by Paul Cude
Having finished reciting his account of the events of the last few months, he lay back in the hospital bed and closed his eyes, grateful not to have to think about it anymore. In silence, the old man considered everything he'd heard. Eventually he spoke up.
"Thank you for your frank and honest account of what happened. It's pretty much as the Council assumed," he said seriously. "There are one or two more details that we were unaware of, but the bulk of it we'd managed to piece together over the last few days."
Lying there with his eyes closed, hoping not to come across as rude, he nodded at what the old man had said.
"I'm guessing there are questions you'd like answered?"
Opening his eyes, Peter nodded eagerly, ready to risk his somewhat croaky voice. Before he got the chance, the old man held up one hand to stop him.
"How about I tell you as much as I can, and then if you have any questions, we can deal with them at the end?"
Peter smiled and nodded, knowing a good compromise when he saw one.
"First things first," announced the old man. "You will no doubt be pleased to hear that Al Garrett has made a full recovery, and with the exception of feeling a little fatigued, is back to his normal, chirpy self, well on his way to reversing everything Manson did at Cropptech, including re-employing everyone who had been fired."
The thought of Garrett once again in charge, and the company pretty much back to the way it had been, forced him to smile.
"He also knows that it was you that took Manson down and recovered the stolen laminium. At the moment everyone thinks you're in intensive care, which in a way you are," smiled the old man. "So I'm sure Garrett and his staff will want to congratulate you when you're well enough to return."
Peter raised his eyebrows at this.
"You were always going to get your job back, it's only a matter of when you're fit enough to return. As far as everyone at Cropptech knows, you had your suspicions about Manson some time ago, you were just biding your time to gather enough evidence against him. They all know you got badly hurt in getting the laminium back. There's a warrant out for Manson's arrest... the human Manson, obviously. Don't worry though, the humans have strict instructions not to approach him. Dragon infiltrators are on the case. Not that anyone expects him to show up in his human form. Personally I think he's long gone."
A crazy picture of human police officers looking at a wanted picture of a gigantic matt black dragon ran through Peter's head, causing him to spill a little of his drink in his lap.
The old man gave him a curious look.
"Events at the Astroturf have all been resolved successfully, mainly due to the quick thinking of the dragons present at the fireworks display. They managed to alert us to the situation very quickly, and a squad of our finest recovery dragons were able to attend the scene within a matter of minutes. None of the humans had left, thank goodness. Posing as police officers, the recovery squad applied a blanket mantra, making everyone think they'd seen the same thing... a lightning strike. While the humans had their memories adjusted, a cleanup squad worked hard on the synthetic pitch itself. Before daylight the next morning, you'll be pleased to know the Astroturf, its fences and floodlights had all been repaired after the damage caused the night before. Apparently it looks as good as new, only with a large smattering of sand in the hope that nobody would look too closely at the surface."
This news pleased Peter almost as much as hearing that Al Garrett had fully recovered. Strange really, but the pitch itself seemed very much like an old friend after all the games of hockey he'd played on it. It was hard to explain, even to himself. At least none of his human friends, or more importantly their children, would be scarred by what they'd seen. He'd had visions of children seeing a big dragon flying over them in the night sky, or the burning remains of a van full of dead bodies. Although he was one of the many dragons that didn't approve of mantras that adjusted human memories as a rule (something that wasn't done that often anyway, and when it was, there were strict guidelines and regulations controlling it,) in this instance, he was glad it had been done, and felt happy in the knowledge that his friends, teammates and their families would remember nothing more than having an enjoyable evening watching the fireworks.
"You will also be pleased to know that your car has been recovered from... " the old man pulled out a sheet of paper from the top pocket of his white linen shirt and studied it, "ah yes, from the housing estate beside the Cropptech site. It's very handy having dragons in high places in most of the country's police forces. Your car is now back outside your house. Speaking of which, we have two dragons looking after your house at the moment. Posing as your aunt and her best friend, they'll remain there for as long as it takes you to fully recover. They look completely innocuous to the neighbours who have been more than a little curious, but are in fact elite members of the King's Guard. We've put them there just in case Manson or one of his associates should try to come back and finish things off. We don't have any reason to believe he will, particularly with both the dragon and human world on such a high alert because of him, but we thought it prudent to do so for at least a few weeks."
Once again, Peter nodded, taking it all in. He hadn't even considered that Manson would come back for him, but the more his mind dwelled on it now, the more uncomfortable he felt about the whole thing.
As if reading Peter's mind, the old man interrupted his chain of thought.
"Don't worry son, we're having a few modifications made to your house, just in case you should get such a visit. Undoubtedly things will never be quite the same, for either you or dragonkind in general. But the one thing that will happen, mark my words, is that we all, including you, will be prepared."
As the words left the old man's mouth, a feeling of hope ran through Peter. If anyone else had told him that the dragon world would be ready to take on Manson and his associates, he would probably have laughed in their face. But there was something about this guy, something about the way he talked, carried himself, spoke, the way he looked into your eyes... Peter had no doubt at all that if the old man told him to run up the stairs to the top of the hospital and fight Manson all over again, he would, here and now, even though he wouldn't want to of course. This old man seemed so ordinary and yet, Peter decided, he would follow him into battle at a moment's notice.
"As well, your phone and that very fancy necklace that I saw you wearing the last time we met on the monorail station, have both been recovered and are now in the drawers beside your bed. And that my young friend, is all that I have to tell you. Do you have any other questions at all?"
"One thing that really bothers me," Peter croaked, taking a small sip of his drink, "is the matter of how Manson knew I was going to try and cure Garrett on that particular Friday. I'd worked so hard and planned it all out to the very last detail. I even watched as his car left the facility to go to the awards ceremony."
"Are you sure you didn't tell anyone?"
Concentrating as much as he could, he thought back to the events leading up to all that.
"I'm sure I didn't tell anyone my intentions. Tank delivered the cure to me, but had no idea what I was planning to do or when." Suddenly, he remembered.
"I do recall sending a brief communication to Councillor Rosebloom though. He sent me a message asking for an update on my progress, as I hadn't been keeping him informed about what was going on," recounted Peter, more than a little guiltily.
"Did you tell him about your plan?"
Peter thought for a moment.
"No, no I didn't. I sent him a quick message telling him when the whole thing would be resolved by, but I didn't give him any details."
The old man twiddled the ends of his unkempt hair in thought.
"What I tell you next must be in absolute secrecy, between you and me. Do you understand?"
"Of course."
"I and some of the other members of the Council have had doubts about Rosebloom for some time. A number of his actions in the past have see
med dubious to say the least, but nothing has ever been proved against him." Revealing all this, the old man looked deeply troubled. "He's also related to a rather treacherous fellow from very far back in the past. A person called... Osvaldo."
Peter vaguely recognised the name, but maybe because of the drugs, or the fact that his body was still recovering from the beating it had taken, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The old man continued.
"Osvaldo cost the lives of many good dragons, a long time ago. It's been generally believed that he's been dead a very long time, but every now and then something comes up that has all the hallmarks of Osvaldo. I don't believe for one second that he's dead. What I do believe is that he is in some way connected to Councillor Rosebloom. I don't know how, and more importantly, I can't prove anything, but I would stake my life on it. While you've done the right thing Peter, I think it's best and also safest for you if you give Councillor Rosebloom a very wide berth. If he or anyone else asks, you're to say that I've asked you to report directly to me. Is that okay?"
Peter stared wide eyed at the old man, barely able to believe anything he'd heard.
"Of course, of course," he croaked in reply.
Though tired, drugged, bruised, battered and overwhelmed, he mulled over everything in his mind, unable to think of anything else he wanted to say, which was just as well because once again the old man spoke up.
"Oh... the one thing I didn't tell you, but you've probably figured out already, is that you're being guarded by a whole host of police down here. All of them are dragons, along with all the medical staff of course. You haven't been allowed any visitors I'm afraid, due to the seriousness of the situation, but I've a funny feeling that there might just be some waiting to see you right now."
Feeling exhausted, just the thought of any visitors threatened to send him to sleep, but before he had a chance to say anything, the old man closed his eyes and whispered,
"Send them in."
Stretching out with his dragon senses, which were limited at the moment due to his injuries, he could just about sense the guards who manned the corridor, two of whom he felt hiding in the recesses of the ceiling. Just as he felt his strength waning, right at the limit of his ability, he felt a familiar presence, no make that two familiar presences. HIS FRIENDS!!!
Mere seconds later Richie and Tank burst through the door like a raging river, grinning like Cheshire cats. Both ran straight to Peter's bedside, crowding him for all he was worth.
"You had us so worried," announced Richie, bending forward and kissing him on the forehead.
Peter smiled, squeezing Richie's hand tight. Tank leant in close and said,
"Yes so worried," and puckered up, ready to kiss Peter too.
Peter burst into a fit of laughter, something it seemed he hadn't done in an absolute age, his injuries flaring up with pain. Both friends followed suit with the laughter, almost as though the three of them were back in the nursery ring. As the hilarity came to a gradual halt, the friends noticed they were not alone in the room. Silence overtook what should have been a joyous reunion. Tank and Richie stared at the old man. Peter couldn't comprehend exactly what was going on, but joined his friends anyway. He wanted to tell them that they had nothing to worry about as this was one of the Council members. Joining his friends in looking over the old man, he was drawn for the very first time to the stunning looking cane that the old man always kept with him. Something at the back of him mind nagged at him, but for the life of him he couldn't work out what it was.
Tank reacted first, shooting down on one knee faster than a bullet from a gun. Unusual for Richie not to be first on the uptake, she too dropped to one knee, as quick as a flash, right behind the strapping rugby player. Peter sat up as far as he was able to without passing out. Leaning over the side of the bed, watching his friends both on one knee, their heads bowed, he wondered briefly if they'd both gone mad.
"What's going on?” he whispered in Tank's direction.
Tank curled his head round slightly, rolling his eyes in the direction of the old man. Peter had absolutely no idea what was happening.
"Enough!" commanded the old man sternly. "You may both get up."
Peter was stunned to see both of his friends obey immediately.
Both Tank and Richie glanced at Peter, who it had to be said, had the most confused expression ever, almost as if someone were trying to explain football's offside rule.
Eventually, he had no choice but to ask,
"What the hell is going on?"
Tank turned to face his friend and mouthed just one word.
"King."
Totally baffled, Peter mouthed back the same word to his friend.
Tank shook his head in disbelief.
"What he's trying to tell you," laughed the old man, grinning from ear to ear, "is that I'm the... KING!"
Peter gulped as his stomach did a somersault that any Olympic gymnast would have been proud of.
"The king?" he said sceptically.
"That's right," replied the king, smiling.
"But you said you were from the Council?" ventured Peter.
"Well, technically, I am," answered the king, standing up. As he did so, he pulled his cane out from behind the chair, moving closer to the bed, alongside Tank and Richie.
Looking magnificent, the cane reflected the bright white light from the ceiling in a kind of purple hue, whilst continually looking flexible and strong, both at the same time. Two thirds of the way up its hilt, a sparkling purple trident carved into it glowed, occasionally pulsing on and off. Raising his head, he followed the entire length of the cane, stopping only when he reached the top, and the old man's hand.
'I can't believe it,' he thought to himself. 'It's so obvious now.' As the old man's hand rested on the cane, it wasn't its top which caught Peter's attention. It was the ring on the middle finger of the old man's hand. Not just any ring, but the most famous and recognisable ring in the kingdom. How on earth had he not spotted it before? Silently, Peter berated himself.
The old man, no, the king, spotted Peter gazing intently at the ring.
"Mesmerising isn't it?"
"It certainly is," replied Peter, not taking his eyes off it for one moment.
"When I first joined the Council, hundreds of years ago, I was but a lowly knight, easily the youngest dragon there," the king continued, starry eyed. “I attended Council meetings whenever my knight's duties allowed, and also had private audiences with the king on a regular basis. Years passed, and not once did I notice this," he declared, holding up his hand, indicating the spectacular ring.
Each of the three friends let out a long breath.
Holding up his hand to stop the inevitable question being asked, the king continued.
"You see, the ring itself, as well as containing an almost limitless supply of... how would you put it... mana, magic, mantra enhancing energy, has a sentience of its own, a mind if you like. It can sense those all about it, good, bad, indifferent. And for some peculiar reason, which to this day isn't known even to me, it chooses not to show itself to certain individuals. Ever since we first met Peter, you've never been able to see the ring, not before just now when your friends pointed out to you who I am, even when others around you can."
"Why has it always been concealed from me, up until now I mean?"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you. I have absolutely no idea. The crazy band has a mind of its own. I can use its power and enhance mantras and spells at will, whenever I like, although I wouldn't be surprised to learn that actually it’s humouring me in some way, shape or form, but I have no control over who it shows itself to."
Off to one side, Tank began to open his mouth to ask a question. Before he could do so, he was stopped once again by the king.
"And before you ask, hardly anyone knows what I've just told you, and I'd like it to remain that way, our little secret."
The three friends nodded eagerly in unison. Well, you would wouldn't you... for the king.
"Good. I know I can trust each and every one of you," declared the king, stepping back a little from the bed, so that he could take in Tank and Richie.
Richie bowed her head as the king stared straight at her. She didn't want to appear rude. In truth, she didn't know what to do.
Taking a couple of paces forward, the king reached out and gently tilted her head by the chin, so that they could look into each other's eyes.
"No need to be shy, child," he whispered softly, all the time taking her in. It wasn't often Richie was lost for words, but she was most certainly speechless now. Peter and Tank exchanged a little glance, knowing that in any other situation, they'd probably be laughing their socks off at their friend's dilemma.
"You would be Richie Rump. Am I correct?" asked the king.
She blushed as she nodded a response.
"Hmmmm...," uttered the king, studying Richie carefully. "So much paperwork comes my way that it's often hard to pick out the wood from the trees. So many individuals, it's almost impossible, even with an eidetic memory to remember, but you... hmmmm... I seem to recall."
Worried expressions developed on both Tank and Peter's faces simultaneously, knowing all about Richie's antics, standing up for everyone all the time, showing off, arm wrestling rugby players, that sort of thing. It looked as though it was all going to come back and bite her in the ass in the biggest possible way.
Richie's blushing disappeared, a much more defiant expression taking its place. The two friends looked on in horror.
"Yes, that's right," said the king, suddenly seeming to remember something.
"The last report with your name on it mentioned something about... what was it again... arm wrestling big, bulky sportsmen of some sort. Would that be correct?"
Jutting out her chin, her expression remaining defiant, she looked the king firmly in the eyes and answered,
"Yes."
'This is it,' thought Peter. 'Richie's going to get carted off and be forced to remain underground, with little or no chance of ever getting to see the planet's surface or the humans ever again. Perhaps', he thought, 'if I could just beg forgiveness on her behalf, then just maybe she'll be allowed to stay.'
