Catnapped!

by Gareth P. Jones

  “Invisible, no,” replied Dirk. “We avoid being seen by taking the high road. Now be quiet and climb on my back.”

  His back was hard like armour but as she climbed on she accidentally kicked him in his soft, green underbelly.

  “Ow,” he grumbled. “Watch what you’re doing. I’m not a bouncy castle. Hold on tight.”

  Holly squeezed her arms tightly around the dragon’s neck.

  “Noh thah tight,” Dirk said in a strangulated whisper.

  “Sorry.” Holly loosened her grip.

  Dirk checked that the coast was clear, raised the blind, then threw open the window.

  “And try not to make any noise,” he said, before leaping out with Holly clinging on to his back.

  They landed on the roof across the road from his office and Holly surveyed the skyline of London. “Wow!” she exclaimed loudly in Dirk’s ear. “This is brilliant.”

  “Shhh! Do you know what would happen if we were seen?”

  “Sorry,” she said, more quietly this time.

  Dirk hopped to the next roof.

  “Would they put you in a zoo?”

  “A zoo? I’d like to see them try,” he scoffed. “Hold on, this is a big one.” He soared high into the sky and landed on an office block, scampered along the flat roof and jumped to the next building.

  “What would happen if you were seen then?” asked Holly.

  “Rats. Window cleaners,” said Dirk, turning and changing direction. “We’d better take the long route.” He leaped to another nearby rooftop and then another. With each jump he stretched out his wings, enabling him to glide to the next building without landing so heavily as to be heard below.

  “What would happen if you were seen?” Holly persisted.

  “Stay very still,” he said, coming to a sudden halt on a rooftop. Before she could ask why, Holly heard a clattering mechanical sound getting louder and louder. A police helicopter flew towards them. She looked down at the dragon and to her surprise saw that Dirk’s red back had become the same colour and pattern as the rooftop beneath him. He was still there, breathing below her, his wings by his side, his eyes looking furtively ahead, and yet he was, well, roof-coloured. The helicopter flew overhead, unaware of the dragon on the roof and apparently not noticing the young girl hovering just above it.

  “I thought you said you couldn’t turn invisible,” she said.

  “That’s not invisible,” replied Dirk. “That’s just blending.”

  “How do you do it?” she asked.

  “It’s not that difficult,” said Dirk, standing up on all fours, returning to his natural colour and taking off again. “You just have to not move and think like a roof.”

  “But what would have happened if you were seen?”

  “If humans knew that dragons existed?”

  “Yes.”

  “There would be a war,” he said casually. “Dragons against humans.”

  “But dragons are much stronger than humans – surely you’d win.”

  “Individually we’re stronger, yes. But humans have weapons that can wipe out entire cities. I may have a tough back but drop a nuclear bomb on me and see what good it does.”

  Dirk landed heavily on a supermarket roof and Holly let out a small yelp and grabbed his ears tightly.

  “Ow!” said Dirk irritably.

  “What about Mrs Klingerflim? She knows you’re a dragon.”

  “Mrs Klingerflim can’t see further than the end of her own spectacles. Why else would she think you could be my niece?”

  They were winging their way eastwards now. Holly sat up, relaxing a little. “How many of you are there in London?” she asked.

  “Look, kiddo, it’s bad enough that you’ve seen me. I’m not answering any more questions. I said you can come with me today, then you can let me get back to doing my job.”

  “Well, I didn’t think that dragons existed at all until this morning.”

  “You never wondered about the Loch Ness monster?”

  Holly gasped. “Why? Does it really exist? Is it a dragon?”

  “No,” said Dirk, laughing. “There’s nothing in Loch Ness except fish and water.”

  “Oh,” said Holly, disappointed. “What about Saint George?”

  “You call him Saint George. We just call him George the Cold-blooded Murderer. He killed a defenceless pregnant mother. Very heroic. Nice guy to choose for your patron saint,” snapped Dirk.

  “I didn’t choose him as our patron saint. Don’t have a go at me!” she replied.

  “Hey, look, if you’ve had enough…” Dirk stopped on a sloping roof. He lowered his body by the chimney top and said, “You can get off here and I can go about my business on my own. Go on…”

  “There’s no need to be like that. I only pointed out you aren’t being very friendly, but it’s to be expected, I suppose – you don’t have much company. Nor do I. Lots of people don’t think I’m very nice either.”

  “Don’t you care?”

  “No,” replied Holly. “I know what I’m really like and if other people can’t be bothered to find out then I can’t be bothered to care what they think.”

  Dirk craned his neck around to look at the girl. She looked stubbornly back at him.

  “You’re not like most humans,” he said. “All my clients ever care about is what other people think. They don’t want their secrets getting out. They want it all kept quiet, brushed under the carpet.”

  “Well, I just want to know what’s happened to Willow. She’s only a cat and can’t really look after herself.”

  “OK then, let’s find out.” Dirk stood up and they continued their journey in silence.

  They finally landed on a flat factory rooftop across the road from the warehouse where Dirk had seen the mysterious dragon take the cat the day before. Lying in the yard outside the warehouse was the drain piping that Dirk had ripped from the wall.

  “Are we here?” asked Holly.

  “Yes, you can get off,” he replied.

  She clambered off his back and stretched her arms out. “You’re not very comfortable.”

  “I’m not very friendly, I’m not very comfortable. It’s a wonder you’re here at all.”

  “I told you I—”

  “Want to find your cat. Yes, yes, yes. Well, this is how we find her. We sit here and we watch and we wait.”

  “OK.” Holly sat down. “What are we watching?”

  “That building.”

  For an hour they stared at the warehouse but nothing happened. No dragons landed on the roof. Nobody went in or out of the building. Dirk was expecting Holly to moan about being bored. In fact he was hoping that she would – that way he could be shot of her. People always thought detective work was exciting but in reality most of it was like this – sitting still, watching nothing happen slowly. He glanced at her but she showed no signs of getting tired. Her eyes stared at the building as unblinkingly as they had an hour ago.

  She caught him looking at her and said, “What?”

  “Nothing,” said Dirk.

  Suddenly a loud BANG rang out.

  “Get down!” shouted Dirk, diving on top of Holly.

  “Get off!” she said, struggling to get away.

  “Somebody’s shooting.”

  “No, they’re not,” she said, whacking him as hard as she could.

  He barely noticed. “Listen, kiddo, I’ve been in this business long enough to recognize a gun shot.”

  “Then how do you explain that?” she said, finally wrestling herself free and pointing down to the street. Dirk raised his head cautiously and saw a dirty, once-white van emitting more smoke than an angry Firedrake on a cold day. It rattled unhealthily down the road and then with another loud BANG came to a stop outside the barbed-wire surround.

  “That was close,” Holly laughed.

  “Very amusing,” said Dirk, looking very unamused.

  The two men from yesterday stepped out of either side of the van.

  “I think
we need a new van, Arthur,” said Reg.

  “This mode of transportation meets all of the vehicular requirements of our current engagement, vis-à-vis the transportation of undisclosed items from hither and inevitably to thither,” said Arthur pompously.

  “Come again?” Reg looked perplexed.

  “It still works.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.”

  Holly noticed that Dirk’s ears had pricked up and he was staring intently at the two men.

  “Who are they?” she asked.

  “Suspects,” he replied determinedly, his yellow eyes narrowing.

  Arthur took a key from his pocket and opened the large padlock that kept the gate shut. Reg drove the van into the yard, climbed out and entered the warehouse. He emerged carrying the smaller crate with HANDLE WITH CARE printed on the outside, although, judging by the redness of his face, it was still extremely heavy.

  “Flippin’ ’eck, this is ’eavy, Arthur. What do you suppose they’re all for anyway?” he asked.

  “Ours is not to reason why, Reg. Ours is but to do and die,” replied Arthur, before adding smugly, “That’s Shakespeare.”

  Reg dropped the crate into the back of the van, causing the forlorn vehicle to dip unhappily with its new burden.

  “I don’t get poetry,” he said, leaning against the van. “I don’t see why people can’t just say what they mean. I mean, a poet will go on about ’is lady’s eyes, sayin’ they’re like windows or stars or chocolate truffles or something, but really they’re just eyes and if they’re like anything it’s other eyes because they’re all eyes. You can’t change what something is, can you?”

  “What a fascinating thesis. Thank you, Reg. Tell me, are you familiar with the word ignoramus?”

  “’Course,” said Reg. “It’s a big lizard. My uncle Phil went to prison because of one of them. It bit him on the bum so he threw it out the window. Unfortunately it landed on a policeman. He always ’as bad luck, my uncle Phil.”

  “That’s an iguana, Reg.”

  “Oh, right. What’s what you said then?”

  “You, my friend, are an ignoramus. Now shut the doors and let’s go. You know how particular Mr G is about the schedule.”

  “You ask me, there’s something funny about Mr G.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do anything other than lift and drive. Come on.”

  “How come we never seen ’im then?” Reg said, slamming the back doors of the van and walking round to the front. The two men climbed in and their voices cut out. The van moaned and spluttered reluctantly but eventually the engine turned over. Dirty smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe and the van, the two men and the crate drove away.

  “Come on,” said Dirk. “Get on.”

  “Are we going to follow it?” asked Holly eagerly.

  “Yes. Quickly.”

  She scrambled on to his back and clasped her hands behind his ears. Dirk surveyed the rooftops and, satisfied he had a route, leaped to the next building in pursuit of the van.

  They followed the van through the London streets, further east along the River Thames. The smoke and loud banging noises that it produced made it easy to follow from some distance. But as they headed out of London, the buildings were lower and there were fewer of them, making it hard for Dirk to stay close to the ground. The landscape changed from built-up narrow streets to a more sprawling, barren industrial area. A thin sheet of white cloud covered the sky. It was getting cold and Holly wished she had something warmer on than her T-shirt. She wrapped herself close to Dirk, hoping to steal some of his body heat, but found that his hard, scaly back was not actually very warm at all.

  Dirk was making bigger leaps than he had in the city, jumping high into the air and then gliding down towards the next building.

  With a screech of the brakes, the van turned left off the main road and headed down a tree-lined dirt track to the riverside. Dirk followed, his descent taking him on to the rooftop of an old disused church.

  “Why have we stopped?” asked Holly.

  “There aren’t any buildings down there,” said Dirk, indicating where the van had gone.

  “Can’t you use the trees?”

  “No. I’m a Mountain Dragon, not a Tree Dragon. Trees tend to bend or break when I land on them and there’s not enough cover to fly over.”

  “But we can’t see what they’re doing,” complained Holly.

  The van and the two men were obscured behind the small wooded area, overgrown through neglect, and they were well out of earshot.

  “We’ll just have to wait until they move on again,” replied Dirk. “I can’t risk being seen. I’ve told you what would happen.”

  “That’s rubbish,” said Holly.

  Dirk snarled. “It’s called being a detective – waiting for the right moment, staying out of sight. Sometimes you just have to be patient.”

  “But we might miss something important!” Holly exclaimed urgently.

  “Have you got a better idea?” snapped Dirk.

  “I’ll go,” said Holly.

  “What?”

  “I’m small. I’ll sneak up and see what they’re doing.”

  Dirk considered this. He didn’t really want this human any more involved than she already was, but it was true, she was small. And he had to admit that it would be useful to know what those two crooks were up to.

  “All right,” he said. “But stay out of sight.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t let them hear you.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And be careful crossing the road.”

  “Hurry up,” snapped Holly impatiently. “They’re opening the van.”

  “OK.” Dirk surveyed the road. There was nothing coming. There was no one else around. He swooped down to the ground, where Holly jumped off his back, and then he returned to the safety of the roof.

  He watched as Holly looked both ways, then crossed the road. She ran up the path towards the van. He strained to see but it was no use. Dragon eyesight was good, but not good enough to see through trees. Halfway down the track Holly turned, gave him a thumbs up and then disappeared off into the shadows.

  “What am I doing letting a human help me?” Dirk asked himself.

  Making her way through the undergrowth, Holly approached the van. Her heart beat fast. She felt scared, exhilarated. She could see the men more clearly now, but what with the crunching of the leaves and the snapping twigs beneath her feet it was extremely difficult to move quietly. Luckily Reg was moaning loudly enough to cover her as she scuttled forwards.

  “This’ll be the fourth crate this week and they ain’t gettin’ any lighter. I’ll do myself an injury if I’m not careful.”

  Holly dived behind a nearby bush and found a place where she could peel back a branch to see and hear the two men. The van was parked alongside the river, its back doors open. The ground sloped down to where the high tide river lapped at the muddy bank. A raft bobbed on the water, connected to the shore by a long rope, which was tied to a wooden post.

  “Quit your moaning and haul it in,” said Arthur, pointing at the raft.

  Reg grabbed the rope and pulled it towards the shore.

  “I mean, it’s not a normal job, is it? I been doin’ this sort of caper for I don’t know ’ow long and I ain’t never ’ad a job like this before.” He wound the excess rope around the post as the raft got nearer.

  “My advice to you would be to stop worrying about the whys and focus on the remunerative benefits of the assignment,” said Arthur.

  “The what?”

  “The money, Reg. The money.”

  “Oh, well. The money’s good, I’ll give you that.”

  “Good? For the sort of money we’re getting for this job, Mr G could ask me to paint myself with black-and-white stripes, dowse myself in tomato ketchup and jump into a cage full of peckish lions. And I would happily oblige, no questions asked.”

  “Only you’d probably get me to do it,” muttered Reg under his brea
th.

  “That is the unique and peculiar nature of our partnership, yes, but you have to remember, without me Mr G wouldn’t entrust us with such an important task.”

  The raft was by the riverbank now.

  “He says it’s important. You say it’s important. But what’s it important for? I’d rather be doing a good, ’onest bank robbery or breakin’ and enterin’ or, you know, just breakin’. Because at least with those things you understand what you’re doing it for.”

  “If understanding is so essential to you I am astonished you do anything at all,” replied Arthur with a snide smirk.

  Reg finished securing the rope around the wooden post, walked over to the van and jumped in the back. The vehicle shuddered under the strain of the man’s bulk.

  “Mr G is a very brilliant man,” said Arthur. “Whatever his reasons are I guarantee they are very brilliant.”

  Reg stumbled back out of the van clutching the large crate. He stepped on to the muddy ground and instantly lost his footing, staggering forwards and dropping the crate, which landed in front of him and slid down towards the water’s edge, dragging him with it. There was a big splash and for a moment Holly thought Reg had fallen in the water. In fact, he had somehow got the crate and the top half his body on the raft, but with his feet still on the edge of the riverbank. His large belly wobbled dangerously over the water between land and raft.

  “Oh, bother. Can you get the rope and pull me back in, please?” he said to Arthur.

  “Sorry, Reg. No can do. You see, I have a rare but pathological fear of rope. More of a dread than a fear, really. A mortal dread is what I have of rope and all rope matter.”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Reg, trying not to let the movement from inside the crate drag him into the river.

  “Oh yes. I caught it in India, while watching an old Indian rope trick. I’ve never been able to so much as touch a rope since. It ruined my dream of becoming a sailor. I’m all right with string funnily enough.”

  While Arthur was saying this, Reg had managed to bend his legs, arch his back, lean backwards, and successfully free himself of his dilemma, remaining completely dry in the process. Looking pleased with himself, he brushed his front down, unwound the rope and carefully kicked the raft so that the crate bobbed out on to the river.