'Of all the bombs not to go off, it would have to be the one I planted. Well, it's not like I'm going to kill myself, is it? I wonder what happened? Was it something that idiot of a chairman did, or maybe something else? Typical! That was the one out of all of them that I was most looking forward to savouring. DAMN!'
In his frustration, he took a great big kick at the limp and lifeless body before him on the ground, which only really served to get blood up one side of his immaculate trousers. But despite the relatively minor setback of Salisbridge, things were, for the moment, going as planned. It wouldn't be long now. Not long at all. And then he'd be able to choose when and where to visit retribution. All the residents of Salisbridge had done was buy themselves a little more time. Turning, he climbed the stairs in search of a new pair of trousers.
* * *
Climbing out of the police car, he thanked the officer for the lift, before heading along the pavement towards his house. Just before he got to the gate he spotted his car, parked on the opposite side of the road, just as the officer had said it would be. By all accounts the police had moved it while he'd been in custody, with the car park at the sports club having been cleared, under orders of the so called government agents, who he'd subsequently found out were a dragon squad of specialist King's Guards. Glad his car was back safe and sound, though in the scale of things it mattered little. Richie was dead, Janice had turned away from him, the clubhouse was destroyed and in less than an hour, the planet had been decimated. Meandering up the crazy paving path, the emotional rollercoaster that he'd been on finally came to a halt, hitting him like a rampaging bull. Sitting down on his doorstep, not even bothering to open the door, he felt confused, lonely and sad. Of course he still had Tank, his friend the old shopkeeper, Flash, wherever in the world he was, and the king. But Richie, oh Richie. She was his first ever friend, and he could recall playing with her in the nursery ring, both of them the tiniest of dragonlings. Even then they seemed inseparable, having grown up together, taken every class together; she'd jumped in and saved him more times than he cared to remember. By now the tears were like a river coming to life in the rainforest at the behest of a newly started rainy season. All sense of time was lost. Images of Richie played through his head, for once, his near perfect memory doing him no favours at all. Passersby on the street gave him strange looks, one even offering to help. He ignored them all, the only thing on his mind was Richie. Turning his thoughts to the future, he couldn't see how he could go on without her. Knowing that losing someone special happened all the time to people and dragons throughout the world, he also knew that eventually, most of them came to terms with it. But not him. NEVER! It would be... impossible.
Carefully, he stood, his legs shaking, partly from his emotional state, partly because he'd been sitting down for so long. Rummaging around in his pocket, eventually he found his keys. Holding them up to undo the door, it was then that a sudden need struck him. He needed to go there... NOW! He needed to see what was being done. He needed to see her one last time. He needed to say... GOODBYE! Turning, he sprinted down the path, vaulted the gate, crossed the road to his car and, sliding into the driver's seat, he turned the key in the ignition before shooting off down the road like a Formula One racing car exiting the pits.
Tank, too, had thanked the police officer politely for the lift, before going straight into his rented house. But he was just passing through. A matter of seconds later, he found himself back in the comforting surroundings of the dragon domain, heading towards the monorail station, which would whisk him off to the master mantra maker in no time at all.
* * *
Feeling like a powerless teacher in a classroom of badly behaved children, he watched as they still argued, realising that he was starting to lose his temper, never a good thing, particularly when you're aware that it's happening and still can't do anything about it. It probably had something to do with the fact that he'd just found out about the bomb in Salisbridge, at some kind of club or other. When the dragon had come in and told him, he nearly went into meltdown. Luckily, the aide had quickly added that the blast had been contained, by a mantra no less, and that there were no reported casualties. On hearing that he'd breathed a huge sigh of relief. Because although he didn't have any offspring (the chance had never really presented itself, and he always seemed to be on one mission or another) getting to know his best friend's grandson in the way he had, made him feel... special. And although he wasn't a father, in a lot of ways he felt much like he imagined a parent would towards the young dragon, even in some regards towards his friends, and was determined to do everything he could to keep them safe from whatever threat the dragon community now faced. After all, hadn't they been through enough already?
* * *
Driving in through the gate, that's as far as he got before a very official man wearing a dark suit and grey trench coat stepped out in front of his car, signalling him to stop. Peter did so, knowing that this was one of the King's Guards. As the man headed round to the driver's side, he was staggered to see the huge hoarding screens erected around where the clubhouse had previously stood. Winding down the window, he listened to what the man had to say.
"I'm sorry sir, the whole site is off limits to everyone I'm afraid," declared the dragon in disguise.
"I need to be here. One of my friends, she was caught up in the blast," he pleaded.
"I think you must be mistaken sir," replied the man, smiling. "Nobody was caught up in the blast. There were no casualties or fatalities."
Starting to lose his patience, he leant out of the window, to get right up in the dragon's face, feeling the need to clear a few things up.
"Listen to me. I was one of the two that applied the mantra that contained the blast."
That certainly changed the dragon's outlook.
"My friend, the dragon known as Richie Rump, and a human, were here when the explosion occurred, directly beneath the clubhouse... in the cellar I think. They were both caught up in the blast, of that much I'm sure."
"And you saw this happen?"
"Yes," he replied. "From right over there," he ventured, pointing to a spot at the edge of the car park.
"But the report we had stated that nobody was even hurt, let alone caught up in the explosion. Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
"Because," growled Peter, "both of us were locked up in a police cell, which incidentally is where I've just come from, having spent the best part of fifteen hours there, because the officers on the scene mistakenly thought that we'd blown the damn thing up."
"Oh," was all the disguised dragon could say. Taking a step back, the guard closed his eyes, clearly having a telepathic conversation with somebody. It didn't take long.
"Park over there," he ordered. "Then I'll take you through to my supervisor."
After parking his car, he was led through a tiny little entrance at the bottom of one of the massive screens, into the sealed off area around the crater. Those dragons who'd been working to move some of the rubble at the bottom of the hole all stopped and were now looking in his direction. Another dragon, who Peter assumed was in charge, came over. Briefly he explained what had happened, down to the last detail, with the dragon in charge thinking long and hard about just what to do, all the time scratching his chin. After some time, he ordered those around him to redouble their efforts, telling them that the crater was not fit to be the resting place of any dragon, least of all the one he'd heard about.