"ME! Remember what we were taught! That's a laugh! You constantly abuse your powers, in front of the whole world. Arm wrestling rugby players and goodness knows what else! If the dragon Council found out about half the stuff you get up to, you'd be for it. Anyway, what about being vigilant and looking out for anything unusual? We all had that drummed into us. That's pretty much the point of us all being here. And that's what's happening with Manson, but of course you wouldn't see that. You're too busy being caught up playing the 'beautiful kick ass heroine', that you're blinded to the reality of what's really going on," Peter raged.
This was the first time ever that he and Richie had exchanged cross words. Normally he wouldn't say 'boo’ to a goose.
As he turned to leave, Richie reached out and grabbed his arm in an attempt to stop him, but he shrugged her off. He had to leave, so he did. As he weaved in and out of the revelling patrons, a hulking great figure stepped out into his path.
"Hey Pete," cried Tank, looking like he'd been at the epicentre of a bomb blast. Sporting a black eye, bruised lip and a bandage across his hand, it was hard to believe the happy go lucky smile that adorned his face.
With Tank in his way, you might have thought Peter would have stopped and spoken with his friend. But he didn't. Swerving at the last second, he quickly threaded his way through the throng of people between him and the exit, before jumping into his car and racing home. Tired, hungry and emotional, he decided to skip having a meal, instead choosing to go straight to bed, wishing he lived and worked somewhere far away from Salisbridge.
Unusually, Peter woke up really early and despite trying, couldn't go back to sleep, and so after a big breakfast, he headed out for a walk around the city. It being early on a Sunday, there were not many people about. He took a leisurely wander along the old path that crossed the water meadows, taking in the stunning views of the cathedral in the crisp morning air, dressed only in his favourite grey shorts and hockey tracksuit top. Strange for any dragon to do, given their extreme dislike of the cold, and he assumed from the looks he was getting from what few passersby there were, that he currently stood out as a human. Still, mentally he chastised himself for not doing this more often, and taking the extraordinary beauty all around him for granted. As he exhaled and his breath froze in an almost perfect cone, it reminded him of his other guise, the one that would have produced a cone of fire instead of cold.
Following the winding path until it reached the point where the river gushed white water out in the form of a little waterfall beneath the historic hotel, he flopped down on a bench in the park opposite, watching the ducks and their newly hatched chicks flit about in the clear, shallow water right in front of him, his mind awash with confusion.
Sitting in this idyllic scene, he felt like part of a Constable painting. Time slipped away as he sat there and let the world pass him by. Eventually it got busier with dog walkers, parents taking their children for a walk, and even the odd tourist snapping away with their fancy cameras. Behind him, teenagers began a game of football, using their jumpers as goalposts. He thought of all the wondrous scenes he'd witnessed throughout the dragon domain. Some breathtaking, others rivalling the seven wonders of the world, all skilfully concealed from these fragile human beings. Briefly he wondered what the humans would make of it all. He had to confess to himself though, as he sat and basked in the lukewarm rays of the April sun, that very little came close to the natural beauty of what he was witnessing here today.
The bells of an ice cream van resounding to the theme of a children's rhyme pulled him out of his daydream, with him only then realising it was early afternoon and that he'd sat there for well over four hours. Shaking the pins and needles out of his arms and thighs as he stood up, he started to head home, grabbing an ice cream from the van on his way past.
Ambling back, all the time continuing to wrap his tongue around the ever decreasing scoop of mint choc chip ice cream, he was amazed at how much busier things had become. Walkers and cyclists of every age careened around one another on the nearly full to bursting path. Cameras and camcorders were commonplace now, out to capture the magnificent sights that lay before them. As he passed groups of tourists from America, Europe and Japan, it suddenly struck him. He too was a tourist, only from the humid depths of the planet. That made him chuckle as the final pieces of the now soggy ice cream cone slipped down his throat.
On getting home, the first thing he noticed was the flashing red light on the answer machine, indicating that someone had left a message. It must be Richie he thought, wanting to apologise. This brought him swiftly back to reality, after a rather surreal start to the day, reminding him of work, his friends and of course... Manson!
Pressing the green button, he waited patiently as the electronic voice said,
"You have one new message."
He was surprised, when the voice turned out to be that of Tank, and not Richie.
"Hi Peter, just phoning to see if you're okay. You seemed a bit fed up last night. Rich told me what happened, and I just wanted to let you know that I'm here for you, if you wanted to talk. I'm in all morning, but have some rugby coaching this afternoon that might go on into the evening. Give me a call when you finally fall out of bed you lazy git," Tank finished, mischievously.
Smiling at that last comment, Peter deleted the message.
'Lazy git indeed,' he thought to himself. Pleased that his friend had phoned, he convinced himself that he couldn't have cared less that he hadn't heard from Richie. Knowing that it was unlikely he'd catch up with Tank today, he considered finishing work early tomorrow with a view to seeking his friend out for a much needed chat.
6
A Sign of the Times
After an uneventful day at work, Peter used his flexitime to leave at half past two and headed home. Once there, and without bothering to change, he made his way through the concealed entrance to the monorail station and boarded the first carriage that arrived, on his way to London. Just over three minutes later, he arrived at Fleet Street station, where he alighted and headed for Tank's workplace.
Trotting off into one of the darkened alleyways that littered the edge of the station, hoping that it was indeed the right one, he marvelled at how space was at such a premium, with shops, small and large, lining either side of his route, and not a bare rock wall to be found. Nearly all the dragons here had preferred to appear in their natural form, making for lots of stops and starts, whilst letting dragons through on these narrow little walkways. Still in his human form, Peter stuck out like a Wookie at a hair loss convention. Shops and tiny houses started to appear higher up, jutting out from walls hundreds of feet above Peter's head, serviced by tiny little walkways and bridges that from this distance looked way too narrow to support most dragons. Shocking red and orange lava sizzled its way down what little space was free on the walls, sometimes splitting off into two or three houses at a time to keep them toasty warm, while at other times dribbling down over the roof itself. Spectacular, and almost as different from dragon domain places like Purbeck and Salisbridge as it was from the stunning water meadows of the day before. Diversity in all its forms, that's how Peter liked to think of it.
In places such as Purbeck and Salisbridge, the unwritten rule is that human form is fine to travel about in. This generally applies throughout the world. Not so in the capital cities and their surrounding areas though. Nobody knew why, and to be honest, nobody really cared. Those that lived there had gotten used to it long ago, and were almost too stubborn to change anyway. He'd always thought of this as stupid, particularly given the distinct lack of space. Think how much easier it would be to traverse all of these walkways in a taut little human guise, instead of a giant, ungainly dragon form, who either has to stop, or fly up into the air to let someone coming the other way, go round. It made no sense.