by Paul Cude
"One of the artefacts... is not what it seems. I mean it might have been, but had a dual purpose, and was activated by the freezing mantra that keeps them all in check. That mantra would definitely be beatable, from a mantra maker's point of view. As well, it's close enough to the abacus to exert the kind of influence you're talking about, without readily being noticed."
Scratching his chin, the king thought about the old dragon's words.
"Good," he finally said, "but with just one problem. All the artefacts are inert and are treble checked regularly. None of those items have any power, not even the tiniest inkling. What you're suggesting would need a considerable amount of power... right?"
The look on Gee Tee's face couldn't have disappeared faster, not even with the word "abracadabra". Peter and Tank remained silent, fascinated by the level of deep thinking that was going on.
'That,' thought Peter, 'must be why the king came, he's playing Gee Tee masterfully, using his ego to see if he can give him what he needs. Truly skilful, and the act of a very worthy and powerful leader.'
"Son of Arctophonos," growled Gee Tee. (Arcotophonos was one of the two giant hunting dogs belonging to the giant Orion in Classical mythology.) "I'm going to string that Rosebloom up by his tail and rip his wings off," the master mantra maker continued.
"You know how?" enquired the king.
"Think about it. Every time this happens, you said the ring does that thing. It might well be a warning... a warning that someone, or something, is tapping into it and using its power. That ring has so much magical energy, an amount like that being taken from it would be positively insignificant."
"And there it is," announced the king, jumping to his feet. "I knew you wouldn't let me down. You are, and always will be... a genius. Thank you."
"You're welcome," replied the old shopkeeper softly.
It was Tank who piped up next.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"That, my young friend," said the king, patting Tank on the shoulder and having to stand on tiptoes to do it, "is the 64 million dollar question."
"Is there not some way you could ask for the last vote to be retaken?" posed Peter.
"I could use my power as king to demand that the motion be voted on again. I don't have to provide a reason, but it's risky. If I were to do that, and if the vote turned out the same, it might give Rosebloom and his followers an excuse to challenge my position and call for a vote of no confidence in me. If that were to happen... well, it could change everything. It might open the floodgates for anyone who's ever crossed swords with me to exact revenge; it might even present Rosebloom with the opportunity to become king himself. Perhaps that's just what he wants."
" As long as I'm still breathing he bloody well isn't going to get it. I should have turned that snot nosed little oik into a pile of decomposing dragon dung a long time ago. This is the last straw."
Astonished, Tank and Peter shared a look, having never heard the old shopkeeper use such language. If the situation weren't so dire, it would almost have been funny.
"Be that as it may," stated the king purposefully, "even if I did arrange for the vote to be retaken, it would be impossible for me to turn up to the meeting without the ring on, or even with my hand covered up. Each and every one of them would know that something odd was going on, and that too might force some sort of vote of no confidence against me. Not wearing the ring is not an option."
"Then we make a copy," stated Tank coolly, a big grin crisscrossing his face. "Think about it. If you go in there, an exact replica on your finger, whatever's affecting the abacus won't be able to draw the power it needs. Rosebloom and his cohorts will have no control, and the vote will go exactly how you predicted it would. Better still, they'll have no idea how you've done it, and they might even try and check whichever dark artefact it is, to see where the fault lies, presenting an opportunity to catch them red handed."
Looking pleased with the suggestion, the king replied.
"I'd need to call for a revote within the month, ideally as soon as possible. Do you think you could come up with a quality forgery in such a short space of time?"
Tank glanced across the workshop at the master mantra maker, who was muttering to himself and shaking his head. Striding over, Tank spoke up.
"We can do it. You know we can. Those Greek crystal growing mantras that we found last month would help a great deal. We have the resonance die caster to help with the colour. The biggest issue would be forging the metal... but are you really telling me that we can't do that?"
"It's not that we can't do it. It's more about the timeframe. Two months... maybe. Six months... certainly. But a month? I'm just not sure it can be done."
With his smile having disappeared, sadness and loneliness returned to the king's eyes. It almost broke Peter's heart just to look at him.
"Yes, yes... alright, we can do it. Just put the poor little dragonling eyes away for now. We get the idea," put in the old shopkeeper.
"Are you sure?" asked the king sceptically.
"Yes, yes, yes, I'm sure... now, get out of here. The brains of the outfit here," he said, motioning his giant jaw in Tank's direction, "and I have a massive amount of work to do."
Before he turned to go, the king said,
"I'll be waiting."
"I know," replied the old dragon. "Good luck."
"To us both."
With that, the king turned and, with Peter beside him, marched off in the direction of the exit, leaving in silence, the already arguing voices of Tank and the shopkeeper echoing eerily down the aisles of bookcases. Reaching the front door to the shop, the king turned to Peter.
"Thank you. I know you'd probably like to spend more time here, talking with me, but right now, it simply isn't possible. Every second that I'm missing puts me and anyone else I care about in danger. I really have to go. But don't for one minute think that I don't care, and wouldn't want to spend months or years talking to you about everything. I've been through some scary stuff in my life... but what's happening now far outweighs anything I've ever seen, or even heard about. It's that bad. So for now you'll have to be patient. But know this... I'm thinking of you. I trust you and your friends with my life and more importantly, with the fate of the entire world, because potentially, it's what all this could boil down to. So... for now, it's good to see you. Thanks for the help, and... stay safe." And with that the king unlocked the door, disappeared beneath his cloak and, without a sound, disappeared into the deserted street. Following an instant later, Peter couldn't find any sign of the monarch.
23 Isn't it Ironic?
Striding purposefully beneath the slender trees that lined the quiet, suburban street filled Peter with a sense of security. Not really knowing quite why, to be honest, it should have been the other way round. When above ground, most dragons feel a little insecure when they can't see the sky for whatever reason. But here the peace, the quiet, the... normality of it all made him long for everything that these people had. Undoubtedly they had mortgages, loans, work problems and all those sort of things, but right here and right now, he'd have swapped all that to live in one of these houses for the rest of his life with... JANICE! At least, that's what he told himself as he turned the corner into the street where she lived.
In the distance he could just make out her bright pink mini in the fading evening light. Smiling as he spotted it, that car seemed to sum her up perfectly. Petite, bright, bubbly, cheerful and full of zooooooooom! Heading for her rented house, he briefly wondered what sort of car he'd be. Ruling out sports cars and 4x4s as far too powerful, and the more flashy cars as far too pretentious, he finally settled on something like a family MPV, a VW Touran or a Ford S Max. Having always had an affinity with babies, children, dragonlings... whatever you like, and the fantasy that had just been playing out in his head, living in one of these houses with the bubbly bar worker of course featured both of them having kids.
"Phewww." He blew out a huge sigh as he reached the gate
to her house. Before attempting to open it up, he rolled up the sleeve of his coat and checked his watch. The hands read exactly 7.29pm. Hesitating a little, he found himself sweating profusely despite the cold night air, with his stomach feeling as though he'd been thrown around on a particularly vicious fairground ride. Obsessive about his timekeeping, he glanced again at his watch, and although not quite sporting 7.30 (by only a few seconds), he commanded his wobbling legs to work, very hesitantly opened the gate and strolled up the neat path to the brightly coloured door. With a small bouquet of flowers hidden snugly behind his back, he knocked gently with his, by now, shaking hand. Almost instantly a light appeared in the glazed semi circular window of the door, and after the briefest of rattles, the door itself swung open to reveal Janice, looking... STUNNING!! It wasn't in a dressed up kind of way. Tight fitting light coloured jeans together with calf length light brown boots were set off by the cosiest looking, green, chunky knit sweater. Homely but beautiful, plain but gorgeous... that's all that he could think as Janice waved him inside with her 'light up the room' smile. Once she'd closed the door, he whipped out the flowers from behind his back like a street magician and presented them to her.
"Ohhh Peter you shouldn't have. They're lovely. I'll just put them in water if that's okay."
"Sure," he replied, following her through to the kitchen where he was assaulted by a variety of familiar aromas, one after the other, all equally delicious. If the way to a man's affection is through great food, then it's doubly true of dragons. Even in human form, there's very little better than a really fantastic tasting and smelling meal. This dragon was becoming well and truly smitten.
As she topped up a vase with water, adding the tiny sachet that came with the flowers, Janice told Peter that they were having steak fajitas, 'à la Janice,' to eat. Something of a surprise, what with it being almost his preference in the staff canteen at work, all became clear when she revealed that she'd secretly asked Richie what his favourite food was.
'Wow,' he thought, 'she's gone to some lengths to put on something special.' Before he had time to dwell on it, Janice held out a bottle of wine in one hand and a much smaller bottle of beer in the other.
"Which would you prefer?" she asked meekly.
Silently wondering if his next words were somehow going to impact on the rest of the evening and their relationship as a whole, he reluctantly took the plunge.
"I... uhhh... don't drink, I'm afraid," he managed to stutter.
"OH!" Janice replied. "I don't think I've ever dated anyone who doesn't drink alcohol before."
'Oh... here we go,' thought Peter, fearing that he'd blown what he thought of as one of the best things to ever happen to him. Fortunately, he needn't have worried.
"Well... I'm very proud of you. It must take quite a lot to play hockey like you do and not drink. I bet there are times when it must be almost easier to bow to peer pressure and have a beer?"
He nodded.
"Good for you," she said approvingly, beaming and putting both bottles down next to the flowers. "I see so many people, men and women, acting like idiots every night, week in, week out... all because of alcohol. And it's not just because they've had too much. Sometimes it's because we've run out of their preferred tipple... that's been known to produce the odd violent reaction or two. Oh, and the other good one is when they've not had enough... such as when we're trying to close the bar and they need another drink. And I can't stress 'NEED' enough! I'm sorry I hadn't realised before that you don't drink. I thought it was just because you were driving home all the time... sometimes even that's not enough to dissuade people."
"I... I... don't mind other people drinking... honest," Peter managed to spout, his mouth by now drier than a grain of sand on a beach, competing in a cracker eating contest.
Just when he thought Janice's smile couldn't get any bigger or brighter... it did!
"Actually, I hardly touch the stuff. And I'm pretty sure I'd be much happier just staying sober, if that's okay with you," she whispered, putting one hand around the back of his neck and giving him the biggest kiss in the world.
"That's fine by me," he spluttered, on finally surfacing for air.
After that, the two of them stayed in the kitchen, Peter helping with the plates and the dips, while Janice tended to the steak and the fajitas, first talking about work, which then naturally progressed onto everything happening at the sports club.
With the food cooked, they moved into the living room, sharing the sofa. For his part, Peter tried hard not to wolf down his food, something he had a bit of a tendency to do, as they continued to talk during the meal. After having finished eating, they stacked the plates neatly in the kitchen before returning to the sofa to watch the film Janice had chosen. Taking a swig of his soft drink at exactly the wrong time, he nearly spat it halfway across the room when she told him what she'd picked.
"How To Train Your Dragon," she announced sweetly. At first, he thought she'd somehow discovered his secret. But as she sat delicately down next to him, he realised it was just a happy coincidence. In fact, it was all he could do to keep the tears of laughter from coming out.
'How ironic,' he thought to himself. ''How To Train Your Dragon' indeed. If only you knew the truth. If only you knew that here and now you're cuddled up with a real one, about to watch a film depicting a stereotypical dragon.' In a way, part of him was aching to tell her, so that she could... accept him for what he really was. But deep down, he knew better. Despite the fact that he was indeed hooked on her, he understood the consequences of those sorts of actions and knew that she could never, ever know. So with that, he sat, arm around her... content, more so than in a long time, and just watched the film, happy that for the here and now all he had to do was be himself... well, almost.
24 Spoil Sport... Stars!
Normally this bit wouldn't bother him. I mean really, why would it? Anything that he wanted... WOULD be provided for him. The only thing that came to mind which wasn't allowed was that under no circumstances could he go to the surface, but other than that pretty much anything he dreamed of would either be brought to him here in these spectacular rooms, or arranged for him. But today... something just wasn't quite right. It was a little under twenty-four hours until the start of the match, and as usual he was being ridiculously pampered, simply spoiled beyond belief. Of course, it was his life, and all that he'd known for almost as long as he could remember. Most of the other players didn't really have a problem with this, in fact for most, this was part of the reason that they'd trained so hard to become professional laminium ball players. The fame, the adulation, never having to work again, female dragons quite literally hurling themselves at you... just a few of the attractions for most who follow this particular path. But for some time now he'd found the whole thing nothing more than a burden.
Quite a while ago he'd become disillusioned by it all, and thought that only he alone could think like that. Until quite by accident, he'd discovered that one of the few laminium ball players he actually revered, and the only one in his team that he looked up to, felt exactly the same way. In the build up to one of the endless games, some years ago, he'd stupidly taken a wrong turn in the maze of hospitality rooms provided for the players. It was only when he'd stumbled upon Silverbonce angrily ushering away one of the many dragons whose job it was to carry out the player's every wish and command, that he had any inkling things were not quite what they seemed. Hunched over in the shadows of the corridor, he watched his teammate admonish the dragon for trying to bring him the finest food and drink. As the serving dragon sprinted past him, he wandered very casually into Silverbonce's allocated room to see if the old mouth guard was alright. To his astonishment, his teammate's room was practically bare. There was of course a bed, but other than that... very little. It was then that his teammate shared his very passionate view about exactly how he felt with regard to all the luxuries afforded to the laminium ball players... and he did it in quite a vivid way, laced, in fact, with more than
a little rage. As he'd stood there taking the heat (in more ways than one) from Silverbonce's anger, he felt more respect for, and a common bond with, the oldest current laminium ball player on the planet. Their views were almost identical, albeit reached by rather different journeys, and were most definitely kept secret from the rest of the team.
Normally he'd be fine, keep himself to himself in the allocated room before the game, meditate, eat very basic meals (plain charcoal, a lightly roasted hog, a dozen or so chickens... that kind of thing) and of course... REST! But for the hour or so that he'd been here, he just couldn't settle. Something was... well, not exactly wrong, but just not right. And more bothersome was the fact that he just didn't know what was needling him. It wasn't anything he could see, hear, or smell. It was just an underlying feeling... a strong one! Having tried everything he could think of, he'd checked in on the rest of the team; being captain afforded him the opportunity to do that without causing suspicion. All of them were fine, with most partying like only dragons could, with the exception of Silverbonce, who was deep in meditation. Having wandered a little further into the underground complex (he, for very obvious reasons, wasn't permitted anywhere near the opposition's rest and relaxation area) he could sense nothing definitively amiss there, either. Lying back on his very large and comfortable bed (one of the few luxuries he did insist on having) he'd stretched out with all his telepathic senses, up through the mile thick layer of rock above, scanning for any sort of danger or threat. But still... NOTHING!! Nothing out of the ordinary. Currently situated in New Zealand, on the South Island beneath part of Mount Aspiring National Park, he knew that almost directly above him, magnificent blue pools and rivers flowed throughout the magnificent landscape, just north east of Makarora, in a valley that feeds down into Lake Wanaka. And the main laminium ball stadium there, the one that he would be taking to in less than twenty-four hours, sits directly below the surface of the lake, famously separated from it by a very precarious and thin layer of rock. Everything above ground, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be fine. Still... he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that, somewhere close by, danger bubbled away unchecked.