Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  As Peter continued to look into his face, unmoved by the attempt to provoke him. Manson leaned his head even closer to Peter's face, his hot breath washing over the young dragon's cheeks and nose.

  "You and your kind have had your day. Looking down your superior noses at everything else, judging, manipulating. WELL NO MORE! There's a new force to be reckoned with, one that won't bend to your will as easily as everything else. Your pitiful existence will soon be put into perspective for you," derided Manson, darkly.

  Peter had closed his eyes and, while trying to ignore the ever tightening knot in his stomach and the fear running down his arms and legs, had opened himself to all his dragon senses, setting them free to explore the solid pillar of hate that stood before him. With Manson's hot breath cloying at his face, he tried with everything he had to find something, anything, to explain what gave the ex-army Major his powers. But even though he stood only a few inches away from him, he could find nothing, not even a hint of magic or dragon or anything to explain what he knew in his heart of hearts. Manson came out smelling of roses and seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary human being. Opening his eyes, Peter noticed players from both sides staring at their face off, wondering what was going on. Looking into Manson's dark maelstrom eyes, Peter tried hard to think of something dramatic and frightening to say. Try as he might, nothing came to mind. Anyway, Manson had just beaten him to it.

  Barely a whisper came out of Manson's mouth, designed so that Peter was the only one that could hear his words.

  "Enjoy your lucky victory with all your little friends," Manson waved his arms to indicate everyone else on the pitch. "If you think you've had a tough time at work up until now, you wait until Monday. I will personally crush you like the insignificant insect that you are." With that, he dramatically turned away, head held high, waving his hockey stick above his head.

  Peter turned his head as a voice from behind said,

  "What was that all about?" Andy the second team captain had a worried look on his face.

  Peter shrugged his shoulders.

  "Dunno. Just sore about not beating us I suppose."

  "Well, don't let it bother you. The whole team did really well today, and I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but the first round of drinks is on me."

  And with that the two players joined the rest of the team in the showers and then headed off into the bar to celebrate their well deserved draw. Once in the bar, the celebrations began properly with Andy buying the first drinks for his team who were, for the most part, in very high spirits.

  After being in the bar for about fifteen minutes, it became apparent that something odd was going on. Normally both teams who had been playing on the Astroturf got showered and then changed, before coming into the bar for a drink and some food. Peter wasn't the only one to notice that only two of their opponents had shown up. Something about it struck him as odd, just as Andy the second team captain sauntered over to the two to ask them what was going on. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but from what he could see, Andy had clearly taken offence at what the two players had reluctantly told him. Momentarily glancing away from the disagreement, he noticed his two friends sitting at a table in the far corner. They waved him over, but he was desperate to see what was going on with the first team players, so held up five fingers to indicate he'd be over in five minutes. Richie and Tank nodded and continued their conversation. In the meantime, Andy had left the two first teamers and was headed back across the bar, a look of thunder on his face.

  "What's going on?" enquired Peter as Andy rejoined the group, the highly spirited second team players having all gone quiet, eager for the response to Peter's question.

  "Apparently all the first team players have gone off to one of the pubs in town to get drunk, according to those two," declared Andy, indicating the two first team players with the shrug of his head.

  "Why the hell have they done that?" stated one of the players.

  "Bad losers," somebody muttered, to the sound of much sniggering from the rest of the team.

  "All I know," said Andy "is that they were all persuaded to go by that Manson bloke who plays up front for them. The one who went head to head with Peter here."

  The whole team looked at Peter and let out a knowing, "Ahhhh."

  "Those two over there," continued Andy, "are as embarrassed and shocked about it as we are, so don't give them a hard time," he said, waving his finger in front of all the second team players gathered round.

  Moments later it was forgotten, with some of the team breaking into song, while others made for the pool table and gaming machines. Due to their later start, it was now early evening, the huge bar being the quietest it had been all day, and would almost certainly have been empty if not for the match that had been played on the Astroturf. With everyone dispersing to various corners of the bar, Peter headed on over to his friends.

  "Can I get you both a drink?" he asked as he approached the table.

  Tank looked at his watch thoughtfully.

  "Just got time for one more," he said, raising his eyebrows and winking conspiratorially.

  "You've had a big day. Congratulations on the result by the way. Well done," added Richie, gulping down the last of her drink and handing the empty glass to Peter.

  "Yeah, well done mate," remarked Tank. "On that subject though, we've got something we really need to talk to you about."

  "TANK," declared Richie. "I thought we agreed to tell him later."

  "Oh yeah... sorry Rich."

  "What's going on?" asked Peter intrigued.

  "Grab the drinks and we'll tell you."

  Peter wandered off to the bar to get fresh drinks for his friends, carrying the empty glasses. As he approached he saw Janice slip round the front of the deserted bar from somewhere out the back. With her friendly smile beaming at him, he nearly dropped the glasses instead of putting them back on the bar itself. Only his quick dragon reflexes saved him.

  "Did you win?" asked Janice in her infectious, bubbly way.

  "Ummm... it was a draw, but it certainly felt like a win," Peter managed to babble, unused to any sort of attention from someone so attractive.

  "Oh look," squeaked Janice, "your friends are waving at us."

  Sure enough, Peter turned to see Tank and Richie waving in their direction, having recognised a little something between the two of them, doing their utmost to try and embarrass him. Fully trained in lip reading, he was taken aback by some of the things that Richie was mouthing. They were very rude indeed. He just hoped that Janice lacked that particular skill; luckily for him, it seemed that she did. Turning back to the beautiful bar worker, all the while ignoring his friends and hoping against hope that nobody from his team cottoned on to what was happening, because if they did, Tank and Richie would be the least of his worries, he was just about to order the drinks, when he was beaten to it.

  "What can I get you?" asked Janice politely.

  "Can I have a pint of bitter, a diet Pepsi with some ice and... a traffic light please," ventured Peter, uncomfortable about ordering Richie her traffic light cocktail.

  "Oh... who's the traffic light for?"

  "It's for my friend Richie, the one who was waving and trying to whistle," cringed Peter.

  "Ahhh," sighed Janice, starting to get the drinks. "Is she your girlfriend?"

  He couldn't find the right word to describe it. Uncomfortable was as close as he could get, but it wasn't that. It was an odd feeling. His legs felt both light and heavy at the same time, while something strange started to happen in his stomach. Combine that with his temperature rocketing skywards, it made for a very 'out of his comfort zone' dragon. Worst of all, he didn't know why.

  "No, no, nothing like that. She's one of my best friends; we've known each other since... school." Being so flustered, he'd nearly blurted out... nursery ring! That would just about have finished things off.

  "Oh," countered Janice. "That's really nice. I think it shows a lot of maturity to have a
member of the opposite sex as a best friend."

  Peter nodded in agreement, not entirely trusting his mouth, as he handed over a ten pound note. Janice quickly returned with the change.

  "Perhaps I'll see you on Tuesday after training?" she suggested, with a big smile as Peter headed off towards his friends with all the drinks. He turned over his shoulder and just managed to get out, "I hope so," before he staggered out of range. Placing the drinks on the table, he flopped down into the chair opposite his friends, waiting for the inevitable. It didn't take long.

  "Welllllllll!!!!! Look at you, you... human women attractor!" slurred Richie as she picked up her drink.

  "I think you mean... magnet," added Tank, taking a big gulp from his fresh drink, trying to contain his laughter.

  Peter gave both his friends the look. The one that said, “NO MORE PLEASE!” Thankfully they both seemed to take the hint, but he knew for certain he'd hear more about this from Richie at some point in the future, given her rather dubious dalliances.

  "Well... ?" questioned Peter.

  They both looked at him, puzzled.

  "There was something you were going to tell me."

  "Ahhh," they both said at once.

  With nobody in eavesdropping range, Tank and Richie started to tell Peter about everything they'd spotted at the match: the swathe of strange mist that encompassed each second team player, making them unresponsive and at fault for the goal conceded, and the way Tank cast his cunning mantra to remove all trace of it. In turn, Peter told his friends about how he noticed Manson chanting something before the restart, the ball seemingly moving on the goal line, and about the threats he'd made at the end of match. Richie looked absolutely stunned, and while she didn't actually offer up an apology, he got the distinct impression that despite the alcohol taking its toll on her, she did feel very sorry for siding with that slime ball Manson. All three of them agreed to rally together and use all the resources available to them to try and find out exactly what Manson was up to, with a view to thwarting whatever dastardly plan he had in motion.

  Glimpsing down at his watch, Tank was shocked at how long the three of them had been talking. Looking at his two friends, he tapped the face of his watch and mouthed the words, “laminium ball match.” From the look on their faces, it was clear that they'd forgotten all about the game as well. Standing up, Peter pulled out his car keys, ready to head for home and of course the big event. Tank followed suit, leaving Richie languishing in her comfortable chair.

  "C'mon Rich," ushered Peter. "Finish up your drink, it's time to go."

  Richie wobbled to her feet, much to Tank's delight and Peter's frustration. Squinting and swaying just slightly, she rocked up closer to Peter and slurred,

  "For now hockey player," she said poking him in the chest, "you are driving me and the big one to your... house as both me... hic... and the huge one... hic... have had waaaayyyyyy too much to drink. Onwards and upwards. My chariot awaits!"

  "Yes," replied Tank flashing his best smile, "the big one has had a lot of beer but unlike the little one, has chosen not to let it affect him in any way."

  "Spoilsport," slurred Richie.

  All three of them made their way back through the bar towards the exit, Peter saying goodbye to the remainder of his team who were, by now, in much the same state as Richie, who was being comically guided by Tank around the maze of chairs and tables. As the cold night air hit them, Peter let go of Richie's arm, having taken it to offer up a bit of stability and support as they left the bar. Without anything to hold onto, she promptly fell flat on her face on the cold, hard concrete floor.

  "Heeeeeyyyyyy!" she yelled, looking up at Peter. "That's not very friendly."

  Peter leaned down very close and whispered in her ear, his breath freezing as he did so.

  "You know full well Rich, that with one click of your fingers, so to speak, you could purge all the alcohol from your system. Your dragon physiology allows you not to be affected by its influence but every now and then you insist on experiencing its effects. Well, the next time you want that experience, get somebody else to carry you through the bar." With that, the hockey playing dragon turned around and stomped off towards his car, which was parked on the far side of the car park.

  Rolling her eyes, Richie lay spread-eagled exactly where Peter had dropped her.

  "Grumpy teetotaller!" she shouted after him. "Tank... do you mind?"

  Having taken a step back, hoping not to get involved, Tank knew that it was too late now as he picked Richie up, threw her over one of his gigantic shoulders and headed off in the direction of Peter. Once at the car, he threw her into the back seat, before whispering to the sober driver.

  "Just be thankful that she just gets a little silly when she's drunk. Can you imagine what would happen if she got a little bit feisty? We'd have to get the King's Guard up here to contain her."

  A short, silent drive later, the three of them arrived at Peter's house. Peter and Tank got out first, while Richie lounged across both back seats. Peter stood with his hands on his hips, glaring down at her.

  "All right, all right I'm doing it," she protested. And with that, she closed her eyes momentarily and... bam! Sober as a judge.

  "Happy now?" she enquired, as they walked up the garden path.

  "Much better," acknowledged Peter.

  "You really should try it, you old stick in the mud."

  "Why on earth would I want to do that?" spat Peter. Can you remember the last time we went to the cinema? I seem to recall it was a Saturday night and the film finished at eleven. We decided to walk back to your place if memory serves me correctly."

  Wishing she hadn't asked, she now had a vague idea as to just where this was going and although she was too stubborn to tell him, he did make a very good point.

  "Salisbridge High Street looked like the aftermath of a war: people lying in the gutter, others throwing up, some urinating in shop doorways. And that's the best you could say about it. There were groups of girls fighting amongst themselves, three blokes having an argument with a taxi driver, passengers being thrown off buses, not to mention the two gangs of youths having a running battle at the end of the street, all watched by a van full of police, too afraid to get out and involved. And can you blame them? I mean, where on earth are they supposed to even start? That was at eleven. What's it like at two in the morning? And you know full well that almost all of it is fuelled by alcohol. It's the same discussion we've had time and again Rich. You accuse me of being dull and unadventurous, but you only need to look at the binge drinking and alcoholics. Salisbridge is only a tiny little city. This happens throughout the country night after night and frankly it's out of control. If I was on the dragon Council, it's one of the first things I'd try and change. I'm all for guiding the human race and letting them fulfil their potential, but on some issues we take a back seat when we know how damaging they are and this, I do believe, is one of them."

  Peter stood on his doorstep, hoping that none of the neighbours had heard any of that, looking at his friends, both of whom carried expressions of complete and utter shock.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to go off on one... it's just that... ah... never mind. Let's just say it's something I have extremely strong views on and leave it at that. Forgiven?"

  Tank and Richie both nodded in agreement, much to Peter's relief. Entering the house, all three were excited about watching their team compete in the semi final of the Global Cup.

  13 Nursing a Semi (Final, that is)

  Once inside, Tank got straight to work on the television, connecting the crystal and tuning it in. Peter and Richie headed into the kitchen to prepare some snacks. With his rant about alcohol over, the two friends soon started larking about, something that within minutes had turned into an almost full on food fight. Peter threw carrots, cucumbers and then celery at Richie, who in a blur, caught the aforementioned items and, at incredible speed, chopped them into edible slices to serve with a selection of dips. Halfway through the choppi
ng, Richie stopped abruptly, wandered over to Peter and surprisingly pulled his shirt wide open at the neck. Gently, she placed her hand under the alea, making sure not to pull the chain onto which it was attached, too tight. More than a little gobsmacked, she leaned right into Peter's chest for a better view. After a silence that bordered on the uncomfortable, she finally spoke up.

  "I've never seen anything like it. What is it?"

  Peter looked anxiously at the door to the living room, hoping that Tank wouldn't come in.

  "It's called an alea," he replied, smiling down at his friend’s head nestled close to his chest.

  "It's so... captivating."

  Peter nodded his agreement.

  "Yes it is."

  "What's it for?" whispered Richie.

  Over the course of the next few minutes, he explained how he'd inherited it from Mark Hiscock, how Gee Tee had told him what it was and in particular how Tank had no idea that Peter had been to see the old dragon on that very memorable night. All the time Richie couldn't take her eyes off the spectacular piece of jewellery.

  "Name your price?"

  "Huh?"

  "Whatever you want, just name it."

  Gently drawing his friend's fingers away from the alea, a very staggered Peter looked her straight in the eyes.

  "I'm really sorry Rich," he said, meaning every word, "but I just don't want to part with it."

  A millisecond's worth of angry scowl appeared and then disappeared on Richie's face.

  "I understand," she whispered softly.

  And then everything returned to normal. Richie threw two sticks of celery high into the air and in a dazzling display of dexterity proceeded to cut them into bite sized strips, before they hit the kitchen work surface. Peter joined in and the kitchen turned into a bizarre experiment that looked like someone had crossed two Gordon Ramsays with a circus act as knives and vegetables flew across the kitchen in a blur.

  Just as the two vegetable jugglers had run out of ammunition and had decided to use the last carrot and cucumber as swords to fight like pirates, sideways on, with one hand each behind their backs, they heard Tank's voice from the living room, urging them to take a look at something. Sword fighting their way into the living room pirate style (Peter's carrot by this time had most certainly seen better days), the two friends entered to see Tank cross legged on the floor in front of the huge LCD television, gazing intently at the picture.