Bentwhistle the Dragon in A Threat from the Past

by Paul Cude

  Chapter 10: An Unusual Request

  Eight hours later, Peter sat in his kitchen devouring his breakfast, tired from the hours of gaming. Although weary, he was happy that Tank had come round and dropped off a mantra for him to try at Mark's house.

  Gee Tee had said that the mantra, if used properly, should get rid of any toxins throughout the house and the surrounding area. He'd also passed on a second mantra that would confirm everything was totally safe and free from any contaminants. Peter was eager to try it, and had planned to take the afternoon off from work this coming Friday, to finish off clearing the house and try out his friend's hard work. Not only would it be a job out the way, but any time away from Cropptech at the moment seemed like a complete bonus as far as he was concerned.

  Chomping on another mouthful of cereal, he decided he'd grab a copy of the Daily Telepath and put it away to read later. Closing his eyes, he used all his will and concentration to send off his mind on its usual route to find the newspaper. Doing it on autopilot so to speak, meant that he was free to finish off his breakfast. Halfway through another giant mouthful, he realised something was dreadfully wrong with the download. Squeezing his eyes together tight, his conscious mind managed to catch up with the part of him that was off in the ether, desperate to see what the problem was. Problems like this were fairly commonplace, generally tending to be difficulties at the other end, complications due to weather conditions or the individual newspapers themselves trying out something new to improve their services. When he'd encountered these problems in the past and caught up with his outstretched mind, he'd always found giant worded messages floating around the filing cabinet area, informing everyone of the problem and announcing when a fix would be in place. Although this produced the same feeling in him, it did feel slightly more... urgent!

  Linked fully with his mind once more, he expected to see the giant messages flying around in the air. But this was not the case. Instead, he found a huge blinking red arrow pointing only him in the direction of an old wooden filing cabinet that looked as though it had seen better days. With an air of caution, he guided his mind over and very carefully opened it up.

  Instinctively he pulled back a little, expecting an array of information to come screaming out over the top of the drawer at him. But not so. Out flew a little paper plane, dancing and swirling in the air, doing loop the loops, shaped like the iconic Concorde itself, right down to the very last detail. He could have sworn there was even a cabin crew inside the cockpit. Without warning, the plane bucked, headed straight upwards, inverted on itself and, putting on a spurt of speed, flew directly into Peter's consciousness. Overwhelmed and surprised at first, it took him a few seconds to realise that he had to unfold the plane to read the message within. On doing so, he was surprised to see a very unexpected invitation.

  YOU ARE SUMMONED TO A MEETING WITH COUNCILLOR HITCH ROSEBLOOM OF THE DRAGON COUNCIL ON SATURDAY AT 5.30PM ROOM 54367 OF THE COUNCIL BUILDING. PUNCTUALITY IS EXPECTED.

  After recovering from the initial shock, Peter filed the message away in his subconscious and whizzed off to retrieve the newspaper he'd been looking for in the first place. On his return he finished his breakfast, all the time wondering why he'd been asked to meet the councillor. The rest of the week passed without event and although Peter had tried extremely hard to keep tabs on the ever elusive Manson, it had proved all but impossible, with just the occasional glimpse of him coming and going in and out of Garrett's office. Friday afternoon came along and after changing into some casual clothing, he drove straight from work to Mark's house.

  After a couple of hours, Peter had logged and neatly packed the remainder of Mark's belongings (at least those that would fit) and put them safely in his car. He had searched the house as thoroughly as possible and had not come across Manson's lost book, or anything else that would have interested him. The only thing he'd really discovered was that the foul smelling toxin was absolutely everywhere, even in the dank, dark old loft and the tiny cupboard under the stairs that contained only the gas meter and the vacuum cleaner.

  With the house all but empty, apart from the larger furniture which he'd arranged to be picked up at a later date, he opened up the wooden prism that Tank had given him, in the middle of the living room. As he did so, Tank's words about Gee Tee being incredibly old and more than a little forgetful rang in his ears. Combined with the worry that he might not be up to the task (after all he was still in his infancy in dragon terms) he could positively feel the butterflies fluttering around inside his stomach. Pulling out a small packet of powder that was wrapped in a flimsy sheet of parchment, he unfolded it, noticing that Gee Tee had written on it to make sure that all the windows and doors within the house were open. Making sure they were, Peter opened the packet and poured the powder into the palm of his hand, having already memorised the mantra from his brief glimpse of it. By the look of things, the master mantra maker had not only translated the mantra into English, but had also made it rhyme to add more power to it. No wonder it had taken the old dragon a little while. Translating was one thing, translating and rhyming, that was something altogether more complicated.

  'No surprise he's the best in the business then,' thought Peter. Changing his focus from the old shopkeeper to the matter quite literally at hand, he closed his eyes and started to recite the words of the mantra.

  Powder of bat, essence of lynx,

  Do your job and be rid of this jinx.

  Seek it all out and blow it away,

  Once gone for good, away it will stay.

  Feeling the cool rush of air on his skin, Peter opened his eyes to see several cyclones whirling around the room, causing the cushions on the sofa to fly and the old wooden legs on the dining table to creak in despair. After three circuits of the living room, the cyclones shot out of the door and scattered in different directions. Retrieving the cushions, he sprawled out on the sofa, waiting until he could no longer hear the flapping of curtains or the rustling of blinds. It didn't take long. A quick tour of the house revealed everything was back to normal, with absolutely no sign at all of any horrible smell. Opening up the prism once more, he removed the second mantra, the one that would check just how safe the house and surrounding area were. Reciting the words, he chuckled to himself on noticing the old shopkeeper had done the same with this one as he had with the last.

  Oh wonder of wonders, check all of this dirt,

  And see that there's nothing to cause any hurt.

  Check everything here is protected and clean,

  A message from you we will wait to be seen.

  As the last word rolled off his tongue, a small ball of intensely bright light appeared in the centre of the room. Abruptly, two dozen fluorescent blue dragonflies emerged from it, swiftly zooming off in every different direction. Again, Peter chose to wait in the living room, hoping that whatever sign would appear, he would be able to spot it when it happened. Some of these mantras were renowned for being unreliable, or for having a message that lasted half a second. Even as a dragon, it was easy to blink and miss it. He was determined that this was not going to happen. A few minutes after having left, the dragonflies, one by one, all started to return.

  As the last dragonfly entered the brilliant ball of light, it began to spin violently. Beams of light started to erupt from it, causing Peter to have to shield his eyes. Suddenly a loud 'POP' shattered the silence, revealing a giant worded message that ran mid-air around the room, again and again and again. In the same colour as the dragonflies, the words 'ALL CLEAR, ALL CLEAR' soared around the room, weaving in and out of lampshades, lifting the curtains almost clear of their rails, and once again bringing a whole new meaning to the words 'scatter cushions'. After a minute or so the letters started to fade, with the words eventually fizzling out about half a minute later. Standing in the middle of the room, Peter breathed a sigh of relief. The house had been made safe, and could now be sold without endangering any innocent bystanders, the clearance men could now safely collect all the
furniture to be sold, and the monies from all of that could be transferred to the children's hospital as per Mark's wishes.

  Pulling out his phone, Peter flipped it open and looked up the number for Burns and Haybell solicitors which he'd already pre-programmed in. Eventually he got through to Mr Burns, informing him that the house had been emptied apart from all the large furniture which would be gone within a day. The solicitor told Peter that he would have to come into the office to complete some forms and arrange for the funds from the sale of Mark's effects to go to the hospital, which would all but complete the entire process. Peter agreed to go in just before five o'clock that afternoon.

  Entering the offices of Burns and Haybell at exactly ten to five, Mr Burns met him and escorted him through to his office. Peter handed over two newly cut sets of keys and all the relevant paper work that he had. Mr Burns checked that everything was in order and asked for a couple of signatures from Peter, to which he duly obliged. Once it was completed he got up to leave, but Mr Burns ushered him back into his chair.

  "There's one last thing that I have to do," said the solicitor, walking over to a large, dark coloured wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. Much to Peter's surprise, it turned out to be a safe, and once sure that he'd obscured Peter's view, Mr Burns entered the digital pass code, before the tiniest of 'clicks' opened the door. Pulling out a small package, Mr Burns closed the safe door, before returning to his seat opposite Peter.

  On the table he carefully placed a small wooden jewellery box. Peter wondered what was going on. The solicitor looked across the desk at Peter and said,

  "The last request in Mr Hiscock's will was that you should take possession of this item after completing all the deeds as executor." With that, he pushed the small wooden box across the shiny surface of the table towards Peter. As Peter picked up the box, Mr Burns stood up and offered out his hand.

  "Our business here is complete, Mr Bentwhistle. Do have a lovely weekend."

  After shaking Mr Burns’ hand, Peter left the offices and walked back to where he had parked his car, more than a little intrigued as to what Mark had left him. On getting into the car, he slid the key effortlessly into the ignition before hesitating. With an unbridled curiosity burning inside him, he was unable to resist any longer. Making sure nobody could see, he opened up the wooden box in his lap. His eyes grew wide with surprise. Inside was an intricate silver chain with a tiny, sparkling trident hanging from it.

  He stared in wonder as he held the trident up in the palm of his hand. Although it was made of some kind of metal, the colour it gave off was purple. Not only that, but it kind of... pulsated. He'd never seen or heard of anything quite like it.

  After a few more minutes of gazing longingly at it, he drove home, where he spent the rest of the evening thinking about the necklace. A quick search of the internet came up blank. It was a mystery, and one that intrigued him like nothing had for some time. In fact he was so taken with the necklace that by the end of the evening he'd decided to wear it, even though he'd never before felt the need for any jewellery of any sort. To be honest, as a dragon, it was all a bit of a burden, because necklaces and rings would either drop off or be destroyed during the change from human to dragon and vice versa. There was something about this necklace though. He felt he should be wearing it and could almost feel the power radiating from it. With it fast approaching midnight, and his newly gained trinket firmly around his neck, he sloped off to bed hoping to get as much sleep as possible in preparation for his meeting with Councillor Rosebloom the very next day.

  Rising much later than usual, Peter spent most of the day doing household chores that he'd put off during the week, a sense of nervousness steadily building as the day moved on. It was unusual to be summoned to see any of the councillors and he had to wonder why his presence had been requested. Eventually it was time to leave and so he did, allowing more than enough time to reach London, and the council building.

  As usual, the monorail was its efficient self, departing exactly on time. Instead of alighting at the normal stop to go and see Tank at the Mantra Emporium, he continued on to Buckingham station. As the name implies, the station itself is located almost directly beneath Buckingham Palace. He'd never been to this part of London before and was surprised at the difference in architecture between here and the area in which Tank and Gee Tee worked. Here the buildings all seemed relatively new, as well as spacious and... decadent. In contrast, the area where the Mantra Emporium was located was a spider's web of cramped passageways and narrow bridges, with the buildings all being single or double storey at most, and at best being described as run down, unlike the wide, clean polished streets that Peter now found himself walking down in the direction of the council building.

  Turning a corner between two rather tall structures, he let out a gasp at what lay before him. He'd thought the other buildings new, outrageously large and self-indulgent, but what stood before him now was something else altogether. Of course he'd seen it on the front of the telepathic papers a few times, but in all honesty had paid it scant attention, what with it seeming so far away from everything else in his life. But here and now, it oozed magnificence in a way that just didn't come across in the pictures from the papers. At least thirty storeys high, it might have even been more, given that for the first time he couldn't see where the roof of the cavern started.

  'Remarkable,' he thought. The height, however, was not the most amazing aspect of the building. Dragon buildings (whether homes or workplaces) are generally made out of stone, carved into rock, or very occasionally made from the remains of spectacular lava formations. He knew from the papers that this building was special, but this was not what he'd expected at all. As well as being tall, the building was a litany of curves, with not a right angle in sight, the construction seamless. No join, no gaps, nothing. He couldn't even take a guess at the material used in its construction. He'd never seen anything like it. Part of him wanted to call it metal, as it had that underlying look, but he knew it couldn't possibly be, with its incredible reflective properties gleaming with an ever changing oil slick of colours. If you continued to look for too long, it almost looked as though it was moving. Unreal.

  Stomping his tail on the path in admiration, he continued on the walkway towards the main entrance. Just when he thought it couldn't get anymore surreal, he stumbled across two gurgling pools of lava on either side of the main steps that led to the official entrance. Both pools were made from the same material as the building, and most dragons either slowed or stopped when passing the pools, gazing contently in quiet contemplation into the steaming, writhing, hot mass.

  Ignoring his body's need to stop at the lava pools, he passed through the giant arch denoting the entrance to the building, noticing two hulking great dragon guards stationed off to either side, hidden from sight by a row of gigantic pillars. His body's need to stop at the pools had now been replaced by the irrepressible urge to run. Run as far and as fast he could, just to get away from those guards. They were the most ferocious and frightening dragons he'd ever seen, and from the colours adorning the shining pikes that they carried, he knew they were part of the King's Guard. He stumbled on, unable to look directly at the dragons, feeling more than a bit guilty, although why, even he didn't know, much in the same way totally innocent humans feel guilty around a policeman in uniform.

  Weirdly, the lobby of the council building was much the same inside as it was outside. Every part of the building had that metallic sheen to it, emphasised to a point by the highly polished floors. It felt very space age, and almost a bit too much for Peter who was much more comfortable in traditional dragon surroundings.

  Or so he thought. It struck him that he thought Gee Tee was stuck in his ways for only letting dragons in their solitus form enter his shop, when here he was himself wishing that the very modern building he was standing in was much more low tech. Smiling to himself, he realised that he had much more in common with the master mantra maker than he cared to admit, altho
ugh he certainly wouldn't be telling the old dragon as much.

  Tearing himself away from thoughts of his friends, he turned his attention to the row upon row of touch screen LCDs that occupied the lobby. Wandering up to the nearest, he scrolled through the display, brought up a map of the building and found that the office he was looking for was about as far away as you could get from where he now stood, the furthest corner of the twenty ninth floor to be precise.

  Instantly his eidetic memory remembered the route. It was then that he noticed a button at the bottom of the screen marked 'route planner'. Pressing the button, the screen asked him for the office number, which he duly entered. Suddenly a huge green illuminated arrow appeared on the floor in front of him. Bemused, he took a step forward onto the arrow. Another arrow appeared in front of him again. Shaking his head, he took another step forward. Again another arrow, and again, and again. He followed them all the way to his destination, taking a very different route to the one his eidetic memory would have guided him along. Arriving outside Hitch Rosebloom's office, he took a seat in one of the silver, oversized dragon chairs that adorned the corridor.

  'Not as comfy as the ones in Gee Tee's workshop,' he told himself, wondering just how long he'd have to wait to be seen.

  Unlike the waiting area in, say, a dentist’s or doctor’s surgery on the surface, there were no books or magazines to peruse because nearly all dragons had access to papers and other reading materials via their telepathic abilities. Peter thought about accessing the latest edition of the Daily Telepath, but with the clock on the wall reading 5.22pm he decided against it, especially as his nerves had started showing over the last few minutes. All sorts of thoughts were currently running through his head as to why he'd been summoned here, and none of them were good. Was it because he was spending too much time in his human form? He knew they kept an eye on that, for fear of young dragons getting addicted to it. Rumours around the nursery ring would have young dragons believe it can go so badly wrong that those in question are unable to use their powers to revert back to their dragon forms, with a Council based specialist unit on standby at all times, ready to forcibly change dragons back using unique and varied mantras. Much time had passed since anyone was reported to have needed these services, or so rumour had it, mainly due nowadays to the Council’s diligence in that particular area.

  He shuddered at the very thought of that. More likely it was some of Richie's antics that had been stumbled upon and he would be grilled about her arm wrestling rugby players, or the incident with the gang of youths who tried to relieve her of her phone one dark night in the car park of the sports club, who all coincidentally ended up in hospital with multiple broken bones each, or heaven forbid the day she took on three of the biggest, most obnoxious rugby players in the world at 'tug of war' and singlehandedly, in front of a huge crowd, beat them hands down. Or, of course, the dreaded dalliances. On no, not that. Anything but that.

  'Please don't let me be quizzed about Richie's actions,' he thought, trying hard to focus on something else, without much success. Without knowing it, he began to finger the mysterious trident that hung around his neck. On transforming earlier, he'd forgotten he'd had it on in his human guise. It was only once he'd changed that he'd realised. Unbelievably, to him anyway, was the fact that the trident had changed with his bodily shape, now hanging around his prehistoric neck that was ten times the size of his usual human guise. Impressed and amazed didn't really cover it. Although he didn't know anything about the trinket, it was already as magical an item as it could be to him.

  Wishing it to be 5.30 just so that the ordeal could be over, the clock on the wall told him he had a few minutes left to wait. Not helping was the fact that he was letting off a lot of steam, so much so that he wouldn't have been out of place at a redeveloped railway or a kettle testing facility, and was a sure giveaway of the nerves that he felt. It was everywhere, and try as he might to regulate his temperature, it did little to affect the plumes spewing out of his nose and the top of his head. He was getting very strange looks from passersby. It was then that another thought occurred to him.

  'Please tell me they haven't found out about the incident with the neighbour's cat,' he thought, dejectedly. About a month ago he'd been out in his garden, just tidying up, you know... cutting the grass, a little bit of planting, that sort of thing, when he'd discovered a large area of lawn right at the back was covered in massive amounts of cat poo. Not a particularly keen gardener, he did however like to keep the house and garden looking neat and tidy. So he was quite appalled to see the mess all over his lawn, and even more disappointed to have to move it all so that he could mow the grass. Over the next few days he had kept a close eye on the state of the lawn and discovered that the cat belonging to the people two doors away was coming into his garden, doing its business, and then returning home. This was happening at all times of the day and night, and it made no apparent difference when Peter ran out into the garden to shoo the cat away. In the end, he went round to the house the cat belonged to and explained the situation to the people there, expecting them to be sympathetic to his cause. But they just laughed and said cats will be cats, before slamming the door shut in his face. Not much made him angry, but as he walked away from there, he was absolutely fuming, and had decided, very un-Peter-like, that he would do something about it. Later that night, after dark, he crept silently out into the garden. Adjacent to the lawn was a small wooden construct that held all the different recycling boxes, until every couple of weeks it was time to put them out for the refuse people to collect. The recycling, as it happened, had been collected that morning, freeing up about enough space for someone to hide inside. So, cloaked in stealth, he slid inside, left the wooden door slightly ajar, and switched on what can only be described as his dragon night vision. He didn't have to wait long. Slinking its way through a small gap in the fence at the bottom of his garden, the cat sauntered its way across the path and onto the lawn, not six feet from where he was hiding. The cat was facing the opposite direction, as it started to do its business.

  'Perfect,' he thought. Silently moving the door open to create a slightly bigger gap, Peter drew in a deep breath, and concentrated with all of his dragon ability. Now it's not impossible for a dragon to breathe fire whilst in human form, but it's very, very difficult. It's also frowned upon by most other dragons, and in particular, the dragon Council. At the nursery ring, the young dragons were taught it was never appropriate to do such a thing because it was deemed there would never be a situation where a dragon would need to do it. Even so, the youngsters practised it anyway. As the pleasurable sensation of the warmth tickled its way up his throat, he'd long since decided he couldn't give a stuff about being frowned upon. Opening his mouth and tilting his head slightly to get the right angle around the door, he focused with all his will and let rip with a searing stream of crackling fire that caught the cat right on its tail. Although relatively narrow, the stream of flame was unbelievably hot, with the cat's tail disintegrating at the point of contact. So accurate was the flame, that it didn't even singe a single blade of the freshly mown grass. The piercing howl of terror from the cocky cat was something that to this day, still brought a smile to Peter's face even though he knew it shouldn't. On the plus side, his garden had been poo-free since that very day, and the cat now gets mistaken for a Manx cat, much to the disappointment of its owners, so he'd heard.

  'Oh God, please don't let that be the reason I'm here,' he thought, folding his wings over his steaming head in shame. As the clock struck the half hour, he unfolded his wings and sat up straight. Right on cue the door to Rosebloom's office opened, with a booming voice inside announcing,

  "Please come in Bentwhistle."

  He stood up and, after a deep breath, walked on through into the office. The councillor offered a chair, which Peter duly sat down in. Instead of getting straight down to it, Rosebloom continued rifling through a pile of papers on his desk, adding to Peter's already nervous state. The young dragon
tried to distract himself by concentrating on something else. It was then that he took a good look at the councillor for the very first time. Surprisingly small by dragon standards, his colouring was nothing special - light green all over, except for a big white mark that resembled a blooming rose across his stomach.

  'Ah... must be where he got his name from,' he thought, his nerves having fully retreated to the back of his mind. The councillor's head though, was something to behold. A huge long swathe of black hair flowed down past his neck, the pony tail it was tied into zigzagging throughout the protruding scales on his back. Peter had never seen anything like it. As if that wasn't strange enough, glittering red jewel piercings ran in two lines up either side of his nose, until they met a pair of darkened, space age, wrap around glasses. It looked for all intents and purposes like he was trying to emulate all of the famous laminium ball players, all at once. It was most disconcerting, and just looked... WRONG! Caught up in the moment, Peter could feel his body temperature start to rise, just when he'd thought he'd got it under control, as he realised the self styled, hip and trendy councillor was glaring over the top of his glasses in his direction.

  "Everything alright Bentwhistle?" the councillor enquired.

  "Ummm... sure... yep... everything's fine."

  "You do know why you're here, don't you... Bentwhistle?" asked Rosebloom, scratching his scaly jaw line.

  "Well," replied Peter nervously, "...not exactly."

  The councillor slammed down the papers he'd been sifting through, and stared intently at Peter.

  "I would have thought it was obvious... youngster."

  Peter sat there under the intense scrutiny of the councillor, imagining that a giant crevice had opened up and swallowed him whole, and that he was now tumbling off into oblivion. It almost seemed a kinder fate. Unfortunately he was still glued to the chair, with Rosebloom sitting opposite, waiting for some kind of response.

  Peter could feel his temperature rising as though it was about to shoot through the roof, and had decided to just admit that he had no idea why he'd been summoned. Before he could do that though, the councillor began to speak.

  "You have been summoned here today due to the untimely death of Mark Hiscock. My understanding is that you now hold the highest position of any dragon throughout the Cropptech company. Is that correct?"

  Peter was so relieved to hear that this was all about his job, and not any of the crazy ideas that had been going through his head beforehand, that he managed in one go to bring his body temperature right down, looking both calm and composed at the same time.

  "That's correct," he agreed, nodding his head.

  "Well, as I'm sure you're aware, we take a great deal of interest in what goes on there, mainly due to it being the leader in the field of extracting and processing laminium. Our domain would be in grave trouble if something untoward should happen to Cropptech. It's vital that every precaution is taken to safeguard its wellbeing."

  Peter nodded his head in agreement with everything the councillor said, wondering where on Earth all of this was going.

  "Mark Hiscock was always the Council's point of contact within Cropptech. That responsibility has now fallen to you. So you might find from time to time you get asked to speak to Mr Garrett about specific arrangements that have been made, sometimes about deliveries, often about newly found deposits in out of the way places. You can liaise with this office any time you like, and if there are any problems or anything you're worried about regarding your work, please don't hesitate to bring them to me directly. I will give you my card on the way out."

  Sitting in the huge oversized chair, his tail dangling through the hole in the back, its tip flicking against the floor every now and then, Peter felt a great weight had been lifted off him.

  'At last,' he thought, 'somebody I can turn to and trust about all the odd things that have been happening at work. Somebody that will know the right thing to do.'

  Rosebloom leaned across the desk and said,

  "Anything you're unsure of or want to ask?"

  "There is something actually," he replied, relieved to be passing the burden of Manson and his antics on to somebody else. Over the next ten minutes, he sat and outlined what had been going on at Cropptech, particularly the effect he seemed to be having on Al Garrett and the ever changing state of power. Much to Peter's delight, the councillor sat and listened very carefully to every word that he'd said, even at one point jotting down notes on a pad, despite his perfect recall.

  "So you see, after the funeral I spoke at length with Gee Tee and he suggested we use a mantra to cancel out the toxic effects in Mark's house and..."

  "Hold on a minute Bentwhistle," ordered Rosebloom. "Gee Tee?"

  "Yes that's right. My best friend Tank works at his Mantra Emporium in London and that's how I got to know him and he suggested..."

  "ENOUGH!" roared the councillor, slamming his wings onto the table, causing all his papers to fly off in different directions.

  Shocked by the outburst he'd just provoked, Peter remained seated and wide-eyed as Rosebloom leaned across the counter, so close that Peter could almost taste the acrid stench of his smoky breath.

  "That old dragon is nothing more than a meddling idiot, with barely any idea about mantras or any other dragon lore that he claims to understand," the councillor admonished.

  Not quite sure what kind of reaction was expected of him, Peter sat stock still and remained silent. The councillor pulled himself back to his side of the desk and bent down to retrieve some of the things that had flown onto the floor in his fit of rage that now seemed to be over. After a few minutes passed in total silence, and Rosebloom had finally returned everything to its rightful place on the desk, he turned once again to face a very intimidated Peter.

  "Listen very carefully... Bentwhistle," Rosebloom ventured, with an edge to his voice, "as I'm only going to tell you this once. I don't want any more of this Gee Tee nonsense. Do you understand?"

  Peter started to open his mouth to protest, but read the glint in Rosebloom's eyes and decided against it, realising he was only going to make his predicament worse.

  "That dragon," continued the councillor, "is nothing but trouble, and if I find out that he is in any way involved in events taking place at Cropptech, then there will be serious repercussions for you... Bentwhistle. Do I make myself clear?"

  Peter slumped in the chair and nodded obediently.

  "Now... get out of my office," instructed the councillor, gesturing towards the door. "And I would suggest you use your initiative to take care of that Manson fellow. After all he is only human, and shouldn't present too much of a challenge even for you."

  Closing the door gently on the way out, Peter breathed a sigh of relief, wanting to sit down and sort out his thoughts, but desperate to leave the building and be as far away as possible from the irritable councillor. Hurriedly, he followed the same route out as he'd come in, not once appreciating the majestic surroundings he found himself caught up in. On reaching the exit, he bounded down the outside steps two at a time, getting disapproving looks from the dragons that had stopped to gaze into the bubbling lava pools. He didn't care. But once out of sight of the council building, he had no idea what to do next. His head was buzzing from all the things going on inside it. Continuing to walk, all he could think was that he needed somebody to talk to. But who? Tank, Richie, Gee Tee... oh, he just couldn't decide. Looking up, he found that his prehistoric body had taken him back to the monorail station of all places. Instead of boarding the waiting carriage that would have taken him home in the blink of an eye, he opted to sit down in one of the very few seats on the platform, watching the steady stream of dragon passengers coming and going. He had never really thought about it before, but he supposed the reason there weren't many seats at monorail stations in general, unlike the railway stations above, was that nobody ever had to wait more than a couple of minutes for the monorail to arrive. Yet another contrast between the two worlds he loved.

>   Frustrated, and not for the first time today, he buried his head in between his wings, confused and unable to come up with a course of action. He was so consumed with his own predicament that he failed to notice somebody slide into the oversized chair next to him. After a few more minutes of self pity, he decided that he would be better off at home. Unfurling his wings, he noticed for the first time the occupant of the next chair. It was the old man, the same one who used to come and watch him in the nursery ring. What a coincidence! Unusually in human form... well, for anyone around here, he looked much the same as Peter remembered him, but with slightly longer grey hair and a face that looked just a little more weary and tired, despite the fact that it was currently flashing him, a great big smile.

  "Peter, isn't it?"

  "That's right," he replied. "Long time no see. Fancy meeting you here," he said noticing that the old man was staring intently at the trident hanging around his neck.

  The old man managed to tear his gaze away from the trident long enough to look Peter in the eye.

  "I have an office close by and was just on my way to catch the monorail when I thought I recognised those markings," he said, motioning towards the bent whistle markings on Peter's body.

  Peter nodded his head, and asked,

  "Have you been back to the nursery ring recently? I go when I can but it's not as often as I'd like."

  The dragon in his old man guise smiled, a faraway expression etched into his face.

  "I've not been back for quite some time. Like you, finding the time becomes increasingly difficult."

  Peter nodded in agreement.

  "So anyway young Peter, you look... troubled."

  "More than you could ever know," Peter uttered in reply.

  Stroking his grey stubbly chin, the old man considered Peter's words carefully.

  "Perhaps it would help to talk about it. I'm a very competent listener you know."

  Shaking his head, Peter stressed,

  "I've already told too many people about it as it is, but thanks anyway."

  "No problem," said the old man, getting out of his chair to continue his journey. But before he did so, he turned to Peter and added,

  "This may not be much help, and I don't know the details of your dilemma, but having witnessed some of your time in the nursery ring, I have little doubt that you will make the right decision in whatever it is that you have to do. I've always found that trusting my gut instinct has served me well, whatever the situation. Go with your gut feeling and trust your friends. It will all work out for the best, of that I'm totally convinced."

  As the old man staggered off down the platform, Peter was left speechless at what he'd said. Bounding up from his seat, he raced after the old man, finally catching up with him just as the next carriage arrived.

  "Who are you?" Peter asked. "I don't even know your name."

  "Trust me, it's much better that way," the old man replied, and with that he squeezed his way through the closing doors of the carriage.

  As the monorail pulled away, Peter locked eyes with the old man through the window of the double doors and sensed there was much more to him than there seemed. With the glistening silver carriages having disappeared into the dark circumference of the tunnel, Peter stood stock still on the platform for a few minutes, pondering the encounter that made him feel more than a little... uncomfortable. But the more he thought about it, the more the words the old man had uttered made sense. He regarded himself as a great judge of character (don't we all), and thought that he had the best friends on the planet. All of which led him to believe that he should go and see Gee Tee, no matter what that... berk of a councillor... thought.

  With a course of action decided upon, Peter startled himself out of his daze and looked around the platform to see where the cross-London monorail would depart from. He garnered the required information from the nearest LCD screen and noticed just how busy it had become since he'd arrived. Carriages were turning up full to the brim with dragons decadently dressed, brightly coloured cloaks, hats and even tights seemed to be the order of the evening, the kind of wear generally reserved for some sort of ball or formal dinner.

  Instead of using the bridge provided, Peter flapped his wings twice and delicately looped over to the opposite platform. He could of course have taken a flying jump, but that in itself presented an ever present danger. Although there wasn't one due any time soon, it wasn't a given that a monorail wouldn't come charging through the station at top speed. Occasionally heavy test rigs filled with equipment ran the line, and were to say the least, unpredictable. If anyone were hit by one of these, then all of their dragon abilities, along with the services of the nearest dragon medical facility, would be required to keep them firmly in the land of the living. So although it was okay for passengers to cross the tracks themselves, the unwritten rule was that they should allow enough height not to get hit by an onrushing carriage, something that seemed prudent to say the least, and was in the most part obeyed.

  As he stood waiting for his ride to arrive, it suddenly occurred to him that it being Saturday evening, the Mantra Emporium would be well and truly shut, and he had no idea whether Gee Tee lived at that address or not. He could have phoned Tank to ask him, but he hadn't brought his phone with him. There had seemed no point. Much as it was a handy piece of technology, for the most part they didn't work underground. The domain was catching onto the fact that they needed to address the issue, what with so many of their kind working and supposedly living amongst the humans. To be out of touch when they returned to their true home for any period of time had started to become more than just an inconvenience. There were a few places that had transmitters which acted as boosters to the very different phone networks, but not nearly enough. It was something the Council had agreed was a very high priority to sort out. He supposed here in London was no doubt one of those places that he could have gotten a signal, had he thought to bring his phone with him.

  'Oh well', he thought to no one but himself.

  As the lights of the carriage he was expecting appeared in the darkness of the very narrow tunnel, he decided he would go to the Emporium anyway and see if the old shopkeeper was there. It wasn't as though he had anything better to do. Squeezing past more partygoers alighting, he boarded the monorail for the three and a half minute journey, including stops.

  Disembarking, he made his way through the streets towards the Emporium feeling almost claustrophobic in the confined narrow streets and alleys after the openness and freedom surrounding the council building from where he'd just come.

  Hardly anybody appeared to be about away from the monorail station, which he thought odd, as the only other times he'd been this way there had always been plenty of dragons around. But not now, it seemed. Finally reaching the door of the Mantra Emporium, he knocked and waited. After two minutes of no response, he knocked and waited again. Still no reply. Peter took a few paces back and looked up at the front of the building. A dim light shone out of a small, grubby, first floor window. Peter gave it one more go, knocking as hard as he dared on the wooden front door. Waiting another three minutes without any response, he decided to leave. Just as he did, a noise from above caught his attention. The small grubby window creaked open slightly and Gee Tee's nose poked out.

  "Hello. Who's there?" remarked the old shopkeeper from above.

  "It's me... Peter. Peter Bentwhistle. Tank's friend," said Peter, trying unsuccessfully to whisper.

  Gee Tee's head disappeared, and then, after some fumbling, reappeared with his glasses firmly attached to his nose. As the old dragon looked down from the window at him, Peter found himself suppressing a laugh, due to the fact that the master mantra maker was wearing a red and white stripy night cap, and looked like something from a Victorian story.

  "Ah... youngster," chided Gee Tee. "Don't you know what time it is?"

  "It's five past seven," replied Peter hesitantly. "I'm sorry if I've woken you."

  "Five past seven? Really? In the evening
?” queried the old shopkeeper.

  "Yes," replied Peter, nodding vigorously.

  "Hey ho," laughed Gee Tee, throwing something in Peter's direction.

  Stretching out, Peter caught the object, which turned out to be a brass key, much to his surprise.

  "Let yourself in and lock the door behind you," ordered the shopkeeper. "I'll be down shortly."

  Peter slid the key into the lock and after about thirty seconds managed to jiggle it so that the door unlocked. Entering the shop, which was now in total darkness, he proceeded to try and lock the door back up, which to his amazement took longer than it had to open it. Eventually he managed it, by which time a light had appeared at the back of the shop, in an area that Peter had never seen before. He could just make out Gee Tee making his way down a steep set of stairs, painfully slowly. Weaving his way in and out of the bookcases, Peter skilfully avoided piles and piles of disregarded books, which by now would have tripped up almost any human, on his way to meet his host at the bottom of the stairs.

  It was only when he reached the base of the stairs, that it dawned on him exactly how old and frail the elderly dragon really was. He suddenly felt racked with guilt about involving the old shopkeeper in any of this. What had he done? Why couldn't he handle things on his own, as Rosebloom had suggested? These thoughts ran through his mind as he watched Gee Tee negotiate the last two steps. Poking his glasses as far up his nose as they would go, the master mantra maker leant forward so that Peter could feel the old dragon’s breath on his face. The old shopkeeper looked right into his eyes and just stared for what seemed like an eternity. Peter felt like he was back at the nursery ring, under the scrutiny of one of the stricter tors.

  "I'm sorry you have to see me like this child," whispered Gee Tee, "but I don't need your sympathy or pity."

  Peter was shocked. Was the shop owner reading his mind, he wondered? Before he had a chance to ask, Gee Tee continued.

  "Your expression says it all child. When you've lived as long as I have, you tend to pick up a thing or two."

  Peter felt relieved that the old dragon hadn't been reading his mind, but was still concerned that he'd got him involved and had woken him up.

  "Do you know why I don't need your pity, child?"

  Peter shook his head and stared at the wooden floor.

  "I don't need it because I've lived longer already than any other dragon in history my young fellow,” said Gee Tee cheerfully. "And I don't intend on getting deep fried in lava just yet, thank you very much."

  Peter felt the tip of Gee Tee's wing under his chin, pulling his face up from the floor.

  "I've had a wonderful life, child. The most amazing adventures. I wouldn't change a single thing. How many dragons can say that? Eh? And most importantly, if I want to help someone, like I've helped others many times before, then I think that should be my choice. Don't you?"

  Peter looked up at the old dragon, lost for words. There was such passion in his face. His eyes seemed full of... adventure and mystery. He just nodded his head in acknowledgment. As he did so, Gee Tee caught sight of the trident which hung from the chain around Peter's neck. Leaning in close, the old shopkeeper put the tip of one wing under the chain, pulling it taut.

  "Just when I think I've seen everything, something jumps up and bites me on the bum, as if to prove me wrong," pondered the master mantra maker, shaking his head.

  Without another word, the old dragon relinquished his grip on the chain and turned away, walking over to the counter. Leaning over it he flicked a switch, and the room suddenly becoming bathed in light. Hobbling off towards the workshop, the old shopkeeper turned towards Peter.

  "Let's see if we can't find something to drink and then you can tell me what brings you here at this... early hour," he muttered with laughter in his voice.

  "Do you want me to boil the kettle?" Peter offered, pointing off towards the small kitchen.

  "No, no, no child. We can do much better than that."

  Peter followed Gee Tee into the workshop and took a seat in the chair he was guided to. Pulling out a small stool, the old shopkeeper moved it in front of a very tall bookcase that contained many varieties of parchment and ink. The master mantra maker climbed awkwardly onto the stool and started hunting around on top of the bookcase. After much rummaging around, he finally retrieved what he was looking for.

  "Ah, here it is. Just right for special occasions and times of need," said the shopkeeper, stifling a laugh. "And right now I feel the need."

  As Gee Tee turned around to step down from the stool, Peter finally caught a glimpse of what he had been searching for: a tall metallic flask, covered in dust, through which Peter could just make out some writing that said "12th Century Peruvian Ink (only to be used with 12th century Peruvian parchment)".

  Peter wondered what on earth was going on.

  Gee Tee held the flask up to examine it, a playful glint in his eye. Blowing some of the dust off it, the old shopkeeper twisted off the cap, as Peter sat, intrigued. Holding the flask up to his nostrils, the old dragon inhaled deeply, clearly liking what he smelt. Just as Peter thought it couldn't get any weirder, Gee Tee did the last thing that he would have expected. He took a swig from the flask. Peter sat gobsmacked in the oversized chair, watching as Gee Tee swilled some of the flask's contents around in his mouth. Suddenly the old shopkeeper turned sharply and blew out an almighty stream of searing blue flame across the room, hitting the wall on the other side, leaving the mother of all scorch marks.

  "Your friend will have a hissy fit when he comes back into work on Monday and sees that on the wall," joked the old dragon, licking his lips.

  "What on Earth is that stuff?" asked Peter, warily.

  Gee Tee gave a huge guffaw and held out the flask.

  "Well... it's not Peruvian ink, that's for sure."

  Both dragons spontaneously burst into laughter, which lasted for what seemed like an age. When Gee Tee finally finished laughing, he held out the flask and offered it to Peter. Unsure of what to do, the young dragon reluctantly took it from the shopkeeper, holding it up in the air as if it were a ticking time bomb.

  "That, my young friend, is the finest, most potent and most enjoyable drink you will ever try."

  "Why does it say Peruvian ink on the side?" asked Peter, more than a little confused.

  Gee Tee chuckled and smiled at the young dragon.

  "If your best friend found out what it really is, you can bet that would be the last I would see of it. Much as I appreciate his constant fussing over the state of my health, I do like a little treat every now and then. And it says 'to be used only with Peruvian parchment' simply because there's no such thing, reducing the chances of anyone opening it by mistake."

  "Sneaky," declared Peter, proudly.

  "I sometimes feel that's what I should have been named," bragged the old dragon, smiling.

  Shaking his head, Peter held the flask under his nose.

  "Smells like petrol."

  "Petrol?" enquired the old dragon, confused.

  It suddenly dawned on Peter that Gee Tee, having never been on the surface, would have absolutely no idea what that was.

  "Ah... it's the fuel that the humans use to power their vehicles."

  "Oh... I see. Well, anyway, this is, as I was saying, simply... magnificent. It was a gift to me from the king," stated the old shopkeeper proudly.

  "The king!" exclaimed Peter.

  "Oh, not the current king, child, although I'm pretty sure he owes me more than a favour or two. If he ever remembers, that is."

  "If it's not from the current king, how old is this stuff?" queried the young dragon nervously.

  Gee Tee casually shrugged his giant scaly shoulders.

  "Nearly three hundred years if memory serves me correctly. Go ahead child... try it!"

  "I... I... I couldn't," refused Peter, offering the flask back to the master mantra maker.

  "I wouldn't offer it if I didn't want you to have any, child. You really should gi
ve it a go. That might be the only one of its kind left on the planet. My understanding is that it was a gift to the king of the time, from the nagas in the frozen north. A peace offering I believe. When else would you get an opportunity like this?"

  "Sounds important," ventured Peter. "Why did the king give it to you, if you don't mind me asking."

  Gee Tee turned and gave the young dragon a knowing look.

  "You wouldn't be the first dragon that I've helped. Not by a long way. And some of the things I've been privileged to be involved in, well let's just say that not only have I experienced a great deal of history, being as old as I am, but I've helped shape a fair bit of it as well."

  Peter looked at the old shopkeeper, jaw wide open, in a completely new light.

  "Now stop gawping and start drinking," ordered the old dragon, indicating the flask. "Just a small mouthful, savour the taste. You'll know when it's time for the flame."

  Holding the silver flask up to his mouth, he swigged as much as he dared. Rolling effortlessly over his huge tongue, the thick gooey liquid left a gorgeous sweet, fizzy, tangy aftertaste as it slid slowly down his throat. The flavour seemed to penetrate not only his nose, but his throat and the top of his stomach as well. It was bliss as he stood in the middle of the workshop, all thoughts of everything else forgotten, the sensation of the drink all encompassing. Never before had he experienced such wonder, not even the first time he'd taken to the air. Through the haze and the ecstasy, he began to wonder why he'd never heard of such a drink and why it was not available to dragons everywhere. At the exact same moment of these thoughts, a fuzzy, tingling feeling erupted in his mouth. Opening his eyes for the first time in what felt like a year, Gee Tee stood directly in front of him, grinning from ear to ear. In the split second it had taken him to open his eyes, the tingling had turned to... BURNING! But not just any burning: ice cold burning that made every one of his sharp teeth feel as though they were being hit individually with a hammer. Briefly this masked the uproar in the back of his throat and stomach that was starting to come to the fore. It felt as though flesh was being stripped. Panic started to consume him. Looking back at the shopkeeper, he was surprised to see tears of laughter racing down the old dragon's face, sizzling as they came into contact with the heat from his nostrils. Fear and anger threatened momentarily to consume Peter, when all of a sudden he felt his stomach make a giant... bubble.

  'Oh my God,' he thought, 'I'm going to explode.'

  Spinning around in blind panic, the bubble that had started in his stomach had gathered momentum and was now making a mad dash for freedom up his throat. Clenching his jaw, Peter was determined not to let it out, but that was not quite what the bubble had in mind. Nothing was going to get in its way. Abruptly Peter's jaws shot open as wide as they possibly could. A resounding 'BUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPP' emanated from his mouth, followed closely by a huge blue fireball that crossed the room in blaze of light, hitting a grey metal filing cabinet, instantly reducing it to a steaming mass of burning slag. Spent, he slumped down into the oversized chair, relieved that the bubble no longer resided within him. Wiping away the tears of laughter, Gee Tee wandered over to the blackened remains of the filing cabinet.

  "I'm not nearly so concerned about the scorch mark on the wall now," he professed, teeming with sarcasm. "You're supposed to produce a concentrated stream of fire, not deliver a ball of absolute devastation."

  "Sorry," Peter burped, feeling a little light headed.

  The old shopkeeper shook his head.

  "It's not your fault child. I should have explained a bit more. Anyway, what do you think? Awesome eh?"

  Letting out a long breath, Peter could still taste the after effects of the drink inside him.

  "Oh yeah... awesome."

  "That's the spirit," stressed Gee Tee, slapping Peter firmly on the back, causing him to splutter uncontrollably for a few seconds.

  Peter surveyed the mess they'd made of the workshop.

  "How are you going to explain all of this to Tank?"

  The master mantra maker pondered the question a few seconds before replying.

  "I'll just tell him I was rooting about and found an unfamiliar mantra which I couldn't resist trying. If he asks where I found it, I'll just point to that," Gee Tee laughed, pointing directly at the steaming mass of molten mess that only a few moments ago had been a filing cabinet. "Like I said before... sneaky."

  Peter chuckled under his breath and thought,

  'What a way to spend a Saturday night.' It was only then that he realised he didn't mean it sarcastically, and in actual fact had been having a really great time just talking and mucking about with the old shopkeeper.

  "Anyhow, I haven't asked you what you're doing here tonight. Much as I enjoy your company, it's an odd time for a social call."

  Recalling the events of today that had led him here, Peter once more felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He began to tell Gee Tee about his trip to the council chambers, but only got as far as mentioning Hitch Rosebloom's name, before the master mantra maker interrupted.

  "Bloody Hitch Rosebloom, the bane of my life," fumed the old dragon, clearly annoyed. "Let me guess. You started telling him about the events at Cropptech and then unwittingly dropped my name into the conversation after which he probably went off on one. Would that be about right?"

  "Pretty much," confirmed Peter, surprised.

  "That dragon should be frozen in ice and left there to rot for a thousand years," proposed Gee Tee, venom lacing his raised voice. "I'm sorry child," he added, noticing the worried look on Peter's face. "It's just, as you might have already guessed, we have a little bit of... history."

  Peter nodded, waiting to see if the old shopkeeper would expand on what he'd just said.

  Pacing up and down the workshop, visibly upset and agitated, wings swishing, totally oblivious to the still smoking molten scrap heap behind him, Gee Tee began.

  "Of all the councillors that could have responsibility for Cropptech, it would have to be him, wouldn't it," he said shaking his gigantic prehistoric head from side to side, looking for something to kick. Abruptly, there was a change of direction, with the old dragon deciding to sit down in the chair opposite Peter.

  "I'm sorry if you've got it in the scales from him, but I'm glad you came and sought me out, particularly after the, no doubt, bad things that he's filled your mind with about me," added the smiling shopkeeper.

  Smiling back, Peter was pretty sure his gut feeling about Gee Tee was right, despite what that crazy councillor had tried to peddle.

  "It all started a very long time ago. Long before you were hatched. Although it doesn't look like it now, this shop used to be incredibly busy and successful. At our peak, nobody else in the world could match us for mantras, whether it was new or everyday mantras. We were renowned for creating and selling the best. Our healing mantras on average were between fifteen and twenty percent more effective than anyone else's, purely because of the quality material we used to craft them. Dragons everywhere knew that if they came to Gee Tee's Mantra Emporium, they were getting top quality merchandise. We even had the King's Council's Seal Of Approval.

  All in all, business was booming. The shop itself already had a staff of ten, not including the five dragons employed in the workshop, tasked with repairs, research and development, which incidentally is where I spent a great deal of my time. Even with that level of staffing, things were spiralling out of control and I decided that I really needed someone else to help on the research and development side of things, almost a right hand dragon, you could say. So I advertised for one in the Daily Telepath. Combined with the prestige of the company and the fact that the position would have been working right alongside me, well let's just say things went berserk. If memory serves me correctly, we had nearly five thousand applicants."

  "Five thousand!" exclaimed Peter.

  "That's right. And just like you, I was gobsmacked. It never occurred to me that it would be such a sought after post,
but that's indeed what it was. I spent weeks whittling down the candidates, which of course meant the shop was getting busier, and I was even more behind with my work. After a month or so of working day and night, I managed to get it down to a manageable twenty dragons, which was no mean feat, I assure you."

  Peter nodded, riveted by the thought of the deserted old shop that he was sitting in, having been so successful and busy.

  "Anyway, I proceeded to interview each of the applicants and finally cull it down to four outstanding dragons, all of whom were nearly straight out of their respective nursery rings. One of the four was a particularly arrogant young dragon called... yes, you've guessed it, Hitch Rosebloom."

  Peter was starting to see what the old shopkeeper meant when he said that he and Rosebloom had history.

  "Well, I agonized long and hard about the four prospective candidates. It was, to this day, one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make. Needless to say, the very pleasant Hitch Rosebloom wasn't the applicant that I chose. At the time I didn't think very much of it. The job went to an outstanding, clever and shy young dragon called... CAT! Ahh... Cat. She was wonderful in every sense. Oh in case you're wondering, Cat was short for Catfish, as that was what the prominent marking sprayed across the back of her neck resembled."

  Peter's mind drifted far into the past at the mere mention of that. Although eidetic, his memory was sometimes slow, and a little hazy. Somewhere inside there, he recalled a visit from a dragon who certainly fitted that description. Could it be the same one?

  "Anyhow, she came to work for me and I let all the other dragons that I'd interviewed know that they hadn't been successful, and thought nothing more of it. Apparently the boy Rosebloom and his family were more than a little offended that he hadn't got the job. Not only that, but his family were ever so well connected, if you know what I mean. I had one or two visits from associates of his family, trying to persuade me to relent and give Rosebloom the job. In the meantime, however, Cat had excelled in the few weeks that she'd been with me. Never having given in to bullies before, I wasn't about to now and so I told those associates in biologically specific terms exactly what they could go and do."

  At the mere mention of bullies, Peter's stomach clenched and all he could think of was Fisher, Casey and Theobald. A shudder ran the entire length of his body at the thought of the three of them. Concentrating hard, he turned his attention back to Gee Tee, who momentarily looked lost in thought.

  "At the time it seemed like the right thing to do and with hindsight, it probably still was. But what I didn't realise was the extent of the power Rosebloom's family actually had, and quite how vindictive they would be. To cut a long story short, through manipulation and their contacts, they managed to get the King's Council's Seal Of Approval revoked from the shop for some trumped up reason and things went rapidly downhill from there. The family's influence persuaded important customers to go elsewhere and so I ended up laying off most of my staff, including the delightful Cat I'm afraid to say. My fortunes went from bad to worse, unlike those of that weasel Rosebloom, who through his family connections managed not only to get voted in as a councillor, but the youngest one in dragon history. Unbelievable!"

  Gee Tee got up and paced about a bit more, shaking his head, looking thoroughly angry. Peter was amazed to think that any one dragon could be so vindictive and petty as to totally destroy something just because he didn't get selected for a job.

  "If anyone tells you that dragons are not like humans at all child, or that dragons are somehow better than humans, think again. This story, along with others just like it, should always remind you how much we have in common with our so-called 'barbaric' charges on the surface.

  Where was I? Oh yes, the delightful Rosebloom. You might have thought that ruining my business and becoming the youngest councillor ever would be enough for the delightful young dragon because I clearly did. But not so.

  About a year after he became a councillor, I had a visit from a troop of the King's Guard, supposedly looking for illegal mantras and stolen artefacts. When I questioned the commander, he stated that the search had arisen from a tip-off received from a highly placed source. Of course they didn't find anything, but they did manage to trash the place in the process. To this day, I still get a visit from the King's Guard every six months or so, looking for the same thing. Luckily for me, I've helped their new commander out on a number of occasions, so whenever the order comes down from above, he brings a few trusted troops and I feed them hot charcoal and regale them with tales from the past. Once done, they report that a thorough search of the premises was carried out. A win for everyone, except that deceitful councillor.

  Peter felt numb at the thought of one dragon doing all that to another.

  'Surely all of that resentment would fade over time?' he thought to himself.

  "So there you have it child, the reason why the beloved councillor and I don't quite see eye to eye.”

  "That's something of an understatement isn't it?"

  "Now," announced Gee Tee much more calmly, "why don't you tell me about that interesting trinket around your neck, child?"

  "It was left to me by Mark Hiscock, in his will," replied Peter, twirling the trident around on the end of its chain.

  "Really," said the old shopkeeper, poking his large spectacles as far up his nose as they would go. "Do you know what you have there, child?"

  He smiled and looked up from the trident.

  "A cool piece of bling, as they would say on the surface." (Although trying to inject a little humour, whilst being a little bit hip at the same time, Peter failed spectacularly. It was much like a parent talking up the music their teenage son or daughter liked to listen to. Off the scale uncool!)

  The old shopkeeper looked completely confused at Peter's description.

  "Never mind," ventured the young dragon. "I don't really know what it means either, and I'm supposed to be young and trendy. By the interest you're showing in it though, I'm assuming it's more than just a stunning piece of jewellery."

  "Very much so, if I'm not mistaken. And I rarely am," replied the master mantra maker, a sparkle in his eye. "Would you take it off so that I can have a better look?"

  "Sure," said Peter, unhooking the clasp of the chain and handing it all over to the old dragon.

  Shoving a few books aside on the bench that he was sitting at, Gee Tee switched on the overhead light to get a better view. The two of them hunched over the desk, studying the trident.

  "I've never seen one quite like this," muttered Gee Tee with just a hint of awe in his voice.

  "One what?" enquired Peter, gazing down at it.

  "What you have here child, is known as an 'alea', which roughly translated means 'gamble' or 'last chance'.”

  Peter looked at the shopkeeper with a blank expression, still not knowing what it was.

  "It's a mantra child, and not just any mantra, either. An extremely powerful one, only to be used as directed, as a... last chance, a final roll of the dice."

  "I'm sorry I still don't understand," confessed Peter, feeling more than a little stupid.

  "Let me try and explain from the beginning," offered the master mantra maker. "My understanding is that the Aztec dragons were the first to try and develop aleas. If I remember correctly, a group of dark dragons tried to take over a large part of South America, and as a result the Aztec dragons had little choice but to try and bring them back into the light. That didn't happen, and a small and very bloody war erupted. Dragons on each side became proficient at killing each other, in the most brutal ways possible. The dragon in charge of the light warriors... his name eludes me at the moment... fed up with losing so many dragons, ordered his mantra specialists to come up with something that would turn the tide of this small, but very nasty historic episode.

  I believe he was hoping for something on a bit of a larger scale, but this is what his specialists came up with, the alea. Of course at the time, the aleas were a lot cruder than what you have he
re, but the principle was very much the same: a piece of jewellery that had a mantra embedded within it.

  Now the only problem with doing this, as the Aztecs were the first to find out, is that when you try and imbue something that has physical form with any kind of mantra, the physical element more often than not alters the very nature of the mantra. Bits and pieces that I've read on the subject start to get a bit vague at this point, but it seems that the very first aleas had shield mantras imbued into them. They were supposed to, at the very last minute, provide a powerful shield that would allow the user to fend off multiple attacks and make a successful escape, when said user used the mantra and broke the particular piece of jewellery. Perfect if you've just been caught in an ambush. You live to run away and fight another day."

  "The first couple of times they were used they worked as intended. A shield sprang up around the dragon and enabled it to escape and report back that the alea worked perfectly. Not so, however. The more the war raged on, the more desperate encounters there were. Dragons with aleas were found dead in extraordinary circumstances when they should have escaped, some even taking whole groups of enemies with them. Others reported that instead of a shield appearing when used, the alea produced powerful streams of lightning that struck all of those around them, killing them instantly, no mean feat where dragons are involved."

  "The Aztec specialists tried and tried to work out what was going wrong, but to no avail. Eventually the light side won the war, bringing the dark dragons back under control, but only after substantial losses to dragons and humans alike. The aleas proved something of an enigma to all concerned. After that, the Aztecs gave up totally on the concept, believing them too unstable and dangerous.

  That, however, is not where things ended. Different dragon factions throughout history have sought to emulate the aleas, all having about as much success as the Aztecs did. Oh, they all claimed to have solved the stability problem, but alas nobody to my knowledge ever came close to producing a stable and reliable alea that worked as it should, all the time."

  Peter sat in the chair, hooked on every word the shopkeeper was saying.

  "You should come and teach at my old nursery ring. That was absolutely fascinating," praised the young dragon. "Nothing like that was ever covered in my education. Why don't they tell all young dragons?"

  "Ah, that, child, is a very good question. Why do YOU think they don't teach it?"

  Peter scratched his chin, pondering the question.

  "I suppose they don't want dragons tinkering, trying to create their own aleas, what with the instability issues and everything."

  Gee Tee nodded in agreement and said,

  "That, and the fact that it might encourage some sort of rogue movement, like the dark dragons of the Aztec period. Things like that have started over a lot less in the past."

  "Really," exclaimed Peter.

  "Of course," replied the master mantra maker. "It might sound unlikely, but I assure you it's a possibility. Evil is always around. You may not see it, but it lurks, waiting for an opportunity in the shadows of the tiny little cracks of reality just outside our souls, waiting for an opportunity to corrupt or exert itself. The king and the Council are fully aware of all of this, and that would be my guess as to why the curriculum is so carefully monitored and set in stone across all nursery rings."

  Peter felt as though his head were about to explode with all the new information he'd gleaned today. Briefly, he felt a small pang of envy that his friend was working here full time, day in, day out with Gee Tee.

  'What must that be like?' he wondered. The two of them continued to sit in silence for some time, both lost in their thoughts, staring in wonderment at the alea hanging off the chain on the workshop bench. Finally, Peter broke the silence.

  "Can I ask how you use it?” he asked, cautiously.

  "You really want to know after everything I've told you?" cautioned Gee Tee suspiciously, peering intently over his huge square glasses.

  "I'm not going to use it," stammered Peter, unconvincingly.

  "You'd have to be either incredibly brave or unbelievably stupid to do so. Makes no difference to me whether you are or not." Picking up the tiny trident, the old dragon waved it around in the air, the purple glow leaving a dissipating trail that took a few seconds to disappear completely.

  "If you look past the purple glow child, you should be able to make out a series of words, running down the length of the main shaft and also on each part of the fork."

  Leaning in close, Peter squinted intensely, trying his hardest to see the writing that was microscopic at best.

  "Come on child, if an old dragon of over six hundred years like me can see it, surely you must be able to make it out."

  Peter used all his magical abilities to flick through the range of dragon visions available to him. Finding one that worked, he concentrated on the shaft and prongs. After a few seconds, the letters of the words swam into view and he could just make out the words beneath the purple glow.

  "Amplificare... Magicus... Nunc," he said, finally.

  "That's right," coaxed Gee Tee. "And that means...?"

  He knew what was coming and silently cursed the fact that Latin was easily his worst language. He thought hard and tried to imagine his language tor standing in front of him with the answer. Eventually it came to him, but by now he was feeling unusually hot and more than a little stressed, particularly as the old shopkeeper had been staring at him all this time.

  "Amplify Magic Now," he blurted, mentally exhausted.

  "Nursery rings seemed to have lowered their standards no end since my day. Anyway, we got there in the end. Amplify Magic Now. It's a bit vague isn't it? It could mean absolutely anything. Anyhow, you wanted to know how to use it."

  Peter nodded, not quite sure what he was letting himself in for.

  "As with any normal mantra, you can either say the words out loud, or project them in your head, but the difference here is that at the same time, you must use all your strength to snap the trident in half."

  "Break it?"

  "Of course," stated the master mantra maker. "How else do you think you would release the power that has been imbued in it? Well, as I said before, brave or stupid. I really wouldn't recommend it, so... think very carefully before using it."

  "I really have no intention of using it... honest," stressed Peter.

  "Whatever you say child, but don't say you haven't been warned," lectured the old dragon. "If you end up with five ears, no nose and a tongue long enough to lick your own tail, you can be sure I'll be the first to say... I told you so."

  "I know, and thank you for your advice. It's much appreciated," replied Peter, smiling at the thought of licking his own tail.

  "So, is there anything else that an old dragon can help you with? I confess to feeling somewhat tired now, but don't fret child, I've had a very enjoyable evening," said the old shopkeeper, more than a little drained.

  A wave of guilt rolled over Peter at having worn the old dragon out again. Tank's words came flooding back. Nevertheless, he decided to press on, knowing that he really needed some guidance on what his next steps should be.

  "I don't know what to do about the situation at Cropptech. Rosebloom was no help whatsoever and... I just don't know what to do next."

  Gee Tee fiddled with his glasses, thinking about what to tell his young friend.

  "It's clear from what you've said that the mantra used at Mark's house was successful, which leads me to conclude that it might rid Garrett's office of whatever evil lurks there, in much the same way. The problem there though, is that even if you got into Garrett's office to use it, there's nothing stopping Manson coming back and starting all over again, because I very much doubt Garrett would be cured instantly; it would only be the first step on his road to recovery."

  Peter nodded in agreement.

  "That makes sense," he said.

  "So, with that out of the question, the only thing I think you can do, is bide your time
and try and find some evidence against Manson or something that indicates what his eventual goal is, be that taking over the company, stealing something, or whatever else."

  Peter could see now the toll the night's events had taken on the master mantra maker. He looked worn out, and kept yawning between each sentence.

  "That's good advice, thanks. I think I'll do just that. Thank you for an unforgettable evening. I won't keep you any longer," declared Peter, meaning every word.

  "You are of course, very welcome child," yawned Gee Tee, showing Peter out of the workshop and back to the front door. "Go careful now child, and don't forget you're welcome anytime, but daylight hours are always best."

  Peter strolled out into the street, waving the old shopkeeper goodbye, waiting to make sure he could hear the key turn in the lock. Once sure it had been properly secured, he made his way back through the deserted streets and alleys towards the monorail station, feeling happier than he had in some time.