The Case of the Wayward Professor Read online

  ‘What do you want to know, Mountain?’ she said.

  ‘Who are you?’ panted Dirk, catching his breath.

  ‘My name’s Betula Pendula,’ she replied.

  ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘Why did you attack me?’

  ‘You were schnooking on the manuman.’

  ‘You mean Professor Rosenfield?’

  ‘What do you know about the manuman?’ snapped Betula.

  ‘Who are you working for, Bark-back?’ snarled Dirk.

  ‘That’s enough interroquests,’ she replied.

  ‘If I don’t get some answers I’m going to open my mouth and burn down that tree and you with it,’ threatened Dirk.

  Betula laughed and said, ‘Come on, bark sisters.’

  The tree began to move, branches slowly peeling away, dismantling itself, lowering Betula down to the ground and splitting into four more parts. What Dirk had taken for a tree was actually four more Tree Dragons balanced on top of each other like acrobats, each one with a different bark-coloured skin.

  ‘These are my cofrienions,’ said Betula, introducing the Tree Dragons as they arranged themselves into attack formation in front of Dirk. ‘This is Buxus Sempervirens, Tilia Cordata, Salix Alba and Acer Campestre.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, ladies,’ said Dirk, ‘now, tell me what you’re doing here.’

  ‘Come on, let’s schmunch him,’ said Buxus, snapping her teeth viciously.

  ‘Let me do it,’ said Acer, who had a whitish back covered in fine ridges.

  ‘No, Acer,’ replied Betula angrily. ‘We’re all going to kill him. It’s not about notches on your bark.’

  ‘You’ve already had your go, Betula,’ Acer replied. ‘It’s my turn.’

  ‘You heard what Betula said,’ added Salix, whose back was greeny red.

  ‘Strush up, Salix,’ snapped Acer. ‘You’re always siding with Betula.’

  ‘Oh, just let her,’ said Tilia, who was thinner and darker than the others. ‘What harm will it do?’

  ‘Yeah, let’s go one on one, you and me, Bark-back,’ challenged Dirk.

  Five sets of pale green eyes glared at him.

  ‘Oh, let’s just get him,’ said Betula, diving forward and whacking Dirk in the face.

  He swiped at her with his tail, but she evaded him by somersaulting over his head. A second one came at him from the side. Dirk deflected the attack with a wing, but a third had already locked her jaws around his leg. Pain raced through his body. He lashed out his tail and whacked the dragon over the head. She released her grip, but more came at him, their sharp teeth latching on to his leg and tail.

  There were too many of them and they were too quick.

  Fire burst from Dirk’s mouth, but one of the dragons landed heavily on his back. He fell to the ground and the fire went out in a puff of smoke. He felt his wings clamped down and blood pour from his cuts. Another landed on his shoulders, and stood on his jaw, preventing him from breathing fire.

  Betula’s face appeared in front of his. ‘This is what you get for schnooking, Mountain Dragon,’ she said, opening her mouth, to finish him off.

  ‘Mmmaknghurn.’ Dirk struggled to speak.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Betula.

  ‘Kill him,’ said Acer, standing on his jaw.

  ‘Mmmaknghurn,’ Dirk tried again.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ asked Betula.

  Acer lifted her foot up so that Dirk could speak.

  ‘I’m a Kinghorn. Vainclaw sent me,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not confrienious with the boss,’ said Betula scornfully, but Dirk could tell he had guessed right. They were working for Vainclaw.

  ‘He sent me to check up on you. He doesn’t want to leave such an important job to a bunch of no-good Tree Dragons.’

  ‘I should kill you for saying that,’ she hissed.

  ‘Kill me, then,’ said Dirk. ‘I’m sure he won’t hold it against you, killing a member of his family.’

  ‘He’s fablifising,’ said Acer.

  Salix, who had been biting his leg, let go and said, ‘Vainclaw is a Mountain Dragon. It’s possible.’ Dirk could feel blood ooze from where she had been biting through.

  ‘My name is Jegsy Grandin,’ he said. ‘I’m Vainclaw’s nephew.’

  ‘Prove it,’ said Betula. ‘Tell us what’s so important about the manuman?’

  ‘Don’t try and trick me,’ replied Dirk. ‘Vainclaw only lets you know as much as you need to know. He doesn’t trust you. You just do what you’re told. Well, do that now and let me go.’

  Betula snarled angrily and yelled, ‘Release him.’

  ‘No, let’s kill him,’ said Acer.

  ‘We can’t risk it. What if he’s truthing?’

  ‘Then we tell the boss that it was a happendent.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll comprestand, us happendently schmunching a member of his family. Let him go.’

  All four dragons released Dirk and he stood up, checking his injuries. Dark green blood oozed from his tail and legs. Every inch of his body screamed out in agony. He had to get away but the dragons had surrounded him. He straightened out his wings, and gave them a couple of tentative flaps. They hurt like hell but they seemed to be working OK.

  ‘Don’t try anything,’ said Betula nervously.

  ‘What’s going on, Jegsy?’ asked Salix. ‘Why are we watching the manuman? When is the boss coming to see us himself?’

  Dirk stretched out his tail and found a rotten branch, hollowed out by ants.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ she snapped.

  ‘And I think I’ve got the answer,’ he said.

  In one deft movement, he flipped up the branch with his tail, caught it in his paw, and set the end alight with a flame from his mouth. He spun round with it, creating a ring of fire around him. Instinctively, the Tree Dragons jumped out of the way and Dirk shot into the air, dropping the burning branch and disappearing over the tree tops.

  Although Tree Dragons were quick on the ground, their wings were smaller, making them slower in the air. Not that Dirk was exactly match-fit himself, with his damaged wings and legs. He could feel them nipping at his heels. He tucked his tail in to stop them from grabbing it and flew as fast as he could.

  ‘I told you he was fablifising,’ he could hear Acer shouting.

  ‘Don’t let him escapaway,’ yelled Betula.

  One of the dragons snapped at his wings. He thrashed his tail out and sent her flying down into the forest. He was nearing the road, where a large lorry was hurtling along. He swooped down.

  ‘Somebody stop him,’ screamed Buxus, ‘he’s heading for the big schweeler.’

  But it was too late. Dirk sailed over the edge of the forest and landed safely on the lorry. He clung tightly to the top and glanced back. The Tree Dragons had stopped above the forest, not wanting to risk exposure in the human world. Dirk was exhausted. He blended with the lorry but he was tired. He needed somewhere to hide out and recover.

  The lorry stopped at a two-way junction where a sign pointed left to Stonegarth and right to a place called Little Hope. Dirk smiled at the name. It seemed somehow appropriate. Then he noticed what was written below it.

  William Scrivener School – 1 Mile

  No Press Allowed

  Chapter Ten

  By Monday morning Holly was beginning to feel nervous about band rehearsal. She had practised all the pieces of music, but she was worried that she wouldn’t be good enough and Miss Gilfeather would throw her out, ruining her chances of escape.

  Her mood wasn’t improved by the realisation that today was the first English class in which they would be studying Petal’s book.

  Miss Whittaker, the English teacher, wore a wide grin.

  ‘Normally I’d ask who would like to read first,’ she began, ‘but I think, since we have the opportunity, we should hear it in the author’s own voice. Petal?’

  Petal stood up, matching Miss Whittaker’s grin, and opened her book, carefully and prou
dly.

  Holly stared out of the window at the large grounds, imagining herself running across the field and leaping over the high wire fence, trying to shut out the sound of Petal’s voice.

  ‘“Chapter one. My Wonderful Birth,”’ Petal read. ‘“There had been much speculation over my mother’s pregnancy. Was it a boy or a girl? What would she call it? What birth method would she choose?”’

  ‘Who was the father?’ muttered Holly under her breath, making the boy next to her laugh.

  Miss Whittaker threw a stern glance at her.

  Holly didn’t care. And she didn’t care about the media buzz that surrounded Petal’s birth. She was thinking about Callum. Yesterday she had visited the library and used the computer to locate a series of newspaper articles about him. The first was from last year, when Callum would have been in year seven. It read:

  PRIME MINISTER’S SON KIDNAPPED

  FROM SCHOOL

  Yesterday, Scotland Yard confirmed that the Prime Minister’s youngest son, Callum Thackley (11), has been kidnapped from his school grounds. Detective Chief Inspector Arnold Stickler said, ‘Callum Thackley was abducted three days ago during a lunch hour.’

  Prime Minister James Thackley is yet to issue an official statement but is said to be ‘deeply concerned’.

  The self-styled Principal of the school, Larry Palmer, said he would do everything he could do to assist the police and that they would be investing in state-of-theart security measures in order to avoid any repeat of such an event. ‘I believe our parents should be able to treat William Scrivener’s like a bank, placing their most valuable assets somewhere they will be safe,’ said Palmer in a press conference.

  So far, no terrorist organisation has come forward to claim the kidnap.

  There were a number of articles along these lines until one appeared a few days later saying:

  CALLUM THACKLEY FOUND UNHARMED

  After days of national concern, Callum Thackley, the Prime Minister’s son, has been found, metres away from the spot he was taken. Although deeply distressed, he is physically unharmed. Detective Chief Inspector Stickler, who has been leading the investigation, said: ‘One of our officers discovered the boy sitting under a tree not far from the sight of the original abduction in the forest surrounding the school. After thoroughly combing the area, no suspects were found. Callum is understandably traumatised but is doing very well, considering.’

  The Prime Minister issued the following statement: ‘My family and I are delighted at Callum’s safe return, but angry with those behind this awful crime and I will not rest until these monsters are brought to justice.’

  More articles followed, some suggesting that Callum never fully recovered from his kidnapping ordeal, others speculating as to the motive for the kidnapping and why no demands were made, but none of them indicated that the police ever did discover who was behind his abduction.

  Callum didn’t seem to have any friends at school. He was known as Crazy, Crackpot or Cuckoo Callum. Holly felt sorry for him. She knew what it was like to go through life without friends.

  ‘“In the end it was a simple candlelit water birth,”’ Petal continued in a sing-song voice, ‘“with positive energy provided by a choir of Buddhist monks, a bottle-nosed dolphin in the pool, and a thousand rose petals floating on the surface. On May the first, at eleven in the morning, Petal Dolphin Moses entered the world. I was healthy and I was beautiful. Unfortunately, the dolphin became so distressed by the sight of me being born that it began to attack my mother. Luckily one of the monks intervened, jumping into the pool and wrestling the dolphin until a vet arrived and had the poor creature put to sleep.”’

  Petal sat down and Miss Whittaker led the class in a round of applause. ‘Now,’ she said, still giddy with excitement. ‘Would anybody care to say what strikes them about that opening passage?’

  Holly looked longingly out of the window at the bright sunny morning and for a moment she thought she saw something. No, she couldn’t have. She blinked. It must have been her eyes playing tricks on her. She could have sworn …but how could she? It looked like Dirk. No, she said to herself, you’re just missing him.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from the boy next to her and she saw that everyone was staring expectantly at her.

  ‘Well?’ said Miss Whittaker.

  ‘I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?’ asked Holly.

  ‘I asked what you thought of the way the author uses humour in the opening passage,’ she said.

  ‘I think he wrote it very humorously,’ said Holly simply.

  The class laughed. Petal stared angrily at Holly as if willing her to drop dead.

  ‘The author is a girl,’ said Miss Whittaker patiently.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Holly, ‘I thought you meant Bob, the man she had write it for her.’

  Before Miss Whittaker could say a word, Holly picked up her bag and headed off for her daily visit to the principal’s office.

  The principal’s secretary, who today had her hair tied back and wore green nail varnish, told Holly that Principal Palmer was away all morning at a shareholders’ meeting, so she returned to the class for the next lesson, which was games.

  The class gathered on the field and Mr Brooker, a scruffy-looking man with a large, matted beard, announced that they would be practising cross-country running around the perimeters of the school grounds.

  The class groaned. The blue sky had clouded over and a light drizzle hung in the air. It was a miserable day for a long run.

  ‘Don’t be soft. It’ll put hairs on your chest,’ said Mr Brooker. ‘It’ll put toad in your hole.’ He jogged on the spot, then added, ‘It’ll put pay-as-you-go minutes in your mobile. Come on.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir.’ Petal Moses, dressed immaculately in her white designer gym kit, raised her hand.

  ‘Yes, Petal,’ said Mr Brooker.

  ‘Fabio says he doesn’t want me going on any long runs because of my weak ankle.’

  ‘Is Fabio a doctor and did he write you a note?’

  ‘No, sir, he’s my personal trainer, but he’s worked with some of the biggest names in Hollywood.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Petal,’ said Mr Brooker, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. ‘No note, no excuse. Let’s go, my people.’

  He ran round and herded the reluctant class like a sheepdog, guiding them along the side of the football pitch to the perimeter fence, where he explained that the run would take about forty-five minutes to an hour. ‘If you run too slowly,’ he added, ‘you’ll be late for lunch. There’s your motivation.’

  He blew a whistle and they set off, some of the class running full pelt, others jogging at a more sensible pace. Inevitably the class soon became spread out, naturally splitting into pairs or threes.

  Not having any friends, Holly ran alone.

  She saw Petal running ahead of her with two girls. She was pleased that Petal had been forced to do the run. It was miserable. The sky was dark and the raindrops were getting larger every minute, soaking their clothes. The ground softened and soon Holly could feel mud beneath her trainers.

  She decided to overtake Petal, speeding up to run between her and the fence. As she approached she could hear her saying, ‘Fabio says running without a running machine is like wearing boot-cut jeans to a launch party. No one does it any more … A-choo.’ She sneezed. ‘That’s it. I’m catching a cold. As soon as I get back I’m calling my lawyer. I’m going to sue the school.’

  Holly drew level with Petal, who looked round and said, ‘Oh, hi, Holly. How’s your boyfriend, Crackers Callum?’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ replied Holly.

  She sped up, but Petal kept level, saying, ‘Holly loves crazy Callum, the Prime Minister’s son.’

  The other girls giggled.

  ‘I do not,’ yelled Holly.

  She ran faster, but Petal and her friends kept up.

  ‘Stands to reason,’ said Petal. ‘They’re both freaks.’


  ‘At least I’m not a …’ started Holly, but her retort was cut short as she felt something collide with her shin. She stumbled and fell, losing her balance and landing face down in the mud.

  The three girls laughed and Petal shouted, ‘Enjoy your trip?’

  A pair of boys ran past her without stopping to check that she was all right. Holly felt miserable. She was wet. She was cold. She was muddy. She felt lonely and humiliated. Then she heard a voice say, ‘Stay where you are. Let the stragglers pass.’

  On the other side of the fence two large yellow eyes were staring at her.

  ‘Dirk?’ she gasped. ‘Is it really you?’

  Chapter Eleven

  Holly let the last few runners pass. None stopped to ask if she was all right or if she needed a hand up.

  Once they were gone, she said, ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was in the neighbourhood,’ said Dirk, before adding, ‘I can see you’re as popular as ever.’

  ‘I’m so glad to see you,’ said Holly. ‘Not that I can see you really.’

  She could just about make out Dirk’s outline, although his skin was perfectly blended with his surroundings. He shifted and the colour returned to his body.

  ‘How’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘Be careful. They have cameras everywhere.’

  ‘It’s a blind spot,’ replied Dirk.

  Holly checked. It was true. A large tree overhanging the fence blocked the nearest camera, and a high hedgerow stood between them and the school building. Holly saw that he had slipped his tail through a hole in the fence to trip her up. Patches of dark green liquid oozed from Dirk’s tail and legs. Some of it had rubbed off on her shin when he tripped her. She touched it. It was sticky and thick. Instinctively, she put it to her tongue and, in spite of its colour, recognised the metallic taste as blood.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I ran into another one of Vainclaw’s little armies.’ Dirk sounded tired, his breathing was heavy and the smoke from his nostril had an unhealthy yellow hue. ‘Tree Dragons. Vicious creatures.’