Free Dan and the Dead by Thomas Taylor

practiced ease of someone else’s skill. And it turns out Silas Lugubrian, Gentleman of Miracles, was really quite good at the old Houdini business, because the knot’s already starting to slip, even as the water reaches my shoulders.
    â€˜Si,’ I shout, ‘start the freakin’ engine!’
    Simon shoves his hand into the car’s ignition – he’s started cars for me before – but nothing happens for a moment, and I remember he’s still running onempty. Then, just as I throw the ropes away from my hands and grab the front seats, there’s a gasp from Si and a reluctant rumble as the engine coughs into life. I drag myself tumbling into the front seat. I seize the steering wheel, ram the gear stick into first, and jab my foot down on the submerged accelerator. The engine screams.
    â€˜Advance!’ cries Si.
    â€˜I’m trying!’ I shout, as I let out the hand brake to relieve the engine’s roar. The car eases up the slope, painfully slowly. I’m lucky the engine wasn’t under water yet, but the exhaust is, and the back of the car’s full of the North Sea too and probably weighs more than a boatload of overweight Vikings. There’s a riot of bubbles in the water behind me, but the car still only inches forward.
    â€˜Faster!’ shouts Ems, as if I need telling.
    Like a reluctant sea monster, Bagsy’s naff stretched limo emerges from the waves, rising up the slope at about two miles an hour, seawater pouring out in great torrents, the whole chassis juddering.
    The radio comes on. It’s Justin Bieber.
    â€˜Cool,’ says Ems.
    I say something my mother would be ashamed of as I switch on the headlights, full beam.
    Up ahead, Bagport and Ringpull are staring down at me in astonishment, raising their arms against the sudden dazzle. But that’s not all they’re raising. In a moment they’ve both reached into their coats and pulled out pistols. I duck as the first bullet punches through the windscreen, showering me with small cubes of glass.
    â€˜They are firing at us!’ yells Si.
    â€˜Yeah, I know!’ I shout back, as another bullet explodes a computer monitor on the seat behind me. ‘Shut up and let me drive!’
    The car begins to pick up speed, and the men up front empty their weapons in a burst of sustained gunfire, causing the car to judder with impacts. My head’s right down, but my foot is too, and now we’re rushing up the slope like a lifeboat going the wrong way. There’s an almighty CRASH as we smack into the small car at the top of the slope, shoving it to one side. With the engine screaming at me to change gear, we shoot out onto the dockside, and I sit up just in time to steer us away from a crane. There’s one last shot fired from behind and the fluffy dice vanish in a puff of gold polyester.
    I let out a laugh of triumph, slip her into fourth, and race away into the night.

17
BULLETS, BUMPERS AND BLUE FLASHING LIGHTS

    It’s not quite time to celebrate though. As I rush past astonished dock workers and hurl the limo between lorries and into the traffic beyond, I spot two headlights swerving into the road behind me. Somehow I just know it’s Bagport and Ringpull, and I realise they’ll be so desperate to catch me that there’ll be no more fancy stuff with ropes. I’m driving for my life.
    â€˜Where’re we going?’ asks the ghost of Ems.
    â€˜I think it’s time to do what Mrs Vicar said,’ I get out through gritted teeth, as we narrowly overtake an elderly driver in a hat. ‘We’ve got to go to the police.’
    â€˜Do you think you can convince them of Bagport’s guilt?’ says Si.
    â€˜Are you kidding me? With all this computer stuff in the car, we’re carrying enough to get Bagport banged up for years. No wonder he’s not even bothering to catch that ferry to Holland. He’ll have nowhere to run if we can get all