Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  Startled out of his musings by the sound of rock grating on rock, he looked over to his right and could just make out a huge disc of rock rolling along the wall, revealing a dark passage behind it. At first, his highly advanced dragon senses could only detect movement. Rapidly, a line of dragons flew out of the darkness, eight in all, with the last two clutching the wings of the perfectly preserved corpse of Mark Hiscock in his natural dragon form. Something akin to an aerial display, the troupe flew in formation in and around the grotto for over five minutes, swooping low, and close to the audience at times, affording everyone a good view of the deceased. As one, the flight stopped and hovered in the exact centre of the grotto, above the roiling lava. Glancing left and right, Peter watched all the other dragons bow their heads in respect. Immediately he followed suit, adding a silent farewell as he did so. From out of nowhere, the master of the bereavement grotto flew silently up to Mark's dragon body, and using a sacred set of ceremonial clippers, that looked more like bolt cutters, clipped a single scale from his tail, which she then slotted elegantly into a prearranged space in the ceiling. Mark was now at home with the rest of his brethren, watching over them all.

  The all encompassing silence was broken by the ting of a triangle echoing gently around the grotto. As one, every dragon instantly placed the silver horn to their lips. Peter did the same, a split second behind everyone else. As the last note of the triangle faded to nothing, all of the dragons blew into their horns simultaneously.

  At that exact same moment the two dragons holding Mark's corpse released it, letting it tumble down into the lava below. The giant dragon body hit the molten liquid with a mighty splash, floating on the surface for a few seconds before slowly sinking, and with one final gurgle, disappeared beneath the lava forever.

  As the horns stopped playing, the formation of flying dragons did one more lap before disappearing back down the dark tunnel, which was in turn covered back up by the moving disc of rock.

  As the rock crunched back into place, the grotto became a whole lot lighter, dragons filed back out towards the reception area, handing back their horns as they went. Peter followed, handing his back to the serious looking female dragon, who now just looked relieved, more than anything. Heading back through the tunnel, he patiently waited his turn as hundreds of dragons boarded the silver monorail carriages, all shooting off in different directions. Standing, head bowed, on the shiny stone floor of the platform, he felt empty. He'd thought the service would give him closure of some sort, but it hadn't. If anything, it had sent his thoughts racing, about Mark, the events leading up to his death and about what part, if any, Manson had played in it. The whole house thing was odd. Very odd. With nearly all the dragons having departed, Peter reluctantly boarded the last carriage bound for Manchester.

  Hurtling along at nearly five hundred miles an hour, dragons all around him chatting, laughing, joking and just generally getting on with things, he felt miserable. Before he knew it, the monorail had pulled onto the Manchester concourse. Stepping off, he looked around for the next carriage to Birmingham. As he did so, a London bound carriage glided effortlessly into the adjacent platform. The word 'London' conjured up only one image in his head. Tank! Wishing for nothing more than to see his friend, he jumped through the whooshing doors, just before they closed, and took a seat.

  Less than forty minutes later, he found himself walking through the narrow, shadow filled streets that led to Gee Tee's Mantra Emporium. Buoyed by the thought of seeing his friend, he quickened his step, smiling as he realised that he was even in the right form to enter the shop without getting an ear bashing from the owner, unlike last time. Trying desperately to clamp down on what he knew to be his scarlet cheeks (he was still full of shame and embarrassment at the whole 'underpants issue' and just recalling it was enough to turn him a totally different shade), he turned into Camelot Arcade, making his way along until he reached the old wooden door with the squeaky handle.

  Stepping inside, the shop looked exactly like it had last time, right down to the last cobweb. The obsessive compulsive in him wanted a vacuum cleaner here and now, although given his last spider encounter, the rest of him wasn't so sure. Making his way straight to the front of the shop, all the while keeping an eye out for anything exotic and unusual, he tried to make it obvious he was there, without being obvious about it. As you can imagine, it didn't go well. He looked like an uncoordinated, drunken dinosaur that had been out in the sun for far too long. All he could think of once he'd reached the shop counter, was,

  'Why don’t they get a bell on the front door? At least that way they'd know when a customer came in.'

  Flapping his wings while blowing hoops of crackling yellow flame in the hope of attracting some attention, he failed to spot the ancient figure looming out from one side of a bookcase that he'd already passed.

  "Hello child," ventured a velvety smooth voice.

  Peter nearly choked on his own flames at the sight of Gee Tee emerging from behind the bookcase.

  "Uhh... hi there Mr... Tee," uttered Peter nervously.

  "Hello again, child. What can we do for you today?"

  "I was hoping to speak to Tank," stuttered Peter, totally flummoxed.

  "I'm afraid he's not here at the moment... child."

  "Oh... okay. Can you just tell him I'll catch up with him later?” said Peter, disappointed.

  "Certainly," replied Gee Tee, sensing Peter's disappointment. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

  "No I don't think... well, actually, maybe... yes," answered Peter.

  "Is it regarding the man you work with that we discussed last time?" remarked the old shopkeeper, peering over the top of his precariously placed square plastic glasses.

  "Yes it is," replied Peter, keen as mustard.

  "Right, I'll tell you what. You help me put some books back on the shelves, and I'll listen to what you have to tell me. Deal?"

  "You're not going to turn me into a spider are you?" added Peter, only half joking.

  "That rather depends on how well you put the books back," cautioned the master mantra maker, the tiniest of grins etched across his face.

  What remained of Peter's nerves, tried to make a break for the door. Today was not going well.

  "I'm kidding of course," said the old shopkeeper smiling. "I mean how hard can it be? You can't be any worse than that best friend of yours."

  Peter followed the old dragon back through the maze of bookcases, wondering exactly what he'd let himself in for. Pulling up in front of one that said 'Mantra Additions For The Human Form' on the top, it was only then that he noticed the dusty pile of tomes that rose up past his waist on the floor beside it. It looked like he was very much going to fulfil his need to clean something. Gee Tee explained that the books needed to be cleaned and then returned in alphabetical order, from the top of the pile. Taking the strange feather duster offered to him by the old shopkeeper, one that looked as though a chicken had been involved in a very violent and bloody confrontation with a rainbow, he picked up the top book entitled 'Abdominal Flab And How To Coax The Beer Belly Out Of You', and gave it a quick clean.

  "So child, why don't you tell me what troubles you?" spluttered Gee Tee, blowing a whole load of dust from the front cover of a book called 'Nose Hair - Amazon Rainforest, Or Well Manicured Garden'.

  "Well, it's like this..." Peter began, updating the shopkeeper on his encounter with Manson at the industrial unit, telling him about Dr Island's shock dismissal, and about discovering Manson at Mark's house. All the time the two of them continued to put books back on the shelf after having cleaned them, with the latest clutched in Peter's hands, being called 'Double Chins - The Best A Man Can Get'.

  After having listened intently to everything Peter had to say, Gee Tee put down the next book he was holding, took off his glasses and scratched his nose vigorously.

  "Well child, it does all sound very suspicious. Can you describe in detail the aroma from Garrett's office and Mark's house? Were they ide
ntical?”

  "It's difficult to put into words. Really bitter and overpowering, with just a hint of... something... citrusy, I think.”

  "Have you ever had any problems with your sense of smell?" asked the old shopkeeper, curiously.

  "No," replied Peter. "Never. I passed all the senses tests in the nursery ring with flying colours. Not quite top of the class, but nearly."

  "The young female, the third of your little trio, I would guess."

  Peter nodded.

  "That's right. She was top for most things."

  "So I gather, so I gather," Gee Tee chuckled softly to himself, all the time pondering everything he'd been told. "It's most odd that you struggle to identify this mysterious smell, but then again, perhaps not. After all, most poisons are designed to be hard to identify, particularly slow acting ones, so maybe we shouldn't be surprised."

  "You think Mark was poisoned?" declared Peter, taken aback.

  "It does at least seem to be a possibility."

  Peter let his big dragon bum slide down the wall beside the bookcase, until he slumped to the floor with a 'THUMP', and just sat there dejectedly. With his tail curled up and his wings folded over his head, he looked a forlorn sight.

  "I can't believe all of this is happening to me," he announced from beneath his wings. "What am I supposed to do? I'm pretty sure there were no lessons that covered this in the nursery ring. Who do I trust? Who will believe me?" he said, holding back the tears.

  Gee Tee let out a little snigger. Peter looked out beneath both wings, rage building up on his face.

  "It's all right child. I'm not laughing at you... honest! It's just this whole situation reminds me of something I've been involved with before. The other person I helped was a lot like you."

  "Does that mean you're going to help me?” Peter queried hopefully.

  "Ummmmm... I suppose so... yes," replied the old shopkeeper smiling, "but I'm not exactly sure how much help I'll be, as I've never taken human form, let alone met a real one in person, or even been to the surface. I've only ever read about their customs and beliefs, so I have no real firsthand experience of what you're talking about."

  "Who cares?" raved Peter, grinning from ear to ear. "Someone who believes in me, how fantastic is that?"

  "Well, you can blame Tank partly for that," replied the old dragon, getting back to business. "You see, although I may think you're okay, the fact that Tank thinks of you as his best friend, counts for a great deal. In all the time I've worked with the young fellow, the only time I've known his judgement to be suspect was the incident with the Egyptian morphbeetle that I told you about. I would suggest he has a better understanding of dragons, humans, plants and animals than any other being I've ever encountered. On that, I trust him totally. So if I can't help out his best friend, what would the world be coming to?"

  Gee Tee proffered an outstretched hand, and pulled Peter up off the floor.

  "Perhaps we'd better devote our time to something more productive than cleaning books," the shop owner said, as he led the young dragon back through the maze, towards the shop counter.

  "It's such a shame dragons don't do autopsies. In that we could take a lesson from our charges on the surface."

  Peter looked on astonished.

  "Close your mouth child, before something unpleasant takes up residence in there."

  Peter did as he was told.

  "I might not have been to the surface, or have ever met a real human, but I've studied them inside and out. A very contradictory species if you ask me. Full of real promise, but with an innate desire to self destruct, particularly when things seem to be going so well. Like Indian food and steam trains, two things I'd very much like to try, this autopsy thing of theirs seems a well thought out idea. If one had been done on Mark's dragon body, then just maybe we would have found something of the poison's identity, which would have been a start. Without that though, things are going to be tough. Never mind. We'll just have to find another way."

  Slumping down in one of the oversized dragon chairs in the workshop, the old shopkeeper let out a giant sigh, while indicating to Peter that he should sit in the chair opposite. He duly complied.

  "Now tell me child, do you have to go back to Mark's house again?"

  "Yes," replied Peter. "I have to finish sorting out all of his stuff and make sure it gets to the children's hospital as per his wishes."

  "Well," said Gee Tee, rummaging through the bottom of a stack of books, "I'm not sure being exposed to whatever is in that house for a prolonged period is a very good idea."

  "But... but..." Peter started to protest.

  "Yes I know. You have to go back and sort it out. Ahhhh... here it is. Just what we need. Now let's have a look and see if this will do," mused the old shopkeeper enthusiastically, sweeping books, papers, pens and bottles of ink off the desk he was sitting at and onto the floor with a flick from one of his giant wings. Opening up a rolled up sheet of parchment, he began to study it intently.

  Waiting in silence, Peter tried to glimpse over Gee Tee's shoulder, hoping to get some idea of just what he was so engrossed in. After a few minutes of muttering and mumbling under his breath, the old dragon turned round to face Peter.

  "It's not quite what I had in mind, but I think it will do."

  This was the first time in both visits that Peter had seen the master mantra maker smile, and looking at the parchment on the desk had clearly put a spring in the old dragon's step. It was more than a little disconcerting.

  Gee Tee ushered Peter to the centre of the room with one large wing, before asking him to stand still. Returning to the table, he stretched out the parchment once again, holding it in place with two bottles of rainbow dazzling mantra ink. Turning back towards Peter, he said,

  "Although not specifically designed to protect against poison, I do think it will be strong enough to grant you temporary immunity to whatever evil lurks in that house. I strongly suggest you try your best to keep everyone out of the house in general until we can come up with a way to neutralise whatever it was that was being used."

  Poking his glasses high up his nose, he turned to look at the parchment on the table, all the time addressing the young dragon.

  "Stand perfectly still; this will only take a few seconds."

  Closing his eyes, the old shopkeeper began muttering words in a language Peter couldn't understand, made all the more remarkable because all dragons are masters of languages, encouraged to learn at least twenty different tongues in the nursery ring, with most going on to learn a lot more.

  Concentrating on standing perfectly still, Peter chose to focus on Gee Tee's square plastic spectacles. On doing so, he could just make out small beads of sweat, from the effort, wriggling down the old dragon's nose.

  'These words seem to be taking a lot out of him,' he thought, just as Gee Tee finished. Staggering over to where he'd left the chair, the master mantra maker collapsed bum first into it, the wheels beneath the legs squeaking as he did so. Peter, who was by now tingling all over, hurried over and knelt beside the chair.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

  Struggling to catch his breath, Gee Tee replied,

  "I will be in a few minutes child. Reciting ancient Polynesian mantras takes a lot of energy, and I'm not as young as I once was."

  Unexpectedly, a voice from the doorway behind them, interrupted.

  "What on Earth is going on here?” demanded Tank, rushing in and barging Peter out of the way so that he could get to his employer's side.

  "It's alright, my young apprentice," murmured Gee Tee, still wheezing, "I was just showing your friend here a mantra or two."

  "You know you're not supposed to cast powerful, high draining mantras, when there’s nobody else present," chided Tank in his best school master voice, while glaring daggers at Peter.

  Gee Tee smiled.

  "There was somebody about," he said, pointing at Peter, who was now really confused as to exactly what was going on.

 
; "You know what I mean," Tank added with scorn on his face.

  "I know, I know," ventured Gee Tee remorsefully. "Why don't you take your young friend here and make us all some steaming hot charcoal?"

  Tank knew better than to argue when he heard that tone of voice.

  "Come on Peter," Tank said, motioning to the door with one of his wings.

  Peter followed Tank out onto the shop floor, when suddenly the master mantra maker's words came booming out from behind them.

  "Marshmallows!"

  "He'll be lucky," whispered Tank quietly, leading the way towards the deepest, darkest part of the shop. In between two of the dustiest bookcases Peter had seen so far was a dark red wooden door. Peter followed his friend inside, to be greeted by a very small ramshackle room, used as a makeshift kitchen. Flicking the gas on the hob on, Tank lit it with a flimsy streak of flame from between his jaws, before putting a gigantic copper coloured kettle, filled with water, on to boil.

  "What went on while I was away Peter?"

  "Well I came to see you and you weren't here so Gee Tee and I talked and I told him what was happening with Manson and then he agreed to help me, and then he cast a mantra on me to protect me from the poison and..."

  "Whoa, whoa. Poison? What poison?” Tank asked, worriedly.

  While the steaming kettle whistled quietly, Peter explained what had been happening regarding the funeral and being the executor of Mark's will, as Tank carefully sorted heaped spoonfuls of dark black charcoal into three oversized, ultra thick mugs, with huge handles that only a dragon could grip. Peter smiled at Gee Tee's mug that had a script he didn't recognise going all the way around it, while Tank's had a tiger morphing into a butterfly on it. The remaining mug which he assumed was for him, was just plain purple and had obviously seen better days.

  As Tank poured the steaming hot water onto the contents of each mug, he turned to Peter and said,