Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  "Anyway... bums in the air," Flash announced, taking a slightly bigger sip than Tank had.

  "I think you mean... bottoms up," corrected Peter, in a voice that sounded very much like that of a teacher.

  "I know what I meant," gurgled Flash, much to Peter's chagrin.

  It soon became clear that Flash was also adept at controlling (if that was the right word) the 'drink': it didn't hang around inside him, as it had in Tank, but seemingly using his hands, and his fingers in particular, Flash managed to burp, belch and expel all sorts of intricate 3D shapes, his latest being a rather impressive love heart.

  After watching Tank and Flash master the art of drinking, or controlling, igneus saevio, Gee Tee quickly resumed where they left off, and in no time at all was hurling all sorts of intricate shapes and patterns throughout the workshop. The master mantra maker bowed at the mock applause, and then it was Peter's turn. Having watched his friends work almost miracles, he was more than a little tense, which was totally understandable really, given his previous experience with the disguised Peruvian mantra ink. Grasping the silver cylinder with both hands, Peter gulped down the tiniest sip he dared, with the three others looking on. Moments later the pleasure from the drink worked its way down his throat and circled around the top of his stomach like some out of control train. Despite this, he felt more relaxed and in control of the situation than the last time he'd tried some and was starting, or so he thought, to control the drink with some very intricate patterns that his fingers were making. That was, right up until the point where Tank's oversized head popped up directly in front of Peter's face. Briefly, Peter wondered if he was doing something wrong, but it turned out Tank had something else in mind for his friend. Instantly Tank sucked his cheeks in as far as they would go, while at the same time screwing up his nose and turning cross eyed.

  Peter reacted in the only way he could... he laughed. Not just a little laugh, but the mother of all laughs, and couldn't for the life of him remember seeing anything funnier than his friend's face at that very moment. As the tears started to run down his face, it suddenly dawned on him that the igneus saevio had, for all intents and purposes, escaped the clutches of his control. As this registered somewhere deep inside his mixed up DNA, he wondered why Tank's funny face had disappeared, to be replaced by his normal face, crying tears of laughter. It was then that he noticed that Flash, too, had tears of laughter running down each of his cheeks, dripping like water from a drainpipe during a storm, onto the floor. Gee Tee, from a sitting position behind Peter, was slightly quicker on the uptake than Peter himself, and with a speed and agility that belied his age, dived headfirst across the workshop, the tiniest flap of his wings helping him on his way. It was then that it happened. There was nothing Peter could have done to stop it, that was how quick and without warning it was. The single biggest, rip roaring fart in the world exploded from Peter's bum, forcing a blue and green whistling fireball to rip a hole in the back of his trousers, totally destroying the chair that the old shopkeeper had been sitting in only a split second before.

  Howls of laughter echoed around the room, pierced by disapproving sighing and the sound of Peter's feet stamping on the floor as he jumped up and down, clutching his smouldering buttocks. Whirling around in pain, Peter looked for something that might help. Spotting a tiny sink in the far corner of the workshop that was filled to the brim with a dark liquid, in two quick bounds he was beside it. Turning round to face the others, he plonked his backside firmly into the mass of dark liquid. The look of relief on Peter's face was accompanied by the sound of bubbling and hissing from all around his immersed rear. As the laughter died down to a manageable level, Gee Tee piped up from the cold, solid floor.

  "That's another batch of mantra ink down the drain! If I ever come across a mantra recipe that requires 'roasted rear', I'll be sure to call on your services, child." Peter wasn't quite sure how to respond to the old shopkeeper, but true to form had no problem seeing the funny side of things as Flash and Tank continued to giggle, despite the presence of Gee Tee. Even the master mantra maker found a smile and a chuckle eventually, especially when it took both Tank and Flash to pull Peter free of the sink. With the festivities over and, more importantly, the steaming great hole in the back of Peter's trousers repaired by one of Gee Tee's lesser known mantras, the four friends allowed themselves to relax in the remaining oversized chairs in the workshop.

  It was only then that Tank went on to explain about the hand and finger movements that helped control the drink, all the time deliberately not revealing how he knew of its existence, much to Gee Tee's annoyance.

  Tank told them how he'd become intrigued about what Peter had said Manson had done during the hockey match in which they'd gone head to head. From Tank's understanding, it seemed that whatever it was Manson had cast, a mantra or something else, the hand movements played a pivotal role in stunning most of the team. So, Tank being Tank, he'd tried to seek out every last piece of information pertaining to hand gestures and mantras. While he hadn't discovered as much as he'd have liked, he had found out that some of the more ancient races had, long ago, been able to cast mantras by very small movements of their limbs or appendages, the Manticores and nagas being but two of those races. As he continued to explain all this, Flash added snippets of information that he'd gleaned over the years in relation to the subject. All of this was new to Peter and, even more surprisingly, most of it was new to Gee Tee as well. When Tank had finished talking, the master mantra maker commended him on his work, again suggesting that it was down to his own mentoring. With everything out in the open and the four of them pooling their combined resources (Peter was feeling as though he hadn't brought much to the party so to speak) a wave of optimism rolled across the friends as they sat chatting.

  "So you think that Manson may have picked up that trick from one of the nagas?" asked Tank, directing his question towards Flash.

  "He could have picked it up almost anywhere as far as we know. But from what we now know is going on with the nagas, it strikes me as too much of a coincidence for them not to be involved."

  "But that's the whole point," interrupted Peter, wriggling uncomfortably in his chair. "We have no idea if they are involved with whatever Manson was doing... I really don't understand how there can be a connection."

  "There may not be," reiterated Flash, "but all I was trying to say was that for two things like this to be happening at the same time, and not be connected in some way, sure sounds doubtful to me. I bet right at this very moment the king and his advisors are trying to put the pieces together."

  "Hmmmm," hummed Gee Tee softly. "You, young Flash, are wise beyond your years. Both of you," ventured Gee Tee, indicating Tank and Peter, "would do well to listen to what this one has to say. I, for one, agree wholeheartedly with him. It is way too much of a coincidence for two things of this magnitude to be going on independently of one another. The three of you need to help the king and start piecing bits of the puzzle together, because something else that I don't doubt is that there's a whole lot more to this than the tiny fragments we know about. The more I hear, the more it makes me think that much darker times lie ahead for all of us."

  Sitting in silence, they all considered everything the master mantra maker had just said.

  After a few minutes, Gee Tee rose from his chair, more than a little unsteady on his talons.

  "Whoa," he uttered, wobbling about. "Hat frink has had more of an feect than I fould have wought."

  "I think it's time to get you into bed," declared Tank, making a grab for the old shopkeeper's right wing in a bid to lead him upstairs.

  "Before he gets any more of his mucking words fuddled," quipped Peter, trying hard to contain his laughter.

  Tank shot Peter and Flash his best 'I'll remember this' look from over his shoulder.

  Ten minutes later, with Gee Tee firmly tucked up in bed and secured in the shop, the three friends made their way back down Camelot Arcade, heading for the nearest monorail station. O
n reaching the station, Peter and Tank bade goodbye to Flash, thanking him for saving their lives. He nodded, shaking their hands and thanking them for a very interesting evening, nodding at Peter as he walked away, all the time patting his bottom and laughing. Knowing that he was going to get ribbed about this for quite some time, Peter joined Tank in boarding the monorail, the two friends finding that they had a whole carriage entirely to themselves.

  "Do you think both things are connected?" whispered Peter. Tank paused a little before answering.

  "I know what they're saying, and why. But I can't for the life of me see how the two events can possibly be linked. The more I think about it, the more implausible it seems."

  Peter nodded his agreement, but as he did so, he realised that the tiny little voice at the back of his mind, the one that seemed to know so much, the one he'd learned to trust in times of need, was screaming out that there was indeed a connection with everything that was happening. As he was about to tell Tank this, the monorail pulled into Salisbridge and the doors to the carriage whooshed open. Both friends exited, walked up the stairs and went their separate ways, all in under a minute. Making his way back home, all Peter could think about was the connection, if any, and just how he could help the king piece the puzzle together as Gee Tee had suggested. Minutes later, with those thoughts still uppermost in his mind, he dozed off, snugly tucked up in bed.

  15 Ball Pampering

  Casually glancing back over his shoulder, he breathed a sigh of relief as he opened the door to his workshop and slipped inside. Standing in the dark for a few seconds, composing himself, he felt like any second now he'd be caught, discovered, that his part in this plan would come to an abrupt end, meaning his wife would almost certainly fail to see the dawn of a new day.

  Wiping sweat from his brow, he switched on the lights and hurried over to his workbench. Slipping off his backpack, he dropped it onto the table and unzipped the main pocket. From inside he retrieved his rather large, dragon sized lunchbox and plonked it down on the bench. Tossing the backpack onto the floor, he slipped into his wheeled seat, letting his tail slide gently into the perfectly formed hole in the back of it. Knowing time was of the essence, he figured that if he hadn't been caught by now, then the chances were that nobody knew what he was up to. After all, he was one of the single most trusted and respected figures not only in this building, but throughout this part of the dragon kingdom. His work was renowned across the world. Why would anyone suspect him of anything untoward? The answer was... they shouldn't, wouldn't, couldn't... it was just too unbelievable.

  Opening the lunch box, he ignored the generous slabs of assorted meats that set his stomach rumbling... ham, chicken, beef and lamb. Moving aside all the fruit, he delved beneath the selection of different flavoured sticks of charcoal and pulled out something that was the size of a squash ball, wrapped entirely in silver foil. Carefully he placed it amongst the tools on his workbench and sat back, studying the item, which both terrified and excited him in equal measure. Moments later, he got up from his chair and walked across to the furthest point from the door until he stood in front of a tall, blue, metallic cylinder that rose up from the ground, stopping at about his waist height. The top of the cylinder was flat and about 20 inches in diameter. Troubled by what he was about to do, he shook his head, knowing that he had absolutely no choice. Reaching out with his mind until he found the tiniest of hidden switches deep inside the cylinder, he flicked it to the 'on' position and shuffled back just a little. Instantly a circular hole appeared in the flat surface, the slightest of hums reverberating from inside, the delicate movement of air sending shivers along his wing membranes. Again he stretched out with his mind, and on finding a microscopic keypad hidden far below, entered a particular twenty digit number. A buzz replaced the hum as the movement of air changed slightly. Suddenly, as if by magic, a sparkling ball, the size of a football, shot out from the pitch black hole and just hovered in the air, a few inches above it, slowly rotating. Even though he'd done this a thousand times before, he stood in awe for a few seconds as the laminium ball hovered, seemingly of its own accord, before him.

  Briefly he recalled the first time he'd ever seen this process... some ninety or so years ago. Cautiously he moved the ball over to his workbench, before he sat down and double checked that it was the right ball, for the right match... this was very important, or so he'd been told. After confirming that it was, he set to work, counting on no one else being around for some time, because of the stupidly early hour. He'd been turning up for work in the early hours of the morning over the last three weeks or so. The first few times, the King's Guards on duty were a little wary, but he'd spun them a story about having trouble sleeping, the pressure of making sure the balls for all the big matches were perfect and mumbled stuff about 'being a perfectionist', all of which seemed to do the trick. After that, the guards barely gave him a second glance, and tonight, well... he might as well have been invisible, or on duty with them. Figuring he'd be good for four or five hours before anyone else who worked in this room arrived, that was more than enough time to perform the deed he'd been tasked with. Switching on the tiny lamp on his desk, he selected the narrowest, most powerful laser scalpel from the perfectly arranged tools... and got to work. Steam rose as the delicate red laser beam of the scalpel gradually worked its way through the outer layer of the laminium ball in almost complete silence. If anyone had arrived, they would have seen an artisan craftsdragon at work. But they didn't and he was left undisturbed for all the time he needed and beyond. Long before all the other workshop users arrived, he'd planted the device inside the laminium ball in such a way that not even the most detailed inspection of the ball would show that it had been tampered with.

  'Tampered... that's funny,' he thought to himself as he munched through a huge slab of beef. 'More like... pampered,' he told himself. That's right... he'd pampered the ball, much in the same way he did on a regular basis. That was part of his job... to pamper all the balls, and check they were perfect for the matches. At least now his wife would be safe, he told himself, as he tore off another hunk of beef. Having done what he'd been asked to do, now it was over. He told himself this, over and over again, all morning and all afternoon. By the end of the day, when his desk was packed up and he was exiting the building with all the other dragon workers, he'd almost totally forgotten about the dreadful deed that he'd done. It was to him... nothing to worry about.

  16 A Monopoly On Magic

  Over the next week Peter tried to get in touch with Richie, but she had booked some time off work and, so far, he hadn't been able to contact her at home or on her mobile phone. Reluctantly he decided his best plan of action was just to give his friend all the time and space she so clearly desired. So with this in mind, he focused his attention on his day job and the protection of Cropptech.

  Used to coming home and chilling out, his evenings had become busier than he could remember; with Richie deliberately avoiding them, Peter and Tank, joined by Flash, had taken to having a get together a couple of times a week... just to try out some human games. And, unsurprisingly, they had found it immense fun. With it being awkward for Flash to bring anyone back to the king's private residence, the evenings had been hosted alternately at Peter and Tank's houses. The first night at Tank's house was supposed to have been an evening of playing darts. Tank had purchased a board and three sets of darts. However, the evening hadn't quite panned out as planned. With the board hung carefully on the far wall of the rugby playing dragon's living room, the three started off from the correct distance away and BAM... the correct score every time. Even trying not to use their dragon abilities, the three were just too good and every throw scored exactly what they needed to get, whether it was 180, or treble 16. It was, for them... just too easy. Whoever started each match won it, just because they were first to throw. So after an hour or so, they all agreed on Flash's idea of moving back a little further than would perhaps be the norm. By the end of the evening, the board had been
moved onto a different wall, one visible from the far end of the kitchen, nearly forty feet away from where the three friends were now standing to throw their arrows. This proved much more of a challenge for the three of them, but even from this distance, their accuracy had still been surprisingly good. After that came an evening of cards at Peter's house, the three trying all the card games they could... but still, with each having a very high intellect, it was difficult to separate the winners and the losers. Calculating odds and percentages was basic dragon maths taught in the third year of every nursery ring... so the card games were frighteningly easy for all three of them. Some adjustment was needed again, just like with the darts, and the friends eventually settled on using four decks of cards in the games that they were playing. They all had fun, but agreed that other avenues in the way of human pastimes needed to be explored.

  Tank chose chess for their next gaming event to be held at his house. At first it seemed like a wise choice, but once again it went pretty much the same way as on the other occasions. It was almost impossible to separate the dragons intellectually and after four and a half hours, only two games had been played... both ending in stalemate.

  Tonight it was Peter's turn to host his friends and he was sure he'd found a classic game that would not only offer them something different, but would also throw a large dollop of luck into the mix, which even dragons can't fully account for. Tonight's game was... Monopoly! After overhearing two of his hockey teammates talking about a particularly ill tempered, drunken game of Monopoly that they'd taken part in, Peter had done a little research about the game, and had no hesitation in going out and buying a set. Although there now appeared to be a huge choice of different versions, eventually he'd decided to go for the classic one, a set that was now laid out in the middle of his living room floor, along with two huge trays... one full of drinks, the other overflowing with food. Right on cue, the tiniest of clicks resounded out from the corner of the room, before the shiny piano began to glide silently across the floor, uncovering a small hole through which the sound of footsteps on metal could just be made out. From out of the darkness a smiling face appeared, albeit covered in a few nasty bruises and the makings of a very serious black eye.