Free Hollow Earth by John Barrowman, Carole E. Barrowman

snorting nose forwards and knocked a screaming Em and the sketchpad in different directions.
    Renard scrabbled back up the hill and stopped in shock. Tucked inside the tree-line, digging in the soil with his back to the monster, was Zach. He must have followed them up the hill from the Abbey. Yelling a warning was useless.
    The dinosaur spotted Zach at the same instant as Renard. It stood up on its hind legs and let out an ungodly roar.
    ‘Destroy the drawing!’ Renard shouted. ‘Zach’s over there – the creature’s seen him!’
    Em screamed. Matt tore the page frantically, but he wasn’t quick enough. The dinosaur crashed into the copse of trees where Zach was digging – then blew apart in an explosion of light and shards of colour.
    Matt and Em sprinted over with their grandfather. Zach was gone.
    Suddenly a high-pitched whistle pierced the air behind them. They turned and cheered when they saw Zach picking himself off the ground a few feet down the hill. The boy ran into Renard’s arms. Then, self-conscious at his show of emotion, he pulled away. He signed something in the air.
    Renard looked at Em and then back to Zach. ‘Why are you thanking Em?’
    ‘She yelled at me to get out of the way.’
    ‘How on earth did she do that?’
    ‘In here,’ he signed, and pointed to his forehead.

SIXTEEN
    A t about the time Matt and Em were animating Lion’s Rock on Auchinmurn Isle, six men and four women were seated round a massive mahogany table inside a suite of private rooms at the Royal Academy, London. Two seats were empty – one at the head of the table and the other next to an elegant woman wearing a diamond-encrusted watch. Two Celtic coins were set at every place at the table, one gold and one silver, each with a spiral design on one side and the image of a winged stag on the other. The Council had been waiting for more than half an hour for their leader to appear. Most were getting impatient; a few were angry.
    The high walls in the room were covered with ornately framed paintings of varied styles and periods, more than half of which depicted fantastic and mythological creatures of the air and the sea. On the wall behind the woman with the diamond watch were paintings of a basilisk – a monstrous bird with the wings of a pterodactyl, the tail of a snake and the body of a cockerel – and a kraken – a giant squid with tentacles large enough to engulf whole ships. Another wall displayed sirens, selkies and sea serpents. The most impressive piece of art was a floor-to-ceiling tapestry hanging next to the double wooden doors.
    Stitched in the early Middle Ages, the tapestry’s colours had remained unnaturally vibrant and chillingly bold. It depicted the Grendel, a giant, ape-like monster, rising out of a dark swamp. Behind him, there followed an army of skeletons led by a hooded monk on a black stallion. Ribbons of fire flowed out behind him.
    The blonde woman in the red dress who had chased the twins from the Kitten house was pacing in front of the windows. She was agitated and kept flipping open her phone to check her messages. ‘Given the mess Arthur has left in his wake,’ she said, ‘I need to return to the National within the hour.’
    A man with iron-grey hair and impeccably white shirt cuffs glared. ‘Blake, if you hadn’t been outwitted at the Kitten mansion, the twins would be here now. Instead they’re back with Renard where we can’t touch them.’
    Blake looked resentful. ‘There was nothing we could do.’
    ‘This is hardly the first time Renard has put himself above the Council,’ said an athletic man with jade-green eyes, turning a signet ring on his little finger as he stood by the double doors.
    ‘You know as well as the rest of us, Tanan, that Renard’s feud with Sir Charles over the leadership of this Council is only getting worse,’ said Sir Giles.
    Tanan Olivier ran his fingers through his short, dark hair, his handsome face furrowed with concern. ‘So you think Renard is