Chapter 16: A King Sized Surprise
His eyes fluttered open. A clean, white, bright room swam slowly into view. Combing his memory, he searched for any clues as to where he was. Frustrated at coming up empty, he sunk his head back into the big squashy pillow and looked up at the bright ceiling lights. It was only then that he heard it: the sound of shallow breathing from somewhere off to his right. He moved to sit upright and immediately wished he hadn't, as a wave of what can only be described as 'pain masked by strong medication' washed from his head to his toes. Closing his eyes momentarily, hearing the screech of a chair on the mezzanine floor as he did so, he felt a comforting hand gently squeeze his shoulder.
"Easy son, you've been through one hell of an ordeal," a soft, reassuring voice whispered.
He allowed the hand to guide him back down to a prone position, finding the comfort of the squashy pillow once again as it engulfed his head. After a few moments he opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, past the bright white lights. White polystyrene tiles with tiny holes in covered the whole ceiling. Something deep inside him screamed. Slowly at first, but it quickly turned into an unstoppable freight train as all the memories started to return, triggered by the innocuous ceiling tiles. He distinctly remembered hiding behind some, not that long ago. After that, the thoughts came thick and fast, overwhelming him. Fear coursed through him, quickly followed by panic. Ignoring the pain, he sat bolt upright. He'd felt worse, he knew, making it much easier to ignore. Once again the hand landed gently on his shoulder, urging him to lie back. Ignoring it, he instead focused on who the hand belonged to. As the man's features materialised through the bright light, all he could think of was,
'YOU!'
The man nodded, offering a sympathetic smile. His long, unkempt, grey hair framed a hardened face that looked sad and happy in equal measures, a face that Peter had seen on many different occasions and in many different locations. Never though, had he seen him looking so serious. With his memories returned, he looked the old man in the eyes, and urgently said,
"I need to speak to the Council... now!"
"It's alright son," came the reply, "you are."
"You're part of the Council?" asked Peter wide eyed.
The old man's long grey hair bobbed around his shoulders as he nodded his reply.
Peter scratched his chin in thought, and for the very first time noticed the array of bandages covering his body.
"You need to know what happened. There was this... this... this... dragon... called Manson. He was, he was... after the laminium. Oh God, the laminium. Did he take it? Please tell me he didn't manage to take it."
Standing up, the old man walked to the head of the bed, behind Peter, and adjusted the pillows, so that the young dragon would be sitting up properly, before wearily slumping down in the chair beside the bed.
"He didn't take the laminium," he recounted, "well, not the bulk of it anyway."
Peter frowned as he sat propped up in the hospital bed.
"Not the bulk of it?"
"There was close to two tonnes of raw laminium stolen from the Cropptech site. The amount recovered from the Astroturf, thanks to your intervention, matched that almost exactly. A discrepancy arises because, through intensive research, it appears that before the laminium was loaded onto the trucks, a small amount seems to already have been taken. As far as we can tell, about fifteen small chunks, roughly ring sized, weighing no more than six or seven grams each, were cut out of a much larger chunk of ore. How, we don't know. Our belief is that the rogue dragon Manson did this some time ago, without the assistance of anyone else, using the advanced technology at Cropptech. Still... no easy task to do on your own. Why he did this, we still don't know. As to where the missing laminium is, we have no idea about that either, but we do have agents working hard to try and find out. You interrupted a very sophisticated operation here, son."
Peter took in all the information, trying to piece it together in his mind. A question popped into his head as if from nowhere.
"Just how long have I been here?" he croaked, his mouth feeling like the eye of a sandstorm in the middle of the Sahara.
The old man got up and poured Peter a glass of water from the jug on the table beside his bed. Peter gulped it down pretty much in one go, not realising it was possible for water to taste that good.
"You were in a really bad way when you got here. By all accounts you should have been dead."
"Just where is here?" Peter interrupted.
"Salisbridge district hospital, where else? You're in one of the advanced treatment rooms secluded in the basement of the hospital. The emergency dragon plan was set into motion as soon as they were aware that you were on your way."
He nodded, knowing all about dragon plans from his lessons at the nursery ring. In time of great emergency, dragon wise, it should be possible in most major facilities to instigate a change of procedure that in effect subtly moves humans out of the way of what is really happening. In a hospital, for example, dragons in their human form hold posts that would allow them, in an emergency, to change shift and rota patterns unexpectedly and commandeer rooms and equipment without causing suspicion or alarm amongst the humans. Staff such as nurses, doctors and consultants, who may through their specific training recognise inconsistencies in the medical data and results from a patient that looks human but is in actual fact a dragon, would be casually relocated until such a time as the patient can either be found somewhere more private to be treated, in or out of hospital, or has in fact recovered enough to hide their true identity and return to the dragon realm. Peter now knew that he was in the depths of Salisbridge hospital, hidden away, known only to a few, all of whom were dragons.
The old man continued.
"They say the only reason you survived was because someone at the scene applied a very fancy mantra, ancient in design, but incredibly effective. It stopped your body bleeding in an instant and then slowed your metabolism, effectively putting you in a coma, buying enough time for you to get here and be treated by the best we have. If it weren’t for that mantra, you would have died."
Peter thought carefully about what he'd just been told. He couldn't recall any of it.
"Do you have any idea who would have done such a thing?"
He nodded, knowing straight away that it could only have been one person...
"Tank."
"Ahhh... your friend, the big dragon with a love of plants and animals."
"That's right," ventured Peter, suspiciously. "How do you know that?"
Abruptly, the old man (well... dragon) burst into a fit of laughter, the first time Peter had seen anything but seriousness since he'd woken up. After the laughter had died down, the old man wiped his eyes and turned to look at Peter.
"It's my job to know."
He nodded, not entirely convinced.
"Anyway, to answer your question. You've been here for six days."
"SIX DAYS!" exclaimed Peter. "And I'm still in this state, with all the bandages and everything."
"Your injuries were substantial. For some reason you don't seem to be healing as quickly as would normally be expected. Many different mantras have been used to try and heal your injuries, but alas, most have had little or no effect. We think that the particular dragon you came up against has some special abilities that might be contributing to how long it's taking you to heal. Perhaps if you're up to it, you could give me a more detailed description of what happened."
He felt truly terrible. His head was pounding and he ached all over. In some respects it felt as though he was back on the chilly Astroturf, taking the beating of his life. But he didn't want to let anyone down, not least the dragon Council. So, taking a small sip of his water, he replied,
"Of course. Where would you like to start?"
"At the beginning," coaxed the old man, settling into his chair.
Peter started out at the beginning and over the course of two hours, told the old man everything he could remember. Occasionally
the old man would interrupt him and ask a question, but for the most part he just sat in his chair and listened.
Having finished reciting his account of the events of the last few months, he lay back in the hospital bed and closed his eyes, grateful not to have to think about it anymore. The old man sat in silence, considering everything he'd heard. Eventually he spoke up.
"Thank you for your frank and honest account of what happened. It's pretty much as the Council assumed," he said seriously. "There are one or two more details that we were unaware of, but the bulk of it we'd managed to piece together over the last few days."
Lying there with his eyes closed, hoping not to come across as rude, he nodded at what the old man had said.
"I'm guessing there are questions you'd like answered?"
Opening his eyes, Peter nodded eagerly, ready to risk his somewhat croaky voice. Before he got the chance, the old man held up one hand to stop him.
"How about I tell you as much as I can, and then if you have any questions, we can deal with them at the end?"
Peter smiled and nodded, knowing a good compromise when he saw one.
"First things first," announced the old man. "You will no doubt be pleased to hear that Al Garrett has made a full recovery, and with the exception of feeling a little fatigued, is back to his normal, chirpy self. He's well on his way to reversing everything Manson did at Cropptech, including re-employing everyone who had been fired."
He smiled at the thought of Garrett once again in charge, and the company pretty much back to the way it had been.
"He also knows that it was you that took Manson down and recovered the stolen laminium. At the moment everyone thinks you're in intensive care, which in a way you are," smiled the old man. "So I'm sure Garrett and his staff will want to congratulate you when you're well enough to return."
Peter raised his eyebrows at this.
"You were always going to get your job back, it's only a matter of when you're fit enough to return. As far as everyone at Cropptech knows, you had your suspicions about Manson some time ago, you were just biding your time to gather enough evidence against him. They all know you got badly hurt in getting the laminium back. There's a warrant out for Manson's arrest... the human Manson, obviously. Don't worry though, the humans have strict instructions not to approach him. Dragon infiltrators are on the case. Not that anyone expects him to show up in his human form. Personally I think he's long gone."
A crazy picture of human police officers looking at a wanted picture of a gigantic matt black dragon ran through Peter's head, causing him to spill a little of his drink in his lap.
The old man gave him a curious look.
"Events at the Astroturf have all been resolved successfully, mainly due to the quick thinking of the dragons present at the fireworks display. They managed to alert us to the situation very quickly, and a squad of our finest recovery dragons were able to attend the scene within a matter of minutes. None of the humans had left, thank goodness. Posing as police officers, the recovery squad applied a blanket mantra, making everyone think they'd seen the same thing... a lightning strike. While the humans had their memories adjusted, a cleanup squad worked hard on the synthetic pitch itself. Before daylight the next morning, you'll be pleased to know the Astroturf, its fences and floodlights had all been repaired after the damage caused the night before. Apparently it looks as good as new, only with a large smattering of sand in the hope that nobody would look too closely at the surface."
This news pleased Peter almost as much as hearing that Al Garrett had fully recovered. Strange really, but the pitch itself seemed very much like an old friend after all the games of hockey he'd played on it. It was hard to explain, even to himself. At least none of his human friends, or more importantly their children, would be scarred by what they'd seen. He'd had visions of children seeing a big dragon flying over them in the night sky, or the burning remains of a van full of dead bodies. Although he was one of the many dragons that didn't approve of mantras that adjusted human memories as a rule (something that wasn't done that often anyway, and when it was, there were strict guidelines and regulations controlling it,) in this instance, he was glad it had been done, and felt happy in the knowledge that his friends, teammates and their families would remember nothing more than having an enjoyable evening watching the fireworks.
"You will also be pleased to know that your car has been recovered from... " the old man pulled out a sheet of paper from the top pocket of his white linen shirt and studied it, "ah yes, from the housing estate beside the Cropptech site. It's very handy having dragons in high places in most of the country's police forces. Your car is now back outside your house. Speaking of which, we have two dragons looking after your house at the moment. Posing as your aunt and her best friend, they'll remain there for as long as it takes you to fully recover. They look completely innocuous to the neighbours who have been more than a little curious, but are in fact elite members of the King's Guard. We've put them there just in case Manson or one of his associates should try to come back and finish things off. We don't have any reason to believe he will, particularly with both the dragon and human world on such a high alert because of him, but we thought it prudent to do so for at least a few weeks."
Once again, Peter nodded, taking it all in. He hadn't even considered that Manson would come back for him, but the more his mind dwelled on it now, the more uncomfortable he felt about the whole thing.
As if reading Peter's mind, the old man interrupted his chain of thought.
"Don't worry son, we're having a few modifications made to your house, just in case you should get such a visit. Undoubtedly things will never be quite the same, for either you or dragonkind in general. But the one thing that will happen, mark my words, is that we all, including you, will be prepared."
As the words left the old man's mouth, a feeling of hope ran through Peter. If anyone else had told him that the dragon world would be ready to take on Manson and his associates, he would probably have laughed in their face. But there was something about this guy, something about the way he talked, carried himself, spoke, the way he looked into your eyes... Peter had no doubt at all that if the old man told him to run up the stairs to the top of the hospital and fight Manson all over again, he would, here and now, even though he wouldn't want to of course. This old man seemed so ordinary and yet, Peter decided, he would follow him into battle at a moment's notice.
"As well, your phone and that very fancy necklace that I saw you wearing the last time we met on the monorail station, have both been recovered and are now in the drawers beside your bed. And that my young friend, is all that I have to tell you. Do you have any other questions at all?"
"One thing that really bothers me," Peter croaked, taking a small sip of his drink, "is the matter of how Manson knew I was going to try and cure Garrett on that particular Friday. I'd worked so hard and planned it all out to the very last detail. I even watched as his car left the facility to go to the awards ceremony."
"Are you sure you didn't tell anyone?"
Concentrating as much as he could, he thought back to the events leading up to all that.
"I'm sure I didn't tell anyone my intentions. Tank delivered the cure to me, but had no idea what I was planning to do or when." Suddenly, he remembered.
"I do recall sending a brief communication to Councillor Rosebloom though. He sent me a message asking for an update on my progress, as I hadn't been keeping him informed about what was going on," recounted Peter, more than a little guiltily.
"Did you tell him about your plan?"
Peter thought for a moment.
"No, no I didn't. I sent him a quick message telling him when the whole thing would be resolved by, but I didn't give him any details."
The old man twiddled the ends of his unkempt hair in thought.
"What I tell you next must be in absolute secrecy, between you and me. Do you understand?"
"Of course."
"I and some of the othe
r members of the Council have had doubts about Rosebloom for some time. A number of his actions in the past have seemed dubious to say the least, but nothing has ever been proved against him." Revealing all this, the old man looked deeply troubled. "He's also related to a rather treacherous fellow from very far back in the past. A person called... Osvaldo."
Peter vaguely recognised the name, but maybe because of the drugs, or the fact that his body was still recovering from the beating it had taken, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The old man continued.
"Osvaldo cost the lives of many good dragons, a long time ago. It's been generally believed that he's been dead a very long time, but every now and then something comes up that has all the hallmarks of Osvaldo. I don't believe for one second that he's dead. What I do believe is that he is in some way connected to Councillor Rosebloom. I don't know how, and more importantly, I can't prove anything, but I would stake my life on it. While you've done the right thing Peter, I think it's best and also safest for you if you give Councillor Rosebloom a very wide berth. If he or anyone else asks, you're to say that I've asked you to report directly to me. Is that okay?"
Peter stared wide eyed at the old man, barely able to believe anything he'd heard.
"Of course, of course," he croaked in reply.
Though tired, drugged, bruised, battered and overwhelmed, he mulled over everything in his mind. He couldn't think of anything else he wanted to say, which was just as well because once again the old man spoke up.
"Oh... the one thing I didn't tell you, but you've probably figured out already, is that you're being guarded by a whole host of police down here. All of them are dragons, along with all the medical staff of course. You haven't been allowed any visitors I'm afraid, due to the seriousness of the situation, but I've a funny feeling that there might just be some waiting to see you right now."
He felt exhausted and thought to himself that he really couldn't face any visitors at this present moment, but before he had a chance to say anything, the old man closed his eyes and whispered,
"Send them in."
Stretching out with his dragon senses, which were limited at the moment due to his injuries, he could just about sense the guards who manned the corridor, two of whom he felt hiding in the recesses of the ceiling. Just as he felt his strength waning, right at the limit of his ability, he felt a familiar presence, no make that two familiar presences. HIS FRIENDS!!!
Mere seconds later Richie and Tank burst through the door like a raging river, grinning like Cheshire cats. Both ran straight to Peter's bedside, crowding him for all he was worth.
"You had us so worried," announced Richie, bending forward and kissing him on the forehead.
Peter smiled, squeezing Richie's hand tight. Tank leant in close and said,
"Yes so worried," and puckered up, ready to kiss Peter too.
Peter burst into a fit of laughter, something it seemed he hadn't done in an absolute age, his injuries flaring up with pain. Both friends followed suit with the laughter, almost as though the three of them were back in the nursery ring. As the hilarity came to a gradual halt, the friends noticed they were not alone in the room. Silence overtook what should have been a joyous reunion. Tank and Richie stared at the old man. Peter couldn't comprehend exactly what was going on, but joined his friends anyway. He wanted to tell them that they had nothing to worry about as this was one of the Council members. Joining his friends in looking over the old man, he was drawn for the very first time to the stunning looking cane that the old man always kept with him. Something at the back of him mind nagged at him, but for the life of him he couldn't work out what it was.
Tank reacted first, shooting down on one knee faster than a bullet from a gun. Unusual for Richie not to be first on the uptake, she too dropped to one knee, as quick as a flash, right behind the strapping rugby player. Peter sat up as far as he was able to without passing out. Leaning over the side of the bed, watching his friends both on one knee, their heads bowed, he wondered briefly if they'd both gone mad.
"What's going on?” he whispered in Tank's direction.
Tank curled his head round slightly, rolling his eyes in the direction of the old man. Peter had absolutely no idea what was going on.
"Enough!" commanded the old man sternly. "You may both get up."
Peter was stunned to see both of his friends obey immediately.
Both Tank and Richie glanced at Peter, who it had to be said, had the most confused expression ever, almost as if someone were trying to explain football's offside rule.
Eventually, he had no choice but to ask,
"What the hell is going on?"
Tank turned to face his friend and mouthed just one word.
"King." Totally baffled, Peter mouthed back the same word to his friend.
Tank shook his head in disbelief.
"What he's trying to tell you," laughed the old man, grinning from ear to ear, "is that I'm the... KING!"
Peter gulped as his stomach did a somersault that any Olympic gymnast would have been proud of.
"The king?" he said sceptically.
"That's right," replied the king, smiling.
"But you said you were from the Council?" ventured Peter.
"Well, technically, I am," answered the king, standing up. As he did so, he pulled his cane out from behind the chair, moving closer to the bed, alongside Tank and Richie.
The cane looked magnificent. It reflected the bright white light from the ceiling in a kind of purple hue, whilst continually looking flexible and strong, both at the same time. Two thirds of the way up its hilt, a sparkling purple trident carved into it glowed, occasionally pulsing on and off. Raising his head, he followed the entire length of the cane, stopping only when he reached the top, and the old man's hand.
'I can't believe it,' he thought to himself. 'It's so obvious now.' The old man's hand rested on the cane, covering the top of it. However, it wasn't the top of the cane that had caught Peter's attention. It was the ring on the middle finger of the old man's hand. Not just any ring, but the most famous and recognisable ring in the kingdom. How on earth had he not spotted it before? Silently, Peter berated himself.
The old man, no, the king, spotted Peter gazing intently at the ring.
"Mesmerising isn't it?"
"It certainly is," replied Peter, not taking his eyes off it for one moment.
"When I first joined the Council, hundreds of years ago, I was but a lowly knight, easily the youngest dragon there," the king continued, starry eyed. “I attended Council meetings whenever my knight's duties allowed, and also had private audiences with the king on a regular basis. Years passed, and not once did I notice this," he declared, holding up his hand, indicating the spectacular ring.
The three friends each let out a long breath.
The king held up his hand to stop the inevitable question being asked.
"You see, the ring itself, as well as containing an almost limitless supply of... how would you put it... mana, magic, mantra enhancing energy, has a sentience of its own, a mind if you like. It can sense those all about it, good, bad, indifferent. And for some peculiar reason, which to this day isn't known even to me, it chooses not to show itself to certain individuals. Ever since we first met Peter, you've never been able to see the ring, not before just now when your friends pointed out to you who I am, even when others around you can."
"Why has it always been concealed from me, up until now I mean?"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you. I have absolutely no idea. The crazy band has a mind of its own. I can use its power and enhance mantras and spells at will, whenever I like, although I wouldn't be surprised to learn that actually it’s humouring me in some way, shape or form, but I have no control over who it shows itself to."
Off to one side, Tank began to open his mouth to ask a question. Before he could do so, he was stopped once again by the king.
"And before you ask, hardly anyone knows what I've just told you, and I'd like it
to remain that way, our little secret."
The three friends nodded eagerly in unison. Well, you would wouldn't you... for the king.
"Good. I know I can trust each and every one of you," declared the king, stepping back a little from the bed, so that he could take in Tank and Richie.
Richie bowed her head as the king stared straight at her. She didn't want to appear rude. In truth, she didn't know what to do.
Taking a couple of paces forward, the king reached out and gently tilted her head by the chin, so that they could look into each other's eyes.
"No need to be shy, child," he whispered softly, all the time taking her in. It wasn't often Richie was lost for words, but she was most certainly speechless now. Peter and Tank exchanged a little glance, knowing that in any other situation, they'd probably be laughing their socks off at their friend's dilemma.
"You would be Richie Rump. Am I correct?" asked the king.
She blushed as she nodded a response.
"Hmmmm...," uttered the king, studying Richie carefully. "So much paperwork comes my way that it's often hard to pick out the wood from the trees. So many individuals, it's almost impossible, even with an eidetic memory to remember, but you... hmmmm... I seem to recall."
Worried expressions developed on both Tank and Peter's faces simultaneously, knowing all about Richie's antics, standing up for everyone all the time, showing off, arm wrestling rugby players, that sort of thing. It looked as though it was all going to come back and bite her in the ass in the biggest possible way.
Richie's blushing disappeared, a much more defiant expression taking its place. The two friends looked on in horror.
"Yes, that's right," said the king, suddenly seeming to remember something.
"The last report with your name on it mentioned something about... what was it again... arm wrestling big, bulky sportsmen of some sort. Would that be correct?"
Jutting out her chin, her expression remaining defiant, she looked the king firmly in the eyes and answered,
"Yes."
'This is it,' thought Peter. 'Richie's going to get carted off and be forced to remain underground, with little or no chance of ever getting to see the planet's surface or the humans ever again. Perhaps', he thought, 'if I could just beg forgiveness on her behalf, then just maybe she'll be allowed to stay.'
Before he had a chance to act, the king burst into the biggest, rambunctious belly laugh that he'd ever heard in his entire life. The three friends were totally bewildered. After thirty seconds or so, the king managed to regain his composure.
Peter had no idea what was going to happen next. Unexpectedly, the monarch put his arm around Richie's shoulders in a fatherly sort of way.
"Save the defiance for somebody else, my dear," he said, plainly amused. "It's wasted on me. I know about most of the things you get up to. Ever since you graduated from the nursery ring, I've been getting reports with your name on them. Of course some of my advisors frown upon most of your actions, but then most of them are pushing three hundred years old and have never even visited the surface, let alone lived amongst the humans. Much the same can be said for some of the other dragons living in Salisbridge, I'm afraid, which is why I see so many reports linked to your good self. In all honesty, they'd like to see me give you some sort of reprimand or dressing down, I'm sure. But you remind me of..." A thoughtful expression crossed his weathered face. "Let's just say another dragon I once knew. He acted in much the same way and although many frowned upon his actions, his heart was in the right place, wanting only the best for the humans."
A little smile broke the steely facade of Richie's face momentarily.
"That's not to say that I'm giving you some sort of permission to embarrass and ridicule human kind on a regular basis, you understand," voiced the king sternly.
Richie's smile disappeared faster than a rat out of an aqueduct.
"But, and if you tell anyone outside this room that I said this, ohhhh they'll be trouble," said the king, now smiling, "I trust you to keep the humans on their toes, and bring the ones that get too big for their boots, down to Earth once in a while." The king held out his hand for Richie to shake, before adding, "Deal?"
Richie grasped the outstretched hand, her confidence restored. Instead of shaking it, she walked right up to him and planted a soft kiss on his weathered right cheek.
Peter and Tank both winced as she did so. They were pretty sure that kissing the monarch without permission wasn't royal protocol. However, the king just let out a raucous cackle, much to the friends’ relief.
Having finished laughing, the king turned to study Tank. Unlike Richie, Tank carried himself as always, with a cheerful expression and a larger degree of modesty. He stood happily as the king approached him and gazed into his large, smiling face.
"And you would be... Tank?" suggested the king.
"That's right," replied Tank, offering out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Your Majesty."
A sudden frown crept over the monarch's face.
"What... no kiss?"
For a split second Tank's face was an absolute picture. Richie burst into laughter first, followed swiftly by the king and then Peter. Tank soon saw the funny side and joined in, always able to appreciate a joke at his own expense.
"Sorry, son," chuckled the king, when the guffaws died down. "Couldn't resist I'm afraid."
"No problem," countered Tank, meaning every word.
"You're the one that nearly became a laminium ball player, is that right?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Peter and Richie shared a momentary look of astonishment. That was news to them.
"And now you work for... Gee Tee?"
"Yes, Majesty."
"Less of the majesty," ordered the king. "We're all friends here."
Tank nodded his big head in agreement.
"How do you like working for the master mantra maker, son?"
"It's fascinating," Tank asserted wistfully. "I had no idea that so many different types of mantras and magical artefacts existed. I've only seen a fraction of what's in the shop itself, but those that I have would make most dragons’ eyes pop out."
This time it was the king's turn to nod in agreement.
"Not to mentions the things Gee Tee himself knows," continued the rugby playing dragon. "Some of it’s mind boggling, it really is, but mostly it's just absolutely brilliant. I'm sure with more time and research, the mantras, combined with Gee Tee's breadth of knowledge could have astounding beneficial effects on human civilisation."
About to go off on one as Peter liked to describe it, the king stopped the young dragon before he could go any further, having already got the impression that the youngster could talk about his work for a whole day or more.
Peter smiled on noting how quick the king was on the uptake. Clearly one of the attributes of being the monarch was to be able to distinguish somebody that could talk at great length and know just when, and how, to stop them.
"I do hope that before you use any of your newfound knowledge topside that you'll run it by the planetary development department at the Council."
"Of course, Majesty."
"You could also perform a small act for me," stated the king, "and don't worry, there's no kissing involved."
All three of them smiled at the king's joke as Tank replied,
"Anything, Your Majesty."
"You could thank your employer for helping out in this instance, from me personally. Also, perhaps you'd be good enough to tell him that I'm sorry it's been so long, but I will pop in as soon as I get the chance. I look forward to examining some of his... mantra ink again."
Taking a sip of water just as the king uttered those last few words, on hearing "mantra ink", Peter sprayed the entire length of the bed with the contents of his mouth, then went on to have the mother of all coughing fits. Richie patted him hard on the back, so hard that his internal organs felt it. The king, meanwhile, gave him a knowing look.
"You do know Peter, that certain m
antra ink has an age requirement before you can use it?" declared the monarch, in a tone that could have been either very serious or a little light hearted. Finished with his coughing, Peter pretended not to know what the king was talking about, while it was abundantly clear that neither Richie or Tank needed to pretend. The king turned his attention back to Tank.
"I'll certainly pass the message on, Your Majesty," said Tank, letting all the stuff about the mantra ink go over his head.
"Good dragon," remarked the king, slapping Tank hard on the shoulder.
"You know Gee Tee?" enquired Peter from his hospital bed.
"Who doesn't?" replied the king quickly.
Peter eyed him suspiciously, suspecting there was more to it than that.
"Truth be told," added the king, looking around cautiously, "the old shopkeeper has helped me in much the same way he's helped you, on more than one occasion. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be standing here if not for his help. I owe him my life many times over, as I'm sure many other adventuring dragons down the ages do. Once again, I feel I'm trusting the three of you with one of my innermost secrets."
"We won't say a thing," the three of them replied, almost in unison.
The king nodded, acknowledging that he could trust them, and then stepped back so that he could address all of them at once.
"I think now might be a good time to take my leave and let the three of you catch up."
Relief ran through Tank and Richie. Although honoured and gobsmacked in equal measures to meet the king in person, something very few dragons ever got to do, they were also more than a little unsure of how to act and behave in front of him. Peter, on the other hand, was very nearly overwhelmed by panic. At first he wasn't quite sure why, but a split second later he knew. He wanted answers, answers that perhaps he would never have the chance to get again. Quickly swinging his legs down to the floor from the bed, ignoring the searing pain, he stood up, and despite the fact that his head spun more than a little, he wobbled over towards the king. Tank and Richie rushed to his aid, but he waved both of them away and stood firmly in front of the monarch on his own two feet. His king looked at him bemused.
"Please don't go just yet," he pleaded.
"I'm afraid I have some very important unfinished business to attend to," answered the king.
"I... I... I... I have some more questions," stuttered Peter, gazing straight down at the floor.
"Okay," agreed the king, picking up on just how important this seemed to the young dragon. "What's on your mind, son?"
With the undivided attention of the dragon king, in this small hospital room, suddenly Peter felt under extreme pressure, almost wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.
"Don't be shy son. You can ask me anything you like."
He could feel the steam rising off him, much in the same way it did off his favourite steam trains in Swanage. Nerves caused his stomach to rumble and tumble, while his legs wobbled like jelly. Grabbing his arm, the king led him back to the bed. Peter gratefully sat down on the edge of it.
"Is it something you'd rather not have your friends hear?" asked the king, glancing over at Tank and Richie.
"No... no... no... not at all."
"Then ask," said the king. "I don't bite, well... not in this form anyway."
Peter managed to smile at the king's attempt to put him at ease.
"It's just that... it's just that... why me?"
The king looked questioningly back at him. Peter knew he hadn't made himself clear.
"I understand the whole Cropptech, Manson thing. He was after the laminium and I was just in his way. Wrong place, wrong time and all that. It's just, well... I was wondering why you sought me out all those times in the past? Do you do that for everybody or is there some sort of reason?"
"Ahhh," sighed the king. "I did wonder if you would ask."
Peter lifted his head expectantly.
"Perhaps the three of you should sit," suggested the king, motioning towards the bed.
Tank and Richie perched down on the edge, one either side of Peter. The king in the meantime looked as though he was doing some serious thinking, deciding no doubt just how much he could tell the three friends.
After pacing the length of the room twice, the monarch stood in front of the trio and began.
"I haven't always been king, as I'm sure you're all aware. I've already mentioned that at the start of my career on the Council, I was also a knight. What you probably don't know, and only a few do, is that I wasn't just any knight. In fact, I'm guessing with a little help, Peter can tell the two of you exactly who I once was, before I became king."
Tank and Richie turned towards Peter, waiting for him to work it out.
Peter could feel the pressure and expectation on him mount. He didn't care for it very much, and had no idea how he was supposed to work out the king's puzzle. He'd never met a genuine knight, only heard the stories like so many of the other dragonlings. Noting the youngster's creased face, the king took pity on him, giving him the clue that he so needed.
"What would be the most ironic thing, bearing in mind your favourite nursery ring tale?"
Racking his brains, he tried desperately hard to think what the king meant. He was not very good at quizzes at the best of times, and this most certainly wasn't one of those. As the breath from each of his friends caressed either cheek and steam rose steadily from beneath his dark, curly locks, he gazed up into the king's worn, but kindly face. In that moment, it looked as though it had seen terrible tragedies and remarkable sorrow.
'What would be ironic?' he thought over and over to himself. His favourite tale with or without a knight was of course George and the Dragon. He'd heard it so many times that he knew it off by heart, but ironic?
Abruptly, the light bulb moment in his mind arrived.
'You've got to be kidding me!' he thought, smiling at the king, trying to gauge if it could be true. The old man persona had a perfect poker face and gave nothing away.
"Are you really him?" Peter asked quietly.
The king gave a gentle nod in return.
"I've always thought it ironic that your favourite tale was that particular one."
Richie and Tank were frantic, bursting to know what was going on.
"Is anyone going to let us in on the little secret?" requested Tank, feigning annoyance.
The king smiled at them all.
"As a knight, I believe you would have known me as... George. You might even remember a little encounter I had with a... dragon."
It took a couple of seconds for the penny to drop, but for anyone who was watching, the wait would have been thoroughly worth it. Richie's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, while at the same time Tank's jaw nearly hit the floor.
"The George, from George and the Dragon," the two friends said as one.
Once again the king nodded, remembering fondly his time as the knight, George.
'So long ago,' he thought, 'far simpler times.'
"All my secrets are coming out today, it would seem. You may all address me as George in private. Otherwise you'll have to stick to Your Majesty."
All three friends nodded at once.
"The reason that I've followed you with interest, Peter, is that your grandfather, your mother's father, was one of my most trusted comrades. We fought side by side for decades and developed something of a friendship."
Peter's face had gone totally ashen. He'd never met his grandfather, but had inherited the house in Salisbridge and all its contents from him. He never knew what had become of him, or anything else about him.
The king, glancing over at Peter's face, decided to press on.
"I first met your grandfather the day after the battle with Troydenn. He was one of the first to arrive in the city. Although already a seasoned warrior, what impressed me most about him was his ability to recognise what needed to be done, and then to get on and do it. He helped set up the first of the emergency hospitals... no more really than a large hall with an array
of tables and a primitive grasp of medicine. But straight away he mucked in, organising triage, making use of everything available in an effort to save as many humans as possible. They were desperate and dark times. While others slept from exhaustion, he'd wander the wreckage of the beleaguered city looking for anything that had been missed. Most thought him mad, myself included at the time. However, we were all proved wrong when, on the second night, he was heard shouting out for help. For a moment we all thought our worst nightmares had sprung back into life and that Troydenn had escaped. Not so. Your grandfather had moved a huge amount of rubble on his own and found a pregnant woman trapped in a hole about thirty feet deep, still alive. She was only moments away from giving birth. With the surrounding area unstable and ready to collapse, and with the child about to spring into this world, your grandfather, with absolutely no thought for his own safety, tossed me the end of a rope, and then clambered down into the hole, gripping the rope with one hand, carrying a lamp in the other. While I and a few others watched from atop the rubble, your grandfather safely delivered the baby, a girl if memory serves me correctly. He then, calmly as you like, tied the baby to the rope, wrapped in his own clothing and let us bring her out. He did the same with the mother, and only after they were safe did he come out himself. I've fought battles against some of the harshest monsters this planet has to offer, but I can honestly say that incident was one of the bravest things I've ever witnessed."
Peter couldn't hide the stream of tears that gushed down his cheeks from his friends sitting either side of him, listening intently.
"After that night, I made a point of finding out about your grandfather. He was the kind of dragon I wanted by my side. Brave, fearless, inventive, he possessed all those qualities and more. He helped transport Troydenn back underground and but for a quirk of fate would have been one of the guards that accompanied the conspirators on that fateful journey to the South Pole. The king at the time had heard about his heroics in the city, mainly from me but from others as well, and rather than let him go to the South Pole, instead promoted him and assigned him to partner me. And the rest, as they say, is history. He stayed, avoided death at the Pole, got promoted, we worked together and became the best of friends."
Stopping all of a sudden, the king rubbed his forehead, looking as sombre as any of the friends had seen him that afternoon. Tears continued to stream down Peter's face at the thought of the valiant and heroic deeds his grandfather had performed alongside George, all those years ago.
Continuing where he left off, the king started pacing again.
"As the years went by, I became enthralled by and embedded in the politics of the dragon kingdom, looking to make an impact and shape the world in that particular forum. Your grandfather had little time for politics and especially politicians. He thought them time wasters and frauds. Many a night we would down an ale together and nibble on some charcoal, putting the world to rights, fighting like cat and dog about how best to serve the world. God I miss those nights so much," sighed the king. "Although our careers kept us apart for long periods of time, we always reunited wherever possible. The bond of friendship between us remained strong. Eventually I was crowned king, not in the most pleasant of circumstances, but something I'd worked towards for a very long time. One of my first acts as the new monarch was to recall your grandfather from the mission he was on. When he arrived in my chambers, he was livid, raging on about how important the mission was and how I had wrecked everything, calling him back at a moment's notice. It took some time, and many broken relics, for him to calm down. Those chambers were never quite the same after that. In due course, he listened to what I had to say. Most rulers have their own emissaries, right hand dragons, call them what you will. I explained to your grandfather that I wanted him to be mine. He scoffed and laughed at me for quite some time. Finally, however, after I explained to him that he was the only dragon on the entire planet that I trusted completely and utterly, he started to listen. I explained that not only would it be diplomatic matters that he would deal with, but also delicate matters that might require a more... covert approach. This got his attention, and somewhat reluctantly he agreed to take up the position. From my point of view, I never looked back. Despite his reservations, he was a wonderful diplomat: courteous, understanding, intelligent and tough as nails when he had to be. Carrying out covert operations with such cunning, skill and guile, he undoubtedly saved tens of thousands of lives, both human and dragon, most certainly making the world a much better and more civilised place.
Pacing across the hospital room quickly now, the king's bottom lip began to quiver just a little, as Peter wiped away the tears, determined to hear the rest of the story. He'd always felt a connection with his grandfather, even though he had never known him. Everything he'd heard here today made him so proud.
"About seventy or so years ago," began the king, threatening to become overwhelmed by the situation, "I sent your grandfather on one of those missions. At the time it didn't seem like anything too special; neither of us had any major concerns about the outcome or indeed how it would be carried out. The danger was minimal. Or so we thought. Anyhow, that fateful mission went wrong. To this day, I'm not quite sure how, but it did. Neither your grandfather nor any of the dragons with him have been heard from to this very day. I sent other teams to search for them, but all to no avail."
The king had wandered around to the other side of Peter's bed, slumping in the chair, eyes closed, running his hands through his long grey hair.
"I wish to God that I'd never sent him on that blasted assignment," ranted the king angrily. "There were others that could have gone in his place, but none were as good as he was. He always got the job done, no matter what. I still have no idea to this very day what happened to him and his team. I've done everything I can think of to find out. I'd give everything I have just to know."
Richie and Tank sat rigid on the edge of the bed, the quiet, out of the way hospital room punctuated by only the sounds of the king and Peter sobbing.
Moments passed, seconds turned into minutes, and the crying stopped. The king to his credit, although upset, was determined to carry on and finish off the story.
"Some time before all that, a few years earlier in fact, your grandfather had taken me to the Purbeck nursery ring to see you. We travelled incognito, not wanting to be recognised. It was difficult not to recognise you with that bent whistle marking that, even as a young dragon, stood out very clearly. While we were there, perched on the wall by the side of the walkway, watching you listen intently to your tor, he asked a great favour of me. He asked that I look out for you, should anything happen to him. He was very serious about it, telling me that he'd left you his house and all the belongings inside it. He was passionate about making sure you were looked after. How could I possibly refuse?
The other thing he went on to mention was the fact that he'd fallen out with your parents. I have no specific details as to why, but something very bad happened between them. So much so, that when they deposited your egg at the nursery ring before they disappeared, they left explicit instructions not to let your grandfather have anything to do with you, for as long as you were there. As you are aware, those instructions have to be followed to the letter. And so it was they upped and left as many parents do."
Peter covered his eyes with his hand, thinking that he might cry again. It was all too much to take in. He felt sad that his parents had left him without so much as a thought. Why couldn't he have grown up in their company? Where had they gone? He'd known their names on leaving the nursery ring, and had looked them up on the dragon register. But there was no sign of either of them anywhere. They seemed to have abandoned him and disappeared into thin air.
Despite his disappointment at a life without his parents, he felt great pride and love for the grandfather he'd never known. From what he'd heard this afternoon, his grandfather sounded like such a decent dragon, making sure his house and its contents were passed down and that his best friend (the kin
g) kept an eye on him. He desperately wished he could have met him, just once. As he delved deeper into his thoughts, anger leapt up to the forefront, threatening to consume him.
'Why would they not want my grandfather to come near me? What did they fall out over? It must have been something really bad to cause all that. Did it have something to do with them leaving?'
Startled back to the present by the sound of the king clearing his throat, Peter continued listening.
"Despite the instructions that he wasn't allowed to have anything to do with you, I know for a fact that your grandfather would spend most of his time when he wasn't working for me, sitting alone on that wall next to the nursery ring, watching your development, looking over you in his own special way."
On hearing this, Peter's head was in his hands, the tears readily flowing down both cheeks again, dropping onto the polished white floor.
"Only a month or so after he took me to see you at the nursery ring, your grandfather left a large trunk with me (not the grey sort with the meanest wakeup call in the world) to be given to you when I thought you were ready for it. To this day, it remains untouched in my home, waiting for you. Perhaps when you've fully recovered you can come and claim it; your friends would be welcome too."
Continuing to cry, Peter gave a large sniff as he nodded in reply.
The king's mood lightened a little, a weight lifted from his shoulders.
"Have you ever wondered why your grandfather's house is in Salisbridge?" he asked cheerily.
Peter shook his head, as both Tank and Richie looked on.
"It seems he fell in love with the place while working there. I bet you can't guess when that was?"
With Peter still distraught, Tank thought he'd try and break the silence that was becoming more awkward by the second, so he replied, trying to lighten the mood,
"During your fight with Troydenn... .you know, George and the Dragon and all that."
"Exactly!" roared the king, much to Tank's astonishment. All three of them looked up at the monarch, thinking that perhaps he was building up to one of his jokes.
"It's true," exclaimed the king. History books only ever mention that I battled Troydenn in some rural part of England. They never actually say where, but it was in fact Salisbridge. Your grandfather once told me that from the moment he arrived there as part of the aid effort, he felt a connection of some sort, not just to the people, but to the city itself. Throughout the years, whenever he was off duty or recovering from one of the missions that I'd sent him on, he could always be found in Salisbridge. Eventually he bought his own human house there around the turn of the century I believe," said the king wistfully. "And he remained in love with the place right up until he... until the day he left on that fateful mission."
Peter's head sprang up, looking the king right in the eyes.
"Can I ask what the mission he set out to do was... please?"
This clearly caught the king off guard. He hadn't for the life of him been prepared for this, but perhaps he should have been. Wandering over to Peter, the monarch crouched down in front of him.
"I'm afraid it's not quite that simple, my young friend. You see, the mission and all information pertaining to it is top secret. And while I would be quite happy to tell you and trust you with that information, if it ever got out that I did so without the permission of the Council itself, my political enemies would use it against me. I can, however, put in a request to the Council on your behalf, asking for the details to be shared with you, so that you may put to rest the memory of your grandfather. Would you like me to do that?"
Peter nodded vigorously.
"Yes please."
"Okay son, I'll do that for you. Hopefully by the time you're well enough to come to visit me and pick up your grandfather's belongings, I'll have some sort of decision as to whether or not the details can be revealed to you."
With the king looking as though he was about to make his excuses and leave, Tank raised his hand to ask a question about something that had been bugging him for a little while now.
Smiling at Tank's manners, the monarch asked,
"What's on your mind, big fella?"
Tilting his head to one side, giving the king one of his lopsided grins, Tank asked,
"We were always taught in the nursery ring that the dragon king wasn't allowed on the surface of the planet... ever! If that's so, how is it that you're here?"
"And I thought it was this young lady here, who was the smarty pants of the group," laughed the king, gazing at Richie.
Richie blushed, lost for words once again.
"It would appear that I've been... busted!" announced the monarch, opening his arms wide, whilst whirling around in a circle. "Guards, guards, guards, come and arrest me!"
Tank perched on the hospital bed, wishing he'd never asked.
"Let me share something else with all three of you. I'm not supposed to be on the surface," whispered the king, tapping his nose. "But I figure since I'm the king, I'll do as I damn well please."
The three friends chuckled at his attitude.
"And let me tell you another thing. I haven't been above ground in over a hundred years and I'm not sure I care for it too much. It's all so... fast. Everyone's in a hurry. The cars, the people, even the hospital porters, dragging patients at top speed everywhere, and driving those damned little trucks. Five times I was nearly run over by them on my way here. Five times!"
The friends were beside themselves with laughter at this, tears, for very different reasons, racing down their cheeks.
"It's all true," cried the king indignantly. "Seriously though, Tank, you're right. I'm not supposed to be here. However, at this present moment, as well as the seventy or so dragons hidden throughout the hospital, I would guess that within a five mile radius of where I'm standing, there are at least another five hundred or so dragons, ready to come to my aid at a moment's notice."
Tank whistled to himself, impressed.
"So you see my young friends, I always think of myself as the knight I once was. And while, at this present time, we as a community face a very real threat, part of which you all thwarted, I will never be afraid to go anywhere or do anything that I have to ask other dragons to do."
Sighing profoundly, the king rolled his head around his shoulders in an attempt to loosen up the muscles that had tightened since he'd been at the hospital.
"I'm sorry, but I really do have to go now. There are some pressing issues that have developed in the South Pole that I have to go and sign off on. No doubt you will all learn about them soon enough, through the telepathic papers. Another of our expeditions there has gone missing, the second in a row. The first was very low key, with hardly anyone knowing. This time however, it's much more serious. I bid you all farewell and look forward to meeting you again. Your friends are welcome to accompany you when you come to pick up your grandfather's belongings, Peter. For that matter, you may extend the invitation to Gee Tee as well. I can only imagine how long he's had to wait. The whole community owes you a debt of gratitude for what you've done in stopping the dragon Manson. On their behalf I thank all three of you." The king bowed as he turned to leave and said,
"Farewell."
The scuffed wooden door closed silently after him, as the three friends sat in silence, barely able to believe what had gone on. To have caught a glimpse of the king through a crowd was one thing; this was something else altogether. Tank spoke first.
"Your grandfather sounds like one hell of a guy."
"He sure does," replied Peter, a hint of sadness in his voice.
"Fancy having the king looking out for you," teased Richie. "What's that all about?"
Tank smacked his friend playfully in the arm.
"Do we have to bow now? I'm not quite sure what the protocol is," he scoffed.
Peter shook his head, smiling as he did so.
"There's going to be no end to this, is there?"
"Whatever do you mean... majesty?" chuckled Richie.
/> "Sire?" mocked Tank, grinning.
"Bugger!" quipped Peter loudly.
Richie and Tank both burst out laughing.
Sitting on the bed contemplating the months of abuse just like this that he had to look forward to, realisation dawned on him.
"Hang on a minute," he cried. "What happened in the final?" he asked excitedly. "Did they win... ohhhhh... tell me they won, pleeeaaassseee tell me they won."
Richie and Tank shared a look, their smiles slowly disappearing. In unison they shook their heads in answer to Peter's question.
"They lost!" Peter exclaimed, heartbroken.
"Afraid so," mused Tank.
"Did you... did you... got to the match?"
Richie stifled a laugh.
"What do you think?"
"We've been here all the time," added Tank. "All the time."
Peter hung his head in shame.
"Sorry, I should have known. I would have done the same for either of you."
"You know I do believe his majesty would have attended the match," mimicked Richie in a pretend posh voice.
"I'm pretty sure you're right. Sire would have gone to the final of the Global Cup."
"Oh right... very funny," observed Peter.
"We did at least get to hear a live running commentary though," sighed Tank.
"No way!"
Tank and Richie both nodded.
"The brother of one of your guards was at the match. His brother phoned him and we all got to listen in live. Don't worry, from the sounds of it we didn't miss very much as Indigo Warriors fans. They got their asses kicked."
"Oh well... there's always next year," said Peter hopefully.
"Yeah right," said Tank. "Do you have any idea what the likelihood is of the Warriors getting to the final two years in a row?"
"Yeah," said Richie, "you've got a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of here."
The three friends laughed their socks off.
THE END
Dedication
To Rachel, Jaina and Poppy – the best family anyone could ever wish for. Thank you so much for your love and support, without which this book would never have been possible. The three of you make me feel like the luckiest man alive.
And to the real Alan Garrett - thank you for letting me use your name, and for your friendship throughout the years.
A long time ago, through a stroke of luck, I was introduced to the sport of hockey. It changed and shaped my life beyond measure. Those of you who play any sort of team sport will undoubtedly know what I’m talking about. Those of you who don’t, should try taking one up - you might like it! To players of all team sports everywhere... this book is dedicated to you. Hope you have enjoyed!
Paul Cude
About the Author
Paul Cude is a husband, father, field hockey player and aspiring photographer. Lost without his hockey stick, he can often be found in between writing and chauffeuring children, reading anything from comics to sci-fi, fantasy to thrillers. Too often found chained to his computer, it would be little surprise to find him, in his free time, somewhere on the Dorset coastline, chasing over rocks and sand in an effort to capture his wonderful wife and lovely kids with his camera. Paul Cude is also the author of the Bentwhistle the Dragon series of books.
Other books by Paul Cude
The Bentwhistle the Dragon Series
Bentwhistle the Dragon in A Chilling Revelation
Bentwhistle the Dragon in A Twisted Prophecy
A Right Royal RumpASS
Bentwhistle will return in Earth’s Custodians
Connect with Paul online
Bentwhistle website: https://www.bentwhistlethedragon.co.uk/
Blog: https://www.thesoberhockeyplayer.co.uk/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/@paul_cude
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Bentwhistlethedragon
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