Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To Work We Go
It had been over three days now, and he was starting to lose his patience, which was unusual for him as in the past it had always seemed like he'd had an unlimited amount. But here and now, it was as if he was being tried like never before. It had started the moment he'd got in on his first day back; instead of the usual cordial greeting, orders had been barked out at him. In a way, it was understandable... so he'd just quietly followed them, hoping that the old dragon would mellow after a few hours and be back to normal. But no. Three days!
Tank knew the master mantra maker didn't like it when he was away. For a start, he was lonely. Of course he'd deny that if challenged, but it was true. In addition, there was the medicine. Undoubtedly he'd failed to take part or all of what he was supposed to, despite him having laid it all out in microscopic detail before he'd left. This too would be part of the grumpiness... because he felt so unwell.
In spite of the awkwardness and how fed up he felt, Tank fought back a smile as he rolled up the delicate parchment of an ancient Germanic mantra, carefully placing it back on the shelf in the exact spot he'd taken it from. Deep down, he knew Gee Tee didn't mean any of it, well... not really. Still, it was distracting. They had important work to do and could use their time much more productively.
Giant footsteps with a distinctive shuffling gait thudded across the shop floor towards him. This time, like all the others over the past three days, he hoped that the old shopkeeper had got everything out of his system. Rounding the aisle that Tank was working in, the master mantra maker strolled along it, watching from a distance as his employee picked up another scroll and began to cautiously unfurl it. Focused on nothing but his job, he was totally oblivious to the footsteps that traipsed up beside him. There was a tut, followed by a deep sigh, before a pile of books that he'd not quite got round to yet were kicked to the floor, tumbling all over the place.
"Those all need looking at. I expect them sorted by the time you leave tonight," stated the old shopkeeper loudly.
Instantly, Tank jumped to his feet. Wobbling just slightly, Gee Tee instinctively took half a step back.
"ENOUGH!" declared Tank, poking his finger right into the middle of his employer's giant scaly chest, unaware of quite how ridiculous it looked... a human (shape... anyway), standing up to a dragon twice his height, poking a finger into it.
"You need to take your head out of your scales and stop behaving like a petulant child," growled Tank, now in full flow. "I'm sorry that it doesn't suit you that I've had a few days off... but tough! I'm here most of the time, looking after you, and I'm here now. I struggle to believe that there's another dragon in the whole of the kingdom that would put up with the kind of nonsense that I have to put up with from you. So now, YOU get to make a choice. You can either start behaving with some decorum, some manners and treat me how you'd expect to be treated yourself. Or," continued Tank, throwing the scroll he'd been holding in the direction of the old dragon, "I can leave and never come back. You choose!"
The look on the master mantra maker's face was priceless. Shock, terror, sorrow, they were all there in equal amounts, or at least that was Tank's opinion.
Both stood silently facing each other for minutes, neither willing to give any ground. Looking as angry as he'd ever been, Tank watched as his boss removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, looking wearier than ever. Knowing how hard the next bit was going to be for the old dragon, he was determined to give no ground and to hold his own.
"You're right... of course. I'm... sorry."
"I'm afraid you'll have to speak up... I can't quite hear you."
"I said, I'm sorry... as you're fully aware," answered the shopkeeper.
"Imagine my surprise that you even know that word," quipped Tank, sarcastically.
"I suppose I deserve that."
"That, and a whole lot more," huffed Tank.
"I should know better. It's... it's... it's just that... when you're away, I feel so... so..."
"I know," said Tank, putting his arm across the back of the master mantra maker's wing, "but all this isn't fair. How do you think it makes me feel?"
Gee Tee bowed his head.
"I am truly sorry. I will try and make sure it doesn't happen again."
"That would be good. I don't want to fight with you, but occasionally I do need some time off."
"I understand, I do... really. So... how was the laminium ball match? Did I miss anything exciting?"
"You're kidding me, right?" he exclaimed, suddenly realising the old dragon wasn't.
"What on earth are you talking about?" asked the old shopkeeper, puzzled.
"You mean to say you don't know about the explosion?"
"I haven't a clue what you're going on about," replied Gee Tee, none the wiser.
Tank went on to explain what had happened and how Flash, at this very moment, was on a mission for the king, almost certainly investigating it in some way, shape or form, at least that was the conclusion that he and Peter had formed on their way home from Pudding Lane station. Gee Tee was so taken aback that Tank had to help him into the workshop so that he could sit down.
* * *
Leaning against the wall, he watched the last of them leave, despondently, all looking devastated, broken almost. It was odd. He'd thought that on some level they'd be pleased; after all, it wasn't every day that you got to stay in one of the most upmarket dragon hotels, the bill for everything picked up by the council. But they weren't pleased... far from it in fact. Drawing the only conclusion possible, that they couldn't take any of their belongings with them and that it was the middle of the night, perhaps the cover story, the reason for them having to move, was playing on their minds as well, much as it was on his.
Pretty routine, that's how his evening had been, up until the call anyway. After that, it was a non-stop blur. But when the king himself gets in touch, what else can you do? So he'd gotten himself over to Westchester as quick as was dragonly possible. It hadn't taken long from the New York office he'd been in. Once at the apartment block, he'd roused all the residents of the eighth floor, all bar one, anyway. On his way there, he'd cast a little mantra. It was nothing fancy, well... not for him. Quite dull in fact, and mainly used as a distraction, with it designed to make random noises, some soft, some loud, banging, clicking, clonking, whizzing... almost every sound imaginable. With this in place, he set about convincing the residents that an infestation of African transmorphic millipedes had taken over the eighth floor and that their lives were in very real danger. It hadn't taken long to convince them, not with his credentials. And so they left at a moment's notice, not allowed to take anything with them, escorted to one of the best hotels in the area. Shaking his head knowingly, it wasn't the first time he'd used the old 'African transmorphic millipede' routine. Of course they weren't real... there was no such thing. But if you dug deep enough into the dragon database, it was possible to come up with some information on them, particularly how deadly they were... even to dragons! Ruses just like that played an important part in backing up some of the necessary cover stories that the King's Guard would occasionally have to put out.
Making sure all the occupants had left, he checked the mantra surrounding the only apartment that had not been evacuated, as he'd been asked to do by the monarch himself. It was solidly sealed.
'Whoever cast this,' he thought, 'certainly knew what they were doing.'
With that, he checked that the lift was powered down and then headed off to make sure the guards on the stairwell understood their orders that no one was allowed on the eighth floor, no one but the king himself.