The Case of the Missing Cats

by Gareth P. Jones

  ‘Oh, maybe that’s not the right thing. Hold on.’ He jumped back into the crate.

  ‘Eh, you been on the rob again, Jegsy?’ said Flotsam.

  ‘It ain’t robbing, like. I’m collecting,’ said the Mountain Dragon, emerging from the crate holding a tennis racket, a plant pot and a large pair of rather grey-looking underpants.

  ‘Vainclaw said we shouldn’t take anything except for cats,’ said Leon.

  ‘Yeah, but he wouldn’t mind the odd thing, like. It’s so interesting, all this stuff. And I’m making real progress at understanding how it all works, ain’t I? Right, try this.’ He placed the plant pot on Leon’s head, draped the pants over his nose and then began repeatedly hitting the plant pot with the tennis racket. ‘How’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘GET OFF ME,YOU IDIOT!’ yelled Leon, shaking his head so that the plant pot smashed against a wall and sending the Y-fronts flying up in the air. The large yellow dragon threw his head back and roared. An enormous flame shot out of his mouth, burning the Y-fronts to a crisp and slightly singeing Dirk’s behind. He swallowed the pain, knowing that the slightest movement would cause his skin to resume its natural colour, revealing him to the other dragons. Below, the charred remains of the pants rained down on the four dragons.

  ‘Listen to me, you lot,’ said Leon. ‘Vainclaw doesn’t want any unnecessary risks taken. This is too important.’

  ‘Sorry, Leon.’ Jegsy carefully dropped the tennis racket back into his crate.

  ‘There you go again, bro,’ said Mali. ‘Acting like the big old dragon. What makes you so important, eh?’

  ‘I’ll tell you exactly what, ar’ kid,’ he snarled. ‘Because I’ve just received word from Vainclaw. We have a new assignment.’

  Flotsam’s ears pricked up. ‘No more cats?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Yeah, spill the beans, like. What’s the job?’ asked Jegsy.

  ‘Stage two,’ said Leon.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said his brother. ‘Then why didn’t he tell the rest of us?’

  ‘Because Vainclaw trusts me,’ Leon said pointedly.

  ‘Bully for you,’ Mali sulked.

  ‘Forget your usual routes. Today, you’re all to follow me.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Flotsam.

  ‘I told you. It’s time for stage two,’ replied Leon.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Mali. ‘The big V man ain’t told you nothing.’

  ‘Yes, he has,’ said Leon impatiently.

  ‘Has not.’

  ‘Has so.’

  ‘Cut it out,’ said Flotsam. ‘I think we should just ... ah ... ah ... ah ...’

  The other three dragons cowered in anticipation.

  ‘Ah . . . ah . . .’

  After a moment’s pause, Flotsam sniffed and said, ‘Actually, I think I’m all right.’

  He wiped his nose, and the other dragons raised their heads, looking relieved.

  ‘CHOOOOO!’ he screamed, fire bursting from his mouth.

  ‘I could give you something for that,’ said Jegsy, diving once again into the crate. ‘Take one of these every hour until the sneezing stops,’ he said, passing Flotsam a selection of tennis balls.

  ‘Thanks,’ said the Sea Dragon, putting one into his mouth and biting down. ‘It’s a bit chewy,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe it should be dissolved in water first,’ said the other.

  ‘Can you stop messing around?’ barked Leon. ‘Come on, everyone follow me.’

  Dirk kept very still.

  The large, yellow-backed Scavenger flew up to the skylight.

  Dirk held his breath.

  The dragon slid the skylight open, slipped through the hole and disappeared on to the roof. The other three dragons followed. As the last one slid the skylight shut, Dirk heard the one called Leon say, ‘Remember, no robbing, no arguing and no sneezing.’

  Once he was sure that they had gone Dick flew to the skylight, his skin returning to its true colour. He slid it open and slipped out on to the roof. He could see the four dragons leaping from roof to roof, the large, yellow one leading the way. He was about to take chase when he noticed out of the corner of his eye a light-blue, round-topped car, parked by the side of the warehouse. Inside the car Dirk could see Mrs Klingerflim sitting, smiling vaguely and tapping her hands on the steering wheel. Holly, he thought. Why isn’t Holly with her?

  Checking no one was around, he jumped down to the street below and approached the car window, where Mrs Klingerflim was listening to some old crackly music on the radio. It sounded like an awful noise to Dirk, but she seemed to be enjoying it.

  ‘Mrs Klingerflim,’ he said.

  ‘Is that you, Mr Dilly?’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘You made me jump. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Where’s Holly?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear,’ replied the old lady. ‘She said she would only be a minute.’

  ‘Rats,’ said Dirk. He looked around. The once-white van was gone. He flew back to the roof, but still couldn’t see any sign of it. He needed height and he needed it now. Three roofs away was a large industrial chimney. He ran across the roof, dived to the next, landing into a forward roll, and then he was springing up, spreading his wings and flying to the top of the chimney. Carefully balancing on the rim he looked down at the surrounding streets. There was still no sign of the van. And then he saw another car he recognised. It was the grey Mercedes with the white stripe that had been parked outside his flat, the one driven by the man in the wide-brimmed hat. It was driving full pelt away, jumping every red light it went through, heading eastward.

  Dirk spread his wings, and leapt from the chimney, taking chase as the sun set behind him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The car took the same route out of the city that the two crooks had taken in the van. It parked in front of the church, across the road from the shady path that led to the riverside. Dirk landed on the church roof. The man in the wide-brimmed hat got out and hurried across the road. He walked briskly down the path, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his head bowed down. He was alone.

  Cursing himself for not having his disguise with him, Dirk swooped down to the car. There was no sign of Holly in the front seat. No sign in the back. Ears pricked up, listening for anyone approaching, Dirk slipped round the back of the car. He lowered his head to the boot and said, ‘Holly, are you in there?’

  Nothing.

  He opened his mouth and clamped his teeth down on the boot, being careful not to bite straight through the metal. The last thing he wanted was to skewer the girl on one of his teeth. Satisfied with his grip he raised his head slowly. It made an awful sound, of teeth against steel. There goes my enamel, thought Dirk. He pushed the door wide open, braced himself and looked down. She wasn’t there.

  ‘Rancid rats called Rodney,’ Dirk swore, jumping back to the safety of the church roof just as a solitary furniture removal van rumbled past. It was late and with only a few yellow street lamps to combat the darkness, Dirk could barely make out the man in the wide-brimmed hat. In a matter of seconds he would disappear from sight altogether, into the shadows.

  The road was clear. Dirk spread his wings, stood on tiptoes on the edge of the church, his forepaws stretched out like an Olympic diver, made a tiny jump and glided across the road, down the path, gathering speed as he flew.

  Dirk cut silently through the air towards the man. He knew he had one chance to get this right.

  Centimetres away from the man’s back, Dirk swung his feet down, clamped the man’s shoulder with his right forepaw and thrust his index claw into the small of his back, as though it were a gun.

  The man froze, then raised his arms. ‘I’m not armed,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t turn around,’ Dirk whispered in his ear. ‘I’ll shoot if I have to. Now start talking.’

  ‘What d’you want to talk about?’ replied the man casually.

  ‘Your favourite brand of baked beans,’ said Dirk. ‘What do you think?’


  ‘I prefer spaghetti hoops and you’re going to have to be more specific,’ he retorted.

  He was talking coolly. Dirk could tell that this wasn’t the first time that the man had felt a gun pushed against his back. It was, however, probably the first time that the gun had actually been a very sharp claw belonging to a red-backed, green-bellied, urban-based Mountain Dragon.

  ‘OK. Let’s start with your name,’ said Dirk.

  ‘Blake,’ said the man. ‘Ladbroke Blake.’

  ‘Ladbroke Blake,’ he said. ‘Sort of name that would look good on a gravestone.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be a threat?’

  ‘Just answer my questions, buddy. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘Give me a question I can answer then, buddy,’ replied Ladbroke.

  ‘Where’s the girl?’

  ‘I could ask you the same thing.’

  ‘Except that I’m the one holding the gun.’ Dirk pushed his claw further into the man’s back.

  ‘All right, take it easy. I haven’t touched her. I was just hired to follow her. OK?’

  ‘Who hired you?’ asked Dirk.

  ‘There is such a thing as client confidentiality,’ said Ladbroke.

  ‘Honour amongst thieves, eh?’ smirked the dragon.

  ‘I’m not a thief. I’m a private detective. My card is in my top pocket.’

  ‘OK,’ said Dirk. ‘Carefully, without making any sudden movements and using your left hand, pull it out and show it to me.’

  Ladbroke pulled out a business card and held it up.

  ‘Dr Hilary Fletch,’ read Dirk. ‘Forensic specialist and part-time pathologist?’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ said Ladbroke. ‘Wrong card. Try this one.’

  He pulled out another. It read:

  LADBROKE BLAKE

  BLAKE INVESTIGATIONS:

  Confidential, Professional and

  Affordable Private Investigations

  ‘Nice card,’ said Dirk.

  ‘Thanks. I just got new ones from the printer. Romalian typeface on Eggshell, whatever that means.’

  ‘I’m not interested in your typeface, Blake. Just tell me who hired you or I’ll be asking you to investigate the bottom of the Thames.’

  ‘That’s another threat, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who?’ demanded Dirk, tightening his grip on the man’s shoulder.

  ‘Mrs Bigsby, Holly’s mother.’

  ‘You mean her dad’s wife,’ replied Dirk.

  ‘Well, it’s a good job she did hire me. This isn’t your average truant case. It seems that young Holly has got herself mixed up in some serious trouble.’

  ‘What do you know?’ asked Dirk anxiously.

  ‘I know that she’s been hanging around with some crazy, blind, old lady, who drives like a lunatic. I know that the old lady gave her a lift to a warehouse in East London this evening, where she was forced into the back of a dirty white van – license plate K884 UTA – at gunpoint by two low-life thugs and that they drove her here and that right now she’s about fifty metres in that direction.’ Dirk could tell he was telling the truth. ‘Now will you let me go?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Dirk. He released the detective from his grip, but before he could turn round, whacked him over the head. Ladbroke Blake fell to the ground in a slump. Dirk checked his pulse. He was fine, just unconscious. He dragged the body under a hedge and continued carefully down the path, wondering what sort of stepmother hires a private detective because her daughter is bunking off school.

  His thoughts were interrupted by approaching voices. Dirk dived behind a tree.

  ‘Hey, Arthur, what was that?’ said the first voice.

  ‘Don’t be so paranoid, Reg. It was probably just a fox,’ said the second.

  ‘This job just gets worse and worse. First cats, now little girls. It’s not right. It’s not normal.’

  ‘Imagine, Reg, that you are in a room. Can you imagine that?’

  ‘What sort of room?’ asked Reg.

  The two crooks passed where Dirk was hiding.

  ‘A very boring room, Reg, one with just a chair in it and a picture of some flowers in a bowl. Imagine you are in a boring room like that and then you leave.’

  ‘Because it’s so boring?’

  ‘Yes, Reg. The question is, once you have left, how do you know the room still exists?’

  ‘Because I’ve just been there.’

  The voices grew fainter as the men got further away.

  ‘But you are no longer there. You have left. How do you know it still exists?

  ‘I don’t think I follow you,’ said Reg.

  ‘Forget the girl. She no longer exists. Think about the money,’ replied Arthur.

  The two men gone, Dirk continued down the path, which opened on to the clearing by the river, where he saw the once-white van parked. He made three steps towards it then stopped. His ears pricked up. He could hear the whirring of approaching dragon wings. He dived for cover just as the four Kinghorn dragons landed by the side of the van.

  Heads lowered, they prowled silently towards the vehicle, glancing from side to side as they moved. The Mountain Dragon and the Sea Dragon stopped on either side of the van. The small Scavenger hopped on top. The large one, Leon, walked to the back, raised himself up on his hind legs, grabbed the handles, and pulled the door open. The sound of a young girl screaming filled the air.

  Holly, thought Dirk.

  ‘Ar-right, calm down,’ he heard the large Scavenger say, jumping into the van. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

  The Sea Dragon and the Mountain Dragon sniggered, rounded the van and, using their tails, slammed the doors shut.

  The screaming stopped.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dirk watched the three dragons guarding the van. He had to help Holly but even he couldn’t take on all three of them. Not all at once, anyway. As quietly as possible he backed into the undergrowth then headed down the path.

  In the back of the once-white van, the dragon’s large ugly face loomed close to Holly’s. A droplet of spittle fell from one of its long, sharp teeth on to her jeans. It sniffed Holly’s hair, and brought its enormous yellow eyes to peer at her face. Dirk had been right. Its breath stank. Holly moved her head away as much as she could, but the two crooks had tied the ropes too tightly. The dragon examined her up and down.

  ‘Scared, are you?’ it asked.

  ‘I’m not scared of you,’ she replied defiantly. ‘You’re just a coward.’

  ‘Coward, eh? We’ll see how brave you are in a minute.’

  ‘Well, carry on, if it makes you feel big to pick on girls and defenceless cats.’

  ‘What do you know about the cats?’ snapped the dragon.

  ‘I know you’ve been stealing them. I know about the Kinghorns. And I know about Vainclaw Grandin.’

  For a moment, Holly thought she saw fear in the dragon’s yellow eyes. It pushed its face up to hers. The breath was unbearable, like it had been gargling with toilet water. ‘Where did you hear that name?’ it demanded.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked.

  ‘This is war. How do you know about . . .’ the dragon lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘Vainclaw?’

  ‘But we’re not at war. Anyway, what does it matter what I know. You’re going to kill me, anyway, aren’t you?’

  ‘True. And not just you. Soon your whole pathetic race will be extinct.’

  ‘But why?’ she asked.

  ‘Because we hate you, all of you. Humans have always been terrified of the big scaly creature lurking beneath the surface, waiting to rear its ugly head and feast on the fair maiden, always relying on the knight in shining armour to turn up at the last minute to kill the creature, save the maiden and take all the glory. Well, have you ever thought about this? Maybe the maiden never needed saving. Maybe the creature doesn’t need killing. Maybe it’s the knight that’s the problem.’

  Outside the van the Sea Dragon, Flotsam, was getting jittery. ‘What was that noise?�
� he said, glancing fearfully at the trees.

  ‘What noise?’ asked Jegsy. ‘I didn’t hear no noise.’

  ‘Over there. I heard something.’

  ‘What you two talking about?’ spat Mali, circling the top of the van.

  ‘Flotsam’s hearing noises, like,’ said Jegsy.

  ‘Well, go and check it out, then,’ said Mali.

  ‘On my own? What if it’s a . . . a human?’ stammered Flotsam, looking scared.

  ‘Flotsam, you idiot! You’re a dragon,’ said Mali, ‘You have razor-sharp talons, teeth that could snap a man in half, an armour-plated back and you can breathe fire. What are you scared of?’

  ‘But it’s still breaching the forbidden divide,’ Flotsam shuddered. ‘We’re not supposed to be seen.’

  ‘You fool,’ spat Mali. ‘What’s it matter if anyone sees you at this stage?’

  ‘That’s true, like,’ said Jegsy. ‘It don’t matter.’

  ‘Still, can’t one of you come with me?’ pleaded Flotsam.

  ‘I’ll come,’ said Jegsy. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Go on, then, hurry up,’ said Mali. ‘Remember the plan.’

  The two dragons walked into the overgrown wooded area cautiously. With each step it got darker and they grew closer together, until they were walking shoulder to shoulder.

  ‘Look, someone’s there,’ whispered Flotsam.

  Jegsy looked. Sure enough he could make out a figure. It looked like a man, wearing a long raincoat and a wide-brimmed hat.

  ‘Come on,’ said Jegsy.

  ‘What if he’s armed?’ asked Flotsam. ‘They have guns, remember.’

  ‘I’ll go round the back, surround him, like,’ said Jegsy. ‘We’ll do the old surround-and-pounce plan.’

  ‘What’s the old surround-and-pounce plan?’ asked Flotsam.

  ‘Well, we surround him, then we pounce on him.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Flotsam, and Jegsy disappeared into the darkness, leaving Flotsam to creep slowly towards the unmoving shadowy figure, stepping as lightly as possible. Once he was near enough he crouched down. Jegsy moved into position on the other side of the man. Then, in one sudden movement, they both leapt forward, landing on top of him. But instead of feeling a solid body crumbling beneath them, they heard a stick snap and both fell heavily to the ground. They looked at each other in confusion.