Bentwhistle the Dragon Box

by Paul Cude

  'Someone or something else is here,' he thought. Oddly he'd felt all night like he was being watched, but try as he might he could find nothing to prove his gut feeling, up until now that is. He needed the metal inside the case, and he needed it NOW! On planning his illicit visit, he'd been determined not to leave a trace of having been there and especially not do any damage to the much cherished museum. But things had changed now and he needed to get his hands on that metal and scarper. This was not the time for niceties, particularly given that he had no idea who, or what, he was facing. Reluctantly, he slammed his large gloved fist through the plate glass of the display case, causing alarms to blare and the lights to flicker on. Grabbing the long, warped bar of metal, he pulled it out. As he did so, waves of intense emotion assaulted his very being, threatening to overwhelm him. Struggling to stay standing, continually fighting against dropping the valuable prize he had gone through all this for, out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed three bulky shapes much further up the main hall, all heading straight for him now that the lights had come on. Gripping the metal for all he was worth, instinctively he conjured up a mantra that filled the air with a high pitched whine.

  'Darkness, at the moment,' he thought, 'is my friend and I want it back.'

  Out of nowhere there was a large POP, followed by another, and then another as the bulbs in all the lights started exploding, one by one, the tinkling of glass drifting to the floor echoing across the vastness of the building, as darkness once again consumed it. Having made a mental note of where each attacker was before the lights went out, Tank decided on a course of action. Whether it would succeed or not was entirely dependent on whether or not they were dragons. If they were, he was already doomed. As the last vestige of light disappeared and full on darkness took hold, Tank sprinted, not away from his attackers, but across their path towards him. Careful to put as little weight as he could in his steps and with his infra red vision restored, he leapt for all he was worth towards a display case full of ancient skulls and bones. Part of him was dismayed that he would momentarily be landing on top of it, while the rest of him focused on what he had to do. For a brief moment he was surrounded, one attacker to his left closing in on his previous position, two to his right, backing up their friend. Casting all thoughts aside, he landed on the exhibit with cat-like-grace and, bending his knees, pushed off for all he was worth, sailing high over the head of one of his attackers, landing half way up the stairs that led to the first floor displays. Glancing over his shoulder, he was glad to see the three of them still searching around the tall, singular display. Quietly, he belted the rest of the way up the stairs, searching for anything that looked vaguely like an exit. Laid out in much the same way as the ground floor, with row upon row of glass display cases and the odd standalone exhibit, there was one noticeable difference: glass for walls, providing a stunning view off in the distance of the, by now, sleeping village. Darting down the length of the displays, Tank hoped for a fire exit or some other means of escape. But he was out of luck. There wasn't one, at least... not yet. It looked as though some building work was about to take place in a cordoned off area right at the end. In a few weeks' time no doubt, there would be what he was looking for, but right now he was aware that time had just about run out, not only because he'd picked up on the three strangers' distant whispers, but also because the police or someone else must surely be on their way, responding to the alarm he'd set off. Shaking off that muzzy feeling from his head, trying hard to push away all the negativity flowing through him from the metal, as that's what it felt like, he knew there was only one course of action and it broke his heart on realising that he'd have to do it. Behind him, footsteps came rushing up the stairs.

  'Damn,' he thought, taking two steps back. With seemingly no other option, he sprinted forwards, crossing his arms in front of his face as he hit the glass, reinforcing his very being with the same mantra he'd used in THAT rugby match. A huge SMASH of epic proportions, followed by the sound of rushing air washing over him, startled him momentarily. He'd known when he jumped that he'd have no time to revert back to his natural form, not that it had ever really been an option. Even at this time of night, there would have been too many people about to take the risk. With the ground rushing up at him fast, he wondered what kind of damage he'd incur if he weren't a dragon. A long stay in hospital was all that he could come up with as he bent his knees, preparing for impact. Even with the mantra it hurt, as he carried his momentum forward into a roll, choosing his left shoulder to take the brunt of the collision. Stumbling to his feet, he looked back up at the hole he'd made in the glass above, just able to make out two gruff faces looking back out at him. It was time to leave, and so he sprinted across the road leading up the hill to the museum, cut between two giant trees, hurdled a barbed wire fence into a farmer's field, all in the pitch black, thanks to his infra red vision. Halfway across the field he threw himself to the ground, the soft squelch of something big and runny thumping against his stomach.

  'Oh great,' he thought, catching the smell of what it was. Turning his head towards the road that ran parallel to the field, he could just make out two officers in a police car speeding up the road, the blue flashing lights casting an eerie reflection out across the field. As soon as the car had passed he took off as fast as he could, the cow pat running like a river down his front. He ignored it.

  Ten minutes later he was back in the village, lurking in the shadows, having run all the way. During his run back, he'd made up his mind to leave. First though, he wanted his stuff back. Luckily his room on the first floor had a balcony, the very reason he'd chosen this particular guest house. That was how he'd slipped out unnoticed earlier. Sneaking up the driveway, around the side of the building and into the garden, he tucked the precious metal behind the drain pipe's base before shinning up it to the balcony. Quickly and quietly he gathered up his things, unlocked the door to his room and then headed back towards the balcony, not before leaving sixty pounds in crisp twenty pound notes on the dresser. Leaping back down onto the lush grass in one clean go, he retrieved the metal and headed for the nearest entrance to the dragon domain, a wishing well at the back of a magnificent stately home, only a short walk away.

  With the metal tucked away in his giant backpack and his camera dangling around his thick neck, he watched rock face after rock face whizz by from the comfort of the monorail carriage he was in. Able to take a breath now, something he didn't seem to have done since he'd left the museum, sadness ran through him at having caused so much damage. Racking his brain to think of a way to make it up to them, the only option he could come up with was an anonymous donation. Vowing to do just that later on in the week, he wondered if the strange piece of metal would unlock the clues to the puzzle they were trying to solve. With all his heart he hoped so.

  32 Stash Crashed

  Russian dragons had been squirreling it away for some time now. Previously it had been stored secretly beneath the Kremlin, but an order had come in out of the blue to move it to a new location. Strange really, but fortuitous at the same time. If that much laminium had been in the Kremlin when the bomb there had gone off, there would have been nothing left of Moscow or the surrounding countryside for at least thirty miles in every direction. It would have made Nagasaki look like a drop in the ocean.

  Currently the valuable stash of the incredibly rare and impossibly hard to extract metal which the Russians had built up over a number of decades, was on its way to its fourth safe storage facility in the same number of weeks. Disguised as a beat up old ambulance well past its best, the inside was state of the art, temperature controlled, lead lined, all surrounded by a carbon fibre/titanium mono filament wall which was impossible to break into without the handheld computer tablet (one of a kind) to access the security lock. In all... very well protected indeed. Unfortunately, not everyone was aware of this.

  They'd had their instructions, only a few hours earlier as it happened, and were aware of the danger, but there was nothing they
wouldn't do for their king. Told it wouldn't be long now before he was back, and they could exact their revenge, they would, as a race, of that there could be no doubt. So they powered on down the hill on the perfectly straight, snow covered road, heading for the all important intersection.

  "Take it easy," observed Vlass, gazing across at the speedometer from the passenger side of the cab.

  "Easy for you to say," replied Slodge from the driver's seat. "It wasn't me that forgot to warm the engine up, which incidentally has now led to us being a tad behind schedule."

  "Alright, alright. You know what I mean. And you know full well that some of that snow on the road is ice. All it takes is one slip and..." he let his words trail off. They both knew what he meant. One way or another, they would be dead. Worse still, they would have put their monarch's life in jeopardy as well.

  Easing his foot off the accelerator just a touch, Slodge kept his eyes glued to the road in front of him out of the windscreen. Perspiration poured from every part of him, ironic really given that they were in one of the coldest parts of Russia, which even in the summer was still much colder than most countries' harshest winters.

  Five miles later, they crested the brow of the biggest hill they'd seen so far. With the dazzling sunlight cutting through the bright blue sky like a knife through butter, shining straight into their cab, the two of them could just make out a small town in the distance. Old and decrepit buildings, most wooden, some brick, lay strewn about in an awkward pattern. The centre seemed to be built around the intersection of the road they were on and another thick set trunk route. A bar, a café and a convenience store all merged together in this confined space. Off to one side, a building of some sort had recently been demolished. On the ground where it had once been, there now stood a mobile crane, a huge yellow beast, metal feet deployed either side of it, with two thick built men encased in its glass cabin, one talking urgently on a phone, the other wielding the various controls. One or two locals scuttled along the main street, most sensibly staying inside.

  "There it is," announced Vlass.

  Slodge gazed across to his left. There in the distance, trundling down the hill to their west, was the beat up old ambulance, their target, their mission. Slodge applied the brakes. They locked, forcing the massive truck into a slide. Lifting his foot, he then applied pressure again, this time with a little less force. The truck started to slow. Vlass exhaled a sigh of relief.

  Heading down the hill into the next dreary town, the driver looked on, trying to stay focused. It looked identical to the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that. Monotony was by far the worst part of this job. It was only really the pay that made it bearable, he thought, chomping down on a bar of sickly milk chocolate that one of his friends had bought him back from a regular trip to Austria. Slowing down a little more, he took in everything in front of him, after all, he was a careful driver. The gentle slope led into town; traffic was coming from either side approaching the intersection ahead. Knowing it didn't matter too much as he had right of way, and any traffic (he could see a huge truck approaching from his right) would have to stop and give way to him, he continued on, chomping on his chocolate, fiddling with the radio, trying to pick up anything remotely listenable.

  Slodge slowed down even more, trying hard to gauge things just right, knowing that he had to give the impression that he was going to stop and give the ambulance the chance to escape.

  Stuffing the last of the chocolate into his mouth all in one go, his eyes caught sight of the café. It occurred to him that he hadn't had a hot meal in over two days, and that perhaps now was a good time to stop. But he'd had orders, ones that he was pretty sure he should obey to the letter if he wanted to see any of that well earned pay he was so looking forward to spending. In an instant, he decided against stopping. It was a shame, he really should have done. It might have saved his life. That thought of food, in that instant, was enough to distract him, just momentarily. A second earlier and he might have been able to brake in time to avoid the truck. As it was, he was too late.

  Instantly he slammed on the brakes, which under normal circumstances would have been fine. But the brakes locked up, sending him into the mother of all uncontrollable skids. All he could do was look on.

  'He's speeding up,' was the first thing that ran through the ambulance driver's head, the second being the truck itself.

  The impact was stomach churning, no matter where you were. In the ambulance, in the truck, walking along the street, or inside one of the businesses, it was horrific. Instantly, the driver of the ambulance died. Vlass and Slodge, despite being heavily strapped in, had significant injuries, not that they really mattered. It would be relatively easy for them to recover after the incident and just slip off into obscurity.

  With the wreckage of the two vehicles scattered across the intersection, smoke poured from radiators and engines as bizarre things started to happen. Out from between a set of ramshackle old buildings, a brand new low loader appeared, turning up on the highway away from the intersection at first, before reversing back towards it. From in and around some of the other buildings, masked men approached, wading into the wreckage, not bothering to check on casualties, only interested in the back of the ambulance. The bright yellow crane thrummed into action, its operator swinging the extended arm right round until it lay directly above the shattered ambulance. Immediately the masked men got to work, securing the back of the ambulance to the crane's giant arm. Ninety seconds later it was done. One of the men indicated it was ready to go, so the crane operator raised the huge arm, pulling the undamaged back half of the ambulance free from the gushing black smoke of the two vehicles, carefully swinging his load around in a tight semi circle, letting it hover directly over the back of the perfectly positioned low loader. Meanwhile, the masked men made their way to either side of the truck's cab. Vloss and Slodge were relieved to see them. They'd had some idea of what would happen, but needless to say, hadn't been filled in on all the details. They knew getting away wouldn't be a problem, but just needed a little bit of time to apply the perfect spells and heal before fleeing. Knowing it was best not to struggle in the wreckage that they found themselves trapped in, they both thought it was great that their cohorts were about to free them from the smoke choked cab, and give them the opportunity that they needed. Two of the masked men ripped the driver's door off the cab, leaving it dangling precariously, attached only at the bottom. Slodge smiled, trying to indicate that his leg had been ensnared in the wreckage. To his utter amazement, both masked men whipped out silenced guns from behind their backs and poured half a dozen shots into each of the nagas disguised as humans. Casually, they walked back to the low loader, which had now been joined by a nondescript four by four.

  Carefully, the crane operator lowered its load onto the base of the vehicle. He must have been good at his job, because it barely made a sound. All but one of the masked men began to release the load from the crane and started strapping the still burning cargo to the low loader. Making sure to douse the bodies of the two dead nagas, the remaining masked man finished pouring petrol into the cab of the truck. One or two pedestrians looked on, with most having ducked back inside either the bar or the café.

  Inside the crane, the man with the phone shot the crane operator and retrieved the vast sum of cash that he'd passed him some time before, then proceeded to place a small explosive device, set on a five minute timer, in the footwell, before taking his place in the four by four. With a rumble, the low loader's engines roared to life, putrid black smoke coughing out of its engine. The last masked man tossed an identical explosive device into the cab containing the two dead nagas, before sprinting off towards the by now moving four by four. Catching up just in time, he leapt majestically into the open back door, swinging inside and closing the door behind him, all in one slick move. Overtaking the low loader, the four by four led the way east up the hill, the route the ambulance would have taken had it continued straight on its journey. Five m
inutes later, two massive explosions ripped through the town, peppering the main street with shrapnel and throwing two towering plumes of thick black smoke far up into the atmosphere. Onlookers and customers all had the sense to retreat to their houses, something that saved their lives. For the most part their town had gone, along with a very large supply of LAMINIUM!

  33 Tables Turned

  It was getting to him and he was rattled. It was more than he could take. For some time he'd suspected that he was being followed, but the last few days had confirmed it. Racking his brains as to why anyone would want to follow him, he'd had precious little sleep over the last few nights worrying about it. In the end, he could come up with only one answer. THE DAGGER! Aviva's dagger... it had to be! How anyone could possibly have found out about it, he had no idea. As far as he knew, only he, Richie and the king himself knew about it. Richie really didn't count, because having had her memory wiped, she would of course remember absolutely nothing. And he couldn't believe for one minute that the king had revealed its existence to anyone. It was a mystery, but it was also the only logical answer as to why anyone would be tailing him. So in his mind there seemed to be only one solution and he was about to do exactly what the king had expressly told him not to do. But he couldn't think of any other way, or of anywhere safer for the dagger to be.

  So here he was, skulking down Camelot Arcade, with the very valuable object wrapped in an old cloth taped to the small of his back. With all his might, he tried to act normally, to be casually going about his business, but if the profusion with which he was sweating was anything to go by, he was having little, if any, success.