School's Out!

by Gareth P. Jones

  “Kill him,” said Acer, putting more weight on his jaw.

  “Mmmaknghurn,” Dirk tried again.

  “What’s he saying?” asked Betula, straining to understand.

  Acer lifted her foot up so that Dirk could speak.

  “I’m a Kinghorn. Vainclaw sent me,” he said.

  “You’re not confrienious with the boss,” said Betula scornfully. Dirk had guessed right. They were working for Vainclaw.

  “He sent me to check up on you. He doesn’t want to leave such an important job to a bunch of no good Tree Dragons.”

  “I should schmunch you for saying that,” she hissed.

  “Kill me then,” said Dirk. “I’m sure he won’t hold it against you, killing a member of his family.”

  “He’s fablifizing,” said Acer.

  Salix, who had been biting his leg, let go and said, “Vainclaw is a Mountain Dragon. It’s possible.” Dirk could feel blood ooze from where her teeth had been.

  “My name is Jegsy Grandin,” he said. “I’m Vainclaw’s nephew.”

  “Prove it,” said Betula. “Tell us what’s so important about the manuman.”

  “Don’t try to trick me,” replied Dirk. “Vainclaw only lets you know as much as you need to know. He doesn’t trust you. You just do what you’re told. So do that now and let me go.”

  Betula snarled angrily at the bind he had caught her in and yelled, “Release him!”

  “No, let’s schmunch him,” said Acer.

  “We can’t risk it. What if he’s truthin’?”

  “Then we tell the boss that it was a mistaccident.”

  “Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll comprestand, us mistaccidently schmunching a member of his family. Let him go.”

  The four dragons finally released Dirk and he stood up, checking his injuries. Dark green blood oozed from his tail and legs. Every inch of his body screamed out in pain. He had to get away but the dragons were still surrounding him. He straightened out his wings and gave them a couple of tentative flaps. They hurt but they seemed to be working OK.

  “Don’t try anything,” said Betula nervously.

  “What’s going on, Jegsy?” asked Salix. “Why are we watching the manuman? When is the boss coming to see us himself?”

  Dirk stretched out his tail and found a rotten branch, hollowed out by ants.

  “I asked you a question,” Salix snapped.

  “And I think I’ve got the answer,” he said.

  In one deft movement, he flipped up the branch with his tail, caught it in his paw and set the end alight with a flame. He spun around with it, creating a ring of fire. Instinctively, the Tree Dragons jumped out of the way and Dirk shot into the air, dropping the burning branch and disappearing over the treetops.

  Although Tree Dragons were quick on the ground, their wings were smaller, making them slower in the air. Not that Dirk was exactly match-fit himself, with his damaged wings and legs. He could feel them nipping at his heels. He tucked his tail in to stop them from grabbing it and flew as fast as he could.

  “I told you he was fablifizing,” he could hear Acer shouting.

  “Don’t let him escapaway!” yelled Betula.

  One of the dragons snapped at his wings as they flew up alongside him. He thrashed his tail out and sent her plummeting down into the forest. He was nearing the road where a large lorry was hurtling along. He swooped down.

  “Somebody stop him!” screamed Buxus. “He’s heading for the big schweeler!”

  But it was too late. Dirk sailed over the edge of the forest and landed safely on the lorry. He clung tightly to the top and glanced back. The Tree Dragons had stopped their pursuit, hovering above the forest, not wanting to risk exposure in the human world. Dirk blended with the lorry but he was exhausted. He needed somewhere to hide out and recover.

  After a few minutes, the lorry stopped at a two-way junction where a sign pointed left to Stonegarth and right to a place called Little Hope. Dirk smiled at the name. It seemed somehow appropriate. Then he noticed what was written below it.

  By Monday morning, Holly was beginning to feel nervous about band rehearsal. She had practised all the pieces of music, but she was worried that she wouldn’t be good enough and Miss Gilfeather would throw her out, ruining her chances of escape.

  Her mood wasn’t improved by the realization that today was the first English class in which they would be studying Petal’s book.

  Miss Whittaker, the English teacher, wore a wide grin.

  “Normally I’d ask who would like to read first,” she began, “but I think, since we have the opportunity, we should hear it in the author’s own voice. Petal?”

  Petal stood up, matching Miss Whittaker’s grin, and opened her book proudly.

  Holly stared out of the window at the large grounds, imagining herself running across the field and leaping over the high wire fence, trying to shut out the sound of Petal’s voice.

  “Chapter one. My Wonderful Birth,” Petal read. “There had been much speculation over my mother’s pregnancy. Was it a boy or a girl? What would she call it? What birth method would she choose?”

  “Who was the father?” muttered Holly under her breath, making the boy next to her laugh.

  Miss Whittaker threw a stern glance at her.

  Holly didn’t care. And she didn’t care about the media buzz that surrounded Petal’s birth either. She was thinking about Callum. Yesterday Holly had visited the library and used the computer to locate a series of newspaper articles about him. The first was from last year, when Callum would have been in Year Seven. It was a front page story and included a photo of the school, another of Callum and his family standing outside 10 Downing Street and one of Principal Palmer sitting behind his desk. The article read:

  Yesterday, Scotland Yard confirmed that the Prime Minister’s youngest son, Callum Thackley (11), has been kidnapped from his school grounds.

  Detective Chief Inspector Arnold Stickler said, “Callum Thackley was abducted three days ago during a lunch hour.”

  Prime Minister James Thackley is yet to issue an official statement but is said to be “deeply concerned”.

  Principal Larry Palmer said he would do everything he could to assist the police and that they would be investing in state of the art security measures in order to avoid any repeat of such an event in the future. “I believe our parents should be able to treat William Scrivener’s like a bank, placing their most valuable assets somewhere they will be safe,” said Palmer in a press conference.

  There were a number of articles along these lines until one appeared a few days later saying:

  Callum Thackley, the Prime Minister’s son, has been found, metres away from the spot he was taken. Although deeply distressed, he is physically unharmed. Detective Chief Inspector Stickler, who has been leading the investigation, said: “One of our officers discovered the boy sitting under a tree not far from the site of the original abduction in the forest surrounding the school. After thoroughly combing the area, no suspects were found. Callum is understandably traumatized but is doing very well, considering the ordeal he has been through.”

  The Prime Minister issued the following statement: “My family and I are delighted at Callum’s safe return, but I will not rest until the monsters behind his abduction are brought to justice.”

  More articles followed, some suggesting that Callum never fully recovered from his kidnapping ordeal, others speculating as to the motive behind the kidnapping and why no demands were made, but none of them indicated that the police ever did discover who was behind his abduction.

  Callum didn’t seem to have any friends at school and Holly felt sorry for him. She knew what it was like to go through life without friends.

  “In the end it was a simple candlelit water birth,” Petal continued in a sing song voice, “with positive energy provided by a choir of Buddhist monks, a bottlenose dolphin in the pool and a thousand rose petals floating on the surface. On May the first, at eleven in the morning, Petal Dolph
in Moses entered the world. I was healthy and I was beautiful. Unfortunately, the dolphin became so distressed by the sight of me being born that it began to attack my mother. Luckily, one of the monks intervened, jumping into the pool and wrestling the dolphin.”

  Petal sat down and Miss Whittaker led the class in a round of applause. “Now,” she said, still giddy with sycophantic excitement, “would anybody care to say what strikes them about that opening passage?”

  Holly looked longingly out of the window at the bright sunny morning and for a moment she thought she saw something. Something Dirk-shaped. No, she couldn’t have. It must have been her eyes playing tricks on her. But she could have sworn…

  No, she said to herself, you’re just missing him.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from the boy next to her and she saw that everyone was staring expectantly at her.

  “Well?” said Miss Whittaker.

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” asked Holly.

  “I asked what you thought of the way the author uses humour in the opening passage,” she said.

  “I think he wrote it very humorously,” said Holly.

  The class laughed. Petal stared angrily at Holly.

  “You mean she. The author is female,” said Miss Whittaker patiently.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Holly. “I thought you meant Bob, the man she had write it for her.”

  Before Miss Whittaker could tell her where to go, Holly picked up her bag and headed to the principal’s office.

  When she got there, the secretary informed Holly that Principal Palmer was away all morning at a shareholder’s meeting so she made her way to the next lesson, which was PE.

  The class gathered on the field and Mr Brooker, a scruffy-looking man with a large, matted beard, announced that they would be practising cross-country running around the perimeter of the school grounds.

  Everyone groaned. The blue sky had clouded over and a light drizzle hung in the air. It was a miserable day for a long run.

  “A body is like a car,” barked Mr Brooker. “It must be taken out for regular runs to keep everything ticking along.” He jogged on the spot, touched his toes, then threw in a couple of star jumps for good measure.

  “Excuse me, sir?” Petal Moses, dressed immaculately in her white designer gym kit, raised her hand.

  “Yes, Petal?”

  “Fabio says he doesn’t want me going on any long runs because of my weak ankle.”

  “Is Fabio a doctor and did he write you a note?”

  “No, sir, he’s my personal trainer. He’s worked with some of the biggest names in Hollywood.”

  “I’m sorry, Petal,” said Mr Brooker, grinning. “No note, no excuse. Let’s go, my people.”

  He ran around, herding the reluctant students like a sheepdog, guiding them along the side of the football pitch to the perimeter fence where he explained that the run would take about forty-five minutes to an hour. “If you run too slowly,” he added, “you’ll be late for lunch. There’s your motivation.”

  He blew a whistle and they set off, some of the class running full pelt, others jogging at a more sensible pace. Inevitably the class soon became spread out, naturally splitting into pairs or threes.

  Not having any friends, Holly ran alone.

  She saw Petal running ahead of her with two girls. She was pleased that Petal had been forced to do the run like everyone else. Holly decided to overtake her, speeding up to run between her and the fence. As she approached, she could hear Petal saying, “Fabio says running without a running machine is like wearing green to a launch party. No one does it any more—A-choo!” She sneezed. “That’s it. I’m catching a cold. As soon as I get back I’m calling my lawyer. I’m going to sue the school.”

  As Holly drew level with her, she looked round and said, “Oh, hi, Holly. How’s your boyfriend, Callum?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” replied Holly, and she sped up, wanting to avoid any more conversation.

  But Petal kept level, singing, “Holly loves Callum.”

  The other girls giggled.

  “I do not!” yelled Holly.

  She ran faster, but Petal and her friends just upped their pace too.

  “Stands to reason,” said Petal. “They’re both freaks.”

  “At least I’m not a—” started Holly, but her retort was cut short as she felt something collide with her shin. She stumbled and fell, losing her balance and landing face down in the mud.

  The three girls laughed and continued running, Petal shouting behind her, “Enjoy your trip?”

  A pair of boys ran past without stopping to check that she was all right. Holly felt miserable. She was wet, cold and muddy. She felt lonely and humiliated. Then she heard a gravelly voice say, “Stay where you are. Let the stragglers pass.”

  On the other side of the fence, two large yellow eyes were staring at her.

  “Dirk?” she gasped. “Is it really you?”

  Once the last few runners had gone, Holly turned back to the dragon and said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I was in the neighbourhood,” replied Dirk, before adding, “I can see you’re as popular as ever.”

  “I’m so glad to see you,” said Holly. “Not that I can see you really.” She could just about make out Dirk’s outline, although his skin was perfectly blended with his surroundings. He shifted and the colour returned to his body.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  “Be careful. They have cameras everywhere.”

  “It’s a blind spot,” replied Dirk.

  Holly checked. It was true. A large tree overhanging the fence blocked the nearest camera, and a high hedgerow stood between them and the school building. Holly saw that he had slipped his tail through a hole in the fence to trip her up on purpose. It was then that she noticed patches of dark green liquid oozed from his tail and legs. Some of it had rubbed off on her shin when he’d tripped her. She touched it and found it sticky and thick. Instinctively, she put it to her tongue and, in spite of its colour, recognized the metallic taste as blood.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said. “What happened?”

  “I ran into another one of Vainclaw’s little armies.” Dirk sounded tired, his breathing was heavy and the smoke from his nostrils had an unhealthy yellow hue. “Tree Dragons. Vicious creatures.”

  Holly heard a dog barking nearby.

  “Did you make that hole?” she asked, pointing to the ragged hole in the fence that Dirk was peering through.

  “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 then,” 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 Limpworm 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. Meet me in 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 dragon 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 held a walkie-talkie. In the other, a lead attached to a rather angry-looking poodle. The dog 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. So the school board has insisted we use less-aggressive dogs. He’s called Bruno.”

  “Hello, Bruno,” said Holly to the perplexed poodle.

  “Does it look silly, me with a poodle?” The guard asked self-consciously.

  “Not at all,” lied Holly. “He seems quite … well, barky.”

  “Aye. I’ve been trying to increase his aggression levels, using war chants and a sophisticated Pavlovian behavioural technique involving energy bars, Irn-Bru and spam.”

  “Is it working?” asked Holly.

  “Not really.” He was interrupted by the poodle barking again. “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 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?”