Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  "Wow!" exclaimed Tank.

  "Wow indeed, youngster."

  "They're all laminium?"

  Gee Tee nodded.

  "How many are there?"

  "Three or four thousand, give or take."

  Not for the first time today, Tank was mesmerised, not just by the number of rivets, but by the actual amount of laminium. It was huge and must have been worth a fortune. It was probably the same in total as the amount which made up a laminium ball. That was a lot.

  Fiddling about at the back of one of his desk drawers, the old shopkeeper suddenly produced a gleaming, pure silver, hand held rivet gun. More of an antique than anything else, it looked gorgeous, set off by strips of worn leather around both its grips. Inspecting it fully, he then retrieved two pairs of fine gloves, handing one pair to Tank before slipping the other pair onto his hands. As the young rugby playing dragon slid his fingers into them, he marvelled at how heavy and strong they were, despite their appearance.

  "Carbon fibre weave," stated Gee Tee, noticing the young dragon's curiosity.

  Tank nodded, after which they both focused fully on what they were about to do. Gee Tee explained how, at first, all the pieces would have to be joined together with the laminium rivets. Tank would hold the pieces carefully in place while his friend did the rest. Afterwards it would be a case of checking and double checking every last line of text, to make sure that everything was right, down to the last letter and space. After that, the old shopkeeper would ignite the splicing spell, using the laminium in the rivets to bond the whole process together. If successful, it should lead to the completed mantra, the one that would stun nagas across the world when used in conjunction with the telepathic nodes. The risk, as ever, was in the igniting. If even the tiniest detail was wrong... it could lead to catastrophe. In some cases dust or even hair had got tangled up in the mantra, causing a massive failure. Dragons had died, buildings and towns had been levelled when splicing had gotten out of hand in the past, which was primarily why it had been outlawed. But they'd got this far, and both were determined to press on.

  Three hours later, around about dawn, they were ready to ignite the laminium rivets. Gee Tee pleaded with Tank to leave, explaining that there was no reason for him to be present for the final part of the process. Tank felt touched at the master mantra maker's concern, but had no intention of going, wanting to see this through, having absolute faith in his friend's ability.

  And so, as they both hunched over the desk in the tiny little workshop, both tired, anxious, terrified and more than a little thrilled, the masterful old shopkeeper, eyes closed, wove his magic. Rolling off his tongue, the words were almost visible, the sound of them washing over Tank felt like a warm rainstorm on a summer's day. Then, without warning, the patched up parchment in front of them burst into... LIGHT! Not just any light, but the mother of all light, blinding, white, radiant, all encompassing. Even with his eyelids firmly closed, it still seared Tank's eyes. Turning away, gaining very little relief if any, he felt around for his friend, who was standing in exactly the same place, stock still. And then as quickly as it had arrived, the light disappeared. It took a few moments to adjust, but when they did, what a sight greeted them. There on the table, where the patched up and tattered parchment had been held together with dozens and dozens of rivets, was a sparkling, golden sheet of paper with a rainbow of colours swirling about it. From an angle it looked like the floor of a garage forecourt, except it wasn't petrol that could be glimpsed, but the delicate nature of the laminium. It was magnificent. They'd been truly successful. Surely now the battle for planet earth would turn in their favour? But that could wait. Sleep beckoned, and the shop remained closed for the rest of the day after Tank departed, and after Gee Tee had placed the results of their hard work safely in the vault.

  27 I'll Give You A Ring

  'Difficult' somehow couldn't describe it adequately. From the outside she looked the same, behaved the same, but deep down, he knew it wasn't her. He'd arranged for them to meet for lunch today, but they weren't going to the staff restaurant. He needed somewhere a little more... out of the way. As they walked along the shiny corridor approaching the restaurant, Richie moved to dive off to her right and join the back of the long, winding queue for the hot, sumptuous looking dinners. Gently, Peter grabbed her left arm and guided her straight on, much to the amusement of several onlookers. Mere moments later, she relaxed, content to follow her friend, who had by now let go of her. A sharp left and two right hand turns later, he turned the handle on the small, glass paned door, holding it open for his friend.

  'She looks surprised,' he thought. And then it occurred to him that she probably had no memory of this place, despite the fact that it was she who had introduced it to him.

  "This is new," she whispered excitedly, noticing all the plant life. "An illicit trip into the dangerous wild jungles of... Salisbridge!"

  Smiling as she stepped past him into the small, secluded courtyard, all he could think was,

  'Same old Richie... well, almost.'

  Dodging through a variety of ferns and other huge bright green plants, all of which looked as though they'd doubled in size since his last visit, they arrived at the worn old bench next to the raised flowerbed, just opposite the rectangular pond. Extending his arm, he indicated that Richie should sit. She did.

  "When you said let's do lunch, I had no idea it would be romantic... like this," she teased.

  "Oh... very good," he replied, slipping off his dark backpack so that he could join her on the seat.

  "So what's going on?" she asked innocently.

  "Lunch," he answered, unzipping the backpack. "We always go to the restaurant. I thought we'd do something... different."

  Richie smiled, trying to recall them 'always' going to the restaurant. She could remember a couple of times, but other than that her mind seemed a blank. It worried her a little. Not the actual going there with Peter, but that on a number of occasions recently she'd had trouble remembering specific things. Gazing lovingly at some of the lacrosse trophies in her glass cabinet at home a couple of nights ago, one or two of which she had absolutely no idea how she'd won, her name was carved into them, but she couldn't remember earning them, or even them being presented to her, which must have happened at some point. At that stage she wondered if it was worth her going to see a doctor about it, but as that thought popped into her head, she couldn't recall ever having been to a doctor. That in itself seemed odd, and more than a little worrying. Vowing to herself to try harder to remember, she decided to start keeping a written record of all the things that bothered her.

  Meanwhile, Peter had produced a couple of lovely looking plates from his bag, two plastic bottles of mango and orange juice (her favourite), carrot and cucumber sticks wrapped in cling film, a strawberry yoghurt for each of them and a huge pile of something wrapped in tin foil. Richie took it from him reluctantly.

  'How could this be better than the restaurant?' she thought.

  "Go on... open it!" he urged.

  Uncovering three massive sandwiches made from white doorstep bread, bright red jam leaking out from all sides, looking like something CSI might like to investigate, she managed to stammer a brief,

  "Ahhh... thanks," but after a moment's hesitation, went on to add, "but I don't really like jam."

  It took all Peter's concentration not to laugh out loud, as he shook his head, having made Richie's favourite sandwiches, with the strawberry jam that was so hard to get hold of, used butter instead of spread, gone to the bakery and picked up the crusty white loaf she liked so much, while it had still been gorgeously hot.

  "Sorry," announced Richie.

  "Why don't you just take a bite?" he encouraged, knowing that despite the obvious differences that he knew about her, he'd been assured by the council, the priests, and more importantly by Gee Tee, that everything else would remain the same. Like her eating habits. Of course, she wasn't going to still have a hankering for charcoal, or start nibbling her way
down an HB pencil mid way through a training course (at least he hoped not), but those human characteristics should still be there, something he was counting on at this very moment. Half-heartedly she took a small nibble. The look on her face was priceless; he wished he'd had his phone out to capture it. This time she took a colossal bite, chomping away, savouring every last micron.

  "This is great!" she exclaimed.

  Chuckling, Peter unwrapped his own sandwiches, made from the same bread but with ham and coleslaw on the inside.

  Both sat back, munching away, watching tiny slivers of sunlight cut their way through the leaves of the overhanging plants, listening as occasional watery noises drifted over to them from the pond. It was really quite idyllic, and Richie was having a much better time than she had at first thought she would. They chatted casually about their mornings and their schedules for the rest of the working week.

  Twenty minutes later, having finished their informal lunch and packed away everything but the drinks, they both sat back, enjoying the tranquillity of their surroundings.

  "This has been great... thank you," she declared, stretching and yawning at the same time.

  "You're welcome," he answered politely.

  But now it was down to business, the reason he'd so meticulously planned this lunch, although Richie didn't know it yet.

  "There's something I need you to do for me," he whispered, his voice dropping low, despite the fact that the windows overlooking where they were sat were all sealed shut.

  Looking on willingly, she waited to hear what he had to say. Getting to his feet, he reached deep inside his right trouser pocket and pulled out a beautiful silver necklace, with an odd looking ring dangling from it. Watching the ring intently as it danced back and forth on the necklace, she was captivated as the occasional ray of sunlight sneaked through the surrounding plant life, ricocheting off it in all directions. Holding the necklace tight, Peter knelt down on the floor in front of his friend. Richie wondered what on earth was going to happen next.

  "I need you to look after this for me," he remarked, dangling the necklace right in front of Richie's pale, freckly face. "It's really important!"

  Up close, she could see just how unusual the ring hanging off the silver thread in front of her really was. Matt grey, it had tiny little ice blue triangles of light all the way around it, interrupted only by one slightly larger and markedly bigger grey triangle. It was mesmerising.

  "I... I... I... I..." she stammered. "I... don't know what to say."

  "Just say you'll do it for me. Please?"

  Thinking about it for a couple of seconds, something suddenly occurred to her.

  "It's not stolen or anything is it?"

  Peter's stomach somersaulted as if it were trying out for the Olympic gymnastic squad, recalling how he'd taken it from Gee Tee's vault. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, he pressed on.

  "No... nothing like that," he lied. "I just need it kept safe, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather trust with it than you."

  Carefully she plucked it away from him.

  "Is it valuable?"

  "More than you could ever possibly know," he replied.

  She thrust it back in his direction.

  "If it's valuable, I can't possibly keep it."

  "It's more a sentimental thing," he whispered, with more than a hint of truth about it. "Please... you'd be doing me a big favour."

  Richie swallowed uncertainly.

  "Okay," she eventually squeaked.

  Taking the necklace, he carefully placed it around her slim neck and did up the clasp, letting the ring hang low, just out of sight below her work shirt.

  'Perfect,' he thought, stepping back.

  Richie twiddled with it just a little, getting used to the feel of it against her soft, pale flesh.

  "Please promise me two things," he said. "First. Please don't take it off, not unless I tell you to, and guard it with your life. Okay?"

  A serious look imprinted on her face, she nodded.

  "Secondly," he started, "please do not, however tempted you are, put the ring on your finger. This is really important, and you need to promise me you won't do that."

  "I promise," she swore, wondering exactly what she was getting herself into. "Can't you tell me any more than that?"

  Moments passed as he thought hard about how to reply. Through all his soul searching and all the questions he'd asked himself since the moment he's stolen her dragon consciousness in the ring, he'd wondered what to do with it, where to keep it safe. In the end, there could only be one possible answer. She should have it, it did only really make sense, it was after all... HERS! But how to do it so that she didn't know was the million dollar question. He'd come up with all this, but part of him now needed to tell her more. Phrasing the words carefully, he continued.

  "What you have there," he said solemnly, "is not only the key to your future, but the key to your past as well. That's all I can tell you I'm afraid."

  Satisfied he'd said all he could, Peter stood up, and downed the rest of his drink in one go. Following his example, she joined him and finished her drink, slightly perturbed but glad to have helped out her friend, feeling more than a little odd about the whole experience though. With the tiny weight of the ring nudging her skin as she followed him back through the plants and back to an afternoon of work, she promised herself she would follow her friend's instructions implicitly.

  28 Playing Catch Up

  It had taken every resource available to him and then some, but eventually he'd managed to pick up their trail. They were good, he had to give them that: constantly on the move, choosing out of the way places to stay, swapping vehicles non-stop, paying for everything with cash. They knew all the tricks, even avoiding CCTV cameras. He knew this because he'd backtracked where they'd been and although he knew the group had been there, CCTV footage showed not one single frame of any of them. Having already found and searched two of their safe houses, coming up a complete blank on both, a disagreement that had gotten out of hand at a gas station had been the breakthrough he'd been looking for. The owner, a distinguished middle aged gentleman, had reported the incident to the local police department. One of the station officers (a dragon, who along with most of his kind on this continent, had been briefed to be especially vigilant and on the lookout for anything suspicious or unusual) had recognised the report's significance at once and had passed it up the chain of command, pretty damn quick. It had, of course, ended up with him. Having spoken to the distressed gas station owner, it was pretty clear he was once again on the right track. Given the man's fear at seeing one of his regular customers thrown nearly eighty yards in the air, on top of the same assailant producing a stream of flame from his mouth and threatening to burn down the entire place, Flash didn't feel the slightest hint of remorse at having to wipe his short term memory.

  That was two days ago, and the start of much hard work that had led him here, to this out of the way series of interconnected barns. Lying flat on his stomach, just able to see the building through the tall, sharp grass, he could feel the impossible currents and eddies of dark magic swirling in and around the structures he was looking at. Momentarily a trickle of fear ran through him. Immediately he swatted it away, in much the same way as most would with a fly around their food. His sole focus returned to what he had to do. Part of him thought about calling for assistance. Realistically that wasn't an option. The Crimson Guard, if they came at all, would simply ignore him and take over the whole operation, and that was the best scenario he could imagine, given his change in bodily circumstances. And if he called in the King's Guard, it was possible they might not be up to the task at all. NO! It was up to him, and more often than not, stealth and surprise were more than a match for a small force, even if that force was made up of magic using nagas and dragons. And it wasn't as if he were helpless... far from it.

  Silently he shot up from the grass and leapt across a small gully before sprinting over one hundred yards, pulling up behind t
he trunk of a giant tree close to the nearest wooden structure, hoping that stealth and the protective mantras he'd shrouded himself in earlier would continue to hold up and keep him hidden. Backed up against the tree, he extended the range of his hearing, but detected nothing untoward. Taking a chance, he ran for the nearest side of the building, crouching beneath a dirtied window. Carefully, he took a peek. It was empty... as far as he could tell. On reflection, he decided to check the perimeter first.

  An hour later, he'd completed his reconnoitre. There'd been no sign of movement of any sort. His mind made up, he knew now not to dally and made straight for the back door. In his mind he tossed up between breaking the glass of the wooden framed door and destroying the lock. Either way would be noisy, the glass obviously more so, but the time for stealth had long since passed. Reaching the door at a run, he unleashed the mantra he'd prepared in his mind. Brilliant bolts of yellow energy ripped from his fingertips, destroying the lock instantly. Still on the run, he used his momentum to burst through the door, throwing himself into a forward roll as he did so, quickly coming up onto one knee, having drawn the powerful looking pistol from its holster behind his back. Both hands firmly around the grip of the gun, he scanned for danger and found none, apart from the stronger presence of the dark energy he'd felt from outside. It seemed to close in around him, invisible clouds causing untold pressure, almost as if the will was being squeezed right out of him. Wanting to leave, which was probably the point of it all, he didn't, instead cutting through the dark, swirling mist that he could see with his mantra vision, concentrating on searching every nook and cranny for anything they might have overlooked, however small.