Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  'What the hell could carry a harness like that?' he thought, his brain a muddied mess.

  His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by two figures from his past appearing from the other side of the van.

  "Well... look who it isn't."

  His stomach felt like he'd just jumped off the Empire state building and was currently in freefall. Temperature threatening to spiral out of control, his head felt like it was spinning faster than a fart in a hurricane. There, not three feet away, were two of the bullies from his nursery ring: Theobald and Fisher.

  "So Benty, what would you be doing here on this cold, winter's day?" asked Theobald.

  Trying desperately to focus his mind, he wondered what he was going to tell them. Would they even believe him? Had some help arrived, even if it was in this most unusual of forms? He felt so confused, so very light headed. He had to get them to help him; it was his only chance of bringing Manson to justice.

  Turning towards the two of them, opening his arms wide in a show of friendship, he tried to appeal to their better nature.

  "Guys, I know we've had our differences. But we really need to put them aside for the moment. There's something much more important going on here," he pleaded.

  Theobald and Fisher frowned simultaneously.

  "Such as?" prompted Fisher.

  Putting his arm around the shoulders of them both, something that repulsed him deep down inside, he drew them back out of sight of the depot. Pulling them in close, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

  "Something really bad is going on here. I'm not exactly sure what, and what I do know would take too long to explain, but I really need your help, both of you."

  Fisher and Theobald both looked at each other, the same confused expression masking their faces.

  "This is really, really big guys," continued Peter. "I'm sure the dragon Council will be very grateful for your help. VERY grateful," he added, hoping to appeal to their selfishness, knowing that if they helped him and thwarted whatever it was that Manson was up to, the Council would almost certainly reward their efforts in some way, shape or form. At this point, he was even willing to give them his share of anything that might come their way.

  "Tttthhhheeee... the Council know you're here?" stammered Fisher nervously.

  "Oh no," replied Peter without thinking, "nobody knows I'm here. All I was saying is that once the Council find out how much you've helped me with this, I'm sure they'll reward you both."

  As he'd been speaking a strange, menacing look had formed on Theobald's face. Just a split second too late, he realised what he'd just told them. That nobody knew he was here, especially anyone from the dragon Council. Stepping back from the two of them, convinced he'd just made one of the biggest mistakes of his relatively short life, Theobald and Fisher stood and glared with evil intent. Preparing to turn and run for his life, without warning a sharp pain exploded on one side of his head and, as he started to fall to the ground, his last sight was the image of Theobald and Fisher both laughing, before darkness consumed him.

  * * *

  Cold gnawed at his very bones... it hurt everywhere. Summoning up every ounce of strength in his body, he rolled over onto his side. Slivers of light illuminated the dark space he found himself lying in. Trying to push the excruciating pain to one side, he attempted to recall what had happened. Moments later, it all came flooding back to him. Miserably, he let out a long breath, which immediately condensed in front of him. Fighting against the pain, he tried to sit up, only then realising his hands had been bound behind his back, presumably, he thought, with one of the pairs of handcuffs he'd procured from the security bay.

  Flapping around like a stranded fish, eventually he managed to roll into a sitting position, his hands still behind his back. With adrenaline and fear trying to give the pain a run for its money, logically, he tried to take stock of his situation. It looked as though he was almost certainly in the back of the white van that he'd been standing by before being knocked out. He deduced this partly from the fact that he was definitely in some sort of van, but also because lying on the floor at the other end from where he was sitting, was the harness that he'd first noticed when he'd looked into the back of the white van. Apart from that the insides, lit only from the light shining through the gaps in the tiny rear doors, were totally bare. His head throbbed badly from whatever had hit him.

  'Almost certainly Casey,' he thought to himself.

  With hindsight, he could see that it was odd that it was just Theobald and Fisher, and couldn't remember a time when it wasn't the three of them.

  'That would also explain why I didn't sense the presence of anyone. A human, I would have sensed, but a dragon, well... I should have sensed them, but if there was magic involved, it would have been all too easy for me to have been blindsided. I'm such a fool,' he thought, overcome with a sense of complete failure. It was so obvious looking back on it now. Of course, Theobald, Fisher and Casey were in league with Manson. It made sense on so many different levels. Those three idiots were always after a fast buck. It would also explain how Manson was able to perform some of his so called 'tricks'.

  'It wasn't him doing it,' thought Peter, 'it was Theobald, Fisher and Casey. Manson himself must just be some low life, common criminal, who has just employed the three stooges to help out.'

  Although this moment of clarity about what had really happened had washed away the feeling of failure somewhat, the physical pain he felt was starting to become unbearable. Giving his all, he tried in earnest to break free of the handcuffs, something which in normal circumstances would take little or no effort, even for a young dragon. The cold, though, was affecting him deeply. Looking down, he studied his legs. Still in the same shorts and hooded top he had been knocked out in, he was horrified to see the skin on his legs had turned a pale shade of blue from the excessively cool temperatures. He hadn't been put in a freezer or anything, just dumped here. If that was the case, the cold he was feeling was just due to the fact that it was a chilly November day, and he was dressed in very little, meaning that he'd been here a fair few hours.

  Looking round, he tried to check his watch, but only succeeded in seeing that it had been removed from his wrist.

  'That's how cold I am,' he thought, 'I can't even feel whether I'm wearing a watch or not.'

  Leaning back against the inside of the van, he tried to think warm thoughts in the hope that it would clear his head, even a little. The problem was... the cold! There was just no way he could access any of his dragon abilities while his temperature was this low. So in effect he was stuck, at the mercy of Manson or his nursery ring bullies, or both. Not a pleasant thought either way. Determined not to give up, he forced himself to topple over onto his back so that his head was facing the harness. Tears rolled from his eyes as an agonizing pain ricocheted through the fingers of his right hand. Wiping the tears on the side of his top, slowly he used his feet to scoot along towards the harness. It was only eight or so feet away, but it seemed like a mile as his cold wrists and back dragged against the dirty, freezing floor of the van.

  Eventually, after two or three minutes, he reached the edge of the harness. Pushing himself up against the side of the van once more, he leaned forward to have a good look at the harness and all its fittings. Metal filaments, flexible and very tough, made up the netting. Every last part of the harness itself, from the straps to the linkages, was made from the highest quality leather. Nestled underneath was a giant, insulated, cocoon-like enclosure, fashioned from a dozen different sized, shaped and coloured high quality thermal jackets, a huge patchwork of very desirable arctic protection gear.

  'I'm not sure I want to meet whoever knitted that thing together, or more importantly, who, or whatever it was intended for,' he mused, trying keenly to rub back some heat in his wrists, aware that he could feel blood running through his fingers.

  With a goal in mind, he figured that if he could open up the cocoon enough, he might be able to snuggle up inside and get warm enough to acce
ss his missing abilities, all of course providing he remained bad guy free for long enough. As he managed to wiggle across the metal netting, once again causing a great deal of pain to his hands and wrists, at the same time leaving a smudged trail of blood, he noticed that the small slivers of light coming into the van from outside were slowly getting dimmer.

  'Oh great... it's getting dark outside.' The only consolation was that he now had a vague idea about what time of day it was, and just how long he'd been unconscious for. Knowing it was starting to get dark turned his thoughts towards the fireworks display that was due to start at the sports club in about two hours’ time. At that precise moment he'd have given anything at all to be there with Tank and Richie.

  After what seemed like three hours, but his best guess told him it was more like half an hour, he'd managed to rip enough of the thermal material to create a gap wide enough for him to wriggle inside. Of course, getting in there was a whole different matter. After another twenty minutes of trial and error in the pitch black, he'd managed to get as much of his body in the cocoon as he was going to get. Using his teeth to close it up as much as he could, he curled up against the material, trying again to think warm thoughts in the hope that it would speed the whole process along. The temptation now was to fall asleep, something he was focusing on avoiding at all costs. The moment he had enough strength to break out of the handcuffs, he wanted to be free from all of this, and planned to get out of here as soon as was physically possible, with a view to leaving whatever was going on at Cropptech, firmly to the dragon Council. He would contact them as a matter of urgency, and let them deal with it.

  Trying to keep track of time proved of little success, but after a while he was sure things were starting to warm up, because he was becoming drowsy and could all but feel the metal of the handcuffs chafing his wrists. In the haziness of his mind, he started to imagine he could hear voices. Voices that were gradually getting louder, or closer.

  Startled fully awake, he realised it wasn't his imagination. There really were voices emanating from somewhere outside the van and disappointingly they were most definitely getting closer. Concentrating like mad, he gave everything he had in an effort to bring forth his dragon abilities into his frail and human shaped body. Flexing his arms, he tried with all his might to break the handcuffs restraining his hands behind his back. After a few seconds, it was clear that he was still too cold. Silently, he swore to himself as he waited for whoever the voices belonged to, to open the van's tailgate.

  Closer now, Peter couldn't make out the exact words, but it sounded as though they were in a rush. Two doors opening, one after the other, became clear, quickly followed by them closing again shortly afterwards. With a lacklustre rumble, the van's engine jolted into life.

  'We're going somewhere,' he thought to himself. 'I've still got a chance, as long as the journey's a reasonably long one.'

  Snuggled up as much as he could in the giant patchwork cocoon, Peter hoped that the journey, wherever they were headed, would give him enough time to warm up. Right about now he found himself getting a little bit mad about everything. So much so, he was even contemplating turning into his dragon form, if he ever got warm enough to do so. Very unlike him. But he kept telling himself that desperate times called for desperate measures and that the dragon Council would fully understand, once they found out the full circumstances; well, just maybe they would.

  As the van started to twist and turn, he tried to imagine where they were headed, every left and right turn played out in his mind, but truth be told, he was lost long before they'd even left the Cropptech site.

  Trying feverishly to warm himself up, not knowing when the unexpected journey would end, he struggled as the handcuffs would only allow him to rub the tips of his fingers together as he slid about in the back of the van. Rubbing his knees and legs together, while at the same time massaging both his feet, he tried to have a positive outlook.

  'Another hour like this and things will most certainly be looking up.'

  But did he have another hour? All too soon he would find out.

  * * *

  At the sports club, the evening's festivities were just kicking off. Outside, a third of the massive car park had been cordoned off for numerous attractions that had just finished setting up. Small fairground rides stood alongside candyfloss stalls, hook a duck booths, tombolas and all sorts of heavenly food outlets from hot dogs to hog roasts.

  In the bar, the atmosphere had been fantastic all afternoon, maybe something to do with the fact that every home side in each sport had all been victorious. Some of the sports players from various sections still remained, propping up the bar, watching the football results. Most, however, had gone home to pick up the rest of their family, and were only now returning for the fireworks. Tank stood at the bar with Richie, mobile phone held firmly to his ear. After a few moments, he returned the phone to his right pocket and turned to his friend, a worried expression on his face.

  "Still no response. All I get is his answer phone and I've left about a dozen messages already."

  Richie leaned in close to her friend, primarily to make sure they couldn't be overheard.

  "I've left messages as well. I'd like to think he's just sulking, but I have to say I'm really not sure now. It's so out of character for him to miss a hockey match, unheard of in fact. And I think however much he's sulking, I'm pretty sure he'd have the decency to phone that captain guy... Andy, and let him know he couldn't make it, even if he had to lie and say he was ill or something."

  Tank nodded in agreement, whilst taking a giant slurp of his drink.

  "I went round to his house on the way here today," ventured the strapping rugby player, "but nobody was there. There was no sign of his car. I just thought he'd left early to go to the hockey and that we'd meet up here after our matches. But since you told me about him being sacked and escorted off the premises yesterday, I'm not sure what the hell is going on."

  Placing her empty glass softly onto one of the cardboard beer mats, the lacrosse playing dragon considered her friend's words.

  "I only found out this morning when I ran into one of my training staff in town," whispered Richie, waving past Tank to one of her lacrosse teammates who had just come in with her husband and two children, both of whom were carrying the biggest sticks of pink and blue candy floss she'd ever seen. "I've been away at the Guildford site doing some in house training for two days. Apparently it was the talk of the entire complex yesterday. I'm staggered, and more than a little gutted that I wasn't there. You can be damn sure things would have played out differently had I been."

  Tank shook his head, taking the final swig of his drink. He bent down low and put his head beside Richie's.

  "I've even searched for him telepathically," he murmured, "using one of Gee Tee's old mantras that can treble the normal range, but still no luck. I don't know what else to do at the moment, Rich. There's still time for him to turn up tonight. Maybe you're right and he's just sulking. Wouldn't be too much of a surprise, would it?"

  The two friends parted heads and nodded at each other, before looking down at their empty glasses.

  "More?" enquired Tank, raising his empty glass.

  "Ohh, go on then," said Richie, rolling her eyes. As Tank caught the eye of one of the bar staff, the two friends laughed, hoping that Peter would at any second walk through the door and complete their evening by coming to watch the much hyped fireworks display.

  * * *

  Although he had no idea where he was, he knew for certain that the van he was in had just turned off the main road and was now negotiating a very bumpy track full of potholes, every one of which he could feel.

  'This,' he thought, 'does not bode well.' A track off the main road almost certainly meant he was very near his final destination, and he was not nearly warm enough yet. Once again he tugged frantically at the handcuffs that bound his hands, but he knew even before he did that it was doomed to fail. Still he hadn't recovered enough to break free.<
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  Moments later the van stopped. Peter lay wrapped in all the layers, as frightened as he'd ever been. Voices from outside once again resounded through the thin van walls. They seemed impatient, edgy almost. A fierce rage started to burn at him from the inside, bubbling up out of nowhere, threatening to consume every last part of him. It was so overwhelming, that all he wanted to do was go and destroy these... criminals. How dare they imprison him?! Even with the help of Theobald, Casey and Fisher, he should not find himself in this situation. Dark, desperate thoughts of what he could do to these men if he managed to change into his dragon form engulfed his mind. One powerful swipe of his wings would trash their sorry van. He'd scare the living daylights out of each and every one of them, so much so that all the therapy in the world during their prison stay would not be nearly enough to counter their fear of him.

  A fresh sound jolted him out of his wishful thinking. Another vehicle had arrived. No, make that two other vehicles. As he waited for the tailgate to be lowered and the doors to burst open, more voices joined in outside. With the seconds turning into minutes, the doors did not open. A tiny ray of hope washed over him. All he needed was a bit more time. Clearly these humans knew nothing, otherwise they would have dealt with him whilst he was at his coldest, or when he was unconscious. Listening carefully, there was more talking, followed closely by a loud squeaking noise, a bit like a rusty gate creaking open. One by one, all the vehicles started up their engines, including the van that he was trapped in. As the van lurched forward, he found himself once again thinking of his friends, who by now would be waiting to see the fireworks. He would have given anything to be with them at that moment, that or any shred of warmth. Close, but no cigar.