by Paul Cude
Bustling their way to the front of the crowd, the first stall they came to appeared to be selling mantras. Dodging left and right, desperately trying to look over the shoulder of the gentleman shaped dragon in front of him, hoping to glance the demonstration that was going on, all Peter could really see was the vendor reading something aloud. Wondering just what all the fuss was about, a brilliant bright explosion followed by an ear splitting WHOOSH, abruptly caused him to jump, as a firework shaped like a dragon flew straight up into the air, before exploding with a loud BANG. Bits of bright, fiery exploding dragon rained down and then, completely unexpectedly, formed the words STEEL IS THE BEST in brilliant blue writing, hanging there for a few moments before burning itself out, from one end to the other.
"Available for every member of the Indigo Warriors team, including Zip!" shouted the owner of the shop, out across the heads of the crowd, no mean feat in the case of some of the dragons. A mad scramble ensued as everyone tried to get to the front to purchase the particularly worded mantra they wanted. Three minutes later, the crowd thinning out, both Peter and Tank emerged relatively happy, having got a mantra each; Peter had the last one for Steel, while Tank had gone for one with Silverbonce's name on it.
Continuing to browse the stalls and shops at a leisurely pace, on reaching the end they both looked like an advertiser's dream. As well as the mantras, they both sported mammoth floppy blue hats that had 'INDIGOS RULE' written on them, had matching blue rosettes and scarves, as well as a bin sized bucket of multicoloured, flavoured charcoal sticks each.
A huge food court connected the end of the mail with the multiple entrances of the stadium, where massive queues of dragons tailed back from each tiny ticket booth. Once again Peter's sensitive nostrils were tickled by the overpowering aroma of the sensational food on offer, so much so that the grumbling from his stomach got him looks from other dragons over twenty feet away. He cast his eye about like a predatory eagle looking for that solitary fish.
"Don't tell me you're hungry..." Tank quipped, catching sight of his friend’s eye-popping gaze at all the food on offer.
"Sorry, I didn't have time for something earlier."
"Gosh, I'm shocked," replied Tank shaking his head. "Well, I'm going to the seats. I don't want to miss the start."
"I'll be really quick. Can I get you anything?"
"No, I'm fine thanks," answered Tank, before turning away and heading towards ticket booth number three.
After a quick scout around, Peter decided to join the queue for the delicious smelling charcoal and bacon omelettes. Tenth in line, he waited patiently as a booming voice announced over the PA system that the match would start in ten minutes. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a foot kicked him just behind his left knee, causing him to drop to the polished floor. Ignoring the pain, he leapt to his feet, coming face to face with three chuckling youths, all sporting the colours of the Crusaders.
"Ah, look who it is guys. It's Bentwhistle!" one sneered, as the others burst into laughter.
"Where are your two girlfriends then... Richie and Twonk?” All three doubled over at this, all clutching their stomachs with mirth.
Peter closed his eyes, wishing that he was anywhere else but here. The three dragons in front of him were former nursery ring classmates of his and had picked on him throughout his whole time there, when Tank and Richie hadn't been around. He hadn't seen Theobald, Fisher and Casey since graduating, and by the look of things not one of them had matured at all since leaving. The same sense of dread and foreboding rushed through his body, just as it had all those years ago when he was being bullied.
"So Benty, what have you been up to over the years?" snarled Casey.
"Sewer cleaner probably," chipped in Fisher.
"Probably had to work his way up to that," blurted Theobald, punching Peter in the shoulder.
Peter fought back a grimace, knowing from firsthand experience that he shouldn't show any pain. Although the punch had deliberately looked playful to those all around, Theobald had clearly added more than a little dragon power to it, intending to inflict as much pain as possible in the sneakiest kind of way, in this very public place.
Forcing a smile to his lips, Peter announced proudly,
"I'm head of security at Cropptech, actually."
"The rest of the employees must be monkeys then if that's the case," Casey growled.
"Perhaps we should see how tough the head of security really is?" suggested Theobald, a menacing look in his eyes.
Abruptly, Theobald was hoisted three feet into the air by the scruff of his neck. Swiftly turning around, Theobald raised his fists ready to strike until, that is, he was met by the large steely eyes of... Tank.
"Is there a problem, Tiny?" asked Tank softly.
Theobald looked to his friends for support but they, like the cowards they naturally were, had backed off some way and were looking distinctly uninterested in getting involved now that Tank had shown up.
"Umm... errr... I... no problem. Just catching up on old times. Isn't that right Bent... I mean, Peter?"
Theobald hung in the air like meat on a butcher's hook, gazing submissively across at Peter. The scuffle had, by now, attracted the attention of lots of onlookers, all wondering what was going on and if they needed to intervene.
In his mind, Peter imagined Tank using his big fists to punch Theobald halfway across the food court, sending him smashing into one of the ticket booths. He knew it was the wrong thing to think, but it did at least give him a momentary sense of satisfaction.
"It's okay Tank. We were just... catching up," stated Peter, almost reluctantly, secretly wanting the bully to hang there indefinitely.
"Ah... well if that's the case..." Tank said, lowering Theobald gently to the ground.
Once his feet were firmly on the ground and he was out of Tank's reach, Theobald's expression turned to one of rage, his face turning a fetching shade of scarlet.
"Nice seeing you both again," he blustered sarcastically, before mouthing the words "I'll get you for this," to Peter, making sure he turned away so that Tank couldn't see. Like a lost dog looking for its owner, he quickly shot off into the crowd in search of his friends, who had mysteriously developed an acute case of spine-turning-to-jelly and had legged it.
Turning to Peter, Tank asked,
"You okay?"
"I'm fine thanks," replied Peter, a little downcast.
"You know you should stand up to them," Tank whispered, as the two of them shuffled forward in the food queue. "It's all bluster and bravado, as you've just seen. Underneath, they're as scared of you, as you are of them."
"I know, I know," said Peter. "It's just not that easy. As soon as I saw them my legs turned to jelly and my stomach started doing somersaults, the exact same feelings I used to get when they bullied me in the nursery ring.
Gently, Tank placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and said,
"I know it's not easy, I do. But I also know that you have it in you to stand up and be counted."
"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you," Peter replied, sheepishly. "Just out of interest, how did you know I was in trouble?"
Tank burst into a great big belly laugh and looked down at Peter, a huge grin chiselled into his face.
"I didn't know. I just changed my mind about wanting something to eat."
The two friends chuckled all the way to the front of the queue.
Having bought an omelette each, the two of them made their way past the ticket booth and then into their seats with mere moments to spare. Tiny crystals in the roof of the stadium dimmed, leaving only the fiery hot, bubbling lava, for illumination. A trumpeted fanfare echoed around the giant cavern, signalling the build-up to the players’ arrival.
Suddenly, five red blurs and five blue blurs, on exactly the opposite sides of the stadium appeared. The blurs performed a circuit of the lava at speed, flying only a couple of metres above the roiling magma, much to the crowd's delight. The match hadn't even started yet and th
e crowd were going wild, stomping their feet, clapping their hands, shouting, cheering, blowing rip roaring streams of flame from their mouths, with a few even letting mantas off, just like the ones Peter and Tank had purchased. It was chaos. It was also... intoxicating. The noise, the smell, the atmosphere, all sent shivers up the dragons’ spines. All thoughts of their everyday life forgotten, nothing now existed apart from those dragons about to do battle with each other, all for the chance to go through to the Global Cup proper. Let the action begin.
As suddenly as they had appeared, the teams stopped and flew up to the middle of the purpose built cavern, hovering there for all to see. Announcing to the crowd that the Crimson Crusaders would be playing in the red aura and the Indigo Warriors in the blue, the commentator wished both teams luck, before signing off.
A countdown of ten red crystals above each 'mouth' at both ends of the stadium, started to glow, and then individually wink out. As it did so, the crowd began to chant.
"9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3..."
The noise was almost unbearable.
"2... 1..."
Abruptly the crystals in the ceiling burst back on, illuminating the whole cavern. Out of a hole in the roof shot a glowing silver ball, about the size of a football. Quick as a flash, the dragons were on to it, batting it with their tails, moving faster than the eye could see, the human eye that is. With their enhanced senses, the dragon audience registered every millisecond of action. As the outfielders fought doggedly for possession of the laminium ball, tackling, blocking and dodging as if their lives depended on it, the 'mouth guards' from both teams beat hasty retreats back towards the areas they were tasked to defend.
The game itself was a scrappy affair; to say it was by no means a classic, was something of an understatement. But the fans loved every second of it, and were constantly on the edge of their seats, given exactly what was at stake. At one point, Barf made an awesome interception from one of the opposition’s outfielders, speeding off towards the 'mouth' the Warriors were attacking, rounding their 'mouth guard', and having a shot at an open 'mouth'. As he did so, Tank and Peter, along with nearly every other Indigo Warrior fan there, stood and willed him to score. Unbelievably, he missed, by some margin. Tank raised his hands to his head in dismay, but as he did so, realised just a little too late that he'd let go of the rest of his omelette. He spent the next few minutes apologising profusely to the nice family sitting in front of him, much to Peter's amusement.
Silverbonce made some absolutely stunning saves throughout the match, with nearly everybody agreeing, whether at the match, or in the newspapers the next day, that the Warriors would have been heavily defeated without him.
In the end, the game, scrappy as it was, was decided by one moment of brilliance. Silverbonce slapped the ball out to Steel who was high up, right at the top of the cavern. Bringing the ball beautifully under control, Steel tucked the ball under one arm and dropped down into a steep dive towards the lava, catching everyone, even his own teammates, by surprise, as he was still in his defensive half of the cavern, and way too far out to perform a 'flying dive'. With nobody in range to tackle him, Steel had a free run at the lava, and by the time he hit the surface, he was travelling at an alarming speed. Nobody could believe what they were seeing, all sure that it was some kind of bluff. As the seconds drained away, with Steel still missing, the Crimson Crusaders 'mouth guard' looked at first perplexed, and then worried. Fearing something dreadful had happened beneath the lava, the 'mouth guard' lost his concentration momentarily. In a fiery haze of smoking hot magma, up popped Steel behind the 'mouth guard', letting fly with the ball in one swift move. Striking one of the middle teeth true, the Warriors went in front.
Supporters from every corner of the stadium went absolutely mad, even most of the Crusader followers. Quick thinking on Peter's part led him to let off his STEEL IS THE BEST mantra, swiftly followed by everyone else that had splashed out on one. The glowing blue words lit up most of the cavern. Nobody had ever seen a goal like it. All of the Crimson Crusaders were dumbstruck. After that, they tried to get back into the match, but unsurprisingly, their confidence was shot, ending up lucky to lose by such a close margin.
As the final horn trumpeted, Warriors fans celebrated like never before, barely able to believe their team had made it through to the Global Cup for the first time in their history, with a shot at becoming the best on the planet.
Partying well into the night, most fans chose to celebrate at the stadium's food court and mall. The friends were both glad it was Saturday tomorrow, with both intent on having a lie-in before turning out for their respective hockey and rugby teams in the afternoon.
Much later, well into the early hours of the following day, Peter and Tank sat giddy with joy on the monorail, heading back to Salisbridge. Surrounded by a mixture of fans coming back from the match and everyday dragons going about their business, they were not only ecstatic at the result, but almost hoarse from all the screaming they'd done.
"I'll try and get tickets for the first round of the Global Cup," rasped Tank over the noise of the continuing festivities in the carriage.
"That would be great, but it could be absolutely anywhere on the planet, as not all the qualifiers have been played yet," responded Peter, as the words 'SILVERBONCE FOR KING' came whizzing down the carriage, narrowly missing his floppy hat, casting an eerie blue reflection in the darkened windows of the monorail car. Clearly not all the mantras had been used at the match.
Pulling into Salisbridge station at exactly 4.12am, Peter came to the conclusion that even with his supposed lie-in, he still wouldn't get very much sleep. Parting, sleepy eyed, the two went their separate ways, each knowing they would see the other later on in the day at the sports club. Ten minutes later, Peter was tucked up in bed, dreaming of Steel's audacious move and wishing that he could perform something amazing like that on the hockey pitch, later on that day.
5 Smokin'
Blaring into life at precisely twelve-thirty, the alarm shattered Peter's deep slumber, with the light from around the ill-fitting curtains in his bedroom preventing him from going back to sleep, despite burying his head firmly beneath his pillows for some time. Even though he felt exhausted, he grudgingly admitted defeat and threw back the duvet, planting his feet firmly on the floor. Slipping straight into his hockey kit, he stopped only to grab a bite to eat, his sticks and change of clothes already in the car. Fifteen minutes after waking up, he pulled into the overflowing car park of the sports club.
Walking to the changing rooms, he bumped into a few of his new found human teammates, who gave him a ribbing for looking rougher than a sandblasted tramp.
'If only they knew what I'd really been up to,' he thought. 'Their minds would be totally blown away.'
Ten minutes in the changing room came and went, as he put on his shin guards and fiddled with his stick, all the time listening to the captain talk about the tactical side of today's match.
Stripping off to reveal their matching orange tops and white shorts, they all marched purposefully outside to the Astroturf pitch to begin their warm up exercises, focused fully on what was to come, much of the clowning about forgotten. Usually the pitch was fully booked up on a Saturday, from around nine-thirty in the morning through to nearly six at night, with the use of the towering floodlights that encircled it. Today was no different, and as they all walked out, Peter noticed the men's first team were already playing in a match that looked as though it would end shortly. Heading to a small area of Astroturf reserved for warming up, behind one of the goals, separated by a metal fence, his opponents already there, knocking hockey balls to and fro, Peter started to go through his usual pre-game series of stretches. Five minutes later, with the action-packed match still going on in the background, he swapped the stretches for his stick, and started hitting a ball back and forth with one of his teammates, the rest of the squad doing likewise. With it nearly being time to start, Peter gathered in with the rest of his team, halfway through
a conversation as to the identity of a new first team player nobody seemed to recognise. Peter listened as he continued to stretch.
"Well, I've never seen him at training," said one.
"There's a surprise," added another, cynically.
"You should know by now that not all first teamers are required to attend training," piped up another.
Finally, the cheekiest of the lot quipped,
"Perhaps he's the captain's new boyfriend."
With this the rest of the group shook their heads and wandered away a little.
"Whaaaaat?" said the cheeky one, practically standing on his own now. "You were all thinking it."
Having not been paying much attention, instead concentrating on his warm up, Peter decided to take a look at the newcomer. Glancing over to the very far 'D', he could barely believe what he was seeing. There, rushing about in full first team kit, was Major Manson. His heart sank. What the hell was he doing here? A sudden tap on the shoulder made him turn around with a start.
"Are you okay Peter?" asked Andy, the captain of the second team. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Ahh... I'm fine. Must have been that dodgy kebab last night," he lied, still reeling from seeing Manson on the pitch.
"Okay," replied Andy, giving Peter a sneaky wink.
Taking a large swig from his water bottle, trying to compose himself, the full time whistle from the first team's game rang in Peter's ears. Joining his teammates to head out onto the pitch proper, he hung about the entrance, pretending to fiddle with his shin pads. Eventually the first team players trudged off the pitch, nearly all carrying grazes or burns on their knees, legs and arms. Watching as Manson picked up his kit and walked around the pitch towards him, Peter made sure he stood in the way of the narrow gated entrance as his nemesis reached it. Chatting to one of his new teammates, Manson approached the entrance to the pitch, only to find Peter in his way, making himself as big as possible. With no choice but to wait, Manson stared directly at Peter, a scowl of epic proportions stamped on his face. For his part, Peter looked straight ahead, noticing that Manson made no effort to acknowledge him, as he headed to the halfway line to join the rest of his team. Sneaking a quick peek over his shoulder, he noticed that Manson didn't even look back at him, and had gone straight off to the changing rooms. That was when it hit him. There was no sign of a limp, or even his walking stick. How odd!
