Greebol considered explaining to the priests that it was a mistake. He considered apologising. But Greebol, being Greebol, shrugged these considerations off as being ‘most un-bounty hunter-like’ and instead thought he would do something that he would find highly amusing instead, but was unsure if anyone else would.
He reached into his tight pants and brought out the Through Interspace Transportation System remote control. He grinned. This was going to cause a stir. He was sure Charlie would kick him again.
He pressed the button.
Once again the form of Professor Amirous began to appear in shimmering light and once again the form of the mighty dragon appeared around him. And once again the screams of priests filled the air.
“The beast!” they shouted. “It’ll kill us all! The religious terrorists strike again!”
The priests scattered, fleeing from the dragon that rose up on its back legs, let out a deafening roar and blew streaks of flames across the market place.
Charlie stared at Greebol dumbfounded, but his stares of disgust were ignored as Greebol laughed out loud and slapped his thighs. He slapped Wextoal’s thighs who chuckled along with him. He slapped Vegora Vrall’s thighs that were so solid that he didn’t even feel it. He slapped An’ishia’s thighs and instantly found her boot in his groin.
The dragon burned a couple more priests as they fled from it. It was really frustrated. Twice it had been happily going about its business, when it had suddenly been pulled, ripped from its point of existence and sent in a blurry haze to a completely different area that was in no way as good as where it had just been.
It is impossible to describe what it feels like during teleportation. The best description came from a young girl. She said it felt like being caught by a billion tiny fish hooks attached to a billion fishing rods that continuously attempted to reel you in different directions, ripping your flesh, muscles, organs and bones into a billion tiny pieces and then casting them away through the air. The little girl had in no way ever experienced teleportation as it was a pretty new-fangled invention but, surprisingly, her theory was quite astute.
It should be pointed out, for legal reasons from the company that makes the teleportation device, state that it is in no way painful.
The dragon would disagree.
It turned its attention away from the priests and glared menacingly in Greebol’s direction.
Dwarf, Elf and Wizard culture would state that dragons are simple creatures who survive purely on instinct. There was an attempt by a group of Wizards to test a number of dragon’s intelligence using a series of intricate mazes and puzzles. The results concluded in a number of broken mazes, puzzles and dead Wizards.
Whether this particular dragon knew that Greebol was controlling its sudden teleportation or not was an issue that could be debated at a later date. Currently the only debate was whether to run, freeze, pass out or soil yourself. Charlie began to do all four.
The dragon reared up its huge bulk of a body, stretched out its long, thick wings and, with a giant leap, took off into the sky. It circled for a moment before picking Greebol back out of the crowd again, opening its humongous jaws and diving straight for him.
Now Greebol did not scare easily. It took something pretty darn frightening to spook him. At this moment in time he had to admit that there was a slight tingle in his fingers. The last thing he wanted was to be swallowed by this ugly brute. Therefore he grabbed Charlie and pushed the panicking Human in front of him like a sweaty pink shield.
Charlie cried. Real tears streamed down his face.
At the last moment the dragon veered off to the left, narrowly avoiding Charlie, although his shirt did suffer a large rip as it caught onto one of the spiked teeth. The dragon soared back up into the sky once again and circled the market area, searching for Greebol. It saw him hiding behind two more people. This time there would be no escape!
An’ishia stared at Greebol by her feet. “Either you're hiding like a scared baby,” she began, “or you’re trying to look up my dress. Either way I’d move before I do some serious damage to your face.”
The dragon swooped.
An’ishia and Vegora Vrall were currently too occupied with Greebol to notice the oncoming beast. Charlie closed his eyes. He did not want to see the love of his life chewed up inside a mythical creature’s mouth!
Then Charlie did something he never expected he would. He actually tried to save her life. Here was a man that once ran away screaming when a moth became trapped in his girlfriend's sweater, now running to save the life of a green skinned girl he barely knew from the jowls of a gigantic dragon!
It must have been love.
Charlie reached An’ishia and gripped her by the shoulders in an attempt to pull her out of the way. Unfortunately for Charlie and An’ishia, and Vegora Vrall come to think of it who was pushed along with the other two, the dragon turned sharply again, which just happened to be in the path of the fleeing three.
Charlie had never been a fan of mouths. Sure, they were good for chewing and came in handy for talking but other than that they freaked him out a little. It was possibly due to his very first experience of kissing a girl. It wasn’t his fault. No one had told him how wide to open his mouth or that he should in no way attempt to bite thinking that it might be ‘kinky’. The taste of blood in his mouth had lingered for days.
His dislike of mouths had also probably stemmed from the dentist, as most people's did. Charlie hated having someone else’s fingers inside his mouth, rummaging around in those rubber gloves as though they were searching for a peanut down the side of the couch. Once again, no one had told him how wide to open his mouth and again not to bite. Presumably people had just expected him to know. A plus side to this story is that people flocked from miles to have their teeth seen to by the three fingered dentist.
This particular mouth freaked Charlie out more than any other. Probably because it was about the size of a bus with teeth sharper than razors. And probably because he was currently inside this colossal mouth. It was like looking into an endless chasm. A really stinky chasm.
Luckily for Charlie, and An’ishia and Vegora Vrall who were in the exact same predicament as him, he did not have to play eyeball with the dragon’s tonsils for long as, with one almighty gulp, the three were thrust down into the beast’s vast gullet!
Greebol was a little bit disappointed. He had believed that Charlie, even though at the moment he seemed to hate his guts, would eventually become his partner for real. Greebol had seen great potential in him. Charlie would have made a smashing bounty hunter with a little training.
Greebol guessed he would have to find another prospective partner. He glanced over at Wextoal who was picking his teeth with his knife. Possibly? Wextoal cut his tongue. Greebol shook his head and slapped himself for thinking such foolish thoughts.
“We should really get away from here,” Wextoal muttered, knife still in mouth, blood building up between his lips.
“Probably would be a good idea,” came the reply as the dragon circled back again through the grey clouds up above, its reflection shimmering on the surface of the large Elfin ship. The dragon was determined to get that grey thing for making him keep disappearing and reappearing elsewhere.
It went in for a dive. Ten out of ten for effort, a poor two out of ten for style. But this dragon did not care for style. Greebol and Wextoal turned on their heels to run, Greebol dropping the TITS control in the process. He reached down to grab it just in time as the dragon’s teeth skimmed by where his head had just been.
“Oh it is bloody broken!” Greebol sulked, stomping his foot on the ground as he waggled the switch that was hanging from the remote.
The dragon also spied the damaged object in the grey thing’s hand. The dragon smiled a smile like a crocodile. It was that object he held that made him disappear. Now that it was broken, the dragon was satisfied. After all, he had just swallowed three people so he didn’t need to eat anything else. Not for at least an hou
r anyway.
Greebol watched the dragon rise upwards into the sky and beyond the clouds as Wextoal stole a couple of coconuts from one of the abandoned stalls. He wobbled the broken remote control in his hand and sighed. That TITS had cost him a lot of knobs. What a waste. He threw the remote control onto the floor and began to stomp in a tantrum away towards the docking bay. Wextoal followed, picking up the broken remote as he went, shoving it into one of the pockets of his large overcoat. The scrawny runt would steal anything.
“Wait!” a deep voice shouted after them. “Wait! No! Damn you! No!”
Giblet emerged into the market place, out of breath and covered in blood – none of it his own. Greebol and Wextoal turned back to the Dwarf.
“Are you talking to us?” Greebol asked melancholy.
“I was talking to the dragon,” Giblet spat as he watched the last signs of the beast in the distance, leaving cloud trails behind it like the back of a jet.
“Is it your pet?” said Wextoal snuffling and wiping a line of green from under his wet nose.
“Pet? Ha! No… it is my challenge! I must have that dragon’s head! There is treasure in its belly that has to be mine!”
Greebol's non-existent ears pricked up. Had he just heard the word treasure?
“I was told that you had the power to summon the dragon. Is this true?” asked Giblet.
“Alas,” Greebol began, “the power was mine but it has been stolen away from me.”
Giblet sighed. “That is a shame. I cannot even follow the creature,” he continued, “as my darn vessel has been confiscated!”
Greebol grinned. An idea was brewing in his mind. A light switched on. Greebol reached up and switched it off again.
“I have a ship,” he said.
The Dwarf eyed him suspiciously. “And?” he said.
“We can use it to follow the dragon!”
Giblet’s eyes narrowed. “And why would you want to follow the dragon?” he questioned. “The treasure is not for you bounty hunter. It is for the tournament!”
“I am not interested in the treasure,” Greebol lied. “You helped us against the Sentry… and by the look of things you were victorious… therefore I simply wish to repay the favour.” Greebol did his smile.
Giblet considered his proposal. He didn’t trust non-Dwarf folk. Too tall. Yet at the moment there did not seem to be another option. Giblet would use this ship and at the first chance would ditch its pilot.
“I accept!” he crowed.
Chapter 43
The docking bay was still void of life. The empty ships sat quietly, making no fuss, in the dark room. All was still, all was silent.
Into the gloom stepped Greebol, marching proudly towards his electrical.
“What’s this pile of junk?” said Giblet. “Looks like it’s been scraped off the bottom of my giant, steel toe capped, leather boot!”
Greebol scowled.
“I’d be surprised if it could even take off the ground!” Wextoal chuckled.
“The engines might,” Giblet continued, “don’t know about the rest of it!”
“She may be a bit old and worn,” Greebol spat, not finding the jibes amusing, “but she will get you from A to B and in good time too.”
Giblet ran his hand over the electrical’s hull. “I suppose she’ll do,” he said. “Tell me bounty hunter… what name do you give this monstrosity?”
“She is called the King George,” Greebol said with a smile.
“Your ship is no King,” said a sarcastic voice in the gloom. Giblet gripped his axe. Wextoal gripped his knife. Greebol gripped his crotch. From the shadows the five Elves emerged, led by High Delta officer Lemor’all. He looked at Giblet and sneered.
Giblet shuffled on his feet, leaned in towards the Elves and began shoving Wextoal and Greebol with his elbows. “Hold me back,” he said pushing his way forwards yet in no way looking like his feet were actually going to move. “Hold me back! I don’t know what I’m capable of!”
“Do silence your dog,” Lemor’all said, eyeing the Dwarf through squinted lids. He flicked his long hair and turned to Greebol. “You really should not listen to this… vertically challenged, brain-dead fool.”
Giblet gasped. “Now come on Elf,” he huffed, “our feud isn’t personal! There’s no need to be sizest!”
“Bounty hunter,” Lemor’all said to Greebol, ignoring the Dwarf, “you do not want to ally yourself with the Dwarf here. After all… what can he offer you? A rusty axe and a beard full of food?”
Giblet looked at his axe that was slightly rusty. He peered down to his beard. Aha! There was no food! There was an old chicken bone however! Finding a bone in one's beard was a sign of good luck in Dwarf culture. Giblet’s confidence rose.
The High Delta officer continued. “The Elves can offer you much, much more. We have a ship as large as the sky with weapons more deadly and accurate than any old axe. Join us and we shall actually make you a king!”
The cogs in Greebol’s head turned. Albeit not very quickly.
“I could help you,” he said eventually, “but this good Dwarf fellow did just help us escape the Sentry.”
“We would have done that,” the Elf scoffed. “All I’d need would be my little black box.” He flicked his hair and pouted.
Greebol watched transfixed as the hair glistened like a freshly polished spoon and moved down the Elf’s back like ocean waves. He gibbered.
“Little black box?” he said in the tone of a baby only just learning to speak.
“A very clever device,” Lemor’all replied. “Trust me… with our black box you will want us to have your back. Not the Dwarf.”
“What does it do?”
The Elf smiled. “It seems a demonstration is in order!” He reached into his pocket, ready to use the black box on Giblet, but to his horror he found his pocket empty apart from a bit of fluff, an old tissue and a boiled sweet. Lemor’all looked up at Greebol with a tinge of worry on his placid face.
“Where is this brilliant box?” asked Greebol, slowly snapping from the strange intoxication the Elves seemed to pass on to everyone who glanced at their marvellous hair.
“Erm…” the Elf squirmed, “it’s… it’s… right here!”
Lemor’all removed his hand from the pocket and held up nothing. Greebol, Wextoal and Giblet stared in confusion.
“Can you not see it?” the Elf said with a guilty grin on his face. “Of course you can’t! It is an… invisible black box!”
“An invisible black box?” repeated Giblet sarcastically. “If it is invisible then how do you know it is black?”
“We just do,” Lemor’all snapped. “Do not question us little man!”
“Who are you calling little?” Giblet fumed. “I may be smaller than you but at least I don’t look like a pansy girl!”
The High Delta officer shunned the last comment with a flick of his hair and scoffed. “Say… aren’t you a little short even for a Dwarf?”
That was it! Too far! The Elf had gone too far. Giblet flipped. He dove at Lemor’all, axe spinning in his hand. The other four Elves moved like a whisper on the wind to protect their commander. They drew silver swords that matched the hull of their ship and blocked Giblet’s attack. The Dwarf was not put off and continued to beat and batter at the wall of swords, desperate to smash through to Lemor'all’s slimy face.
The first blood was shed as Giblet knocked one of the Elves backwards onto the impressive ship with the system five security generator. The Elf sizzled and sparked for a moment until its charred remains became a constant fixture on the ship’s hull!
Greebol and Wextoal, bored of what was clearly none of their business, scaled the steps to the King George and entered. The electrical powered up, the thousands of tiny flashing lights blinking on.
“We are going after the dragon aren’t we?” asked Wextoal, rubbing his scrawny, hairy hands.
“We?” came Greebol’s response.
“You’ll find I’ll come in handy. I
f I understand your way of thinking you have no plan to give that treasure over to either the Dwarf or the Elves.”
“And what makes you think that?”
Wextoal smiled. “It’s exactly what I would do!”
Greebol gripped hold of the steering square. “The thing is you old swine… if I let you come along then I will have to share the treasure with you. That does not sound like a good thing to me.”
“You owe me Greebol,” Wextoal spat. “Besides… you might need this.” He reached into the pocket of his large dirty overcoat and brought out Lemor’all’s little black box. Wextoal, ever the thief, had slyly pick-pocketed the Elf almost seconds after they had met. He also had the Elf’s insignia badge, wallet and hairspray.
Greebol was impressed. True, Wextoal was a little bit crazy and unpredictable. True, Wextoal did have serious hygiene problems and tended to moult everywhere. True, Wextoal is said to have mated with his own grandmother. But he was a hell of a thief.
Perhaps he could come in handy… at least until Greebol no longer needed him.
“Welcome onboard!” he said with a smile.
The King George began to rise into the air, wobbling slightly after its rest. If you can imagine what a slightly squashed, shelled hard-boiled egg would look like, should it be floating above the ground, then you can imagine the King George’s current appearance.
There was a loud clash as Giblet dove at the electrical’s door. He rolled inside, a mess of horned hat, chain mail and beard.
“If that offer still stands then I’d like to come with you,” he said to Greebol.
As the Dwarf had a homing device on the dragon, Greebol accepted.
“Trouble is,” Giblet continued, “we’ll have to get going right now!”
A bright, flashing, weapons blast narrowly missed the electrical’s roof. The Elves had opened fire!
Greebol instantly steered the electrical upwards, above the city and into the dark rain clouds, the Elves’ silver ship watching them.
“We will not get very far away from these Elves,” Greebol muttered, “with that giant monstrosity above our heads. No matter where we go on this planet they will be able to find us… and destroy us!”
Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1) Page 24
