Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  Starting off, swaying from side to side as it dipped in and out of ever more potholes, the van, much to his surprise, went back to being on a perfectly flat surface again. If they were back on a main road, which clearly didn't make any sense at all, but if they were, that could only be a good thing, he mused optimistically. That thought, and any hope that remained, was shattered only a few seconds later when the van came to a halt and turned off its engine. The sound of doors being opened and closed again reverberated through the chilly air, but that wasn't what terrified him the most, giving his shivers shivers of their own. It was the tailgates on the other vehicles being lowered.

  'This is it,' he thought. Mustering everything he had, and using thoughts of his friends as motivation in the hope that it might give him that bit extra, he fought to bring forth the magic that was rightfully his.

  'Damn, still nothing.' Close, so close. He could feel his power bubbling just beneath the surface, soooo very close, but agonisingly out of reach.

  'Just a few more minutes,' he mused. 'Please let them ignore me for just a few more minutes. That might be enough.'

  With darkness surrounding him, he rubbed his limbs frantically, knowing that even a few seconds might make the difference. He could hear the voices again, and they weren't far away. It sounded as though there were at least six or seven of them. While he was listening intently, trying to glean anything that would help him later, he could just make out... something in the background. It sounded like a... concert or something like that, but try as he might, he couldn't fathom the exact content.

  * * *

  In an all but empty bar, Tank and Richie finished their drinks. Hundreds of people, young and old, packed the outside patio area and the lacrosse spectator zone, waiting in anticipation for the bonfire to be lit and for the fireworks to start. Grabbing their jackets from their respective bar stools, the two friends headed for the open doors that led outside.

  As they did so, the reflection of dozens of different coloured sparklers twinkled off the adjoining windows. The children, Richie noted as she stepped outside just in front of Tank, were all having a whale of a time, creating different patterns with their mesmerising sticks of fire that cut finely through the air in front of them, each and every one of them laughing their little socks off. As she watched, a pang of sorrow swept over her, which came as something of a surprise once she recognised it for what it was. Slipping her coat over her shoulders to protect herself from the biting cold, something she and Tank were more aware of than most here, she tried to understand what had stirred such powerful feelings inside her.

  They stood at the back of the crowd, gazing over people's heads, waiting for it all to start. Children on their parents’ shoulders rubbed their hands excitedly, each dressed in colourful attire. Richie, searching inside herself for some answers to the sudden onslaught of emotion, abruptly had a moment of clarity when it all became clear. Children! It was because of the children. It was so obvious now that she thought about it. Like a startling revelation, she realised that she envied all the humans, because of their... children. She wanted what they had.

  'Oh my God,' she thought, 'as if it isn't bad enough that I play lacrosse, spend nearly all my time amongst them and engage in arm wrestling contests, but now like them, I want to have... children.' In her mind she pictured the entire dragon Council toppling over like dominoes when it was announced that a certain lacrosse playing female dragon wanted to have children just as the humans did, and raise them that way. A huge contented grin crossed her face as she cuddled up to Tank for some extra warmth.

  They stood alongside everybody else, waiting patiently for proceedings to begin. From the look of things, the chairman of the sports club would be taking hold of the microphone on the hastily erected stage to kick things off, just after the music being piped through the PA system finished. Both friends continued to gaze out over the darkened lacrosse pitch to the barely visible bonfire beyond, that was about to be lit. On one side of the lacrosse pitch lay the churned up, muddy rugby pitch with its big floodlights, now of course turned off. If you looked carefully in the dark, the giant H shaped posts could just be seen. Over on the other side of the lacrosse pitch sat the now deserted Astroturf hockey pitch. Like the rugby pitch, the floodlights were switched off, to give everyone a better view of the fireworks. Although the hockey pitch was only fifty or so yards away, because of the absolute darkness that enveloped it, it might as well have been on a different planet.

  * * *

  The tailgate handle of the van squeaked as it turned. Terror raced fear up Peter's spine to see which one would win as the doors whooshed open, letting in a different kind of darkness to the one that he had experienced in the last few hours.

  "Ahhhh... look, he's cuddled up like a little fluffy bunny," claimed a voice sarcastically, as the light of a torch played across Peter's face.

  Out of the darkness two pairs of hands appeared and began pulling the metal nets attached to the cocoon towards the back doors of the van.

  "Sorry fluffy," mocked the sarcastic voice once again as Peter clumsily slid towards it, "but we can't have you missing the big show. Boss's orders I'm afraid."

  Wrapped up in the cocoon, slowly sliding towards the open door at the back of the van and goodness knows what kind of fate, he made one last concerted effort to free his hands from the restraints. To his utter astonishment, it worked. His hands were free, without anyone else realising it. More confident now that he was unshackled, he decided to bide his time and wait for the right opportunity to present itself. Things were looking up.

  The last part of his exit from the van was particularly unpleasant. Two large pairs of hands gave a huge yank on the netting, speeding him up, and as he reached the tailgate an enormous fist caught him fully in the middle of his stomach, knocking the wind straight out of him, before he was unceremoniously dumped on the freezing ground. Trying to adjust his eyes to the new environment, all he could tell at the moment was that he was somewhere outside, as the sound of the cocoon that had sheltered him being ripped open assaulted his frozen ears. He wriggled around, acting as frightened as he could, so that no one would realise his hands were free.

  'The longer no one suspects,' he thought, 'the more time it buys me to find the right opportunity.'

  As he was pulled free from the last shredded fragments of the patchwork of coats, a large hand grabbed his shoulder and sent him tumbling towards the floor, face first. Midway through his fall, he managed to spectacularly roll around, landing on his back, concealing the fact that his hands were no longer bound. Landing with a huge bump, his hands took the brunt of the impact. Pain scampered up both his arms, causing him to let out a little squeal, much to his captors’ delight. However, it wasn't the pain up his arms that caused him the most concern. It was the fact that the skin on the back of both his hands had been burnt off quite badly as he'd landed. He recognised the sensation immediately; after all, he'd been experiencing it for nearly two whole years now on a regular basis. He was on an Astroturf pitch!

  'What the hell is going on?' he wondered, through the pain and the cold biting at his body.

  He wouldn't have to wait very long to find out.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, not a million miles away, Richie and Tank cuddled up to each other in their big thick coats, watching as the chairman of the sports club thanked the usual people for their help in making the display possible. Drifting on the cold, misty air, the aroma of sizzling hot food wafted over the crowd from the stalls at the front of the building. Stars lit up the sky like diamonds atop a black velvet cloak, with not a cloud in sight. Everyone's breath froze as they exhaled, most of the young children absolutely fascinated by it. For a dragon, even dressed from head to toe in warm clobber, none of this was particularly pleasant. Every time the two friends pulled in a deep breath, it felt like they were inhaling a swarm of hungry insects nipping away on everything on both inward and outward journeys. Dragons, you have to remember, are comfortable in exce
edingly high temperatures, with their flames generally agreed to be somewhere in the region of 800 degrees, so by comparison it's quite understandable that a temperature in minus figures would cause very different effects in a multitude of different dragons. Some can withstand the cold, suffering only slight irritability, while others suffer extreme pain, in some cases passing out altogether. Tank and Richie both seemed to lie somewhere in between the two extremes.

  Finishing his speech, the chairman started to count down on the microphone, the children all joining in as loudly as they could. Approaching five, more adults started to join in. 4... 3... 2... 1...

  Exactly as planned, the bonfire erupted into life, clearly enhanced by something very flammable. A dreamy look crossed the two friends' faces at exactly the same time, as they both gazed lovingly at the bright yellow and orange twisting flames that danced and swirled in the distance.

  * * *

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he knew, however unlikely it was, that he was on the Astroturf pitch at the sports club. The noise that he hadn't been able to identify before, he now knew was music piped through a PA system not very far away, even though he struggled to make out the exact content. Pulled roughly to his feet, he tried desperately to keep his hands hidden, all the while taking in his surroundings to see exactly where he was. Dragged forward by two burly blokes, each digging into one of his biceps with their fingernails, Peter counted the number of people he could see on the Astroturf, by the corresponding number of torch beams.

  'Six,' he thought, 'plus the two either side of me. 'Not as bad as it could be. I think I might have half a chance now that my hands are free.'

  A sneaky look round confirmed his suspicions. It was the Astroturf at Salisbridge. He could just make out the side of the clubhouse, which was partially obscured by some kind of misty barrier that extended its way around the entire pitch. As if his suspicions needed confirmation, a giant bonfire blazed into life about three hundred yards away.

  'My God, the fireworks display,' he thought. 'I really am here. Tank and Richie must be just over there. All I need to do is attract their attention. Things really are looking up.' A short, sharp punch in the back brought Peter to his knees, and back to the reality of the situation. Painfully he managed to lurch to his feet, all the time keeping his hands together, despite the muscles in his legs feeling as though they'd turned to jelly. Two of the torch lights broke off from the group and headed towards Peter and the two henchmen. It was hard to make out any detail in the darkness, but as the torches got closer, he could just make out two maniacal grins.

  'Theobald and Casey.'

  "Not getting a bit cold are you... Benty?"

  Peter shook his head in disgust as he stood in the freezing cold in just his shorts and hooded top, all the warmth from his van ride already having dissipated.

  "There's still time you know. I'll even speak up to the Council on your behalf if you stop this now and come peacefully."

  Theobald and Casey both doubled up with laughter.

  "Tell us Benty, do you really think you're in any position to speak to the Council?" mocked Casey, through the laughter.

  "They'll find out," remarked Peter. "You know as well as I do that they will."

  "Maybe so Benty. But do we look as though we give a damn?" snarled Theobald menacingly, all signs of the laughter having disappeared.

  Something about this caused a chill to run down Peter's spine, despite the fact he was barely dressed on a freezing Astroturf pitch on one of the coldest November evenings in living memory. It wasn't so much what was said, he thought as he faced the two bullies, it was the offhand manner in which they said it, almost as if the outcome had been predetermined, with Peter having absolutely no say at all in it.

  Looking beyond his two tormentors, he could just see two other vans on what he guessed was about the middle of the synthetic pitch. With his eyesight adjusting all the time, he could just make out that the tailgates were open and the figures with the torches were unloading something onto the pitch. It was, however, impossible to see exactly what the cargo was. All he could gather was that it looked heavy, and there seemed to be a lot of it.

  "Taking an interest in our little operation, eh Benty?" observed Theobald, having caught Peter looking over at the vans.

  Deciding to remain silent, Peter was no longer sure he could hold his temper and wait for the right opportunity. With every second that passed he was getting colder and colder and with that, weaker and further away from accessing his dragon powers. Unlike both Casey and Theobald who were wrapped up in very flash looking outdoor weather gear.

  'They could probably access their powers in an instant,' he thought, 'and tear me apart, no trouble at all.'

  "Cat got your tongue... Benty?"

  "Yeah, come on Benty, give your old nursery ring mates a smile will ya?"

  Both goons squeezing Peter's biceps from behind swapped confused expressions at the mention of nursery rings. In fact much of the night's activities seemed beyond them. They only knew that they were getting paid mighty well for one night's work.

  Peter remained silent.

  "Ahh well, perhaps you'll be more talkative for the boss," taunted Theobald. Casey just stood there and sniggered.

  "And look, here he comes now."

  * * *

  With the bonfire blazing in all its glory, the crowd, including Tank and Richie, were on their second countdown of the night, once again being led by the chairman of the sports club, who it had to be said, looked totally out of sorts. Despite missing Peter, the worry that entailed and the pain caused by inhaling the extremely cold air, both friends took great comfort from the giant bonfire, even though it was some distance away. Nobody seemed bored with yet another countdown, in fact the children, if anything, were more excited this time round, probably something to do with the impending FIREWORKS!

  "6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1..."

  The squeal of rockets zooming into the air, followed by them bursting into supernovas, surrounded the crowd. That special firework smell that can only mean it's bonfire night, hung in the chilly air. Exploding arrays of colour lit up the sky above the lacrosse pitch and the bonfire on the ground beyond it. Bright blue, purple, orange, pink, green, yellow and red filled the air in almost every direction, thrilling not just the youngsters but the adults as well. Combined with that overwhelming sound, and the thick smell of cooked food, for most, it was the perfect winter's evening. As one, the crowd cheered, baying for more. Fireworks continued raining into the sky.

  * * *

  Peter froze as the fireworks beyond the Astroturf cut through the air, lighting up the entire sky. It wasn't because he was so close to his friends that he could call out, no. It was because the stunning colours and bright lights had backlit the foreboding figure of Manson, stick in hand, skulking towards him. Whilst the sight of Manson was cause for alarm, he kept telling himself he was just a human and that there was nothing to fear.

  'He may be running things,' he thought, 'but there's no way Casey and Theobald would murder me, another dragon. And that's what it would take.'

  Manson, for all his show, was just a common criminal, alright, a pretty scary one at that, but still just a human. No match for a dragon. On his best day he couldn't hurt Peter; he would need the help of the bullies and although he despised them, he knew full well that they wouldn't be party to murder. So, as Manson approached, Peter felt confident enough to give him a big toothy smile, jutting out his jaw in defiance.

  Manson rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger, inspecting the grinning Bentwhistle, before turning to Casey and Theobald.

  "When you said you had a little surprise for me, I had no idea it would be this good," he crowed. "Where exactly did our cold little friend come from?"

  Theobald took a step forward.

  "He was sneaking around the distribution centre earlier. We took the liberty of capturing him, after he told us he was on his own and that nobody knew where he was."

  M
anson nodded, pleased, all the time circling Peter, inspecting him like a piece of meat.

  "Very good, the two of you, very good." Turning away from his captured prize, the ex-army Major pointed his walking stick at Theobald and said,

  "Just out of interest, I've seen no sign of Fisher tonight. Why is that? I thought the three of you were in this together."

  Paying close attention, Peter picked up the fear and... something else that passed across the faces of the two bullies.

  Casey seemed too frightened to talk, barely able to look Manson in the eyes. It was Theobald who spoke up, albeit reluctantly.

  "He... um... he... um... kind of had a... change of heart, about things."

  "A change of heart?" growled Manson.

  Theobald stammered on, looking straight down at the ground.

  "Yes, a change of heart. After we captured... HIM," he spat, pointing at Peter, "Fisher began having second thoughts, wanting us all just to go to the Council and tell them everything."

  "Did he now?” enquired Manson, a menacing glint in his eyes.

  "He did."

  "So where is Fisher now? Has he run off to warn the Council?"

  Peter watched with interest and more than a little hope. If Fisher had warned the Council, the dragons would be here to free him any minute. It was odd though that Manson seemed to know all about the Council. What was that all about?

  Theobald, head hunched over, staring straight down at the ground, started to shake uncontrollably as he began his reply.

  "We took care of him," he managed to babble.

  Manson opened his eyes wide and raised his eyebrows.

  "Do tell," he demanded in a feigned posh accent.

  Every cell in Peter's body screamed for him to make a run towards the crowd, just the other side of the fence, easily within throwing distance, to get away from the evil that currently surrounded him. Instead he remained rooted to the spot, as a tear creeping slowly down his cheek almost started to freeze.