The Case of the Vanished Sea Dragon (19 page)

‘Sorry, Holly,' he said.

‘Quickly, cover the leg,' said Nebula.

Archie brought more until the whole leg was covered with blood-red ash.

‘Stand back,' said Nebula and he moved back. The Sky Dragon opened her mouth and breathed blue flames, which licked over the ash.

Holly cried out in pain.

‘You're hurting her,' said Archie, trying to pull Nebula away.

‘No, she is being made all the better. Look,' said Alba, pointing to Holly's leg. The ash was glowing gold under the blue flame and it looked as though the blood was draining back into the leg.

Nebula closed her mouth and the flames vanished. ‘The bone is fixed,' she said.

With Archie's help, Holly tried to stand. Tentatively she put some weight on to her leg. She looked up in amazement. ‘It's better,' she said. ‘How did you do that?'

‘Dragon or human, skin or bone, we all need the same things to survive; water, earth, air and fire. It takes fire to mend a broken bone,' said Nebula.

Archie realised he still had his arm around Holly's
shoulder even though her leg was better now. He let go, embarrassed, and said, ‘Sorry, you don't need me.'

‘I think I do,' said Holly, smiling. ‘You saved my life twice. Thanks.'

‘The dragons did all the hard work.' Archie grinned. Then, eyes widening, he added, ‘Dragons, Holly. There are real dragons. I can't believe it. I knew you were worth following. I knew it.'

‘Now, let's see about the one who summoned me,' said Nebula, bending down to inspect Dirk, who still hadn't moved since swallowing the liquid fire.

‘It wasn't his fault,' said Holly.

‘I know,' said Nebula.

‘Will he be all right?' asked Holly.

‘He needs water. Hold his mouth open,' said Nebula. She raised her head to the sky and took a long intake of breath.

Alba lifted Dirk's head and prised open his jaws. Holly and Archie watched as a strand of vaporised water fell from a cloud above. Nebula caught it, allowing it to run through her paws and trickle into Dirk's open mouth as pure, cool fresh water.

Dirk coughed.

He spluttered.

His eyes opened and he sat up.

‘Dirk, you're all right,' said Holly, throwing her arms around him.

‘Hey, kiddo,' he replied, smiling.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Dirk,' said Alba.

‘That's OK, Alba.' He looked at Nebula and said, ‘I'm sorry too; they forced me to summon you.'

‘These are complicated times I have materialised into,' she said, nodding. ‘My name is Nebula Colorado.'

‘Pleased to meet you, Nebula, I'm Dirk Dilly. It's not safe for you here. Are you able to sublimate again?' he asked.

‘Not until I have bathed in the Outer Core and regained enough strength.'

Dirk stood up, carefully checking that everything was in working order.

‘Alba,' he said, ‘take Nebula somewhere remote where she can safely head underground without being seen.'

‘OK, Mr Dirk. I am sorry I deceived you. I just wanted to save Delfina, but now I know that it is too late for her,' she said sadly.

‘It's just Dirk,' he replied, ‘and, Alba …'

‘Yes, Mr Dirk?'

‘Stick to the ocean from now on. I don't think you're suited to city life.'

‘Yes, Mr Dirk.'

‘Many thanks for the coloured sugar, Archie Snellgrove,' said Nebula.

‘Yes, I very liked your jelly beans too,' added Alba.

Archie dug around in his pocket and pulled out his last two jelly beans, one red, one green. He wiped off the fluff.

‘Here,' he said, holding them up for Alba and Nebula, ‘for the journey.'

‘You can have the red if you like,' said Alba.

‘I prefer the green,' replied Nebula, taking the sweet. ‘Thank you, Archie Snellgrove. Until the next time.'

‘What next time?' said Archie.

‘The next time we meet,' said Nebula, looking at him with her milk-white eyes.

‘I hope we will be meeting again too,' said Alba. ‘I will let you ride on my back again if you bring more jelly beans.'

Archie grinned. ‘I hope so too,' he said. ‘Goodbye, Alba.'

Nebula and Alba flapped their wings and took to the air, hovering above the roof.

‘Thanks for fixing my leg,' said Holly.

‘You are most welcome,' replied Nebula. ‘Part of me is now part of you and lives in your bone. Remember
me with the steps you take.'

‘I will,' said Holly.

‘Maybe next time we'll have more time to talk,' said Dirk.

‘I fear we won't,' replied Nebula. ‘Goodbye.'

Holly and Archie waved as the two dragons flew straight up, disappearing into the night sky.

‘That's so cool,' said Archie.

‘Yes it is.' Dirk nodded. ‘So are you two ready?'

They both climbed on his back, Holly with her arms around Dirk's neck, Archie holding on to her. Dirk spread his wings. He checked that no one was looking and glided down towards London, on his way home.

‘So this is normal for you, is it?' said Archie, ‘chasing dragons and saving the world?'

‘It's the summer holiday,' replied Holly. ‘What else is there to do?'

As no one knows for sure whether Sky Dragons really can create firewalls, no one knows for sure how they work. One theory popular amongst dragon historians, however, is that Sky Dragons are so attuned to the air particles that surround them that they are able to manipulate them using their breath and paws. To create a firewall, the theory goes, they isolate the oxygen that is present in the air and purify it. As pure oxygen is flammable, it only takes a flame to ignite it and for that section of the air to become a burning wall of fire. This would also explain other powers sometimes attributed to Sky Dragons, such as the ability to draw
water particles from clouds, and to deflect harmful sounds away, such as Dragonsong.

Dirk looked up from the book. He was sitting on the roof across the road from the art gallery. The double-chinned security guard was fast asleep in front of the screens, snoring, with his hand inside the doughnut box.

Dirk Dilly's was a lonely occupation. Unlike other jobs, he didn't have colleagues to discuss last night's telly or the football results or the price of beans, so sometimes he would spend so much time secretly watching someone, like the double-chinned security guard, that he came to think of him a bit like a colleague. He was a reassuringly familiar face.

Had the double-chinned security guard known that a four-metre-long (from nose to tail), red-backed, green-bellied, urban-based Mountain Dragon thought of his face as reassuringly familiar, he would probably have fallen off his chair and dropped his doughnut.

When Dirk had said goodbye to Holly and lowered her into her bedroom window late Tuesday night he had expected to see her the following day or, at least, the next week, but as he lingered on her roof he heard shouting.

‘Where have you been?' he heard her dad's big-haired wife yelling. ‘Your father has been worried sick. What time do you call this? Why are your jeans torn? What a state! You look like you've been to war.'

Holly's response was too quiet for Dirk to hear but he could detect her tone: stubborn, determined and quietly angry.

The next day she had called. ‘They're having steel bars put on the window,' she said.

‘Steel's no problem,' said Dirk, snapping his jaws together.

‘They'll get really suspicious if you break the bars. No, I'm stuck here for the whole holiday,' said Holly, trying not to sound too glum. ‘It was worth it though. We stopped Vainclaw, and Buchanan won't be able to use the earthquake weapon without the instructions.'

‘I'm just relieved he doesn't know about my lot,' said Dirk. ‘Fighting Kinghorns is one thing but if a human as rich and powerful as Buchanan knew the truth about dragons life would get very complicated.'

Dirk looked out of his window. The clouds that had marred the beginning of the holidays had gone now and the summer had properly kicked in. He felt bad for Holly stuck inside while everyone else in London was down the park, playing ball games, having picnics,
or simply lolling, enjoying the glorious sunshine.

‘At least they're letting Archie visit me,' she said. ‘I think they don't want to discourage me from making friends. Look, I'd better go, I'm not supposed to be making phone calls without permission.'

‘OK, call me soon,' he said, putting the receiver down, feeling something he hadn't felt before. It was an emotion he recognised from his work as a detective. He felt jealous. He begrudged Archie getting to spend time with Holly when he couldn't see her.

Something caught his eye inside the security room. He looked up. The row of security cameras had gone fuzzy.

He checked the street below and flew to the large window, which he pushed open, and climbed into the gallery, holding one paw over his nose to stop the trail of smoke from triggering the alarm.

Looking around the room, he spotted a camera-neutraliser in the corner of the gallery. On the floor was the painting of the sad-looking lady. It was moving exactly as before but this time it was heading back towards the spot where it had originally been stolen from. The picture was being returned.

Dirk stooped down and lifted up the moving painting. Underneath were six white mice. They had
metallic collars around their necks and tiny mechanical devices on their backs. Four of them were equipped with electronic clips that allowed them to carry the stolen picture. One had a glass cutter. Dirk picked up another and inspected the grappling hook it was carrying.
So that's how they got the picture down from the wall
, he thought. The mouse between his paws didn't struggle and Dirk would have thought it not real if it wasn't for the tiny heartbeat he could feel.

He looked more closely at the device on its back and saw in very small lettering, a G and an S printed in dark blue formed into a circle.

Dirk was so stunned to see the Global Sands logo that he forgot to keep his paw over his nose. He didn't notice as a thin line of grey smoke escaped from his right nostril, drifting up through the room, into the vent in a small white box on the ceiling, setting off the fire alarm.

‘Sweet rats from Sweden. Not again …' he swore, dropping the mouse, running across the room and leaping out of the window before the security guard came charging into the gallery.

The next morning Dirk phoned the gallery and asked for Mr Strettingdon-Smythe.

‘Ah, Mr Dilly,' said the plummy-voiced curator. ‘I was just going to call you. You'll never guess what has happened.'

‘One of the stolen paintings has been returned?' he ventured.

‘Oh, you did guess,' said Mr Strettingdon-Smythe. ‘Yes, the sad-looking lady was returned last night. It's very peculiar. Can you understand it?'

‘I'm beginning to get the picture,' said Dirk, inwardly groaning at his own pun. ‘When you called me you said your boss didn't want you to contact anyone.'

‘That's right. He said it would be bad for business.'

‘And may I ask the name of your boss?' Dirk asked, pouring himself a glass of neat orange squash.

‘The gallery is owned by Global Sands. Brant Buchanan himself forbade me from calling anyone.'

Dirk knocked the orange squash back in one. ‘My advice to you would be to wait. In time all the paintings will be returned.'

‘But what's going on?' Mr Strettingdon-Smythe barked.

‘It's safer for you if you don't know,' said Dirk firmly.

It was clear to him now that Buchanan was using the art gallery as a training ground for his mouse
thieves. That's why he wouldn't allow the curator to call the police. He was stealing from himself. The metallic collars the mice wore must have enabled him to control them remotely, turning them into unwitting mini criminals. Mice could get in anywhere and with enough of them they could steal anything from a painting to a secret government weapon.

‘Have a good day, Mr Strettingdon-Smythe.' Dirk put the phone down and switched on the morning news.

‘… after days of speculation regarding the strange sightings on top of Centre Point in London last Tuesday, the mystery has finally been solved,' the female newsreader was saying. ‘A spokesperson for Gronkong Shinard PLC, the company which owns the top floor and roof of the building, explained that they had been testing new weather-predicting equipment at the time.'

Dirk sat back and bit open a tin of beans.

‘And now back to our main story,' continued the newsreader in a sing-song voice. ‘Volcanologists are trying to explain why three volcanoes, thought to be dormant, have erupted simultaneously …'

Images of flowing lava and ash clouds came on screen.

‘… In a strange coincidence, all three volcanoes were situated on islands owned by Brant Buchanan, the seventh richest man in the world. Although no one was hurt in the eruptions, the islands have endured severe damage. Mr Buchanan was unavailable for comment but a Global Sands spokesman said, “Thankfully, Mr Buchanan has a fully comprehensive insurance policy that covers the damage.”'