Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  'This one looks wayyyyyyy more dangerous than any of the others I've dealt with in the past.'

  For all he was worth, he kept moving, enhanced by his magic.

  'Oh my,' thought Tank, frozen in place, watching helplessly as his friend bombed on towards the lethal heavy element that seemed primed and ready to go off. If there was one thing he'd learned from his very temperamental boss, it was to stay as far away as possible from the materials that combined to make those things work. With that singular thought in mind, he wondered what on earth Flash thought he was doing, heading towards it at top speed.

  It was nearly impossible to see the swirling dark mass at the centre now. Flash knew that he had only moments before it happened and hadn't, however, figured out what he was going to do, if in fact he reached the device before it detonated.

  'Helpless' wasn't in Tank's dictionary. And so although he was too far away to do very much, there was one thing he knew for certain he could do that might make a difference to his friend.

  High above, shrouded in the shadows, he looked on, waiting for them all to die. It was delicious, poetic, deserving. As he watched, the crowd backed away, some at least realising what was about to happen. But that wasn't what caught his attention. Two human shapes, one very much from his past, pushed their way to the front of the ever fearful mass of dragons.

  'What in the hell...?' he thought, watching the shape he didn't recognise race forward towards all his very hard and valuable work.

  Within a few yards, Flash swept the sickly green gas away from his face, his mind having reached the only logical conclusion it could: erect a shield and hope it would stop whatever the hell that thing was about to unleash. Deep inside, he knew it wouldn't be enough.

  Dropping to his knees, ignoring the pain from the impact, Tank closed his eyes, searching for his magic, and his... friend. The connection was instant and just what he needed. Opening himself right up, he delved deep inside, finding his well of magical energy. Without a thought for his own safety, he sent it all off to his friend.

  What they thought they could achieve, he had no idea. As he watched Tank drop to his knees and the stranger dive head first into the putrid, green smoke, his confidence shattered like a mirror being dropped from a great height.

  Answering the mantra Flash had just cast in his mind, the shield sprang forth all around him, powered by the magic that was his birthright. Deep down, his mind continued to whisper that it wouldn't be enough. He really didn't need reminding. Just as he bounded into the flying leap that would put him right on top of the device, a leap that every rugby player in the world would be proud of, a sudden influx of magic wove itself all around him.

  'TANK,' was all he could think, recognising the very flavour of what had been offered up, as he channelled all the magic into the shield that encased him.

  For the device... the time had come! Swirling, dark, negative energy transformed into a pinprick of light on the blackest of black backgrounds. With energy fit to burst, it fulfilled the very purpose it had been created for.

  Flash, and moreover his shield, hit the device just as the explosion initiated. Most of his magic took the brunt of the blast, deflecting and absorbing the deadly kinetic energy in equal measures. He though, was tossed high in the air, a rag doll flung by an out of control toddler.

  Dissipated by whatever Flash had done, the shock wave knocked Tank to the floor with the force of a tempestuous hurricane. Before the blackness took him, he realised that they were all meant to have died.

  "NO, NO, NO!" he screeched to no one in particular. 'They've ruined it. Totally ruined it. They're all supposed to have died, annihilated by the blast wave, bits of dragon splattered across the monorail plaza. But those two have transformed everything,' he thought, looking down at the ocean of unconscious dragon bodies. Knowing he'd get into trouble for this, it was supposed to have been a demonstration of his power and fealty towards his new master, to signify the beginning of a new age.

  'DAMN!' Sweeping down in a tight spiral from his concealed, overlooking perch, he was determined to make them suffer for his failure, particularly his former classmate and the stranger.

  Seemingly from out of nowhere, a refreshing breeze whipped along the enclosed tunnels and plaza attached to the monorail station, dispersing any and all remnants of the foul smelling, noxious green gas.

  39 Always In Motion

  Double locking all the doors and checking all the building's shields, he was now firmly ensconced in his workshop. The unusual and, to him, unsettling events of the previous weeks had him worried, more worried in fact than he'd been in centuries. And there weren't many beings on the planet that could claim that. So after Tank and Flash had left, off to some charity sporting event on the surface somewhere, he'd settled down, his course of action decided some time ago.

  From out of one of the scaly pouches lining his belly, he pulled an old scroll that looked like it might disintegrate at any second if touched. Carefully unfurling the ribbon that bound it, he stretched it out on the table, using an inkwell and a mantra pen to hold it in place. The writing was all Japanese, something he found quite foreign despite all his training and language skills. Clearing his mind, focusing solely on the writing, well... more like symbols, in front of him, he closed his eyes and let the meaning of the mantra coalesce at the forefront of his imagination.

  'It really is a work of genius,' he mused. There could be no better description of this particular mantra. The combination of words, letters, symbols, meaning, desire, willpower and magic was nothing short of astounding, with just a hint of madness. No dragon in their right mind would have thought to combine all these elements in the way he had. Dangerous didn't begin to cover it.

  Throughout the ages dragons, as well as other races, had all sought to look into the future. Difficult at best, seemingly impossible at worst, vast amounts of time, resources and magic had been wasted on this most prized pursuit, across many thousands of years.

  Over the centuries, it was something he'd become obsessed with. Not as much as prolonging the dragon life span, but still, enough that he was probably the foremost expert on the planet. The scrolls that sat in front of him were the only artefacts that showed even the faintest glimmer of hope at all in catching the merest glimpse into the future.

  From out of the desk's top drawer he started to retrieve the eclectic mix of ingredients he needed to combine with the ancient, far eastern scroll. A handful of pine needles, half a dozen walnuts, a carefully procured vial of king cobra venom, a sliver of magnesium and the tears of a mermaid. It had taken him over two years to procure everything, with the mermaid's tears being particularly hard to acquire. But once he had, over two decades ago, he'd kept them all together in frozen storage, waiting for the right moment, knowing that he might only get one shot. Removing them from storage two days ago, defrosting them if you will, now, in his workshop, mind focused fully on his task, he began to add each and every item, piece by piece, to the huge mortar that sat on the desk, its accompanying pestle lying next to it, looking lonelier than a tramp at a ball. It took the best part of an hour. By the end, the whole experience had taken its toll on the old shopkeeper, so much so that he found himself wishing for his bed and the sleep that had so recently eluded him. It wasn't really an option and so he had to make do with a giant cup of coffee and half a dozen HB pencils to nibble on. After half an hour resting in one of the oversized chairs, contemplating what he was about to do, he was ready.

  Finding his second wind, he gathered his thoughts and returned to the desk with the outstretched mantra and the giant mortar on it. Gripping the pestle for all he was worth, he began to grind the ingredients down, eventually achieving a slimy looking paste for his trouble.

  'There's no turning back now,' he mused, the gooey globules dripping off the pestle into the mortar. Running his eyes over the scroll one last time, and feeling the weight of history and the hopes of hundreds of other dragons on his shoulders, he took a long, deep breath, savourin
g the hot, fiery feeling rolling around inside his stomach and carefully recited exactly what was on the scroll, reinforcing it with every ounce of willpower he had. Leaning over the mucky mixture, the wily old dragon started to exhale slowly, a snaking stream of fire shooting out from between his jaws. The ingredients started to bubble and pop, wispy layers of foul smelling steam rising into the air, washing across his shiny scales, the very first tendrils disappearing up into the dark recesses of his nostrils. Closing his eyes while continuing to blow out a consistent stream of fire, the master mantra maker started to inhale the rising gas through his nose. Immediately his head started to spin, slowly at first, quickly becoming much faster. He knew it to be part of the experience and wasn't unaccustomed to it. But he didn't like it at all. Blurred images, impossible to make out, blinked in and out of his mind. Trying to stay relaxed, knowing that it was part of the key to things, he fought off the feeling of unease that threatened to consume him. It wasn't easy though. With seconds blending into minutes, and minutes blending into who knows what, the old shopkeeper continued to heat up the crazy concoction, all the time the odour from it pervading his very being.

  Abruptly the blinking started to become less frequent, each of the out of focus images staying there just that tiny bit longer. Screwing up his eyes despite the fact that they were already closed, he hoped that would help make the difference.

  'Thirsty,' he thought, 'so thirsty.' Just as this thought left him, the image in front of him flittered into clarity. Sweat dribbled down the side of his prehistoric face, as the sound of his crackling flame interrupted occasionally by the popping of the slimy paste reverberated off the walls around him. Despite the image being in focus, it was hard to make out exactly what was going on. It looked a lot like dragons marching.

  'But marching where?' was all that he could think. Suddenly the scene changed to a faraway shot of a square or plaza, somewhere here in the dragon domain. The beings were tiny little dots, the vantage point was so far away. It was tough to make out what was going on. Just as he'd given up on making any sense of this one, the view seemed to zoom right in. An icy chill ran up his back as he recognised the tall piles off to one side. Dragon corpses! Still it continued to zoom in. Dragons captured by the look of things, two human shapes being tortured. For a split second he glimpsed the face of one of the tortured human shapes. Panic raced through him at the very thought of what he'd seen. He needed more... more information. So he delved deeper, deeper into whatever he was doing, desperate to know more about the future. Hazy pictures slid by, most of which he couldn't make out. Once or twice he thought he recognised the odd thing. The council building seemed to feature, along with outlying parts of London, as well as somewhere cold and snowy on the surface of the planet. It all made little or no sense. By now he was exhausted, caked in sweat, bathed in horrid fumes from the mortar. But still he had to go on, push himself further, he just had to. It was all too much. Fatigue threatened to overtake him. Resigned to failure, his flame burnt out with a whimpering crackle. Before he could open his eyes, the image of the square or plaza whipped back in front of him. It was all he could do to look, having seen the last face he'd expected to be there. This time though, instead of focusing in, the image seemed to turn around and started to fly out across the rooftops, away from the action and off to a seemingly insignificant part of the underground dragon city. His eyes wrinkled in concentration as he hung on for all he was worth, hoping with all his heart to see something of value. He did, and not just one thing either. The first thing he noticed was a very specific lava formation called the runny nose, because the rock formation that it flowed out of looked like a giant nose. It was famous throughout the kingdom. So now he knew where things were taking place. But before the image drifted off into nothingness, it showed one last titbit that took his breath away, blowing his mind like nothing else ever had.

  'It can't be... can it?' he thought, shaking off the effects of the smoke inhalation. Taking a long slurp of his by now cold coffee, he knew he had to act, and now. Time was ticking away, and although he didn't know when things would happen, he assumed it would be soon. So, banishing tiredness and fighting back the effects of age that constantly threatened to overwhelm him, he pushed his square framed glasses to the top of his nose and headed down into the vault to tool up, in the hope that it would be enough. As he got up to do just that, he caught sight of the replica ring they had made for the king. It was of little use now, as the vote the king had been concerned about had been overturned. But something deep within him felt compelled to pick it up and put it in one of the many pouches around his belly. He did as the compulsion demanded and secreted it away on his person.

  40 Stick It To 'Em!

  Pulling the handbrake tight, Richie turned off the ignition and gazed out at the sight in front of her. The city council had done an astounding job in such a short space of time. Of course the rugby pitch had already been there, with the men's section of the sports club having already made use of it. But to have created two grass lacrosse pitches and one grass hockey pitch, just for today's fundraiser, was above and beyond the call of duty. And more remarkable still was the fact that the surface of all the pitches looked stunning. Grabbing her kit bag and sticks from the back seat, she locked her car and headed off through the throng of people towards the temporary portacabins that she knew to be the changing rooms. As she snaked in and out of the crowd, friends and acquaintances nodded and said hi to her; most she recognised, some she didn't. Following some bright yellow signs that said 'Lacrosse Ladies' Changing' eventually she walked up a set of steps and into the changing rooms, the last one of her team to turn up.

  "Glad you could make it," commented one.

  "Nice of you to join us," declared the next.

  "What time do you call this?"

  And so it went on. And do you know what? She loved every second of it. After all, that's part of what being in a team is all about.

  Outside, the place was filling up. Cars were streaming in now, newcomers having to use the overflow car park. Families walked in on foot, all happy to pay the entrance fee, all supporting the efforts of everyone involved in the fundraising event.

  No one could remember exactly whose idea it had been, given that it had occurred late on a Saturday evening around a table in a restaurant, smack bang in the middle of Salisbridge. Of course copious amounts of alcohol had been consumed as committee and club members from all sections had met up in what was almost their usual high spirited Saturday night, just not in the normal place, not after it had been destroyed so violently and abruptly by THAT bomb. Most could barely believe what had happened and were still in a constant state of confusion about why they and their clubhouse had been targeted. But given the events across the world, most counted themselves fortunate that people hadn't lost their lives on that fateful day. Salisbridge was most certainly in mourning for its clubhouse, but also for those around the world who had lost their lives in such tragic circumstances. So the idea had come about to hold an event that would raise some funds not only for the sports club, and for the teams' use of alternative facilities in the area to continue to play their selected sports, but also to go towards those who had lost loved ones and in particular their homes, in some of the hardest hit areas. A late night drunken idea had taken off immediately, with all parties agreeing on something they did best... play sport!

  So here it was, the 'SUPER SPORT, SUPER DAY OUT!' Of course the council had chipped in, allowing the use of their sports fields on the other side of town from the giant crater that now filled the spot where their beloved clubhouse had stood. They'd even prepared four pitches (two lacrosse, one hockey, one rugby) working overtime to get them all ready, and to the highest possible standard. Temporary cabins had been loaned to them free of charge, along with many portable loos. Over the last couple of weeks, the local paper had been promoting it free of charge, along with nearly all the city's traders. And of course word of mouth about just how good it was going to be had spread like
wildfire. Fairground attractions, stalls, shops, bands and entertainers had all pledged their time and abilities for free to such a good cause. Every player in each of the respective sports had spent weeks since the idea had first taken off collecting sponsorship, many individuals reaching totals of several thousands of pounds from the kind hearted people of the city, as well as their opponents pledging to do the same. At this very moment, the atmosphere was buzzing and felt more like a carnival then a sporting event.

  Many thousands of people had crowded in, so much so that a whole new field had to be found for the stream of cars flooding back on to the main road, as far as the eye could see. Volunteers from the different sports sections manned the gate, all staggered at just how many people had turned up to see the three different sports, hockey, lacrosse and rugby, all played simultaneously on four different pitches.

  As the ever increasing noise outside assaulted her ears, Richie's thoughts turned to her friends. Picturing Tank in one of the other changing rooms, quietly scheming about how his second team could beat the first team that they were playing against, she imagined him sitting calmly, back against the wall, clothes hung up perfectly on their assigned peg, even though it was only a friendly game, knowing him well enough to be sure beyond any doubt that he and his friends would want to put one over on the supposedly better team in, of course, a fair and controlled manner. She had no doubt that the adrenaline would be coursing through his veins now, in much the same way as it pumped furiously around her body right at this very moment. Undoubtedly Peter was already here, she assumed, but as a spectator only, as the hockey match was a mixed affair, with a team made up from the men's and the ladies' first XIs. Remembering that Peter had mentioned Tank would be bringing Flash along as well, she could only recall meeting him on a couple of occasions and didn't know him that well, but he seemed very nice, and as far as she was concerned... the more the merrier.