Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  Gradually, they could feel the tunnel starting to slope upwards. Having travelled over three hundred yards, crouched down, they were now reaching the exit. A whispered voice greeted them, helping them out of their hidden burrow and into the secret enclave manned by a force of British soldiers. Pleasantries were exchanged briefly, before the small group settled down to observe the final part of the operation.

  Bursting into the barn in one coordinated movement, as they had to various 'safe' houses so many times before, what awaited them this particular time was completely unexpected. The barn was empty... deserted!

  'It's puzzling,' he thought. 'Has she captured or killed them all?' Both thoughts flicked through his very logical and very cruel mind. Not relaxed now, he was on edge, more so than he'd been for a long time. And quite rightly so.

  As the very last Resistance members exited from the tunnel, he gave the command. All he could do now was watch and wait as his force of fifty men closed in on the barn in a concentric circle, their instructions to totally destroy every last inch of it.

  Starting with a loud rap on the side of the barn, startling all those inside, instantly they all targeted their guns in that direction. Almost immediately there was another at the back of the barn this time, and then another. Quicker on the uptake than his men, but not by much, the Nazi captain lunged for the door, longing to escape what he knew was inevitable. But he didn't stand a chance. The barn was surrounded, and as the first of the grenades went off, the British commandos opened fire with everything they had. Along with the barn, the silence was shattered. Explosions littered the outside at first, and then much further in. And even with every single remnant seemingly on fire, or destroyed, still the men continued to hurl grenades into it, until every last one had been used.

  In the distance hay fluttered in the air, black smoke swirled all around, accompanied by the fetid smell of death... and victory. Aware they had to move out, and quickly, with the barn obliterated and their prisoner secure, they'd completed their task. He only hoped the other operation, just west of here, running at exactly the same time, had been this successful. Now all he had to do was get his highly valued prisoner back to Britain.

  'That in itself,' he thought, 'would be some achievement.'

  17 Loss

  Unable to catch her breath, it felt as though the whole world was closing in around her. Tears flowed like the steady stream of rain into a gutter after a violent storm.

  Moments later it passed, replaced by the heart wrenching feeling of loss: loss of a friend, loss of a future only dreamed of. It wasn't the first panic attack she'd had and she doubted it would be the last, given how her life was going. No job currently... she could cope with that, for a while, at least. But that wasn't what plagued her, haunted her dreams, both waking and sleeping alike. They were all about HIM! She missed him so badly. He was all she could think of, and it hadn't helped when he turned up out of the blue. Perhaps she'd been more spiteful than she'd meant to be, but he'd been holding things back, by his own admission. What? She didn't know. That day that the clubhouse had been destroyed changed everything. In her head she'd been over it hundreds of times. There were so many anomalies. How did they both know the bomb was really a bomb? They'd only had her vague description as a reference. How did Tank break down the office door without a sound, and without disturbing the device? What did they do after she'd left? The official account stated that they'd tried to disarm the bomb and that they were heroes. But something else had gone on, of that she was sure. What? She didn't know, but was desperate to find out. With all the free time on her hands, she had nothing else to do but search the internet for anything relevant to what had happened. Clearly it was all tied in to the global disaster. Every time she watched the television or switched on the radio, all the coverage was of the massive devastation, the clean up and the lives of those affected. The scale of the destruction in every other place was huge... catastrophic in fact. Over and over again she wondered if that's what someone had intended to happen, here in Salisbridge, and if in fact Peter and Tank really were heroes and had found some way to limit the destruction of the blast. But how? Internet searches proving fruitless up until now, she poured herself a glass of water from the chilled, clear jug always kept in the fridge, opting against anything to eat, despite growling protests from her stomach. To her, eating had seemed so inconsequential since all this had happened. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she knew she HAD to eat. And sometimes she did. But it was just very little, and very infrequently. Slumping down on the sofa with her laptop open, Janice once again started her search for any clues that might explain exactly what had happened on that fateful day.

  18 Pole Vaulting Dragons?

  For days now, he'd been tormented by his dreams. Ever since he'd seen it, he could think about nothing else, despite everything going on. What to do next? That was the question. Days of pondering had led him here in the hope that someone could make some sort of sense of what he'd witnessed.

  Pulling open the door, he slid inside. Tank was away coaching rugby somewhere, of that much he was sure, which was a good thing, as he wanted the old shopkeeper all to himself. A gut feeling told him that Gee Tee's lifetime of experience would be invaluable in this matter.

  Walking around the first set of bookcases that led into the shop proper, Peter felt more than a little trepidation, as on more than one occasion he'd stumbled into something resembling an action scene from a movie. Instantly his mind darted back to the ice salamander that Flash had almost single-handedly dealt with, and to the occasion he'd turned up to find the king, Tank and Gee Tee all ready to fight, and of course to the infamous giant spider and lack of clothing incident. Sweat coursed down his sides at the very thought of the last one.

  "Hello little one," whispered a soft, velvety smooth voice from off to one side, momentarily startling Peter.

  Returning the old shopkeeper's smile, he just about managed a "Hi," in return.

  "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but your friend has the afternoon off I'm afraid."

  "I know," he responded, looking the old dragon right in the eye.

  "Uhhh... I see. Well perhaps we should adjourn to the workshop for a chat and some hot charcoal. Would you like to do the honours?"

  All the time smiling, he nodded, knowing where everything was in the small kitchen, and just how the master mantra maker liked his hot charcoal. As he approached the kitchen, Gee Tee's voice echoed across the shop.

  "Be a good dragon and see if you can find where the marshmallows are tucked away will you? And don't be stingy with them when you do."

  Entering the kitchen he set the kettle to boil, and after spooning the dark charcoal into the mugs, he set about looking for the hidden treats. By the time the kettle started to whistle furiously, he still hadn't found them, having looked in all the cupboards and shelves, under the sink, rifled through the pile of dish cloths... NOTHING! Not wanting to disappoint the old dragon, particularly in light of the fact that he was here for his help, he poured the hot water on top of the tiny dark lumps of charcoal and tried to imagine just where Tank had hidden them. As he inhaled the steam from the drinks... it came to him. His friend would almost certainly play the old shopkeeper at his own cunning game. But how exactly? That was the question. Opening the massive cupboard under the sink again, a small bottle of bright pink washing up liquid at the front caught Peter's attention, but he couldn't see what that would have to do with the marshmallows. It looked as though the bright pink liquid was regularly refilled from a massive container sitting behind it, showing the same liquid, but not nearly full up.

  'I wonder,' he thought, shuffling the huge container out and examining it closely. It felt the right weight, and the liquid inside sloshed about, just as it should. But there was something odd about it. Holding it in both hands, he turned it round and examined the worn label on the back. On doing so, he felt a little groove running underneath. Pressing lightly with his fingernail, he moved along the groove. A tiny 'POP' preceded
a plastic door clicking open. Peeking inside to find what looked like the world's supply of marshmallows, he laughed out loud at his friend's ingenuity. Tank had done to Gee Tee, what the old shopkeeper had done to him with the Peruvian mantra ink. Scooping out a handful, he tossed them into the master mantra maker's drink, put the secret container back and headed across the shop floor and into the workshop.

  Lounging back in one of the oversized chairs, Gee Tee held his bizarre glasses in one hand as he rubbed his eyes with the other. Noticing the offered drink, he flipped his glasses back on his nose and grabbed the mug for all he was worth.

  "Ahhh... you found them," he said with delight, spotting the pink and white treats bobbing up and down like abandoned rubber rings in a swimming pool.

  Sitting down opposite the shopkeeper, Peter looked more than a little ridiculous in the oversized chair, sipping on his drink. After a few moments of blissful silence, Gee Tee spoke up.

  "What's so important that my apprentice... ahem... I mean my associate... has to be out of the way?"

  Swallowing hard, Peter wondered what to say. Now that he was here, things didn't seem quite so straight forward or easy. Knowing that he had nowhere else to go other than here, he hoped the shopkeeper would be able to help him out.

  "It's about Richie."

  Gee Tee nodded.

  "I assumed as much."

  "It's all so confusing," he declared, putting his drink on the desk, before holding his head in his hands.

  "I understand little one, I really do. Tank feels exactly as you do, but there's nothing you can do to change the facts of what's happened. And rightly or wrongly, the council will never be dissuaded from wiping her memory and integrating her back fully into the human world. It pains me to say it, but as a dragon, she's lost. There simply isn't anything that can be done. Nothing at all."

  It wasn't in his nature to get angry, but of late he'd found a whole lot of rage bubbling away inside him. Using a series of mental exercises he'd tried to control it, tried to rationalise it, but it was hard and it didn't always work. Right at this very instant... it was there, shifting around inside him, somewhere deep down past his stomach. Having heard the words and understood the meaning, he knew the old shopkeeper was only telling the truth. But he couldn't lose his friend, not again, not like this. It was bad enough when he'd thought that she was dead, but this... this was almost worse. To have her existence torn away through no fault of her own, just because the council refused to believe that she could be trusted in the new and very permanent form she found herself in, almost defied belief. So he'd decided he would stop at nothing to prevent it. As well, this new turn of events put a whole new spin on things, hence the reason he was here.

  "I understand what you're saying," he said facing the old dragon across the room from him, "but I refuse to believe that nothing can be done. But before we talk anymore about that, there's something else you need to know."

  "Go on," urged the master mantra maker.

  "You know all about Tim?" he asked.

  "Of course. Your young lady friend's human lover, who, thanks to the side effects of the alea has now transformed into not just any dragon, but the 'white dragon' who will apparently save us all."

  Peter was curious.

  "You say that almost as if you don't believe it."

  "Call me an old cynic if you like, but in my experience things like this are never quite what they seem. It's almost as if it's a little TOO easy."

  Peter chuckled.

  "And just why would that be funny?" asked the shopkeeper, miffed.

  "Ohhh... I'm not mocking you," stammered Peter, desperate not to offend his host. "Quite the opposite in fact. It's just that what you've just said, and what I have to tell you next, will prove you're one of the wisest dragons on the planet."

  Now it was the master mantra maker's turn to let out a little chuckle. His was a lot louder though, and accompanied by tiny spurts of flame licking from his nostrils and around the side of his jaw.

  "Well... I do like to think of myself in that role. But enough of the buttering up. Get on with it little one, I'm keen to know."

  Staring deep down into the still swirling, dark ocean of charcoal in his mug, he composed his thoughts.

  "A few days ago I went to Richie's flat to pick her up. While we were waiting, she wandered around getting dressed. Anyhow, during all of this, I got to see her back. As I'm sure you're aware, it was damaged very badly in the explosion at the clubhouse. Having done a great job in healing her injuries, the doctors have always maintained there would be a large amount of scar tissue there, and on her upper arms, that nothing could be done about. Anyway, it's the first time I've seen it. And it wasn't very pleasant, I can assure you. But that wasn't the surprising thing.

  Taking an enormous mouthful of his drink, he tried to overcome just how uncomfortable he was about what he had to say next.

  "Well?" encouraged the master mantra maker.

  "The scarring, it had a pattern, well... more of an image actually."

  Looking up from his drink, straight into the old dragon's eyes, he came out with it.

  "It was a dragon. An image of a dragon on her pale white back. A white dragon!"

  Gee Tee, who'd been creeping ever forward in his chair, sat back and let out a sigh.

  "So what do you make of all this, little one?"

  Anger rolling through every atom, it spread to his arms and legs now, close to consuming him.

  "Don't you see...? They've got it all wrong. Everything else fits, but it's not Tim that's the white dragon from the prophecy, it's Richie!"

  "I know what I said before, but this all sounds more than a little preposterous, don't you think?" replied the old dragon softly, trying not to hurt his guest's feelings.

  "I was there, I saw it. I swear to you what happened is true."

  "I don't doubt what you believe, little one. Truly I don't. But it's just possible your eyes were playing tricks on you, your imagination running away, or it was a trick of the light. These are all more likely explanations."

  Throwing his head back in frustration, Peter let out a feral, ungodly scream. Gee Tee jumped ever so slightly in his chair.

  "WHY WON'T YOU BELIEVE ME? I'M NOT WRONG!" he yelled.

  Changing from good natured to serious, the old shopkeeper's face currently looked more dangerous than Peter had ever seen it. With more than a little tension flooding into the room, the young hockey playing dragon started to shake uncontrollably, the anger within him turning to fear and despair. Tears sprinted across his face, racing to see who would be the first to throw themselves off that cliff called 'chin'. Through blurred eyes, he looked up at the shopkeeper, his friend, his hope.

  "I'm not wrong. Please... help me?"

  With more lifetimes of experience than any being had a right to, Gee Tee had seen his share of action, theatrics and dragons who liked to play games, all for their own selfish needs and wants. This... youngling, dragon in a boy's body, was different, and he'd known it from their very first encounter, that day he'd come into the shop and stripped down to his underpants. Even then there was something about him, something that marked him out. Sure that once again destiny was giving him a little nudge, prompting him to help the boy dragon out, though he wouldn't reveal that to anyone. But it was all so vague and unbelievable. If only he could see it for himself.

  'Get the girl in here and get her to strip off. How hard could that be to arrange?' he mused.

  Lifting himself out of his chair, his ancient bones almost creaking from the strain, the old shopkeeper wandered over to the, by now, quivering young dragon and lifted his chin up with the tip of his right wing.

  "You have to understand youngster... it's difficult for me to fully appreciate what you're telling me, without having seen it with my own eyes. I can see that you yourself are convinced one hundred percent about what you've seen, however unlikely it might appear. But without dragging your friend in here and getting her to show me her back, there's no p
ossible way I can judge how much merit there is to what you say. Do you think you could get her to do it?"

  Considering what the shopkeeper was suggesting, he wondered what his friend would think of his unusual request. It took only moments for him to realise it was ludicrous, and something she'd never agree to. And tricking her was out of the question, as he hadn't managed to fool her in the past and was pretty sure he wasn't going to any time soon. Resigned, he shook his head disappointedly.

  "No... I don't think there's any chance I could even get her here, let alone get her to show you her wounds."

  Sighing simultaneously, the two racked their brains about what to do. Just as the despair in the pit of his stomach threatened to rise up and overwhelm him, the master mantra maker's face changed ever so subtly, the brow of his forehead creasing, forming tiny rough valleys across his prehistoric expression, his sullen lips rising fractionally at the ends, producing not quite a smile... but something else.

  "What is it?" Peter pleaded.

  "There might be another way," growled the master mantra maker, a glint in his eye.

  Peter stood bolt upright.

  "Whatever it is, let's do it! I'll do anything, anything at all to prove to you I'm right."

  Gee Tee snorted out the residual flame from his nostrils, making an almost pig-like "oink" in the process.

  "I wouldn't be too hasty if I were you, not before you know what I have in mind."

  Peter calmed down, well... a little anyway.

  "A well famed dragon, both down here and in the human world up above, a certain Leonardo da Vinci, produced some very prolific mantras in his time, tending to go through phases exploring flight and art, the sun, moon and stars, and at one point... the human mind. Without doubt he was a genius, not only in his predictions of the future, but also his shaping and understanding of creating mantras.