"BOO!!" screamed Tank and Flash, simultaneously leaping out from behind a vertical array of LCD screens. Peter's backpack thudded to the ground, dropped in surprise. Tank and Flash both burst into laughter.
"Blimey you made me jump," protested Peter, retrieving his backpack from the completely spotless floor.
"Sorry Pete," laughed Tank. "We saw you through the windows sprinting across the station and just couldn't resist." Flash nodded his agreement.
"I suppose I'd have done the same," admitted Peter reluctantly.
Prank over, the three friends thought it best to board their intercontinental ride, rather than risk missing it and having to wait twelve or so hours for the next one.
Luggage stowed, the monorail, all eight carriages of it, pulled out of Pudding Lane station, continuing on its journey across the planet, the friends settling into their seats, imagining how their favourite laminium ball team were furiously preparing for the big game.
* * *
By now, he'd normally had a relaxing snooze, but he hadn't slept a wink. Something was deeply wrong. Not knowing what, every molecule in his huge dragon frame screamed out at him. He'd thought about telling someone. But who would he tell? Who would believe him? And more importantly, what exactly would he say? "I've got a feeling something's wrong, but I just don't know what"? He'd be a laughing stock. And if it got out, laminium ball fans from teams across the globe would be singing about it for decades to come. No, he had to try and figure it out himself. His search of the facilities had proven fruitless. There had to be something else he could do. There had to be another avenue he could explore. Turning the giant car sized pillow over, he tried to find the colder side... it was a habit of his. Even in the middle of the night he'd wake, his head overly hot. Often he'd take a sip from the tankard of ice cold water on his bedside table (the tankard itself was a gift from a fan, and had been carefully imbued with a mantra that kept the liquid inside chilled), before turning his pillow over and dropping back off to sleep. On consideration he supposed it was kind of an odd habit.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. He wasn't expecting anyone, and it was unusual to get any visitors before the match.
'Perhaps,' he thought, 'this has something to do with the strange feeling.'
Cautiously he opened the door, only to find Silverbonce standing there, wings on hips.
"It's about time," barked the old mouth guard, dodging past Steel, marching into his room. "Too busy pampering yourself I suppose."
Steel smiled, when most would have taken offence. Knowing the old mouth guard for so many years, he understood this was just his way, and he knew if he waited patiently he'd find out exactly what was on the old dragon's mind.
Standing in the middle of the plush suite, Silverbonce circled like a bird of prey; what he was looking for was anyone's guess. After half a minute or so, he threw open his wings and shouted,
"CAN YOU FEEL IT?"
'Of course,' thought Steel. 'If I can feel it, then Silverbonce, with all of his years of experience, is bound to have recognised it. I should have known.'
"Something's wrong," replied Steel to the old dragon's question.
"Exactly. But what?"
"I don't know," answered Steel, hoping the question had been rhetorical.
It had been.
"I've only ever felt like this once before," put in Silverbonce. "It was 1911 and we were playing at the Glockenspiel Arena, just below the town of Söll in Austria."
"Never heard of it," interrupted Steel.
"Wouldn't have expected you to. It doesn't exist anymore. In the days running up to the game, I had the same feeling I have now, the one that you yourself are experiencing. Goodness knows I tried to do something about it, but for the life of me, I didn't know what it meant or what I should do. I searched the arena, talked to everyone I could, even thought about taking human form and going to the surface."
At the very mention of this, Steel's jaws sprang open, ready to speak. But Silverbonce wouldn't be interrupted.
"Yes, yes... I know. I'm not allowed to take human form... none of us are. But that feeling was so strong, so intense. Very stupidly I told some dragons: the manager of the stadium, some of the other players."
Recalling the events, the expression on the old mouth guard's face became both serious and sad at the same time.
"Of course, they thought I was mad and mocked me mercilessly. So much so that I nearly forgot about the bad feeling, Anyhow, the start of the match came around before I knew it. As I lined up, ready to go out on the display lap, the terrible feeling reasserted itself. I can recall it as if it were only yesterday: pins and needles across my wings, my legs feeling weak, a rolling sickness bobbing up and down inside my stomach. I don't think I've ever felt so bad."
Stood silently listening, Steel couldn't recall his friend ever looking so glum. But glum as he might be, he was determined to carry on.
"The game started and almost immediately we were behind. It was, and still is the quickest goal ever scored in a professional laminium ball match.
Steel exhaled in surprise. Regarding himself as something of a statistics nerd when it came to the game he loved, he was astonished that he'd never heard of that one, and absolutely flabbergasted that the dragon standing before him was responsible for a record like that. He vowed to himself to look it up and find out more when he next had some free time.
"Needless to say... it didn't end there. Not only was it my worst performance ever, with us being four down within an hour, despite the outfield players, who, to a dragon, were magnificent."
Silverbonce inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
"And then... it happened! No warning... NOTHING! A gigantic part of the cavern's ceiling collapsed in one corner of the arena. Hundreds, if not thousands of tons of rock dropped onto the packed stands, full to the brim with spectators. Confusion and chaos ensued. Two of my teammates shot over to help, only to be crushed instantly by falling debris. In all, five hundred dragons were killed that day, including four laminium ball players, two from each side."
By now, Silverbonce had his head in his hands, sobbing gently, tears the size of marbles plopping onto the pristine floor. Steel stood silent, taking everything in, wondering even now if the entire complex was in danger of collapsing. Minutes passed before Silverbonce was able to carry on.
"It turned out there had been a fault in the construction. Worse still, the checks by the government department responsible were nothing more than cursory glances at best. And now you're thinking: why haven't I heard of a disaster of that magnitude? Because the government covered it up. The information is still out there of course, buried beneath a gazillion other things, but it's still there. Because of their negligence, good dragons died that day. Needless to say there was uproar at the time, most notably from everyone who'd been at the match. But one by one they were all quietened, some bought off, others having pressure applied by government officials. It was a sad day, one I'll never forget, and I wouldn't choose to even if I could. But, back to where I began. That feeling I had then is the exact same one that I'm getting now, the same one you have. What does it mean? I'm not sure. I've checked out the substructure of the complex and all the mantras surrounding it. They're all good. So I don't think we're going to have a repeat of what happened in Austria. But something here is not right. And, my young friend, I think it's our job to try and find out exactly what it is. The thought of another laminium ball match turning to tragedy fills me with dread."