School's Out!

by Gareth P. Jones

  Holly stifled a giggle.

  “All right, very funny.” Karny sounded annoyed. “Just don’t spread it around. I’ve got a reputation to think about.”

  Dirk addressed the councillors. “Councillors, as you now know, the Kinghorns have returned. You must release all these prisoners. The only real Kinghorns just flew through that waterfall.”

  The councillors gazed at Dirk with huge, sad eyes.

  We allowed the captain to chain us here for the trials but now we are trapped. You must help release us.

  “I have to return above ground,” said Dirk. “I believe the Kinghorns are planning an attack on humans. I’m sure Karnataka will be more than happy to lend a claw to your predicament.”

  THE KINGHORNS SHOULD BE STOPPED. The Shade-Hugger will help us.

  “Me?” said Karnataka, backing away. “Thanks, guys, but I’ve got to get back to my pad.”

  The Council ELECTS Karnataka acting captain of the Dragnet.

  “Seriously, no… I—” Karnataka stopped mid flow. “Captain? Captain Karnataka. Yes, I like the sound of that. All right. It’s a deal. Does it come with any perks? Do I get holiday pay?”

  Release the prisoners, Captain, and find us a way out of these chains.

  “Sure thing. See you around, Dirk. Make sure she makes good on her promise. The size of a torpedo, OK?” Karnataka took to the air and flew over the lake to bark orders at the Drakes.

  The councillors turned to Dirk.

  The water will take you back.

  “Hold tight,” muttered Dirk under his breath, taking flight towards the enormous waterfall.

  Holly felt fine spray dampen her face. “What did they mean, the water will take us back?” she asked. “Water flows down, not up.”

  “Not when it’s asked nicely it doesn’t,” replied Dirk.

  Holly couldn’t believe her eyes as the plummeting water pulled away, like curtains being drawn, and Dirk flew into the gap, folding his wings and settling on a bed of water that formed beneath him, mid-air.

  She looked around, confused by what was happening, and saw that the water was circling them, swirling above her head. They were in the middle of a giant air bubble.

  Good luck, Mountain Dragon, thought the councillors.

  Holly’s stomach lurched as she and Dirk rose against the flow of the waterfall. The bubble took them to the top, then along an underground river.

  “What’s happening?” she said.

  “The councillors have asked the water to take us up.”

  “Dragons can talk to water?”

  “You can talk to anything, just don’t expect much conversation in return,” said Dirk.

  It was an amazing sensation, rushing upwards inside the sphere of water. The orange earthlight revealed a narrow tunnel, carved out over thousands of years by the underground stream.

  “What did you say to Karny to make him help me?” asked Dirk.

  “I told him that my stepmum works with the ministry of confectionary and hinted that I could get my hands on a piece of liquorice the size of a torpedo.”

  Dirk laughed.

  “How come I could hear the councillors?” she asked.

  “Dragon thoughts get more and more powerful with age. The councillors are so old their thoughts seep into anything close to them, whether it’s dragons, humans or even water. Rock is easy enough to order around, but water takes a lot more persuasion. It’s kind of fickle.”

  “How long will the journey take?” asked Holly.

  “A few hours. We’re a long way down,” replied Dirk.

  The movement of the water was smooth and the sound of the swishing liquid was strangely calming. Holly relaxed her grip around Dirk’s neck. She felt exhaustion overtake her and it wasn’t long before she drifted to sleep, dreaming strange watery dreams.

  Holly didn’t know how long she had been asleep when she was awoken by Dirk saying, “Get ready. We’ll take the rock from here.”

  He leaped out of the bubble with a splash and landed on a streamside stone. They must have been a lot nearer the surface because the earthlight had grown dim and dusky. Dirk said something in Dragonspeak and the rock lifted them up.

  “Where are we going?” asked Holly.

  “To the caves,” replied Dirk. “I’ve got to find those Tree Dragons and stop them. I’m taking you back to school. No stowing away this time. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” Dirk cut her off. “I can’t take any more risks. Those Tree Dragons are vicious and I can’t always protect you.”

  Holly protested but nothing she said would make Dirk change his mind. As they got nearer to the surface, the earthlight ebbed away completely, so that all Holly could see were Dirk’s yellow eyes, blinking in the darkness.

  Cracks of light appeared in the rock above them.

  “We’re almost there,” said Dirk. “Close your eyes. The sun will hurt them after so much exposure to earthlight.”

  Holly shut her eyes tightly. As they broke through, she felt sunlight on her face and swirling red shapes appeared on the backs of her eyelids. She clamped her hands over them.

  “Open them gradually,” said Dirk.

  Using the palm of her hand as a visor, Holly blinked. The light hurt her eyes but it felt good on her skin. The early morning sun was climbing up the blue sky. White fluffy clouds drifted by. The forest looked vivid and green and the air tasted fresh and pure. Holly felt glad to be above ground again.

  After hugging and saying goodbye to Dirk by the fallen sycamore tree, this time for real, Holly walked quickly to the main gate where she was greeted by the familiar sound of a barking poodle.

  “Come back, have you?” said Hamish, typing in the security code to open the gate. “D’you know the trouble you’ve caused?”

  “How are you, Bruno boy?” asked Holly, patting the dog.

  “Never mind him. I’m taking you to the principal’s office.”

  “What day is it?” asked Holly. The time underground had left her feeling disorientated.

  “What sort of question is that? It’s Thursday morning.”

  Holly had made her escape on Tuesday night. She had only been away for one day. It felt like much longer.

  In the reception area, the principal’s secretary was very carefully painting each nail as a different national flag and was currently working on the rather tricky crescent moon in the Turkish flag, which she had decided to place on her thumb.

  “Yes?” she said, not looking up.

  “I’ve got the wee lass who ran away,” said Hamish.

  The secretary looked briefly at Holly before returning her full attention to her nails. “The troublesome Holly Bigsby,” she said flatly. “You’ll have to wait. Someone’s in with him.”

  Holly sat down while Hamish reached into his pocket and pulled out an energy bar, which he fed to Bruno.

  Raised voices were coming from inside the principal’s office.

  “It is an absolute outrage. I tolerate the press, but TV… You’ve turned the concert into a media circus.” It was Miss Gilfeather’s voice. Holly suddenly remembered that today was the day of the school concert.

  “Please, Vivian, think of the coverage. You can’t buy publicity like this. I was thinking if it goes well we could release an album in time for Christmas. Diversify or die, as they say.”

  “Whoever says such a thing? I am not interested in diversifying. It’s a school performance in a local village hall, not a rock concert in Wembley Stadium.”

  “It’s just a few cameras. Everyone who is anyone will be there.”

  “My musicians have enough pressure without inviting the world to watch live.”

  “Oh, there will be no live broadcasting allowed at all. Everything will be pre-recorded to ensure no mistakes make the final cut.”

  “Mistakes—”

  “Oh and I’ve also said that Petal Moses can do a number,” interrupted the Principal nervously.

  “Petal Moses!�
�� Miss Gilfeather’s voice exploded with such force that the secretary slipped and covered the flags of France, Germany and Italy with a disastrous yellow streak. “That girl has as much musical talent as a baboon with a bassoon.”

  “Now, Vivian—”

  “If that!”

  “But her mother’s coming. What a coup. The press will have a field day. It’ll be bigger than a royal wedding. Please, Vivian, I can’t do it without your consent.”

  There was a pause.

  “Oh, all right, but I’m not happy,” said Miss Gilfeather at last. “Now, I have to go. The coach is waiting.”

  “Thank you, Vivian. Thank you so much.”

  The principal’s door opened and Miss Gilfeather emerged, dressed every bit as immaculately as always. Her eyes descended on Holly.

  “Holly Bigsby, third trumpet,” she said automatically.

  “Hello, Miss Gilfeather,” said Holly.

  “Why are you not on the coach?”

  “Erm…”

  “This girl has run away from school. I will take care of her punishment,” asserted Principal Palmer.

  “You’ll do no such thing. She is in my band. Holly, go and get your trumpet and get on the coach.”

  “But, Viv— Miss Gilfeather—” protested Palmer.

  “You may administer your punishment after our concert. Holly, the coach.”

  “Yes, Miss Gilfeather,” said Holly, smiling at the principal.

  Miss Gilfeather looked at Hamish, who was tapping the confused poodle on the nose, while quietly chanting incantations in his ear.

  “What are you doing to that dog?” she demanded.

  “I’m teaching him aggression. It’s an old Native American war chant.”

  “You know that he’s a poodle?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you’re flat,” she said, and with that she marched out of the room.

  “This isn’t the last you’ll hear of this, young lady,” said Palmer to Holly. “You’ve acted very irresponsibly.”

  “OK,” said Holly, making her way quickly to her room.

  Petal was lying in bed reading a fashion magazine. “Oh hello, you’re back, are you?” she said frostily.

  “Morning, Petal,” replied Holly cheerily, quickly changing her clothes and grabbing her trumpet case. “I hear you’ll be doing a solo at the concert,” she said.

  “My mother has written a track for me. I’ll be singing it,” Petal said proudly.

  “Brilliant. I’ll remember to bring my earplugs,” said Holly, then quickly left before Petal could think of a good response.

  Outside the front of the school building the last few band members were boarding the coach. There was an excited buzz as she climbed on. The flautists were giggling. The clarinets were chatting. The trombonists were trying to rally everyone to sing along with a pop song.

  Holly spotted Callum sitting on his own, staring out of the window. She took a seat next to him.

  “Are you looking forward to the concert?” she asked.

  “No. Stupid concert is just another photo opportunity for Father.”

  “The Prime Minister is coming?” said Holly. For a moment she considered whether the Kinghorns could strike at the concert, but how could they? The place would be crawling with security. She wondered whether her stepmum would be coming. Maybe even her dad. She hadn’t even told them about being in the band, but if there was an opportunity to be seen with the Prime Minister you could bet they would be there.

  “Callum, the tree creatures you’ve seen – I think I’ve seen them too. They’re Tree Dragons. They’re not in your head,” said Holly.

  Callum looked at her, then turned away, smoothing down his black hair nervously.

  “They’re in my head,” he replied.

  “They’re not. They’re real!” protested Holly.

  “No, they’re not. They’re in Callum’s head. The doctors say I can control them.”

  Callum stared out of the window and hummed to block out her voice. He refused to speak for the rest of the journey.

  Little Hope Village Hall was empty when they arrived. Miss Gilfeather got them to put out rows of chairs before asking everyone to take their places on stage for rehearsals.

  As the day progressed, more and more people came in and out of the hall. Holly saw Hamish the security guard arrive with Bruno the poodle. Police officers with thick bulletproof jackets and firearms entered and checked for any possible signs of danger. They were met by men in dark suits and sunglasses. Holly recognized them as the ones who had taken Callum. She looked over to where Callum was sitting but he was avoiding eye contact with anyone.

  TV crews arrived with loud-mouthed directors, scruffy-looking camera operators and sound people carrying long booms with fluffy microphones on the end. They set up lights, did sound-checks and fixed speakers outside so that the multitude of onlookers expected to turn up would be able to enjoy the concert too. Locals gathered to witness the excitement that had descended on their sleepy village.

  There was so much commotion that, at one stage, Miss Gilfeather shouted at everyone in the hall to ‘Please be quiet!’ unless they were involved in the band practice. A policeman with a face like a bulldog stopped his conversation with a TV director and looked sheepishly at his feet.

  During the breaks they all had to stay inside the hall for security reasons. Not that Holly minded. She no longer wanted to use the opportunity to escape. She just wanted to get through the concert without messing up too badly.

  At half past five, they did one complete run-through, which was, everyone agreed, a total disaster, but Miss Gilfeather was positive and said that a bad rehearsal usually indicated a good performance. After that, she announced that there would be no more practice and everyone should save their lips. She took them through the order of events, so they knew what to expect.

  “You will file on and take your places on stage. We will open with the Gershwin medley and then the first solo performer will come on. During that performance, you will sit very quietly and politely, until I come back on and lead you in the second number.”

  “Who’s the first solo performer?” asked a tuba player.

  Miss Gilfeather checked her notes. “Petal Moses,” she said, barely managing to hide her disdain.

  “Who’s accompanying her?” asked a flautist.

  “She’ll have… Oh dear me… She will have … a backing track. Regardless of this, please show respect during all solo performances and remember you will be visible to the audience and the television cameras.”

  By the time everyone had changed into school uniforms and eaten as many of the sandwiches and crisps provided as their nervous stomachs would allow, it had grown dark outside and the audience had started to arrive. A red carpet had been laid at the front door and snap-happy paparazzi had gathered on either side of it, taking pictures of every parent who arrived, on the off chance that they were famous.

  Holly and half of the other band members were crammed around the backstage door, peeking out at the main hall, either celebrity spotting or looking for their parents, arriving in their best suits and evening dresses. If they were deemed important enough, they were interviewed by a reporter. If not, they were taken straight to their seats by school prefects.

  Each time someone really important arrived, the red carpet erupted like a war zone, the photographers screaming at the celebrity to look at them, smile for the camera and so on. The biggest of these explosions was for Petal Moses and her superstar mother. After their interview with the reporter, Petal came backstage, while a very excited-looking Principal Palmer escorted her mother to her seat. Petal wore a black sequined dress and shiny shoes.

  Holly moved away from the door, not wanting to look like she was interested.

  A minute later, Petal entered the room they were all waiting in, glanced at the half-eaten sandwiches and crisp packets lying among the instrument cases, and pronounced, “I was promised my own dressing room.”

  Miss G
ilfeather, who was wearing a smart black trouser suit and crisp white shirt, said, “I believe they’re building one for your ego next door, Petal.”

  Petal glared at the teacher and handed her a USB stick. “My backing track is on this,” she said.

  Miss Gilfeather handed it to the pupil behind her, who happened to be Callum, tidying his hair and looking nervy.

  “Callum, dear,” she said, “Mr Brooker is at the back of the room by the PA system. He will show you how to plug this in.”

  “Yes, miss,” he replied.

  Outside, the red carpet exploded with noise again, louder even than for Petal and her mother, and Holly knew that Callum’s dad, the Prime Minister, must have just arrived. Everyone crowded around the door wanting to see, except for Callum, who was following Miss Gilfeather’s instructions. Holly joined him.

  “Are you nervous?” she asked.

  “I don’t get nervous about music. Music is calming.” Callum smoothed down his hair and pulled something out of his pocket. “Look,” he said.

  “What’s that?” asked Holly.

  “Earplugs,” he replied, “for Petal’s song.”

  Holly laughed. He was making jokes – that had to be a good sign.

  Miss Gilfeather told everyone to quieten down and line up, so Holly said good luck to Callum and took her place behind her fellow trumpeters, Julian and Sandy.

  As she stepped into the harsh TV lights, Holly became strangely conscious of her body movements, as though walking was something she had just learned to do. She found her seat, pleased she wasn’t at the front of the stage, and gazed into the sea of faces staring up at her.

  Principal Palmer sat in the front row, talking animatedly to Petal’s mother. Beside her was the Prime Minister. Next to him, Holly’s stepmother, holding hands with her dad.

  Holly had never liked her dad’s wife. She resented that she had moved in so soon after Holly’s real mother had died, then made them move house because of her job. However, seeing the two of them holding hands, while her stepmother chatted to the Prime Minister, she had a strange feeling that she hadn’t felt in years. She realized that it wasn’t just Dirk and Willow she had missed since being at the school. It was her home, her dad and being part of a family.