The Case of the Wayward Professor (6 page)

Holly said nothing.

‘However,' she continued, ‘you do have some flare for the instrument and you have determination.' She picked up a folder and handed it to her. ‘We only have two trumpets at the moment, so if you can learn all this you may play third.'

‘Brilliant,' said Holly, smiling.

‘But be warned, I expect utter dedication from my musicians. If I think you are damaging the integrity of
the music you will be out of this band before your lips can touch that mouthpiece, young lady. Hold it up straight and stick your chin out. Band rehearsal is on Monday after school and the concert takes place on Thursday, when we will spend the entire day at the concert hall.'

Holly thanked Miss Gilfeather and left. In the corridor she found Callum, apparently waiting for her, but when she got near he shrank away.

‘I got in,' she said. ‘I heard you play, you were amazing.'

‘I like music, I like playing, it makes me feel safe,' he said. ‘I heard you too. You made some mistakes.'

‘Don't worry about that spoilt pop-star's daughter. She's just mean. She killed my pet mouse.'

‘I don't care about her,' he replied. ‘She doesn't know anything, but I know. I see too much. They all think Callum is mad because of the monsters in my head. They are all in my head, but they're real too.'

‘Who?' asked Holly, concerned. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘The doctors don't say mad. They call it post traumatic stress instead. It's when you go mad because you've been through something horrible.'

‘What happened to you?'

‘They're in the trees. They look like trees. You think they are trees, then they move and they talk and they have wings and teeth and I know they're in my head, they're all imaginary. They took me before and they'll take me again. They'll come soon. They told me they would, but what does it matter if it's all in Callum's head? Callum can control it. That's what the doctors said. There's no such thing as monsters.'

‘Callum, what are you saying?' asked Holly anxiously.

‘No one believes Callum. No one does.'

‘I want to help you,' she persisted.

‘No one helps me.'

Holly reached for his arm, but he shrugged her off, turned round and hurried down the corridor.

‘Callum, wait,' she called after him, but he quickened his pace, smoothing down his greasy black hair.

Looking at the green English countryside whizzing past the train, Dirk felt a tingle of nerves in his stomach. London was his home. It was where he felt safe. All this space made him feel uneasy.

The train had been travelling for a few hours when, finally, it stopped at a small village station with a sign that read Stonegarth, where Professor Rosenfield alighted, carrying the silver case. He looked up and down the empty platform. The train pulled away and Dirk jumped over Rosenfield's head on to the station roof. It was a bright, sunny day and Dirk was glad that dragons cast shadows upwards.

He peered over the other side of the roof. In the car
park of the station was an old yellow car, its paintwork chipped and eaten away by rust. Two men were leaning against the side of it. Dirk recognised them instantly.

‘What's he a professor of, then?' said a short fat man with tightly curled red hair.

‘Although a valid question, my tubby sidekick, I'm afraid that Mr G has not furnished me with a full biography of the gentleman concerned, so I will have to decline from honouring your inquisition with a satisfactory answer,' said the taller man with a merest wisp of hair combed carefully across his head.

‘You mean, you don't know?'

‘I am saying words to that effect, yes, Reg.'

It was the two idiot crooks who worked for the Kinghorns, Arthur and Reg. They had no idea that the Mr G they spoke of was in fact a dragon, the mysterious Vainclaw Grandin.

‘Mr G don't tell us much, do he?' said Reg. ‘I still don't know what we were doing with all those cats.'

‘He certainly likes to play his cards close to his chest, Reginald,' agreed Arthur, ‘but remember, it was he who paid for the lawyer who got us off. We owe him a great deal.'

‘We only got arrested because of him in the first place,' protested the fat man.

‘Ah, look yonder, this must be the chap,' said Arthur, noticing Professor Rosenfield standing outside the station scratching his head.

Arthur walked towards him and extended a hand. ‘Professor Rosenfield, I presume,' he said, grinning.

‘Er, yes,' replied the professor, shaking Arthur's hand uncertainly.

‘My name is Arthur and this big-boned gentleman is my colleague, Reg. We are here to provide vehicular transportation to your destination.'

Professor Rosenfield looked vaguely at the two men.

‘We're the wheels,' added Reg. ‘Don't worry. I don't understand half of what he's on about neither. The trick is not to get too bogged down in listening to the words.'

‘I'm sure the professor understands me perfectly adequately,' said Arthur. ‘He too is a man of learning.' He turned to Rosenfield, opened the back door of the car and said, ‘Worry not, Reg has very little in the way of grey matter but he is fully familiarised in the ways of motorised wheel control.'

The professor looked at the crooks as though they had just landed from a different planet. ‘Er … Are you sure it's me you're here to pick up?'

‘I suppose there is a possibility that we have been sent to collect a different man with the same name as
you from this exact spot, yes, but you would have to admit that it would be a staggering coincidence,' replied Arthur.

‘Well, yes, I suppose so,' admitted the professor. ‘In you go, then. ‘Arthur helped the professor into the back. ‘Look at that, we're already discussing probability,' he said. ‘It is nice to have civilised company for a change.'

‘I know about probability,' said Reg. ‘It's gamblin', ain't it?'

‘You see what I have to put up with,' sighed Arthur.

The two men took their seats in the front and drove away.

Dirk followed, firstly using the roofs of the houses, then, when they reached the edge of town, flying low behind the hedgerows, keeping his wings out of sight from the road, but also watching out for any farmers who might see him. He skirted the edge of a field of cows that mooed fearfully at him and retreated to the other side of the field.

The road ran alongside a large lake and Dirk skimmed across the surface, dipping his claws in and causing water to spray up. He had forgotten how much fun proper flying could be. Maybe it was good to get out of London, after all.

The car took a road that cut through a dense forest over a small hill. Dirk flew over the trees, keeping the car in sight. At the base of the hill it turned on to a smaller dirt track that led deeper into the forest. At the end of the track was a rundown old cottage with black-and-white walls. The car stopped outside and all three men got out.

Dirk swooped down and ducked behind the low stone wall that surrounded the cottage.

‘Well, Professor Rosenfield,' said Arthur, opening the professor's door. ‘It has been a pleasure. As you can imagine, working mostly with Reg I am generally starved of intellectual discourse. Except on the subject of light ales from around the world, Reg has very little in the way of knowledge.'

The professor climbed out of the car, holding the silver case with both arms.

‘Who did you say you worked for?' he asked.

‘Sadly, we are not at liberty to divulge that particular piece of information, are we, Reg?'

‘What? About working for Mr G? No, can't say a word,' replied Reg.

Arthur raised a hand and casually whacked Reg on the back of his head.

‘Ow, what d'you do that for?'

‘I must apologise for my colleague,' Arthur said to the professor. ‘He is as foolish as he is fat.'

‘But who is Mr G?' asked the professor. ‘Is that the man with the deep voice?'

‘Goodbye, professor,' said Arthur.

‘Nice to meet you,' added Reg.

The two men got back in the car.

‘Aren't you staying with me?'

‘I'm afraid not,' replied Arthur. The engine started. ‘Our instructions were to leave you here. We will return each morn to provide transportation for procurement of provisions. Come on, Reg,
allez
!'

‘A what?'

‘It means go, you nincompoop.'

Reg let the handbrake off and they drove away, leaving the professor to enter the cottage through its only door.

Dirk scurried forward. There were two windows on either side of the cottage. Looking through the nearest one, he could see that the cottage was small and squalid and what an estate agent might describe as ‘full of potential'. In other words, it was falling apart. Rosenfield sat down on a rickety wooden chair and placed the silver case on the kitchen table. He pressed a button on the side of the case and the lid opened,
blocking out the professor's face. Dirk needed to see what he was doing, but suddenly he felt a sharp pain shoot through his tail.

He looked round to see the silver bark-coloured skin of a Tree Dragon. Its teeth were clamped over Dirk's tail. Its pale green eyes were staring at him wildly.

Dirk tried to swing his tail, but the Tree Dragon's grip was firm, secured by its claws digging into the ground like roots. Its mossy teeth had penetrated the soft underside of his tail, drawing dark green blood. The pain was immense.

Dirk opened his mouth and sent a line of fire, singeing his own tail but forcing the Tree Dragon to release him. He leapt on to the dragon's back, pressing the tips of his claws against its throat.

‘Who are you?' he whispered, not wanting to attract the professor's attention. ‘Why did you attack me?'

‘Get off me. You're ouching me.'

It was a female.

‘Tell me and I'll get off your back,' replied Dirk, holding down the Tree Dragon's writhing limbs and digging his claws further in.

She screamed in agony.

‘Who's there?' shouted the professor from inside the cottage.

Dirk released the Tree Dragon, who darted up an oak tree, her body twisting easily around the thick trunk, disappearing into the dense forest.

‘Who's there? Show yourself,' yelled the professor, coming to the window.

Not wanting to be seen by a human, Dirk took after the Tree Dragon.

Tree Dragons are fast movers in their own territory where they can swing from tree to tree, so it was difficult to keep up. He followed her deep into the forest until she stopped, landing on a malformed dead tree in the centre of a clearing, illuminated by white sunlight cutting through the green leaves.

‘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.'