Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  So much remained a mystery about Manson. No one had been able to explain just how he'd camouflaged his weak spot, or how he could create a fake one on a different part of his body. Another head scratcher was the strange hazy barrier that had surrounded the Astroturf pitch on that fateful November night. Was it created by a mantra or the dragon himself? If a mantra, then where had it come from? A concerted search of the dragon libraries across the world, including the king's own private library, as well as a gentle quizzing of Gee Tee, had come up blank on a mantra of that type ever having existed. Feeling more than a little selfish in wanting Manson to be found so that the physicians could cure him fully, he knew in his heart of hearts that the bigger picture was much more important. Whatever the dragon Manson was up to, he must be stopped; after all he'd seen firsthand the wanton disregard for life in any form that the evil dark dragon had exhibited and knew only too well what he was capable of. The big worry in Peter's mind though, was that the prehistoric monster and whatever he was up to would be put on the back burner so to speak, with everything that Flash had revealed to the king only days earlier.

  Wandering through to the living room, he wondered how Flash was doing, hoping to see him again soon. Just then, the doorbell rang. Tentatively, he made his way towards the new front door, the old one having been replaced as part of the security measures designed to keep him safe should Manson return in an act of revenge. Striding down the hall, he reached out with his magical senses, surprised to find a dragon on the other side. Fear raced around his stomach for a split second, before he realised it definitely wasn't Manson out there. Just then, a friendly voice trickled into his subconscious.

  "Don't be afraid," it whispered. "I have a delivery for you from the king himself. He said to tell you that Nelly had two of these, but he wouldn't swap either of hers for yours. Does that make any sense?" asked the slightly bewildered delivery dragon.

  Wide eyed, he considered what he'd just heard.

  'Nelly? Who the heck was Nelly?' Then it hit him like a bolt of lightning. Of course... Nelly the Elephant. She had two trunks: one like Peter's and the other one attached to her face. Breaking into a smile, he released the normal looking latch on the door that was anything but. Half a dozen mantras had been cast on the apparently standard Yale lock, making it almost impossible for any dragon to gain entry.

  Having opened the door, he found himself face to face with a very plain looking, dark haired human in brown overalls, holding a small box about the size of a tin of biscuits. His first thought was that it couldn't possibly be his trunk, as it was way too small for that. But then the delivery dragon smiled and said,

  "I was ordered to make sure the package was safely inside your house before I got you to sign for it."

  Not able to sense any kind of deception, quite the opposite in fact, he let the delivery dragon into the hallway. On doing so, he glanced over his shoulder and noticed the van parked right outside. In bright white letters on a dark brown background, it read 'Majestic Deliveries.' Peter chuckled to himself.

  'The king certainly has a sense of humour, that's for sure,' he thought as he followed the dragon into the living room.

  "How are you today sir?" asked the delivery driver, placing the package on the floor, smack bang in the middle of the room.

  "Uhhh... fine, thanks for asking."

  Taking a step back, the dragon mumbled something Peter couldn't quite make out, and for a split second, a bright white all encompassing light engulfed the entire room. Instinctively he'd closed his eyes. When he opened them, his grandfather's trunk sat there right in front of him. Turning to face the delivery dragon who was sporting a huge grin, Peter said,

  "Thanks."

  "You're welcome," replied the dragon. "Can I trouble you for a signature please?"

  Peter signed for the package, showed the dragon out, and then returned to the trunk, eager to check out its contents once again.

  As he opened the lid, the old hinges gave a laboured squeak. Inside the contents had been neatly rearranged, he assumed by the king himself. On top of everything lay a handwritten note. It read:

  Everything is here and accounted for. Please keep the item we talked about 'safe' as mentioned. I apologise for the interruption on Sunday. I was really keen to spend some quality time with you and your friends as I so rarely have visitors but it wasn't to be... sorry. I hope you are recovering well. Your physician constantly updates me on your progress and I know he's working tirelessly to find a cure for the minor ailments that persist in causing you pain. Anyway, as I'm sure you can understand I must go now... there's a lot to do if you know what I mean, and I'm sure you do, especially with regard to your grandfather. By the way, Flash sends his regards. We're still in the process of getting him settled but he says once he is relocated he will drop by and see you and Tank. Any support you can give him would be appreciated because as you well know, he's been through quite an ordeal, much like yourself, and I think it will be some time before everything that's happened has sunk in.

  Take care my young friend.

  George.

  Peter felt a little sad for the king. He seemed so... lonely. It was hard to imagine really: all that power, surrounded by all those other dragons and yet so alone. On that note his thoughts turned inward towards his grandfather. Lonely didn't begin to cover it from Flash's description. How could anyone or anything do that to another sentient being? How had his grandfather survived all this time without going mad? Peter was pretty sure he'd have gone insane a long time ago, but from Flash's description, his grandfather had seemed mentally sharp and had aided in the Crimson Guard's escape. Tears welled up inside him at the thought of a mighty dragon like his grandfather being held somewhere like that.

  'Possibly the most brutal place on the planet for a dragon,' he reflected, wiping the tears away with the sleeve of his jumper before they dropped into the trunk.

  'I will get to meet him,' he vowed through gritted teeth, 'even if I have to take Tank and Richie to Antarctica to rescue him myself.'

  A shrill ringing abruptly interrupted all thoughts of a snowy rescue. Following the noise, he picked up his vibrating phone from the kitchen table, pressed the green answer button and said,

  "Hello?"

  "Where are you then?" asked a familiar voice.

  'Pants,' thought Peter.

  "I'm really sorry. Where are you?"

  "Richie and I are on the platform at Salisbridge, ready to board the monorail," replied Tank, just a hint of frustration in his voice.

  Closing his eyes, Peter banged the palm of his free hand against his forehead.

  "I'll be there in two minutes," he assured his friend, before hanging up abruptly.

  Grabbing everything he needed, he sprinted into the living room, vaulted over his grandfather's trunk, yanked the Galileo thermometer back as far as it would go, and with the piano swinging out towards him, disappeared into the small, dark gap that appeared behind it. Rushing down the winding metal staircase two steps at a time, stubbing his toe in haste, he was in too much of a rush to even let out a curse. Triggering the hidden lock that opened the door to the hidden world of the dragons, he sprinted down the path, jumped the wall and continued on at full speed towards the station. Swerving in and out of the other dragons at full pelt, frantically he searched for his friends. Finally he spotted them... sitting on a dragon sized bench on one side of the plaza, stuffing their faces by the looks of things. Peter pulled up abruptly, breathing heavily.

  "Sorry I'm late," he puffed.

  "That's okay," replied Richie, chewing on a charcoal doughnut.

  "We decided to get a bite to eat while we were waiting," added Tank, knowing full well that Peter was probably hungry, as he nearly always was.

  "Great," ventured Peter, forcing a smile, still out of breath.

  "Don't be like that," declared Richie.

  "Yeah," said Tank. "Or we won't let you have this," he added, producing a freshly cooked charcoal fajita from somewhere out of view an
d offering it to his friend. Instantly Peter's eyes lit up.

  "I don't deserve you two," he said, gratefully accepting the fajita.

  "I think he's probably right," stated Richie, turning to Tank and raising her eyebrows.

  Tank coughed and spluttered, trying dragonfully not to spit out the huge mouthful of charcoal kebab he'd just taken as he struggled to stifle a laugh. This started the other two off, and within seconds all three of them were splitting their sides with laughter, much to the bemusement of all the dragons around them in the busy plaza.

  Ten minutes later, the three friends boarded the monorail, excited at the prospect of watching a laminium ball match for the first time in ages. Today was a league match against the Colwyn Bay Buccaneers, a team currently fourth in the league, compared with a paltry eleventh place out of thirteen for the Indigo Warriors. The match itself was taking place at the amazing Seabed Arena in Porthpean near St Austell in Cornwall. With a massive 150,000 capacity, the newly refurbished stadium was one of the jewels in the crown of the BLB (British Laminium Board).

  To get there, the three friends first had to journey to Taunton, and then on to Plymouth, via Exeter. There the monorail would head straight across to St Austell where it was just a short walk to the entrance of the Seabed Arena which was situated below the village of Porthpean. Extending well out across St Austell bay, the arena itself covered an area of approximately ten square miles.

  Squeezing up next to each other in the tightly packed carriage, Richie leant in towards her friends and asked,

  "How did it go on Sunday?" This was accompanied by her usual conspiratorial wink.

  Knowing that however quietly he responded, all the other dragons with their enhanced senses would still be able to hear his reply, Peter decided to try and be as cryptic and vague as possible.

  "It was a really interesting experience," he replied, offering Richie a wink of his own.

  "Did I miss anything good?" she asked.

  'Where to start,' thought Peter, turning to Tank, unsure of exactly what he could say, knowing he couldn't mention everything that had happened with regard to Flash, but really not wanting to lie to Richie. He needn't have worried, Tank had it covered.

  "Not really," replied Tank casually. "But the dragon we went to see did... ask after you."

  Richie, normally cooler than a cucumber in a Siberian fridge, flinched just a little uncomfortably in her seat, as she thought about this.

  "Any particular reason why?" she asked, not fooling either of her friends.

  'Tank,' thought Peter, 'is having a field day tweaking Richie's scales about this. I know he doesn't approve of her seeing Tim, but he really shouldn't mess with her like this.'

  "I think in the position he's in, he probably gets to hear just about everything that goes on... everywhere."

  "Ahhhh," Richie whispered, thoughtfully. "Well, if there's a problem I'm sure he'll come straight to me and say, rather than pussyfoot around. It's always better that way don't you think... Tank?"

  Now it was Tank's turn to feel more than a little uneasy, fully understanding Richie's dig at him. Before things could go any further, Peter stepped in to try and diffuse the situation.

  "Guys, we're on our way to a laminium ball match. Let's forget everything else and just enjoy that shall we? I for one am really looking forward to it and have been for a few weeks now. So come on, enough with the petty squabbles... alright?"

  Tank and Richie lowered their heads in shame at their childish behaviour. Standing up, Tank offered out one of his giant hands to Richie in a gesture of friendship. Richie stood up, but held her hands back. It looked as though she was steadfastly refusing to shake his hand, that is until she leapt up at him and gave him what could only be described as the biggest hug in the world. Peter smiled at his two best friends making up, relieved that everything was now alright between them. It was only then though, as he watched Richie enveloped in Tank's giant grasp, that he realised he was slightly... jealous. Not really understanding why, he thought about it for a couple of seconds. He'd had feelings for Richie forever, but knew on a practical level that nothing was ever going to happen between them as she was way out of his league, something he was first to admit, at least to himself anyway. Always having known it would take the most amazing dragon in the world to tame... no, that really wasn't the word he was looking for... to... capture Richie's heart. It would be no ordinary dragon, that much he knew for sure, and that's what made her dalliances with Tim all the more difficult to understand. Richie would be a catch, and a match for almost any living dragon, poor or powerful, but instead she chose to chase after the odd human or two. Unable to get his head around it all, just thinking about it made his brain hurt. With the momentarily bout of jealousy fading into the background quicker than an X Factor runner up, his thoughts turned to Janice. A shiver of excitement ran down his invisible tail. There was something about her that made him feel... special. Closing his eyes, he imagined being with her and all the things that came with it. Adoring the way she smelled, he remembered the electrifying touch of her hand on his when they had walked home from the cinema on their first date. Her infectious smile was just mesmerising, as were her gorgeous eyes that always seemed as though they were looking straight into his soul. Speaking of which, Tank and Richie seemed to be doing exactly that, eyeing Peter in a very strange and knowing way.

  Coughing awkwardly, he smiled at his friends.

  "So," he said, "what's the score going to be tonight then?"

  "Well," said Richie thoughtfully, scratching her petite chin for effect. "The Buccaneers have been on a winning streak of late, and did win last week 4-0, hardly allowing the opposition a touch."

  Remembering that he'd read about that match in the Daily Telepath, Peter nodded at Richie, finding it hard to believe that such a one sided game could happen in modern day laminium ball. Fifty or sixty years ago it would have been almost commonplace. But since then a huge shakeup had taken place, with things having changed here and across the world, on a monumental scale. There were four United Kingdom leagues, each comprising of thirteen teams. The bottom two at the end of the season were relegated whilst the top two were promoted, except obviously in the top tier, where there was no promotion, only an outright winner. Aside from the leagues, play offs across the world chose which teams made it into the Global Cup, the competition that the Warriors had almost won last year. With coaching, tactics and facilities constantly improving across the globe, the dragons' favourite sport had changed almost beyond recognition in only half a century or so. What were once very one-sided matches now normally turned out to be too close to call. Of course there were still exceptional teams. Each top tier around the globe normally had two or three, but apart from that, in standard and ability the teams all seemed to be very evenly matched, so much so that even the supposedly elite teams went without winning a match for three or four games in a row. Bucking the trend apparent in nearly all the leagues, the Buccaneers had hammered home their victory against a very well drilled and tactically sound Purbeck Peninsula Pirates side. Not only had it been big news in the Daily Telepath, but it chorused out across all the telepathic papers. Today, weeks later, the story still rumbled on with rumours abounding that the very experienced coach of the Pirates side was going to be sacked, something that hadn't ever happened in the history of the team. It was all quite shocking but made good reading.

  "So you think the Buccaneers will win?" Peter asked Richie.

  "That's not quite what I said. In theory they should win, just purely on form and their league position," she replied.

  Tank opened his mouth to pipe up, but before he could get a word out, Richie held up the index finger of her right hand to stop him.

  "However, I don't believe they've come up against any team as devious as the Warriors in the league yet, and that could well be their undoing. Silverbonce always has a couple of tricks up his scales and after the double goal with the ball splitting tactic last year, every single team in the le
ague is always gonna believe that something like that is possible from the Warriors."

  Tank nodded his agreement.

  "When she's right, she's right," he said in Peter's direction.

  "The only thing that worries me at the moment is our lack of goal scoring threat. Defensively we're fine, but going on the offensive we just don't seem to be cutting the mustard, so to speak," announced Peter.

  His two friends nodded their agreement as the monorail pulled into St Austell station.

  "Our stop, I do believe," declared Tank

  "Ours and everybody else's by the look of things," replied Peter, as everyone in the carriage stood up to depart.

  Filing off the monorail and out onto the platform, the friends followed the LED signs that signalled the way to the arena. As the throng of dragons moved along the lava lined walkway, vendors pulling small carts battled against the tide, trying hard to sell their wares. All the usual things were on display: hats, scarves, flags, banners, and exploding mantras with the name of the team or individual player. It was all there. Richie stopped, keen to look at the merchandise. Tank and Peter were about to continue on but thought better of it. With the crowd so thick, they would probably lose Richie altogether and in an arena this size the match could well have finished before they found her again, despite them having adjacent seats.

  Leaning across the dragon in front of her, Richie started rifling through the exploding mantra section of the vendor's cart. Tank and Peter stood off to one side, trying hard not to disrupt the steady, one way flow of dragon spectators. Before too long, Richie, clearly delighted with her purchase, zipped in and out of the other dragons and joined her friends. Tank and Peter tried to get a look at what she'd bought, but she was having none of it, telling them both to mind their own business and that they'd find out at the appropriate time. Both friends acknowledged Richie's madness with a familiar look at each other, something they'd used more times than they cared to remember.