by Paul Cude
* * *
Marvelling at his reflection in the darkened glass of the monorail carriage that had just pulled onto the platform of Salisbridge station, Peter decided that he liked his look. Not many did, but to be honest, he simply didn't care. His faded blue jeans, dark T-shirt and his Merrell walking boots were oh so comfortable, and that was all that mattered to him. Bouncing through the sliding doors as they opened, he slid into the nearest human sized seat, just before the doors whooshed closed and the carriage sped off in the direction of London.
He was excited. Not just a little excited, but Christmas Eve excited. His legs wobbled, his stomach churned and he couldn't sit still. Currently, there were many reasons for how he felt. His destination and what would happen when he got there were the most immediate, but he couldn't help thinking about the life changing evening he'd spent with Janice earlier in the week. He felt so happy. It was hard to put into words. It reminded him of his first flight, and the first time he'd successfully held human form, all rolled into one. Not entirely sure what the correct word to identify the feeling was, part of him worried that it might be... LOVE! All he really knew at the moment was that he was happier than he could ever remember, and that was enough for him.
Thoughts returned to the here and now as the dark rock face whizzed by outside the window, his reflection smiling at what was to come. On his way to meet up with Tank and Flash in London, the three of them would then head across the globe to Canterbury, New Zealand. Once there, it would be a short hop south west to Dingle Burn (sounds like something potentially very nasty, or at least that's what he'd thought when the accommodation arrangements had been made) for an overnight stay. The next morning it would be a trip across Lake Hawea, and then a walk that skirted around the edge of Lake Wanaka, before heading up the valley to Makarora. All of this just to see his beloved team compete in the Commonwealth Cup, something that takes place every third year.
The Indigo Warriors had been drawn against the Dunedin Dinosaurs in the competition. Random teams from various Commonwealth countries are drawn to face each other in a sudden death cup contest, with only a limited number of places available, so in theory teams may go for years or even decades without qualifying. Twenty-seven years had passed since the Warriors had last played and Tank, using his mysterious connections, had managed to procure three tickets to the match, supposedly one each for himself, Richie and Peter. I say mysterious...the last time the three of them had met up, Tank, Peter and of course Richie, the young lacrosse playing dragon finally managed to wangle out of Tank just where the so valuable tickets had come from. Not quite the detailed description the two of them had hoped for, all the strapping rugby player would say was that he had an acquaintance called Elbow Mudsmear, who he had 'something of a history' with regarding laminium ball. Elbow apparently worked for the company that catered for each of the professional laminium ball players' every need. Using all her charm, Richie also tried to get Tank to shed more light on what the king had said back in Salisbridge hospital after Peter's battle with Manson, about Tank nearly becoming a professional laminium ball player, but the rugby playing dragon's lips remained firmly shut on the subject.
Last week, however, Richie had inexplicably cancelled so Tank had offered the ex-Crimson Guard the ticket. Flash's response had been nothing short of priceless, going quite mad... running around in circles, waving his hands above his head and screaming how much he 'loved the big dragon' (hopefully he meant Tank). Surprisingly, Flash had never taken in a laminium ball match... EVER! Both friends were shocked when he'd told them this. His reason... apparently he'd been too busy with his duties and matters of global importance to have time to watch a... GAME! And although laminium ball hadn't featured in Flash's life before his accident (the assault in Antarctica by the now deceased naga), it sure did now, due in no small part to the time he had on his hands, having resigned from the Crimson Guards. Of course, the king had kept him busy, but dragons generally need little sleep compared with humans, particularly in their solitus form. More sleep is required in their mutatio (human) disguise mainly due to energy depletion caused by maintaining the human shaped mantras all around the clock, day in, day out. Because Flash didn't use up any magical energy in maintaining his human form, he didn't need to sleep so much and so had, for the first time in his life, a significant amount of free time. Unofficially following up information gleaned about Antarctica and the nagas had been his main priority. Part of his approach had involved scanning past and present copies of the telepathic papers. Of course he didn't know what he was looking for, but if there was a clue to be found, he was sure he would recognise it.
So here Peter was on his way to meet Tank and Flash at London's Pudding Lane monorail complex to board the intercontinental monorail that would transport them straight to New Zealand with only a minimal number of stops.
Without realising it, Peter reached his station. Bounding through the carriage doors, virtually as they whooshed open, he bombed up the steps two at a time, making his way to the furthest platform. Scanning the flickering LCD screens, he could see that his connecting carriage to Pudding Lane was due in twenty seconds. Closing his eyes, he counted down in his head. Sure enough, with a cool current of air washing over him, the monorail arrived exactly on time. Taking his seat, barely able to restrain the excitement pulsing through his forcibly tangled DNA, ninety seconds later he pulled into Pudding Lane. The three platforms that housed the intercontinental part of the station were as far away as possible from where his carriage had pulled in. With a complete disregard for how he looked, he threw his backpack over one shoulder and sprinted as fast as he could up the stairs, all the time weaving in and out of the other commuters, human and dragon shapes alike. Dashing across the concourse and down a set of steep stairs, he finally arrived at the appropriate platform with four minutes to spare. Frantically, he looked around for his friends, who were supposed to meet him here. Panic started to well up inside him, until...
"BOO!!" screamed Tank and Flash, simultaneously leaping out from behind a vertical array of LCD screens. Peter's backpack thudded to the ground, dropped in surprise. Tank and Flash both burst into laughter.
"Blimey you made me jump," protested Peter, retrieving his backpack from the completely spotless floor.
"Sorry Pete," laughed Tank. "We saw you through the windows sprinting across the station and just couldn't resist." Flash nodded his agreement.
"I suppose I'd have done the same," admitted Peter reluctantly.
Prank over, the three friends thought it best to board their intercontinental ride, rather than risk missing it and having to wait twelve or so hours for the next one.
Luggage stowed, the monorail, all eight carriages of it, pulled out of Pudding Lane station, continuing on its journey across the planet, the friends settling into their seats, imagining how their favourite laminium ball team were furiously preparing for the big game.
* * *
By now, he'd normally had a relaxing snooze, but he hadn't slept a wink. Something was deeply wrong. Not knowing what, every molecule in his huge dragon frame screamed out at him. He'd thought about telling someone. But who would he tell? Who would believe him? And more importantly, what exactly would he say? "I've got a feeling something's wrong, but I just don't know what"? He'd be a laughing stock. And if it got out, laminium ball fans from teams across the globe would be singing about it for decades to come. No, he had to try and figure it out himself. His search of the facilities had proven fruitless. There had to be something else he could do. There had to be another avenue he could explore. Turning the giant car sized pillow over, he tried to find the colder side... it was a habit of his. Even in the middle of the night he'd wake, his head overly hot. Often he'd take a sip from the tankard of ice cold water on his bedside table (the tankard itself was a gift from a fan, and had been carefully imbued with a mantra that kept the liquid inside chilled), before turning his pillow over and dropping back off to sleep. On consideration he supposed it was kind of a
n odd habit.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. He wasn't expecting anyone, and it was unusual to get any visitors before the match.
'Perhaps,' he thought, 'this has something to do with the strange feeling.'
Cautiously he opened the door, only to find Silverbonce standing there, wings on hips.
"It's about time," barked the old mouth guard, dodging past Steel, marching into his room. "Too busy pampering yourself I suppose."
Steel smiled, when most would have taken offence. Knowing the old mouth guard for so many years, he understood this was just his way, and he knew if he waited patiently he'd find out exactly what was on the old dragon's mind.
Standing in the middle of the plush suite, Silverbonce circled like a bird of prey; what he was looking for was anyone's guess. After half a minute or so, he threw open his wings and shouted,
"CAN YOU FEEL IT?"
'Of course,' thought Steel. 'If I can feel it, then Silverbonce, with all of his years of experience, is bound to have recognised it. I should have known.'
"Something's wrong," replied Steel to the old dragon's question.
"Exactly. But what?"
"I don't know," answered Steel, hoping the question had been rhetorical.
It had been.
"I've only ever felt like this once before," put in Silverbonce. "It was 1911 and we were playing at the Glockenspiel Arena, just below the town of Söll in Austria."
"Never heard of it," interrupted Steel.
"Wouldn't have expected you to. It doesn't exist anymore. In the days running up to the game, I had the same feeling I have now, the one that you yourself are experiencing. Goodness knows I tried to do something about it, but for the life of me, I didn't know what it meant or what I should do. I searched the arena, talked to everyone I could, even thought about taking human form and going to the surface."
At the very mention of this, Steel's jaws sprang open, ready to speak. But Silverbonce wouldn't be interrupted.
"Yes, yes... I know. I'm not allowed to take human form... none of us are. But that feeling was so strong, so intense. Very stupidly I told some dragons: the manager of the stadium, some of the other players."
Recalling the events, the expression on the old mouth guard's face became both serious and sad at the same time.
"Of course, they thought I was mad and mocked me mercilessly. So much so that I nearly forgot about the bad feeling, Anyhow, the start of the match came around before I knew it. As I lined up, ready to go out on the display lap, the terrible feeling reasserted itself. I can recall it as if it were only yesterday: pins and needles across my wings, my legs feeling weak, a rolling sickness bobbing up and down inside my stomach. I don't think I've ever felt so bad."
Stood silently listening, Steel couldn't recall his friend ever looking so glum. But glum as he might be, he was determined to carry on.
"The game started and almost immediately we were behind. It was, and still is the quickest goal ever scored in a professional laminium ball match.
Steel exhaled in surprise. Regarding himself as something of a statistics nerd when it came to the game he loved, he was astonished that he'd never heard of that one, and absolutely flabbergasted that the dragon standing before him was responsible for a record like that. He vowed to himself to look it up and find out more when he next had some free time.
"Needless to say... it didn't end there. Not only was it my worst performance ever, with us being four down within an hour, despite the outfield players, who, to a dragon, were magnificent."
Silverbonce inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
"And then... it happened! No warning... NOTHING! A gigantic part of the cavern's ceiling collapsed in one corner of the arena. Hundreds, if not thousands of tons of rock dropped onto the packed stands, full to the brim with spectators. Confusion and chaos ensued. Two of my teammates shot over to help, only to be crushed instantly by falling debris. In all, five hundred dragons were killed that day, including four laminium ball players, two from each side."
By now, Silverbonce had his head in his hands, sobbing gently, tears the size of marbles plopping onto the pristine floor. Steel stood silent, taking everything in, wondering even now if the entire complex was in danger of collapsing. Minutes passed before Silverbonce was able to carry on.
"It turned out there had been a fault in the construction. Worse still, the checks by the government department responsible were nothing more than cursory glances at best. And now you're thinking: why haven't I heard of a disaster of that magnitude? Because the government covered it up. The information is still out there of course, buried beneath a gazillion other things, but it's still there. Because of their negligence, good dragons died that day. Needless to say there was uproar at the time, most notably from everyone who'd been at the match. But one by one they were all quietened, some bought off, others having pressure applied by government officials. It was a sad day, one I'll never forget, and I wouldn't choose to even if I could. But, back to where I began. That feeling I had then is the exact same one that I'm getting now, the same one you have. What does it mean? I'm not sure. I've checked out the substructure of the complex and all the mantras surrounding it. They're all good. So I don't think we're going to have a repeat of what happened in Austria. But something here is not right. And, my young friend, I think it's our job to try and find out exactly what it is. The thought of another laminium ball match turning to tragedy fills me with dread."
There and then Steel vowed to help the old dragon find out what was wrong and, after a brief hug, they headed out into the complex to see if two minds truly were better than one.
25 Worldwide Countdown Conundrum
Behind a faded, red coloured brick in a seemingly innocuous wall, in a rarely visited sewer deep beneath Chicago, the numbers on the timer counted down, showing 14 00 00 00 right at this very moment. Fourteen days left. Fourteen days until oblivion.
In the small village of Wang Chan, Thailand, next to the newly opened Cropptech processing plant, an identical package counted down right at the bottom of a murky paddy field, the red light from the changing numbers flitting across the passing wildlife, turning their world into something of a disco. The tattered paper surrounding it having long since dissolved, the timer mimicked that of the others deposited across the world, as the tiny creatures continued their daily routines, oblivious to the danger hidden amongst them.
It was supposed to be dark... pitch black in fact. Not that anyone was there to see. But beneath an ordinary pier in Montreal, Canada, red lights flickered and changed against the wall opposite, tucked up amongst the tiniest of air pockets. Nothing, not even an infinitesimal speck of life was there to watch as fourteen days ticked past. And all the time, above, ordinary people carried on with their lives, unaware of the deadly packages hidden below them.
* * *
It had been a long time since he'd felt this... nervous or vulnerable. This wasn't part of the dragon London that he was familiar with; nevertheless he recognised a rough area when he saw one. As he lay flattened against the roof of a rather run down dragon bakery, he pushed the doubts in his mind to one side. Absolutely convinced something untoward was afoot, he was sure the conniving dragon he was tailing was up to his scales in it. Focusing on controlling his breathing, he waited until his target reached the next intersection and watched him turn right, before bounding to his feet. Taking a small run up, he reached the edge of the roof and pushed off for all he was worth, unable to look down at the eight yard drop below him. Flapping in the arid air behind him as he landed, the dark cloak encased him fully from prying eyes in more ways than one. Careful to remain in the shadows, he stalked as close to the edge of the building as he dared. Nagging doubts continued to assert themselves, try as he might to push them aside. Here he was, with no help at hand, which was something of a risk, of that there could be no doubt.
He hadn't told anyone where he was going, quite the opposite, having slipped out of his private residence via a se
cret entrance only known to him and one other, and that had only been a very recent addition. Knowing he could trust his new temporary tenant with his life, he'd felt it only fair that he clue him in on one of the building's greatest secrets. When he'd taken on the mantle of king, not only had he received the ring and the ostentatious living quarters, but also a sealed trunk containing information from the previous monarch, all for his eyes only. Linked by means of an ancient mantra to the ring, the trunk was programmed to only open once those items had bonded to him. From his very first day as king, he'd tried to open the chest, but to no avail. It wasn't until the twenty ninth day of his reign that the blessed thing had decided to reveal its secrets. Even then he was surprised. Just like every other time, he'd returned from trying to keep everything at the council from falling apart, and sat down and tried to open the trunk. To him, it was going through the motions. To his utter astonishment, on that Sunday evening a satisfying click greeted him when he touched the lock. He then spent the rest of the night devouring the information that had been left behind by his predecessor. To say it was fascinating and insightful was something of an understatement; some of it was simply unbelievable, and all of it was just for him, passed down by the line of kings before him, making him feel both honoured and burdened at the same time. Things had never been quite the same since that fateful day. It wasn't often that he'd used that secret entrance, mainly for fear it would be discovered. But tonight he had. And everyone assumed that he was tucked up in his private chambers. No one knew where he was. If anything happened... he was well and truly on his own.
* * *
Pretty sure he wasn't being followed, Councillor Rosebloom smiled at the very thought, knowing that he'd gone to great lengths to make it so, having doubled backed on himself numerous times, woven detection webs in his wake, and laid other more formidable traps along his route. None had been set off, so now he was sure he hadn't been followed, he moved with more haste and certainty.