'If these were my grandfather's robes,' he mused, peeking around the front of them, 'then in his human form he must have been nigh on a giant.'
Folding the robes back up, he placed them carefully on the bed. Leaning over, he looked down into the very bottom of the chest. Reaching in, he pulled out a metal canister that sat firmly in the darkest corner. Holding it up to his face, he took a sniff, and immediately wished he hadn't. An overpowering, petrol/cleaning fluid kind of smell that his sensitive nose couldn't quite place threatened to overwhelm him. Turning the canister over, he noticed a small, faded label which read: 'Fox's Igniting Scale Enhancer.' Not knowing exactly what it was, only that it was clearly very old and very flammable, he carefully put it down on the floor next to the chest, telling himself to safely dispose of it at the earliest available opportunity.
By now, there were only a few things left inside the trunk. Rolling around next to each other, right at the bottom, were two giant sticks of charcoal, looking very much like sticks of rock that the humans, and Peter himself were very partial to. It wasn't until he tried to take them out that he realised they ran the whole length of the chest. It took him a minute or so to jiggle them out without breaking them. Once he did, he held them up to the light, admiring them for all they were worth, never having seen charcoal quite like it. Both looked almost too good to eat, despite the gurgled protests of his stomach that told him he should just go for it. Against his better judgement, he put them down on the floor, on the other side of the chest to the flammable liquid in the metal canister, as he was keen to show the king and his friends everything he'd found.
By the look of it, only two things remained: something folded up in a piece of raggedy material, and a half sheet of faded old newspaper. Reaching in, he gently picked up the newspaper. Unfolding it as though his life depended upon it, due to its delicate nature, he glanced down at the very faded picture and the headline that accompanied it.
Spending a couple of minutes reading the story, its caption, and studying the photo, Peter had no idea who the couple were, or if they were in some way connected with his grandfather.
'Something else to ask the king about,' he supposed, putting the paper gently on top of the folded robes. Taking a deep breath, he wondered how the others were doing in the main room, whether or not Flash had been unfrozen, if the items Gee Tee had asked for had arrived and if everybody had managed to resist the temptation to string the old shopkeeper up from the rafters. Chuckling at that last thought, knowing the master mantra maker had the propensity to get under even the calmest dragon's fingernails (Tank being the prime example of just that), he started to study the wrapped up object lying at the bottom of the trunk. Whatever it was wrapped up in the rags, he could feel the power positively oozing from it. Excitement and nervousness tickled his fingers and toes in equal measure as he reached in one last time. It felt heavy as he retrieved it and set it down on his lap, the power threatening to consume him, almost as if it were... talking to him, caressing him, at the same time. He could almost taste its electrically charged tang, as if it were coursing through him. Slowly, he unwrapped the rags, despite his hands shaking ever so slightly; he was giddy with excitement, awash with energy. After the third turn, a glint of metal caught his eye. Reaching into the rags, he grasped the handle of a... dagger, and pulled it free. Mesmerising beyond words, rubies and emeralds dotted the hilt, but that was not what had him so captivated. Unheard of in fact and only whispered in legend, the whole weapon had been carefully crafted from... laminium! Time disappeared, vowing to never return, as Peter's dragon senses exploded out of his body. In stunning detail he could see Flash lying prone on the king's red sofa, not moving at all, whilst off to one side, the king and Gee Tee argued, with Tank and Yoyo looking on. Reaching out further into the council building, his vision washed over the reception area where two guards had just arrived with a giant fish tank containing the clown fish that the master mantra maker had demanded as part of the mantra to save Flash. Suddenly a dragon battle was taking place over a small village, in the... in the desert. Images and memories assaulted his mind as he sat hunched over on the king's bed. Good versus evil, a battle to stay alive, to get vital information back to the council, all played out against the backdrop of the pyramids. It had just the tiniest ring of something familiar about it. Expanding even further, his mind returned to the present and raced down the steps outside the building, past the lava pools either side and the curious dragon tourists who had now gathered to view this iconic landmark on a Sunday, when it was closed for business.
Struggling now, the dagger's power was threatening to spiral out of control. Knowing he had to wrestle back the initiative, he tried with all his might to ignore the power that caressed him and the whispered words the weapon knew that he wanted to hear. It was all so... seductive. In a split second of clarity, he dropped the dagger onto the bed and instinctively wrapped it back up in the rags. Sweat poured from his face as he placed the weapon in its wrapping on top of the robes and newspaper article, like a nuclear bomb ready to explode. Running both hands through his long black hair, he breathed a huge sigh of relief. And then it hit him, like a boxer's knockout punch.
'It's Aviva's dagger, the one she found in the pyramid, the one she used to fight Ptolemy and the two treacherous councillors. How in the name of the laminium ball gods did my grandfather get his wings on Aviva's dagger?' he thought, fighting against the exhaustion that threatened to engulf him now that he'd put the dagger down.
Standing up to stretch his legs, clear his head and go find the king, a brilliant purple twinkle from the very darkest corner of the still open trunk caught his eye. Leaning right over into the trunk, he was astounded at what lay there. Nestled right in the corner, with the chain strewn across it, was an alea exactly the same as the one currently around his neck.
Aleas were the physical embodiment of a mantra from days gone by, albeit in an unstable form. Alea itself means 'gamble' or 'last chance.' Used predominantly by dragons fighting in wars of yesteryear, who on finding themselves in an almost certain death situation would break open the alea, and amplify the words on them in their mind, to hopefully unleash their power. Because of their instability they had a reputation for going wrong and not achieving what they'd been designed for or were required to do. Sometimes it worked in the dragon's favour, but sometimes it didn't, so they were rare and dangerous artefacts in the present day.
In one swift motion, he slid his right hand down the top of his T-shirt and checked that his alea was still there. It was. Cautiously bending down, he scooped up the one in the trunk and sat back on the bed. Holding it up to the light, he once again marvelled at the exquisite craftsmanship, before using his dragon sight to check the inscription on the shaft and forks of the tiny trident. Zooming in with his incredible dragon vision, he ignored the purple glow, and made straight for the words. They read 'Amplificare... Magicus... Nunc': 'Amplify Magic Now.' The words were an exact match. Peter sighed.
'Gee Tee said aleas were incredibly rare,' he mused, twirling it round with his finger tip. 'I wonder what the odds are against me having two exactly the same.'