Bentwhistle the Dragon in A Threat from the Past

by Paul Cude

  Chapter 5: Smokin'

  Blaring into life at precisely twelve-thirty, the alarm shattered Peter's deep slumber, with the light from around the ill-fitting curtains in his bedroom preventing him from going back to sleep, despite burying his head firmly beneath his pillows for some time. Even though he felt exhausted, he grudgingly admitted defeat and threw back the duvet, planting his feet firmly on the floor. Slipping straight into his hockey kit, he stopped only to grab a bite to eat, his sticks and change of clothes already in the car. Fifteen minutes after waking up, he pulled into the overflowing car park of the sports club.

  Walking to the changing rooms, he bumped into a few of his new found human teammates, who gave him a ribbing for looking rougher than a sandblasted tramp.

  'If only they knew what I'd really been up to,' he thought. 'Their minds would be totally blown away.'

  Ten minutes in the changing room came and went, as he put on his shin guards and fiddled with his stick, all the time listening to the captain talk about the tactical side of today's match.

  Stripping off to reveal their matching orange tops and white shorts, they all marched purposefully outside to the Astroturf pitch to begin their warm up exercises, focused fully on what was to come, much of the clowning about forgotten. Usually the pitch was fully booked up on a Saturday, from around nine-thirty in the morning through to nearly six at night, with the use of the towering floodlights that encircled it. Today was no different, and as they all walked out, Peter noticed the men's first team were already playing in a match that looked as though it would end shortly. Heading to a small area of Astroturf reserved for warming up, behind one of the goals, separated by a metal fence, his opponents already there, knocking hockey balls to and fro, Peter started to go through his usual pre-game series of stretches. Five minutes later, with the action-packed match still going on in the background, he swapped the stretches for his stick, and started hitting a ball back and forth with one of his teammates, the rest of the squad doing likewise. With it nearly being time to start, Peter gathered in with the rest of his team, halfway through a conversation as to the identity of a new first team player nobody seemed to recognise. Peter listened as he continued to stretch.

  "Well, I've never seen him at training," said one.

  "There's a surprise," added another, cynically.

  "You should know by now that not all first teamers are required to attend training," piped up another.

  Finally, the cheekiest of the lot quipped,

  "Perhaps he's the captain's new boyfriend."

  With this the rest of the group shook their heads and wandered away a little.

  "Whaaaaat?" said the cheeky one, practically standing on his own now. "You were all thinking it."

  Having not been paying much attention, instead concentrating on his warm up, Peter decided to take a look at the newcomer. Glancing over to the very far 'D', he could barely believe what he was seeing. There, rushing about in full first team kit, was Major Manson. His heart sank. What the hell was he doing here? A sudden tap on the shoulder made him turn around with a start.

  "Are you okay Peter?" asked Andy, the captain of the second team. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "Ahh... I'm fine. Must have been that dodgy kebab last night," he lied, still reeling from seeing Manson on the pitch.

  "Okay," replied Andy, giving Peter a sneaky wink.

  Taking a large swig from his water bottle, trying to compose himself, the full time whistle from the first team's game rang in Peter's ears. Joining his teammates to head out onto the pitch proper, he hung about the entrance, pretending to fiddle with his shin pads. Eventually the first team players trudged off the pitch, nearly all carrying grazes or burns on their knees, legs and arms. Watching as Manson picked up his kit and walked around the pitch towards him, Peter made sure he stood in the way of the narrow gated entrance as his nemesis reached it. Chatting to one of his new teammates, Manson approached the entrance to the pitch, only to find Peter in his way, making himself as big as possible. With no choice but to wait, Manson stared directly at Peter, a scowl of epic proportions stamped on his face. For his part, Peter looked straight ahead, noticing that Manson made no effort to acknowledge him, as he headed to the halfway line to join the rest of his team. Sneaking a quick peek over his shoulder, he noticed that Manson didn't even look back at him, and had gone straight off to the changing rooms. That was when it hit him. There was no sign of a limp, or even his walking stick. How odd!

  "Come on Peter, let's go. It's time to start," called Andy, the captain. Slipping his fingers into his hand guard, he jogged off into his position, thoroughly fed up and distracted.

  The match did not go well. Not only were the opposition very good, but Peter found himself distracted by everything he'd seen before the game. Distracted didn't begin to cover it. So after the worst possible preparation for a game ever, Peter played like a drain. Within ten minutes they'd found themselves 3-0 down, and by half time it was 4-1. Andy the captain made the decision to substitute Peter at halftime, and although staying in his kit, ready to return to the action (rolling substitutes are used in hockey, meaning a player can come off and go back on as many times as he or she likes), he knew full well that because of the way he'd played, he would not get called back on.

  Fighting hard in the second half without him, the team gave a good account of themselves in eventually losing 5-4. Those early goals that Peter had played a part in had gone on to cost them dearly, something he, and everyone else in the team realised. Normally full of laughter and high jinks, the changing room was as flat and subdued as it had ever been.

  Once showered and changed, Peter thought about driving straight home, that's how bad his mood was, but even through the dark mist enveloping his mind, he knew that it would be perceived as unsportsmanlike if he disappeared now, without even talking to their opponents for ten minutes. Batting his worry about running into Manson to one side, he strolled into the bar, bought himself a drink and started chatting to the opposing team. Minutes drifted away, as he unintentionally started to have a good time, the fact that Manson was nowhere to be seen contributing greatly to this. After an hour or so, the opposing team left to return home. It was only then that Peter realised that he'd forgotten about all his worries. Thinking about going home for something to eat, abruptly he received a well timed pat on the back.

  "Nice job Peter," announced Andy, noticing the puzzled expression on Peter's face.

  Peter stood perplexed.

  "Socialising with our opponents."

  "Ahhh," muttered Peter.

  "Now about the game today," continued Andy, putting his arm around Peter's shoulder and slurring his words slightly. "You came in afterwards and behaved really well, which as far as I'm concerned, was the best thing you could have done. Everyone has a bad game from time to time. The secret's forgetting all about it, moving on and playing your best in the next match. I'll tell you a little secret," uttered Andy, getting right in Peter's face, and touching his nose for emphasis. "Some of the team thought you were going to drive off after the game in a huff. I told them you wouldn't."

  Peter smirked a little at that, knowing full well that he nearly had.

  "But you didn't," continued Andy. "It's good to have you in the team Peter. I'll see you at training on Tuesday. Now you'll have to excuse me, but there's a rather attractive lacrosse player that needs me to entertain her," he said winking, before staggering off into what had now become a rather crowded bar.

  Finding himself smiling, Peter was glad he'd stayed, and stood for a moment just taking in the atmosphere of the packed clubhouse.

  Filled with people, practically all the chairs in the place were taken, with most watching the sports news on the massive flat screen telly at the far end, waiting not so patiently for the football results. Arcade machines boomed every now and then, while the 'ching, ching, ching' of money crashing out of the fruit machines provided occasional interruption. Add the thud of pool balls crashing
together with the sound of friendly rivalry, it all made for a very eclectic and very intoxicating mix.

  He found the whole thing very special and felt privileged to be a part of it. There was nothing quite like this in the dragon world he'd been brought up in. As he took in the rowdy atmosphere, he found himself thinking of the one thing he really didn't miss. Going back a couple of years, the atmosphere probably would have been about the same, only a huge blanket of cigarette smoke would have hung in the air throughout the room, infecting everyone's clothes, hair and skin with its disgusting aroma. Not to mention the unseen damage it was doing to people’s lungs and other internal organs. Thankfully the government had chosen to implement a ban in public places, with the sports club only reluctantly complying right at the very last minute, unlike many of the other establishments in the area who had gone smoke-free long before the deadline had come into force. Credit to them though, they had swapped out all the soft furnishings, including the carpet, making the place a much brighter and fresher place to hang out. Of course there was always the spilt alcohol, something he had no doubt was going on around him right now, given how busy it was, and how drunk many of the patrons were. In places, the carpets were stickier than a gecko's tongue, however, he didn't mind that too much. What did bother him was having to walk through the constant cloud of smoke from all of the barred smokers who lurked outside the main doors, come rain, sunshine or snow, with little regard for anyone but themselves. Sometimes he thought that smokers were the most selfish people on the entire planet.

  The humans’ constant propensity to harm themselves never ceased to amaze the dragon community. Generally not a week went by without some new story or other appearing in one of the telepathic papers, showing how the humans had discovered some other way to do themselves considerable harm: if not smoking then drinking, drugs, chemical additives in food or unhealthy diets. Over the years dragons have tried to intervene, trying desperately to guide the humans in different directions to their so-called vices, but it seems the will of the people and the money behind it all are very hard to stamp out once and for all. In recent years the dragons have had more luck in reducing the impact of tobacco, through encouraging awareness campaigns, restrictions on sales, government taxes and the kind of blanket ban in entertainment establishments that currently exists in England and other countries around the world. Peter could of course see the irony in the fact that dragons have tried so hard to stop people smoking, when they themselves can produce flames from a single breath and enjoy nothing more than chomping on a whole load of burnt charcoal. The difference, most dragons will tell you, is that dragons' flaming breath is essentially pure, although it causes damaging smoke, depending on what it is burning. However, the modern day cigarette is filled to the brim with a cocktail of chemicals including nicotine, carbon monoxide, tar, acetone, ammonia, arsenic, benzene, cadmium and formaldehyde, all of which are pretty harmful on their own, let alone when put together.

  What fewer dragons, and virtually no people at all realise, is that the introduction of tobacco to the civilised world was an accident. Columbus thought that he and his crew had stumbled across it in 1492 when they first set foot onto the New World. Sir Francis Drake brought tobacco back from the Americas in 1573, before introducing Sir Walter Raleigh to it in 1585. The faction that had thrust tobacco at both Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh, were actually a band of rogue dragons known as the obscures (which means 'darkling'). Their plan was to take over large parts of the human world by tobacco addiction, with them controlling the supply of it. Fortunately the dragon Council got word of what was happening, and managed to head it off, with the dark dragons responsible being rounded up and captured, but not before tobacco had been introduced virtually worldwide, and compromised a large percentage of the population.

  The obscures actually invented tobacco for the sole purpose of corrupting human society, and by and large did quite a good job, only being stopped right at the last. Ever since, the dragon Council and its kind have been trying to rid the world of it, without much success. These facts have only come to light quite recently in dragon society (mainly due to the much more open regime of the current king) due to important revealing documents being discovered in a deserted part of Rome's Grand Library. The story of the introduction of tobacco is now told in every nursery ring so that young dragons can hopefully learn from it, and prevent the same mistakes being made in the future, as have already been made in the past. Peter only learned about this in his last years at Purbeck Peninsula, right after the information was made public.

  A sharp pain in his posterior jolted Peter back to reality, and caused him to drop his half empty pint glass. Watching in slow motion, the glass and its contents headed comically towards the beer stained carpet, knowing that an almighty roar from the patrons all around would be soon forthcoming. To his utter amazement, out shot a slim, graceful hand and caught the glass mid-flight, without spilling a single drop of its contents. Smiling, Richie handed him back the glass, before smacking him on the same area she'd just pinched.

  "Nice bum Peter," she ventured, raising her eyebrows at him.

  Shaking his head, while trying not to blush, he replied,

  "Crikey Rich, you frightened the hell out of me."

  "Lighten up Pete. It's only a bit of fun."

  "Yeah, I know," replied Peter, taking a breath. "How did you get on today? Did you win?"

  "Of course we did dopey. 9-4! Guess who scored the winning goal and a hat trick?" Richie bragged, raising her glass in his direction.

  "Hmmm... let me see. Was it that beautiful redhead Charlotte by any chance?" Peter said, wincing, knowing what was coming next.

  STAMP!!!!

  "Ouch!" yelped Peter, hopping about madly, after Richie's nearly playful stomp.

  "You know full well it was me," added the lacrosse star. "And I won man of the match."

  "Nice," said Peter, nursing his sore foot.

  "How did you get on?" asked Richie, turning things around whilst taking a huge gulp of her drink.

  "Don't ask," was all that he could mumble in reply.

  "No go on. Tell me."

  Knowing that he'd get no rest until he did, Peter reluctantly spilled the beans.

  "We lost 5-4."

  "That doesn't sound too bad," replied Richie.

  "I was subbed at halftime. Not brought back on either."

  "Oh," said Richie, beginning to understand. "Ah well. Everyone has bad games Pete. Well... nearly everyone," she said, winking and smiling, all the time referring to herself.

  He wondered just where she got her self assured cockiness from.

  "Do you want to know why I played so badly and got taken off?"

  "Of course," she replied.

  "When I got to the pitch, who should be playing in the game before for the first team...? MANSON," he whispered, for fearing of being overheard.

  "Hmmm... so?"

  "What the hell is he doing here? Don't you find it just a bit odd?" he pleaded.

  Richie shrugged.

  "Not really. I did mention it to him on one of his first tours of the offices."

  "WHAT!!!" exploded Peter, turning a furious shade of scarlet.

  "It's not a big deal," replied Richie calmly. "He mentioned he was a keen hockey player and how he'd played at quite a high level, so I told him about the sports club and the setup here. Apparently he talked to the first team captain and told him about his playing history, and that was enough to get him in the side. I'm not sure what all the fuss is about."

  Face pumped far too much full of blood, Peter pulled in and let out a couple of long, ragged breaths as he tried to contain the anger welling up inside him.

  "You've got to be kidding me Rich. Do you have any idea of the misery he's caused at work for me since he's arrived? And now the one place on the surface I go to enjoy myself, and he's here, playing for the flippin' first team."

  "Peter... calm down. It's not a problem. So he's here. It's not the end of the worl
d."

  That's not how it felt to Peter, standing in the middle of the crowded bar, staring at his feet in much the same way a petulant child would. His thoughts in utter turmoil, he looked as though he might cry. Not any part of his decades of training had prepared him for this. Reining in his emotions, he lifted his head and looked Richie straight in the eyes.

  "I thought you understood Rich. Something's happening here, something big. I can't put my finger on it, but this is something that affects us all. I'm sure of it."

  "You can't fathom that just because you don't get on with the guy, Pete," whispered Richie, leaning in closer. "He's not a dragon. He's just an ordinary bloke, doing his job. This is the first time since you've left the nursery ring that anyone has challenged you about anything. And you don't like it! You need to remember what we were taught. Blend in and act like normal humans. Don't upset the status quo."

  With so much fury returning to his face, he looked like he was about to explode, he hit back at his best friend.

  "ME! Remember what we were taught! That's a laugh! You constantly abuse your powers, in front of the whole world. Arm wrestling rugby players and goodness knows what else! If the dragon Council found out about half the stuff you get up to, you'd be for it. Anyway, what about being vigilant and looking out for anything unusual? We all had that drummed into us. That's pretty much the point of us all being here. And that's what's happening with Manson, but of course you wouldn't see that. You're too busy being caught up playing the 'beautiful kick ass heroine', that you're blinded to the reality of what's really going on," Peter raged.

  This was the first time ever that he and Richie had exchanged cross words. Normally he wouldn't say 'boo’ to a goose.

  As he turned to leave, Richie reached out and grabbed his arm in an attempt to stop him, but he shrugged her off. He had to leave, so he did. As he weaved in and out of the revelling patrons, a hulking great figure stepped out into his path.

  "Hey Pete," cried Tank, looking like he'd been at the epicentre of a bomb blast. Sporting a black eye, bruised lip and a bandage across his hand, it was hard to believe the happy go lucky smile that adorned his face.

  With Tank in his way, you might have thought Peter would have stopped and spoken with his friend. But he didn't. Swerving at the last second, he quickly threaded his way through the throng of people between him and the exit, before jumping into his car and racing home. Tired, hungry and emotional, he decided to skip having a meal, instead choosing to go straight to bed, wishing he lived and worked somewhere far away from Salisbridge.

  Unusually, Peter woke up really early and despite trying, couldn't go back to sleep, and so after a big breakfast, he headed out for a walk around the city. It being early on a Sunday, there were not many people about. He took a leisurely wander along the old path that crossed the water meadows, taking in the stunning views of the cathedral in the crisp morning air, dressed only in his favourite grey shorts and hockey tracksuit top. Strange for any dragon to do, given their extreme dislike of the cold, and he assumed from the looks he was getting from what few passersby there were, that he currently stood out as a human. Still, mentally he chastised himself for not doing this more often, and taking the extraordinary beauty all around him for granted. As he exhaled and his breath froze in an almost perfect cone, it reminded him of his other guise, the one that would have produced a cone of fire instead of cold.

  Following the winding path until it reached the point where the river gushed white water out in the form of a little waterfall beneath the historic hotel, he flopped down on a bench in the park opposite, watching the ducks and their newly hatched chicks flit about in the clear, shallow water right in front of him, his mind awash with confusion.

  Sitting in this idyllic scene, he felt like part of a Constable painting. Time slipped away as he sat there and let the world pass him by. Eventually it got busier with dog walkers, parents taking their children for a walk, and even the odd tourist snapping away with their fancy cameras. Behind him, teenagers began a game of football, using their jumpers as goalposts. He thought of all the wondrous scenes he'd witnessed throughout the dragon domain. Some breathtaking, others rivalling the seven wonders of the world, all skilfully concealed from these fragile human beings. Briefly he wondered what the humans would make of it all. He had to confess to himself though, as he sat and basked in the lukewarm rays of the April sun, that very little came close to the natural beauty of what he was witnessing here today.

  The bells of an ice cream van resounding to the theme of a children's rhyme pulled him out of his daydream, with him only then realising it was early afternoon and that he'd sat there for well over four hours. Shaking the pins and needles out of his arms and thighs as he stood up, he started to head home, grabbing an ice cream from the van on his way past.

  Ambling back, all the time continuing to wrap his tongue around the ever decreasing scoop of mint choc chip ice cream, he was amazed at how much busier things had become. Walkers and cyclists of every age careened around one another on the nearly full to bursting path. Cameras and camcorders were commonplace now, out to capture the magnificent sights that lay before them. As he passed groups of tourists from America, Europe and Japan, it suddenly struck him. He too was a tourist, only from the humid depths of the planet. That made him chuckle as the final pieces of the now soggy ice cream cone slipped down his throat.

  On getting home, the first thing he noticed was the flashing red light on the answer machine, indicating that someone had left a message. It must be Richie he thought, wanting to apologise. This brought him swiftly back to reality, after a rather surreal start to the day, reminding him of work, his friends and of course... Manson!

  Pressing the green button, he waited patiently as the electronic voice said,

  "You have one new message."

  He was surprised, when the voice turned out to be that of Tank, and not Richie.

  "Hi Peter, just phoning to see if you're okay. You seemed a bit fed up last night. Rich told me what happened, and I just wanted to let you know that I'm here for you, if you wanted to talk. I'm in all morning, but have some rugby coaching this afternoon that might go on into the evening. Give me a call when you finally fall out of bed you lazy git," Tank finished, mischievously.

  Smiling at that last comment, Peter deleted the message.

  'Lazy git indeed,' he thought to himself. Pleased that his friend had phoned, he convinced himself that he couldn't have cared less that he hadn't heard from Richie. Knowing that it was unlikely he'd catch up with Tank today, he considered finishing work early tomorrow with a view to seeking his friend out for a much needed chat.