by Paul Cude
* * *
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he knew, however unlikely it was, that he was on the Astroturf pitch at the sports club. The noise that he hadn't been able to identify before, he now knew was music piped through a PA system not very far away, even though he struggled to make out the exact content. Pulled roughly to his feet, he tried desperately to keep his hands hidden, all the while taking in his surroundings to see exactly where he was. Dragged forward by two burly blokes, each digging into one of his biceps with their fingernails, Peter counted the number of people he could see on the Astroturf, by the corresponding number of torch beams.
'Six,' he thought, 'plus the two either side of me. 'Not as bad as it could be. I think I might have half a chance now that my hands are free.'
A sneaky look round confirmed his suspicions. It was the Astroturf at Salisbridge. He could just make out the side of the clubhouse, which was partially obscured by some kind of misty barrier that extended its way around the entire pitch. As if his suspicions needed confirmation, a giant bonfire blazed into life about three hundred yards away.
'My God, the fireworks display,' he thought. 'I really am here. Tank and Richie must be just over there. All I need to do is attract their attention. Things really are looking up.' A short, sharp punch in the back brought Peter to his knees, and back to the reality of the situation. He managed to lurch to his feet, all the time keeping his hands together, despite the muscles in his legs feeling as though they'd turned to jelly. Two of the torch lights broke off from the group and headed towards Peter and the two henchmen. It was hard to make out any detail in the darkness, but as the torches got closer, he could just make out two maniacal grins.
'Theobald and Casey.'
"Not getting a bit cold are you... Benty?"
Peter shook his head in disgust as he stood in the freezing cold in just his shorts and hooded top, all the warmth from his short van ride already having dissipated.
"There's still time you know. I'll even speak up to the Council on your behalf if you stop this now and come peacefully."
Theobald and Casey both doubled up with laughter.
"Tell us Benty, do you really think you're in any position to speak to the Council?" mocked Casey, through the laughter.
"They'll find out," remarked Peter. "You know as well as I do that they will."
"Maybe so Benty. But do we look as though we give a damn?" snarled Theobald menacingly, all signs of the laughter having disappeared.
Something about this caused a chill to run down Peter's spine, despite the fact he was barely dressed on a freezing Astroturf pitch on one of the coldest November evenings in living memory. It wasn't so much what was said, he thought as he faced the two bullies, it was the offhand manner in which they said it, almost as if the outcome had been predetermined, with Peter having absolutely no say at all in it.
Looking beyond his two tormentors, he could just see two other vans on what he guessed was about the middle of the synthetic pitch. With his eyesight adjusting all the time, he could just make out that the tailgates were open and the figures with the torches were unloading something onto the pitch. It was, however, impossible to see exactly what the cargo was. All he could gather was that it looked heavy, and there seemed to be a lot of it.
"Taking an interest in our little operation, eh Benty?" observed Theobald, having caught Peter looking over at the vans.
Peter remained silent, no longer sure he could hold his temper and wait for the right opportunity. With every second that passed he was getting colder and colder and with that, weaker and further away from accessing his dragon powers. Unlike both Casey and Theobald who were wrapped up in very flash looking outdoor weather gear.
'They could probably access their powers in an instant,' he thought, 'and tear me apart, no trouble at all.'
"Cat got your tongue... Benty?"
"Yeah, come on Benty, give your old nursery ring mates a smile will ya?"
Both goons squeezing Peter's biceps from behind swapped confused expressions at the mention of nursery rings. In fact much of the night's activities seemed beyond them. They only knew that they were getting paid mighty well for one night's work.
Peter remained silent.
"Ahh well, perhaps you'll be more talkative for the boss," taunted Theobald. Casey just stood there and sniggered.
"And look, here he comes now."
