"No, it's fine. Gets a lot of air to all the important bits that need airing."
Sitting up, careful not to put any pressure on his back, he leant over towards the healer, although he didn't really know why (however low he whispered, the other dragons in and around would still be able to hear him if they so wished) he said a sincere,
"Thank you."
"You're welcome youngster. I'm just sorry I'm not able to do more. If not for the injury to your back, you would be in perfect health. I really don't know any more that can be done I'm afraid."
Flash looked on stoically. Part of him had accepted that he would die, sooner rather than later, but as long as he delivered the information into the hands of the king, it wouldn't matter, knowing he'd done well to get this far, and all would have been lost but for this very kind, very intriguing healer sitting opposite him.
"I'm extremely grateful for everything you've done, and I'm sure the king will be as well."
"Let's just hope it's enough, and with the resources available to him, hope that he has something that can rid you of that ailment," ventured the healer, sitting back in his chair, turning to watch the rock face outside, whizz by.
Letting out a deep sigh, Flash lay down on his side on the oversized dragon seat, the gaudy cloak wrapped around his naked human body. He'd never thought it would end quite like this, always assuming it would be a magnificent battle in a blaze of glory, fighting for good, saving the king's life. Resting his head beneath his hands, he tried to conserve what little energy he had left, knowing full well that he'd probably need every ounce of it just to survive the day.
* * *
Having gathered up all the things he needed into his briefcase, the old man walked around his mahogany desk and reached up to the rather splendid picture in the golden frame on the wall. Inside the frame was an oil painting that had been given to him by a client, oh a long time ago, more than thirty years in fact. Having fallen on hard times, the client had practically begged for his services. In the end, he'd conceded and worked for a pittance when nobody else would have taken on such a hopeless case. Of course he'd won, pretty much the same as always in those days, but once the client had got rid of the cloud hanging over him, all talk of monetary reimbursement had been long forgotten. So it came as something of a shock when, some eight months later, a package had been delivered to that very office. After having signed for it, he clearly recalled untying the pristine white string and ripping open the brown paper to find the exquisite painting tucked securely inside. Puzzled, he searched carefully around the base of the painting, moments later finding a small hand scrawled note that read:
'Thanks for the great job you did in the courtroom. Sorry I couldn't pay you at the time, but hopefully this will go some way to recompensing you. Regards T.'
He scratched his neck as the picture evoked the same memories now as it had done back then. The beach scene sent him right back to his childhood, of growing up by the sea, all those years ago. Both children in the picture bore a startling resemblance to him and his sister Evlyn.
'Oh Evlyn, how I miss you,' he thought, gazing one last time at the boy and girl frolicking in the surf, a red bucket and spade strewn amongst the sand dunes in the foreground.
Pushing the heart wrenching memories to one side, he got on with the job at hand. Reaching up to the painting, he brought his right index finger just underneath the heavy golden frame, in the bottom left hand corner. Lifting the tiniest of latches, he freed the painting, allowing it to swivel out towards him, revealing a very old and heavy safe. Peering over his shoulder across the desk towards the opaque office door, something that was a time honoured force of habit rather than a necessity, once sure the coast was clear, he carefully rotated the big black dials with faded intricate white markings, into their correct positions. Sure enough, he was rewarded with a tiny click. Turning the silver handle, he pulled the incredibly heavy door open towards him, using up every bit of strength he possessed in the process. Inside the safe lay pile upon pile of documents, some held together by flimsy elastic bands. A couple of what he thought were those new fangled DVD's lay off to one side, containing valuable information about former clients. As he glared at it all in the dull office light, he couldn't have been less bothered by any of it, something that in a way shocked him, as it had been his life and soul for the best part of half a century.
Looking back across his desk, he took hold of his briefcase and turned it round to face him. With a feeling of regret, he took out the package that he'd been given and very carefully placed it on top of everything else in the safe. As he pulled his frail fingers out of the safe for the very last time, his thoughts turned to what he was doing. It was strange really. Not knowing all the details himself, he could only try and fill in the missing parts, but apparently one of his grandsons, the eldest one of three, had got himself into some kind of trouble. Unsure of what, he only knew that it was something very unsavoury. Of course he'd tried to find out more, but he didn't wield nearly the kind of power or influence now that he had done several decades ago. Anyway, the long and the short of it was that whatever Chuck had gotten himself into, there was no clear cut way out of it. Or there hadn't been, up until very recently. Chuck had been contacted by some of his associates, and offered a way out of everything; all he had to do was get his grandfather to do them a little 'favour.' Whether Chuck wanted to do any of this was anyone's guess, but, yes you've guessed it, Chuck was always his grandfather's favourite grandson. Well, the little 'favour' that Chuck's associates wanted was quite bizarre really, something that made it all the more worrying in his experience. All he had to do, for his grandson to be free of any sort of debt, was to take delivery of a package, put it securely in his office safe, and take a holiday for a month. No going back to his office, no going in or out, even to clean it, for that month. It was almost too good to be true, and there had to be a catch somewhere, he just couldn't understand what it was, and knowing that Chuck was now out of the country and safe in the hands of some overseas relatives meant that he didn't really care. He did, however, have a seriously bad feeling and those things, in his great experience, never boded well. Resisting the temptation to open the package, he pushed the door shut, whirled the black dials for all they were worth, and set the painting back in place. Closing his briefcase and snapping the locks shut, he picked it up and wandered over to the coat stand, but not before glancing out of the window at the wonderful view, one last time. Marvelling at the changes he'd seen from this window throughout his career, the skyline looked almost totally different, but then it seemed to him as though Seattle didn't stand still for more than a week, let alone the number of years he'd been working there. With a tear in the corner of one eye, he grabbed his raincoat off the old wooden stand, folded it across his arm and walked out of the office. Making sure the door was secure, he strolled over to the nearest elevator and pressed the down button, never ceasing to be amazed at the number of people flitting around the building, even though he'd have thought most would have finished long before 8.30pm.
'Still,' he mused, as the elevator doors pinged open, 'it has pretty much always been that way in the Smith Tower.' Riding down to the ground floor amongst the throng of workers, he thought about the history of the magnificent building he'd worked in for so long. His last sentiment as he walked through the lobby and out into the street, was,
'The oldest skyscraper in Seattle. I sure hope it stays that way until the end of time.'
If only he had acted on that bad feeling.