The Case of the Stolen Film Read online

  Crackly old jazz music drifted downstairs and Dirk could hear Mrs Klingerflim shuffling around the kitchen, singing along to whatever the tune was.

  ‘Neither of us should be here,’ said Karnataka. ‘I don’t need to remind you that lodging with a human is a blatant breach of the forbidden divide. If you ever found yourself in front of the Dragon Council, you’d be banished to the earth’s Inner Core quicker than you could say liquorice laces. Now, please help me up, Dirk, I need to speak to you properly.’

  ‘Oh, all right, then.’ Dirk gave in and lifted the dressing table away, revealing the hole that Karnataka had made in the bottom of Mrs Klingerflim’s basement. He reached down and grabbed a claw that the Shade-Hugger had forced into the room, then, with an almighty tug, yanked him into the cellar. Bits of concrete flew all over the place and Dirk fell backwards, as the full weight of the Shade-Hugger landed on top of him.

  ‘Get off me,’ snarled Dirk.

  Karnataka jumped off but landed on the dressing table, crushing it under his weight, sending splintered wood everywhere.

  ‘Is everything all right down there, Mr Dilly?’ called Mrs Klingerflim from the top of the stairs.

  ‘Fine, Mrs K. I just slipped.’

  ‘Please be careful, Mr Dilly,’ she said nervously. ‘I know it all looks like rubbish but there are lots of things that are very valuable to me down there. My mother gave me that dressing table as a wedding gift.’

  Dirk looked at the dressing table, which was utterly destroyed. ‘OK, Mrs K,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll leave your cup of tea at the top of the stairs here,’ she said.

  ‘She got any liquorice?’ asked Karnataka, taking in his surroundings. He lifted a piece of paper. ‘Hey, this looks like an Amphiptere,’ he said, holding up a line drawing of a snake-like creature with a huge lion-like mane. ‘What is all this stuff?’

  ‘This stuff is none of your business,’ said Dirk, snatching it from him. ‘Why are you here, Karny?’

  ‘What do you know about Minertia?’ asked Karnataka.

  ‘Just the usual. Minertia Tidfell was the oldest, wisest and greatest dragon of all. She was the one who called the great conference and counted the vote and announced that dragons would go into hiding. She defined the three aspects of the forbidden divide as being seen by a human, attacking a human or allowing a human to find any evidence of the existence of dragons. Then years later she was convicted of breaching it and banished to an eternity in the Inner Core.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her?’

  ‘No. I saw her at the great conference but I was pretty young then. What’s all this about?’ said Dirk.

  ‘A dragon that old and powerful must have accumulated a fair amount of treasure, don’t you think?’ Karnataka’s yellow eyes seemed to turn gold, as though reflecting all that imagined wealth.

  ‘Ah, I knew it. It’s about gold. Is this one of those opportunities to … how did you put it? Supplement your wage?’

  ‘No,’ protested Karnataka. ‘The Kinghorns are gathering support but my spies tell me that there’s a splinter group called the One-Worlders. Vainclaw is worried.’

  ‘So? What’s that got to do with Minertia’s treasure?’ asked Dirk.

  ‘Vainclaw’s cronies are looking for it. I guess he’s looking for gold to buy support.’

  ‘Nice try,’ said Dirk, smiling wryly, ‘but I’ve known you too long, Karny. You want to make a little extra gold for yourself.’

  ‘A little extra gold? We’re not talking about a high street jeweller’s. We’re talking the biggest stash of gold in the world. I’ve been looking through the records from her trial. Did you know the council offered to reduce her sentence if she told them where it was?’

  ‘If no one’s found it in all the years that she’s been banished, I’m guessing it’s pretty well hidden.’

  ‘That’s why I need you,’ said Karnataka. ‘Please, Dirk. You’re the best there is.’

  ‘No.’

  Karnataka let out a frustrated growl. ‘Seriously, if you knew what I know, knowing you, you’d be looking for it too.’

  ‘Then tell me what you know,’ said Dirk.

  ‘That’s the thing,’ snorted Karnataka. ‘If you knew what I know, you wouldn’t help me find it.’

  ‘Karny, I’m in no mood for your riddles. If you’ve nothing more to say, you can disappear down your hole and get back to your shady dealings.’

  ‘You’re making a big mistake, Dirk,’ said Karnataka, but he climbed back into the hole, leaving Dirk alone in the empty cellar. Dirk picked up the bits of the dressing table and looked at it. It was way beyond repair. He piled the remains over the hole and went back up the stairs.

  Chapter 7

  Mr Bigsby didn’t speak as he motioned Holly and Archie into the back of the car. When the radio came on automatically, he switched it off, filling the car with an uncomfortable absence of sound.

  They arrived at Sidney Clavel Estate and Mr Bigsby stopped the car and switched off the engine. Holly had only been there once before. She was struck by how much gloomier, dirtier and rougher it was than the street where she lived.

  ‘You’d better know I intend to have a serious word with your father,’ said Mr Bigsby.

  ‘You might have to wait a while,’ said Archie defiantly. ‘Dad’s in prison.’

  For a moment Mr Bigsby looked thrown by this, then he said, ‘Your mother, then.’

  ‘Mum’s …’ Archie’s voice faded away as though unsure how to finish the sentence.

  They all stepped out of the car and Mr Bigsby marched them over a patch of grass, which was littered with bits of rubbish, discarded clothes and plastic bags. The area was lit by dim yellow lights. In the middle were a couple of upside-down supermarket trolleys and a mangled bicycle.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hol,’ whispered Archie.

  ‘No talking,’ barked Mr Bigsby.

  Archie led them to the block where he lived, past a lift with an ‘Out of Order’ sign on it and up the grimy concrete stairs, which had threatening graffiti scrawled across the walls.

  On the third floor they followed Archie along an outside walkway. On the floor above someone was playing music extremely loudly, and below a couple could be heard arguing. Archie stopped in front of a green door.

  ‘This is where I live. Thanks for the lift. I’ll see you later,’ he said, as casually as if he was being dropped off after a trip to the cinema.

  ‘We’ll see you in,’ said Mr Bigsby, waiting for him to open the door. ‘You have a key, do you?’

  Archie pulled out a key from his pocket but still didn’t try to open the door. ‘I’ll be fine from here,’ he said.

  ‘Open the door,’ ordered Mr Bigsby firmly.

  Archie looked pleadingly at Holly. She could tell that he didn’t want to open it.

  ‘Come on, Dad, we don’t want to disturb anyone,’ she said.

  ‘Open the door,’ Mr Bigsby repeated sternly.

  Seeing no way to avoid it, Archie unlocked the door. ‘Bye, then,’ he said.

  Mr Bigsby pushed the door open and switched the light on. The hallway was a mess. Pictures lay smashed on the ground, a telephone table was on its side and the telephone ripped from the wall.

  ‘What on earth?’ Mr Bigsby stepped inside.

  Holly looked at Archie but he refused to meet her gaze.

  They followed Mr Bigsby along the hallway into the front room, which was in as bad a state as the hallway. The sofa was on its side, scraps of paper and old magazines lay strewn across the floor and Holly noticed that the frosted glass in the door was cracked.

  ‘She’s not usually so bad,’ Archie said. ‘Sometimes she’s a great mum, you know, laughing and joking and messing about. Other times she gets all miserable and it’s like nothing you can say or do will cheer her up. But recently she started getting really angry and shouting horrible stuff. I hid because I knew that it wouldn’t be long before she’d get over it and start crying again but she carried on screaming and it
was late and I suppose one of the neighbours called the police and they couldn’t calm her down, so they took her away. Sectioned is what they call it. It’s when they have to lock you up because you’ve gone wrong in the head. They would have taken me too but I ran …’

  Tears fell down his face and Holly became aware of her own eyes welling up. She swallowed hard to avoid crying and turned to her dad, who had gone quiet.

  ‘Come on,’ he said gently.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Holly.

  ‘We’re going home,’ he replied. ‘All of us.’

  They returned in silence.

  As Mr Bigsby turned the car into Elliot Drive, Holly noticed that another car had taken the space in front of their house. Grumbling to himself, her dad parked a few doors down.

  ‘You’ll stay with us tonight, Archie,’ he said, switching off the engine. ‘It’s late. I’ll decide what to do with you tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Archie, getting out and accidentally slamming the door behind him.

  ‘Be quiet,’ Mr Bigsby said, scowling. ‘And utter silence on the way in. Believe me, you do not want Bridget to wake up.’

  ‘I think it might be too late,’ said Holly. ‘We didn’t leave the hall light on, did we?’

  As she said it, the living-room light came on too. Through the net curtains they saw the silhouette of a man.

  ‘It’s a burglar,’ gasped Holly.

  ‘No it’s not,’ replied her dad, stopping in front of the car that was parked in his space. Holly recognised it too. It was Brant Buchanan’s customised Bentley.

  Holly’s dad marched them all to the front door. As he opened it, Brant Buchanan’s driver, Weaver, stepped into the hallway. His appearance was no less smart than usual considering the lateness of the hour. His black hair looked as if it had been painted on and his grey suit, shirt and tie matched his slip-on shoes exactly.

  Big Hair’s voice came from the kitchen. ‘How do you take your coffee, Mr Weaver?’

  Weaver nodded a cursory greeting at Mr Bigsby then looked at Holly and Archie unsmilingly. ‘Black, no sugar,’ he responded. ‘And it’s just Weaver.’

  Big Hair appeared holding two mugs of coffee. She was wearing a white dressing gown. Her hair looked messy from sleep. ‘I can’t think where Malcolm could have got to …’ Seeing her husband she stopped. Her gaze fell on Holly. ‘I should have known you would have something to do with it,’ she said.

  ‘It wasn’t Holly’s fault,’ said her dad. ‘Now, Holly, take Archie upstairs. He can sleep in the spare room tonight.’

  ‘Sleep in the spare room?’ said Big Hair.

  ‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ replied her husband. ‘Sorry, Weaver, what can I do for you?’

  ‘You’re required in America immediately,’ said the grey man.

  ‘You’re going to America?’ said Holly.

  ‘Actually, Mr Buchanan has organised to fly all of you to Los Angeles as a reward for Mr Bigsby’s loyal service,’ said Weaver.

  ‘What about Archie?’ asked Holly.

  ‘He should go home to his mother,’ said Big Hair.

  ‘He can’t,’ said Mr Bigsby. ‘His mother’s been taken ill. We’ll have to contact the local authorities.’

  ‘That will take too much time,’ said Weaver. ‘Mr Buchanan is insistent that you come back with me immediately and that your family join you.’

  ‘It’s most kind of him,’ said Big Hair.

  ‘As you already know, Global Sands is a very generous employer,’ said Weaver. ‘If there is nowhere else for the boy to go, you can bring him with you.’

  ‘But what about passports? What about parental permission? We’re not the child’s legal guardians,’ squawked Big Hair.

  ‘Passports are no problem,’ said Weaver dismissively. ‘And I shall see to it personally that there are no problems with taking the boy. Global Sands has a great deal of influence.’ He looked Big Hair directly in the eyes. ‘Alternatively you can stay to sort out the boy’s welfare while your husband and daughter go ahead without you.’

  ‘Of course Archie should come with us,’ said Big Hair quick as a flash. ‘He’s almost one of the family now.’

  Holly felt something rub against her leg. She picked up Willow. ‘What about her?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll arrange for your neighbours to look after her while you’re away,’ replied Weaver.

  ‘Right, that’s it settled, then,’ said Mr Bigsby, clapping his hands together. ‘We’re going to America.’

  With those words Holly and Archie felt all the awful reality of the evening disappear, lost beneath a wave of excitement.

  ‘And you have ten minutes to pack your bags,’ said Weaver.

  Chapter 8

  Brant Buchanan stepped out of the car on to the wide San Franciscan road outside a laundrette.

  ‘Long way to come to do your washing,’ joked his temporary chauffeur.

  Buchanan checked the address against the one Weaver had written down for him.

  ‘Stay here,’ he said, entering the building.

  Inside, two large black ladies were folding sheets. They stopped as he entered and turned to look at him. In his designer clothes and expensive shoes, Brant Buchanan clearly wasn’t their usual customer.

  ‘Can I help you, honey?’ one of them said.

  ‘I’m looking for Frank Hunter,’ he replied.

  The women looked at each other then burst into hysterics. Brant Buchanan felt a rare sensation of discomfort.

  ‘That’s two people, sweetie, and they’re through that door,’ said the other.

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Mr Buchanan, walking the length of the laundrette and finding a door with a piece of paper pinned to it. It read:

  Frank Hunter Inexplicable Investigations Please knock before entering

  Brant turned the handle.

  ‘Aren’t you going to knock?’ asked the first lady.

  ‘I’m expected,’ he replied, stepping into a dark room and shutting the door behind him.

  ‘Nooo!’ cried a voice inside.

  Outside the two ladies were hooting with laughter.

  A light came on and a man with long black hair and a goatee beard stood in front of Brant, holding a blank piece of photographic paper and looking distraught.

  ‘Man,’ he moaned. ‘Have you never heard of knocking?

  ‘I’m sorry, I understood you were expecting me.’

  ‘Expecting you to come barging into my dark room and ruin the picture I was developing? Why would I expect something like that, man?’

  ‘My name is Brant –’

  ‘And my name’s Frank,’ interrupted the man, ‘but what’s that got to do with this non-knocking policy of yours?’

  ‘Frank, man, cool it, this is Brant Buchanan, the English dude I told you about,’ said a second man, entering the room. This one had lighter hair and an under-chin beard. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Buchanan, sir. Sorry about Frank. He gets tetchy. I’m Hunter. I’m the one who spoke to your colleague. I’m really pleased to meet you, man.’ He extended his hand.

  Brant Buchanan tentatively shook it. ‘I’m sorry about your friend’s picture. I didn’t know anyone developed pictures these days. I thought it was all digital.’

  Hunter laughed. ‘Yeah, well, Frank likes to do things the old-fashioned way. I keep telling him to go digital.’

  ‘Was the Loch Ness monster caught on digital? Were Big Foot or the Roswell alien on digital? No, man, none of them were,’ said Frank, picking up a pile of photos from one of the messy workspaces that surrounded the room. He held out three blurry black and white pictures that Buchanan recognised as apparent sightings of unexplained things.

  ‘That’s because digital hadn’t been invented then, man,’ said Hunter.

  ‘Or had it?’

  ‘Not this again,’ sighed Hunter.

  ‘It’s what I believe, man,’ said Frank.

  ‘Not in front of guests,’ insisted Hunter. ‘Remember, we have a rule.’ />
  Frank hesitated.

  ‘No, please, I’m an open-minded man,’ said Buchanan. ‘That is why I’m here after all. Say whatever you have to say.’

  ‘See, he’s open-minded, man,’ said Frank.

  Hunter sighed.

  ‘I believe that digital photography was created in order to stop us from finding out the truth,’ said Frank. ‘Unlike old-fashioned technology it was created by – and is now being controlled by – super-intelligent aliens that live right here on earth with us, man.’ He whispered this as though someone might be listening.

  ‘And where are these aliens?’ asked Mr Buchanan.

  ‘They’re all around us,’ Frank whispered. ‘They’re cats, man. You should see the way they look at me. They know I know.’

  ‘Frank, man,’ interrupted Hunter, ‘you sound crazy when you talk like that.’

  Brant Buchanan began to edge towards the door. ‘I’m sorry, I think I’ve made a mistake.’

  ‘No, man, don’t go,’ said Hunter. ‘It’s just Frank. He’s perfectly fine except for the alien cats thing. You want to know about dragons, don’t you?’

  Buchanan paused. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘Of course. You’re Brant Buchanan, the seventh richest man in the world. You founded Global Sands, the most awesome multinational company in the universe, man.’

  ‘This is Brant Buchanan?’ said Frank. ‘Why didn’t you say so, Hunter?’

  ‘I tried, man, but no, you had to tell him your whole cats-are-aliens thing. Man, you should keep that stuff for your film scripts.’

  ‘Let me make myself clear,’ said Mr Buchanan. ‘I have recently become interested in dragons. I don’t care about aliens or vampires or things that go bump in the night. I’m not interested in any conspiracy theories on how the government covers things up because, believe me, no government in the world has any secrets from me, but a man in my position can’t afford to let anyone find out that I’m in business with gentlemen such as yourselves. My stock would plummet. We live in a world of non-believers, my friends. People would think I had gone mad if they thought I believed in dragons. Help me gather information discreetly and you will be handsomely rewarded.’