The Dragon's Game

by James Erith

  The tortoise raised its head and peered out through bleary, damaged eyes, at the children above him. Blurs, all of them.

  Smart to attack the eyes, he supposed. After aeons, they’d had plenty of time to come up with a plan. But really, was this the best they could do? He ambled on, each step on his soft, leathery pads made in perfect silence.

  How quiet his labyrinth passages were, now that they echoed only to the hushed voices of those pitiful Heirs of Eden. He listened from under his tiny shell. They were confused. Wondering why the unicorns had fled and why the stupid animals had deserted them. And by the wavering, troubled sounds they emitted, they were afraid. Very afraid.

  And so they should be. How deeply troubling it was that the universe had sent children. He’d show them no mercy. He’d fry one so intensely that its flesh would melt into its bones, and he’d pull another apart bit by bit, cracking every bone one by one in such a way that it made a tune. The other, he’d separate, offering different body parts to scavengers who would pick at the carcass. Then again, weren’t children delicious?

  Maybe he’d eat the lot of them.

  His mood lifted. Time to get back to the plinth, to guard his tablet, to see off the Heirs once and for all. He looked through his damaged eyes. Hazy vision, but not a tragic loss. He’d wash them in the water that ran around the stone. It would cleanse him of the gunk, the blood and the grime.

  Instantly, he turned into a small chameleon blending in perfectly into the dusty floor and rocky surroundings.

  They’d never see him, not as they were, fretting and fearful.

  And then, just to think, when they turned up to claim their prize, he’d be there, waiting, like the perfect, unwanted surprise.

  Now the games could really begin. He could hardly wait.

  31 CAIN’S PLAN

  ‘I’m here, boy,’ the ghost, Cain said, as Kemp stumbled through the white sheet of air.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Right by your side,’ Cain whispered in his ear.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ Kemp flapped. ‘It’s really bloody annoying.’

  The ghost chuckled.

  ‘Did you hear any of my conversation with Sue?’ he asked. ‘She’ll come with us. She’s got nothing to lose. She wants to get the tablets out of the house before they torch it. Why don’t we get them first?’

  ‘I like your thinking,’ the ghost crowed. ‘But, regrettably, now that the two tablets are joined together we cannot touch them. Only those associated with the quest may do so. But it would be beneficial for the house to burn to the ground with the tablets buried under a heap of smouldering rubble, should it come to that.’

  ‘But I need to get my mother out. It didn’t sound like they’ll show her any mercy.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Cain said. ‘Tricky. I have to say, so far, you have acquitted yourself excellently. With your mother, boy, it may be better to wait until we are sure the Heirs have failed. It will not be long now.’

  ‘But you promised—‘

  ‘I will keep my promise to you,’ he snapped. ‘But let us be sure because it will be so much easier to get her to come willingly with us when the world is falling apart and when there are no other alternatives. Do you understand?’

  Kemp nodded.

  ‘Good.’ Cain draped an overcoat-arm around Kemp’s shoulders. ‘Our mission now is to get the girl. Perhaps I should show her what lies ahead.’

  Kemp wavered and moved away. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Let us go to her and explain. Sometimes there’s nothing like the truth to persuade a person.’

  ‘If she does come,’ Kemp said, ‘you mustn’t hurt her.’

  ‘Why would I do such a thing?’ Cain said, as though pained. ‘If we play this right, she will be an important part of our family. The next mother of all.’

  Kemp breathed a sigh of relief and called out. ‘Sue, I think we can sort this out.’ He listened for a reply. ‘Sue? Where are you?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘Sue, give us a yell. I can’t see you.’

  He waited, but even as he strained his ears and eyes, no voice and no words returned from out of the void.

  32 SOLOMON’S TEST

  Solomon ambled blindly in the white-out. Every so often he reverted to crawling, often bashing his head on unseen branches that dangled down as if suspended in mid-air. Even worse were the holes in the ground, filled with water, where trees, uprooted in the storm, had left behind small craters that he couldn’t see. Solomon now slightly regretted bringing the radio that was tucked under his shirt and wondered – if the time came – whether it would still work after such a hammering.

  By the time he’d been going for an hour, he was wet through, bruised all over and exhausted. Time to stop, take a bearing and grab a swig of water. He wished it was something stronger.

  As far as he could tell, he’d started up towards the ruin before cutting down the steep banks towards the water. Finding a fallen bough of a tree, he sat down, wiped his brow with a handkerchief and pulled out a compass attached to a key ring. He examined it and stared out at the white sheet surrounding him. Suddenly, he heard a roar, like a waterfall, accompanied by the fog in front of him blurring to orange.

  Moments later, the acrid stench of petroleum filled his nostrils, making him nauseous.

  Now that he thought of it, the sound wasn’t the noise of roaring water, more likely of something combusting; a kind of flame-powered torch, perhaps?

  His brain snapped into gear. Someone was blasting a path through the fog. On full alert, he listened, his ears attuned to every snap and squelch in the mud.

  Suddenly the roar blasted out, this time much closer, coming directly at him.

  He moved fast as the possibility of incineration dawned upon him. Crawling on hands and knees, he scrambled across the hillside and found a spot in which he felt sure there was a piece of open ground. He placed the radio behind a fallen bough and, as the flame-thrower tucked into the fog once more, he turned the dial on and scurried away, on hands and knees, behind a thicker fallen branch.

  A strange, static-like quality whistled through the air.

  Solomon hadn’t anticipated this and for a moment wondered if he shouldn’t rush back and tune the dial. But there were too many unknown factors involved, so he snuck behind the branch and listened as the footsteps approached.

  ‘OK, ready for another one,’ said a thick low voice. ‘Stand back. Three, two, one.’

  VoooOOOOOM!

  Just to his right, a vicious tongue of flame licked out, engulfing everything in its path with furious fire. Heat and vapours the deadly by-products.

  Solomon buried himself low in the ground covering his eyes and mouth.

  The troops followed the blazing trail a couple of metres away from him and, as Solomon listened to the footsteps trundle by, he feared he hadn’t turned the radio's volume up enough.

  But to his relief, the platoon came to a halt, leaning on some nearby branches.

  ‘Right, a couple of minutes, gents. Piss and drink, then back to it.’

  Solomon recognised the voice of Dickinson immediately.

  ‘Sir,’ came another voice. ‘For the record, I’m unhappy with Stone’s order of burning the house down, especially if there are geezers in it. Can’t we enter the building first to warn the occupants to remove themselves?’

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, Talbot,’ Dickinson said. ‘But we can only do that if we get there first. However, as Stone took the most direct path and is now burning his way to the top, I don’t think that’s likely. Furthermore,’ he added, as if to cover himself, ‘Stone is the commanding officer. Those are his orders.’

  Solomon sat up — the news profoundly revealing. They’d split into groups — two, three, possibly — and Stone was leading his group directly to the cottage.

  In the silence, as they caught their breath, the old wireless radio crackled into the gloom.

  ‘Sir, did you capture that?’

/>   He sensed the troops ducking.

  Silence suddenly consumed everything.

  Excellent — Solomon thought — just loud enough to send a shiver up the spine.

  ‘Coming from nine o’clock,’ one of the men whispered. ‘From behind a tree. Could be a device.’

  As if by magic, the troops dispersed into the fog.

  Solomon tucked himself under the branch as much as he could and held his breath.

  Moments later, the bottom of a boot appeared above his eye line. Then, and like a stalking cat, it moved away. Solomon exhaled.

  Several minutes passed.

  But as Solomon lay there, his initial idea of stalling the team now felt like the wrong idea. The information he’d garnered about Stone burning the cottage down and the general reaction of the soldiers made him consider a different course of action.

  Solomon wondered if he could make Dickinson understand that what he was doing was hindering and not helping. If he could explain, and not be on the receiving end of the soldier's ridicule, or a bullet, perhaps they might send Stone on a wild goose chase instead.

  The moment he first met Dickinson in Stone’s study, he sensed the young officer saw things a little differently to his commander. If anyone might be turned, it was him. Solomon weighed up his options and sat up wracking his brains.

  A cold, metallic object pushed into the middle of his bald patch.

  ‘One move, and I’ll blow your brains out,’ a cold voice said. ‘Understand?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ was the best Solomon could muster, in a voice that sounded very unlike his own.

  ‘Sir,’ the voice called out. ‘Over here! I’ve found someone. Doesn’t look particularly harmful from where I’m standing. Pretty sure he’s unarmed.’

  Solomon winced. ‘Can you please take that thing away from my head. I’m hardly going to run away.’

  The soldier weighed up the situation. ‘One false step, Grandpa…’ he grabbed Solomon by his collar and pulled him to his feet.

  Solomon shook himself down.

  ‘Hang on,’ the soldier said, in a slightly disbelieving voice. ‘You’re that schoolmaster from Upsall. Stone’s cousin?’

  Dickinson arrived on the scene. ‘Goodness,’ he said. ‘With respect, headmaster, what on earth brings you out here?’

  Solomon had the rough outline of a plan. ‘I’m frightfully sorry, Dickinson,’ he began, smiling his finest headmasterly smile and propping up his half-moon glasses, ‘but my aim was, quite simply, to hold you up. And that hissing radio was to stop you in your tracks and make you falter. Oh dear. Do look at me,’ he said inspecting his damaged and muddy clothes, ‘I’m not really cut out for this kind of thing, am I?’ For a brief moment, the sight of his torn clothes reminded him of Archie. ‘Bit of a bumbling idiot compared to you chaps.’

  Dickinson took the bait. ‘Why did you want to hold us up?’

  Solomon moved quickly to his most serious face. ‘Because I know what’s going on. And I know that it’s vital you chaps don’t meddle— ’

  ‘Meddle?’

  ‘Yes, get in the way,’ Solomon said, his eyes moving from one soldier to the other. ‘You see, he’s been absolutely correct.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your commander, Commissioner Stone.’

  ‘Stone? Correct? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Stone’s sensed that the de Lowe children are deeply wrapped up in the calamity. He’s spot on.’

  ‘Really?’ Dickinson said, his face betraying a look of confusion. ‘Then, you lied to him,’ he said disbelievingly.

  ‘Not entirely. You see, at the time I didn’t know what was what. In fact, it was Stone’s intuition that helped me figure out that something a little other-worldly was going on with those children.’

  Dickinson slipped back into his officer role. ‘Then, I take it you know where they are?’

  ‘The de Lowe children?’ Solomon said, rubbing his chin.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Solomon grinned. 'Well, funnily enough, I’m not sure I do. I’ve been led to believe they’re in a labyrinth not so far from here, trying to find a tablet.’

  ‘What? Like an iPad — as you said in Stone’s office?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Solomon chuckled. ‘That, dear fellow, was a lame ploy to mislead you. Look, if I tell you any more you probably won’t believe me—’

  ‘So, what is this tablet, then?’

  By now, the three troops had gathered around Dickinson and Solomon, just as Solomon had hoped.

  ‘These are ancient stone tablets,’ he began, ‘three of them, hidden from humankind for more time, I daresay, than we can ever comprehend. They hold the secrets to a legend from antiquity about humankind’s place and our role on this planet.’

  One of the soldiers harrumphed.

  Talbot laughed. ‘What a load of old bollocks—’

  ‘Now, here’s the thing, young man,’ Solomon said, rounding on him. ‘It is indeed a story which begs for mockery. And yes, you might quite easily regard it as a load of old balls. In fact, I would go so far as saying that this story is as easy to ridicule as the air we breathe around us. But...’

  The headmaster nodded sagely to himself, working the pause. ‘But, to truly understand, is to look around: Yorkshire lies in ruins, the world is suffering an incurable, violent and wholly unknown disease, and the Americans are about to launch a bomb that will wipe out northern England. The annihilation of our planet is imminent. So, with these nuggets of information in the back of your minds, please feel free to discredit everything I’m about to tell you.' He gazed at each soldier in turn. 'Alternatively, you can open your minds and hear the truth.’

  Solomon waited. ‘So, go on,’ he said, milking the attention. ‘Walk away now before you hear the nonsense, the "bollocks", that I’m about to dispel.’

  The troops fidgeted uncomfortably. The school-masterly telling-off had rendered them speechless.

  ‘Jolly good. Then I will continue,’ Solomon said. ‘There is no time for dilly-dallying, gentlemen. What I’m going to tell you, however absurd it may sound, is nothing less than how things stand at this precise moment in time.’ He paused for a beat, before adding, ‘so if anyone wants to say something, please do it now, before I begin.’

  Dickinson smiled. ‘We thought you knew something. What kind of person throws themselves into the foul water of an old chapel looking at stained-glass windows without a particularly good reason?’ He studied the faces of the troops. ‘Well, go on. But I’ll warn you; be brief — Stone has ramped-up his enthusiasm to find the de Lowe kids. I’m afraid he’s going to either kill them himself or torture them or do something pretty unpleasant.’

  ‘As I feared,’ the headmaster said. ‘And this is exactly what isn’t needed.’

  ‘Why?’ Talbot asked.

  The headmaster faced the soldier and raised his eyebrows. 'Because, my dear fellow, if the de Lowe children fail in the matter which has been tasked to them, then I’m afraid to say the whole world is going to go up the spout. It is no lie to say that they hold the key to this entire muddle.’

  The soldiers stared at him with looks as if to say, you must be — but maybe you aren’t — utterly insane.

  ‘You’re bloody kidding,’ Talbot said at length.

  ‘I wish I were,’ the headmaster replied. ‘The problem is, they have a seven-day deadline which coincides with the time limit of the Americans and their savage idea of razing Yorkshire to dust. Those children are running out of time and if Stone interferes in the slightest way — and I do know his intentions are noble — then I promise you one absolute certainty: this entire planet is up for a gigantic overhaul. And this means, in no short measure, that everything humankind has achieved up to this point will come to a rather ugly and abrupt finish. That includes the demise all of us standing here. The death of every loved one you have and the destruction of everything on this Earth.’

  ‘How come you know this?’

  ‘I was assi
gned to work it out. When I saw the children yesterday, they decided, on trust, to let me in on their secret. Now, either you’re going to help me, or you’re not.’

  The headmaster pursed his lips and dabbed his forehead. ‘Arrest me or believe me. The ball is in your court, Dickinson.’

  33 ISABELLA’S DARING

  For a room deep underground, the large domed chamber was surprisingly bright. Beneath the raised table structure was a pool of clear water, which flowed

  around the structure and was fed by water dripping repeatedly from a ledge high above into the stream. Over time, a channel had carved a way to the pool from the edge of the cavern to the middle.

  On top of the empty plinth, sat the rectangular stone tablet.

  As they wound their way around and around the long, brazier-lit labyrinth, Isabella had barely opened her eyes and, when the animals charged off down the illusionary path, a wave of utter revulsion swept over her followed by a surge of heat that rushed through her body. The veins in her temples throbbed as her brain went into action.

  ‘I’m going to get it,’ she cried. ‘It’s only there on the plinth.’

  ‘Get what?’ Archie said.

  ‘What do you bleeding well think? A chocolate bar? A newspaper? The tablet, you numpty.’

  Before anyone had a chance to move, Isabella, her legs like a blur, rocketed across the cavernous floor to the plinth, Archie after her, the distance between them increasing at every step.

  She jumped into the pool that circumnavigated the plinth, the cold water reaching up to the top of her calf muscles. Moments later, with the water above her knees, she reached the stony base and the first hand-hold, pulling herself clear. With her legs dangling above the rocks below, she levered herself up to the bottom lip of the frieze.

  ‘One more bit, Bells,’ she heard, as Archie appeared by the edge of the stream. ‘Grab the overhang. Swing your legs over.’