Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  Smiling at that last comment, Peter deleted the message.

  'Lazy git indeed,' he thought to himself. Pleased that his friend had phoned, he convinced himself that he couldn't have cared less that he hadn't heard from Richie. Knowing that it was unlikely he'd catch up with Tank today, he considered finishing work early tomorrow with a view to seeking his friend out for a much needed chat.

  6 A Sign of the Times

  After an uneventful day at work, Peter used his flexitime to leave at half past two and headed home. Once there, and without bothering to change, he made his way through the concealed entrance to the monorail station and boarded the first carriage that arrived, on his way to London. Just over three minutes later, he arrived at Fleet Street station, where he alighted and headed for Tank's workplace.

  Trotting off into one of the darkened alleyways that littered the edge of the station, hoping that it was indeed the right one, he marvelled at how space was at such a premium, with shops, small and large, lining either side of his route, and not a bare rock wall to be found. Nearly all the dragons here had preferred to appear in their natural form, making for lots of stops and starts, whilst letting dragons through on these narrow little walkways. Still in his human form, Peter stuck out like a Wookie at a hair loss convention. Shops and tiny houses started to appear higher up, jutting out from walls hundreds of feet above Peter's head, serviced by tiny little walkways and bridges that from this distance looked way too narrow to support most dragons. Shocking red and orange lava sizzled its way down what little space was free on the walls, sometimes splitting off into two or three houses at a time to keep them toasty warm, while at other times dribbling down over the roof itself. Spectacular, and almost as different from dragon domain places like Purbeck and Salisbridge as it was from the stunning water meadows of the day before. Diversity in all its forms, that's how Peter liked to think of it.

  In places such as Purbeck and Salisbridge, the unwritten rule is that human form is fine to travel about in. This generally applies throughout the world. Not so in the capital cities and their surrounding areas though. Nobody knew why, and to be honest, nobody really cared. Those that lived there had gotten used to it long ago, and were almost too stubborn to change anyway. He'd always thought of this as stupid, particularly given the distinct lack of space. Think how much easier it would be to traverse all of these walkways in a taut little human guise, instead of a giant, ungainly dragon form, who either has to stop, or fly up into the air to let someone coming the other way, go round. It made no sense.

  As he travelled deeper into the suburbs he became more self conscious, aware that almost everyone was scowling. They knew him to be a dragon... they could tell. Their resentment almost certainly derived from the fact that most dragons despised any sort of clothing that restricted their movement, and although a lot of them would have to wear a suit in their human guise, they always slipped free of it as soon as they returned to the dragon domain. Often tales would be told in the nursery rings of dragons who live on the surface, but on coming back to their human houses immediately strip off, spending their remaining hours until they have to leave the house again totally and utterly naked. Bizarre!

  Feeling ever so slightly claustrophobic as the buildings loomed larger, some hanging out precariously over the walkway he was on, seemingly unbalanced and unsupported, he began to wish he was wearing something more comfortable as the temperature and humidity continued to increase.

  'Most dragons like it hot,' he thought to himself, 'but this is getting beyond a joke,' his shirt and tie dripping with sweat, like a bully's victim. Rounding a corner and continuing under a small arched stone bridge, he turned immediately left into Camelot Arcade, following it down until a sign in the distance read 'Gee Tee's Mantra Emporium'. Strolling up to the door, he turned the squeaky metal handle, to be greeted by a rush of cool air as he entered. In stark contrast to the shadow filled, narrow walkways outside, he found himself in a very well lit, high ceilinged, open, shop floor, surrounded by ancient wooden bookcases fifty feet high, covered with dust and cobwebs, filled from floor to ceiling with old books, tomes and parchments, separated by super wide walkways. In human terms, it could only have been described as a warehouse or industrial hangar. The place was HUGE!

  Having never been to his friend’s place of work before, he had however heard all the rather interesting and as far as he was concerned, exaggerated stories. Here and now, he started to wonder if they were actually that exaggerated.

  Through the maze of bookshelves, which not only dwarfed him, but would probably have seemed tall to almost any dragon, he could just make out the abandoned looking counter, with just a solitary pile of dusty books resting there. Thinking that was a good place to start, he headed off down a wide aisle in that direction, not before noticing that most of the cobwebs which hung throughout the shop hosted at least one spider, none of which were particularly small. On approaching the counter, it was then that he spotted something which made his false heart almost leap out of his fictitious mouth. In a web some twenty feet wide, up high behind the shop counter, sat a rather large tarantula. Knowing his fear was irrational was one thing; accepting it was something else altogether. Skirting that part of the deserted counter, he moved along its edge, never taking his eyes off the giant spider, all the time wondering if he could get away with leaving. It would be a shame to get this far and not see his friend, but things were getting just a little too strange for his liking, so it might be time to call it quits, even though he'd always wanted to see the renowned emporium where his friend worked.

  'Legendary... just like its owner,' he thought, wondering if any of the stories about the old master mantra maker were true. You'd think not, given the nature of them, but Tank always swore they were, and Peter had never met a more trustworthy dragon than his friend. Gee Tee, the mantra emporium's owner and proprietor, was renowned throughout the dragon domain for his knowledge of all things mantra and magical. That was pretty much a fact... you could ask any dragon across the world. One of the many rumours that surrounded the master mantra maker was that he had lived for over six centuries, something Peter found hard to accept. He'd tried to quiz Tank on the subject, but all he would say was that Gee Tee was a great employer, though rather misunderstood, due in part to his eccentricities and idiosyncrasies, and could come across as rather menacing, if you didn't know him. Not something Peter really wanted to focus on at the moment, wandering around all alone in the old dragon's store.

  Reaching the end of the counter, he decided enough was enough. It was time to leave, and catch up with Tank later on in the week. Nothing was worth all of this, especially since he was sure the huge blessed tarantula was watching his every move. Turning around and taking no more than two steps in the direction of the exit, he was suddenly startled by someone clearing their throat.

  "Hhhuuurrrgh... hhhuuurrrmm."

  Peter searched, wide-eyed, for the source.

  An enormous dragon head with long wavy grey hair, wearing a pair of large, square spectacles, peered around the dusty pile of books on the counter. Relieved at finally finding someone, Peter turned instantly around.

  "Before you take another step, child, you can take that damn thing off," boomed the dragon, pointing directly at Peter. "We do not tolerate those in this shop, EVER!"

  Peter stood, transfixed, lost for words. The dragon continued with whatever he was doing, beneath the counter, it might have been reading or writing, he was too far away to tell. Quickly considering his options, he realised the only real choice he had was to take off his clothes, if they were that offensive. Wishing beyond belief that he'd stayed at work, reluctantly he undid his tie, slipped off his jacket and neatly slipped them onto an empty shelf on the bookcase he was stood next to. Nervously unbuttoning his shirt, he glanced around uncomfortably. Unbelievably, the huge spider dangling from the web behind the counter winked at him. He couldn't believe it. Shaking his head to free whatever madness it contained, his shirt hanging open, he did
a double take, only to find the spider facing away from him, spinning a thin line of silky web. He didn't consider himself easily spooked, but now he was tempted to just leave the rest of his clothes and run away. Deciding against it, but only just, he removed his shirt and flipped off both shoes, not bothering to untie the laces, all the time trying to ignore the very bad feeling that was running through each and every one of his bogus bones. Wanting nothing more than to get it all over with, in one swift move he took off his belt, trousers and socks, stuffing them onto the shelf, on top of the rest of his neatly layered clothes. Standing all alone in his white briefs, he had no idea what to do next. Seconds seemed like days as he waited for the shopkeeper to look up. You'd have thought he'd have been a bit cooler having stripped off, but not so. Quite the opposite in fact. He felt like a volcano heating up, ready to explode. Why oh why had he done this? Thinking about whistling or clearing his throat, eventually he managed to squeak a meek, "Is that better?" in the direction of the counter. Simultaneously the shopkeeper and the spider above him looked up from what they were doing. The spider once again winked at him, a gaping grin revealed its teeth as it did so. The shopkeeper looked aghast.

  "What on earth do you think you're doing, CHILD?" he yelled.

  "Ummm... just what you told me to," Peter quivered.

  Standing up straight, taking his huge square spectacles off, the dragon addressed Peter with thunder in his voice.

  "I told you to take off THAT!" fumed the dragon, pointing at Peter's naked chest.

  "I don't understand," insisted Peter, his comfort zone now measured in terms of millimetres.

  The shopkeeper's arm swung round until it pointed towards the entrance.

  "Look at the sign above the door child," he said, exasperated.

  The sign (which Peter had not seen as he'd entered) read 'ONLY THOSE IN SOLITUS FORM ARE WELCOME HERE'.

  Immediately Peter understood. It wasn't his clothes he was expected to get rid of, it was his human form. Only dragons in their natural state were allowed in the shop, which seemed ironic given that Tank nearly always maintained human form, and more than a little... judgmental. Both shopkeeper and spider glared at him, now that the penny had dropped. Closing his eyes, and more self conscious than ever, he focused on unlocking the dozen or so bonds within his DNA that regulated his human appearance. Recently he'd got into the habit of sticking with his human guise, even when visiting the dragon domain, so he didn't do this very often, but he was always flabbergasted at the ease with which it happened, when he did. Three seconds, that was how long the complete transformation took. Staggering really. It started with a warm tingling feeling all over, that swiftly progressed to a kind of citrusy flavour within, ending with the swirling noise of what felt like a hurricane rushing through his ears. Looking down, the first thing he noticed were his ripped briefs lying on the floor.

  'Oops!’ he thought. 'Looks like I'm going home commando tonight.’

  "That's better, child," commented the shopkeeper. "Come closer so that I can have a better look at you."

  Stepping over his shredded underwear, Peter plodded over to the counter, his comparatively small body and wingspan making him almost look like a dragonling, in the huge space of his surroundings. It was only now that he realised why there was so much space throughout the store. It made perfect sense if only dragons in their natural form were allowed in. Briefly he wondered why his friend had never mentioned all this, and just exactly where he was.

  Slipping his square spectacles back on, the shopkeeper made his way around to the shop floor and gave Peter the once over.

  "Hmmmm... nothing special," he said, lifting up Peter's wing. Peter tried to pull away, but the old dragon had a grip of steel and would not let him go.

  "Ahhh... what's this then?" he remarked, mainly to himself, looking below Peter's left wing at the markings on his belly. Peter's belly was predominantly brown, although on the left hand side there was a strange pattern, made up of matt green scales, that had helped give him his name. It was not unusual to be named after a pattern or bodily marking, and Peter had just come to accept it, as had most dragons, unless of course you had a very rude or stupid characteristic, which sometimes happened, and presented the tors in charge of choosing a young dragon's name with a very difficult set of circumstances. In Peter's case, the matt green scales stood out, looking like a whistle. A whistle where the part that you blow into was crooked or bent. Hence Peter's dragon name was Bentwhistle.

  Continuing to poke at Peter's matt green scales that formed the whistle, the old shopkeeper frowned, before going on.

  "I know this from somewhere. But I don't seem to know you. Have we met? I don't remember if we have. Hang on a second, it's all coming back to me now. You're Tank's friend. He's told me all about you, you know."

  Peter smiled. Finally a mention of his friend.

  "Has he really? All good I hope."

  "Of course, of course," replied the old dragon.

  "Is he about at all? It's just that I wanted a quick chat with him if it’s possible."

  Stepping out from underneath Peter's wing, the shopkeeper urged Peter to follow him, adding,

  "He's been here all the time, right in plain sight," chuckled the old dragon, wandering back behind the counter and doing the very last thing Peter expected.

  He reached up into the big silver web, and retrieved the gargantuan tarantula. At this point, Peter's eyes nearly popped out. What on earth was going on?

  Holding his hand out flat, allowing the spider to get comfortable, the shopkeeper then proceeded to rifle through a dusty red book from the pile on the counter, looking for... something.

  It didn't take long to find, and so with the book open in one hand, and the spider held steady in the other, the age old dragon closed his eyes. It was then that he noticed.

  'It can't be... it just can't,' thought Peter, having spotted the same inane grin on the spider that normally occupied his friend's battered and bruised face.

  Muttering a language Peter couldn't recognise, abruptly the old shopkeeper tossed the spider high up into the air, taking a step back as he did so. As the spider reached the highest point of its trajectory, tumbling head over legs, it started to spin uncontrollably, as if caught in a vortex. Peter watched, astonished, barely able to focus in on the spider, it was moving so fast. But he could at least tell something... it was getting bigger, and even changing colour. Still muttering undecipherable tones, the shopkeeper looked up from the book, pushing his glasses as far up his nose as they would go, before finishing the mantra with one word.

  CRASH!!! Tank was thrown out of the mini tornado at full speed, rocketing into the nearest bookcase. A hail of books toppled down onto his head as he tried to sit up against its base. None of this prevented him from having his usual stupid inane grin.

  "Excellent, excellent!" cried the shopkeeper, appearing in front of Tank. "A morphic mantra from Roman Times," he said to Tank, as he picked himself up from the pile of books.

  "Quite a find, even if I do say so myself. You can tidy the books up later. Take your friend into the workshop and have your chat now. Don't be too long though, we have that Aztec flying mantra to test out later," pointed out the old dragon, disappearing off into the depths of the store.

  "That was just unbelievable," exclaimed Peter, as Tank came over.

  "Just run of the mill here I'm afraid, Pete."

  "Really?" asked Peter in total disbelief.

  Tank escorted him to the workshop that sat back behind the counter, barely visible from the shop floor. Four dragon sized desks were cluttered up with piles of books, bunches of scrolls, oversized dragon pens, mantra ink, brushes and flimsy rolls of paper. A special dragon sized chair accompanied each desk, and like the monorail, there were holes at the back of each, so that a dragon could slip his or her tail through. Comfy!

  Unable to contain his curiosity, Peter blurted,

  "What happens here?"

  "This is where we repair broken mantras, a
nd sometimes try to create new ones. It's our workshop.”

  Peter gazed in wonder.

  "I didn't even know it was possible to repair a broken mantra."

  "Most dragons don't," replied Tank, matter-of-factly. "It's not something needed very much anymore. A lot of mantras nowadays can be memorised, or can be stored on mobile phones, laptops or tablets. All relatively recent developments, before which mantras would need to be repaired, especially mantras that only had a one-off use. This was where most dragons would have had it done."

  "You sound as though they don't come here any more."

  "Oh the odd dragon wanders in to have a really rare or old mantra fixed, valued or researched, but sometimes we don't see a customer for weeks on end."

  "That's really sad," replied Peter, concerned.

  "It's just a change in times, or so Gee Tee says," commented Tank, quietly. "These new dial-a-mantra services haven't helped very much either."

  "Uhhh?"

  "Trust you," said Tank to his friend. "You must have seen all the adverts in the telepathic papers."

  "Nope," replied Peter, shaking his head.

  "Well, anyway, it's very much like the dial and download a ringtone the humans use for their mobile phones, you get the mantra of your choice, sent directly to your phone, as either a text message or email, ready and waiting for whenever you need to use it," Tank uttered, disappointingly.

  "So it's affecting business then?" queried Peter.

  "Yeah, I've never known it so quiet. Gee Tee's already laid off two of his staff. It's only him and me left now."

  Peter paused for a moment, before saying,

  "I'm really sorry Tank. I had no idea. You should have said."

  "It's not something I like to talk about. Besides, it's not like he can get rid of me. He needs my help, as you've already seen," Tank stated, grinning.