Dirk found a mop backstage and cleaned up the pools of red and green blood, while Holly removed the film from the TV cameras and retrieved the Dragonsong CD from the stereo. She placed them all in a bin, which she handed to Dirk. He took a deep breath and burnt the lot to cinders.
When they had finished Holly asked, ‘How are we going to wake them all up?’
‘I’ve thought about this. Watch,’ Dirk said, switching the microphone back on and saying, ‘Now, could everyone stand up, raise your right hand and hold it in front of the person to your left’s face. If you do not have anyone to your left, please hold it in front of the person behind you.’
The whole hall and everyone outside turned to face each other, hands outstretched. Holly did a quick scout to check that everyone was covered.
‘Everyone got a slapping partner?’ said Dirk.
‘Just one left, but I can do that one,’ said Holly, remembering Petal.
‘As soon as I say this, I’m gone,’ said Dirk.
Holly threw her arms around his soft green belly and hugged him tightly then followed him into the backstage room, where he took the microphone to the door.
‘Ready?’ he said.
Holly lifted her hand level with Petal’s face and nodded. ‘Ready.’
‘On the count of three,’ Dirk said into the microphone, ‘slap the person you’re standing next to in the face.’
‘One …two …’
‘This is for Little Willow,’ said Holly.
‘Three.’
Holly slapped Petal hard in the face and ran back into the hall, jumping on stage to watch everyone coming out of their stupor.
For a stunned moment the audience stood staring at each other, rubbing their sore cheeks, then Principal Palmer began to clap. The Prime Minister joined in, followed by Petal’s famous mother and Holly’s dad and his wife. Soon, the whole hall was applauding. And not just inside the hall. The armed policeman with the face like a bulldog, Hamish the security guard, the showbiz reporter, everyone clapped like their lives depended on it. Holly saw Moji and grinned at her. All the people along the red carpet cheered and waved their autograph books in the air.
Looking surprisingly unfazed, Miss Gilfeather smiled and told the band to stand up and take a bow. Holly heard Sandy say to Julian, ‘We must have been good. I don’t even remember playing.’
All the parents came forward to congratulate their children and Holly found her dad, holding the silver case tightly in one hand.
‘Well done, Holly,’ he said. ‘That was a magnificent performance.’
‘Yes, we’re both very proud,’ said his big-haired wife.
For the second time that evening Holly hugged them both.
‘It’s quiet at home without you,’ said her dad.
‘Can I come home, then?’ she replied.
He looked at his wife and sighed. ‘You would have to promise to go to school and to behave. The Prime Minister says I have a good chance of making the Cabinet if we win the election.’
‘I promise,’ said Holly.
Mr Bigsby smiled. ‘OK. I think there are a couple of schools in the area you haven’t tried.’
She thought she noticed a twinge of irritation cross his wife’s face, but she didn’t contradict him, so Holly smiled and said, ‘I’d like that.’
She turned to see Callum, standing awkwardly in front of his dad.
‘Well done, Callum,’ said the Prime Minister.
‘Thank you,’ replied Callum, smoothing down his hair. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. I like music. It takes you away.’
‘Your nose is bleeding,’ said his father.
Callum touched his nose and looked at the blood on his fingers. Holly tried to see in his eyes if he showed signs of remembering, but it was impossible to tell. Not that it mattered. He was harmless without the Kinghorns and they had gone now.
Everything was back to normal and she was going home.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dirk watched the smoke drift up from his nostrils into the sunbeams that shone through the blinds. It felt good to be back home and now that he had paid his rent with the cheque from Mrs Rosenfield, he was happily taking a few days off, relaxing behind his desk with a half-eaten tin of beans, a glass of orange squash on the rocks, and the TV remote within easy grabbing distance. Life didn’t get any better than this.
The phone rang. Dirk tried to ignore it, but Mrs Klingerflim shouted, ‘Your telephone is ringing, Mr Dilly … Mr Dilly …’
He flicked the receiver off the hook with his tail and caught it in his right paw.
‘The Dragon Detective Agency. Dirk Dilly speaking,’ he said.
‘Oh, Mr Dilly, I’m so glad you’re in. I wanted to thank you personally.’
‘Hello, Mrs Rosenfield,’ he replied, recognising the voice. ‘I got your cheque. Is everything all right?’
‘It’s better than all right. I don’t know what you did but, since he got back, my husband has been a changed man. He’s attentive and sweet. He’s talking about a second honeymoon. And he’s finally given up all that dragon nonsense.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Dirk.
‘He did say something about stamp collecting, but I suppose it’s good to have interests outside work, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose it is,’ said Dirk, instinctively going to stroke Willow, then remembering that Holly had collected her the previous day. Dirk was pleased that Holly was back in London. They would be able to see each other more often and she was happy to be back with her family and cat. Dirk had said good riddance to the dumb animal, but now she was gone the room felt oddly empty.
‘He’s giving all of his old books to a local charity shop this weekend,’ continued Mrs Rosenfield. ‘It’s amazing. I’ll certainly recommend you to anyone who needs a private detective in the future.’
‘Please do that, Mrs Rosenfield. I’m glad you’re happy.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Dilly.’
‘Goodbye, Mrs Rosenfield.’ Dirk put down the phone.
It was nice to have a satisfied customer for a change. The problem with detective work was that even if you did a good job, your client discovered that, yes, her husband was having an affair, or no, their son didn’t want to come back home, and so on. Happy endings were hard to come by in his line of work. He felt bad that it had taken Dragonsong to get a happy ending for the Rosenfields. He detested the misuse of Dragonsong. It was supposed to be a gift but, as he had said to Holly, lots of good dragons had been killed because of it.
Dirk watched the smoke trail take the form of a mountain lake and remembered the time he had found his mother’s dead body. It was a human sword that had killed her, but there was never any doubt in Dirk’s mind that Dragonsong had made her vulnerable.
No longer feeling relaxed, Dirk pushed open the window and took to the roofs of London, heading nowhere in particular, but making big daring jumps that took all his concentration, leaving no room for unhappy memories.
He hadn’t been thinking where he was heading, so he was surprised when he found himself on a roof across the road from the Rosenfields’ house. The front door opened and Professor Rosenfield exited the house, carrying a large cardboard box to his car.
‘I won’t be long, darling,’ he called. ‘I’ll drop these off then pop to the supermarket to pick up something nice for dinner.’
Dirk followed the car to the local high street, where Rosenfield parked on double yellows, quickly got out, put the cardboard box outside a charity shop, and drove off again.
Dirk remained on top of the shoe shop opposite, wondering whether he had been right to rob the professor of his lifelong hobby. Not that humans ever got anything right about dragons. In all the books they had written, the pictures they had drawn and the films they had made on the subject, humans rarely happened across anything that was factually correct.
A young couple, walking side by side in silence, stopped by the charity shop and the young man began to rummage inside the cardboard
box.
‘You’re not supposed to touch that,’ snapped his girlfriend.
He pulled out a book.
‘Put that back,’ she said.
‘They’re only being thrown away,’ he replied.
‘No, they’re being donated to charity,’ she said. ‘That’s different.’
The man discarded the book and they carried on walking. ‘It looked rubbish anyway. What did you want to talk to me about?’ Dirk heard him ask.
‘I don’t want to go out with you any more. I’ve met someone else down the laundrette …’ said the girl, as they disappeared down the road.
Dirk looked at the book lying on top of the cardboard box. It had a red cover and a white zigzagged line across the front. He recognised it at once but the high street was too busy to get it, so he winged his way home.
Late that night, when both hands on his old wall clock were facing up, Dirk pushed open the door to his office and crept into the hallway. Every stair creaked on the way down and he almost knocked a picture off with his tail, but he found the kitchen and switched on his torch. He pulled down the box of books from the high shelf and there it was, the same book with the red cover and the white zigzag across it. He opened it. The title was printed on the inside page.
Dragonlore
A Scientific Study of Dragons
By Ivor Klingerflim
He turned to the introduction.
There are many different types of dragon in the world, each with its own unique set of characteristics. A Sea Dragon, for example, has a grey back with a blue underbelly; whereas a Mountain Dragon’s colours are red and green respectively. A Tree Dragon’s skin resembles that of a tree bark, while a Desert Dragon at rest is easily mistaken for a cactus. All winged dragons have hard backs and soft bellies, although a Sea Dragon’s back will soften after a sustained period underwater to facilitate swimming. Once out of the water, the Sea Dragon’s back takes a few days to harden again, during which time it tends to hide in a waterside cave.
Dirk turned to another chapter and found more detailed descriptions, all illustrated with line drawings. Everything was spot on, saying where they could be found, what powers each type had, temperaments, diet. Everything. The last chapter speculated the reason for their disappearance, suggesting that they had probably gone into hiding around the Middle Ages.
The kitchen light came on.
‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Dilly. I thought we had burglars,’ said Mrs Klingerflim, appearing behind him, wearing a pink nightie and brandishing a rusty fire poker. ‘That’s my dear Ivor’s book. I’m particularly fond of chapter twelve, all about Sky Dragons, but then I suppose that’s probably because I wrote most of it.’
Dirk handed the book to the old lady. ‘Mrs Klingerflim?’ he said.
‘Yes, Mr Dilly?’
‘You know I’m a dragon, don’t you?’
She laughed. ‘It’s difficult not to notice, really, isn’t it?’ she replied. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea? And biscuits. I’ve got some nice custard creams in a tin somewhere.’
By the Same Author
The Dragon Detective Agency:
The Case of the Missing Cats
First published in Great Britain in 2007 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
This electronic edition published in September 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square,
London, WC1B 3DP
Text copyright © 2007 by Gareth P. Jones
Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Nick Price
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
eISBN 978 1 4088 3687 3 (e-book)
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The Case of the Wayward Professor Page 14
