The deep voice interrupted him. “That is not your concern, professor.”
“What about your side of the bargain?” asked the professor.
“It’s in the parcel,” said the gravelly voice.
Rosenfield walked to the middle of the room, where he picked up a brown package.
“Open it,” said the voice.
The professor did so excitedly, like a child opening a Christmas present. Dirk couldn’t see what was inside, but he saw the professor’s face light up and a tear form in the corner of his eye. “My goodness!” he gasped. “Is it real?”
“Yes, and there’ll be more once you’ve successfully reprogrammed the machine. The co-ordinates are also in there.”
The professor looked up vacantly, then blinked and said, “This is marvellous.”
“Thank you, Professor Rosenfield. Now go home and I will contact you shortly with details of where you should go next,” said the voice. “Please make sure that no one knows of this.”
“Gosh, no.”
Rosenfield tucked the parcel under his arm, picked up the silver case and left.
Dirk kept his eye on the room below, wanting to catch a glimpse of the owner of the deep voice. He shifted slightly to get a better view, waiting for him to step into sight, but no one appeared. Then he heard a noise and raised his head, but not quickly enough. A sharp pain shot through his skull and he slumped to the ground, knocked unconscious.
Holly could hear Petal’s voice from the other end of the girl’s dormitory corridor.
“I don’t give two hoots how much they love the book. It isn’t enough money and no one else can play me. I don’t care how many Oscars she’s got. I’ll play myself.”
Holly entered their room. Petal, her thin blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a T-shirt with the cover of her mum’s latest album on the front, was pacing with her phone held to her ear.
“Just tell them or I’ll go with the Disney offer. And please stop interrupting me.” She ended the call and exclaimed “Agents!” before throwing herself on to her bed.
She looked up at Holly. “Oh, hi there,” she said frostily.
“Hi, Petal,” said Holly.
“Look, I don’t want there to be any bad feelings between us. I understand why you said what you did in class and I forgive you. I know you’re just jealous of me.”
“I’m not jealous of you.”
“It’s totally understandable. I’d be jealous of me if I wasn’t me. I called Hermann. He’s my therapist and he explained the whole thing. I actually feel sorry for you now,” said Petal, forcing her face into an unnatural looking smile.
A few days ago, a comment like that would have caused Holly to blow up into a raging ball of indignation, but today she bit her lip. Today, she could rise above anything Petal threw at her. Today, she was getting out.
“Sure,” she said calmly. “Thanks.”
“And I spoke to Bob and he reminded me that the title is figurative.”
Bob was the man Petal had employed to write the book for her.
“And you can thank me,” Petal continued, “I’ve sorted out the pest problem.”
Holly felt the colour drain from her face. “What?” she said.
Petal lifted up the duvet to reveal, under the bed, a mousetrap with a dead mouse caught in it. “I’ve asked the caretaker to come and remove it,” she said, looking pleased with herself.
Holly clapped her hand to her mouth to stop herself screaming.
It was Little Willow.
Murdered.
Later that night, Holly lay in bed, fully clothed beneath the sheets, her trainers, coat and bag by the door.
She didn’t want Petal to know how much Little Willow had meant to her, so had said nothing and waited until she left the room before taking the dead mouse out and burying her in the school grounds, with a solemn vow to avenge her death.
“No, Mummy,” muttered Petal in her sleep. “It has to be made of real diamonds.”
Holly listened as footsteps passed outside the door. The overnight teacher patrolled every hour. Once they had passed, she checked her watch. It had just gone midnight. Time to go. She pulled back the covers, slipped out of bed, crept across the room and picked up her things. She opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.
Still in her socks, she darted across to a cupboard and climbed in. This was a blind spot. No cameras. She put on her trainers, her black coat over her black jumper and the black balaclava she had fashioned from a bobble hat by cutting out eyeholes and pulling it over her face. She grabbed her bag and emerged.
Sticking to the shadows, hoping that no one would be staring too intently at the CCTV at this time of night, she made her way to the exit. She pulled out the principal’s wristband and held it up to the door. The red light turned green and the door buzzed open.
She slid out of the building and dived behind one of the large shrubs that stood on either side of the doorway. The door clicked shut behind her. From what she had learned about the security cabin she knew that a light would be blinking on the console inside, indicating that the door had been opened. One of the guards would be examining all monitors covering that area, checking for any unusual activity.
It was a cold night. Holly was wearing her warmest jumper and jeans, but her ankles were exposed. She needed to get moving to warm up. She waited another minute, counting the seconds on her watch, then checked that no one was coming and moved.
The concrete courtyard between the buildings and the playing fields offered no cover. Holly’s only option was to make a run for it. If she had her timings right, the night guard would be way over on the other side of the building. As for the guard in the security cabin, having only just checked the cameras around the girl’s dorm, he would hopefully be watching the football game that had just started on TV.
Holly ran across the courtyard. It seemed a lot further tonight than on the practice runs and her footsteps sounded like someone clapping in a large empty hall. Reaching the playing field, she took cover behind the first of the tall conifer trees that lined the private road which ran from the main buildings to the perimeter gate.
She climbed high into the tree until she was hidden in the darkness of its dense leaves. She remained still for a moment, listened, then climbed along a thick branch to the next tree. She had practised the route several times but her previous attempts had all been made with the benefit of daylight. It was proving more difficult at night.
She hung silently in the tree for a second, the rough bark digging into her hand, suddenly aware of the sound of her own breathing. The trees rustled loudly in the breeze. Was that a cough? She listened. No, it must have been her imagination. There was no one there.
Slowly she made her way from tree to tree until she reached the last one, just far enough from the high wire fence to make a jump impossible. She climbed down to the lowest branch then dropped to the ground, landing badly on her ankle. It hurt and she wanted to shout in pain but kept quiet. The security cabin was only twenty metres away. She could see the light on inside.
Using the trees as cover, she ran along the fence to a point just out of sight of the cameras. She took her bag off her shoulder and pulled out a pair of large wire cutters that she had lifted from her design tech class. That was one thing you could say about William Scrivener: its resources were second to none.
She lifted the cutters up to the wire and was about to cut when she felt a hand land on her shoulder and pull her sharply away from the fence.
“All right, that’s far enough,” said a girl’s voice.
The wire cutters were wrenched from Holly’s hands. “Let me go!” she cried, turning around.
“Why? So you can escape?”
Holly recognized the older girl as one of the prefects.
The girl smiled and said, “Don’t be too annoyed. You got a lot further than I did on my first run.”
Dirk opened his eyes, raised his head and groaned. He was still in the ol
d hospital, exactly where he had fallen. The room was empty. The light in the room below had gone out. His head pounded.
He crept to the window and looked out. Yellow streetlight illuminated the melon man packing away. I can’t have been out long, he thought, but long enough to lose the professor.
Checking the room for clues, he found a plank of wood. He examined it. White paint and nail holes indicated that it had once been a shelf. He could see where it had been ripped from the wall. The shelf was broken in the middle where the wood had splintered and the paint fallen away. He touched the top of his head and inspected his paw. Flecks of white paint. This was what knocked him out. On the other end of the shelf was a semicircle of holes. There was no mistaking them. Dragon tooth marks. This was bad news. Once again, it meant that Dirk wasn’t the only dragon in London.
Every type of dragon was different. Not just in colour, but in shape, strength, powers and jaw shape. A grey-backed, blue-bellied Sea Dragon, for example, had a pointy nose, enabling it to cut through the water at great speed, while a Tree Dragon’s teeth were longer and sharp enough to cull the mightiest oak.
The jaw that had torn the shelf from the wall had left a more rounded imprint and belonged to a Shade-Hugger – an earth-dwelling dragon that couldn’t bear sunlight and only ever surfaced at night, if then. It had been dark when he arrived at the hospital, so the Shade-Hugger that had knocked him out had probably been there already. Dirk knew of only one local Shade-Hugger.
“Karnataka,” he growled, running up the stairs to the roof. The air was cold and sharp. He took a moment to consider his route before leaping to the next building, then the next, heading south to the river.
He darted up a block of flats, built like a giant staircase in the sky, and looked down. By the river, in a small park next to a children’s playground, was a large cylindrical red-stone building. To the locals who used the park, it was an air vent for one of the car tunnels that ran beneath the Thames. To Dirk, it was one of the entrances that led to Karnataka’s underground home.
It was a long jump from the building and Dirk would never have risked it in daylight, but it was dark and he didn’t want to waste any more time. He spread his wings, stood on his hind legs and jumped, gliding silently through the night sky, across the road, landing safely inside the vent. He found a door, opened it and stepped into the darkness. Feeling along the wall, he found a second door. He pushed it open and slid into a small stone room, not much bigger than a cupboard.
He said a few words in Dragonspeak and the small room plummeted into the depths of the earth.
When it finally stopped moving, Dirk saw in front of him a large ornate door carved into the shape of a dragon’s head, with blood-red jewels set into its eyes and a ring through its nose. He jumped up, took the ring in his mouth, pulled it back and let it go. The bang echoed around the chamber and the door creaked open.
The hall behind was even more impressive than the door itself, lined with great stone pillars carved into the shapes of various creatures. There was a Vibria, a Wyvern, a Gogmagog – all creatures that humans had branded mythological. Each one sat upright with its head tilted back and mouth wide open. Red flames burned tirelessly from each mouth, illuminating the rock ceiling.
The impressive hall was a stark contrast to Karnataka himself, a miserable no-good cowering coward with the morals of a Two-Toothed Fire Toad.
Dirk stopped by a giant stone snake with a large head and a long mane. It was a Limpworm, like the one he and Holly had rescued from the Thames. He wondered again why Holly hadn’t been in touch. In befriending a human, he had breached the forbidden divide, risking banishment if he was found out, but Dirk didn’t care much for rules and regulations. Holly was his friend.
A thunderous voice boomed, “Stop. Who enters this hall?”
First-time visitors might have been scared by the impressive sound but Dirk knew it was nothing more than a voice projector, which transformed Karnataka’s thin nasal whine into the huge voice that filled the hall.
“I’m in no mood for the whole big-ego greeting, Karny!” yelled Dirk threateningly.
There was a brief pause and then the voice spoke again. “Please leave! You are trespassing.”
The flames from the statues died down and two red eyes appeared in the darkness.
“You’re not scaring me with your big pretend eyes, Karny,” taunted Dirk, peering into the darkness.
“Turn around, Mountain Dragon,” demanded the voice. “You are not welcome.”
Dirk sprang into action. He darted forwards, past the two false eyes, and raised himself on to his hind legs, drawing his claws.
“You’re not Karnataka,” he said.
Behind the wall was a Shade-Hugger, all right, with his brown back and caramel belly, but it wasn’t Karnataka. He was thinner than Karny, with large fearful eyes. In a lilting voice, he said, “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Where’s Karnataka?” demanded Dirk. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Grendel Sheving. I’m Karny’s cousin. I came to visit but he’s not here.” The Shade-Hugger looked scared. “Are you with the Dragnet?”
“Do I look like a Drake?” said Dirk. The Dragnet was the dragon police force. Its officers were Drab-Nosed Drakes – wingless dragons with big bellies and short tails. “Where has he gone?”
“He’s legged it. The Dragnet have a warrant out for his arrest. I thought it best to keep an eye on the place while he’s away.” Grendel gazed up at the rows of statues. “It’s a bit over the top but it’s a lot more spacious than my place. I could get used to this.”
Dirk could think of a whole string of reasons why the Dragnet might be after Karnataka, but he had always figured that Karny was too smart, or too slippery, to get found out.
Grendel limped out from behind the voice projector and whispered, “There are mutterings of a Kinghorn revolt. There’s a new captain of the Dragnet and he’s arresting half the dragon world on suspicion of being Kinghorns.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Everyone knows,” replied Grendel. “Where have you been? They’re filling up the cells with suspects. The Council have been called.”
The Dragon Council was made up of the six oldest living dragons, all of whom were very old and extremely forgetful. As Dragon Law required all six councillors for a trial to take place, accused dragons often waited years for their cases to come up, while the councillors came and went, forgetting where they were supposed to be or what they were supposed to be doing.
“What have they got on Karny?” asked Dirk.
“I don’t know, but he’s hardly got a clean slate, has he? He’s a Cuddlums all right.”
“A what?” said Dirk.
“Oh, has he never told you his surname? He prefers all this Karnataka the Great, Karnataka the Brave.” Grendel laughed. “Karnataka Cuddlums doesn’t quite have the same ring, does it? Yes, trouble runs on that side of the family. You know what happened to Elsinor?”
“Karnataka told me, yes,” said Dirk.
Karnataka’s brother, Elsinor, had been accused of attacking a remote human village in Romania several years ago. The incident had made the human press but most had dismissed it as nonsense, knowing full well that dragons don’t exist.
“What about you? Looks like you’ve been in the wars,” Dirk said, indicating Grendel’s limp.
“Oh, this? It’s nothing,” said Grendel, sitting down.
“I don’t suppose you’ve been leaping around the city recently, have you?” asked Dirk, reading the Shade-Hugger for any signs of guilt.
“Breaching the forbidden divide? No way, matey,” replied Grendel, a look of fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to join them Cuddlumses in the Inner Core.”
Elsinor had protested his innocence to the bitter end, but that hadn’t stopped the Council finding him guilty and sending him on the last journey he would ever make, to the earth’s Inner Core. No dragon had ever returned.
“What makes you thin
k Karnataka’s heading down to join his brother?”
“The Dragnet always catch their dragons eventually, don’t they? I don’t know what they’ve got on him but I’d bet my right claw that it’s more than gold tax evasion. I was thinking of swapping the doorknocker for a bell. What do you think?”
“I think you shouldn’t go changing things that don’t belong to you, Shade-Hugger,” said Dirk.
He left Grendel considering interior decoration and walked thoughtfully back into the small stone room, wondering if Karnataka really could have been responsible for his bruised head. Of course he could. Karny would have bashed his own mother over the head with a plank of wood if there were a chance she might get in the way of one of his deals. At least Dirk had something on him now. Cuddlums, he thought, smiling to himself.
It was late by the time Dirk jumped through his office window. He landed softly in front of his desk. He shut the window, lowered the blinds, poured himself a large neat orange squash and turned on the TV.
It was a politics show and the presenter was grilling a female politician, wearing a fixed smile.
“How can you justify the amount spent on defence when you can’t tell me what that money is being spent on?” asked the presenter, leaning forwards eagerly.
The politician gave a false laugh and said, “My dear Jonathan, issues of defence are necessarily secret. Surely even you must understand that.”
“What about this leaked document on the AOG project? Can you tell me about that?”
Dirk noticed a twinge of irritation cross the minister’s face. “There is no such thing as the AOG project. That document was fake news.”
“What does AOG stand for?”
“I have no idea. I already told you, to the best of my knowledge there is no such project.”
“Well, we’ve run out of time. Thank you.”
The presenter moved on to the next topic and Dirk switched off the TV. He lobbed the remote at what he thought was a cushion but turned out to be Willow, who screeched and ran under the desk.
School's Out! Page 2
