Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  Councillor D'Zone wrapped up his update, stating that he thought unless the entire King's Guard was being deployed (something almost unthinkable and impractical as it was spread too thin as it was) it would be madness to send any more dragons to Antarctica. It was just too dangerous without knowing exactly what they were dealing with. A close eye should be kept on developments in the human investigation that was underway, and a review of this should take place weekly.

  All of this sparked off a furious debate, led in the main by Councillor Rosebloom who advocated immediate intervention on a massive scale. Speaking passionately about the need to "find answers," to "get to the bottom of what had really happened," and to "finish the scientific work that was the original mission," with each hour that passed, the debate grew more and more rowdy as angry exchanges took place across the massive table. Fists were slammed, insults hurled, chests puffed out and of course flames were blown, each and every dragon there expending massive amounts of steam and heat. The grand old chamber hadn't seen anything like it in decades.

  After close to ten hours on this subject alone, with all the dragons irritable, tired, and now starting to get hungry, the wording of the motion to be voted on had almost been agreed. From the king's perspective, it looked as though he had more than a good chance of getting the result he wanted. His opponents, the ones who wanted to send a huge dragon task force to Antarctica had, it would seem, been too aggressive in their behaviour towards some of the councillors who were very much neutral in all of this, and if his experience and judgement were any guide, that would drive them to vote against such a force being dispatched. That, combined with the councillors he was sure he could trust to vote his way, would ultimately lead to the motion being overturned. But there was just a tiny, nagging doubt ringing out in the back of his mind.

  Councillor Rosebloom stood and, with the agreement of all the dragons there, announced that, "the strongest possible force of dragons will be made ready and sent to Antarctica within one standard month." That would be the proposed motion, and with the golden abacus waiting, the dragons would now vote either in favour of the motion, or against it. The room fell deadly silent, with no sounds of fires crackling or smouldering; they'd long gone out and not even the slightest hint of flame dribbled from any of the dragon's noses or mouths. Most sat up straight in their ornate chairs, eyes closed, thinking about the subject, concentrating on linking telepathically with the abacus.

  Watching on from his raised throne, the king felt a little tickle in his finger as he was just about to close his eyes. At first he thought he'd just imagined it, but then the tickle became a scratch. Trying hard to control his outward appearance, not wanting to give anything away, he sought to look inside himself in the hope that it was something easily explained away. Almost immediately though, as he delved deep down, he became aware that once again it was the ring that was causing his... discomfort, a discomfort that was increasing in magnitude by the second. Controlling his breathing and focusing with all his might, he managed to ignore the waves of... not so much pain, but distraction, warning, strange thoughts, almost as if someone or something were screaming a message at him that he just simply could not understand. With what seemed like his last breath, he sent out his command to vote against the motion, after which he just slumped forward, head in hands, eyes closed, pretending to mimic the body language of the other councillors, as he fought inside for his sanity.

  Moments later, it was over. Sweat pooled on the floor around his feet, because he'd given so much in his own personal fight. With his wits about him once more, he sought to find out exactly what was going on. A few of the councillors were still sitting, head in hands, but many had got up and were chatting in groups with each other, something that tended to happen after the last vote. The dragons were a pragmatic race and with the vote having taken place, they all realised there was nothing else they could do but get on with their normal business and just accept the outcome when it was announced, something that would happen very soon. Sitting back in his chair, trying to look composed and calm, but feeling anything but, the king strained his enhanced senses to the limit, trying to listen in on some of the many conversations going on around the room.

  "...truly believe it's the right thing to do..." he heard from one corner, sounding very genuine.

  "...costly gamble that could prove expensive both in financial and political terms..." growled another voice, just out of sight.

  And then just as he was about to give up, he picked up on,

  "...so, it's started. The beginning of the end. It was always about getting to this point. It's hard not to be sick and tired of all this... but not long now, not long at all."

  It wasn't so much what had been said, although the king struggled to think of a context in which the words that he'd heard would be acceptable. But there was malice and contempt behind the statement that he'd stumbled across. The threat wasn't even very thinly veiled, but that wasn't the worst part. Whoever had whispered those words (and they had been whispered so quietly that he couldn't identify who'd uttered them) had been very sure of the outcome of the vote they were now waiting to hear the result of. As far as the king was aware, the result was still unknown, making the whispered words all the more disconcerting.

  A few minutes later, the last of the seated dragons stood, indicating that voting on the motion had finished. As one, all the councillors gathered together and stood in front of the abacus, the king included. It wouldn't be long now, he knew. As they all gazed up at one of the most celebrated relics from a bygone age, very slowly the balls started to move, one at a time at first, almost gathering a will of their own. Some slid across one way, only to falter and then return back to whence they came. It was a nerve-racking moment, especially for the king who had so much riding on the result. Briefly, and it was spectacularly briefly, the king thought he'd won. About two thirds of the balls had headed across to the left of the abacus, the 'against' side of the beautifully crafted relic, the amount almost perfectly coinciding with the figures the king had done in his head about who would vote which way, thus giving him victory. But in the blink of an eye, the balls changed, some moving one way, some the other, leaving the result in no doubt, but staggeringly different to the outcome the king had hoped for: an overwhelming majority in favour of sending a force to Antarctica. Still hoping for the balls to slide back his way, the king was devastated when terrific jets of flame erupted from almost every part of the abacus to signal the vote had been carried by fourteen votes to eleven. The gathered dragons were silent. This in itself was unusual, as normally there was a group celebrating success, slapping each other on the back or blowing flames halfway across the room. The king had seen enough. Now that the vote had concluded there was nothing else he could do. With the meeting effectively over, the decision to send troops to Antarctica within the month already made, the king, looking a million times more composed than he felt, strolled purposefully over to the huge, heavy doors, swung them back and strolled off in the direction of his private residence, all the time contemplating what had just happened and exactly what he was going to do next. It seemed time was now very much against him.

  22 Regrets 'R' Us

  As the full length cloak flapped against the heel of his boot, he decided that now was the time to pull the hood fully up, concealing everything but the tips of his footwear. Darting out of the darkened alleyway, he silently crossed the deserted walkway, ducking into the shadows beneath the archway of the beautifully crafted bridge built from the surrounding rock, all the while looking out for a tail (not his... but someone following him). Under any other circumstances this would be a pointless exercise, as undoubtedly the dragons in the immediate vicinity would sense all the other beings around them, including him. This was where the cloak came in, and not just any cloak... Ancient in design, its fibres were imbued with laminium and a very obscure mantra that allowed the power to be redirected and controlled in a very specific way. The cloak was a... CLOAK! Used to mask a user's
very presence, the laminium blocked any telepathic search reaching out in its direction. Physically he could, of course, still be seen; masking that would have been all but impossible. No, this cloak shrouded the user's sense of being, so the only way for its wearer to be discovered, was for them to be physically seen. No dragon, or any other entity, would be able to sense the user once the cloak was fully shrouding them. Armed with this knowledge, its current wearer leapt into the air, found the smallest of finger holds in the rock and scaled it until he reached the bridge above. Once there, he crawled unseen into the deepest shadow, checking for any and all pursuers... there were none. His mission required stealth, secrecy and a dogged determination. It was of the utmost importance.

  Twenty minutes later, he breathed a sigh of relief. While he hadn't anywhere near reached his target, he had traversed what he considered the busiest area, the one in which he was most likely to be discovered. Leaning against the wall of an alcove between two dragon houses that looked as though they'd seen better days, he paused to catch his breath. Both walls had crumbled away and from the appearance of tiny flakes of colour, almost microscopic in size, these houses had once been brightly painted... many decades ago! It was the same story the dragon kingdom over, he thought. Much like the humans on the surface, dragons now seemed to have little regard for their surroundings and those of their neighbours. Once, long ago, it was possible to walk down streets and streets of colourfully decorated, immaculate dragon houses.

  'Not now though,' he mused. Just as on the surface, things had changed, here more than in most parts of the clandestine dragon world. Times were tougher now, even for dragons. Much of it, he thought, rested with the current king. Would a new king change things for the better? Quite a lot of him thought the answer to that was YES! Soft, padding footsteps jolted him out of his reverie. Instinctively he flattened himself against the dark wall, just as a dragon wearing a flamboyant hip cloak ambled past. His wandering mind had nearly cost him dear. Silently cursing his lapse and doubling his focus, he set off for his intended target. The sooner he got there, the sooner he just might get some answers to the many questions that had been bugging him for some time.

  Nearly an hour later he had his destination in sight. Once again he was concealed by shadows, this time from the furthest recesses of the roof of a small dragon dwelling. His focus, to be sure, was not what it should have been. So many things were going on, and here he was thinking how sad it was that the dragons living below him, and elsewhere in this particular part of London, lived in comparative destitution. Things were far worse than he'd feared and despite knowing that it wasn't really his job to do something about it, he vowed there and then that he would in fact put things right... and not at some far flung point in the future, but very, very soon!

  With his head poking just over the edge of the roof, he surveyed the street before him, strategically planning how to reach his target unseen. An elderly male dragon limped along carrying a basket of washing down the garden path of a small dragon house two doors along from his destination.

  'He doesn't look a threat... but you never know,' he thought. Once off the roof he would be out of the dragon's sight, but he had to cross a distance of nearly one hundred yards, he estimated, to get to the entrance unseen. A familiar feeling tickled his brain. Instantly he hugged the rooftop, just as two middle aged dragons wandered by below, engaged in casual chitchat about the next round of laminium ball matches. Again, he cursed. While the cloak concealed his very essence brilliantly, the downside of this was the mantra and the laminium in the fibres that in turn hindered his ability to sense other dragons. He felt almost... naked: much like Superman would feel without his powers, or a Jedi Knight without the Force. Steadying himself, he knew he was almost there, after three hours of skulking roof to roof, shadow to shadow. In mere seconds he'd know if all his efforts had been worthwhile.

  As quiet as a mouse, he raised his head above the parapet and looked around in every direction. Apart from the elderly dragon now pegging out his washing, there appeared to be no one else around. Sensing it was now or never, he waited until the dragon had his back to him, and as soon as that happened... he pounced. Mirroring a huge graceful cat, he stretched out, bounded three steps, and hurled himself spectacularly off the crumbling roof he'd been hiding on. Mid leap, he threw his weight off to his right, finding himself spinning precariously. With the ground speeding up towards him, he tucked his head between his legs and threw everything he could into rolling left. Hitting the pathway hard, he rolled instantly, his shoulder taking the brunt of the landing. Ignoring the blistering pain from the impact, he rolled three more times before standing and sprinting across to the doorway that he was interested in. Standing against the old door in question, he closed his eyes and, with an iron will, commanded the energy required to stave off the pain in his shoulder. In the blink of an eye the pain had dissipated and he turned his attention back to the door.

  Gently he turned the squeaky metal handle and slipped inside. Cool air flooded over him as the familiar sight of bookshelf after bookshelf greeted him. How long had it been...? He tried hard to think. At first he thought it decades, but on reflection he realised it must have been well over a century since he'd last graced this truly magnificent shop. And a lot of it looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in all that time. Strolling softly through the maze of bookcases, careful not to disturb the piles of dusty tomes that littered the floor, he finally found himself at the very front of the shop.

  'Oh how this brings back memories,' he thought to himself.

  A harsh growl from somewhere below the counter nearly startled him back into his natural form.

  "Most customers have the common courtesy to show their identities when they enter this shop. You'd do well to take the hint, and the quicker the better if you know what's good for you."

  Gee Tee's square spectacles popped up from below the counter, followed by the rest of his head and a ferocious snarl that would have seen almost any dragon proud, and certainly belied his age. Just then the workshop door opened as Tank flew round the corner, chest puffed out, magic crackling from his fingertips, ready to defend his friend and mentor. Standing side by side, Tank and Gee Tee stared intently at their unexpected hooded visitor, as the silence ratcheted up the tension in the room. Deep within the master mantra maker's mind, he was sifting through a list of offensive mantras that could be used as a last resort, while Tank on the other hand was wondering just how long was a reasonable amount of time before it was polite to hurl yourself at a potential enemy, when that particular thought was rendered redundant. Freckled hands, with immaculate nails and 'that ring' swept up and gently pulled down the hood to reveal... THE KING!

  "Majesty!" blurted Tank, swiftly dropping to one knee.

  "Hmmmmm," growled the old shopkeeper. "It's about time. How long has it been?"

  Currently gazing at the floor, head bowed, Tank shuddered at the thought of what might happen next. He needn't have worried though, as the king let out a huge belly laugh that bore little relation to his actual human size.

  "I was just pondering that very question on the way through that poor excuse of a maze you call your shop floor... Proprietor," shot back the king.

  "And?" fielded Gee Tee, nonplussed.

  "Well over a century by my reckoning."

  Tank thought the tension had eased with the king's laugh, but hearing the two of them now, he wasn't at all sure, and until told to do so, he had no intention of getting up.

  "One hundred and seven years, four months, two weeks, four days and ten hours... give or take," rolled off the old shopkeeper's tongue softly.

  So softly in fact that it nearly brought tears to Tank's eyes. So that was it, he thought. The old dragon missed his friend, and felt... let down, lonely... lost. Now that Tank thought about it, it explained so much, including the bad temperedness and tension between them on that fateful day at the king's library... things were becoming a little clearer, well... just maybe.

  As sh
ell shocked as Tank, it wasn't often the king was lost for words... but this was most definitely one of those times.

  "You thought I wouldn't remember? You're surprised that despite my age and senility, I still recall when you were last here... and how we parted."

  For but a split second, George's eidetic memory flickered back to the past.

  Scurrying along for all he was worth, he slid to a halt in front of the gorgeous new door and, thrusting the handle down with intent, set off at pace into the bowels of the shop, like a youngling with money to burn. Powered by excitement and THE most wonderful news, he felt fit to burst, desperately keen to tell the other of his two best friends. Catching his heel on a precariously stacked pile of books, he nearly stumbled, but righted himself by latching on to the fast approaching shop counter.

  "Your haste and reckless abandon will be the death of you if you're not careful," drifted a velvety smooth voice from somewhere unseen off to the side.

  Clad in a set of burnished leather armour, sweating buckets and panting profusely, the ex-knight of the realm turned to face his friend who'd just extricated himself from a mountainous array of tomes and magical artefacts, showering his assistant in all things supernatural as he did so.

  "What is it I've told you about that... anyway?" he said, pointing and scowling simultaneously at the armour clad warrior in front of him.

  "Don't be like that. I didn't have time to change."

  "You couldn't spare two seconds?"