29
Just Desserts
Just before he hit Paris, the answer came to him. After making his excuses and leaving Tank and Peter to catch the monorail back to Salisbridge, the first thing he did was board the next intercontinental monorail back to New Zealand. After all, it made sense. That's where it had all taken place, that's where the King's and Crimson Guard's were conducting their investigations, so that's where he needed to be. But the little voice in the back of his mind, the one he so often listened to, the one that had saved his life on numerous occasions, disagreed. It wouldn't tell him what he should do, only that it was a mistake to head back to the Southern Hemisphere. So he'd sat quietly in the near deserted monorail carriage, and pondered his next course of action. Exactly four minutes after leaving Pudding Lane for the second time in a week, in a flicker of genius, it came to him. The ball! That was the key to everything. Testimonies of all the players confirmed that much, in particular from the Warriors' mouth guard, Silverbonce, having claimed that he could feel the enormity of what was wrong when he held onto the ball. How this was possible, Flash wasn't entirely sure. But the ball was the place to start, of that he was certain. So with that in mind, just as the monorail pulled into Paris, he stood up and alighted.
In a rush, he sprinted up the stairs onto the station's main plaza, heading for the nearest information terminal. Normally designed to provide basic or local information, deep down all the terminals were hardwired into just three or four mainframes across the world. And he had an array of passwords that would grant him access to anything that he needed. Checking to make sure he wasn't being observed, he entered one of the many passwords and then started searching for the classified information that he required. It wasn't long before he had his answers. Deleting all the information from the screen, he powered the terminal down and eyed the nearest LCD screen. With his mind working out the number of changes he'd have to make, he scooted off across the plaza in the direction of platform eight, all the time wondering exactly what he'd find at his destination.
A few hours and a few monorail changes later, he disembarked, noticing the smell that was like nowhere else on the planet. An enticing concoction of smoky aromas, cooked food and... just plain hard work assaulted his nostrils in waves. It was far from often that he smiled, and he'd tried hard to change that recently, with the addition of his new friends a great help in that department, but on his numerous visits here, he always found himself smiling. Today was no different.
Already having memorised exactly where he was going, he followed the hubbub of dragons exiting the station against the backdrop of bright lit neon adverts. It was crowded, almost like nowhere else. Dragons in their natural form bustled alongside their human shaped counterparts, the human shaped ones like Flash, for the most part coming off worse. Wings clipped heads, talons raked shoes and worst of all, tails were everywhere. It was chaos, but in a good way. Tucked in the middle of the long line to leave the station, five or six beings wide, snaking out in front as far as the eye could see, he almost missed the sign that brought back all the memories. But he knew what to look for, knew where it would be. Glancing over to his left, peering through bumbling human and dragon shapes, he could just make out the tattered words on the crumbling old sign. "NEW YORK CITY WELCOMES YOU!"
Gradually the crowd thinned out, meandering off in different directions like the tributaries of a mighty river. Flash continued, all the time marvelling at the superstructures the dragons here lived in. They very much mimicked the sprawling city above in both scale and grandeur. Half an hour later, he arrived at his destination: a tall, nondescript, stone tower, with only one visible entrance, and no name plate or description of what it was. Stepping up, he resembled a dwarf against the oversized metallic door that clearly serviced more dragon shapes than human ones. Depressing the buzzer on the intercom, he didn't have long to wait.
"Can I help you?" answered a silky smooth female voice.
"I'm here on urgent business," announced Flash, sounding all official.
"I think you must be mistaken. This building is not the one you're looking for and you are most certainly not expected. Good day." And with that the intercom cut off.
It wasn't really anything more than he'd expected. Buzzing again, when the intercom crackled into life this time, he didn't bother waiting for the voice. Instead he said,
"I'm here at the king's behest. You'd do well to let me in... immediately," putting more than a little menace behind his words.
Ten or so seconds later, a series of clicks erupted from behind the door and it silently swung inwards. Flash strolled in, closing the door behind him. 'Magnificent' was the only word that would have adequately described the lobby. Stunning green and blue marble tiles weaved their way across the floor, as paintings from famous dragon and human artists littered the shimmering walls. Splendid candelabra, studded with precious gems, hung down low from the ceiling. 'Opulent' barely did this place justice.
Through one of the high arched wooden doorways a tall, thin, grey speckled dragon appeared, her tiny beady eyes focused on Flash. The same voice that he'd heard over the intercom drifted across the lobby.
"How do I know you're on the king's business?"
Lifting his left leg up, with his right hand he triggered a microscopic switch on the bottom of the Merrell walking boots that he wore. A tiny compartment about the size of a fifty pence piece flipped open. From it, Flash pulled out a sliver of purple metal. Hexagonally shaped, it bore the king's seal. He handed it over to the dragon who studied it carefully, before handing it back.
"How can we help you?" she asked politely.
"You can tell me about the balls," Flash shot back.
"I... I... I... don't know what you mean," she stammered nervously.
"The laminium balls. I want to know all about them... NOW!"
* * *
Plodding softly up the stairs to his apartment on the eighth floor, all the time sticking to the shadows, both worry and relief coursed through his veins, having done exactly what they'd asked, down to the letter. It wasn't his fault things hadn't gone exactly as planned. Backing up against the wall, he stopped in the darkest point of the landing.
'What was that noise?' he thought, moving forward to sneak a look back down the flights of stairs he'd already climbed. There was nothing there, not that he could see anyway. 'I'm imagining things again,' he thought, not for the first time. The stress of not knowing where his wife was, or even if she was still alive, combined with what he'd done to the ball and the thought that even now the King's Guard might be coming for him, was almost too much. For days he'd waited to hear from the kidnappers, hoping in vain, so far, to get his wife back. But there'd been no word, nothing, and he had no idea how to contact them... they'd always found him before now. He let out a deep breath; the walk up the stairs had evidently taken its toll. Reaching the door to his apartment, he scanned the corridor in both directions before inserting both keys in the two door locks, turning them at the same time. Bolting swiftly inside as the door clicked open, he quickly locked the door behind him, before leaning against the back of it, panting. With a reasserted sense of safety now that he was home, he brushed the wisps of hair that ran down the mottled scales across his jaw line, back behind his head with both hands and traipsed wearily down the corridor and into the living room, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sight of a human sitting in the middle of the dark brown leather sofa facing him.