The Case of the Wayward Professor Read online

  It was late by the time Dirk jumped through his office window. He landed softly in front of his desk. He shut the window, lowered the blinds, poured himself a large neat orange squash and flicked on the TV.

  A smarmy presenter was grilling a dull-looking politician, wearing a fixed smile.

  ‘How can you justify the amount spent on defence when you can’t tell me what that money is being spent on?’ asked the presenter, leaning forward eagerly.

  The politician gave a false laugh and said, ‘My dear Jonathan, issues of defence are necessarily secret. Surely even you must understand that.’

  ‘What about this leaked document on the AOG project? Can you tell me about that?’

  Dirk noticed a twinge of irritation cross the minister’s face. ‘There is no such thing as the AOG project. That document was a fake, probably put around by one of your journalist lot in order to damage our election campaign.’

  ‘What does AOG stand for?’

  ‘I have no idea. I have already told you, to the best of my knowledge there is no such project.’

  ‘Well, we’ve run out of time. Thank you, minister,’ said the presenter, moving on to the next topic.

  Dirk switched off the TV and threw the remote at what he thought was a cushion, but turned out to be Willow, who screeched and ran under the desk.

  The professor had mentioned the AOG project. Knocking back the contents of the glass of orange squash, Dirk wondered what the professor did all day at that computer on the sixth floor of his Moorgate office. With this thought, he cleared away the baked-bean cans and old newspapers and settled down to sleep on his mattress.

  Chapter Five

  Holly struggled to get free. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way back to the dorm, Holly.’ The girl pulled off Holly’s makeshift balaclava, keeping a firm grip of her shoulder.

  ‘I’m not going back. I’m leaving.’

  ‘Well, go ahead, then,’ said the girl, letting go and handing her the wire cutters, ‘But I should warn you that as soon as you cut this wire you’ll have the whole of security down on you faster than a tobogganing tadpole.’

  Holly faltered. ‘But …why?’

  ‘This is no ordinary fence. It’s made from SM2, intelligent metal. Stuff they use in proper defence bases. Cutting it, climbing it or tunnelling under it triggers the alarm. And say you do get past it, you’re tagged. The wristbands all have short-range tracking devices. They were introduced last year after one of the oh-so-famous students was kidnapped. That’s why you can’t take them off.’

  ‘I was going to cut it off with the wire cutters.’

  ‘Try it. You can’t cut through them, you can’t bite through them. It’s easier to chop off your own hand than remove these babies.’

  ‘But I thought all this security was to stop people getting in?’

  ‘There are two types of pupils at William Scrivener: those being protected from the outside world and those being kept from the outside world. Have a guess which you are. Let’s get you back to bed. The security guards know not to hurt the students but the dogs haven’t been as well trained. I heard one bit a student the other day.’

  The girl led Holly back towards the dorm, walking in the shadows of the trees.

  ‘It took me three attempts before I figured out the tree walk. I watched you practising during breaks. More difficult in the dark, isn’t it? I used to practise blindfolded. I reckon I can get across those trees as quickly as anyone can walk along the path. My name’s Moji, by the way.’

  ‘Are you going to report me?’ asked Holly.

  ‘Not this time,’ said Moji. ‘You’ve only been here a month, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I got sent here to stay out of trouble.’

  Moji laughed. ‘You’re doing a great job. What was your plan once you got out?’

  ‘I was going to find a phone box and call a friend.’

  ‘Someone by the name of Dirk Dilly?’ said Moji, pulling out a handful of envelopes from her pocket and handing them back to her.

  ‘You’ve been stopping my letters,’ said Holly angrily.

  ‘Not me, the school. Palmer would never let anything that criticises the school get out in case the press got hold of it, not to mention what you say about poor Petal. Who is this Dirk you’re writing to then, an uncle or something?’

  Holly smiled to herself, remembering how she had pretended to be Dirk’s niece in order to get past his landlady into his office. ‘Something like that,’ she said.

  ‘The school intercepted the mail and Palmer asked me to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘Why you?’

  ‘Because I know all the tricks in the book. I’ve made more attempts to get out of here than anyone else. I still hold the record for the furthest any student has ever got, all the way to Little Hope …’ Moji stopped dead and pushed Holly hard against the tree, clasping her hand over her mouth. Holly struggled to get free, but Moji whispered, ‘Be quiet. The guard’s coming.’

  Holly heard the crackling sound of a crowd roaring and a voice saying, ‘… a triumphant return to form for the Arsenal …’ The guard must have left the channel open, so he could listen to the match.

  Once he had passed, Moji released her and they continued on their way.

  ‘So why won’t you let me go?’ asked Holly. ‘We could go together.’

  ‘My escaping days are over. I’m a prefect now, a respectable student of William Scrivener School. Besides, this is my last year here.’

  The two girls got to the courtyard and Moji strolled across with Holly by her side. Reaching the door to the girls’ dorm, Moji raised her wristband but stopped and said, ‘On second thoughts, let’s use Palmer’s.’

  She held out her hand. Holly looked up into her smiling face, pulled out the wristband and handed it to her.

  ‘Good steal by the way,’ said Moji, opening the door, ‘but you forgot that there’s a camera in Palmer’s office.’ They entered the building. ‘And in the technical design room,’ she added, holding out her hand again.

  Holly handed over the wire cutters.

  The security cameras swivelled to follow them as they headed down the corridor. They stopped by the notice board outside the common room. ‘This is where we say goodbye,’ said Moji.

  ‘How do you know I won’t try again?’ replied Holly.

  ‘Go ahead and try. I like a challenge,’ countered Moji. ‘But while you’re on this side of the fence, you’ve got very little hope of ever making it.’

  Moji winked at her, turned on her heel and walked away.

  Holly felt depressed. She felt trapped. She looked up at the notice board and read.

  PREFECT NOTICE

  NEXT THURSDAY ALL PREFECTS WILL BE

  REQUIRED TO ACT AS USHERS AT THE

  SCHOOL CONCERT TAKING PLACE AT LITTLE

  HOPE VILLAGE HALL. NO PUPILS OTHER THAN

  BAND MEMBERS MAY ATTEND. THIS WILL BE A

  MEDIA EVENT SO SMART DRESS AND BEST

  BEHAVIOUR ARE REQUIRED.

  PRINCIPAL PALMER

  Holly thought about what Moji had said. She had little hope of getting out while she was on this side of the fence.

  That was the answer. Moji was giving her a clue as to how to escape. She had to go to the concert and begin her escape from Little Hope.

  A plan was already formulating in Holly’s mind. She smiled and looked up at the camera. She took two steps back and it followed her. She stepped forward and it moved again. She jumped to the right then to the left, then again. The camera looked like it was having a fit. Holly giggled and ran back to her room, where she slipped back to bed, careful not to wake Petal.

  Chapter Six

  Dirk was drowning in an ocean of baked beans. He struggled to swim, but the beans were pulling him down. Tomatoey sauce filled his nostrils. The more he fought the deeper he sank.

  ‘Mr Dilly?’ screamed the beans. ‘Hello, Mr Dilly?’

  He awoke from the nigh
tmare to find himself in his office with an empty baked-bean tin on the end of his nose. Willow was jumping over cans and old case files like it was a game.

  I seriously need to clean up, he thought.

  He looked up at the clock and scratched his head. He knew it shouldn’t be difficult, but dragons didn’t have a way of measuring time and Dirk had never quite got to grips with the bizarre system that humans used. Maybe it was time to go digital.

  ‘Mr Dilly? Are you in?’ Mrs Klingerflim was pounding on the door.

  ‘I’ll have the money next week,’ called Dirk.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about the rent, dear. I was hoping you might be able to help me with some lifting downstairs.’

  He opened the door to find the old lady, smiling benignly.

  ‘No problem, Mrs K,’ he said.

  ‘That’s very kind, dear,’ she replied. ‘My Ivor used to do all the lifting. That’s another thing he hasn’t been able to do since he passed away.’

  Dirk followed the old lady downstairs, careful that his tail didn’t knock any of the old black-and-white pictures and china ornaments that lined the walls. He often wondered what the world looked like to Mrs K. If she was short-sighted enough not to realise that her unreliable tenant was in fact a 1,266 year-old red-backed, green-bellied, urban-based Mountain Dragon, the world must have been a pretty weird-looking place to her.

  She led him into the kitchen, where there were two cardboard boxes on the floor.

  ‘If you could put them on that top shelf,’ she said. ‘I’d do it myself but I’m not as tall as I used to be. It’s a funny to-do, growing old. When you’re young you get taller, then when you’re middle-aged you get fatter. And, just when you’re getting used to how tall and fat you are, bish bash bosh, you’re old, thin and short. It’s a bit like being an inflatable castle.’

  ‘And life’s one big kid’s birthday party,’ mused Dirk, picking up one of the boxes. It was full of dusty old books. He turned the top one over. It had a red cover with a thick white line that zigzagged across the front. ‘Anything good to read in here?’ he asked, holding it up.

  ‘Oh no, just Ivor’s old rubbish,’ she replied. ‘I’d throw it away but I find the older I get, the more sentimental I am about these knick-knacks.’

  Dirk put the book back in the box and placed it on the shelf. He stooped to pick up the second box and noticed on the dining table a gleaming computer. It looked strangely out of place in Mrs Klingerflim’s kitchen.

  ‘I see you’re moving with the times,’ he said.

  ‘Silly, isn’t it?’ she replied. ‘My eldest, Mark, bought it for me, said I needed updating. He connected up all the wires and things. Broad-bean connection, he said, but what’s an old lady like me going to do with that? I get my broad beans from the corner shop.’

  ‘Can I have a look?’ asked Dirk, placing the second box on the shelf by the first.

  ‘Of course, dear. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  He moved the chair out of the way and sat down in front of the computer, ever cautious not to let his scaly skin brush against the old lady.

  Human technology wasn’t really Dirk’s strong point, but computers had their uses and the Internet could be great for getting information on suspects. He moved the mouse and found a search engine. Using the tip of his claw he carefully typed in the company name NAPOW.

  An expensive-looking website appeared on screen. Dirk read the company description.

  NAPOW is a world-class supplier of

  electronic warfare systems and cutting-edge

  defence technology.

  So that’s what the professor did, he made weapons, and fairly heavy-duty ones by the look of the website. A globe materialised in the centre of the screen and the company motto appeared.

  NAPOW:

  MAKING THE WORLD A SAFER PLACE

  Dirk smiled to himself. It was typical of humans. A company dedicated to creating the very latest in destructive technology, capable of killing greater numbers at higher speed with less effort, and that made the world safer.

  ‘Tea, dear?’ asked Mrs Klingerflim.

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Dirk.

  He tried another search, on ‘AOG project’, and found various newspaper articles referring to it as some sort of secret government defence project, but nothing that said what it was, or that connected it with NAPOW.

  Mrs Klingerflim switched on the radio and some old crackly music came on.

  ‘Oh, I like this one,’ said the old lady, moving strangely to the music. ‘It reminds me of my Ivor. He used to take me out dancing to tunes like this all night long. They don’t write them like they used to.’

  It sounded awful to Dirk but then he hated all music. For dragons, music was not something you listened to for fun. Dragonsong was a powerful and deadly weapon.

  He heard the phone in his office start ringing, so he thanked Mrs Klingerflim for the use of the computer and went upstairs. He shut the door with his tail and answered the phone.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, scooping up Willow and stroking her.

  ‘Mr Dilly? Is that you?’ said an anxious female voice.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Rosenfield?’ he asked.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d found anything yet …’ Her voice wavered. ‘It feels so underhand hiring you. I love my husband, Mr Dilly, but I’m scared.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’ asked Dirk.

  ‘He says that he’s got one of his conferences this weekend, that he forgot to tell me about it, but he’s lying.’

  ‘Why do you think he’s lying?’

  ‘Someone called last night. I listened in on the other phone. The man told Karl to get the 8.59 train from Euston to Glasgow, but Karl told me he was going from King’s Cross.’

  ‘What did the voice sound like?’ asked Dirk.

  ‘Deep,’ she replied. ‘Like a soul singer.’

  ‘What else did it say?’

  ‘I only caught the end of the conversation. He said that Karl wasn’t actually going to Glasgow, but that he would receive a phone call telling him when he should get off the train and that someone would be there to meet him. We’ve been married … for …’ She began to cry. ‘For … twenty-three years.’

  Dirk hated the sound of humans crying.

  ‘Mrs Rosenfield,’ he said gently, ‘people lie for lots of reasons. Don’t jump to any conclusions. I’ll find out what he’s doing. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Dilly,’ she sniffed.

  ‘What sort of conference did he say it was?’

  ‘He said it was one of his nonsense cryptozoological conferences.’

  ‘Cryptozoological?’

  ‘It’s stupid, really, just his hobby, mythical creatures, he loves anything like that … unicorns, sea monsters and, you know …’

  ‘Dragons?’ said Dirk.

  ‘Yes, they’re his favourite. That’s why I chose your detective agency. In a funny sort of way I thought he’d approve of the name …’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’ asked Dirk.

  ‘I didn’t think it was relevant. It’s just a stupid hobby, isn’t it? Those things don’t really exist, do they?’

  ‘Of course they don’t. It just helps to know these things sometimes,’ said Dirk. ‘I’ll call when I have news.’

  He put down the receiver and looked up at the clock. The big hand was pointing left. The smaller hand was below it. He scratched his head.

  Come on, Dirk, you can do this, he thought. Big hand was minutes. Yes. That meant it was a quarter to something. The small hand was hours and that was just below the nine. That was it. A quarter to nine.

  A quarter to nine? He had less than fifteen minutes to get to Euston Station. Dirk was quick but even he couldn’t get across London’s roofs at that speed, particularly not in daylight on a busy Saturday morning.

  He pulled open the window, checked the street below and leapt out. It was a bright day, but overcast, like a grey
blanket was spread over the sky. Usually Dirk travelled over roofs because they provided good cover. If he was seen he could stop and blend in an instant, disappearing from sight. He could become a figment of your imagination quicker than you could say, ‘Oh, look, a dragon sitting on top of Tesco’s.’ However, Dirk had a good pair of wings and was perfectly capable of flying. He just had to take precautions in a big city like London.

  He shut his mouth and snorted through his nostrils, standing upright on his hind legs and spinning round. White smoke billowed out of his nose. He flapped his wings as he turned, sending the smoke into a cloud that swirled around his body. He flapped a little harder, lifting himself off the roof, twisting and snorting as he flew upwards, to keep the smoke around him.

  Having reached a good height, Dirk allowed the smoke to thin out to see where he was going. The view was spectacular, his beloved city of London at his feet. He found Euston and headed, feet first, towards it. Seeing an aeroplane flying above, Dirk snorted hard to thicken the smoke screen.

  Inside the aeroplane, one of the passengers, also admiring the view of London, noticed the strange clump of smoke floating across the city.

  ‘Take a look at this,’ she said, tapping her boyfriend, who was pretending to be asleep. ‘This cloud is acting very oddly.’

  ‘Is it really? How very interesting, dear,’ said the boyfriend, patting her hand, not bothering to open his eyes.

  Wondering whether she should break up with her sarcastic boyfriend and instead go out with the nice chap she had met down the laundrette, the girlfriend forgot all about the peculiar cloud drifting across London.

  Dirk landed on the corrugated roof above the station platforms and the smoke wafted away.

  Above the sound of the train engines starting up, whistles blowing and doors shutting, an announcement said, ‘The train about to depart from platform seven is the 8.59 to Glasgow. Please stand clear of the platform’s edge …’

  The train rumbled forward.

  There was no time to think.

  Dirk sprang into the air, spread his wings and glided down, landing safely on top of the moving train, holding on tight and blending with the carriage roof.