Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  Smiling at his captive, the human shaped one tugged the collar of Flash's stolen jacket tighter against the cold as he did so.

  "What's the matter, not coming up to join us by the... fire?" mocked the gold-coloured naga, the gills on the side of his head contracting furiously as he did so.

  Flash continued to stare ahead.

  "You'd think, being a dragon, he'd want to come and appreciate the warmth a bit more," chuckled the human shaped naga.

  Flash's mind was full of a million questions he wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue. Decades of training told him he'd get nothing useful out of these two, and if he started to talk, just maybe he'd let slip something important that could aid them, due to the cold and the ringing in his ears. Resting his head back on the icy wall behind him, he closed his eyes, albeit not fully. As he listened to the crackle of the fire, savouring thoughts of being warm in the past, he tried to puzzle out what on earth was going on. Missing scientists, dragons turning back to their true form in the Antarctic, nagas, being captured... none of it made any sense.

  Making his way over towards Flash, the human shaped monster clapped his hands together inside the stolen gloves. Flash continued looking through his long eyelashes, remaining perfectly still. Leaning down, the naga grabbed Flash and pulled him up by the collar of his thermal top, so the two were face to face. Opening his eyes, he looked directly into the face of the human before him as the overpowering stench of rotten fish from the naga's breath threatened to overwhelm him. Fighting back the urge to throw up, Flash wondered what was coming next. The disguised beast opened his mouth, an even sicklier smell wafting out.

  "Your freedom is forfeit dragon. You'll be spending a lot more time in captivity, and believe you me, the accommodation won't be nearly this luxurious," rasped the naga in his distinctively tinny voice. "As soon as the storm passes, we'll be on our way to your new home."

  From the pit of Flash's stomach, erupted the worst feeling in the world, and this time it wasn't the urge to be sick from the putrid smell cloying at his face. It was something all his years of training had never prepared him for... fear, deep down, genuine fear, with a capital F.

  4 Knitting Nuttiness Nullified

  Finally the day had arrived. Not a moment too soon either, as far as Peter was concerned. June and Mildred were leaving today, and were at this very moment packing their bags. Rubbing his hands in glee, he stood in the kitchen looking out of the window into the back garden. Much as he appreciated the dragon council's fear that Manson might come back to try and take revenge by striking at him in his own home, having the two guards there for not far off two months almost seemed like a crueller punishment. With his injuries all but healed, he knew he could cope at home on his own, and with the new security arrangements that had been installed, he felt confident that he would survive, even if a vengeful Manson did ever reappear.

  The new fangled security had been put in place long before he returned home from Salisbridge hospital. When he'd got back from his prolonged stay (two and a half weeks is mighty prolonged in dragon terms) June and Mildred were there to greet him and explain what had already been done. Firstly, the old front and back doors of the house had both been replaced by nice new, solid feeling, double glazed doors that kept the cold out a treat. Similar double glazed windows had also been fitted throughout the house. Of course there was more to these new features than at first met the eye. Components inside them had been imbued with special protective mantras, very similar to the alea that Peter had inherited from Mark Hiscock, only much more stable, with absolutely no chance of any unexpected side effects. If he didn't unlock the doors with the key, from either inside or outside, then there was absolutely no chance of them being breached. So powerful were the mantras, that even a dragon in its natural form, using all of its strength and abilities, would not be able to break in. Also, a spy hole was added to the new front door, so that Peter could vet any potential visitors before he opened it.

  Secondly, the whole area underneath the house, where the secret entrance spilled out into the dragon domain, had been imbued with specialist mantras that would capture any dragon lingering there for longer than a minute, contacting the King's Guard at the same time. Aware of his predicament, the King's Guard had special pre-programmed numbers set up on his mobile and home phones that would contact them and have them at his house in under two minutes.

  The last, and as far as Peter was concerned, most scary addition to the old house, was a series of tiny interconnecting pipes that ran throughout the old property, having been installed by the king's own dragon specialists. All of the pipes contained a potent anaesthetic, so powerful in fact that it could take down a dragon in its natural form. If someone unwanted should break in, Peter could flip a telepathic switch that was hidden deep inside the walls, thus triggering the anaesthetic and rendering everyone in the house unconscious. If the switch should be used, once again, the King's Guards would be on their way in seconds. It was of course only to be used as a last resort. Every time he thought about the powerful sedative running through his house, it made him incredibly nervous. It took all his concentration and willpower to not think about the hidden switch, which could so easily be set off by one of his stray thoughts. An elephant in the room had nothing on this. All of these additions had taken place secretly, and Peter had been specifically instructed that he wasn't allowed to tell anyone else about them, not even Tank or Richie.

  A sharp creak had him turning around from the window. Mildred and June were making their way down the stairs, their suitcases on wheels dragging behind them, thumping as they hit each piece of wood. Peter walked out into the hallway to meet them. Both King's Guard dragons reached the bottom of the stairs just as he arrived.

  "Right then Bentwhistle, don't forget what we told you," bemoaned June gruffly.

  He could only nod in reply.

  "Anything strange at all, don't hesitate to get in touch. These security measures are the best our race has to offer. Don't waste them. Understand?" urged Mildred, in a much better Scottish accent than when she'd first arrived.

  "I won't take any unnecessary risks," he confirmed.

  "Hmmmmmm," muttered June. "You seem to forget that most dragons' minds are like open books to us."

  Peter winced, certain they had both read his thoughts. Frowning a little, and with two old ladies staring intently at him, he thought about what they'd both said. He'd meant what he said; he wouldn't take any unnecessary risks. How could they be reading his mind and get it so wrong? Of course, they couldn't actually read his mind, just as Tank had said. A huge smile broke out across his very ordinary face.

  "Tell me what I'm thinking now," he implored, certain they'd been bluffing for weeks about their telepathic powers.

  "We don't do parlour games sonny," barked June harshly.

  Once again he nodded, his curiosity satisfied. It had all been one long bluff.

  The sound of a throbbing engine pulling up outside the house, caused Peter to turn his head.

  "Must be our taxi," stated June.

  "You know what I'm going to miss the most?" announced Mildred.

  June screwed her wrinkly old face up for a moment, before a smile appeared, a light bulb switching on inside her head.

  "Deal Or No Deal!" spouted June, pleased with herself.

  Mildred burst into uncontrollable laughter.

  "Of course," she replied through the laughter.

  Peter shook his head, pleased the two of them were leaving.

  Both elderly women walked past him on the way to the front door. Before they reached it, both turned and looked back towards him.

  "A goodbye kiss for your aunt?" Mildred enquired, puckering up, her Magnum PI moustache doing a little jig of its own as she did so.

  "I'd rather kiss a human," Peter remarked.

  Both old ladies simultaneously burst into laughter again.

  "Very good," said June, turning the handle on the front door, still chuckling.

  Mildred
gave Peter a sly wink and followed June out through the door, making their way down the garden path to the waiting taxi. The driver had already got out and was halfway through putting June's suitcase into the boot of the car, June constantly blabbering in his ear. Peter smiled at the look on the taxi driver's face. It was a picture, as he turned to find Mildred approaching, dressed in clothes that only someone colour blind could fully appreciate.

  Both old ladies clucked around their chauffeur, and then argued about who was going to sit where, before taking an age to get in. Sitting in the front shaking his head, the driver cursed his luck at being called to a fare like this. As the engine thrummed into life, Peter smiled and waved the two of them off, mainly to show anyone that might be watching that all he was doing was waving goodbye to his aunt and her friend after a prolonged stay. June and Mildred returned the waves as the taxi sped off up the street. Breathing a sigh of relief, he shut the front door. To keep up the pretence, it was thought to have been better for them to take a taxi to the railway station, where they would catch a train and then make their way back to the underground world somewhere further up the line.

  Wandering along the hall and back into the kitchen, he switched on the wonderful new black DAB radio that Richie had bought him for Christmas. The quality was great, and having put it in the kitchen, he could now listen to it as he ate his breakfast every morning. An upbeat song sprang into life with crystal clear quality as he delved into the fridge to get a yoghurt before sitting down at the table, tapping his spoon to the beat of the music. Halfway through the yoghurt, he decided to retrieve a copy of the Daily Telepath, something he hadn't done for a few weeks.

  Having read the paper and finished his breakfast, he decided to go and tidy the bedroom that June and Mildred had been staying in. Climbing the stairs and turning the corner on the landing, he reluctantly pushed open the door to the room that he hadn't been allowed near since the two crazy King's Guard dragons had arrived. The room, with two single beds in it, was a complete and utter mess. No teenager's room in the world looked this bad. Hundreds of sweet and chocolate wrappers besieged the crumb ridden floor. A square coloured pattern was supposed to be visible on the carpet, but there was absolutely no way to make it out through all the mess. Peter's stomach gurgled in disgust. Storming back downstairs, he retrieved the vacuum cleaner and a roll of black plastic bin bags, spending the next three hours tidying the room to his satisfaction. Once finished, only the bare frames of the two single beds remained in the now pristine room. Much to his frustration he'd had to throw away the two mattresses as they were worn and dirty beyond belief. Five big bin bags of rubbish waited outside of his house, just from that room alone. Both guards had most certainly done a job.

  'The bin men are going to have a hissy fit when they see the rubbish waiting for them this week,' he mused, gazing at the now tidy room.

  Tidying finished, he spent a little time on his computer, before grabbing a bite to eat and then having a relatively early night. The next day was his first back at work since the fight with Manson on November 5th and he had no idea what to expect, or what had gone on in the time that he'd been away. Hopefully he could just fit back in without any fuss and pick up from where he'd left off. Drifting off to sleep, content to know that in the morning he'd be back in the job he loved, all the time he felt happy to be rid of those two crazy King's Guard dragons. The sound of knitting needles clacking at all times of the day and night had, he was sure, driven him to the brink of insanity. Silence and darkness claimed him as his eyes closed and he started to snore, ever so slightly.

  After the best night's sleep he'd had in months, he wolfed down a leisurely breakfast, grabbed his packed lunch from the fridge, strolled purposefully through the hall to the new front door, checked he had his phone, wallet and keys, before opening the door and heading out to his car, which for once was parked right outside his house.

  Hopping into his car, he found himself feeling rather nervous for some reason, his stomach turning somersaults and legs having that turned to jelly kind of feeling. Desperately he tried to tell himself that it was just like any other day, despite the fact that he hadn't worked for nearly two months and that the last time he was there, he'd been escorted off the premises in front of the whole company, by two gun toting maniacs.

  Too nervous to turn the car radio on, he made the short journey in complete silence. All too soon the turning for Cropptech came into view, the red and white barrier of the security checkpoint standing out, moving up and down to let the darting line of cars through, one by one. He queued for thirty seconds or so before his car reached the barrier. Other cars that had been ahead of him had only waited a couple of seconds or so before the barrier had been raised to allow them through. It felt as though he'd been waiting for an age.

  'Perhaps it's been so long since I've been here, that they don't recognise me,' he thought, more than a little worried.

  Up until now the gate guard had been leaning through the window, into the security lodge, with his back to Peter. As he turned around, Peter was pleased to see it was his friend Owen, the one person who'd stood up to Manson's gun toting goons, and had brought just a tiny sliver of hope to him when he was forced to leave last time. Owen just stood watching Peter in his car, a huge beaming smile spreading across his clean shaven face. Still unable to fathom why he hadn't been let through the gate yet, he could see the traffic building up behind him in his rear view mirror. Just as he was about to turn off the ignition and step out, the white double glazed doors of the security lodge sprung open, revealing a line of staff who exited into the frosty morning air. Still, he had no idea what on earth was going on. After every single member of staff from the lodge had stepped out into the cold, they all formed a single line on the pavement and then, as one, gave him a huge round of applause, led by the burly Owen. Peter blushed, as cars all around honked their horns in appreciation, provoking a sheepish smile for what he considered unworthy praise. Thirty seconds later, the staff all gave him a quick wave, before disappearing back inside. Owen smiled at him, gave him a mock bow and then raised the barrier. Smiling back as he pulled away, he went off in search of the nearest car park.

  On the way to his office, he passed numerous Cropptech employees, most of whom he didn't recognise, but nearly all of them gave him a smile and a nod of the head. They'd clearly all heard that he'd played a big part in recovering the stolen laminium and thwarting Manson's attempted heist.

  Entering his office, eager to escape all the attention, he shook his head at the sight that greeted him. His workspace was inundated with cards in all shapes and sizes covering just about every available square inch. Picking one up at random, it read: 'Thank you so much for the heroic effort you put into getting the company back on its feet.' It was signed by someone he'd never heard of in the accounts department. Intrigued, he picked up another. 'Good job getting the company back on track. Hope you feel better soon.' Again, it was signed by someone he'd never heard of, in logistics this time. Reading another dozen or so, they all appeared pretty much on the same theme as the first two. Sighing as he flopped down into his comfy leather chair at his desk, it was all a little bit too much, he thought as he booted up his office workstation. Leaning back, waiting for the computer to come online, he spied something hidden amongst the stack of cards on top of the bank of security monitors. Reluctantly getting up from his snug chair, he made his way around the desk and delved into the group of cards. Pulling out a wrapped up package about the size of a large board game, he tore the blue bow and silver wrapping off in one go. To his delight, the biggest box of chocolates he'd ever seen materialised. A little card was taped to the box. It was from Doctor Sheridan Island, the scientist who had been forced out of the company so brutally by the dreadful Manson, while he held sway over Al Garrett. The note simply said, 'Peter, heard what happened. You've changed things for the good for so many people. Feel free to pop over to the lab any time you like for a coffee and a chat. Regards, Sheridan Island.'


  Taking the chocolates back to his desk, Peter was stunned.

  'All this attention is so unwarranted,' was all that he could think. With his computer fully ready to go, he put down the chocolates and cut through the haze of thoughts swirling around his head, ready to get on with his job.

  Time flew by as he got back to grips with things. It was like he'd never been away, with one exception... his email inbox. When he'd first opened it, he was barely able to believe his eyes. He had one thousand, nine hundred and eighty five unread emails. Where do you start with all of that?

  Dead on half past ten, his office phone rang for the third time that morning. Picking it up while continuing to type, determined to make some headway on those outstanding emails, he instantly recognised the voice on the other end.

  "Hello Mr Bentwhistle," said the voice softly down the phone. "It's Mr Garrett's personal secretary here."

  Immediately he stopped typing and did a double take. Mr Garrett's personal secretary. The same fire breathing personal secretary as last time, able to turn you to stone with just a look, the same one who had constantly denied him access to the top floor, and only reluctantly let him pass when he'd tried to use the antidote to the poison Garrett had been affected by. It can't be the same woman, surely... can it? All of this buzzed through his head in a split second. As if to answer his query, the voice on the end of the phone continued.

  "Mr Garrett would very much like to see you at eleven o'clock if that's convenient?"

  "Of course, eleven o'clock would be fine," replied Peter, preparing to put the phone down.

  "Uhhhhhh... before you go Mr Bentwhistle... I... I... um... I... um would like to say... sorry."

  "I'm not sure I understand."

  "I'm sorry for treating you so badly, you know... before."