inside. It’s like the bridge of the starship blinking enterprise in there,’ he said. ‘Noh like in my day. All this electronic nonsense. You can’t beat a man with a good pair of eyes and proper guard dog. Sorry, Bruno.’

  After an afternoon of boring classes, during which Petal took every opportunity to make some snide remark about Holly being in love with crazy Callum, it was band rehearsal, so Holly picked up her trumpet and headed for the rehearsal room.

  Standing outside, listening to all the instruments warming up, she felt the unmistakable flutter of nerves. Focusing on the plan she took a deep breath and entered.

  The large rehearsal room was full of students and instruments and noise. In one corner a group of older girls in flowing skirts practised trills on their flutes. In another, three large boys were making fart noises with trombones and laughing very loudly. She spotted two boys holding trumpets, and introduced herself.

  ‘Hi, I’m Holly,’ she said, opening her case. ‘I’m third trumpet.’

  ‘Hello,’ said one of the boys, offering his hand formally. ‘I’m Julian. This is Sandy.’

  Holly shook his hand.

  ‘I am second trumpet because I can reach top C and Jules is first trumpet because he can reach F above top C. What’s your highest note?’

  ‘Er …’

  Holly was grateful that Miss Gilfeather entered the room, holding a baton and saying, ‘Everyone take your places, please.’

  The band assembled. Holly looked at the French horns and saw Callum smoothing down his hair, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

  With everyone settled, Miss Gilfeather addressed the band.

  ‘Welcome everyone. As you know, this Thursday is our school concert and tradition dictates that this takes place at Little Hope, even though we have perfectly adequate facilities here. This will attract the usual media hullabaloo and Mr Palmer has asked me to remind you to look smart. Personally I don’t care if you dress up in monkey costumes as long as you play the notes correctly. Now, let’s begin with the music you have on your stands.’

  Everyone lifted their instruments, but before they could start, the doors swung open and three men in dark suits and dark sunglasses moved quickly and purposefully into the room.

  ‘What is it?’ snapped Miss Gilfeather.

  One of the men whispered something in her ear, while the other two surveyed the room.

  ‘Can’t it wait until after rehearsal?’

  Again the man said something inaudible. Miss Gilfeather replied, ‘This is very inconvenient,’ before announcing, ‘Callum Thackley. Please come forward.’

  Holly looked over to Callum, who had shrunk down in his seat, smoothing his hair and looking at the floor.

  The men marched across the room towards him. One snatched the French horn from his hands, while the others grabbed Callum, holding him between them, dragging him towards the door.

  ‘No,’ screamed Callum, kicking and screaming. ‘Don’t let them take me. I don’t want to go.’

  Miss Gilfeather said, ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Callum. They work for your father. They are taking you to a photo call at Number 10.’

  ‘I don’t want to go. They can’t take Callum. I don’t want to miss the concert.’ He kicked and struggled, but the man lifted him and carried him across the room.

  ‘They’ve assured me you’ll be back for the concert.’

  Callum wasn’t listening. He was screeching, ‘The tree creatures. They’re coming for me. Don’t let them take me. They want me.’

  Tree creatures, thought Holly and something clicked into place. Dirk said that there were Tree Dragons in the forest. What if Callum wasn’t making it up? What if the tree creatures that kidnapped him weren’t inventions of his troubled imagination but real dragons? What if these men weren’t from the government at all, but working for the Kinghorns? What if they were kidnapping Callum again?

  ‘Leave him alone,’ she shouted, making Julian and Sandy jump.

  ‘Holly Bigsby, sit down,’ ordered Miss Gilfeather.

  The three men had got Callum out of the room, and Holly could hear his pleas for help down the corridor.

  ‘If you ask me he’s one note short of a full scale, that one,’ said Julian, causing Sandy to giggle.

&nbs
p; ‘Now, if we could please start rehearsal,’ said Miss Gilfeather, raising her baton.

  Holly lifted her trumpet to her lips, but when the band started she missed her first note, so mimed along with Julian and Sandy. Her mind wasn’t on the music. It was on Callum. She had to help him. If Callum had got mixed up with the world of dragons and everyone thought he was mad then Holly was the only one who knew the truth. Dragons did exist.

  She had to get out and find Dirk and she could no longer wait until the concert on Thursday. But if she was going to make a clean break, she would have to find a way of removing the non-removable wristband.

  Chapter Twelve

  Walking back to the girl’s dorm, Holly formulated a plan. She needed to make a phone call on a clean line and remembered Petal boasting that her mobile phone wasn’t monitored because her mother didn’t want anyone listening to their conversations.

  She put her trumpet back in her room and headed for the common room, where she found Petal regaling a cluster of older girls with the story of when her mother had come home drunk with a Hollywood A-list star. Holly had heard the story a number of times but she listened patiently until the end, laughing along with the others, before saying, ‘Petal, can I talk to you?’

  Petal’s smile fell away. ‘What do you want now?’

  ‘I wanted to say sorry,’ said Holly. ‘It’s just that I think I am a bit jealous like your therapist, Hermann, said. And I really like your mum’s new album and I think your book is brilliant. Can we be friends?’

  Petal eyed her suspiciously for a moment then her smile returned and she opened her arms. Holly leaned in and they hugged. Petal whispered in her ear, ‘I forgive you.’

  ‘Thanks, Petal. It means the world to me,’ said Holly. With convincing tears in her eyes she excused herself from the room.

  As she walked away she could hear Petal saying, ‘That’s a turn-up for the books but I knew no one could really dislike me. I knew she was jealous.’

  Outside the room, Holly smiled and pulled Petal’s mobile phone out of her pocket.

  She dialled a number she had memorised and listened to it ring, anxiously watching the door. Petal wouldn’t take long to realise that her precious mobile phone was missing. The call went through to an answering machine and Holly left a message, finishing just as the common room door burst open and Petal appeared.

  ‘You stole my phone, you cow!’ she yelled.

  ‘Here you go,’ said Holly, handing it back to her.

  Petal spent the rest of the evening threatening to report Holly as a thief, so when an announcement came over the loud speaker the next day, asking her to come to the principal’s office, Holly assumed that she must have done so.

  The principal’s secretary looked bored, as she carefully painted her nails black and white to match the chequered dress she was wearing.

  She held up a black-nailed finger, indicating that Holly should wait, and pressed a white-nailed finger on the intercom button. ‘Holly Bigsby is here, principal,’ she said in her usual flat tone.

  Holly heard the principal’s voice mid-laugh, say, ‘Send her in, Angie.’

  ‘He’s in a good mood, stock must be up,’ said the secretary, unsmiling.

  Holly entered the office to find the principal sitting behind his desk wearing a smart pinstriped suit, and a matching shirt and tie, in mid-conversation with a man, sitting opposite him.

  ‘Diversify or die, as they say,’ said the man, laughing. Holly could only see the back of his head. ‘The school is your flagship project, but the William Scrivener brand is there to be exploited.’

  ‘Well, we brand stationery and calendars, you know, sweatshirts, ties. Things like that.’

  ‘Larry, Larry, Larry. What century are we in? Think outside the box.’

  ‘Filofaxes?’ ventured the principal.

  ‘Think mobile-phone covers, polyphonic rings, baseball caps, skinny-fit T-shirts,’ cried the man, turning round and smiling at Holly.

  ‘Ladbroke,’ said Holly.

  It was Ladbroke Blake, the private detective that Holly had befriended after her dad’s big-haired wife had hired him to follow her.

  She had only left the message on his answering machine yesterday. She hadn’t expected him to come so quickly. She didn’t know what his plan was, but he was obviously using a false name because the principal looked quizzically at her and said, ‘Ladbroke? Surely you recognise your godfather, Holly, Mr Somerset Oglander.’

  ‘Excuse us,’ Ladbroke grinned. ‘It’s an old family joke.’ He held his arms out and said, ‘Holly, how are you?’

  Holly hugged him.

  ‘I see,’ said the principal. ‘Well, I must say, Holly, your godfather has a lot of interesting ideas on the subject of schooling.’

  ‘My ideas are nothing next to your achievements,’ said Ladbroke.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said the principal, unable to hide his glee. ‘I can’t take all of the credit. The school has a long and noble tradition of educating the nation’s finest and wealthiest children.’

  ‘Modesty. I’ll have none of it,’ said Ladbroke. ‘I recently returned from a tour of the top-ranking private schools in the USA and I have to say yours stands shoulder to shoulder with the best of them.’

  ‘America,’ said Principal Palmer, eyes wide. ‘You’re too kind.’

  ‘But I have not come all this way simply to admire your wonderful school.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said the principal, fixing Holly with a serious look in his eyes. ‘Now, Holly, please listen to your godfather.’

  ‘Yes, Holly, I am afraid I have been sent here by your father, who is terribly busy campaigning in the election. I understand that you have been having some difficulty settling down.’

  Holly looked down at her feet.

  ‘Are you unhappy here?’

  ‘No, sir,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You realise most children would give their right kidney to come to this school?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Holly.

  ‘I want you to promise me that you will stop all this misbehaving and try to settle in. Your father can’t afford any scandal at this stage in his career.’

  Ladbroke was holding her hands, and, as he said this, he gave them a gentle squeeze, which Holly took as a sign to demonstrate her acting skills, so she covered her eyes and began to sob.

  ‘There, there,’ said Ladbroke. ‘Do you promise to be a good girl?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied.

  ‘Your father is very proud of you,’ said Ladbroke. To the principal he said, ‘And I’ll tell Malcolm what good hands she is in. Your security is second to none. Explain to me how these remarkable wristbands work again.’

  ‘They’re made of a plasticised metal which was developed by NASA for use in space,’ said Principal Palmer. ‘Nothing can cut through them. They allow the students to come and go as they please within designated hours and they are all fitted with short-range locating devices, preventing any repeat of last year’s unfortunate incident.’

  ‘The kidnapping.’ Ladbroke nodded. ‘Did they ever find out who was behind it?’

  ‘No. Probably some local nut who realised he was in too deep, so released the boy.’

  ‘Well, they are remarkable devices. Holly, let me see yours.’ She noticed him slip his hand into his jacket pocket before taking her wrist. ‘NASA, you say?’ he said, inspecting the band.

  ‘Oh yes, it is an advantage of having such generous sponsors of the school that we can always afford the best.’

  ‘Hold on, what’s this?’ said Ladbroke, suddenly sounding alarmed.

  Holly looked at her wrist and saw that, around the band, her skin looked red and sore. It didn’t hurt, but it looked like it did. Ever so subtly, Ladbroke winked at her and she withdrew her arm.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, playing along.

  ‘Let me see,’ he demanded.

  Holly reluctantly offered up her arm again.

  ‘What is it?’ said Principal Palmer.<
br />
  ‘How long have you had this rash?’ asked Ladbroke.

  ‘Only since I’ve been wearing the wristband,’ she replied. ‘It’s nothing.’

  The principal walked round the desk and inspected the newly appeared rash. ‘Holly, you should have said something.’

  ‘What do you think is causing it?’ said Ladbroke.

  ‘Well, they did say that in some rare cases the wristbands might cause an allergic reaction.’

  ‘Really? How fascinating.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’ Palmer asked Holly, clearly embarrassed.

  ‘I didn’t want to make a fuss,’ answered Holly.

  ‘Didn’t want to make a fuss? Don’t be so silly,’ said the principal. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll call security immediately and have it removed. You don’t mind carrying it with you instead, do you?’ he asked.

  Holly looked down at her pretend rash, and allowed herself a very small smile. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind carrying it with me instead.’

  After a security guard had been called and the wristband removed, Principal Palmer allowed Holly to accompany her godfather to his car, before returning to her lessons. Ladbroke put on his coat and wide-brimmed hat and followed Holly down the corridor

  ‘What’s your plan when you get out?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Dirk’s in the forest,’ said Holly.

  ‘The dragon?’

  Although Ladbroke had never formally met Dirk he had had the pleasure of being knocked out by him. ‘I’ve got to get back to London. Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ he asked.

  ‘I know where Dirk is hiding so I should be able to find him.’

  ‘OK, try to be safe.’

  Ladbroke threw his hat into the back seat of his car, a grey Mercedes with a white stripe across the side, and drove away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Holly spent the rest of the afternoon plotting her escape. She was told off three times for not listening and was almost caught out when, during art, Mr Learmonth caught her drawing a plan of the school grounds instead of the bowl of fruit in front of her. Luckily, Holly’s drawing wasn’t all that good and he seemed satisfied with her explanation that it was an artistic impression of the fruit.