"Hello Peter," mouthed the king's face. "I hope you and your friends are well and that you've sufficiently recovered from the injuries sustained in your... bonfire night escapades. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch sooner but as I'm sure you can appreciate, I've been exceptionally busy of late. Anyway, I've managed to juggle my commitments so that I have a whole morning free this Sunday. I'd rather hoped that you and your companions would join me at my private residence. I have some fascinating things that I'm just dying to show you. Perhaps you'd be good enough to extend the invitation to our mutual mantra making friend as well, as long as it's alright with you. I haven't seen the old dragon for what seems like centuries and I'm sure he'd love to poke around the private library here. Anyway, let me know if you can't make it by sending a message to the council building in London. Otherwise I'll expect you and your friends around 9am on Sunday. Regards George."
With one giant puff, the massive, purple, smoky face dissolved into nothing, leaving Peter's consciousness floating alone with his copy of the Daily Telepath. All around, other minds that had been eagerly watching the exchange, whizzed off in every different direction, some delving into filing cabinets, some heading off towards the exit at high speed.
Peter's eyes shot open to the sight of an empty plate on the table in front of him. Immediately he willed his consciousness back to him. Thirty seconds later it arrived with a copy of today's Daily Telepath. Filing it in the back of his mind, receiving the message from the king had made him lose interest in reading it at the moment.
'Wow,' he thought. 'I get to go and meet the king at his private residence. How cool is that?' Not caring that it was a slightly childish thing to do, he danced around the kitchen like a pop star on the way to putting his plate in the sink. All he could think about was going to see the king and taking his friends with him.
'It will be absolutely fantastic,' he mused, bounding upstairs to don his hockey kit.
Training itself turned out to be pretty uneventful. Only just managing to take part in all the exercises, at the end he'd been absolutely exhausted. Judging by how he felt, his injuries, despite their physical appearance or lack of it, had nowhere near healed. Throughout the session, his teammates all told him how good it was to have him back, along with a number of players from some of the other teams, with him almost constantly being patted on the back and cheered in some way, shape or form. As he entered the bar afterwards, he was bombarded by people wanting to buy him a drink. As it was, Andy, the second team captain, had already done so, and handed him a pint of diet Pepsi, seemingly before he could even catch his breath. Thanking his captain for the drink, Peter scanned the bar for any sign of his friends. Unable to see either, he did catch sight of Janice behind the bar, grinning inanely at him. Smiling back, he caused her to blush and turn away sharply. His stomach started doing somersaults.
'What's that all about?' he wondered. Spotting Tank standing up from a table full of boisterous rugby players, he waved at his friend, who headed immediately in his direction. Weaving through the increasingly crowded bar, Tank clapped his friend on the back and smiled.
"Evening Tiny," mocked Tank, raising a pint of lager in Peter's direction.
Gazing up into the ever grinning face of his friend, Peter asked,
"How was training?"
"Ohh, you know, the same old thing. Some bugger kicked me right in the..." Tank paused as a whole gaggle of lacrosse ladies walked straight past them towards the bar, "... box," finished Tank, altering what he was going to say, not wanting to offend anyone nearby. Peter chuckled at his friend's manners.
"Don't worry," whispered Tank slyly. "I got my own back in the scrum. Bet you can't guess which bugger it was?" he said, gesturing with his head over towards the table full of rugby players. Peter scrutinized the table, coming up blank, that is until a tall, wiry, brown haired player that he'd never seen before turned round to answer somebody's question. The player was sporting the biggest black eye he'd ever seen. If there had been any female pandas in the vicinity, they would most certainly have considered him mating material. Shaking his head, he turned back to his friend.
"Not very sporting," he remarked, raising his eyebrows.
"Believe you me," replied Tank, "his kick was about as deliberate as they come. I think if you join a new club, coming in kicking and screaming with an attitude like that, you deserve everything you get."
Peter nodded his agreement. Just as he was about to voice his approval, he got a sharp, playful, smack on his bum. Knowing full well who it was before even turning, he shook his head and turned to face Richie with his tongue poking right out. Richie ignored her friend's outstretched tongue.
"Hello lads. Holding your own committee meeting?"
"Very funny," answered Tank, taking a great big slurp of his drink.
"Hi Rich, how are you?" Peter managed to babble with his tongue still fully extended.
"Put it away will you. How old are you?"
"Nearly fifty three," Peter murmured softly.
All three of them laughed simultaneously.
"Guys," whispered Peter, conspiratorially. "I've got something really important to tell you." This captured their attention. "Let's sit down first," he put in, guiding them to an out of the way table in the corner of the room. Sitting down, they all leant into the middle to hear what was so important.
"I received a message from the king earlier." Huge gaping mouths and wide eyes were the order of the moment for both Richie and Tank. "He's invited us all to his private residence on Sunday morning. How amazing is that?"
Tank's face lit up like a bonfire dowsed in petrol.
"That's just brilliant," he replied jubilantly.
Richie's face remained stoic. Peter couldn't read her at all.
"What do you think Rich?"
"I'm really sorry, I can't make it. I have something else on I'm afraid."
Peter shot back so fast, he nearly fell off his chair.
"WHAT?" he practically shouted. Half the huge bar suddenly stopped at Peter's sudden outburst. Instantly embarrassed, he quietly apologised and turned back to face his friends, as the noise in the bar returned to its previous level.
"What do you mean you've got something else on? You're kidding... right?"
"Sorry," responded Richie, quietly. "I've already made plans with Tim I'm afraid."
"Can't you change them?"
"Sorry no. You boys go, I'm sure you'll have a good time without me," and with that, she got up and left the table, rejoining the lacrosse girls she'd been training with.
Peter sat open mouthed. Tank let out a long breath, before wrapping one of his big arms around his friend.
"Don't worry. It'll be alright."
"Who wouldn't want to go and meet the king at his private residence?" whispered Peter.
Tank pointed out,
"You already know why."
"Tim," ventured Peter.
"Hmmmm," Tank agreed.
Taking a huge gulp of his drink, Peter tried to let go of his disappointment, instantly brightening up when he realised he hadn't told Tank everything.
"Uhhhh Tank."
"Yes buddy."
"There was something else in the message."
"Go on."
"The invitation is for Gee Tee as well."
"Really?" commented Tank, a little taken aback.
"Do you think he'll want to go?"
"Can dragon poo reach speeds of over one hundred and fifty miles an hour?"
Peter knew the answer to this. It was definitely YES!
"Of course he'll want to go! Ever since I recounted what happened at your bedside at the hospital, and extended the king's thanks to him, all he's gone on about is the king. He'll be tickled pink, purple, indigo and blue, I should think."