The Case of the Wayward Professor (15 page)

‘Dragons can talk to water?'

‘You can talk to anything, just don't expect much conversation in return,' said Dirk.

It was an amazing sensation, rushing upwards inside
the sphere of water. The orange earthlight revealed a narrow tunnel, carved out over thousands of years by the underground stream. Stalactites hung down, occasionally so low so that they penetrated the bubble and almost hit Holly as they whizzed past.

‘What did you say to Karny to make him help me?' asked Dirk.

‘I told him that my dad works with the ministry of confectionery and hinted that I could get my hands on a piece of liquorice the size of a torpedo.'

Dirk laughed.

‘How come I could hear the councillors?' she asked.

‘Dragon thoughts get more and more powerful with age. The councillors are so old they don't have to speak at all any more. That's how they're able to speak to the water. Rock is easy enough to order around, but water takes a lot more persuasion. It's kind of fickle.'

‘How long will the journey take?' asked Holly.

‘A few hours. We're a long way down,' replied Dirk.

The movement of the water was smooth and the sound of the swishing liquid was strangely calming. Holly relaxed her grip on Dirk's neck. She felt exhaustion overtake her and it wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep, dreaming strange watery dreams.

Holly didn't know how long she had been asleep when she was awoken by Dirk saying, ‘Get ready. We'll take the rock from here.'

He leapt out of the bubble with a splash and landed on a stone. They must have been a lot nearer the surface because the earthlight had grown dim and dusky. Dirk said something in Dragonspeak and the rock lifted them up.

‘Where are we going?' asked Holly.

‘Back to the caves,' replied Dirk. ‘I've got to find those Tree Dragons and stop them. I'm taking you back to school. No stowing away this time. It's too dangerous.'

‘But…'

‘No buts.' Dirk cut her off. ‘I can't take any more risks. Those Tree Dragons are vicious and I can't always protect you.'

Holly protested but nothing she said would make Dirk change his mind. As they grew nearer to the surface, the earthlight ebbed away completely so that all Holly could see were Dirk's yellow eyes, blinking in the darkness.

Cracks of light appeared in the rock above them.

‘We're almost there,' said Dirk. ‘Close your eyes. The sun will hurt them after so much exposure to earth-light.'

Holly shut her eyes tightly. As they surfaced, she felt sunlight on her face and swirling red shapes appeared on the backs of her eyelids. She clamped her hands over them.

‘Open them gradually,' said Dirk.

Using the palm of her hand as a visor, Holly blinked open her eyes. The sunlight hurt her eyeballs, but it felt good on her skin. The early morning sun was climbing up the blue sky. White fluffy clouds drifted by. The forest looked vivid and green and the air tasted fresh and pure. Holly felt glad to be above ground again.

After hugging and saying goodbye to Dirk by the
fallen sycamore tree, this time for real Holly walked quickly to the main gate, where she was greeted by the familiar sound of a barking poodle.

‘Come back, have you?' said Hamish, typing in the security code to open the gate. ‘D'you know the trouble you've caused?'

‘How are you, Bruno boy?' asked Holly, patting the dog.

‘Never mind him. Ah'm taking you to the principal's office.'

‘What day is it?' asked Holly. The time underground had left her feeling disorientated.

‘What sort of question is that? It's Thursday morning.'

Holly had made her escape on Tuesday night. She had only been away for one day. It felt like much longer.

In the reception area, the principal's secretary was very carefully painting each nail as a different national flag and was currently working on the rather tricky crescent moon in the Turkish flag, which she had decided to place on her thumb.

‘Yes?' she said, not looking up.

‘Ah've got the wee lass who ran away,' said Hamish.

The secretary looked briefly at Holly before returning
her full attention to her nails.

‘The troublesome Holly Bigsby,' she said flatly. ‘You'll have to wait.'

Holly sat down and Hamish reached into his pocket and pulled out an energy bar, which he proceeded to feed to Bruno.

Raised voices were coming from inside the principal's office.

‘It is an absolute outrage. I tolerate the press, but TV … You've turned the concert into a media circus.'

It was Miss Gilfeather's voice. Holly remembered that today was the day of the school concert.

‘Please, Vivian, think of the coverage. You can't buy publicity like this. I was thinking if it goes well we could release an album in time for Christmas. Diversify or die, as they say.'

‘Whoever says such a thing? I am not interested in diversifying. It's a school concert in a local village hall, not a rock concert in Wembley Stadium.'

‘It's just a few cameras. Everyone who is anyone will be there.'

‘My musicians have enough pressure without inviting the world and his wife.'

‘I've also said that Petal Moses can do a number,' said the principal nervously.

‘Petal Moses!' Miss Gilfeather's voice exploded with such force that the secretary slipped and covered the flags of France, Germany and Italy with a disastrous yellow streak. ‘That girl has as much musical talent as a baboon.'

‘Now, Vivian …'

‘If that.'

‘But her mother's coming. What a coup. The press will have a field day. It'll be bigger than a royal wedding. Please, Vivian, I can't do it without your consent.'

There was a pause.

‘Oh, all right, but I'm not happy,' said Miss Gilfeather at last. ‘Now, I have to go. The coach is waiting.'

‘Yes, thank you, Vivian. Thank you so much.'

The principal's door opened and Miss Gilfeather emerged, dressed every bit as immaculately as always. Her eyes descended on Holly.

‘Holly Bigsby, third trumpet,' she said automatically.

‘Hello, Miss Gilfeather,' said Holly.

‘Why are you not on the coach?'

‘Erm …'

The principal interrupted. ‘This girl has run away from school. I will take care of her punishment,' asserted the principal.

‘You'll do no such thing. She is in my band. Holly,
go and get your trumpet and get on the coach.'

‘But, Viv … Miss Gilfeather …' protested Palmer.

‘You may administer your punishment after our concert. Holly, the coach.'

‘Yes, Miss Gilfeather,' said Holly, smiling at Principal Palmer.

Miss Gilfeather looked at Hamish, who was tapping the confused poodle on his nose, while quietly chanting incantations in his ear.

‘What are you doing to that dog?' she demanded.

‘Ah'm teaching him aggression. It's an old Native American war chant.'

‘You know that he's a poodle?'

‘Aye.'

‘And you're flat,' she said, marching out of the room.

‘This isn't the last you'll hear of this, young lady,' said Palmer to Holly. ‘You've acted very irresponsibly.'

‘OK,' said Holly, making her way quickly to her room.

Petal was lying in bed, reading a fashion magazine. ‘Oh, hello, you're back, are you?' she said frostily.

‘Morning, Petal,' replied Holly cheerily, quickly changing her clothes and grabbing her trumpet case. ‘I hear you'll be doing a solo at the concert,' she said.

‘My mother has written a track for me. I'll be singing
it,' Petal replied proudly.

‘Brilliant. I'll remember to bring my ear plugs,' said Holly, quickly leaving before Petal could think of a good response.

Outside the front of the school building the last few band members were boarding the coach. There was an excited buzz as she climbed on. The pretty flautists were doing each other's hair while the trombonists were trying to rally everyone to sing along with ‘There's no business like show business'.

Holly spotted Callum sitting on his own, staring out of the window. She took a seat next to him.

‘Are you looking forward to the concert?' she asked.

‘No. Stupid concert is just another photo opportunity for Father.'

‘The Prime Minister is coming?' said Holly. For a moment she considered whether the Kinghorns could strike at the concert, but how could they? The place would be crawling with security. She wondered whether her own dad would be coming. She hadn't even told him about being in the band, but if there was an opportunity to be seen with the Prime Minister you could bet he would be there.

‘Callum, the tree creatures you've seen. I think I've seen them too. They're Tree Dragons. They're not in
your head,' said Holly.

Callum looked at her then turned away, smoothing down his black hair nervously.

‘They're in my head,' he replied.

‘They're not. They're real,' protested Holly.

‘No, they're not. They're in Callum's head. The doctors say I can control them.'

Callum stared out of the window and hummed to block out her voice. He refused to speak for the rest of the journey.

Little Hope Village Hall was empty when they arrived. Miss Gilfeather got them to put out rows of chairs before asking everyone to take their places on stage for rehearsals.

As the day progressed, more and more people came in and out of the hall. Holly saw Hamish the security guard arrive with Bruno the poodle. Police officers with thick bullet-proof jackets and machine guns entered and checked for any possible signs of terrorism. They were met by men in dark suits and sunglasses. Holly recognised them as the men who had taken Callum. She looked over to where Callum was sitting, but he was avoiding eye contact.

TV crews arrived with loud-mouthed directors, scruffy-looking cameramen and long-haired soundmen. They set up lights, did sound-checks and fixed speakers outside so that the hundreds of onlookers who were expected to turn up would be able to enjoy the concert too. Locals gathered to witness the excitement which had descended on their sleepy village.

There was so much commotion that at one stage Miss Gilfeather shouted at everyone in the hall to ‘Please be quiet!' unless they were involved in the band practice. A policeman with a face like a bulldog and an extremely large machine gun stopped his conversation with a TV director and look sheepishly at his feet, like a naughty school boy.

During the breaks they all had to stay inside the hall for security reasons. Not that Holly minded. She no longer wanted to use the opportunity to escape. She just wanted to get through the concert without messing up too badly.

At half past five they did one complete run-through, which was, everyone agreed, a total disaster, but Miss Gilfeather was positive and said that a bad rehearsal usually indicated a good performance. After that, she announced that there would be no more practice and everyone should save their lips for the performance.
She took them through the order of events, so they knew what to expect.

‘You will file on and take your places on stage. We will open with the Gershwin medley and then the first solo performer will come on. During that performance you will sit very quietly and politely, until I come back on and lead you in the second number.'

‘Who's the first solo performer?' asked a tuba player.

Miss Gilfeather checked her notes. ‘Petal Moses,' she said, barely managing to hide her disdain.

‘Who's accompanying her?' asked a flautist.

‘She'll have … oh dear me … She will have that most tacky of things, a backing track. Regardless of this, please show respect during all solo performances and remember you will be visible to the audience and the television cameras.'

By the time everyone had changed into school uniforms and eaten as many of the sandwiches and crisps provided as their nervous stomachs would allow, it had grown dark outside and the audience had started to arrive. A red carpet had been laid at the front door and snap-happy paparazzi had gathered on either side of it, taking pictures of every parent that arrived, on the off chance that they were famous.