'As well,' he thought, 'it just looks incredibly... ANGRY!'
"Ahhh... Merlin's staff," stated Gee Tee from the far side of the vault, his back to Peter, rifling carefully through a huge pile of parchment.
'Merlin's staff,' he thought. 'You've got to be kidding me.'
"I can assure you it is," confirmed the master mantra maker, almost as if reading the young dragon's mind, his words bouncing off the walls in the dead end they found themselves in.
Slowly and very carefully Peter walked around the plinth, examining the staff from every possible angle. It looked hopeless. If there were a thousand staffs to choose from, no matter how bad the others were, this would be the last one you would pick. But maybe that was the point. Certainly he could feel power radiating out from somewhere inside it. Letting out a short sigh he reluctantly moved on, hoping to examine as many things as possible before his time was up, knowing that this might well be his one and only chance to see the wondrous relics and artefacts kept here, given how often it was the old shopkeeper himself came to visit.
It was no good, he just couldn't resist any longer; it had been drawing him in since he first set eyes on the vault, and he just had to get a closer look. Seemingly, hovering in mid-air of its own accord, a foot or so above the plinth, situated smack bang in the middle of the vault, hissing and spluttering as it did so, was the single most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Longer than a dagger, but not quite sword length, the blade was almost futuristic in design and could have come straight out of the latest sci-fi film at the cinema. A moving pattern of frost continually circled the blade, giving off a cold and chilly feel, whilst the whole of the weapon itself was surrounded by an eerie blue glow. Simultaneously he felt both awe and fear. Awe for whoever, or whatever, had crafted the weapon... for it was truly a masterpiece. But fear at what it could be used for. There could be no doubt that this weapon was a dragon killer, its nature almost screamed out at him. It wouldn't even need to find a dragon's weak spot, it would just carve them up regardless. Just as he was about to move on and try and put the sheer beauty, magnificence and deadliness of the weapon out of his mind, the master mantra maker called out again, still facing away, still rummaging through the parchment.
"It's a vision of true splendour isn't it?"
"DEATH wrapped up in a pretty parcel," replied Peter.
That got Gee Tee's attention.
"Who's a cynical dragon today then?" he replied sarcastically.
"Well... isn't it?"
Gee Tee lowered himself off his tiptoes and turned to face his young friend across the vault. Peter started to wonder just how wise his comments had been.
"THAT, youngster, is not just one of a kind, but is probably THE most amazing weapon you will ever come across in the whole of your dragon life."
Instantly his thoughts turned to Aviva's laminium dagger, tucked safely away in his own home. Having given his word to the king that he wouldn't tell anyone about it, particularly the old shopkeeper, he fought off the desire to mention it now, with all his self restraint.
"But it's so much more than that," continued the old dragon. "This," he said, "is my most prized possession. It's the only one of its kind, and was forged by a Chinese dragon more than two thousand years ago. Nobody's ever been able to recreate that feat, despite many having tried. It was thought to have been crafted by a master weapon smith, by the name of Fu-ts'ang. So revered was Fu-ts'ang that he was written into ancient Chinese mythology, given special responsibility for the minerals of the earth, and is sometimes known, even to this day, as the Dragon of Hidden Treasures. Hence, the weapon is known only as Fu-ts'ang. You should refer to it as if you were referring to a person. It has been claimed by some that the weapon smith's soul is encased or bound within the weapon itself, seeking out kindred spirits, eager to help those it feels worthy."
'And I bet it does magic tricks and performs at children's parties,' mused Peter, his thoughts becoming ever more sarcastic with every second that passed. But the tiny mature part of him knew not to say this out loud for two reasons. One... it was just plain rude, something he most certainly wasn't. And two... he could see how much the weapon meant to the master mantra maker, and didn't want to hurt his friend's feelings. Nodding while glancing over at the old shopkeeper, he continued his tour of the vault, determined to move on to the other main thing that had captured his attention. Carefully, he made his way to the back wall.
Before he'd even touched the magnificent belt, a faint waft of leather and associated oils filled his sensitive nostrils. Ignoring the assault on his nose, he noticed that all the bullets held in place around the entire diameter of the tan coloured belt had lost their sheen. For the most part, the same was true for the gun, a Colt .44 if he wasn't mistaken. Not the white grip of the seductive looking pistol, though, that was shiny and only a little worn. A shiver ran down his spine. He wanted to try it on... he so did.
"Can you guess who it belonged to?" asked a soft voice, floating across the chamber.
Without bothering to turn round, he racked his brain for the answer. Having always been fascinated by the Wild West era, it was only now that he realised his knowledge on the subject was more than a little limited. Moments later, it became clear that at best he'd only be taking a guess. So he gambled.
"Jesse James."
Still searching, and without breaking a sweat, the old shopkeeper nodded, grumbling a brief,
"Not bad, not bad at all."
Elated that his guess had been right, confidence and pride swelled within him, for all of a few seconds anyway.
"You're in the right era, so I suppose we should be grateful for that," stated the old dragon, stalking in Peter's direction, a loose piece of parchment flapping out precariously from his right hand. "But this belt, and the 1873 Winchester rifle you see beside it, belonged to a much maligned and misunderstood dragon, someone whose supposed infamy stretches far and wide in human history, or so I'm led to believe."
Not expecting this, he stood listening intently, eager to know who this infamous dragon was.
"His name was William H. Bonney and he was for a short time at least... one of my friends," added the old shopkeeper a little sadly.
'William, Will, Bill,' pondered Peter. 'Who on earth was...?' And then it came to him.
"Billy the Kid!" he declared.
His friend nodded in agreement.
"That's the name he came to be known by. But he was always just 'Kid' to me, always misunderstood, always fighting the good fight."
Peter had never heard of any dragons being involved in the main historical events of the Wild West. Sure there would have been dragons living in around those areas, blending in, guiding... just pretty much doing what they do now. But to find out somebody that famous, or infamous depending on your view, from that era was a dragon, he found quite shocking.
"You say that he was misunderstood and that he was fighting the good fight, but from everything I know, and yes, it's based on how the humans view history, Billy the Kid was known as a teenage outlaw, a thief and a cattle rustler, as well as a murderer."
Unceremoniously, the old shopkeeper plonked his backside on the floor and sat down, the ground protesting just a little as he did so. Gently placing the parchment on the floor next to him, he gazed over at the young dragon before him, now that they were almost at the same height.