Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  "What's your problem fella?" growled the snarling guard.

  "Nothing!" replied Tank, a little too smugly for the guard's liking. In a move that Peter barely saw, that's how fast it was, the guard picked up Tank by the throat, and held him high above his head, against the shiny wall. Peter stood, panicked, not knowing what to do.

  "So you think you're tough do you?" barked the guard at Tank, while Peter watched helplessly. Tank tried to respond, but the only sound that came out was a rather wet gurgle, the grip on his windpipe was so tight. As his friend started going a rather strange colour in the face, the guard's grip tightened even more, and Peter wondered just what he could do. But before he could act and do something that would no doubt have serious repercussions, a voice accompanied by resounding footsteps boomed down the corridor.

  "UNHAND HIM AT ONCE!" it ordered.

  Instantly recognising the voice, Peter had never in his life been so grateful to see... FLASH!

  Striding down the corridor with utter purpose and determination, the ex-Crimson Guard watched as the snarling human shaped dragon relinquished his grip on Tank's throat, the young rugby player sliding down the wall, ending up slumped on the floor in a heap.

  "Who the hell do you think y... Wait a minute. I know you. You're the one that's stuck... stuck as a human," mocked the guard, chuckling all the time. "Oh... look how afraid I am... Stuck-as-a-human," taunted the guard. By this time, some of the other guards had moved out of the shadows from their concealed positions, taking a keen interest in what was going on.

  "Should I be afraid of you... Stuck-as-a-human? Should I? Why don't you shove off and go mix with your own kind?" the guard scoffed, the snarl on his face long since having bent into a smile. It was so fast in coming, Peter had no idea it had even happened. And he wasn't the only one. Flash had moved so quickly, so gracefully, that now it was the guard who was pinned high up against the wall by the throat, held firmly in place by one of Flash's mighty hands. Some of the guard's colleagues took a step forward, that is, until one of them signalled for them to stand down, which they immediately did, sloping back to the concealment of their former positions. Flash and the guard, meanwhile, had locked steely gazes on each other. As they did so, the guard managed to squeak,

  "You'll pay for this, you know."

  Flash moved in closer, tightening his already firm grip.

  "If I ever hear of you trying to pull a stunt like this again, I'll rip your head off and pee down your neck. Do you understand me?" roared the ex-Crimson Guard, sounding to Peter about as menacing as Manson had on that fateful night.

  Taking a few valuable seconds to think, the guard, with his brain being starved of oxygen, had little choice but to nod in agreement. Casually, Flash threw him against the opposite wall, where he destroyed the notice board and everything on it, paying him no more attention. Offering Tank a hand up, the grateful rugby player grasped the proffered hand, and allowed himself to be pulled up. Meanwhile, Peter could see the barely breathing guard now getting up from the floor, thinking about taking Flash from behind, but it must have been the briefest of thoughts, because he very quickly slunk off down the corridor, replaced immediately by one of his colleagues.

  Sitting down next to each other, it took nearly forty minutes for the three friends to catch up on what had been going on. Flash had of course been in America when the bombs had started to go off, and at first had been requested to go to Montreal, only then being told as he was about to depart, to change destinations and head towards Seattle. One of the first on the scene, both above and below ground, he left out most of the details, but even so the two friends could see what a heavy toll it had taken on him. Going on to explain how he'd only just arrived back in the country and learned about the Salisbridge bomb, it was then that he'd tried to contact them both, without any luck. So he'd sought out Gee Tee, who'd naturally told him what had happened, and where they could be found. On finding out, he'd come straight to the hospital. Both friends told him how grateful they were, and not just because of the incident with the guard. After that, it was just a case of sitting and waiting. But just like buses, new arrivals never seemed to turn up singly. Peter and Tank had been waiting for over eight hours together, for Peter it was over eleven in total. Flash's arrival had been in the last hour, and they were about to be joined by a new visitor.

  Confident strides of someone walking resolutely down the corridor adjacent to theirs got them all sitting up. As soon as he walked around the corner, they were all kneeling down on the cold, shiny, unforgiving mezzanine.

  "Get up, get up," barked the king.

  Peter's surprise at seeing the monarch himself here was palpable. Clearly he'd received the message and had come to intervene personally. Just as he was about to tell the king how very grateful he was, the king said something that totally baffled him.

  "What on earth are the three of you doing here?"

  Momentarily confused about the message he'd sent, Peter remained silent as Tank explained about Richie, and now they were waiting to find out about her condition. The puzzled expression on the king's face, led to an even more puzzled one on Peter's.

  "Ummm... Your Majesty," mumbled Peter, remembering to call him that, and not George, with all the other dragons around.

  "Yes," responded the king, firmly.

  "If you're not here because of Richie, then why exactly are you here?"

  "That, I'm afraid Peter, is classified."

  "So," ventured the hockey playing dragon, still extremely confused, "you mean to say that you didn't get my message?"

  "I'm sorry youngster, but I've not had a chance to check my messages for many days now. But why on earth would you want to send me a message anyway?" asked the king inquisitively.

  "Richie's been in there for over half a day, and no one will tell us how she is, or what's going on. I thought that just maybe you could help. That's what the message was about. And, yes I did realise that you were probably really busy with other important stuff, given everything that's gone on. Sorry!"

  The king, almost as confused as the three friends, beckoned over the nearest guard.

  "Is this true? Is their friend in there?" he demanded.

  Instantly the guard replied.

  "Yes, Sire," all the time looking straight ahead.

  "Get me the physician in charge... NOW!" ordered the king.

  For his part, the guard didn't even blink, instead, he turned around and disappeared off through a set of ominous looking double doors.

  Turning back to address the three friends, Peter in particular, the king whispered,

  "I'm sorry your friend's been hurt. I'm sure she'll be okay. I know for a fact that some of the best dragon doctors in the kingdom are here at the moment."

  All three of them nodded, hoping that the king was right.

  "I checked you know, as soon as I found out about the bomb here. I checked that you were safe and well."

  "Thank you," Peter remarked, offering up a little smile.

  "And it seems I need to offer the two of you my thanks, since you're both here. By all accounts that was one hell of a mantra you cast around that building son," the king said to Tank. "My dragons tell me that they've never seen anything quite like it."

  "All it took was a little creativity, Your Majesty," replied Tank modestly.

  "Hmmmm..." uttered the king. "Well thank you... both, for what you did. If you hadn't, well then I guess you know the consequences better than most. When all this is over, I'll thank you properly. Until then, you're going to have to make do with just a handshake."

  Both friends shook the king's hand, both smarting from his grip, much to Flash's amusement. Just then they were interrupted by a female, human shaped dragon wearing a white coat, slamming through the double doors of the nearest room, the one in which Richie and Tim were no doubt in.

  "Are you in charge?" demanded the king, steel in his voice.

  "I most certainly am," replied the woman.

  "Then I demand that you
let these three dragons see their friend!" ordered the king.

  The wave of relief rolling off the three of them was almost visible, so keen were they to see their friend. But unfortunately for them, things were never going to be that simple.

  "I'm afraid," announced the woman, "that's not going to be possible."

  "And why not?" growled the king, verging on losing his temper.

  "I'm afraid, Your Majesty, we have something of a problem!"

  Bentwhistle the Dragon in A Twisted Prophecy

  PAUL CUDE

  Text Copyright © 2015 Paul Cude

  This edition revised 2019

  All rights reserved.

  1 Trick Or Treat

  The king had a face like a bulldog licking vinegar off a nettle, while the doctor looked on, suitably chastised. As the bright lights assaulted Peter's eyes and the waft of industrial cleaning agents raced up his nose, the sheer scale of the ward he'd walked into mesmerised him. It was huge... at least the size of a hockey pitch, if not bigger. Steering the group along the wall to their left, the decidedly grumpy doctor weaved in and out of blood pressure monitors, laughing gas bottles and one or two commodes. All the time the three friends were aware they were skirting around what could conceivably be the biggest bed in the world, off to their right. A gargantuan dark blue curtain twenty feet high circled at least twenty five yards around whatever lay inside; it was captivating, but clearly off limits, judging by the scowl on the doctor's face as she looked back over her shoulder at them. Directly in front of them another dark blue curtain, about the size you'd expect in a human hospital, concealed whatever was inside it.

  'It has to be her,' thought Peter, barely able to contain himself. As one, the group stopped and watched as the doctor marched around the far side, grasped the curtain and, in one swift stroke, pulled it all the way back, revealing the hospital bed. Peter exhaled loudly as happiness ebbed through him, for the most part anyway. Though hugely grateful she was alive, his stomach churned when he noticed the state she was in. When Richie's body had been recovered at the sports club, he hadn't really paid much attention, due mainly to his surprise at the fact she hadn't perished in the bomb blast that had destroyed the clubhouse. But here and now, she looked as though she'd been beaten by a crowd. Her eyes were barely visible, they were so badly bruised and swollen, and the entire left side of her face was a brilliant purple from some trauma or other. Leaving her face, he glanced downwards, noticing that her right wrist was in plaster, along with her left ankle, and what was left was generally covered in bandages.

  'Why the hell haven't they healed her?' was the singular thought that ran through his mind. And he wasn't the only one.

  Tank was well and truly appalled. Not knowing what to expect, the joy at hearing his friend had managed to cheat death had been ripped away as soon as that curtain had been drawn back and he'd seen the state of her. Boiling rage threatened to consume him, that is until the cool, calculating part of his brain beat it into submission. Knowing exactly what to do, he'd never before been this well equipped. The knowledge he now possessed was immense, even his sometimes ill-tempered employer couldn't deny that. So instinctively, without hesitation, he acted. Deep inside the repository of his mind, he found what he was looking for. It wasn't fancy or clever, but exactly the right mantra to heal the vast majority of her wounds, here and now. Reciting the words in his head, he closed his eyes and focused his thoughts and belief on his injured friend.

  Taken aback, a very unusual occurrence for Flash, in all his time, he'd never seen a dragon in such a state. Clearly something out of the ordinary was going on. The question was: what?

  Like never before, the king felt... hassled. A million things scuttled through his head, threatening to overwhelm his very being, in this, the very worst thirty-six hours of his life. Hundreds of thousands of beings across the planet had died, beings that he was responsible for, and he'd been powerless to intervene, only able to sit and watch events unfold. The terrorist attacks, as that's what they'd been, had seemingly stopped, and it was hoped that there were no more to come, the thinking being that the stolen laminium from Cropptech had been all but spent. It wasn't known for sure, but that was the dragon council's reasoning. And now he was here, at the request of the doctors, on a matter of the utmost importance. What could be more important than what was going on across the planet, he simply didn't know. But he was here anyway, and shocked to find the dragon he regarded almost as his own son waiting outside the sealed off ward with his friends. Still having no idea what was going on, his patience was very quickly running out. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

  Clearing her throat in a kind of school teacher sort of way, the doctor tried to get everyone's attention, but as time slowed right down, all eyes fixed on Tank standing, eyes closed, right in front of his mangled friend, concentrating for all he was worth. Instantly, the look of authority on the doctor's face turned to one of horror as she suddenly realised what Tank was attempting. Before she could shout, "Stop," the young rugby playing dragon let rip a mantra, the full force of his belief and magic behind it.

  In that instant, Flash knew. He didn't know how, but he knew, and as Tank cast his mantra, the ex-Crimson Guard reacted as only he could.

  Opening his eyes, expecting to see positive results from his handiwork, Tank instead watched open mouthed as Flash launched himself at the king, rugby tackling him to the hard, mezzanine floor. A moment later, a ferocious burst of magical energy whizzed through the exact spot on which the king had been standing only a split second before, zipping off across the ward, smashing resoundingly into a fancy looking heart rate monitor attached to the far wall, that burst instantly into flames, sending fragments of glass and plastic scattering across the area. Crashing to the floor, Flash had the presence of mind to cast a shield mantra, even though he was currently atop the king. Bullet-like pieces of glass and plastic impacted on the invisible shield, halting in mid-air, while the tinkling sound of them then hitting the floor echoed around the massive room.

  Standing stock still, apart from his hands which were shaking violently, Peter couldn't believe the scene before him. Tank was too shocked to move, as Flash scrambled to his feet, pulling the winded king up from the floor. During all this the look on the doctor's face changed from horror to pure rage. Crimson cheeks and a vein pumping like a child inflating a balloon made her look like she might yet be in need of the facilities here.

  "ENOUGH!" bellowed the doctor. "You stupid children!" She turned to face the king, her head only inches away from the monarch's tired and weary face. "Now do you see why I didn't want them admitted, why it was they were made to wait outside? Perhaps in the future Your Majesty, instead of demanding and insisting, you'll listen to reason before you countermand my instructions."

  It was all Peter could do not to close his eyes, as the last thing he wanted to do was watch the king quite rightly tear the poor doctor apart, thinking too highly of him for that. Tank felt exactly the same way, while Flash hovered behind the king, ready to intervene should things get out of hand. Although quite what he was going to do, he had no idea.

  Easing his face forward a fraction, the king was surprised that the doctor didn't move at all, matching his stare all the way. Tense didn't begin to cover it. After what felt like hours, but in reality was actually only a few moments, he sighed, before whispering,

  "I'm sorry doctor. You're right of course. I hope you can forgive me. I've had a lot on my mind the last day or so."

  Swallowing nervously, the doctor replied,

  "I fully understand Your Majesty, and I apologise for speaking to you in such a way. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Perhaps we could start again from the very beginning?"

  "I think that might be best all round," answered the king. "And don't worry about these three. Braver and more committed dragons it would be hard to find. I trust each of them with my life, as should you."

  "Understood."

  "So what's going on?" enqui
red the monarch. "I still have no idea why I've been dragged down here."

  "Two halves of a problem Sire. The first is this young female, who has been through quite an ordeal. Brought into us from the blast site at Salisbridge sports club, I have absolutely no idea how she's even still alive. What I can tell you though, is that she's paid a considerable price to still be residing in the world of the living."

  On hearing this, Peter's head turned to meet Tank's steely gaze. This was not something that either of them had bargained for, or wanted to hear, on this they could agree with just a look. The good doctor continued.

  "The reason," she started to explain, turning and glaring at Tank, "that the healing mantras don't work on her, is that her DNA has been changed, rewritten if you like, and is unlike anything we've ever seen before. I've spoken to dragons across the world about this, and nobody has any answers."

  Opening his mouth to speak, the doctor held up her index finger to halt the king. Flash looked on with great respect for her, given what had just happened.

  'She's either incredibly brave, or unbelievably stupid,' he thought.

  "Essentially her DNA has been completely transformed into something we of course recognise... a human! As far as we can tell, apart from the fact our mantras don't have any effect on her, she's totally and utterly human. No trace at all her dragon heritage."

  On hearing this, Peter was stunned and glancing around at the others, he could plainly see he wasn't the only one.

  "What can be done?" piped up Tank, meekly.

  Turning to face him, the doctor had a scowl of epic proportions plastered across her face.