The Case of the Stolen Film

  For Charlotte, so far away

  And Stanley and Ethan, much nearer

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  By the same author

  Chapter 1

  Brant Buchanan kicked off his expensive shoes, loosened his silk tie and reclined in the plush leather back seats of his customised Bentley, identical to the one he used in the UK, except for the US licence plates and the steering wheel on the left.

  ‘LA is far too hot,’ he said as the air conditioning kicked in, bringing the temperature down to a bearable level. ‘Please tell me you’ve discovered something, Weaver.’

  His driver flicked a switch that made his face appear on the plasma screen in front of Mr Buchanan. ‘I have located two gentlemen who should be able to help,’ he replied.

  The silver-haired billionaire smiled at the image of his most trusted employee. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down,’ he said warmly.

  ‘But I should warn you, they are a little eccentric,’ added Weaver.

  ‘Given the subject matter, I would expect nothing less,’ said Buchanan.

  Buchanan pushed one of the many glowing buttons in the car door and a panel opened. He reached in and pulled out a book. It was a red hardback with a white zigzag across the cover. If there had ever been a dust jacket, it had long since been lost. There was no title or author’s name on the cover but, as Brant opened the book, on the first page were the words:

  DRAGONLORE

  A Scientific Study of Dragons

  By Ivor Klingerflim

  ‘This is such a fascinating book, Weaver,’ said Buchanan. ‘For example, did you know that dragon mothers plant their eggs in the liquid fires of earth’s Inner Core then wait on the banks for the young dragons to swim to the surface?’

  ‘No, sir, I didn’t, sir,’ replied Weaver, whose lack of enthusiasm for his boss’s latest project hadn’t stopped him carrying out his orders efficiently and unquestioningly. It was he who had scoured the world for the book before discovering this copy in a charity shop in North London.

  ‘Listen to this bit,’ said Mr Buchanan, reading from the book. ‘“The term up-airer relates to a great Himalayan conference, held a thousand or so years ago, when those dragons in favour of destroying mankind rose into the air (and became known as up-airers). Luckily for humans, the majority stayed on the ground and so dragonkind went into hiding.”’

  ‘Fascinating, sir,’ said Weaver.

  Mr Buchanan continued to read out loud. ‘“In spite of this, many dragons believe that war between humans and dragons is inevitable and that they will be led into battle by a dragon carrying the Turning Stone, a large spherical rock which is said to give power over all dragonkind.”’

  ‘Shall I take you back to Sands Hall?’ said Weaver, starting the engine and slipping the control stick into drive.

  ‘Yes, please,’ replied Buchanan.

  Light classical music filled the car.

  ‘It may take some time. The traffic in LA is particularly bad this evening.’

  ‘That’s because no one walks in this city,’ replied Buchanan.

  He pressed a button and a drink appeared from the side door. He pushed another and the image of Weaver’s face was replaced by a piece of grainy CCTV footage. Buchanan picked up the drink and sat back to watch. It showed an office from three different angles. A dragon dropped into the room, looked around and then reached up and lowered a young girl in too.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be using her to get to the dragon?’ said Weaver. ‘There’s clearly a connection between them.’

  ‘In business I always find it best to arm myself with as much information as possible before making an acquisition,’ replied Buchanan, ‘but yes, perhaps it is time to make good use of young Holly Bigsby.’

  Chapter 2

  On the other side of the Atlantic, a red-backed, green-bellied, urban-based Mountain Dragon called Dirk Dilly was crouching on the roof of a building across the road from a warehouse in East London, perfectly camouflaged against its red tiles.

  A high wire fence surrounded the warehouse and two others with a sign that read ‘DANGER: DEMOLITION IN PROGRESS’. A fourth warehouse had already been reduced to rubble, except for its back wall. Within the fenced area were a number of workmen wearing yellow bibs and hard hats. One of them was operating a large red machine that looked like an enormous crab’s claw attached to the base of a tank. He pulled a lever and the claw crashed into the remaining wall of the destroyed building. The claw snapped shut, crushing bricks and sending clouds of dust into the air.

  That morning, as usual, Dirk had been watching a skyscraper in London called Centrepoint, which he had recently learnt was used as a base by Vainclaw Grandin’s Kinghorns, a group of dragons who were intent on waging war against humans.

  Several weeks had passed without seeing one dragon until finally today he had spotted one on top of the building, silhouetted against the night sky.

  Dirk had remained where he was, watching from a safe distance. The dragon came to the edge of the building, checked no one was looking, spread its wings and glided down, sailing over Dirk’s head and landing on a nearby church. It was the Sea Dragon, Flotsam, one of the original gang of four Kinghorns that Dirk had discovered in London.

  Flotsam moved swiftly across the roofs. Dirk followed. Heading east, the Sea Dragon had gone into the same warehouse the four Kinghorns had used when Dirk first discovered their presence in London, only now it was being knocked down.

  The foreman blew a whistle.

  ‘Tea’s up,’ he shouted and all the workmen, including the one operating the claw, headed towards a cabin on the far side of the site.

  Dirk took his opportunity and leapt from the rooftop, spreading his wings, touching a foot on the top of the machine, spring-boarding up into the air and landing on the flat roof of the warehouse.

  He peered in through the dirty skylight.

  Below were the four crates he had seen before with the words ‘DO NOT OPEN’ printed in red on the top. In the middle of the crates was a Mountain Dragon – red-backed and green-bellied just like himself. It was Jegsy Grandin, nephew ofVainclaw. Flotsam was standing to one side.

  Dirk opened the skylight and slipped inside, closing it behind him as quietly as possible and blending with the rafters.

  He looked down.

  Jegsy had plugged an old-fashioned record player into a wall, causing the turntable to rotate. In place of a record he had balanced a long-stemmed lamp-stand on top of a silver hubcap of a car. As the stand spun round, he tried to add a yellow hard hat, like the ones worn by the workmen outside. Moving ever so slowly, Jegsy placed the hat on top and, for a second, it looked like he had succeeded in this pointless goal. Jegsy watched, transfixed. Then the hat began to wobble violently, tipping the lamp-stand and sending it and the hubcap crashing to the flo
or.

  ‘So close,’ said Jegsy, picking up the bits.

  ‘Jegsy, you idiot, that’s enough, like. We’ve got to get out of here,’ said Flotsam. ‘They’re going to knock this place down.’

  ‘But Vainclaw said to stay here,’ protested Jegsy.

  ‘Listen, Jegs, I just had a word with the boss and there’s been a change of plan. We got new orders.’

  ‘I haven’t heard anything.’

  ‘That’s because you’re too busy playing with your stupid toys.’

  ‘Eh, calm down,’ said Jegsy. ‘These aren’t toys. They’re useful things. I just haven’t figured out what they’re used for yet.’

  ‘Aw, come on, even I know that humans wear the yellow bowls on their soft heads so that they don’t get hurt. Look.’ Flotsam picked up the hard hat and jammed it over Jegsy’s head then spun around and whacked him with his tail, sending him flying across the room.

  Jegsy stood up and dusted himself down. He touched the hard hat on his head then smiled. ‘Oh yeah, cheers, Flotsam,’ he said, pleased with the discovery.

  ‘Look, Jegs, we’re mates, ain’t we?’ said the Sea Dragon. ‘The Dragnet are hunting Kinghorns. They’ve even got a couple of officers watching the underground entrance to this place.’

  ‘Dragnet officers?’ said Jegsy, sounding concerned.

  ‘Yeah, but don’t worry. I’ve just done a deal that will give us safe passage but we’ve got to get moving.’

  ‘But Vainclaw said –’

  ‘I told you, I got new orders. Now come on,’ snapped Flotsam.

  Outside, the house-crushing machine started up again and the shouts of the workmen could be heard. There was an enormous crash, which shook the building so violently that the colour returned to Dirk’s skin for a moment. Luckily, neither Jegsy nor Flotsam noticed.

  The red metal of the large claw came through the side of the building. It withdrew, causing bits of brick to fall down. One of them landed on top of Jegsy’s head, bouncing off his hard hat and whacking Flotsam in the face.

  ‘Eh, you’re right about the yellow bowl,’ said Jegsy. ‘I didn’t feel a thing.’

  ‘Come on, you idiot,’ snarled Flotsam, jumping into a crate. ‘I’m getting out of here. Are you coming or not?’

  ‘Eh, watch who you’re calling an idiot,’ replied Jegsy, grabbing the record player and jumping into another crate. They both spoke a few words in Dragonspeak, asking the rock to take them down. The rock, being rock, took them down into the ground.

  A second crash rocked the building. Dirk lost his grip and fell to the ground. Bits of wood and concrete landed on top of him. The machine had made a large hole in the corner of the building. Dirk jumped up and shook the dust off his back. He ran around the crates, knocking them away. Beneath each one was a patch of solid rock. They would all lead to an entrance deep beneath the foundations of London, but Dirk couldn’t afford to bump into the Dragnet officers that Flotsam had mentioned. Drakes weren’t too discriminating in who they arrested. The last time Dirk had bumped into some, he had wound up in prison. He had managed to escape with the help of a Sea Dragon called Alba Longs and a yellow-bellied, coal-black Cave Dweller called Fairfax Nordstrum, but it had been close and he didn’t fancy repeating the experience.

  There was a terrible scraping as the machine chewed away at the building. Dirk ran to a window. It was boarded up but he could see traces of yellow from the workmen’s bibs through the slats. He checked the other sides. He was surrounded. He thought fast. He had once seen a documentary on demolishing buildings and remembered how the voice-over had said that it was vital that the electricity, gas and water supplies be turned off.

  ‘Rats in a basket,’ exclaimed Dirk, ‘that’s it.’

  Jegsy had plugged in the record player, so if the electricity hadn’t been disconnected, maybe some of the other supplies had been left on.

  Dirk searched the walls and found a small gas heater in the corner. A metal pipe ran into the back of it from the wall. He yanked it away. Escaping gas hissed. Dirk held a paw over it. He deftly lifted an overturned crate with his tail, grabbed it with his free paw and pushed it over the pipe, releasing the end so that the gas filled the crate.

  There was another CRASH! as the crunching machine came though a window. Dirk could hear the workmen shouting. He had to act quickly before they got too close. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

  The smell of gas seeped through the gaps of the crate. The crunching machine took hold of a section of the building and twisted, mangling a mass of metal rods that ran through the wall. The whole structure shook, causing the skylight to crack and shards of glass to shower on to Dirk. He flew up to the hole in the roof.

  ‘Here goes nothing,’ he said.

  He looked down at the crate, took aim, opened his mouth and exhaled. A line of fire shot down into the warehouse, catching the escaping vapours of gas, drawing flames down into the crate. It seemed like there was a moment’s silence, like an intake of breath, before it happened.

  At the top of his voice, Dirk shouted, ‘Take cover!’

  There was a flash of light. The sound of the explosion filled the air and the surrounding workmen dived to the ground to protect themselves from the blast.

  Lying down, covering their faces, none of them noticed the four-metre-long, red-backed, green-bellied, urban-based Mountain Dragon flying over their heads.

  Chapter 3

  Holly was imprisoned in her house for the whole of the summer. The last time she had been out, she had returned home late at night, her jeans torn and covered in blood but with no visible sign of injury. Dad’s big-haired wife had demanded to know where she had been and what had happened but she couldn’t very well tell them the truth: that her leg had been broken flying up an elevator shaft on a Mountain Dragon’s back, then fixed by a Sky Dragon called Nebula Colorado.

  So she said nothing and as punishment for her irresponsible behaviour they had grounded her for the whole summer holiday.

  No TV, no computer and no leaving the house until school began in September. The external doors and windows were kept locked at all times using keys that Big Hair kept on her bedside table at night. Even if she could get the keys and open the doors, there was no way of deactivating the alarm without the four-digit code, which changed every week.

  At least Archie was allowed to visit. Dad and Big Hair let him come round because they thought it was a good sign that Holly had made a friend at last. Holly and Archie spent most of their time in her room messing about. Sometimes they played hide-and-seek, with Holly using her ability to blend with her surroundings, a skill she had picked up from accidentally tasting dragon blood. They talked about dragons. Archie’s favourite story was the time Vainclaw Grandin had entranced the whole of Little Hope Village Hall in order to force the Prime Minister to operate a secret government weapon, which Vainclaw had learnt about from Callum Thackley, the Prime Minister’s son.

  ‘Poor Callum,’ Holly said the last time she recounted the story.

  ‘But he was on their side, wasn’t he?’Archie argued.

  ‘Yeah, but Vainclaw drove him mad with Dragonsong. All the psychiatrists think the monsters are in his head, but they’re not, are they?’ Holly didn’t mention that Callum still wrote to her, strange tortured letters about monsters and madness. She always read them in case there was any indication that Vainclaw had been back in touch, but they scared her.

  Archie remembered his own experience of dragons and nodded. Then he said, ‘Nebula was amazing, wasn’t she? What do you think she meant when she told you that she was part of you now?’

  ‘Well, she used her own ash to fix my leg, didn’t she?’ replied Holly.

  ‘Does it feel any different?’

  Holly stood up. ‘No, just the same.’

  ‘Try hopping,’ said Archie.

  Holly hopped. ‘It just feels like the other leg.’

  ‘Hop for the rest of the day – see what happens,’ said Archie, grinning.

 
; ‘You want me to see what it feels like if I kick you?’ replied Holly, chasing him round on one leg.

  ‘No thanks,’ said Archie, laughing.

  Archie’s visits were all Holly had to look forward to, but he hadn’t been round for days. Holly felt like a caged animal, which was why she had taken to sneaking downstairs to watch TV late at night while Dad and Big Hair were asleep.

  She slipped into the front room, turned on the TV and instantly muted it. She couldn’t afford to wake them. They had made it perfectly clear what would happen if she was discovered out of her room.

  ‘One step out of line and I’m sending you back to William Scrivener’s,’ Dad had said.

  Holly had hated her time at the rich-kid boarding school, sharing a room with Petal Moses, away from London, away from Willow, her cat, and away from Dirk.

  She turned the volume on quietly and flicked through the channels. It was the usual late-night programming: live-streaming of a reality TV show showing a bunch of people sleeping, an American detective film and an unfunny sitcom. Holly stopped on a channel showing a female presenter with tangerine-coloured skin and a smile set to full beam, sitting behind a desk with Hollywood Gossip written behind her.

  ‘What are your children doing this summer?’ chirruped the presenter happily. ‘Whatever it is, I bet it won’t be as exciting as it is for one very special twelve-year-old, currently here in Hollywood making a movie all about herself. It could only be Petal Moses, pop’s most precocious offspring.’

  A picture of Petal appeared behind her. She looked different from the time Holly had shared a room with her at William Scrivener’s School. She had a healthy tan, her hair had been cut into a trendy new style and she was sporting a nose ring.

  ‘The movie in question? It’s the adaptation of Petal’s autobiography, When Petals Blossom. The film, called Petal – The Movie, will star young Miss Moses in the title role and will be directed by legendary Hollywood film director Chase Lampton.’

  A man with thick curly black hair, wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket, appeared on the screen. ‘To me it’s more than a movie about the child of a pop star slash actress,’ said the man. ‘It’s kind of an analysis of celebrity culture.’