Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  "Yes, yes I know, I'll leave you alone to get on with it. Can I get you a drink or anything?"

  "No, I'm fine thanks," replied Tank, his head once again buried in the back of the television.

  Slumping back down in his computer chair on the opposite side of the room, Peter started to test his program, occasionally glancing over to see how his friend was progressing.

  As the evening wore on, the two friends working in silence were polar opposites. Frustration threatened to overwhelm Peter, with his program doing nothing that it was supposed to. Tank, on the other hand, was getting on much better. Well, I say much better... the television was now in fifty different parts, but... they all seemed to be laid out on the living room floor in a clear and logical manner, all undamaged. Seemingly satisfied with his progress, Tank got up from the floor and made his way out to his car. Engrossed in what he was doing, Peter didn't even realise his friend was missing. When Tank came back in a few minutes later, Peter was swearing and cursing like a Premiership footballer, most unusual for him.

  "What's the matter, bud?" enquired Tank.

  Peter explained what he was trying to do and why, also adding the fact that he couldn't make the program work as it was supposed to, despite his best efforts. Tank agreed to take a look at it when he'd finished with the television, telling Peter to take a break for a while. Peter did as his friend suggested, taking a seat on the sofa, secretly relieved that his friend was going to bring his superior programming skills to the party. Tank was way better with computers than he would ever be.

  In the middle of the living room floor, Tank unwrapped a large object shaped like a pyramid from a flowery old tea towel that he'd brought in from his car. Peter sat transfixed as a bright and sparkling translucent crystal pyramid, a cable running out of its base, was revealed.

  Tank held up the crystal for Peter to see.

  "This, my friend, is the clever bit."

  "What does it do?"

  "This is what allows us to pick up the feed, whilst at the same time converting it into a digital format that the television can display... hopefully."

  Tank ran the cable from the crystal carefully to the back of the television, and after plugging it in, started to put the components so carefully laid out on the floor, back into place. Peter remained totally silent, knowing just how much his friend was having to concentrate. After about fifteen minutes, Tank let out a visible sigh of relief and looked over towards his friend.

  "Want to give it a try?" asked Tank, a manic grin scrawled across his face.

  "What can we expect to see?" replied Peter nervously.

  "Dunno. Depends on what's in the buffer at the other end. Whatever it is will be in tomorrow's newspapers, that's for sure."

  Sceptical as he was, he knew he had no chance of getting out of what was to come, so Peter put on a little smile for his friend and said,

  "Sure, let's do it."

  Tank plugged in the mains lead and switched the set on, causing the pyramid to glow ever so slightly. Peter was sure something bad was about to happen. Holding the remote, Tank started the manual tuning sequence, not entirely sure what he was looking for as he scrolled through the static-filled screens, absolute confidence about what he'd done encompassing him totally. As the static started to form a black and white picture, the two of them tried to make out what they were seeing. After a slight re-tune, both realised they were looking at a mass of sand dunes in a desert. That's all they could see... sand everywhere.

  "Nice picture. Not very exciting though. Do you think the papers are running a count the sand grain competition tomorrow?"

  "Give it a minute," added Tank, squinting hard at the picture.

  The two friends studied the vivid, albeit black and white, picture. Peter was just impressed that his friend had managed to get the television to work with the crystal, but couldn't understand for the life of him why they were staring at sand dunes in the desert. As this crossed his mind, a small dark shape some way off, swam into view. At first, Peter thought it to be a bird swooping down low, but the more they watched, the more it became apparent it wasn't that. Whatever the shape was, it was clear it was moving at quite a speed, and was some way off, so much so that its down-draught was spraying up the sand beneath it. And that was the giveaway.

  "SANDSKIMMING!" both friends cried in unison.

  "That must be the new course in the Sahara," observed Tank.

  "I didn't think it was supposed to be ready for at least another six months," added Peter.

  "Ah... they always do that, just to create a surprise and more publicity around it all. Cool though, eh?"

  "Oh God, yes."

  Sandskimming was another dragon thing. Not so much a sport, or obsession like laminium ball, but more like a relaxing pastime. The idea was to fly low to the ground on a timed lap. The lap, or circuit, would be created by the first dragon, due to them flying so low the down-force would produce a pattern in the sand that looked very much like a road or route. The next competitors to go would have to follow the pattern in the sand, with the winner being the dragon whose timed lap was the fastest. Sand was the ideal game for this to be played over, with dried mud and sometimes a lake or two used in very rare circumstances.

  Sandskimming had started off as a younglings game from the nursery ring, but had managed to capture the imagination of older dragons everywhere after being introduced to one particular holiday destination, and although not nearly as popular as laminium ball (what was?), every dragon knew about sandskimming and most had tried it out at some point in their life.

  When young dragons were taken on field trips to different parts of the world, whenever they were somewhere exotic and out of the way, usually a desert, they would almost always resort to playing this game. However, the last fifty years or so have seen the development above ground of dragon holiday camps and it has been there that sandskimming has really taken off as a form of relaxation.

  Dragon holiday camps first came about in 1956, the brainchild of a dragon called Firesworn. He was a respected scientist who'd been working on supplementing the worldwide underground monorail with solar power. Committed to his study of solar power, once his work underground had exhausted all of its theoretical possibilities, he then had to find an area on the surface to continue his experiments. Exploration and development took him to the Kalahari Desert in Southern Africa. Based there primarily because of its remoteness and the fact that human contact was unlikely at best, he also found it was possible to keep all his equipment out in the open, as well as maintain his dragon form without fear of discovery.

  It didn't take long for Firesworn to realise he loved being in his natural form, soaking up the sun's rays and flying around the hot, arid desert, in between working on his solar power project.

  Most dragons in Firesworn's position would have occasionally returned underground to visit their family or friends. But he got so caught up in his work and the sheer exhilaration of living above ground that the last thing he wanted to do was to go back underground. So instead, he got his family to visit him on the surface. Reluctantly they went, and once there, were captivated by the desert and everything that involved being in their dragon forms above ground. When the time for them to return home came around, they did so grudgingly, and once back home underground, they told all their friends and neighbours about the wonderful experience that they'd had.

  Soon, Firesworn was inundated with dragons wanting to visit him or help with his project. Ironic really, as before he hadn't managed to find one volunteer to accompany him. At about this time Firesworn's passion seemed to be less concerned with the solar power and more with developing a place where dragons could rest and relax on the surface, while still maintaining their privacy and keeping any knowledge of their existence a secret. Two years later, after a Herculean amount of work, not only from himself, but his family and friends, Firesworn came up with the answer... the first dragon holiday camp.

  Based in the exact same place he'd been carrying ou
t his research, an area of five hundred square miles was set aside for the camp when it was first fashioned. That sounds like a lot, but when you consider the Kalahari covers an area in excess of one hundred thousand square miles, it was really only a needle in a haystack. Basic as things went, the only feature of any real note in the camp was the stunning oasis situated almost directly in the middle. Firesworn and his friends had extended the oasis from a rather small and badly formed watering hole, into a superheated swimming pool for dragons of all sizes that was over fifty square miles in area. It was the talk of the domain.

  Lookout posts with dragon guards were placed around the perimeter at ten mile intervals to make sure the visiting dragons weren't accidentally discovered. Their tasks were simple: to use their telepathic powers to persuade and encourage animals and in particular humans, to change course if they looked at all as though they might be heading in the direction of the camp, an easy feat really for a dragon with enhanced telepathic abilities.

  However, at first this wasn't as straightforward as it should have been. While animals were relatively easy to dissuade, some of the human tribes in the area were rather harder to convince. The lookouts soon found the easiest way of convincing the humans to stay away, was to show them in their minds the area of the site, and just how treacherous the terrain was. That combined with the mirages the dragons created, showing watering holes and oases off in other directions, seemed to prove a huge success. This combination still works around the world today at some of the many modern day vacation camps that exist in remote areas across the planet.

  Before long, Firesworn didn't know what had hit him. Dragons were coming from all over the planet to sample the delight of simply relaxing in the sun on the surface in their dragon forms. With popularity spiralling out of control, the camp was increased in size, provided with dedicated underground access and an easy link to the worldwide monorail and better facilities such as restaurants, sleeping areas and exceptional entertainment. More guards were provided as the camp expanded, and specially designated lookouts had the task of making sure the camp wasn't spotted from the air by any stray aircraft that might be passing.

  Firesworn's solar power project had been totally consumed by his obsession for creating the ultimate in dragon relaxation, something he'd more than achieved. Over the coming decades that original encampment expanded even more and became the blueprint from many more camps to come. Today major dragon vacation camps can be found all around the globe, in such places as the Great Basin in North America, the Namib in Southern Africa, the Gobi Desert in China, and the Gibson Desert and Great Victoria Desert, both in Australia.

  The very latest undertaking, and the one Peter and Tank were now viewing through their television, is very special indeed. Over ten years in the making, quite a feat in a dragon timescale given what they can do with their mantras and magic, it dwarfs anything else on the planet. Sitting proudly in the middle of the Sahara Desert about one hundred and fifty miles south of Adrar in Algeria, just north of the Tropic of Cancer and just west of the Prime Meridian, its location has been subject to much planning. Apart from the fact that it needed to be remote and in a suitable climate, its current location has the added bonus in that it sits directly over the main southern monorail route out of London, which follows the Prime Meridian all the way to Accra, and then splits into two, with one heading Southwest to Rio, while the other heads Southeast towards South Africa.

  Covering an area in excess of four thousand square miles, which again sounds a lot but is merely one drop in an ocean when it comes to the size of the Sahara itself, every conceivable luxury has been catered for, from lava pools with giant flumes, to a la carte charcoal dining, to death defying sandskimming courses. No expense has been spared, with everything under one roof so to speak, or not as the case may be.

  Hundreds of lookouts have spent years being trained to make sure they're the best that they can be at their jobs to try and do everything to minimise the risk of discovery by the outside world. Everything that can be done has been done to make it as hard as possible to be discovered. The only eventuality that the dragons in charge seem to think presents any sort of risk, is the scenario of a passenger plane crashing down and landing smack bang in the middle of the site with lots of survivors and that, they say, is so unbelievably unlikely that the odds can't even begin to be calculated, and that's with the best dragon minds in the kingdom on the case.

  So with all of that in mind, the camp was nearly ready to be opened and announced to the general dragon population for the first time. The two young prehistoric friends were currently viewing the few privileged dragon media trying out the facilities so that they could report on it for their telepathic papers the following day. Who wouldn't want to try out the most amazing getaway resort ever?

  Their eyes glued to the television, Tank and Peter sat watching for the next twenty minutes or so as the images changed from different dragons flying over the sandskimming course, to views of fabulous giant lava pools, bubbling away furiously, to watching charcoal being prepared by the best dragon chefs in new and mouthwateringly exotic ways (which made both of the young friend's stomachs rumble repeatedly), all for the consumption of the expected guests.

  "Well, we know it works," remarked Tank, beaming.

  "I never doubted you," replied Peter, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

  "Yeah... right," said Tank, punching Peter playfully in the arm.

  "Well... maybe just a little," added Peter, rolling away and standing up.

  "Anyway, it doesn't matter. We can all watch the match together... YIPPEE! Now all you have to do is tell Richie," urged Tank, uncomfortably.

  "Oh good," sighed Peter, having forgotten all about their falling out.

  "I'll do it if you want?" offered Tank.

  "No it's all right, it should be me. I'll do it at work tomorrow."

  "Want me to look at that program on the computer for you?" volunteered Tank.

  "That would be great if you've got time."

  "Sure... no problem."

  Two hours later, having fixed his friend's computer program, Tank and his huge case made their way back through the front door and into his car. Peter walked down the garden path in the crisp night air to see his friend off.

  "Thanks for the help with the program," he said, his breath starting to freeze as it came out of his mouth.

  "No problem mate," replied Tank through the open driver side window, having just switched on the car's so-called heating system to clear the windscreen of condensation.

  "Don't forget to talk to Richie tomorrow... tell her the good news about the game."

  "Will do. Safe journey back."

  And with that, Tank pulled away from Peter's house, his giant frame hunched down so low in the front seat, due to only being able to see past the condensation through a hole the size of a pea that had cleared on the windscreen. Peter smiled at his friend as he made his way back up the garden path, weaving his way in and out of the snails which were about in such great numbers that they could probably start a large scale military engagement, by the look of things.

  The following day at work, Peter found himself once again scanning the bank of security monitors in his office, only this time not for the ever elusive Manson, but for his friend Richie.

  'What did I do with my time before I became hooked on these?' he wondered to himself, studying row after row carefully.

  Richie proved as elusive as Manson, at least until lunchtime when Peter spotted her heading for the canteen. Having waited for this chance all morning, he zipped out of his office like a bolt of lightning, slamming the door shut behind him and broke into a sprint, knowing full well that if he got a move on he could time his arrival to match that of his friend. As he rounded the last corner he slowed to a walk, all his effort rewarded by the sight of his friend right in front of him as he reached the canteen's double doors.

  "Hi," he said, holding one of the doors open for her.

  St
anding hands on hips, she refused to go through the door that he was so gallantly holding open, to the delight of the other diners.

  "Training for a marathon are we?" Richie enquired, just a little too loudly for Peter's liking.

  He could feel himself start to blush. Clearly Richie had no intention of forgiving him.

  'DAMN! This is going to go badly,' he thought to himself.

  Suddenly Richie grabbed him by his tie and yanked him through the double doors, much to everybody else's amusement.

  "Could you be any easier?"

  "Probably not... no," he mumbled, not quite sure what was going on.

  Joining the snaking queue, it soon became obvious to Peter that he'd been forgiven.

  "How did you know I'd run all the way?"

  Richie sighed and shook her head. Leaning forward so that no one else could hear, she whispered,

  "You may be a prim and proper dragon, only using your senses when told it's okay to do so, but me... not so much. Heightened heart rate, perspiring badly and most obvious... your tie flying back over your shoulder," she said smiling.

  "You're way too clever for me."

  "I know," replied Richie, nodding her head.

  The two friends went on to have an enjoyable lunch, with Richie telling Peter all the gossip from her department and Peter telling Richie about Tank and the television, and the fact that they could watch the big game together, albeit in a rather roundabout way due to the number of people close by. For once, Richie seemed genuinely surprised, something Peter could barely remember happening before. As the pair cleared their plates away, they agreed to meet in the bar of the sports club on Saturday after their respective lacrosse and hockey matches, with a view to going back to Peter's to watch the Global Cup on the rigged up television. Peter went back to work a happy man or dragon, depending on how you looked at things.

  His good mood continued throughout the week, especially at the prospect of a fantastic Saturday to come, which he hoped would include a home hockey win in the last friendly before the league started, followed by a rousing night in watching the Indigo Warriors with Tank and Richie.