by Paul Cude
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Janice, Emma and Angela all giggled at that last comment.
"Pay heed to what I say little ones... it can still go our way," continued the master mantra maker. "We will all need a little luck, all the courage we possess, and for others to do their part. But I truly believe we will prevail."
They all reflected on that, for a moment at least.
"And now I think it is time to take my leave, and my team," whispered the old dragon. "Say your goodbyes little ones. You have one minute." With that, the old shopkeeper leant down and embraced Richie for all she was worth. It was a touching gesture and one the young lacrosse player really appreciated.
"Good luck," he whispered in her ear.
"You too," she replied, kissing him on the cheek, forcing a smile onto her face, before moving into the huddle of humans.
Tank had made his way over to his former boss, and now associate, with both silently looking into each other's eyes, neither giving anything away.
"It will be alright youngster."
"I know," replied Tank, lying.
Both had so much to say, both struggled to get the words out. In the end, Tank threw himself at Gee Tee, wrapping his human arms as far around the old shopkeeper's stomach as they would go.
"I'm sorry to have dragged you into all of this," babbled the young rugby playing dragon.
Gee Tee chuckled.
"I think it's me that should be sorry. Sorry for what you went through back in Salisbridge, sorry that I've not expressed my appreciation more often for all your efforts over the years. You do know how much I care about you, don't you?" queried the old dragon.
Tank just nodded. That was all he could do with tears streaming down his cheeks. He loved the old dragon like a father. It was only now that he was willing to admit that to himself. He never wanted to let him go. But let him go he did. Before they parted though, the old shopkeeper had a little something for the dragon he loved like a son. Reaching into the seemingly bottomless pouches surrounding his stomach, he pulled out the replica of the king's ring that they'd both spent so much time working on.
"Why on earth did you bring that?" asked Tank.
"I'm not entirely sure. I thought at some point one of us would get as far as the king and who knows, perhaps it will come in handy. Looks like it's not going to be me, so perhaps you should take it," said Gee Tee, offering out the eye-catching replica.
Tank let the old dragon drop the spectacular ring into the palm of his hand, not taking his eyes off the striking piece of jewellery for one second. Now that he thought about it, he supposed it could be of some use. With that in mind, he tucked it away in a tiny little pocket on the side of one of the walking boots that he'd managed to procure. He knew it would be quite safe, and no one would even think to look there. With nothing more for it, the two nodded to each other and went their separate ways.
Meanwhile, Richie and all the other humans were saying their farewells. Hook and Janice both shook Sam and Taibul's hands, before embracing Emma and Angela, whispering words of encouragement and luck. After that, it was Richie's turn. She wished them all the best, hugging each one tightly, fearing it might be for the very last time, until it was Janice's turn. Both women stood facing each other awkwardly. There was plenty of friction between the two of them, there nearly always had been. It was unnecessary. They both loved Peter, one as a best friend, the other as a lover and a confidant. Neither had really seen this. Neither had budged an inch. But here they were, after everything they'd been through over the last day, violence, desperation and that love for the hockey playing dragon thrusting them together, an invisible bond linking them in their desire and determination to get him back at any cost.
"Are you going to be okay?" asked the diminutive bar worker.
A beaming smile broke out across Richie's face.
"It's nice that you're worried for me. I'd be far more concerned about where you're going if I were you."
"Oh I am. But I need to see him. Need to have him back. You see I love him with all my heart. It's as simple as that."
"I know," whispered Richie, stepping forward to hug her friend. "I love him too. Don't worry, we'll get him back. I have something to do, but I'll be there... I promise!"
Looking deep into Richie's eyes, Janice could see that she meant every word she said. Giving the lacrosse player a nod, she stepped back to join the others.
Richie strolled up to Hook, marvelling at how well he was coping with the giant, heavy water pack attached to his back.
"You're stronger than you look," she said, smiling.
"So are you. But now we know why... pesky dragon! I always knew there was something special about you... wouldn't have guessed in a million years that it would have been this though. Who would have thought it, eh?"
They both burst into laughter. When the moment was over, Richie's face took on a serious edge.
"Look after them," she uttered. "Never give up hope, no matter how desperate things appear."
Hook embraced her uncomfortably, given the huge weight on his back, and replied,
"I will, I promise."
With that, the humans turned and headed off to their respective groups, who by now had all gathered to leave. Richie turned to see Tank waiting off to one side and strolled purposefully over to him.
"So this is it then," he announced.
"I guess it is," she replied.
"What the hell are we doing Rich?" he asked, shaking his head. "The whole world's gone to hell, relying on us to save it."
"Yeah," she said, smiling. "Who'd have thought it?"
Tank stepped forward and wrapped his tree trunk arms around her. She embraced him back, for all she was worth.
"We'll get both Peter and Tim back," he whispered.
She nodded, her head rubbing up and down on his well defined chest. Pulling back a little, she gazed up into his face, lost in so many thoughts.
"I'm so scared, Tank," she finally admitted.
"I know. We all are. But what can you do but listen to your own advice. For as long as we've known each other, you've always been the strong one, fearless, imaginative. Use each and every one of those well honed qualities today, and we'll get through this, meeting up again on the other side. A dragon couldn't wish for a better friend," he said, once again holding her tight.
She started to cry. All the time, both groups looked on, not knowing what to make of things.
Thirty seconds later, it was over. They parted, knowing looks in their eyes, Richie adjusting Aviva's laminium dagger that was secured in the makeshift holster in the small of her back. Tank marched over to his group. All together, each and every one of those departing quietly exited the nursery ring, past the tors guarding the only available way out. Once outside in the darkened streets and alleys, they split up into two discernible groups. As this happened, Richie bounded off down the main thoroughfare, slipping into the shadows, like a hand into a glove, a foot into a shoe. In the blink of an eye, she was gone. Once the two groups had split, they crept off in different directions, none of the individuals looking back at the others, thoughts firmly focused on the mission at hand, and travelling unnoticed through the eerie streets of war torn suburban London.
Earth's surface. Salisbridge, England.
Arriving home from work a little later than normal, he turned his key in the lock, strolled inside and laid his briefcase on the kitchen table. Glancing around the place, he found it more than a little odd that things remained totally unchanged from when he'd left the house much earlier on in the day. Not usually one to pry, curiosity tinged with worry made him go and knock on his roommate's bedroom door. After banging quite hard three times in a row and calling out his name, the normally reserved insurance worker named Gavin did something so unthinkable, it sent a shiver down his spine and made his head swim. Turning the handle, he opened the door and poked his head inside. In the midst of a tidy bedroom with everything 'just so,' rugby memorabilia adorned almost every free
space. Magazines sat on the bedside table, photographs sat piled on the window sill, shining awards adorned the dark brown wooden shelves. Gavin had seen the inside of Hook's room before and so none of it came as a surprise. What was odd though, was that there was no rugby kit either dirty or clean, lying about, that and the fact all of the rugby player's work suits were still hanging up untouched and the bed clearly hadn't been slept in. Something seemed totally and utterly wrong. Vowing to give his friend until the morning to turn up before he thought about a further course of action, the insurance worker strolled back into the kitchen, his thoughts having turned to what he'd be having for dinner.
Five miles away, another bewildered being knocked frantically on a front door, puzzled at the lack of a car outside.
'Normally he'd be long back from work,' she thought. Drawing her phone once again out of her handbag, she hit send on the number she selected. In big bold letters the name SAM appeared at the top of the screen. Listening intently, she waited patiently, hoping to hear his voice. It wasn't to be. Just like the other dozen or so times she'd tried in the last twenty-four hours, the phone went straight to voicemail. Ignoring the chance to leave yet another message, she hit the cancel button and headed back across the road towards her car. Worried that something untoward had happened to her boyfriend, Susan climbed into the driver's side and thought about contacting the police. After a moment or two of thought on the matter, she decided against that course of action. It wouldn't be totally unusual for him to be caught up at work would it? And what would the police do? Very little probably, since as far as she could tell, he hadn't been missing long, if he was even missing at all. And so still more than a little concerned, she punched the button to start the engine, slipped it in gear, and sped off up the road towards her house, thoughts firmly focused on what to do next.
With the evening shift over half an hour in, the restaurant only had a couple of diners in it, both of whom were just tucking into a stack of poppadoms and the side dishes that accompanied them. One of the waiters behind the bar finished writing down the takeaway order. No sooner had he put the phone down, than it rang again. Picking it back up as he passed the previous order off to one of his colleagues, he politely asked how he could help, before grabbing his pad and a pen. Off to one side, just out of sight of the diners, hidden away in front of the door to the kitchen, two waiters, one much older than the other started to chat.
"What do you think has happened to him?"
"I don't know. All I do know, is that his father is extremely worried."
"That's understandable."
"It is. But it might be us that pays the price."
"Why?"
"Because nobody stopped him from taking the knives, or going off with that gang from the sports club."
"Taibul's a strong willed boy. Nobody could have stopped him."
"I know that, and so do you. But I very much doubt his father sees it that way. And since he owns this place and pays our wages, we'd all better be on our best behaviour and watch out. I for one can't afford to lose this job."
Nodding, his co-worker agreed, before flitting off into the kitchen to see if the couple's next course was ready.
Sitting perched on the flowery white sofa, they listened carefully once again, hoping that this time their beloved daughter would finally pick up on her end. As her husband held out his mobile in front of them, a slight crackle coming over the speaker carrying around the immaculate front room, Emma's mother wiped away yet another set of tears with a folded white tissue, unusually not bothered about smearing her makeup. Unsurprisingly the phone, just as in the previous attempts, did not connect. It filled them both with more dread and fear than they cared to admit... even to each other. Finally, not only did he dare think it, but he said it out loud.
"I think it's finally time we called the police."
Sniffing profusely, the tears having started to gush once more, his wife nodded her agreement. Their daughter hadn't come home on Saturday night, something on its own that was cause for concern. But it was now Monday and there'd been no sign of her and she'd skipped work. Having phoned all her friends, as well as her employer, they were now reaching their wits' end. And while neither wanted to admit the seriousness of the situation, having the police involved very nearly confirmed their worst fears.
In Angela's case, it was very different. She worked from home as a graphic design artist, and her friends were the lacrosse players she trained with midweek and played with at the weekend. It was unlikely that anyone would miss her for at least a few days yet. And by then, things would probably be all over one way or another.
7 The Strongest Of Bonds
Sitting shackled, back to back on the shiny, polished floor of the council building, Peter and Tim's hands were bound by the strength sapping chains behind them. They'd been thrown there a few hours earlier and had been left mostly undisturbed.
Although he didn't know exactly which floor of the giant monolith they were on, Peter did at least have a rough idea. How? Because if he leant forward as far as he could, pulling Tim's currently unconscious body with him a little, he could just manage to peek round the corner in front of him, which afforded a view out of one of the panoramic, wraparound windows. That view hadn't changed since they'd been here. Off in the distance some way, and about a hundred metres above them, a striking hemisphere of blue energy crackled and rippled, shielding a huge part of the now exposed cliff that made up the side of the king's private residence. If he looked really carefully, he could just make out a much darker colour beyond the, for now, impenetrable barrier. He knew it marked the entrance to the king's private residence, somewhere that held fond memories for him, somewhere once accessed by the magnificent marvel of engineering of a bridge that had earlier in the day been obliterated. Briefly he wondered who was responsible for the wanton destruction. It didn't make much sense, to him anyway, for Manson to have demolished the bridge, especially with so many nagas on his attacking force. As far as he knew they couldn't fly, but given everything that had occurred over the last couple of days, he wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn they could. That only left the king's force.
'Things,' he thought, 'must be really desperate if they've destroyed their only way out.'
Coughing and spluttering from behind startled him back to the present. Gingerly, Tim came round.
"How are you feeling?" whispered Peter.
"Rotten," rasped Tim. "Where are we?"
"The council building in London," replied Peter, having completely forgotten that Tim would have no idea about dragon cultural landmarks.
"Anything happen while I was out?"
"Not really. They've checked on us a couple of times, but nothing other than that." Peter continued to tell Tim about the view of the sporadic attacks on the king's defences. Tim was aghast to learn that they'd cut off their only route to safety.
"What do you see happening now?" asked the newly formed dragon, after a moment of quiet contemplation.
Peter wriggled around, trying to get a bit more comfortable and stop the burning pain in his shoulders and biceps. He didn't succeed.
"Nothing I've seen bodes well for any of us," he blurted, almost before thinking. "The king's force is well and truly trapped, and I can't begin to think where any help would possibly come from. I'm sure there must be dragons somewhere fighting to get here and protect the monarch, but I don't doubt for one minute that Manson would have had some contingency for all of that."
"And us?" Tim asked, thinking that he was addressing the elephant in the room.
'Two dragons and an elephant, that's funny,' he thought, letting out a brief chortle.
"Something funny?" enquired Peter.
"The whole thing I suppose," muttered Tim, downcast. "Dragons, a battle for the planet, I'm the new Messiah or whatever it is I'm supposed to be, and us... about to die. You've got to laugh."
Peter thought about it for a moment, and then started to chuckle uncontrollably. Tim joined in. All sens
e of time became lost as the two of them existed in their own little bubble. Eventually the moment passed and they came crashing back to reality with a certain sense of inevitability. The giggles banished, Peter considered Tim's last question carefully.
"I can't see any way out for us. Even if we could escape from these blasted chains, we'd still have to fight our way past Manson's army, and you wouldn't get very good odds on that being successful. If I'm honest, things are as bleak as they're ever likely to get. Sorry!"
"I appreciate your candour, my friend," Tim whispered.
Peter could feel the newly crowned White Dragon, from the renowned prophecy, shake uncontrollably. He wanted to comfort him, and felt helpless beyond belief at not being able to do so.
"So there's really no hope for a rescue then?" Tim asked quizzically, a minute or so later. "You're not just saying that so I wouldn't get my hopes up?"
Peter slumped forward, as far as he could go anyway.
"I can't for the life of me see where it could possibly come from. Unless the king has something unbelievable hidden behind that shield, then the chances of us ever seeing another sunrise are remote at best."
The two friends sat in silence, contemplating the seriousness of the situation both they, and the world, found themselves in.
Earth's surface. Washington DC, United States of America.
Yawning and stretching his arms out to form the 'Y' from The Village People's famous song, he took another hit from his strong, black coffee, hoping it would add a dash of alertness to his sleepy disposition. Normally he did his best work at around one in the morning, but today he was struggling to concentrate, feeling tired and a little run down. Perhaps he was coming down with something. That would be just typical. Stuck in this unnatural form, with these oh so fussy and particular beings who were always ill, almost at the drop of a hat, it would be just his luck to pick up some germ or other that he wasn't resistant to. They'd warned him about that before he'd set out on his mission. BLAH! Sinking the rest of the cup of Java, he sat up straight, pulled his chair in as far as it would go, and, determined not to be affected by any bug, computer or otherwise, tilted the two giant LCD computer monitors to give him the ideal viewing angle for what he was working on. Feeling comfortable, and more awake than he had in some time, he glanced over to his right, out of the full frame glass window of his Georgetown condo. Despite the late hour, he could just make out boats from their lights, sailing up and down the Potomac. Momentarily he wondered what they were doing. Surely not a pleasure cruise at this time of night. Part of him wished to be on the water, or at least slightly closer than the four hundred or so yards away he now found himself. He was supposed to have been grateful, that his so-called masters had found him this condominium so close to the water's edge. But in truth, all it did was remind him of what he'd lost, and what he was fighting to get back. Turning back to the huge screens, after taking a giant breath, he began.