by Paul Cude
The lady (or dragon) behind the counter was known as Madam Ladybird, and was renowned for the charity work she carried out not just in the human world up above, but also in the dragon domain down below. As well as working in the arcade, she was its owner and had been for some time.
Stepping out into the daylight, Peter found himself looking out across Swanage Bay, a sight he never got tired of, even on a chilly day like today. Much as the heat and warmth of the underground world he called home felt wonderful, there was something mesmerising about the sea, and this view in particular, that he found intoxicating. Whether it was the golden sand, the overpowering cliffs, the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the shore, just the right number of boats in the bay, the breathtaking view of the Isle of Wight and the Needles or the tummy rumbling smell of fish and chips, he just didn't know, but Peter felt this could well be his spiritual home, if such a thing existed.
Turning, he headed east along the seafront, past the three storey homes that were successfully rented to holiday makers throughout the year. In the distance he could just make out the shrill whistle of one of the steam trains that ran regularly on the celebrated railway. Walking towards the main stretch of beach, his attention was drawn to the waves rolling in and crashing on the sand only a few feet below the raised walkway he was on.
'The tide,' he thought, 'seems to be neither in nor out.'
Continuing past two bars and a couple of shops that sold all sorts of holiday stuff (inflatable boats, beach balls, boogie boards, buckets and spades, towels, swimwear, that kind of thing) he made it onto the road that ran behind the main expanse of beach, walking past another arcade, a fish and chip shop, the information centre and a newly designed toilet block. Set back from the road, past the aforementioned facilities, was a row of brightly coloured beach huts.
Bending down on the pavement, pretending to tie his shoelaces, he looked along the beach front to see if anyone was acting suspiciously or paying him any undue attention. He saw several couples with young children, a couple of groups of youths and numerous elderly people dotted about the place, taking in the brisk sea air, but nobody looking at him. Keeping his wits about him, he wandered down in front of all the beach huts. Being the end of October, none of them were in use. Probably luck more than anything, as he'd been here much later in the year and found huts with their doors open, with people sitting down inside, taking in the sights.
Eventually finding the hut he was looking for, he carefully placed one finger on the tip of a rusty old nail that poked ominously out of the door frame and using two fingers on his other hand, pulled out a small fragment of wood from the side of the hut, just a few inches. With the wood fragment pulled out as far as it would go, he pushed down on the tip of the nail until a satisfying 'click' could be heard as the door unlocked. All this happened in a split second. For a human to have witnessed it, there would have to have been an awful lot of luck involved. Checking quickly in the reflection of the hut's window, satisfied, he squeezed inside, silently shutting the door behind him. Looking out at the seafront through the once white, musty, net curtain, he once again checked that nobody had paid him any attention. Nobody had. Satisfied that he hadn't been seen, he turned his gaze to the interior of the hut. It was just as he'd remembered, right down to the ancient white gas stove that stood in the back right hand corner and the blue and white striped deck chair placed smack bang in the middle of the floor.
'I'm sure the deck chair had red stripes,' he thought, wondering if his eidetic memory was playing up in some way, shape or form. Half deflated beach balls and inflatable dinghies were all propped up in the other corner, along with an array of mismatched oars to heaven only knew what sort of boats. An old metallic white fridge stood at waist height next to the stove, a brown electric kettle straight out of the 1970's keeping it company. He wrinkled his nose as he took a step further into the hut. It smelt of old carpet, decaying mould and strangely... candy floss. Running his hand along the old worktop that the kettle sat on, he was rewarded with the thickest layer of dust he'd ever seen in his entire life, accumulating on the side of his fingers.
'Exactly as I remember it,' he thought, ignoring the OCD tidying instinct that threatened to overwhelm his body.
Jolted out of his daydreaming by the sound of small children running and laughing, he knew better than to hang around for no apparent reason. His body screamed at him to get on and activate the entrance as soon as possible. Racking his brain, for this was another puzzle activated entrance, just like the children's park, which ironically was only a stone's throw from where he now stood, he thought long and hard about exactly what to do. First, he took the lid off the dark brown kettle, checking first to make sure it was plugged into the dilapidated mains socket. Next, he opened the fridge door, while the light inside stuttered and flickered on, looking as though it was about to fail. Inside the fridge door, there were three bottles of ancient looking lemonade. Carefully taking out the first bottle, he poured its entire contents into the kettle, before putting the lid back on and flicking the switch to boil, whilst at the same time putting the empty bottle back in the fridge and shutting the door. All he had to do now, he knew, was sit back in the deck chair and wait for the kettle to boil. Slumping down in the deck chair, he looked at his watch. From what he could remember, the whole thing would take about three minutes. Desperate to keep his mind occupied in an attempt to ignore the urge that threatened to overcome him, he glanced around at the old junk. It was no good. He just had to look. Standing up, he paced over to the fridge and opened the door. Sure enough, all three bottles of lemonade were now full. Marvelling at the magic behind the mantra, only one thought shot through his head.
'It must be some sort of self replicating mantra,' he mused, vowing to ask his friend Gee Tee about it when their paths next crossed.
The sound of the kettle bubbling away made him leap back into the deck chair, ready for his journey below. Through the dirty net curtain that covered the window, he could just make out a brilliant luminescent rainbow that stretched from one end of the bay to the other, looking stunning against the back drop of the grey autumn sky. Abruptly, the floor beneath him opened up and swallowed the deck chair whole. Had anyone been in the hut watching, all they would have seen was a section of the dusty old floor rotate through one hundred and eighty degrees, with a new deck chair, this one red striped, appearing again in the middle of the hut.
Peter found himself zooming down a steep rocky slope mostly in the dark, occasionally lit by tiny patches of lava that he either zipped over or noticed low down to the side of the deck chair's crazy trajectory. Sparks flew from the metal feet on the bottom of the chair that constantly remained in contact with the twisting rocky path. Nothing short of exhilarating, the screeching ride with its sharp twists and turns in the near dark had his heart beating double time, especially on some of the steeper drops and the wicked hairpin bends. Speeding along at an unbelievable rate, he guessed he was travelling in excess of ninety miles an hour. Something he'd never been able to work out, in all the times he'd taken this journey, was whether or not he had any control over the ride. It always seemed as though he could affect the course of the chair by throwing his weight to one side, changing direction ever so slightly, but he always got the impression that the chair itself was almost... humouring him, if such a thing were even possible.
Without warning, the angle of descent increased dramatically, along with the speed, forcing him back in the chair as the screeching of metal on rock got louder and the sparks from the feet got wilder. Gripping the side of the chair for all he was worth, he prepared himself for what was to come.
Sure enough, it came. The excruciating drop changed in a split second, being replaced by a feeling of heading up a slope, and then... aaaahhhhhhhhhhh!
Even though he knew what to expect, the ferocity of it took him completely by surprise. The very first time he'd used this entrance with Tank and Richie, it had been explained to him that this section of the track was
what can only be described as a 'loop the loop'. Used to 'G' forces of varying intensities, this was nothing new to dragons who regularly pulled more G's than most fighter pilots. This loop the loop though was something else. Maybe because the darkness didn't allow you to anticipate what was coming next, just the sheer speed, the enclosed space, or a combination of them all, the only thing that Peter knew was that this ride was like nothing else he'd ever experienced. It combined fear and excitement in equal measures, which certainly got his blood pumping.
Once through the loop the loop, he found himself back on a relatively gentle slope in the deck chair, but instead of facing forwards to travel down the slope, the chair itself was turning in circles, much like the Waltzers at the fun fair that comes to Salisbridge market place every year.
Just as he was regretting having eaten the scrummy 'Charcoal Surprise', the circles stopped and it slowed right down. Looking around, the faint light of liquid lava showed him that he'd come to a halt at a complete dead end. A solid rock face stood no more than three metres away, blocking the entire route. Peter sat tangled in the chair, legs almost around his ears, puzzled. For the life of him, he couldn't remember this part of the journey. As far as he could recall, the chair was supposed to cross paths with two underground streams, travelling down one for a short period, before hitting a tight spiral and ending up just on the outskirts of Purbeck Peninsula.
Grabbing the armrests of the chair to lift himself out, he decided to get up and look around. Halfway to a standing position the chair unexpectedly folded up on him, disappearing into a very small opening that had appeared beneath it. He couldn't move. Not an inch, with his knees firmly clamped against his chin, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't force the chair any wider apart. Changing forms flicked briefly through his mind, but given the vice like grip the chair had on him, he wasn't so sure it was a good idea. All he knew was that he and the chair were falling fast now, very fast, and as far as he could remember this was not supposed to happen.
Suddenly, the speeding V shaped deck chair with Peter sandwiched in the middle, tore through a mass of thick roots and vines as it shot out into the top of a well lit cavern. Craning his neck to look back down the side of the chair, he could just make out dragons in natural and human form walking along a well worn path hundreds of metres below.
'Don't they realise I'm about to fall to my doom?' he thought, preparing to scream at the top of his voice in the hope that someone would come to his aid. Opening his mouth to do just that, he realised that his descent had started to slow. It was then that he noticed the roots of the plant, that he'd fallen through on entering the cavern, had in fact attached themselves to the deck chair and were responsible for slowing the fall. The roots and vines seemed to have an almost elastic quality, something Peter was only just noticing now that he was able to look back up towards the roof itself.
Still sandwiched in the V shape, instead of falling it was now more like being lowered. Half a metre from the ground, the roots let go of the chair, whipping back up through the air, no doubt waiting for the next poor sucker to use that particular entrance. Landing with the click of metal on rock, the deck chair sprang fully open, allowing Peter to bound out, to applause and laughter from smirking dragons all around. Trying hard to look casual, but not really pulling it off, he stepped through the gap in the short wall and onto the busy path. His legs felt like rubber. Deciding momentarily to sit down on the wall and regain his composure, he felt a giant hand slap him on the shoulder.
"Shook you up a bit did it, son?"
He turned round to find a tall, mature, spindly-looking dragon, munching on a stick of charcoal, looking down at him.
"It just wasn't quite as I remembered it," stammered Peter.
The dragon let out a high pitched giggle, and something of a splutter as a lump of charcoal seemed to stick in his jaws.
"They only changed it a week ago. It had to be closed off because part of the main shaft collapsed when a small tremor hit."
'Ahh,' thought Peter, 'it all makes sense now. Emergency repair teams often come up with some ingenious solution to a critical problem, which would certainly explain the giant plant and its over-friendly roots.’
Peter gave the tall dragon a reluctant smile.
"Thanks for letting me know. I was starting to feel more than a little stupid."
"That's okay son. Most of the dragons walking along here are only doing so in the hope of seeing some unsuspecting traveller get a bit more than they bargained for. If you stick around long enough, someone else will come down."
With that, the dragon patted Peter on the shoulder, turned and walked slowly away. He stayed sitting on the squat stone wall, getting nods and smiles from those that had seen his fall in the deck chair. Sitting there, he suddenly felt his mobile phone vibrate in his pocket. Bemused, he took the phone out and had a look. At some point he'd received a text message.
'Must have happened while I was at the surface briefly,' he thought. Bringing the message up, he opened it, pleased to see it was from Tank. The message read:
Pete, what a night. Still can't believe it. Trying my best to get tickets to the final. Also got something for you from my boss. Will pop round Thursday night if that's okay. Let me know. Tank.
'What on earth can Gee Tee have given him?' Peter wondered, starting to reply. About halfway through, he heard an echoing scream from high above him. Those dragons around him all glanced up at the top of the cavern, where the thick rooted plant had taken hold. Sure enough, a small dark gap appeared in the middle of it, followed shortly by another unsuspecting victim, sandwiched in the middle of a deck chair, rocketing towards the ground.
'I was right,' he thought. 'There was a red and white striped deck chair.' Smiling and shaking his head as the plant's long roots locked themselves around the chair, gradually splaying out, slowing the fall and bringing the dragon, in the form of a rather stricken old lady, to a gradual halt, only metres away from him.
Finishing his text, remembering to mention the 'Charcoal Surprise', knowing his friend would like it as much as he had, he headed for home, having had enough excitement for one day, constantly thinking about what his friend had for him from the master mantra maker. Thursday evening couldn't come round fast enough as far as he was concerned.
Work was fairly routine, with absolutely no sign of Manson whatsoever. He didn't even appear to be in the grounds of Cropptech, with no one having seen hide nor hair of his black Mercedes. His armed guards, or as Peter like to think of them, gun toting goons, still patrolled certain areas of the facility, making him more than a little uncomfortable, but without Al Garrett's help, there was absolutely no way to remove them.
Using up a little of his accrued flexitime, he finished an hour early on Thursday, keen to meet up with Tank and find out what was going on. He didn't have to wait long before the doorbell of his house rang. He opened the door to be greeted by his friend's big toothy smile.
"Evening!" declared Tank, squeezing past Peter into the narrow hallway.
"Come on in, why don't you?" replied Peter jokingly, as Tank swept down the hall.
Sitting down opposite each other in the living room, Peter couldn't contain his eagerness any longer.
"Come on then... spill it. What's the old shopkeeper got for me?"
"First things first," interjected Tank. "Guess what I managed to get hold of?"
Peter just wanted whatever it was that Gee Tee had sent Tank to deliver. He wasn't in the mood to play guessing games. Shame. He'd have really liked this one.
"I don't know. Please can I have whatever it is that Gee Tee's sent?"
Tank waved a finger at his friend, admonishing him for being so impatient.
"I have something way better than anything the old dragon's sent you. Three things in fact," he said raising his eyebrows.
Peter became suspicious.
'Three things', he thought. 'Hmmmm.' Then it dawned on him.
"NO WAY... YOU... YOU... HAVEN'T, HA
VE YOU?"
"Yep," quipped Tank, pulling three large golden tickets from the inside of his jacket pocket. "Three tickets to the Grand Final of the Global Cup, to be held in Australia on Sunday the 6th of November."
Peter was flabbergasted. He took one of the tickets from Tank's mighty hand and gazed lovingly at it. It was genuine, all there in gold and white, tickets to the final of the Global Cup between the Flaming Fire Crackers and the Indigo Warriors. After a few seconds of worshipping the ticket, he leapt up in the air to celebrate and then, grabbing his friend's hand, shook it furiously.
"You are the absolute best, man. I can't thank you enough. What do I owe you?"
Tank shook off Peter's comparatively feeble grip and smiled.
"You don't owe me anything. The tickets are on me. Let's just all three of us go to the game and watch the Warriors become champions of the world."
"Agreed," Peter added, handing back his ticket to Tank. "Perhaps you'd better hold on to all the tickets, for safekeeping."
"Sure thing," said Tank, taking the ticket and putting all three back in the inside pocket of his jacket. Once the tickets were safely tucked away, he pulled out a leather bound parcel wrapped in delicate twine that was about the size of his fist. Gently, he passed it over to Peter. Holding it with both hands, Peter asked Tank,
"What is it?"
"Typically, I don't know. You'll have to open it to find out. Gee Tee said that it would help you wrestle back control of Cropptech."
Carefully, Peter untied the twine and then slowly unfolded the creased green leather. Inside lay a black fabric pouch, tied at the top, with a crinkled up note in the old dragon's handwriting beneath it. Holding up the pouch, he looked at it with one hand, while picking up the note and reading it with the other.
