Jake Cake: The School Dragon Read online

  Michael Broad spent much of his childhood gazing out of the window imagining he was somewhere more interesting.

  Now he’s a grown-up Michael still spends a lot of time gazing out of the window imagining he’s somewhere more interesting – but now he writes and illustrates books as well.

  Some of them are picture books, like Broken Bird and The Little Star Who Wished.

  Books by Michael Broad

  JAKE CAKE: THE ROBOT DINNER LADY

  JAKE CAKE: THE SCHOOL DRAGON

  JAKE CAKE: THE VISITING VAMPIRE

  JAKE CAKE: THE WEREWOLF TEACHER

  Jake Cake

  The School Dragon

  MICHAEL BROAD

  PUFFIN

  This book is dedicated to my friend Ann

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  puffinbooks.com

  First published 2007

  1

  Copyright © Michael Broad, 2007

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Here are three UNBELIEVABLE stories about the times I met:

  A Dragon

  A Troll

  And a Spook

  A Dragon

  Mrs Grump looked up from the register, craned her neck and scanned the classroom like a submarine periscope looking for enemy ships. She fixed her sights on me and immediately frowned. From the look on her face I could tell my teacher wanted to launch torpedoes at me from under her desk.

  But I couldn’t be in trouble already – the register hadn’t even been called yet!

  Mrs Grump’s frown quickly turned into a glare and then she began tapping herself angrily on the head! I was beginning to think my form teacher had gone a bit mad, when

  she rolled her eyes, stormed across the classroom and plucked the woolly hat from my head.

  ‘Well?’ she growled.

  ‘Are you here or are you not here?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, realizing I hadn’t heard my name being called because of the hat pulled over my ears. ‘I’m here!’ I added cheerily.

  ‘And you can take that off too!’ she snapped, pointing to the scarf wrapped snugly around my neck. ‘You’re not in the playground any more.’

  ‘But it’s freezing, Mrs Grump!’ I whined, and I wasn’t just whining for the fun of it. It was so cold in the classroom I was expecting to see polar bears and penguins shuffle in for the register!

  Mrs Grump must have realized I had a point because she raised a curious eyebrow, licked her finger and waved it in the air.

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said, stepping over to the nearest radiator. Mrs Grump tapped the top cautiously and then pressed her hand firmly against it.

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said again, as though considering all the evidence.

  Mrs Grump returned to my desk and shoved the woolly hat back on my head.

  ‘As you seem to be the most suitably dressed, you can run along to the basement and ask Mr Knight why we appear to be without heat this morning,’ she said firmly.

  And she didn’t have to ask twice! I wasn’t going to miss a chance to escape lessons, so I legged it out of the classroom and down the corridor before Mrs Grump could change her mind.

  I was also keen to see the basement because everyone said it was haunted!

  I didn’t believe it was haunted. I suspected it was probably just full of mops and buckets and other boring caretaker things. But, opening the creaky old basement door and peering down the dark stone steps, I began to have second thoughts.

  Especially when I heard a great big GROAN in the distance!

  GULP!

  Ghosts are well known for groaning – groaning and rattling chains (I once had an encounter with a ghost who liked rattling toilet chains, but I’ll tell you about that another time).

  This time something told me the groan hadn’t come from a groaning ghost. It rumbled and made my teeth rattle, which meant whatever was groaning in the basement was something really, really BIG!

  I suppose I could have legged it back to class, but then everyone would think I was scared of the haunted basement, and I couldn’t have them thinking that. So I carried on down the steps and hoped I’d find the caretaker before I found the mysterious BIG THING – and definitely before the mysterious BIG THING found me!

  ‘Mr Knight?’ I called, reaching the bottom step and peering into the gloomy basement.

  The place was like a large underground cave with huge brick pillars (that were probably holding the school up), and stacks of old chairs and desks (that a BIG THING could easily hide behind!). So I kept my eyes peeled and crept along slowly, pausing whenever I thought I heard something.

  The groaning seemed to have stopped – which meant I’d either imagined it or the BIG THING was hiding somewhere and waiting to pounce. So I was relieved when I finally found the caretaker’s office, even though it was empty. But at least I could go back to class and say

  Mr Knight wasn’t there and no one would think I was a big scaredy cat!

  PHEW!

  GROOOOAAAAAN!

  GULP!

  The groan was right behind me. Which meant the BIG THING stood between me, and my only way out of the basement! I was trapped! Taking a deep breath I turned round slowly and stared into two huge yellow eyes.

  The huge yellow eyes of a dragon!

  You might be wondering how I could be certain it was a dragon, especially as I’d never seen one before. But when you see your first dragon there’s no doubting what it is. This one was big and red and scaly, it had wings on its back, massive claws and a spiky tail.

  Oh, and it also had black smoke billowing from its nostrils!

  DEFINITELY a dragon!

  ‘ARRRRRGGGGH!’ I screamed at the top of my voice.

  Screaming at the top of your voice isn’t the most practical thing to do when confronted with a dragon, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

  The dragon’s huge eyes suddenly grew wider, then it clasped its front feet over its ears and with a high-pitched yelp it thundered away, deeper into the basement!

  PHEW!

  Now the exit was clear I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, up the stone steps two at a tim
e and out into the corridor. I was halfway back to Mrs Grump’s classroom when I stopped suddenly and skidded to a halt on the shiny wooden floor.

  I scratched my head through the woolly hat.

  Hmmm, I thought to myself.

  Did I really want to go back and sit in a freezing classroom with Mrs Grump peering at me like a submarine? Or did I want to get a closer look at a real live dragon? A dragon who was obviously not very ferocious if it ran away from me, and it wasn’t even that big when I thought about it – not for a dragon anyway.

  Hmmm, I thought again, considering all the evidence. Then I crept back down into the basement.

  I immediately heard the groaning again, although now it was groaning and sniffing, which isn’t anywhere near as scary as just groaning. Following the sound, I eventually found the great red scaly heap shivering in the furthest corner of the basement.

  The dragon was lying on a bed of straw that I noticed was a bit singed in places. Two sad yellow eyes peered out at me from the shadows like a frightened puppy (but obviously a massive puppy with huge scales instead of fur).

  ‘There, there,’ I whispered, moving slowly forward. ‘Good dragon.’

  I reached out my hand to pat the dragon’s head when suddenly it leapt up without warning. The dragon arched its back and flicked open its massive wings, then it took a great lungful of air into its big scaly chest and with a tremendous ROAR…

  SPLAT!

  The force of the blast knocked me off my feet!

  Lying on the floor I opened one eye and looked around. I expected to see fire or scorch marks, or at least feel my woolly hat in flames on top of my head.

  But there was nothing.

  Well, not exactly nothing. As I reached up to my hat I felt something warm and sticky and slimy!

  ‘URGH!’ I said, pulling the slimy hat off my head.

  I looked up at the dragon. Its eyes were watering and more of the sticky goo was dribbling down its nostrils. It sniffed and looked very sorry for itself.

  The dragon hadn’t tried to scorch me – it had SNEEZED!

  Standing up I pulled off my scarf and wiped the dragon’s nose (I already had a slimy had so I thought I might as well have a slimy scarf to match). Then, with a great big sigh, the dragon sniffed and flopped into a heap again.

  Suddenly I heard footsteps coming down the stone stairs and echoing through the basement. The dragon’s ears pricked up and its massive spiky tail started wagging excitedly.

  ‘Daddy’s home, Tinkerbell, and he’s brought you some…’ Mr Knight froze to the spot when he saw me standing next to the dragon and his mouth dropped open. He was obviously too shocked to speak so I thought I’d better say something.

  ‘Tinkerbell?’ I said with a smile. ‘Er, yes,’ said Mr Knight, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘She’s my, er, dog.’

  ‘Dog?’ I said, patting the dragon’s massive scaly belly. ‘Lizard would have been a bit more believable.’

  ‘L-lizard? Er, yes, exactly!’ he stammered. ‘She’s a lizard. A really big lizard.’

  I frowned at Mr Knight.

  Grown-ups always think kids are stupid and that we’ll believe anything they say just because they’re bigger than us. Well, Tinkerbell was bigger than any grown-up and much bigger than a lizard, which meant she was definitely a dragon.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be in class?’ the caretaker said quickly, trying to change the subject. ‘You could be in a lot of trouble for not being in class, you know…’

  ‘Mrs Grump sent me to find out why the heating isn’t on,’ I said. ‘But you weren’t here and I found your dragon instead. I think she’s got a cold.’

  Mr Knight’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘OK she is a dragon, but she’s not dangerous. And I only left her to get some cough medicine.’ He sighed, holding up a carrier bag filled with small brown bottles. ‘It’s the reason there’s no heating. Tinkerbell usually fires up the furnace.’

  ‘The school is heated by dragon fire?’ I gasped.

  The caretaker nodded guiltily.

  ‘COOL!’ I said.

  ‘Exactly! That’s the problem,’ said Mr Knight. ‘Now she’s caught a cold Tinkerbell can’t heat the furnace, so the boiler is cool. And if I can’t make her better people will come down here to investigate and…’ He looked sadly at the snivelling dragon.

  ‘Then we’d better make her better,’ I said.

  ‘We?’ said Mr Knight with obvious relief. ‘You mean you’re not going to tell Mrs Grump?’ ‘No way!’ I said. ‘Mrs Grump would probably torpedo Tinkerbell on sight!’

  ‘Torpedo?’ said the caretaker.

  ‘Oh, it’s a long story,’ I said.

  Mr Knight gave Tinkerbell the medicine, while I filled a bowl with boiling water and put a towel over the dragon’s head so she could breathe in the steam. That’s what Mum does when I have a cold and it always works.

  My cat Fatty had a cold once, but instead of being cute and helpless like Tinkerbell, he scratched anyone who came near him and deliberately blew his nose all over my duvet.

  I’d definitely rather keep a dragon than a cat!

  ‘Where did she come from?’ I asked, half curious and half wondering where I could get a dragon of my own.

  ‘The egg was in the Knight family for generations. My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was a proper medieval knight in shining armour,’ said Mr Knight proudly. ‘Anyway, I left the egg by the boiler completely by accident – and a few weeks later it hatched and out popped Tinkerbell!’

  ‘Wow!’ I said, thinking that my boring ancestors probably just made cakes.

  After the medicine and the steam Tinkerbell perked up straight away, her eyes brightened and she started flapping her wings enthusiastically. The dragon sat up and took a huge sniff through newly unblocked nostrils.

  GRRRRROOOOOWWWWL! went the dragon’s belly.

  Mr Knight’s eyes suddenly grew wide with panic.

  ‘Quick, we need to get her to the furnace NOW!’ he yelled, running behind Tinkerbell and trying to shove the big lump of dragon across the basement. I joined him and it took all of our strength to budge her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I panted, as Tinkerbell’s bottom finally started to slide along the floor towards the big school furnace.

  ‘Dragons must breathe fire every day or else the gas builds up and they explode!’ gasped Mr Knight. ‘That’s why I taught her to fire up the school furnace. It’s the only safe place to put all those flames.’

  ‘And she hasn’t breathed fire today?’ I said.

  The caretaker shook his head gravely.

  When we got Tinkerbell to the furnace Mr Knight leapt forward and threw the metal door open. He did it just in time.

  ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!

  went the dragon, as a massive jet of flames shot from her mouth. The furnace glowed red and the hot water immediately bubbled in the boiler, whooshing through the pipes that heated the school radiators.

  That was one gassy dragon!

  Tinkerbell sat back looking very pleased with herself. She burped a ring of black smoke and smiled.

  When I got back to the classroom Mrs Grump wasn’t smiling, she was fuming (although no black smoke was coming out of her nostrils). She pointed to the clock on the wall and demanded to know where I’d been for over an hour.

  ‘I suppose you were wandering the corridors trying to avoid lessons?’ she said angrily.

  ‘No, I wasn’t! I was helping Mr Knight with his dra–’ I said, and stopped.

  If I told Mrs Grump about the dragon she would definitely tell the head teacher, and the head teacher would definitely get rid of Tinkerbell because it’s probably a health hazard or something to have a fire-breathing dragon on school premises.

  ‘Well?’ Mrs Grump snapped.

  ‘I was wandering the corridors trying to avoid lessons,’ I sighed.

  ‘Just as I suspected!’ said Mrs Grump. ‘Well, you’ll make up for the time you’ve wasted during detention
this evening.’