Dan and the Caverns of Bone by Thomas Taylor Page A

that.’
    â€˜Keep close to young Brian, Daniel. I see that thug Baz there too.’
    And that’s when another idea occurs to me. Hey, it’s all go in the brain box today. Besides, the cries for information from the Press reach a fever pitch, and it would be impolite not to give it to them, wouldn’t it? I jump onto the roof of a nearby police car, and drag an astonished Brian up beside me. Before the coppers can object, I raise my hands for silence. And I get it.
    Then I start to speak.
    It feels odd, talking in the fluent French that Jojo gave me in return for helping his sister. Like someone else’s mind is supplying the words that my own wants to say. And in a way, that’s exactly how it is.
    First I tell the press about my outcast friends in the squat. I don’t give any names, but draw a vivid verbal pic of their need to put a roof over their heads in the face of intolerance, broken homes and absent overseas landlords. Someone in the crowd shouts, ‘
Vive la France!
’
    Then I mention the catacombs, and the partying and how no one can blame a bunch of likeable misfitsfor making the most of the caverns beneath their feet, can they? Well, can they? When I get onto the appearance of Death himself in the catacombs and the sad fate of poor Jojo, you could hear a baguette drop. And that’s when I push Brian forward.
    He’s the real hero, I declare. I tell of Brian’s bravery in deciding that something should be done to help the terrified young people in the squat. I wave my fist in the air when I explain how Brian single-handedly deduced who was behind the attacks and hatched the plan to stop him. I gush with gratitude at his generosity in letting me come along too.
    When I get to the bit where Brian not only rescued the girl, but defeated Death with one of his amazing paper aeroplanes, there’s a gasp of such utter disbelief that I wonder if I’m overdoing it a bit. Fortunately, that very plane – preserved as Exhibit A in the hands of a wide-eyed policewoman – is held aloft on cue.
    The clicking of cameras is almost deafening then.
    I raise Brian’s hand and declare, in rousing French, that he is nothing less than the boy who cheated Death; the hero of the Paris underworld. Then I hop down, leaving him blinking in a renewed storm of photography.
    Brian is every inch the terrified squirrel as he faces the crowd. Obviously he knows I’m lying, but I doubt anyone will listen to him now anyway. Once people get hold of a good story, the truth is the first thing to get trampled in the stampede. And there’s a mighty rush of people now. Brian finds himself hoisted into the air, his squeaks of protest ignored. Then the cheering starts.
    â€˜That was very generous, Daniel,’ says Si, puffing his approval in little white clouds of ectoplasm.
    â€˜Yeah, well, he needed a break,’ I reply, looking over to my classmates.
    Baz is at the front, a look of leaden anger on his meaty mug, but he soon vanishes behind the others as they jostle with reporters to get near Brian, to share in his sudden celebrity. The girl called Tanya shouts ‘Juh swee don le meme class as him!’ as she grabs Brian’s sleeve and holds on. ‘Juh swee his girlfriend!’
    Another storm of cameras.
    â€˜I reckon he’s pretty bully-proof now, don’t you, Si?’ I say. ‘Besides, it’s not good for business if
I’m
in the spotlight, is it?’
    â€˜Indeed not, Daniel,’ my ghostly sidekick replies. ‘But there is one light you cannot escape so easily. Look over there.’
    I look over there. Luci has slipped to the edge of the crowd, easily distancing herself from the overwhelmed police. But she’s got her eyes turned up to max and she’s aiming them right at me.
    I manage a not very cool wave, and wonder if I’ll ever find my inner James Bond.
    Luci blows me a kiss. And I swear I can actually feel when it lands