School's Out!

by Gareth P. Jones

  Her dad spotted her, smiled and waved. Although Holly knew they had come for the photographers. not her, for a fleeting moment she felt like a normal kid with a normal family, playing in a normal school concert. It was a nice feeling. She waved back.

  Miss Gilfeather raised her baton and everyone lifted their instruments. She smiled, counted them in and they began.

  To Holly’s surprise, it sounded OK. The mistakes that seemed so disastrous in rehearsals didn’t matter at all now.

  When the tune finished, the audience burst into rapturous applause.

  “Thank you,” said Miss Gilfeather into the microphone. “Next, one of our pupils will give a solo performance. Please welcome, singing a song written by her mother, Petal Moses.” The audience clapped and cheered and Holly didn’t mind. It was such a good feeling to be part of something like this that she didn’t begrudge Petal her moment in the spotlight. Petal looked surprisingly nervous as she picked up the microphone and took her place in front of the stage.

  Holly had never had much time for Petal’s mother’s music but, as the backing track began, she found herself transported by its beauty. It was amazing, captivating, lilting and gentle. It was organic, like it was taking its rhythm from her own heartbeat. She never wanted it to stop.

  In fact, everyone was so entranced by the music that came through the speakers that no one noticed that Petal didn’t start singing. Not even Petal. No one cared. No one cared about anything any more, just that the magical music should never stop.

  Dirk had left Holly atthe school gates and was deciding what to do next when he was disturbed by something moving in the trees. He crouched down, blended with the ground and watched. There was another movement and he noticed the Tree Dragon, Betula Pendula, halfway up a silver birch tree, her back disguised against its bark. Her long claws gripped the trunk. Her pale green eyes focused on the school.

  The perimeter gates opened and a coach drove out. It indicated, then turned right, heading towards Little Hope. Betula leaped to the next tree, then the next. She was following the coach. Dirk spread his wings and gave chase, flying above the forest, keeping a safe distance to avoid being seen by either the coach or Betula.

  The coach arrived at Little Hope and parked outside the village hall. Betula stopped short of the village, but Dirk flew over her and landed on the roof of a corner shop, instantly blending.

  The children got off the coach and Dirk noticed Holly among them. Before he could consider getting any nearer, a police van rolled into the car park and four armed policemen got out of the back. Two took their places at the front and back doors. One went inside, and the other went up through the building and stepped out on to the flat roof.

  “Rats,” Dirk muttered to himself. “Now I’ll never get nearer.”

  Throughout the day, more security arrived. Serious-looking men and women in dark suits and sunglasses checked the area thoroughly, going into people’s houses, on to their roofs. Dirk was forced to hide even further away from the village hall.

  He listened to conversations between villagers to figure out what was going on.

  “It’s a lot of fuss over a school concert, if you ask me.”

  “Oh, but what a school! All those celebrity parents in our little village.”

  “It’s a disgrace, this disruption. I had to queue half an hour for a bacon sandwich in the shop, stuck behind all those rude people from the telly.”

  “It’s not every day that you get a chance to meet the Prime Minister, though, is it?”

  “I heard that his son has never been the same since that kidnapping incident. Poor kid.”

  As the sun set and the sky darkened, more people arrived, parking their cars along the road, going into the hall or crowding around the front. Police officers outside kept the crowds in order, occasionally shouting at them through loudhailers to get out of the road if a car was trying to get through. All of the villagers had gone to watch the celebrities arrive or climbed out on to their roofs to get a better view. Even the pubs had shut. There was no way that Dirk could get any nearer without being seen. It was so frustrating. All he could see were the flashing lights of the photographers and the silhouette of the policeman on the village hall roof. Speakers had been placed outside the hall but they were facing the other way, towards the car park, and the sound didn’t carry as far as Dirk. When the flashing lights started to calm down, he figured that the concert had started.

  Then the lights stopped altogether.

  In fact, all movement stopped.

  The policeman on the roof, who had been patrolling in a circle, no longer moved.

  Cautiously, Dirk jumped to a nearer roof, then another. More figures stood in the darkness like statues. In the street, a policeman held a loudhailer up to his mouth but his lips weren’t moving.

  Dirk jumped down to the road and saw that the policeman had been in the middle of shouting at three boys who looked like they were running away, except they weren’t running anywhere. He approached the village hall and saw more people, all unmoving, wearing the same faraway look in their eyes that could only mean one thing.

  Dragonsong.

  The eerie silence was broken by voices coming from the car park and Dirk dived for cover at the side of the building. He moved quietly in the shadows and found himself face to face with a familiar figure. Ladbroke Blake stood, rooted to the spot, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long overcoat. The last time Dirk had met the human detective, Dirk had knocked him out and stolen his hat and coat. In spite of this, Ladbroke had helped him when he was unconscious and, more importantly, kept his mouth shut about dragons. So it was with a whispered apology that Dirk lifted his hat off, poked two holes in the rim with his claws and placed it over his own head.

  He moved into the crowd around the red carpet. Members of the press stood frozen, clutching their cameras, microphones and recording devices. Onlookers held their phones up to snap photos and police stood in front of the rails. The voices grew nearer and Dirk lowered his head, looking through the holes in the hat.

  “Thank you, manumans! Oh, I feel so special! No photos, please. What’s that, little manuman? You want my signagraph? Why, of course!” The Tree Dragon, Acer Campestre, reached out her long twig-like claws and pulled a book and pen from a little girl’s hand, scribbled something in the book and placed it back. If she had been aware of this, the little girl would have screamed and run away. As it was, she stared unknowingly into nothing.

  “Don’t be stidiotical,” said Betula Pendula, skulking behind Acer.

  All five Tree Dragons were prowling up the red carpet now, heads swinging from side to side, staring at the frozen humans. Two of the dragons held the silver case between them, the QC3000.

  “Make sure you don’t touch any of the manumans,” warned Betula.

  They entered the building, walking straight past an armed policeman with a face like a bulldog, and slammed the door shut behind them.

  Dirk spread his wings and jumped. Ladbroke’s hat flew off and Dirk landed behind the static policeman on the roof. He opened a door in the roof, where a ladder led down to the hall below. Dirk squeezed himself through the opening and climbed down into the rafters, where he could see rows and rows of parents, sitting on wooden chairs, all enjoying the best concert they had ever attended, oblivious to the five Tree Dragons walking down the aisle between them. He picked out Holly on the stage, second row back, sitting still under the spell of the Dragonsong, her trumpet across her lap.

  A speaker next to his ear crackled, making him jump and almost lose grip of the rafter.

  “Fellow Kinghorn, dragons true,” a voice sounded through the speakers. It was the same deep voice he had heard in the old hospital. “I, Vainclaw Grandin, welcome you.”

  On hearing the voice, Betula, Buxus, Tilia, Acer and Salix bowed their heads low, then Betula looked up and spoke.

  “The first up-airer, Vainclaw Grandin, we loyal bark-sisters are humblonified by your presence. We didn’t know you would be
here personally.”

  “I grow tired of being let down by inferior dragons, so have decided to oversee this mission myself,” replied the voice.

  “We will not let you down, sir,” said Betula.

  “You already have. You allowed the professor to escape.”

  “The manuman disappeared while we were guarding the box.”

  “You are idiots but it is of no matter. He served his purpose.”

  “What purpose? What does the manuman box do?”

  “Yes,” Acer chimed in. “What are we doing?”

  “You will know soon enough. Bring the case to the raised ground.”

  Dirk watched Buxus and Tilia carry the silver case up the aisle, whispering as they passed under him.

  “Why won’t he come out?”

  “The boss doesn’t like to be seen.”

  “Shouldn’t we tell him about the Mountain Dragon?”

  “Strush up. He’ll be angrious if he knows we let him get away.”

  They placed the case on the stage, by the feet of the tall woman wearing a black trouser suit and holding a baton.

  “Salix and Acer, keep watch at the door,” Vainclaw barked. “Do not touch any of the humans. It doesn’t take much to knock these feeble bipeds out of their stupors. Betula, stay by the case.”

  The Tree Dragons stood guard, Salix and Acer by the door, Buxus and Tilia on either side of the stage and Betula in front, sniffing at a girl in a black dress with one hand held to her mouth as if miming holding a microphone.

  “My voice was the first heard by all of these pathetic humans, which means that they will do whatever I tell them,” Vainclaw announced. “Mr James Thackley, please stand up.”

  A man in the front row, with greying hair and a smart suit stood up. Dirk recognized him as the Prime Minister. To the left of the hall stood his personal security guard, smiling vacantly, as the man he was paid to protect obeyed every command of the deep voice from the speakers.

  “Approach the silver case on the stage, Prime Minister Thackley.”

  The Prime Minister stepped forwards.

  “Do you recognize this device?”

  The Prime Minister gazed uncaringly at the box and said, “It’s the QC3000. It’s a weapon. I hope I never have to use it.”

  A deep, thunderous laugh came through the speakers and the Tree Dragons joined in, snapping their jaws together in appreciation.

  “Quiet!” hollered Vainclaw.

  Dirk had to do something to stop the Prime Minister from operating the machine. He could easily snap him out of his stupor with a whack from his tail, but to wake up the most powerful man in Britain in a room full of dragons would be as good as starting the ultimate war himself.

  “Kinghorns, too long has our species hidden from mankind,” proclaimed Vainclaw. “Too long have we cowered in corners, skulked in shadows, waiting for a disease to eradicate this pest from the face of the planet or for them to blow themselves up with their own bombs. And why do we hide while they pollute our planet? We should have destroyed these hairless apes the moment they climbed down from the trees. We should have killed them when they were still banging rocks together, trying to make fire. We, who breathe fire but are too afraid to use it. Soon, we will not be afraid and I will lead all dragonkind, united as Kinghorns, into war against these soft-skinned mammals.”

  Throughout this oration, the soft-skinned mammals in the hall remained seated on their uncomfortable wooden chairs, the words flying past them like paper planes.

  Dirk, meanwhile, had crept silently across the rafters, stopping directly above Holly. He retrieved Grendel’s claw from where it was tucked behind his wing, held it above her head, took aim and, as Vainclaw’s speech finished and the Tree Dragons cheered, he dropped it.

  “Ow!” A sharp pain in Holly’s skull shook her out of the beautiful trance. For a moment, she felt sad and lost without the music, then a voice, as deep as a well, cried, “Silence!” She was disorientated but remained still and took in the scene in front of her. The Prime Minister was standing in front the silver case on the stage. By his side, a Tree Dragon looked up and said, “What was that?”

  “What?” replied the deep voice.

  “There was a noisound from the raised ground, Vainclaw, sir.”

  Holly froze. The Tree Dragon jumped on to the stage, standing on its back legs. Holly copied the looks on the faces of the other band members, smiling vaguely and staring at nothing, hoping the dragon couldn’t see her shaking hands.

  “Anyone awakious up here?” asked the dragon.

  Holly kept her eyes fixed firmly in one spot.

  “It’s nothing,” said the Tree Dragon, jumping back down.

  Holly breathed a controlled sigh of relief and noticed that lying on her lap next to the trumpet was the dragon claw. Moving her head as little and as slowly as possible, she looked up and saw two yellow eyes in the rafters. Dirk’s head appeared and then his paw, which he put to his mouth and acted like he was speaking into a microphone. He pointed to the back of the stage and repeated the mime.

  “It’s time for these short-life creatures to do what they do best and die,” continued Vainclaw’s voice though the speakers.

  Holly noticed that Petal’s microphone had gone and realized what Dirk was trying to say. Vainclaw was using it. In order to flush him out, she had to cut the sound.

  She gently placed her trumpet on the floor, slipped the claw into her pocket and dropped down to her knees. Being careful not to knock over the music stands, she crawled between the other band members, watching the movements of the Tree Dragons through the forest of legs. The plug socket for the speakers was along the edge of the stage.

  “Dragons will once again take their rightful place as rulers of the world,” continued Vainclaw.

  Holly waited until the Tree Dragon swung its hideous head the other way, then made her move, lying flat on the stage floor and wriggling forwards. The Tree Dragon looked back and she blended to avoid being seen. She felt Betula’s eyes on her. She could hear her breathing. She waited a couple of terrified seconds then opened one eye. The Tree Dragon had turned away.

  “And I, Vainclaw Grandin, the first up-airer, will—”

  Holly reached forwards over the side of the stage and flicked the socket off.

  The voice cut out.

  “What’s happened?” shouted Salix.

  “I don’t know,” replied Acer.

  Holly remained hidden as the backstage door was pushed open. Heavy grey smoke billowed out, as though the whole building was on fire. The smoke thinned a little as it filled the hall and Holly could see one of the Tree Dragons cowering in the corner. In the doorway, a shape shifted inside the smoke and two yellow eyes opened. Head first, a dragon stepped into the hall. It was a Mountain Dragon, like Dirk, but its underside was a deeper green, almost the colour of Dirk’s blood, and its back was crimson red. It was larger than Dirk too. As it passed, its tail seemed to go on forever, snaking behind its body, swinging from side to side.

  The Tree Dragons bowed their heads low and whispered, “Vainclaw Grandin… Master.”

  “Get up, you fools,” snarled Vainclaw. His head swung around and Holly could see his face, lean and angular, his eyes, sharp and predatory, grey smoke billowing uncontrollably from his flared nostrils. “Boy, why does this voice projector device no longer work?”

  The door opened again and a small figure stepped out of the backstage room, shaking with fear, smoothing down his greasy black hair. It was Callum. “I-I… I … don’t know,” he stammered. “It could be a fuse or a…”

  They were using Callum. Holly realized they must have forced him to switch Petal’s backing track with the Dragonsong.

  “Never mind,” snapped Vainclaw. “I will finish this face to face. Come, boy, and watch your father at work.”

  The Tree Dragons snapped their teeth at Callum and he whimpered quietly, “They’re in my head… I can control them…”

  He followed Vainclaw fearfully to t
he stage, where the Mountain Dragon lifted his head level with the Prime Minister’s, inspecting him like a waxwork in a museum.

  “Prime Minister Thackley,” he said. “Open the QC3000.”

  All five Tree Dragons had gathered around the silver case, their pale green eyes focused on the Prime Minister, fumbling to open it. Above them, Dirk watched from the rafters as Holly snuck back to her seat on stage, unseen.

  “Finally, we will clasp mankind’s precious technology in our claws and turn it against them,” said Vainclaw.

  “How does it work, boss?” enquired Betula.

  “Is it an explodaboom?” asked Tilia from the other side of the stage.

  “Or a flyssile?” added Acer enthusiastically.

  Vainclaw looked at the Tree Dragons disdainfully and growled, “Just keep watch and stay quiet, bark-backs. You’ll know soon enough.”

  The Prime Minister must have found the switch because the case opened, its lid lifting automatically and words appearing on the screen, illuminating his expressionless face. The machine spoke in a flat electronic voice.

  “Prime Minister Thackley, please raise your right hand,” said Vainclaw.

  The Prime Minister obeyed.

  “Watch your father initiate the dawn of a new era,” Vainclaw said to Callum.

  The Tree Dragons grunted approvingly, nudging the terrified-looking boy forwards with their jagged noses. Dirk shifted in the rafters so that he was directly above and prepared to swipe the Prime Minister’s hand away with his tail, but before he could act, Holly jumped up and ran to the front of the stage. She reached out her hand to stop the Prime Minister, only to find her way blocked by Callum.

  “Callum,” she said, “get out of the way.”

  But Callum grabbed both her wrists and clamped her down against the stage floor.

  “Do it!” he snarled, turning to Vainclaw. “Make him do it!”

  “Prime Minister,” said Vainclaw, “place your hand on the screen.”