Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  'But,' Flash thought to himself, 'what am I supposed to do with it?' In his mind, he tried moving the letters around. Nothing happened. Next he summoned up the words 'Alvin Comet', thinking that might unlock the hologram and make it talk. Just as he was about to give up and try and contact the king another way... a thought occurred to him. THE DATE! Although both dragons had reached the same conclusion with their speculation, neither could agree exactly when the battle would have happened. Flash had told the king in no uncertain terms that the date would have been 1769. Disagreeing wholeheartedly, the king laid out his theory as to why the battle would have taken place much later, in 1791. Both dragons had refused to yield after that, eventually agreeing to disagree.

  'I wonder...' thought Flash, thinking about the date he'd suggested to the king. But he knew that wouldn't work. If any date at all was going to unlock the hologram, it would most certainly be the one the king had decided on. Instantly he whistled up the numbers 1791 in his head, and tossed them into the middle of the image of the king. Numbers and letters collided and then suddenly exploded outwards, causing Flash to instinctively squeeze his eyes closed, even though he knew he couldn't be hurt.

  The next thing he knew, the holographic king sprang back to life, only this time... it talked!

  "Hello Flash," uttered the likeness of the king, his arms open wide. "If you're listening to this rather marvellous creation straight out of the research and development department, then clearly you've cracked my sneaky, but factually correct, encryption. Well done my boy! I miss our 'what if?' games, and hope that things become a little less hectic soon, so that we can resume playing. And on the subject of hectic, I need your help. I understand you were at the laminium ball match yesterday. To say things have kicked off would be rather an understatement. I'd like you to file a full report as soon as possible, but only to me please, including every last detail you can think of. Also, and here's the tricky bit, I'd like you to start your own investigation into exactly what happened. Currently the King's Guards and the Crimson Guards both have their own investigations running side by side, but I need someone I can trust to look into things, and I believe your unique perspective would serve me well. I'm sure by now you realise that there's more to this than meets the eye, as well as understanding the danger I'm now placing you in. But if anyone's up to the task, then I know it's you. I would request that you don't tell anyone what you're up to, and I'm sorry to say that must include Peter and the rest of your new found friends. When you have something, anything... get in touch. The usual resources are at your disposal. Good luck. Your King."

  Flash, still seemingly studying the telepathic papers, was struck by a confusing mixture of emotions. Delighted that the king trusted him to undertake the assignment, he was disappointed that he couldn't tell his friends what was going on, and more than a little afraid of not only what he would find, but also of crossing paths with the Crimson Guards, knowing on that count alone, he'd have to be extremely vigilant. Without hesitation, and knowing time was of the essence, he left the enclave of his mind and let his body overwhelm him. Only a split second later he was back in control, though momentarily it left him a little disorientated. For an instant he expected to be in his dragon form. On finding that he wasn't, a tinge of sadness crept over him like ivy running up the outside of a thatched cottage. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, despite his anger at being held captive in this falsehood of a body, he leant closer to where Peter and Tank were sitting, both sporting slightly glazed looks. Announcing that he had to leave, his friends' attentiveness returned instantly, so that he could explain that he had a couple of errands to run for the king. Nodding their understanding, something crossed Peter's face for a moment at the mention of the king, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. Flash recognised it for what it was... jealousy, and to be honest, he couldn't really blame his friend, knowing the full story of the king's relationship with him. But the king was tied up with important matters, and until those were resolved Flash knew it was unlikely that Peter would be granted the time he so desired with the monarch. Standing, Flash shook both of them by the hand and then disappeared down the concourse, leaving the two friends to catch the monorail back to Salisbridge.

  28 Odd Ball

  Kneeling down on the slightly sticky floor, she picked up the new bottles from the crate and slid them to the back of the shelf, before placing the old bottles in front of them, carefully giving them a little shake as she did so. It was mind numbingly boring sometimes... she knew that, but she just supposed that every job was like that in some way, shape or form. It was dealing with the people and the resulting conversations that she liked the best, well, for the most part. It wasn't pleasant when they were really drunk, but even then they usually weren't too bad. Not as bad as the last couple of places that she'd worked at in the city centre. Scuffles and violence of some sort were a nightly occurrence there, and something that she'd learnt to hate. So much so, that she'd had to get away, look for another job... somewhere safer. It had taken the better part of three months to find one, here at the sports club, but she'd known within a matter of days that the move had been the right one for her. Mainly, it was quiet, particularly during the week. Oh, there was the odd event in the function room, the occasional committee meeting and training nights were quite lively, but usually people were courteous, good mannered and polite. She liked them all. The rugby players always showed the most respect, something that she found endearing. Her thoughts turned to Peter's friend Tank. He'd always been very polite and nice to her, but it was as obvious as the nose on her face that he didn't approve of her relationship with Peter. Unable to understand why, she wondered if Peter had in the past suffered a bad break up, with Tank looking out for his friend now in case the same thing should happen again. It wasn't the only thing she supposed. Perhaps it was her job, or perhaps there was something she didn't know, some dark secret that they both shared. A tight little smile flitted across her perfect, pale face at the very thought of Peter having a dark secret.

  Although not exactly sure why, the lacrosse girls intimidated her. They were all extremely fit and most were outgoing and confident with it.

  'Perhaps,' she thought, as she added yet more bottles, 'it's because I'm so shy and unlike them in almost every way. I've never played a team sport, even at school, and my idea of fit is going to the gym once a week.' Still, she'd never had a problem in serving any of them in the clubhouse. And that left the hockey players. Standing up, stretching her arms high up into the air, something of a ritual after stocking the bar, thoughts of hockey players caused her to gaze out the window across the deserted Astroturf pitch. Peter didn't know it, but sometimes she sneaked out to watch him while he played. Taking her lunch hour late, or her break early, depending on the time of day, she'd blend seamlessly into the crowd and just watch in awe. Not really understanding much about the game, but as it ebbed and flowed backwards and forwards, she recognised his passion, commitment and regard for his teammates. It made her so proud. She was pretty sure he'd never caught her watching, although his friends almost had on a couple of occasions. Another smile lit up her face. When she thought of the hockey players that frequented this place, all she could think of was him. Hoping he'd had as good a time as he could while working away this week, he'd explained that infrequently in his job he had to travel overseas to check on the security of the other Cropptech sites. This week had been one of those times, and for security reasons he couldn't even tell her where he'd been. She'd just wished him well, and was deeply looking forward to seeing him tonight.

  Brought back to the present by the squeal of the door to the bar opening and the soft gust of air that accompanied it, a mass of wiry, copper hair bobbing about with every stride, the chairman of the sports club walked in, his smart grey trousers befitting the dark blue blazer and matching tie.

  She smiled. It was sunshine on a dark, stormy day. Water in a desert.

  "Good morning," she remarked as he walked past, only to be gree
ted by a mumbled reply that she couldn't hear. She stood, stunned.

  'How rude,' she thought, only to herself, knowing he'd never been particularly polite, well, not to her anyway. Not only did she find him intimidating, but she always got the impression that she was somehow beneath him.

  'Huh,' she thought, 'well he's not going to ruin my day.' Picking up the empty crates from the floor, she headed through the swing doors at the end of the bar and up the stairs to the stock cupboard, following directly in the chairman's wake. Reaching the top, she strolled purposefully along the corridor, pushed open the cupboard door and stacked the crate on top of several empty ones. Turning to go back downstairs, she just caught a glimpse of the chairman across the function room, sitting at the desk in his office. He sat there, head in hands... sobbing! For some reason, Janice fought back her instinct to go and see if he was alright. She wanted to, but a tiny little voice deep within her urged her not to. And then her decision was justified. Out of nowhere the chairman bolted to his feet, turned to face the gunship grey metal filing cabinet beside his desk and went berserk, kicking, punching and head butting the defenceless cabinet. Thinking quickly, she pulled the door to, desperate not to be discovered. The chairman's 'moment' lasted longer than a minute, with Janice all the time cowering in the stock cupboard, too frightened to leave in case he caught a glimpse of her. Steadily, the sound of flesh on metal died away, only to be replaced by the loudest sobbing and coughing she'd ever heard. Peeking through the tiny gap in the door, she noted that the chairman was back at his desk, facing directly away from her. With all the stealth of a stalking tiger, she slipped out, quietly pulled the door closed and padded softly down the stairs back to the bar, determined to be as far away from him as possible.

  29 Just Desserts

  Just before he hit Paris, the answer came to him. After making his excuses and leaving Tank and Peter to catch the monorail back to Salisbridge, the first thing he did was board the next intercontinental monorail back to New Zealand. After all, it made sense. That's where it had all taken place, that's where the King's and Crimson Guard's were conducting their investigations, so that's where he needed to be. But the little voice in the back of his mind, the one he so often listened to, the one that had saved his life on numerous occasions, disagreed. It wouldn't tell him what he should do, only that it was a mistake to head back to the Southern Hemisphere. So he'd sat quietly in the near deserted monorail carriage, and pondered his next course of action. Exactly four minutes after leaving Pudding Lane for the second time in a week, in a flicker of genius, it came to him. The ball! That was the key to everything. Testimonies of all the players confirmed that much, in particular from the Warriors' mouth guard, Silverbonce, having claimed that he could feel the enormity of what was wrong when he held onto the ball. How this was possible, Flash wasn't entirely sure. But the ball was the place to start, of that he was certain. So with that in mind, just as the monorail pulled into Paris, he stood up and alighted.

  In a rush, he sprinted up the stairs onto the station's main plaza, heading for the nearest information terminal. Normally designed to provide basic or local information, deep down all the terminals were hardwired into just three or four mainframes across the world. And he had an array of passwords that would grant him access to anything that he needed. Checking to make sure he wasn't being observed, he entered one of the many passwords and then started searching for the classified information that he required. It wasn't long before he had his answers. Deleting all the information from the screen, he powered the terminal down and eyed the nearest LCD screen. With his mind working out the number of changes he'd have to make, he scooted off across the plaza in the direction of platform eight, all the time wondering exactly what he'd find at his destination.

  A few hours and a few monorail changes later, he disembarked, noticing the smell that was like nowhere else on the planet. An enticing concoction of smoky aromas, cooked food and... just plain hard work assaulted his nostrils in waves. It was far from often that he smiled, and he'd tried hard to change that recently, with the addition of his new friends a great help in that department, but on his numerous visits here, he always found himself smiling. Today was no different.

  Already having memorised exactly where he was going, he followed the hubbub of dragons exiting the station against the backdrop of bright lit neon adverts. It was crowded, almost like nowhere else. Dragons in their natural form bustled alongside their human shaped counterparts, the human shaped ones like Flash, for the most part coming off worse. Wings clipped heads, talons raked shoes and worst of all, tails were everywhere. It was chaos, but in a good way. Tucked in the middle of the long line to leave the station, five or six beings wide, snaking out in front as far as the eye could see, he almost missed the sign that brought back all the memories. But he knew what to look for, knew where it would be. Glancing over to his left, peering through bumbling human and dragon shapes, he could just make out the tattered words on the crumbling old sign. "NEW YORK CITY WELCOMES YOU!"

  Gradually the crowd thinned out, meandering off in different directions like the tributaries of a mighty river. Flash continued, all the time marvelling at the superstructures the dragons here lived in. They very much mimicked the sprawling city above in both scale and grandeur. Half an hour later, he arrived at his destination: a tall, nondescript, stone tower, with only one visible entrance, and no name plate or description of what it was. Stepping up, he resembled a dwarf against the oversized metallic door that clearly serviced more dragon shapes than human ones. Depressing the buzzer on the intercom, he didn't have long to wait.

  "Can I help you?" answered a silky smooth female voice.

  "I'm here on urgent business," announced Flash, sounding all official.

  "I think you must be mistaken. This building is not the one you're looking for and you are most certainly not expected. Good day." And with that the intercom cut off.

  It wasn't really anything more than he'd expected. Buzzing again, when the intercom crackled into life this time, he didn't bother waiting for the voice. Instead he said,

  "I'm here at the king's behest. You'd do well to let me in... immediately," putting more than a little menace behind his words.

  Ten or so seconds later, a series of clicks erupted from behind the door and it silently swung inwards. Flash strolled in, closing the door behind him. 'Magnificent' was the only word that would have adequately described the lobby. Stunning green and blue marble tiles weaved their way across the floor, as paintings from famous dragon and human artists littered the shimmering walls. Splendid candelabra, studded with precious gems, hung down low from the ceiling. 'Opulent' barely did this place justice.

  Through one of the high arched wooden doorways a tall, thin, grey speckled dragon appeared, her tiny beady eyes focused on Flash. The same voice that he'd heard over the intercom drifted across the lobby.

  "How do I know you're on the king's business?"

  Lifting his left leg up, with his right hand he triggered a microscopic switch on the bottom of the Merrell walking boots that he wore. A tiny compartment about the size of a fifty pence piece flipped open. From it, Flash pulled out a sliver of purple metal. Hexagonally shaped, it bore the king's seal. He handed it over to the dragon who studied it carefully, before handing it back.

  "How can we help you?" she asked politely.

  "You can tell me about the balls," Flash shot back.

  "I... I... I... don't know what you mean," she stammered nervously.

  "The laminium balls. I want to know all about them... NOW!"

  * * *

  Plodding softly up the stairs to his apartment on the eighth floor, all the time sticking to the shadows, both worry and relief coursed through his veins, having done exactly what they'd asked, down to the letter. It wasn't his fault things hadn't gone exactly as planned. Backing up against the wall, he stopped in the darkest point of the landing.

  'What was that noise?' he thought, moving forward to sneak a look back down the fl
ights of stairs he'd already climbed. There was nothing there, not that he could see anyway. 'I'm imagining things again,' he thought, not for the first time. The stress of not knowing where his wife was, or even if she was still alive, combined with what he'd done to the ball and the thought that even now the King's Guard might be coming for him, was almost too much. For days he'd waited to hear from the kidnappers, hoping in vain, so far, to get his wife back. But there'd been no word, nothing, and he had no idea how to contact them... they'd always found him before now. He let out a deep breath; the walk up the stairs had evidently taken its toll. Reaching the door to his apartment, he scanned the corridor in both directions before inserting both keys in the two door locks, turning them at the same time. Bolting swiftly inside as the door clicked open, he quickly locked the door behind him, before leaning against the back of it, panting. With a reasserted sense of safety now that he was home, he brushed the wisps of hair that ran down the mottled scales across his jaw line, back behind his head with both hands and traipsed wearily down the corridor and into the living room, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sight of a human sitting in the middle of the dark brown leather sofa facing him.

  "Hhhooow diiiiid yyoooouuu gettt innnn?" he stuttered, suddenly more afraid than ever.

  "Does that really matter?" replied the human shape.

  Breathing heavily again now, he was agitated and off guard.