Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  Before he'd even touched the magnificent belt, a faint waft of leather and associated oils filled his sensitive nostrils. Ignoring the assault on his nose, he noticed that all the bullets held in place around the entire diameter of the tan coloured belt had lost their sheen. For the most part, the same was true for the gun, a Colt .44 if he wasn't mistaken. Not the white grip of the seductive looking pistol, though, that was shiny and only a little worn. A shiver ran down his spine. He wanted to try it on... he so did.

  "Can you guess who it belonged to?" asked a soft voice, floating across the chamber.

  Without bothering to turn round, he racked his brain for the answer. Having always been fascinated by the Wild West era, it was only now that he realised his knowledge on the subject was more than a little limited. Moments later, it became clear that at best he'd only be taking a guess. So he gambled.

  "Jesse James."

  Still searching, and without breaking a sweat, the old shopkeeper nodded, grumbling a brief,

  "Not bad, not bad at all."

  Elated that his guess had been right, confidence and pride swelled within him, for all of a few seconds anyway.

  "You're in the right era, so I suppose we should be grateful for that," stated the old dragon, stalking in Peter's direction, a loose piece of parchment flapping out precariously from his right hand. "But this belt, and the 1873 Winchester rifle you see beside it, belonged to a much maligned and misunderstood dragon, someone whose supposed infamy stretches far and wide in human history, or so I'm led to believe."

  Not expecting this, he stood listening intently, eager to know who this infamous dragon was.

  "His name was William H. Bonney and he was for a short time at least... one of my friends," added the old shopkeeper a little sadly.

  'William, Will, Bill,' pondered Peter. 'Who on earth was...?' And then it came to him.

  "Billy the Kid!" he declared.

  His friend nodded in agreement.

  "That's the name he came to be known by. But he was always just 'Kid' to me, always misunderstood, always fighting the good fight."

  Peter had never heard of any dragons being involved in the main historical events of the Wild West. Sure there would have been dragons living in around those areas, blending in, guiding... just pretty much doing what they do now. But to find out somebody that famous, or infamous depending on your view, from that era was a dragon, he found quite shocking.

  "You say that he was misunderstood and that he was fighting the good fight, but from everything I know, and yes, it's based on how the humans view history, Billy the Kid was known as a teenage outlaw, a thief and a cattle rustler, as well as a murderer."

  Unceremoniously, the old shopkeeper plonked his backside on the floor and sat down, the ground protesting just a little as he did so. Gently placing the parchment on the floor next to him, he gazed over at the young dragon before him, now that they were almost at the same height.

  "Kid was one of the most intriguing, loyal and courageous dragons I've ever had the pleasure to be associated with. Cool under pressure, he loved to speak Spanish, and had the most beautiful tenor voice I've ever heard, right up to the present day."

  This sounded almost impossible to Peter. It was nothing like the Billy the Kid he'd read and watched films about.

  "What you don't know," reflected the old dragon, "and almost certainly, what the dragon council have tried very hard to cover up and keep quiet, is that a band of dragons gone bad had virtually taken over the Wild West and were running it for their own means. At the time, there was very little in the telepathic papers about it, but dragons everywhere knew exactly what was going on. It was an unspoken secret if you like. The council, instead of going charging in like a dragon in a field of sheep, decided to fight fire with fire, so to speak, and sent in a group of their very best operatives, with a view to clearing up the mess quickly and very quietly. I'm not going to tell you who some of the others were, but rest assured, you would know their names. Anyhow, Kid was one of them. One of the best in fact. Before that mission, he'd known for some time, and let's just say we'd had a few run ins. But he came to me and explained the difficult and delicate nature of what he was doing, and pleaded for my help. Anyhow, he got it, and we became firm friends over the course of a few years. It was all supposed to have been over with almost instantly, but what the council didn't realise was that the band of renegade dragons still had help, from deep within the dragon domain itself."

  Priceless, was the only way to describe the look on the young dragon's face.

  "With the dragon operatives, Kid included, in their human personas, fighting tirelessly, it went on and on and on. In the process, dragons in and around the Wild West dragged Kid's reputation through the mud... very deliberately I can assure you, to make life as difficult as possible for him in hunting down those he was assigned to bring to justice. Newspapers everywhere, particularly in his supposed home town, claimed he was a disgrace, a vulgar cutthroat and the terror of New Mexico. It was all a lie, perpetrated by the dragons. Still, the public at the time, and more importantly... HISTORY all believed it to be true. Anyhow, the kid brought in dozens of dragons gone bad, lots singlehandedly, probably killing even more. But the threat continued and those he sought the most evaded him at every turn, almost knowing his next move before he made it. Eventually he was killed by a dragon in human form called Pat Garrett, who the humans had elected as their sheriff... you couldn't make it up."

  Aware now of the emotion in the old shopkeeper's voice as he recounted the events, he could see exactly how hard it was for him, and just how much he'd cared about the 'Kid'.

  "Eventually they were all caught of course. There was Pat Garrett himself, an attorney, William Rynerson, and some deputy named James Bell who were the ringleaders, at least in and around the area where the Kid was working. But the scale and the destructive nature of what was going on had been hugely underestimated by the dragon council who, as far as I know, went to great lengths to cover things up. What happened to the perpetrators is a mystery. Nobody knows, which in itself is intriguing. After I heard of the Kid's death, I went to great lengths to recover these items," he all but sobbed, waving his arm in the direction of the gun belt and the rifle. "I felt as if I owed him that much, after all, I did imbue them with the mantras that made them such terrific weapons."

  This got Peter's attention, something which Gee Tee clearly noticed.

  "The Colt .44 was keyed to the Kid's DNA, in combination with the bullets, to fire at exactly what he was looking at. I spent weeks at a time just producing enough bullets to keep him supplied. He didn't use them all the time, but I know they saved his hide on a number of occasions. As for the rifle, it has an accuracy mantra running along the length of it, something any dragon could make use of. His ranged shooting would have been out of this world."

  Stretching out his hand to run his fingers along the belt and over the bullets it held, he was all but overwhelmed to be so close to something so... historical, something that had played such an important part in events. It was... unbelievable!

  Moving along, gazing at all the incredible items, his left foot clattered against a tall glass jar on the floor, just visible from behind a pile of leather armour. Curious, he picked up the jar... just. It weighed a ton, but that wasn't what piqued his interest. Inside were hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny rivets. Most amazing though, was that they appeared to be made of laminium.

  "PUT THAT DOWN CHILD," chided the master mantra maker from over his left shoulder, having just got to his feet.

  Surprised, the young hockey player lost his grip on the jar and watched as it arced up and away from him, spinning precariously out of control. Instantly the old shopkeeper was on it, catching it effortlessly in one hand. Before replacing it back where it had come from, he gave the youngster a... LOOK!

  "COME ON," yelled Gee Tee, pushing past him. "I might as well show you the best of the rest before we get on with what we came here for."

  Heading of
f towards the corner with the bows in, past the line of belts and bandoliers hung along the adjacent walls, Peter started to follow, full of excitement, thinking, 'Best of the rest?' As he did so, something within him felt compelled to stop, just in front of one of the swords hanging from the wall. Call it an inkling, an attraction, what you will, but he could physically do nothing but stop and look at the weapon. Carefully, he pulled it from its sheath, expecting something magnificent, riddled with gems, the perfect fighting weapon. Instead, all he found was a very ordinary, dull blunt blade, unloved and unlooked after.

  "Ahhh... I should have guessed you'd find that. I forgot all about it," babbled the old dragon, having turned around to find out where his young friend had got to. "Can you guess who that sword belonged to?"

  Despite the fact that he felt privileged to be here, and could appreciate just how special this place was, Peter was starting to get a little fed up with all the guessing games. Knowing it was just the old dragon's way to show off all the artefacts and just how much smarter he was, it was just getting on his nerves now. Not normally one to pick up on such things, or if he did, never normally one to act on that instinct, the master mantra maker patted Peter on the shoulder and quietly whispered,

  "Last time... I promise! And I'll tell you what, I'll even give you a clue."

  Peter's face brightened.

  "You've met him... that's the clue."

  'It's someone I've met,' he thought, giddily, his mind racing through everyone he knew to see if any of them could possibly have a use for, or could have used that sword. None of them seemed to fit, apart from Flash of course. He could easily imagine his friend, the ex-Crimson Guard, wielding any weapon expertly, at probably any time. And then a much more plausible alternative popped into his head, and he knew he had the answer. Even in giving him the clue, the old shopkeeper had tried to cover things up a little.

  "The king," he blurted out.

  "Which one?" asked Gee Tee playfully.

  "George... the current one."

  Nodding, the old dragon added,

  "Well done youngster, well done. This was in fact the very sword he used to incapacitate Troydenn when they battled in Salisbridge all those centuries ago, when he captured and returned him to the dragon domain, only then for them to decide his punishment and exile him and his followers to Antarctica."

  Turning the mundane weapon over and over in his hands, marvelling once again at the history behind the object, he harked back to his favourite story from the nursery ring, not able to believe that he was holding something which had featured so heavily in it.

  "Right... come on now," urged Gee Tee. "Put that back, we haven't got all day. We've been down here long enough, and there are a couple more items I've yet to show you." Turning, he stomped off towards the corner once again.

  Sliding the sword gently back into his sheath, Peter turned and followed the old dragon over to where he stood with a pile of wooden bows, some much taller than he was.

  "RIGHT! No more guessing games." Picking up a gorgeously smooth wooden bow, that when standing on the floor came right up to Peter's neck, he allowed the young dragon to run one finger along the not quite taut string. "Now surely even you, my young friend, will have no trouble in working out which famous English hero this longbow belonged to."

  This, at least, they had covered in their history lessons, back in the Purbeck Peninsula nursery ring, all those years ago.

  "ROBIN HOOD!" he cried, astounded that Gee Tee would have his bow.

  "Oh yes," replied the shopkeeper. "He did, of course, have two bows, a much smaller one for hunting and this longbow which he used to fight the Sheriff of Nottingham's men. It was the stand out weapon of the time, and when issued to the army it was said a skilled military archer could fire off around twelve arrows a minute and pierce armour from more than two hundred and fifty yards away. Robin, no doubt, would have been able to easily exceed that. Normally bows were made to measure depending on your height, so we have to assume this one was made specifically for him. What a lot of people don't know is that the longbow was invented by the Welsh, to fight off the English. Elm was their preferred choice from which to make this fine weapon, while the English choose yew instead."

  "What's the string made of?"

  "I believe that hemp was soaked in some form of glue for most of the bows. One thing I'd really like to know about this bow, is whether or not the wood that it's formed from came from the churchyard at Papplewick. Such trees were proven, for both humans and dragons alike, to possess medicinal, spiritual and symbolic qualities. If the wood did originate there, that would indeed make it even more special than I already believe it to be."

  "Why is it so good?"

  Picking it up, the old shopkeeper offered it up, along with an arrow from a nearby quiver, to the young dragon.

  "See for yourself," he said mischievously.

  With a hint of trepidation, Peter accepted, sure he was about to make a fool of himself (not for the first time today) but in the spirit of things, he was willing to give it a go.

  Pointing to the far wall, furthest from where they were standing, the old dragon said,

  "Pick one of the runes on that wall, focus intently on it, and see if you can hit it."

  It was all Peter could do not to laugh.

  'If I get a shot off and it goes in vaguely the right direction, it'll be an absolute miracle,' he mused.

  Lifting the bow, he found it considerably more comfortable to get into position than he'd thought he would. Facing the direction Gee Tee had pointed in, he nocked the arrow, carefully pulled back the string, more worried about catching his fingers than about where the arrow would go, and focused on one particular rune on the far wall. What happened next was surreal. Without doing a thing, almost as if controlled by someone else, his vision just zoomed in, right into the rune he'd chosen. Surprised more than a little, his fingers let go of the string, the arrow shooting away at a speed he could barely see, even with his enhanced abilities. A whistling 'TWANG!!' trumpeted down his right ear. A human wouldn't have had a hope of seeing it whizz through the air. Amazingly, well, to him anyway, was the fact that the arrow hit the rune he'd been aiming for, dead on, before clattering harmlessly onto the floor.

  "WOW!" he sighed.

  "Wow indeed," added the shopkeeper. "Good eh?"

  "More than good."

  "Anyhow, one last thing," ventured the master mantra maker, snatching back the bow and placing it back on top of the pile, "before we really have to get to the reason we came down here for in the first place."

  Dodging and weaving past Peter, the old dragon proceeded back down the line of swords and things dangling off hooks, his young friend dutifully following, until he stopped in front of the large canvas rucksack that he'd spotted earlier, hanging over two hooks.

  Turning, the old dragon held up one finger, before adding,

  "I like this, I really do. It's one more of my favourites."

  It was then that he did the strangest thing. Flipping open the top of the rucksack, he gathered up a handful of nearby swords, weapons and armour, and started stuffing them into the canvas holdall.

  'That's never gonna work,' was Peter's first thought, but not for very long, because before he'd even had time to finish the thought, the old shopkeeper had already managed to force more into the average looking bag than it could possibly accommodate... but it had. And the old dragon just kept on going, and going, and going. In the end, he must have put about ten or fifteen times the amount of stuff that could possibly fit into the relative space of the rucksack, and still there was no hint of anything poking out of the top. There had been no deception, he'd been checking for that, making sure his friend hadn't been trying to pull a fast one over on him.

  "This, my young friend, is a 'Traveller's Bag of Capacity' and the mantra that's woven into its fabric is incredibly difficult to stabilise. Originally used by plant hunters scouring the planet for new and interesting species, the bag provides almost limitless
space, as well as making sure the items placed inside are kept safe and free from harm. The plant hunting dragons found that the species they put in there would last many years and still come out in exactly the same condition they went in, in the first place. I believe there are only a few left in existence."

  "A TARDIS backpack," he announced. "Cool!"

  "A what?"

  "Don't tell me you don't know who... oh, of course not. Never mind."

  Gee Tee's scaly head frowned as he decided to move on.

  "And so there it is child... the best of the rest. And now the time has come to move on to the reason we're here," announced the master mantra maker, waving the flimsy looking sheet of parchment around in his hand.

  Interested and worried, Peter waited patiently to find out what his friend had come up with.

  "I'll explain what I have here, and what it involves. In no way are you committed to going through with this. If you don't want to do it, then I totally understand, but as far as I know this is the only way for me to fully appreciate what you told me about your young friend Richie, and how you believe it affects the prophecy. Okay?"

  Peter nodded. Gee Tee continued.

  "This, youngster, is a mantra devised by the master himself... Leonardo da Vinci!"

  That piqued his interest.

  "Of all the mantras, artefacts, spells, hexes, runes and magical items that I've come across in my life, the ones connected with him have always been the most special. Some mantras or magical bonds that have been created seem clumsy or forced, but not his work, which is some of the finest I've ever seen. He was a true craftsdragon. You can feel the work, dedication, the love and commitment that's gone into nearly everything he's fashioned. I would so have loved to have met him, pinned him down (not literally) and picked at his brain (again, not literally) found out what drove him on, where his ideas came from, and how he designed and produced some of those amazing magical devices, spells and mantras. Not only was he far ahead of his time in the human world, but he was down here as well. Anyhow, this particular mantra of his allows two dragons to share a memory, totally and utterly."