Hitting the floor hard, Peter's legs took the brunt of the impact. Both his knees hurt badly, almost as if he'd stepped off the pavement onto the road from a kerb that was much higher than normal, without paying enough attention. That was not his only issue. Currently he was covered from head to toe in so much disgusting stuff, it was all he could do to heed Gee Tee's warning and step off to the side of the by now very slippery pole. Taking four steps to the right, he started trying to brush off the worst of whatever he was covered in, but before he had the chance, the gagging reflex he'd been suppressing since about halfway down, when something from within one of the dark crevasses had either spat on him or sprayed him with pee, simply gave up. Dropping to his knees, he vomited. And not just a little.
Seconds later, announced by a whoosh of air, without any drama and with the delicacy of a butterfly, Gee Tee touched down on the other side of the pole, wrinkling his nose as he did so.
"Ahhh... Olgoi got you did he?" smirked the old dragon knowingly. "He's a one he is. Generally if it's your first time, he seems to sense it and once he does... he never seems to miss the target, if you know what I mean."
By now, Peter had finished throwing up and was brushing thick strands of webbing, a rainbow litany of coloured liquids and numerous vines and other plant material off his clothes, arms, legs, hair and face. He looked a mess, and the particular shade of green his face had turned really didn't help him out one bit. For a split second the old shopkeeper held out one of his wing tips to help, but after brief consideration withdrew it almost immediately. Staggering to his feet, somewhat disorientated, Peter choked back down the taste of sick and bile that lingered around his throat and mouth, knowing he had to at least ask the question.
"Who or what on earth is 'Olgoi'?"
A faraway look drifted across the old dragon's face as he contemplated the question for a second or two.
"Olgoi, or Olgoi-Khorkhol to give him or her their correct name, for I have no idea just how many are left, are also known as Mongolian death worms. When this vault was installed, not far off four hundred years ago now, many, many counter-measures, deceptions, traps, tricks and deadly creatures were incarcerated in, around and alongside it. At the time, four breeding pairs of Mongolian death worms were given a home in the rock and soil around the pole, roughly half way down. At that time, these creatures were rarer than rare. It was thought that only about two dozen breeding pairs were left scattered throughout the Gobi desert. Transplanting some here made sense twofold. Of course the first was as protection against anyone trying to violate the security of the vault, with the second being to try and establish some kind of breeding colony somewhere far away from their normal territory, and somewhere far safer. Whether it's succeeded is anyone's guess. I'm sure if Tank were here he'd be fascinated and would, no doubt, after only a few minutes have them eating some kind of snack out of his oversized, pudgy hands." Peter smiled at the thought of his friend doing just that.
"What you can smell on you is their poison," announced the master mantra maker casually.
As a growing look of concern spread out across Peter's face, the bile in his throat started rising again.
"Oh don't worry," urged the old dragon. "I cast a specific protection mantra on you before you disappeared into the darkness. You were never in any danger."
'Good to know,' he thought, 'good to know.'
"If anything," added the old shopkeeper, "it was their electric shock that would have harmed you. Known to kill in fact, even dragons, if memory serves me correctly."
Peter's face was a picture... and a particularly terrified one at that. As Gee Tee fiddled around in a hidden side pouch for something he'd brought with him, the young dragon thought hard about what had just been said. Knowing that the famous mantra maker had a sense of humour, albeit somewhat warped, didn't give him a clue either way. Was he kidding? Was he serious? It was just about impossible to tell.
"Ahhh... here they are." Pulling out his unlikely square plastic spectacles, the old shopkeeper delicately slipped them along his nose until they sat just so.
"Now... let me see how this place looks," he said, turning full circle, standing on the spot. "Pretty much the same as I remember, only with a bit more dust," he added, running one of his bony fingers along the rock face behind them, "but apart from that and the increase in spiders, it all looks totally familiar."
Curiosity got the better of the young dragon.
"When was the last time you were down here?"
Turning his head so far to one side that it was nearly touching his left shoulder, the master mantra maker thought about that one.
"Hmmm... let me see. What did you say the year was up above... the ones the humans use as a calendar?"
"2017," answered the hockey player, marvelling at how someone so utterly brilliant and clever could be so forgetful so often.
"Ahhh... haven't been down here since '03' then."
'A place like this is hardly likely to have changed very much in thirteen years,' Peter mused.
"Those were the days," sighed the old shopkeeper. "Everyone then was so much smarter and polite... you know what I mean. All you, you... human infiltrators. Suits, ties, hats... and as for the ladies... well, the dresses were something else. Looking that smart, they were allowed in my shop... not like the scruffy yobs of today such as you and my young associate. You wouldn't know what dressed up looked like if it jumped up and smacked you on the nose."
The master mantra maker had finally lost his marbles... well, that was the conclusion that Peter had just reached, and was frantically racking his brain for some way to extricate himself from the situation that he found himself in. And then it HIT him!
"What was the exact date you were last here?" he asked softly.
"I'VE JUST TOLD YOU CHILD! DON'T YOU LISTEN TO ANYTHING I SAY? YOU'RE AS BAD AS YOUR FRIEND! December 12th 1903, about tea time as I recall."
If nothing else, the bizarre conversation had taken his mind off the bad taste lingering in his mouth and the back of his throat.
'So, the old shopkeeper hasn't been down here in over a century. Oh,' he thought, 'what could possibly go wrong with all those things he's so kindly pointed out...? Traps, deceptions, countermeasures, magical beasts acting as guards, and I'm here with by all accounts the oldest dragon in the world, who suffers from the kind of memory lapses that are liable to get others (me in particular) killed!
Thinking about asking Gee Tee if they could go back, he dismissed it out of hand quite quickly, instead choosing to focus on the main reason he was here... to help Richie! As well, the old shopkeeper had seemed so enthusiastic about bringing him here, here, secret here. Here, that not even Tank knew about. And besides, he told himself, it was just a matter of convincing the master mantra maker that his theory about Richie was true... and THAT was the single most important thing that in his deepest time of need, he desperately needed to focus on. So that's what he did. He threw all his concentration into one thought, and tried frightfully hard to block out everything else.
Scuttling over beside the old shopkeeper, careful not to move forward even an inch, he finally took in his surroundings. Standing on the raised rock alcove where the pole came to rest, smack bang in the middle of its semi-circular shape, an irregular rock wall curved round behind them, littered with thick webs, spiders the size of dinner plates, as well as numerous plant species, most of which he recognised as being poisonous in some way, shape or form. On either side of the alcove, carved into the rock, two eighteen foot high dragon statues, both slightly different, towered over them, casting an ominous presence. Friendly and welcoming features stood out on one dragon with its wings folded back, one arm pointing away, its long, sleek, elegant tail pointing in another direction, a disproportionately small nose sitting perfectly in the middle of its face. A rather opposite disposition hung over the other dragon. Its fangs were bared in a fearsome snarl, while one raised foot showed that its talons had raked along the floor. This one's giant wings were open and the claws on both its hands were spread wide, with what looked like blood dripping down each. Its thick, deadly-looking tail seemed more like a club, with huge spikes protruding out at almost equal intervals, and this one's nose looked like it had either been punched by a T-Rex, or it had been chasing parked cars. It reminded Peter more than a little of the evil dragon Manson. Quickly, he turned his thoughts back to Richie, hoping to forget all about evil dragons, at least for the time being. With the statues forgotten, it was then he realised that right in front of him, no more than a few yards away in the darkness, three separate passages stood there, waiting, all nearly circular in design, all dragon sized, and all apparently identical. Only really able to see the entrances, as anything further was totally obscured by the all encompassing darkness, even scrolling through all his magical types of vision did him no good whatsoever.