Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  "Where's my wife? What have you done with her?" he snapped at the intimidating looking human.

  "That's why I'm here," the human whispered seductively. "I've brought her back to you."

  "Where is she?" he asked excitedly.

  "In the bedroom waiting for you," answered the human, motioning to a doorway with his left arm.

  "Oh thank God!" he exclaimed, vaulting across the room to the doorway, before stopping abruptly, some way short. There on the huge expanse of wooden bed lay his wife, wings spread, her head facing an impossible direction, her neck clearly snapped. A sense of desperation tore through him, like a raging river carving a new path for itself. The dragon he loved, had loved for over a century, was lifeless before him. It was all too much. This all happened in the blink of an eye, and then his sense of danger kicked in. By now though, as you'll have probably worked out, it was far too late. Whirling round, or trying to anyway, something had found its way around his throat and was throttling him. Frantically he tried to bat the human shape away with his wings, while at the same time using his hands to pull whatever it was away from his throat. But it was no good. The human, or human shaped being as he'd come to realise, was just too strong, and his own bulky frame was constrained by the wooden doorway he'd been standing in. Abruptly, he thrust back his mighty head as far as it would go, hoping to make contact with his attacker, but it wasn't to be. His assailant had been prepared for this and had made himself as small as possible. Vision failing, he brought his arms around, punching and hitting for all he was worth. Kicking with his powerful legs, hoping to make contact with his razor sharp talons, he gave it all he had in one last effort. At one point, he felt a scratch, as something sharp broke the surface of the scales across his thigh, making him more furious than he already was. But by then, the fight was already lost and he'd never really stood a chance. This all came to him as the black spots before his eyes transformed into a much darker, more comprehensive vista. His last thought was of his wife, of how he'd failed her. Darkness engulfed him. His soul left this world.

  * * *

  Flash had taken himself back to the monorail station, and boarded a carriage for the short hop over to the Westchester district of the dragon domain beneath the sleeping city of New York. He'd gleaned enough information from the staff and the computers at the clandestine facility to know that he was looking for a Ball Upkeep Monitor or B.U.M. as they were known in the business, called Professor Cedric Spanner. Married with no children, the professor lived in an apartment in Westchester, and had called in sick the last couple of days, unusual in itself for a dragon.

  Ten minutes later, Flash had the apartment building in sight. It looked no different from any of the other buildings, but he couldn't help but wonder what the place held in store for him, with his mind whizzing through the possibilities. Would he have to fight? Would the professor come quietly? Would there be co-conspirators? That would present a problem if there were a few of them, he thought to himself uneasily.

  Standing, clad in shadows, in the entrance to an alleyway directly opposite the building, he spent the next few minutes reflecting on the situation. Was it worth calling in some backup? He didn't want to blow the whole thing, and he was sure he was in the right place and on the right track of whatever was going on, something the King's and Crimson Guards were not. Scratching the stubble littering his jaw, he ducked back into the darkness as a dragon in human form exited the professor's building, looked around and then headed off in the opposite direction towards the centre of the small community. Somewhere inside him, a buzz of recognition bloomed, but he had no idea why, not recognising the man and from this far away unable to get any sense of him.

  'Odd,' he thought to himself.

  Casting all thoughts of the man to the back of his mind, he made his decision; he was going in. Crossing the street, he strode purposefully up to the building, and with no security, just walked in. A torn sign adorning the lift read 'Out of order', not that he'd had any intention of taking it. Fully committed, he knew he had to act as quickly as possible. Sprinting across to the stairwell, he sprang up the stairs three at a time, as silent as a ninja, heading for the eighth floor.

  It didn't take long. Poking his head out of the stairwell, he gazed along the corridor. As expected at this time of night, it was empty. Trepidation threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed his feelings aside. On a mission, a proper one, for the first time in a while, he was a professional, with a job to do. Sucking in a deep breath, he moved silently down the corridor until he found the right door. On spotting the two keyholes, he cursed, well... in his mind anyway. There was more security than he would have thought, so it would take him longer to get in, meaning there was more chance of the occupants noticing. From his back pocket he pulled out a small canvas tool case, and proceeded to take out the relevant sized lock pick, which he gingerly thrust towards the nearest lock. On making contact with it, the door moved back a fraction, ajar. Heart racing, a thousand questions engulfed his mind, primarily: why was the door open? Wasting no more time, he put the pick and the tool case back in his pocket, and cautiously entered the apartment.

  Stealthily, he made his way along the hallway, glancing into the small, empty kitchen along the way. A cloak of silence shrouded the apartment. Reaching the lounge, there was still no sign of anyone. Hugging the wall, he moved silently along to the nearest doorway. Stopping a few feet short, he spotted the damage to the door frame.

  'There's been a fight or a scuffle of some sort, and it looks recent,' he thought. Prepared for anything, or so he thought, he leapt forward and, using the frame for support, swung around into the room. He thought he'd been prepared for anything, but clearly that wasn't the case. Most certainly he hadn't been prepared for this.

  Lying on the bed, a scarlet coloured female dragon looked like some kind of grotesque artwork, her neck most certainly snapped. On the opposite side of the room, a dragon hung suspended from an overhead girder, like a carcass in a butcher's window. It took him a few seconds to process it all. Suddenly, he leapt over the end of the bed, while at the same time pulling his trusty knife from its sheath tucked in the small of his back. With a running jump, he sliced the ultrafine cord that the dragon was hanging from, and watched as the huge mound of a corpse thumped to the ground. Managing to turn him over onto his back was no mean feat for Flash, considering the body was at least four times bigger and heavier than the ex-Crimson Guard. After catching his breath, he set about looking for any sign of life, however unlikely that might have been. It didn't take long for it to become apparent there was none. Resting back against the bed, head in hands, he racked his brain. In all his time he'd never heard of a dragon committing suicide... NEVER! Moments later he started running through everything he had to do. First he'd have to contact the king. After that, he'd make arrangements for the local authorities to come and deal with the situation.

  'Damn,' he thought, 'none of it makes any sense. Perhaps they fought about something, and he accidentally killed her. That would at least explain the damage to the door frame.'

  Despondent, he stood and turned to walk back into the living room to call the king, when something caught his eye. Crouching back down to floor level, he examined the mark he'd just spotted on the dead dragon's thigh. It was a scratch of some sort, and it looked familiar. And then it came to him. NAGA! Goosebumps raced up his arms and down his back. It was the strike of a naga, he was sure of it, having seen some images of the strike to his back that he'd only just survived.

  'The man exiting the building before I came in... that's what the feeling was. He... it... was a naga! Sorting through the pieces of the puzzle deep inside his mind, it all started to make some sort of sense. They killed the professor and tried to make it look like suicide because they're behind the laminium ball explosion at the stadium. And I bet they used the professor's wife as leverage in some way. That would certainly all fit with what he now knew.

  This was more than just a phone call to the king. He was m
ost definitely going to have to explain this in person. What to do about the crime scene though? That was the question.

  30 Falling... Further and Further

  With a satisfying thwump the fridge door closed. It was the second time she'd checked to see if the bottle of diet Pepsi was chilled. It was. She wanted tonight to be perfect, and she knew that was his favourite drink. Pulling in a deep breath, she counted to ten in her mind. Getting as far as three, she gave up, becoming all flustered and a little giddy at the expectation of what was to come. Glancing down at her watch, she then automatically checked the clock on the wall. Both read 6.58pm. Pulsing and tingling through her fingers, the excitement was tangible, knowing that he would be here in less than two minutes. If nothing else, he was a stickler for punctuality.

  During his time away she'd missed him something rotten. It hadn't even been a week, but it felt like forever. Creeping over to the window, she peered round the curtain, looking down the garden path... just as he arrived. Sprinting out into the hall, she undid the lock on the front door, pulled it open and threw herself into his arms. Of course he caught her. It hadn't been totally unexpected. The embrace felt warm, safe, dependable and familiar: think a child's unconditional love for its parent. Peter felt complete, though previously he'd been unaware that anything had been broken or missing. That came as something of a surprise to him, which he pondered as Janice pulled away slightly and kissed him full on the lips. Tasting sweet, with just a hint of strawberry, he found himself enveloped and smothered with love. Eventually they paused and headed inside.

  Dark, effervescent liquid snaked in and out of the polar chunks of ice. Taking the proffered drink, he sat down on the sofa next to her as they waited for their takeaway to arrive.

  Their chat was mundane to begin with. Janice asked about his time away, and once again he explained that he couldn't reveal any details about it. Mentioning that it was okay, that he was glad to be back and had missed her like crazy, brought forth her legendary smile that lit up the room.

  Feeling guilty about lying to her, he did consider it something of a necessity, given that his whole existence was one big lie. On many occasions he'd contemplated the entire concept of telling lies: big ones, small ones, necessary ones, little white ones, and had never reached a particular conclusion. In the end he'd given up, because he always found himself going round and round in circles. Looking at it more in terms of doing the right thing and living his life the right way, if he'd have told Janice he was going to New Zealand, he'd have had to answer so many questions... all with lies. How are you getting there? Oh, didn't you know, there's a vast monorail system deep beneath the surface that zips around at incredible speeds, pulling unbelievable G forces? Oh, and did I mention it was manned (ironic!) solely by and for the use of... DRAGONS! Why are you going to New Zealand? There's this really fantastic sport called laminium ball. Played by, yes you've guessed it... DRAGONS! Two of many questions he would have had to answer with lies. So while he did feel a little guilty, deep down he knew he'd done the right thing. On top of all of that, he'd never knowingly hurt her, or anyone else for that matter. He was kind, thoughtful, selfless and always tried to put others first and see things from their point of view or perspective. Something else that was important to him, and he hoped underpinned his ethos as a being, was to treat others as he hoped to be treated by them, although more often than not, this seemed to fail spectacularly. Usually he persevered with it anyway.

  On enquiring how Janice's week had been, she went on to explain that it had been pretty dull, as usual, with one exception... the chairman of the sports club. Going on to describe his very odd behaviour in graphic detail, Peter was not only surprised to hear this, but completely and utterly shocked. While he wasn't on intimate terms with the chairman, he had played against him and alongside him during training (the chairman being a fellow hockey player), and he'd always got the impression that he was a pretty decent sort of guy. Pulling the cold glass up to his lips, letting the polar ice caps in it clink together, a faded memory surfaced as the fizzy liquid tickled the back of his throat. Goose bumps shuddered across his arms... MANSON! Instantly it hit him in stunning clarity. In the run up to the hockey match in which he'd faced Manson, he'd gone up to the stock cupboard for Janice and, once there, had caught sight of the chairman and Manson together. If his memory served him correctly (which it should have, after all, he was a dragon) Manson and the chairman were arguing about something. Recalling the chairman's face in excruciating detail, because of his eidetic memory, he certainly didn't look happy, far from it in fact. It was then that Manson had spoken, and although Peter hadn't been able to hear what had been said, the words themselves had caused the chairman to go paler than the lightest mayonnaise. He could remember the evil dragon, in his human form, handing something over, well trying to at least. Whatever it was, the chairman clearly didn't want to take it, but eventually did, after Manson had whispered something in his ear. Whatever the item had been, the chairman had hurried off and locked it securely in his office. Guzzling a little more of his drink, Peter wondered if the chairman's strange behaviour was somehow related to whatever it was Manson had passed on. Vowing to talk to someone about it, all his thoughts returned instantly to the present as Janice nestled her head against his chest, and for all the world, everything else was forgotten.

  31 Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To Work We Go

  It had been over three days now, and he was starting to lose his patience, which was unusual for him as in the past it had always seemed like he'd had an unlimited amount. But here and now, it was as if he was being tried like never before. It had started the moment he'd got in on his first day back; instead of the usual cordial greeting, orders had been barked out at him. In a way, it was understandable... so he'd just quietly followed them, hoping that the old dragon would mellow after a few hours and be back to normal. But no. Three days!

  Tank knew the master mantra maker didn't like it when he was away. For a start, he was lonely. Of course he'd deny that if challenged, but it was true. In addition, there was the medicine. Undoubtedly he'd failed to take part or all of what he was supposed to, despite him having laid it all out in microscopic detail before he'd left. This too would be part of the grumpiness... because he felt so unwell.

  In spite of the awkwardness and how fed up he felt, Tank fought back a smile as he rolled up the delicate parchment of an ancient Germanic mantra, carefully placing it back on the shelf in the exact spot he'd taken it from. Deep down, he knew Gee Tee didn't mean any of it, well... not really. Still, it was distracting. They had important work to do and could use their time much more productively.

  Giant footsteps with a distinctive shuffling gait thudded across the shop floor towards him. This time, like all the others over the past three days, he hoped that the old shopkeeper had got everything out of his system. Rounding the aisle that Tank was working in, the master mantra maker strolled along it, watching from a distance as his employee picked up another scroll and began to cautiously unfurl it. Focused on nothing but his job, he was totally oblivious to the footsteps that traipsed up beside him. There was a tut, followed by a deep sigh, before a pile of books that he'd not quite got round to yet were kicked to the floor, tumbling all over the place.

  "Those all need looking at. I expect them sorted by the time you leave tonight," stated the old shopkeeper loudly.

  Instantly, Tank jumped to his feet. Wobbling just slightly, Gee Tee instinctively took half a step back.

  "ENOUGH!" declared Tank, poking his finger right into the middle of his employer's giant scaly chest, unaware of quite how ridiculous it looked... a human (shape... anyway), standing up to a dragon twice his height, poking a finger into it.

  "You need to take your head out of your scales and stop behaving like a petulant child," growled Tank, now in full flow. "I'm sorry that it doesn't suit you that I've had a few days off... but tough! I'm here most of the time, looking after you, and I'm here now. I struggle to believe that there's ano
ther dragon in the whole of the kingdom that would put up with the kind of nonsense that I have to put up with from you. So now, YOU get to make a choice. You can either start behaving with some decorum, some manners and treat me how you'd expect to be treated yourself. Or," continued Tank, throwing the scroll he'd been holding in the direction of the old dragon, "I can leave and never come back. You choose!"

  The look on the master mantra maker's face was priceless. Shock, terror, sorrow, they were all there in equal amounts, or at least that was Tank's opinion.

  Both stood silently facing each other for minutes, neither willing to give any ground. Looking as angry as he'd ever been, Tank watched as his boss removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, looking wearier than ever. Knowing how hard the next bit was going to be for the old dragon, he was determined to give no ground and to hold his own.

  "You're right... of course. I'm... sorry."

  "I'm afraid you'll have to speak up... I can't quite hear you."

  "I said, I'm sorry... as you're fully aware," answered the shopkeeper.

  "Imagine my surprise that you even know that word," quipped Tank, sarcastically.

  "I suppose I deserve that."

  "That, and a whole lot more," huffed Tank.

  "I should know better. It's... it's... it's just that... when you're away, I feel so... so..."

  "I know," said Tank, putting his arm across the back of the master mantra maker's wing, "but all this isn't fair. How do you think it makes me feel?"

  Gee Tee bowed his head.

  "I am truly sorry. I will try and make sure it doesn't happen again."

  "That would be good. I don't want to fight with you, but occasionally I do need some time off."

  "I understand, I do... really. So... how was the laminium ball match? Did I miss anything exciting?"

  "You're kidding me, right?" he exclaimed, suddenly realising the old dragon wasn't.