Tank perched on the hospital bed, wishing he'd never asked.
"Let me share something else with all three of you. I'm not supposed to be on the surface," whispered the king, tapping his nose. "But I figure since I'm the king, I'll do as I damn well please."
All three friends chuckled at his attitude.
"And let me tell you another thing. I haven't been above ground in over a hundred years and I'm not sure I care for it too much. It's all so... fast. Everyone's in a hurry... cars, people, even the hospital porters, dragging patients at top speed everywhere, and driving those damned little trucks. Five times I was nearly run over by them on my way here. Five times!"
The friends were beside themselves with laughter at this, tears, for very different reasons, racing down their cheeks.
"It's all true," cried the king indignantly. "Seriously though, Tank, you're right. I'm not supposed to be here. However, at this present moment, as well as the seventy or so dragons hidden throughout the hospital, I would guess that within a five mile radius of where I'm standing, there are at least another five hundred or so dragons, ready to come to my aid at a moment's notice."
Tank whistled to himself, impressed.
"So you see my young friends, I always think of myself as the knight I once was. And while, at this present time, we as a community face a very real threat, part of which you all thwarted, I will never be afraid to go anywhere or do anything that I have to ask other dragons to do."
Sighing profoundly, the king rolled his head around his shoulders in an attempt to loosen up the muscles that had tightened since he'd been at the hospital.
"I'm sorry, but I really do have to go now. There are some pressing issues that have developed in the South Pole that I have to go and sign off on. No doubt you will all learn about them soon enough, through the telepathic papers. Another of our expeditions there has gone missing, the second in a row. The first was very low key, with hardly anyone knowing. This time, however, it's much more serious. I bid you all farewell and look forward to meeting you again. Your friends are welcome to accompany you when you come to pick up your grandfather's belongings, Peter. For that matter, you may extend the invitation to Gee Tee as well. I can only imagine how long he's had to wait. As a whole, the domain owes you a debt of gratitude for what you've done in stopping the dragon Manson. On their behalf I thank all three of you." Turning to leave, the king bowed and said,
"Farewell."
The scuffed wooden door closed silently after him, as the three friends sat in silence, barely able to believe what had gone on. To have caught a glimpse of the king through a crowd was one thing; this was something else altogether. Tank spoke first.
"Your grandfather sounds like one hell of a guy."
"That he does," replied Peter, a hint of sadness in his voice.
"Fancy having the king looking out for you," teased Richie. "What's that all about?"
Tank smacked his friend playfully in the arm.
"Do we have to bow now? I'm not quite sure what the protocol is," he scoffed.
Peter shook his head, smiling as he did so.
"There's going to be no end to this, is there?"
"Whatever do you mean... majesty?" chuckled Richie.
"Sire?" mocked Tank, grinning.
"Bugger!" quipped Peter loudly.
Richie and Tank both burst out laughing.
Sitting on the bed contemplating the months of abuse just like this that he had to look forward to, realisation dawned on him.
"Hang on a minute," he cried. "What happened in the final?" he asked excitedly. "Did they win... ohhhhh... tell me they won, pleeeaaassseee tell me they won."
Richie and Tank shared a look, their smiles slowly disappearing. In unison they shook their heads in answer to Peter's question.
"They lost!" Peter exclaimed, heartbroken.
"Afraid so," mused Tank.
"Did you... did you... got to the match?"
Richie stifled a laugh.
"What do you think?"
"We've been here all the time," added Tank. "All the time."
Peter hung his head in shame.
"Sorry, I should have known. I would have done the same for either of you."
"You know I do believe his majesty would have attended the match," mimicked Richie in a pretend posh voice.
"I'm pretty sure you're right. Sire would have gone to the final of the Global Cup."
"Oh right... very funny," observed Peter.
"We did at least get to hear a live running commentary though," sighed Tank.
"No way!"
Tank and Richie both nodded.
"The brother of one of your guards was at the match. His brother phoned him and we all got to listen in live. Don't worry, from the sounds of it we didn't miss very much as Indigo Warriors fans. They got their asses kicked."
"Oh well... there's always next year," said Peter hopefully.
"Yeah right," said Tank. "Do you have any idea what the likelihood is of the Warriors getting to the final two years in a row?"
"Yeah," said Richie, "you've got a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of here."
The three friends laughed their socks off.
The adventure continues...
in book 2, A Chilling Revelation. An epic page turner not to be missed. Read on for an extract...
"Something's not quite right here. I'm not sure what, but we should proceed with caution." Peter nodded, and with a sweep of his arm indicated that perhaps Flash should go first. Flash duly obliged.
Creeping stealthily towards the front of the shop, the two friends rounded the last of the tall bookcases. Out of nowhere shot a giant blur, smashing them both into one of the dust covered shelves, causing them to roll back up the aisle from which they'd both come. With the massive weight of the blur crushing his chest, Peter was pinned helplessly to the ground. Flash, not so much. His body had gone onto autopilot and his combat training was a fraction of a second from kicking in. It was only then that Flash's brilliant mind recalled that he'd heard a shout of, "DOWN!" as the speeding blur had crashed into them... odd, he thought, as he started to slide out from under the breath sapping weight on top of him. Just as it looked as though things couldn't get any weirder, three deadly thick needles of ice shot into the bookcase, behind where they'd been standing only a split second before, quivering there like frosted little arrows. The speeding blur had just saved their lives. Both Flash and Peter craned their necks at the same time, trying to get a glimpse of who, or what, had landed on them. As they did so, a thick neck full of muscle swung round above them. On it was a familiar head, with the same inane smile that Peter had come to know and love.
"Sorry about that," whispered Tank. "We've got something of a situation here," he added quietly, nodding towards the icy bolts embedded in the bookcase.
Flash smiled as Tank rolled off the two visitors, and added,
"Do tell."
As the three of them sat on the floor, backs against the shelves on the opposite side of the aisle to the ones with the ice bolts in them, Tank began to explain what had happened.
"Gee Tee and I were working our way through a set of old mantras, trying to determine what they were, if they worked and if they were worth saving. We were employing all the usual safeguards, morphic shields, phase resonators, blanket containment mantras, the lot. Well, after working our way through five or six in quick succession, we came across a most unusual one written in Inuit. I had no idea what any of it said, and although Gee Tee claimed he knew, I could sense a lot of nervousness in the old dragon, something very rare indeed. Anyway, against MY better judgement, he pressed on and cast the mantra, resulting in something akin to one of my nightmares, something that is currently residing round the corner there, near the front desk."