by Paul Cude
Scuttling past traders plying their wares, artisans painting, carving or in some cases... spinning, the wool from the sheep reminding him of just how hungry he was, eventually the librarian reached the king’s office. Without hesitation, and ignoring any of the royal protocols, wheezing like an asthmatic at the peak of a mountain, he burst in, eager to get on with things.
“Orac! What in the hell do you thi...”
“I’m sorry sire, this really can’t wait,” interrupted the normally timid librarian, knowing that time was of the essence.
“Did it work?” asked the king, more than a little angry at being cut short.
“In a manner of speaking,” the guardian of the repository huffed, still trying to catch his breath.
“Then why are you here?”
“I... I... I... I did something... that I shouldn’t have.”
“And just what was that?”
“I... I contacted For’son up in Ahrensburg.”
“You did what!”
“Majesty, please... let me explain.”
A look of crimson red fury boiling up across his prehistoric face, it was all Greger could do not to explode.
“You were supposed to get in touch with me, not bugger about trying to contact For’son straight away. You know he’s busy with the Ahrensburg negotiations and you know how much they mean. If we can pull this off, all that we’ve worked towards for so long will come to fruition in a relatively short time. Planet wide peace, what more of a worthy goal is there than that?”
“I’m sorry, Highness... I really am. It’s just that...”
“I know, Orac. He’s your friend and you wanted to make sure that he’s okay, I understand, I really do. He’s my friend as well, and under the circumstances, I really didn’t want to have to send him, but he was the best chance to make things work, pull off a miracle like this.”
“I know, sire, so does he.”
“Hmmm...”
“He really does.”
“And so what did he have to say in this most important of communications?”
“That he’d had to fight and kill one of the envoys almost straight away and that they’d arrived in the capital and had been kept waiting for a very long time.”
Scratching at the scales around his chin, the king pondered what all of that meant... nothing good that was for sure.
“Did he say anything else?”
“Only that I should tell you the truth, sire.”
“Of course, of course.”
“I am truly sorry. At the very least I should have asked you.”
“Yes... you should have. But that’s by the by now. Can you get in touch with him again... from here?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Can we both speak to him at once?”
“Maybe.”
“Good... let’s get on with it. What do you need?”
“I have everything here,” observed the librarian, pulling a light purple crystal out from the secluded pouch that circled his belly.
Delicately placing it on the table to the side of them both, he made sure that it was securely in place before he turned to face the king.
“We need to remain undisturbed for some time. As well, I suggest we hold hands, that way there’s some kind of permanent bond between us.”
Nodding his understanding, the monarch strolled over to the door, opened it up and told his assistant, a tall, rather gangly dragon called Brittle, that they wished to remain undisturbed for the rest of the day on pain of death, something that shocked the wise old dragon and those around him. Shutting the door back up, Greger walked back to the table where Orac had, by now, placed two very basic wooden chairs, side by side. There was of course no hole for their tails, unlike in the dragon domain of today. It would be another ten thousand years before that became commonplace.
Reaching out to grab the monarch’s hand, Greger refrained from taking it at first, wanting to ask a question.
“What’s it like, communicating across a distance like that?”
“Communication is fine, clear as a bell in fact, it’s tracking down the intended target that’s the hard bit. But don’t worry, I think I can find him pretty fast having done it before. It’ll be okay... it’s just like flying, only faster and without all the unpleasant sensations.”
“And what do I do when we finish?”
“Just think of this place, and you’ll return here in a matter of seconds.”
Not quite convinced, the king grabbed hold of the librarian’s spindly little hand, closed his eyes, and hoped for the best.
Back in Ahrensburg the devilish debauchery and raucous revelry continued at pace, fights breaking out across the humungous indoor space, some just physical, others using magic, some of which continually missed its target, causing harm to other, innocent bystanders, although “innocent” couldn’t begin to describe these warrior heathens.
As a unit, they very much kept themselves to themselves, even telepathically, only Thomas really speaking, and only then to the leader of this savage land they all found themselves trapped in, much to For’son’s reluctance, although even he had to admit that Thomas knew more about all this then he ever would and so played along, quietly brooding over one of the foul beverages they’d been encouraged to drink. A sickly, chocolate brown with the consistency of treacle, it tasted worse than anything he could imagine, only managing to hold it down because Thomas had told all of them that it would be considered an insult to do anything else.
As time wore on, the partying got more out of hand, as did the personal fights, the magical battles, the outrageous bets, the bodily specific insults, the frequency and level of dares involved and of course the abuse and intimidation towards the servant dragons, some of whom had already been beaten to within an inch of their lives. And that was yet one more thing Thomas had ruled on, informing For’son that under no circumstances was he to get involved again. It was none of their business, and would be regarded as interference of the highest order, maybe even costing all of them their lives. And so, much as it didn’t sit well with him, he sat there nursing his drink, occasionally speaking to one of the others in his group if spoken to first, trying very hard to ignore everything playing out around him. The only saving grace as far as he was concerned, was that the peppermint candy blue serving dragon from earlier hadn’t been involved in any of it. If she had, he would no doubt have jumped in at the first sign of trouble, negotiations be damned.
‘Wow!’ thought the king, feeling like a dragonling again, his psyche zipping at an unerring rate over the cold dark ocean, ‘Orac was right. This is just like flying, without all the sensations.’ Soaking up the breathtaking sights, focusing in on the stunning white capped mountain range up ahead, back in his physical body in the capital he let out a long, slow sigh of not so much relief, as of contentment. Zooming over this magnificent scenery without the downside of the cold attacking every part of his body was almost as good as it got. Plunging down towards the shadowy sea, almost immediately they made landfall, hurtling up over the rocky beach and heading for the gap between the two nearest mountains, the king all the time able to feel the presence of the librarian beside him, almost as if they were flying in tandem. A neat trick for sure, one that he hoped would help develop the brave new world he had created, making it better for all of the beings that regarded it as their home, not just the dragon race.
Overshooting magnificent looking pine trees, unforgiving slopes, huge build-ups of sparkling soft snow, almost in the blink of an eye they rocketed out of the mountain range, across a rather treacherous looking dark lake and once more back out to sea. Still marvelling at the majestic surroundings, suddenly his private thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
“We’re nearly there, sire. I just thought I should let you know.”
“I have to say, Orac, I’m impressed with all of this. Once this is over, you’ll be richly rewarded.”
“Uh... thanks, but that’s not what this is all about.”
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“I know, my friend, I was just putting it out there though. What can we expect when we reach our destination?”
“Hopefully For’son will stand out like a beacon in the night sky. It might be though, that we have to go on a hunt for him, particularly if they’re all in a building or underground somewhere.”
“I’ll trust you to find him and will follow your lead. Carry on.”
Sweeping across yet more water, they closed in on their target, the friend that both of them were concerned about.
Speaking of which...
Clanging two gigantic iron shields together, the reverberations from which garnered every being’s attention, no matter how imbibed they were, the scheming and twisted face of Nev’dir, the leader of these creatures, broke into one massive smile and started to speak.
“Listen up, the lot of you rotten scoundrels, for the time has come to toast our new found friends from the south. Staving off adversity, they’ve come all this way to offer us a new way of life. While I can’t say I don’t enjoy what we do currently, I am a strong believer in embracing change and moving with the times. And so hopefully over the coming days, we can reach an agreement that benefits both parties and brings our lands closer together. With this in mind, I propose a toast.”
Right on cue, a dozen servant dragons, their heads bowed in submission, each looking frail and weak, some showing signs of a beating with bright purple, black and blue bruises littering their bodies much to the amusement of the onlookers, approached the leader and the diplomatic contingent from the south, carrying what looked like massive silver tankards filled to the brim with a thick, dark green liquid, tiny tendrils of steam and smoke rising into the air from its surface.
Slowly and very carefully, the servant dragons started to dish out the drinks to each member of the visiting negotiators. As they did so, the shared telepathic link pulsed into life.
“Uhh... is this something we should drink?” asked Fanti, more than a little nervous, her stomach already protesting just at the look of the strange concoction.
“These drinks look thoroughly disgusting,” observed Menning, trying hard not to screw his face up on the outside.
“Is this wise?” asked For’son, his question directed towards the chief diplomat, Thomas, who had a whole lot more experience than him in this department, and had spent the previous hours chatting quite amicably with Nev’dir.
Thomas, a kind, honourable and decent dragon, one that garnered respect everywhere he went, had reached a crossroads in his life. Having spent nearly all his time resolving some sort of crisis, most of them violent in nature, he had little doubt that in the coming months he would be put out to pasture so to speak, probably in the form of a cushy job tucked away out of sight in the capital somewhere, diplomats per se, and him in particular, of absolutely no use once the world had been brought together. And so for him, the mission to Ahrensburg, the one he found himself in the middle of now, was something of a last hurrah, the swansong to a wonderful career, a chance to go out in a blaze of glory, his name written down in history for all to see, and know that he played a major part in finally unifying the planet. With that in mind, For’son’s question about whether or not drinking what was put in front of them was wise irked him no end. Did he want to insult their hosts to the point that they would simply cancel all the talks? Was he trying to blow the deal entirely? Both of these thoughts ran through his mind as he tried to compose his answer, the need to be successful here weighing him down with as much pressure as he’d ever known. Clouded by only good intentions, one of the most loyal and honest dragons you were ever likely to meet, abruptly he did something so astounding, so out of character, that not even Fate herself could have predicted it. He... LIED! Of course he’d lied before, little white lies anyway to his children at least. But this one, this was the mother of all lies, a whopper, of that there could be no doubt. And one that would that would go on to cost him, the other diplomats, and the world at large, dearly.
“There’s a little known mantra that the diplomatic corps uses for such occasions and I’ve used it to check the contents are safe to drink,” Thomas said across the shared link, reassuring them all, even their blue shaded leader.
With the drinks having been served, the servants scuttling back off towards the kitchen, all trying ever so hard not to catch the eye of any of the dragon brutes there. Nev’dir continued with his speech.
“Our tradition when dealing with outsiders like this, is to finish the drink in question in one go. That way we know that you can be trusted implicitly. So,” declared the vicious looking leader, “to a long lasting friendship between our two lands, and happier times ahead.”
“HAPPIER TIMES AHEAD!” barked the rest of the room, all copying their leader and then necking their drinks in one.
With absolutely no other choice, their reasoning and decision all based on a lie, as one, For’son and the diplomats all downed their drinks in one go, ignoring the disgusting taste, slamming the tankards on the table, as the rest of the dragons had done before them. Sitting back down to much applause, little did they know, that like the human bodies all around them, their goose had very much been cooked.
Light from thousands of torches marked out the city, even from twenty or so miles away, the two minds travelling as one roared over the seashore very much like a bullet and whooshed up the cliff face, Orac closing in on For’son’s last known location.
“We’re here?” enquired the king, intrigued.
“Yes, sire.”
“Can you see him?”
“Not at the moment, but... there!”
Even though there was no physical body, it still felt to the king like he was turning his humungous primeval head as he twisted to face the direction the librarian had indicated.
“Uh?”
“There’s a faint light, one that I think connects me to his consciousness, maybe left over from last time, I’m not sure. I think we should follow it.”
“Lead on.”
Dropping down from the sky with the king’s consciousness in tow, Orac pulled up just before he reached the perfect green lawn, something obvious even in the darkest of nights, and then corkscrewed off in the direction of two faintly lit white buildings, admiring the gigantic columns that seemed to hold them in place. Following what he’d come to think of some kind of mental tether, the pair of them, the monarch almost dragged along in the librarian’s wake, slipped through a pair of monstrous metal doors, down an almighty corridor and into what seemed like the biggest and most raucous party in the world, absolutely appalled at what was happening before them.
And then, through the cheering crowd, they spotted all of them, finishing the last dregs of the most disgusting looking drinks they’d ever seen. Without hesitation, Orac guided them straight through For’son’s head and into his cunning and well developed mind.
“FOR’SON!” bellowed the librarian, knowing that only his friend would be able to hear.
“Orac! You’re back. Does that mean you’ve returned to London?”
Before the repository guardian had a chance to answer, Greger butted in.
“It does, and we’re both here this time.”
“My friend.”
“Indeed.”
“It’s great that you’ve returned, and how awesome is Orac getting the crystals to work, allowing us to have this conversation over such a distance?”
“He’s done great work, for which I will reward him at a later date. But now, I want to know exactly what’s going on here. It looks a complete and utter mess. What was it that you’ve just finished drinking?”
“Just some concoction that we all had to drink for a toast that Nev’dir made. Part of some long standing tradition where they welcome visitors.”
“Uh... I hate to break it to you, friend,” observed the librarian, “but they have no visitors... EVER! And if they did, they’d be murdered on sight.”
“That’s not what their leader said,” replied For’son, feeling just
a little bit out of sorts now, with two voices in his head and the commotion of the party playing out all around him.
“I don’t like the sound of all this,” ventured the king, starting to get extremely worried, something his friend could tell by the tone of his voice.
“It’s okay,” added the blue shaded diplomatic leader, “Thomas told us all that he used the little known diplomatic mantra to check that the drinks were safe to consume, so what’s the worst that can happen... we throw up just because of how disgusting it tasted?”
If they’d been here in their physical forms, both psyches would have turned to look at each other. As it was, they couldn’t, but alarm bells did start ringing within both their minds.
“FOR’SON! There’s no such thing as a mantra of that kind. Of that I’m completely sure,” exclaimed Greger, almost overwhelmed by panic.
“But... but... but Thomas, he told us all across our shared link. I... I... I... don’t understand.”
About to reassure his friend that the king was right and no mantra in existence could do such a thing, suddenly their three way conversation was interrupted by a loud crash close by, over the jeering and merriment of the crowd.
Swivelling to look at what had happened, all three were appalled to see Fanti collapsed on the filthy hard floor, thick green blood dribbling from between her jaws. Immediately For’son got to his feet, ready, willing and able to go to her aid. Or at least that was the intention. All that really happened was his head spun like an out of control fairground ride, and he collapsed back onto his huge scaly arse, holding his head firmly in his hands.
“What the...?” Orac uttered, before yet another crash got their attention, and then another and another.