Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  Pacing across the hospital room quickly now, the king's bottom lip began to quiver just a little, as Peter wiped away the tears, determined to hear the rest of the story. He'd always felt a connection with his grandfather, even though he'd never known him. Everything he'd heard here today made him so proud.

  "About seventy or so years ago," began the king, threatening to become overwhelmed by the situation, "I sent your grandfather on one of those missions. At the time it didn't seem like anything too special; neither of us had any major concerns about the outcome or indeed how it would be carried out. The danger was minimal. Or so we thought. Anyhow, that fateful mission went wrong. To this day, I'm not quite sure how, but it did. Neither your grandfather nor any of the dragons with him have been heard from to this very day. I sent other teams to search for them, but all to no avail."

  Wandering around to the other side of Peter's bed, the king slumped in the chair, eyes closed, running his hands through his long grey hair.

  "I wish to God that I'd never sent him on that blasted assignment," he ranted angrily. "There were others that could have gone in his place, but none were as good as he was. No matter what, he always got the job done. I still have no idea to this very day what happened to him and his team. I've done everything I can think of to find out. I'd give everything I have just to know."

  Richie and Tank sat rigid on the edge of the bed, the quiet, out of the way hospital room punctuated by only the sounds of the king and Peter sobbing.

  Moments passed, seconds turned into minutes, and the crying stopped. To his credit the king, although upset, was determined to carry on and finish off the story.

  "Some time before all that, a few years earlier in fact, your grandfather had taken me to the Purbeck nursery ring to see you. We travelled incognito, not wanting to be recognised. It was difficult not to recognise you with that bent whistle marking that, even as a young dragon, stood out very clearly. While we were there, perched on the wall by the side of the walkway, watching you listen intently to your tor, he asked a great favour of me. He asked that I look out for you, should anything happen to him. Telling me that he'd left you his house and all the belongings inside it, he was very serious about making sure you were looked after. How could I possibly refuse?

  The other thing he went on to mention was the fact that he'd fallen out with your parents. I have no specific details as to why, but something very bad happened between them. So much so, that when they deposited your egg at the nursery ring before they disappeared, they left explicit instructions not to let your grandfather have anything to do with you, for as long as you were there. As you are aware, those instructions have to be followed to the letter. And so it was they upped and left as many parents do."

  Peter covered his eyes with his hand, thinking that he might cry again. It was all too much to take in. He felt sad that his parents had left him without so much as a thought. Why couldn't he have grown up in their company? Where had they gone? He'd known their names on leaving the nursery ring, and had looked them up on the dragon register. But there was no sign of either of them anywhere. They seemed to have abandoned him and disappeared into thin air.

  Despite his disappointment at a life without his parents, he felt great pride and love for the grandfather he'd never known. From what he'd heard this afternoon, his mother's father sounded like such a decent dragon, making sure his house and its contents were passed down and that his best friend (the king) kept an eye on him. Through watery eyes and snot filled nostrils, he desperately wished he could have met him, just once. As he delved deeper into his thoughts, anger leapt up to the forefront, threatening to consume him.

  'Why would they not want my grandfather to come near me? What did they fall out over? It must have been something really bad to cause all that. Did it have something to do with them leaving?'

  Startled back to the present by the sound of the king clearing his throat, Peter continued listening.

  "Despite the instructions that he wasn't allowed to have anything to do with you, I know for a fact that your grandfather would spend most of his time when he wasn't working for me, sitting alone on that wall next to the nursery ring, watching your development, looking over you in his own special way."

  On hearing this, Peter's head fell into his hands, the tears readily flowing down both cheeks again, dropping onto the polished white floor.

  "Only a month or so after he took me to see you at the nursery ring, your grandfather left a large trunk with me (not the grey sort with the meanest wakeup call in the world) to be given to you when I thought you were ready for it. To this day, it remains untouched in my home, waiting for you. Perhaps when you've fully recovered you can come and claim it; your friends would be welcome too."

  Continuing to cry, Peter gave a large sniff as he nodded in reply.

  The king's mood lightened a little, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

  "Have you ever wondered why your grandfather's house is in Salisbridge?" he asked cheerily.

  Peter shook his head, as both Tank and Richie looked on.

  "It seems he fell in love with the place while working there. I bet you can't guess when that was?"

  With Peter still distraught, Tank thought he'd try and break the silence that was becoming more awkward by the second, so he replied, trying to lighten the mood,

  "During your fight with Troydenn... you know, George and the Dragon and all that."

  "Exactly!" roared the king, much to Tank's astonishment. All three of them looked up at the monarch, thinking that perhaps he was building up to one of his jokes.

  "It's true," exclaimed the king. History books only ever mention that I battled Troydenn in some rural part of England. They never actually say where, but it was in fact Salisbridge. Your grandfather once told me that from the moment he arrived there as part of the aid effort, he felt a connection of some sort, not just to the people, but to the city itself. Throughout the years, whenever he was off duty or recovering from one of the missions that I'd sent him on, he could always be found in Salisbridge. Eventually he bought his own human house there around the turn of the century I believe," said the king wistfully. "And he remained in love with the place right up until he... until the day he left on that fateful mission."

  Peter's head sprang up, looking the king right in the eyes.

  "Can I ask what the mission he set out to do was... please?"

  This clearly caught the king off guard. He hadn't for the life of him been prepared for this, but perhaps he should have been. Wandering over to Peter, the monarch crouched down in front of him.

  "I'm afraid it's not quite that simple, my young friend. You see, the mission and all information pertaining to it is top secret. And while I would be quite happy to tell you and trust you with that information, if it ever got out that I did so without the permission of the Council itself, my political enemies would use it against me. I can, however, put in a request to the Council on your behalf, asking for the details to be shared with you, so that you may put to rest the memory of your grandfather. Would you like me to do that?"

  Peter nodded vigorously.

  "Yes please."

  "Okay son, I'll do that for you. Hopefully by the time you're well enough to come to visit me and pick up your grandfather's belongings, I'll have some sort of decision as to whether or not the details can be revealed to you."

  With the king looking as though he was about to make his excuses and leave, Tank raised his hand to ask a question about something that had been bugging him for a little while now.

  Smiling at Tank's manners, the monarch asked,

  "What's on your mind, big fella?"

  Tilting his head to one side, giving the king one of his lopsided grins, Tank asked,

  "We were always taught in the nursery ring that the dragon king wasn't allowed on the surface of the planet... ever! If that's so, how is it that you're here?"

  "And I thought it was this young lady here, who was the smarty pants of the group," laughed th
e king, gazing at Richie.

  Richie blushed, lost for words once again.

  "It would appear that I've been... busted!" announced the monarch, opening his arms wide, whilst whirling around in a circle. "Guards, guards, guards, come and arrest me!"

  Tank perched on the hospital bed, wishing he'd never asked.

  "Let me share something else with all three of you. I'm not supposed to be on the surface," whispered the king, tapping his nose. "But I figure since I'm the king, I'll do as I damn well please."

  All three friends chuckled at his attitude.

  "And let me tell you another thing. I haven't been above ground in over a hundred years and I'm not sure I care for it too much. It's all so... fast. Everyone's in a hurry... cars, people, even the hospital porters, dragging patients at top speed everywhere, and driving those damned little trucks. Five times I was nearly run over by them on my way here. Five times!"

  The friends were beside themselves with laughter at this, tears, for very different reasons, racing down their cheeks.

  "It's all true," cried the king indignantly. "Seriously though, Tank, you're right. I'm not supposed to be here. However, at this present moment, as well as the seventy or so dragons hidden throughout the hospital, I would guess that within a five mile radius of where I'm standing, there are at least another five hundred or so dragons, ready to come to my aid at a moment's notice."

  Tank whistled to himself, impressed.

  "So you see my young friends, I always think of myself as the knight I once was. And while, at this present time, we as a community face a very real threat, part of which you all thwarted, I will never be afraid to go anywhere or do anything that I have to ask other dragons to do."

  Sighing profoundly, the king rolled his head around his shoulders in an attempt to loosen up the muscles that had tightened since he'd been at the hospital.

  "I'm sorry, but I really do have to go now. There are some pressing issues that have developed in the South Pole that I have to go and sign off on. No doubt you will all learn about them soon enough, through the telepathic papers. Another of our expeditions there has gone missing, the second in a row. The first was very low key, with hardly anyone knowing. This time, however, it's much more serious. I bid you all farewell and look forward to meeting you again. Your friends are welcome to accompany you when you come to pick up your grandfather's belongings, Peter. For that matter, you may extend the invitation to Gee Tee as well. I can only imagine how long he's had to wait. As a whole, the domain owes you a debt of gratitude for what you've done in stopping the dragon Manson. On their behalf I thank all three of you." Turning to leave, the king bowed and said,

  "Farewell."

  The scuffed wooden door closed silently after him, as the three friends sat in silence, barely able to believe what had gone on. To have caught a glimpse of the king through a crowd was one thing; this was something else altogether. Tank spoke first.

  "Your grandfather sounds like one hell of a guy."

  "That he does," replied Peter, a hint of sadness in his voice.

  "Fancy having the king looking out for you," teased Richie. "What's that all about?"

  Tank smacked his friend playfully in the arm.

  "Do we have to bow now? I'm not quite sure what the protocol is," he scoffed.

  Peter shook his head, smiling as he did so.

  "There's going to be no end to this, is there?"

  "Whatever do you mean... majesty?" chuckled Richie.

  "Sire?" mocked Tank, grinning.

  "Bugger!" quipped Peter loudly.

  Richie and Tank both burst out laughing.

  Sitting on the bed contemplating the months of abuse just like this that he had to look forward to, realisation dawned on him.

  "Hang on a minute," he cried. "What happened in the final?" he asked excitedly. "Did they win... ohhhhh... tell me they won, pleeeaaassseee tell me they won."

  Richie and Tank shared a look, their smiles slowly disappearing. In unison they shook their heads in answer to Peter's question.

  "They lost!" Peter exclaimed, heartbroken.

  "Afraid so," mused Tank.

  "Did you... did you... got to the match?"

  Richie stifled a laugh.

  "What do you think?"

  "We've been here all the time," added Tank. "All the time."

  Peter hung his head in shame.

  "Sorry, I should have known. I would have done the same for either of you."

  "You know I do believe his majesty would have attended the match," mimicked Richie in a pretend posh voice.

  "I'm pretty sure you're right. Sire would have gone to the final of the Global Cup."

  "Oh right... very funny," observed Peter.

  "We did at least get to hear a live running commentary though," sighed Tank.

  "No way!"

  Tank and Richie both nodded.

  "The brother of one of your guards was at the match. His brother phoned him and we all got to listen in live. Don't worry, from the sounds of it we didn't miss very much as Indigo Warriors fans. They got their asses kicked."

  "Oh well... there's always next year," said Peter hopefully.

  "Yeah right," said Tank. "Do you have any idea what the likelihood is of the Warriors getting to the final two years in a row?"

  "Yeah," said Richie, "you've got a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of here."

  The three friends laughed their socks off.

  Bentwhistle the Dragon in A Chilling Revelation

  Paul Cude

  Copyright © 2014 Paul Cude

  This edition revised 2019

  All rights reserved.

  1 The Shifting Sands of Time

  Cold sand ran over the top of her toes and sifted through her sandals as she ran through the dark, narrow passage. Horribly hounded, her acute senses could hear them, all still some way back. From what she could tell, there were an awful lot of them, maybe as many as a hundred. In anywhere but an enclosed space, she could have easily evened the odds, but she'd been tricked into coming in here, and now it could end up being her tomb, as well as that of the king for whom it was intended.

  Turning a sharp corner at speed, she stubbed one of her toes on a rock sticking out of the sand. Silently she cursed the narrow passageways. There were supposed to be secret entrances and exits, but she hadn't found any up until now. Just a reasonably large chamber would do. It only had to be big enough for her to transform into her dragon persona, big enough to fight off the attackers that had been sent after her.

  Stumbling across a flickering torch hanging on the wall, for a brief moment she thought about taking it with her, just to have the comfort of the flame near her small, lithe body.

  'No,' she thought. 'It would just waste time.' But she knew it might aid the screaming mob baying for her blood, so she pulled it from the wall and rolled it in the sand until the beautiful flames died away, leaving it lying across the cramped, sandy passage. In near total darkness, she accessed her dragon abilities, choosing to concentrate on enhancing her vision. It all happened in a split second and before she knew it she was back, sprinting for her very life.

  As she ran, she wondered where it had all gone wrong. Handpicked by the dragon council especially for this mission, her infiltration skills were renowned throughout the domain, and yet she still found herself in this precarious position. Worst of all, she hadn't managed to get a message off to caution them about what she'd discovered. Of all the regrets she had at that moment, the fact that she hadn't sent this warning was at the top of her list.

  Skidding to a halt in the sand, her legs nearly disappeared from under her. In the wall to her left was a door, a frame anyway. It looked as though it had been hastily blocked by a large slab of rock, but it was a door nevertheless, and the first one she'd seen. Standing, studying the entrance, her enhanced hearing picked up the sound of people rubbing against the walls further down the passageway. Having gained some ground on her attackers, she figured they were less t
han a minute behind her. Running her fingers around the edges of the frame, looking for anything strange, she knew it wasn't unusual for openings of any kind inside a pyramid like this to have entrances that were activated in a secret manner. Sometimes the mechanism was a couple of finger holes, sometimes the pushing of a certain rock or brick, sometimes the moving of a torch or its frame. All of these methods had presented themselves over past weeks as ways to open potentially blocked routes. Finding nothing by searching with her fingers, she scanned the nearby walls beside the door and the corridor behind her.

  'NOTHING!' she screamed inside her head.

  It was then that she heard the leader of the hoard heading her way, cry out in pain, stubbing his toe on the same rock she'd done, only moments ago. Did she go on and leave this entrance in the hope that she'd find something else? Or did she risk them catching her up and try to go through? Every instinct she had shrieked at her to try to open this door. Crouching down, she put all her strength into pushing against the slab of rock. It didn't budge. Quickly she moved onto the middle of the rock and tried again. Noticing it give a little towards the top, reaching up, she felt the slab move just slightly as she shoved it with all her might. Time was running out, the assailants had just fallen over the fireless torch she'd left on the ground, and were nearly upon her. Instinctively her hand brushed against the ornate hilt of the dagger tucked into her belt. Although she wasn't ready to die, she knew that if the moment came she'd take a whole lot of them with her.

  Both hands pressed firmly against the top of the rocky slab, she jumped backwards with her feet, her heels landing solidly against the rock behind her. With her knees bent, she began to walk up the wall, eventually finding herself some six feet or so above the sandy surface of the passageway, feet pressed firmly against the opposite wall, her palms pushing against the slab of rock behind the door frame. Tensing every muscle in her body, she pushed again with all her strength. The mighty slab of rock shifted in the corner, revealing a tiny opening. From her horizontal position she could see that the breach was perhaps big enough for a cat to scamper through. Her body was small, compact, dainty even, but the gap looked impossible for her to climb through. As this single thought ran through -her mind, time ran out. From around the corner came a frenzied mob, all vying to get to her first. Seeing the rabble heading towards her with such hatred, their torches blazing above the leaders' heads reflecting the madness in their faces, was all the inspiration that she needed. With every ounce of strength she had, she pushed, almost able to taste the reek of the fetid breath of her pursuers. As quick as a flash, she pushed off with her feet and launched herself at the tiny gap in the top corner of the door frame, barely scraping through, ripping the skin off both her ankles in the process.