by Paul Cude
Skirting the edge of the room until he reached the monarch, Peter stood and waited until the king was ready to speak. It didn't take long.
"Never in all my time have I felt like I was going insane, but I do now. Those idiot councillors drive me mad sometimes, but this, this is... just crazy. I swear he must be doing this on purpose, no doubt exacting his revenge for me not having gone to see him for all this time."
Not knowing what to say, Peter kept quiet.
"Aaarrgggghhhh," moaned the king under his breath, as across the room, the old shopkeeper found something else to complain about.
Suddenly Peter wished he were anywhere but here.
Shaking his head and wiping his eyes, the king turned to look at him.
"Sorry," he whispered. "It's just that this is my most... private of places. Where I come to when I want to unwind, relax, just think. It's all so hard to take in. Anyway, how did you get on with the... trunk?"
"There are some things I'd really like to ask you about if that's okay," he replied, really not sure if this was a good time.
"Of course, of course," replied the king, buoyed. "Let's go and have a look now and you can ask me what you like... lead the way."
Peter headed back through to the bedroom, followed hotly by the king who seemed determined to get away from the chaos of the main room as quickly as possible.
Upon entering, the first thing the king noticed was the small metal canister on the floor by the side of the trunk.
"Well I'll be..." he uttered. "It can't be, can it? I haven't seen this stuff in well over fifty years," he recounted, picking up the canister and turning it over and over in his hands. "Ohhh... it is, it is," he cried jubilantly. "'Fox's Igniting Scale Enhancer,'" mused the monarch, a faraway look in his eyes. "This is the stuff of legend Peter. As far as I know, they stopped making it some time ago. If you want your scales to look their best, then this is the stuff for you."
"I've never heard of it."
"Not surprising really," replied the king, a little sadly. "Its creator died about half a century ago. Fox, as it states on the bottle, was a genius... oh he had a few other potions and gimmicks on the market, but this was..." said the king, holding up the canister, "this was the real deal. I've never seen or heard of anything like it to this very day. Others have tried in vain to recreate it, all with little or no success."
Peter was surprised that such a simple thing could provoke such a passionate reaction from the king. With a twist from his strong, worn hands, the monarch unscrewed the cap and inhaled deeply.
"Ahhhh," he sighed. "Reminds me of the good old days." Offering out the canister so that Peter could have a whiff, the youngster shook his head at the invitation.
"Don't know what you're missing," ventured the king. Peter declined once again.
"Anyhow, just so that you know, to use it, you pour a little on, and then work it in until it turns to lather. Covering your whole self like this, you let it dry. Once dried, it's time for the good part. You just simply ignite it with your flame and wwwhumpfffff, the whole thing goes up in flames, eventually burning out. When it does, you'll have the best looking scales in the kingdom, I guarantee."
Nodding, intrigued, Peter wondered if he would have the courage to try using it at any point.
"Anyhow, I take it from the look on your face that this wasn't what you wanted to ask me about," put in the king, lowering the canister back to the floor.
"Ummmm, no, not exactly."
Picking up the frame containing his grandfather's Flaming Cross medal, he handed it across.
"I'd hoped you could tell me more about this."
Looking through the smoky glass at the medal inside, the king took his time, reading all the words.
"Oh my goodness... I... I... had no idea... but... now it makes... so much sense... of course... it was... him," spluttered the monarch.
Peter sat there shocked, until he engaged his brain.
'Of course,' he thought, 'it was the previous king that awarded that medal. Why didn't I realise that?'
Turning to Peter, the king handed him back the frame and said,
"You should be very proud of him, he was a great dragon. We all knew someone, around that time, had been awarded one of these, but no one seemed to know just who it was. Back then, I spent part of my time on the council, and part with the King's Guards. There were rumours of someone receiving one of these, but the odd thing was, no dragon ever started showing it off. Most would have, believe you me. It was something to be proud of and let others know about, but I suppose your grandfather was different like that, in a good way of course. Thinking back on it now, I really should have guessed it was him and called him on it. I feel a bit stupid. It seems so obvious now."
"He was a very private dragon then?"
"Private and modest," replied the king. "Sorely missed," added the king, wiping a tear from his eye. "Anything else you'd like me to have a look at?"
"Two more things if that's okay?"
"Fire away."
Picking up the dagger wrapped in rags and holding it as far out in front of him as possible, he offered it to the king.
"Once you unwrap it Majesty, it is incredibly powerful... be careful," he suggested.
The king gave Peter a look.
"What did I tell you? When we're alone, please call me George."
"Sorry I forgot."
"No problem," said the king, smiling. "And don't worry about powerful. The ring," he announced, lifting up his hand to show off the dazzling band, "does more than just store mana, it protects me from almost any magical harm."
Peter looked more than a little sceptical.
"Not convinced I see," declared the king. "It's okay, I'll be just fine," he said taking the bundle from Peter and putting it on his lap. Just like Peter had earlier, the king carefully unwound the rags until a sliver of metal appeared. And just like his young charge, the king pulled out the dagger as soon as he saw it. His eyes nearly sprang out of their sockets once the weapon was fully revealed. Holding it out in one hand, he turned it over and over, inspecting it fully, clearly not affected by its power, much to Peter's relief.
Both sat in silence for a matter of minutes, the king taking in every jewel and detail of the dagger. Not for the first time, Peter didn't know what to say, and so decided to say nothing at all, lest he utter something stupid or inappropriate. He was still largely intimidated by the king's presence, despite the time spent with him at Salisbridge hospital and the king's best efforts to put him at ease and make him feel welcome.
"This was in the trunk?" the king enquired.
"Yes."
"Your grandfather certainly liked his secrets," stated the king, shaking his head. "To think he had this at some point and it's been sitting here in that chest for so long is almost laughable. How on earth did he come to have it I wonder? You know what it is, don't you Peter?"
"I assume it's the dagger Aviva had when she fought Ptolemy and the two treacherous councillors."
The king nodded.
"It must be. I can't imagine there could possibly be more than one of these. Laminium in those times was much more of a rarity than it is now, as the methods for extracting it were much cruder. Here and now, there is quite a large amount of laminium in the dagger; back then, it would probably have amounted to about a tenth of the world's supply. And for you to have inherited it... amazing."
Thinking about what the king had just said, Peter inferred from his tone that he thought he shouldn't have the dagger. It made little difference to him whether he had it or not, so he concluded that it would be better to give it to the king here and now.
"You can have it Maje... George. It's not like I have a use for it, or anywhere safe to keep it."
The king eyed the young hockey player with suspicion.
"Do you really want to give it away Peter? The history alone that accompanies this item is beyond belief, not to mention its power, which you clearly experienced earlier. When I mentioned you inheritin
g it, I didn't mean to imply that you shouldn't have it. I just find that with everything that's gone on, with Manson and the like, for you to suddenly end up with it... well, let's just say that if I, one of the least likely dragons in the world to believe in fate, could start to think that fate wanted it in your hands, maybe to use, maybe because you can be trusted to keep it safe... who knows? But what I do know is that you really should keep it. Heaven only knows what your grandfather went through to get it; guessing by the Flaming Cross and everything else we know, he might well have gone to hell and back. But he wouldn't have left it to you if he hadn't wanted you to have it. Keep it, guard it, use it if the need arises. After everything you've been through I trust you implicitly, and if you're even half the dragon your grandfather was, then I would be proud to have you fight by my side."
It was all Peter could do not to cry at the biggest compliment he'd ever received.
"One piece of advice though," offered the king, interrupting his train of thought. "I would be very careful about telling anyone of its existence, even your friends or the shopkeeper, particularly the shopkeeper. Oh don't get me wrong, I trust Gee Tee, he's saved my life more often than I care to remember, as he's mentioned numerous times today, but with something like this, something that dragons from across the world would kill to acquire, you'd have to be very sure he wouldn't inadvertently tell anyone. One slip of the tongue, and well... you'd be a dragon in demand, for all the wrong reasons."
Reluctantly the king wrapped up the dagger, before carefully handing it back to Peter, who quickly laid it down in the bottom of the trunk, not wanting to hang onto it a second longer than he had to.
"And the final thing is?" asked the king.
"This," replied Peter, handing the king the faded newspaper article. "I don't know what it is or who the people in the article are. I was wondering if you knew who they were and if perhaps my grandfather brought them to justice?"
Watching the king read the article and study the photo, he noticed a look of undeniable anger creep across his face towards the end. It was subtle, and was gone in no time at all, but it had been there, he was sure.
'What would cause that kind of reaction?' he thought.
Rubbing his forehead nervously, the king thought about what that he had in front of him. So many of his decisions with the council revolved around a certain point of view or concealing part of the truth, things he really didn't want to even consider here and now with Peter. But they ran through his mind nevertheless. Knowing that the truth would hurt the young dragon before him, made him not want to be the one to inflict it on him, or to burden him with it. But the core of the matter, he knew, was that Peter would want the truth to come out. Concealment or a partial story wouldn't work here, and anyway, he wouldn't want them to. Only the truth would do, he thought, as he looked deep into Peter's eyes.
"There's no easy way to say this I'm afraid. So I'll just come straight out with it. Both the spies in the newspaper article are your parents. I'm so sorry Peter."
Feeling like he'd just been hit by a meteorite travelling at full speed from some far flung galaxy, fifty million thoughts and questions whistled round his head, making him feel more than a little giddy.
'It can't be,' was the first thought. 'My parents, spies... working with the Nazis... it just can't be. There must be a reason... perhaps they were double agents. Yes, that's it, they were double agents and the king's just about to tell me about that part.'
Looking across at the king, he instantly knew there was no good side to the story. The sadness on his false human face was more apparent than it ever could have been in his natural dragon form.
"I... I... I... don't understand," he stuttered. "How can they have worked for the Nazis?"
Cold to the core, the king felt Peter's pain, wishing his friend, and Peter's grandfather, could be here to explain, as he himself only knew a little of what had happened so long ago.
"I don't know very much, Peter, but what little I do know, I will tell you," announced the king, shifting uncomfortably on the living room sized bed. "When your grandfather first revealed your existence to me, I was pleasantly surprised. He seemed so happy, and who could blame him, right up until the point I asked him about your parents. For such a quiet and unassuming dragon, he sure seemed to know a whole range of rather... dubious human words. I listened for a long time as he let off steam, in more ways than one, and once he calmed down I tried to get to the crux of the matter. Even after his out of character explosion, it was very difficult to find out exactly what had gone on. I told you at the hospital that there had been some kind of fallout out or rift. I don't know the details, much as I did try and press your grandfather for them, thinking that I might in some way use my power to influence the situation for him. I also told you that both your parents had left separate instructions with the nursery ring that he was not allowed to have any contact with you. Why? I don't know, but clearly it had something to do with the rift that had torn them apart, quite something for both your parents to leave those instructions. Unable to glean any more information from your grandfather, I left matters well alone, not wanting to upset my best friend any more. It wasn't until much later that I learned about the role played by your parents in the war.
Your grandfather had come back from a mission badly injured, unusual for a dragon. He needed immediate attention and the best physicians were summoned here, eventually working for three days solid, casting mantra after mantra, using all their healing powers and experience. I stayed by his side the whole time, listening, helping as best I could, and allowing the physicians to draw magic from my ring. In the end, he survived, but only just. However, over the course of the three days, he became delirious and a little deluded, screaming and shouting, of which we all thought very little. But it wasn't long before he started recounting stories, stories that should probably never be repeated, that should almost certainly have been made up, but parts of them seemed all too real, if you know what I mean.
As you can probably guess, the story you see before you in the paper was one of the ones your grandfather told while he was ill, also disclosing how your parents colluded with the Nazis, how they escaped the British and managed never to reveal that they were dragons. Making their way back to the dragon domain, they survived to live in relative peace before having you and depositing your egg at the nursery ring. Some of the things your grandfather revealed in those three days sounded like pure fiction. But I very subtly checked most of them out, one way or another, and to my surprise, most of it really did happen. How your parents didn't get caught by other dragons working for British intelligence at the time is beyond me, and we still don't know to this day. As I'm sure you're aware from your dragon history lessons, dark dragons actually started the war and influenced Hitler right up until his death. There were many dragons on both sides, the British ones trying to save lives, the ones allied with the Nazis very happy to take them. But for two prominent dragons like your parents, who were infamous and in the press, to escape undetected is... very unusual indeed. They were there, that's all I really know for sure. I think your grandfather may have suspected or known somehow, and just maybe that's what caused the rift. And as I'm sure you're aware, there's been no record of either of your parents since they deposited your egg at the nursery ring, not in the dragon domain or in the human world above, to my knowledge. If they were to surface above or down here, I would know about it... I can assure you."
Peter tried to make sense of what he'd just been told: his parents working for the Nazis against the Allied Forces, being captured as humans, but not detected as dragons, fleeing back to the dragon domain and blending back in, before mating and then leaving the egg at the nursery ring, with instructions about his grandfather, and then disappearing for good... it was all just too much to take in. Tears streamed down his cheeks, weaving in and out of the thin layer of stubble adorning his chin, before leaping off and diving towards the oak floor, where they began filling up a beautifully carved flying drag
on and its roaring flame.
Putting a reassuring arm around Peter's shoulder, it was the king's turn to stay silent this time, remaining just a comforting presence.
Minutes passed, as tears turned to lonely sniffs, with the worst of it seemingly over. Before either had a chance to break the silence, an echoing voice rang out from the direction of the corridor.
"Majesty... Peter... Gee Tee's just about to begin making the mantra. Just thought I would let you know," boomed Yoyo's voice nervously.
Wiping his bloodshot eyes with the back of his hand, Peter stood, followed closely by the king. Patting him on the back and ruffling his long, curly, dark hair, the king said,
"Leave all the stuff where it is. I'll get someone to deliver the trunk and all its contents over to your house in the next few days. Is that okay?"
"That... that... would be great. Thank you."
"You're welcome. Just make sure you take care of that dagger. I hate to think what would happen if it ever fell into the wrong hands."
"I'll be careful, I promise."
"I know you will," said the king, setting off in the direction of the living room, Peter hot on his tail.
Stepping into the open living room from out of the dark corridor, the first thing that grabbed their attention was Tank, sitting in the middle of the room on the floor, a large pestle and mortar between his knees, to which Gee Tee was already adding ingredients.
"Crush the bark and the bones until they become a fine dust," barked the old shopkeeper, from behind Tank. "Not ultrafine of course, just fine... understood?"
Looking across the room, Tank gave Peter a small smile, shaking his head at his employer's orders as he did so.
"I'll let you know when it becomes fine and you can check it for yourself," replied Tank, just a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.