Fiddling about at the back of one of his desk drawers, the old shopkeeper suddenly produced a gleaming, pure silver, hand held rivet gun. More of an antique than anything else, it looked gorgeous, set off by strips of worn leather around both its grips. Inspecting it fully, he then retrieved two pairs of fine gloves, handing one pair to Tank before slipping the other pair onto his hands. As the young rugby playing dragon slid his fingers into them, he marvelled at how heavy and strong they were, despite their appearance.
"Carbon fibre weave," stated Gee Tee, noticing the young dragon's curiosity.
Tank nodded, after which they both focused fully on what they were about to do. Gee Tee explained how, at first, all the pieces would have to be joined together with the laminium rivets. Tank would hold the pieces carefully in place while his friend did the rest. Afterwards it would be a case of checking and double checking every last line of text, to make sure that everything was right, down to the last letter and space. After that, the old shopkeeper would ignite the splicing spell, using the laminium in the rivets to bond the whole process together. If successful, it should lead to the completed mantra, the one that would stun nagas across the world when used in conjunction with the telepathic nodes. The risk, as ever, was in the igniting. If even the tiniest detail was wrong... it could lead to catastrophe. In some cases dust or even hair had got tangled up in the mantra, causing a massive failure. Dragons had died, buildings and towns had been levelled when splicing had gotten out of hand in the past, which was primarily why it had been outlawed. But they'd got this far, and both were determined to press on.
Three hours later, around about dawn, they were ready to ignite the laminium rivets. Gee Tee pleaded with Tank to leave, explaining that there was no reason for him to be present for the final part of the process. Tank felt touched at the master mantra maker's concern, but had no intention of going, wanting to see this through, having absolute faith in his friend's ability.
And so, as they both hunched over the desk in the tiny little workshop, both tired, anxious, terrified and more than a little thrilled, the masterful old shopkeeper, eyes closed, wove his magic. Rolling off his tongue, the words were almost visible, the sound of them washing over Tank felt like a warm rainstorm on a summer's day. Then, without warning, the patched up parchment in front of them burst into... LIGHT! Not just any light, but the mother of all light, blinding, white, radiant, all encompassing. Even with his eyelids firmly closed, it still seared Tank's eyes. Turning away, gaining very little relief if any, he felt around for his friend, who was standing in exactly the same place, stock still. And then as quickly as it had arrived, the light disappeared. It took a few moments to adjust, but when they did, what a sight greeted them. There on the table, where the patched up and tattered parchment had been held together with dozens and dozens of rivets, was a sparkling, golden sheet of paper with a rainbow of colours swirling about it. From an angle it looked like the floor of a garage forecourt, except it wasn't petrol that could be glimpsed, but the delicate nature of the laminium. It was magnificent. They'd been truly successful. Surely now the battle for planet earth would turn in their favour? But that could wait. Sleep beckoned, and the shop remained closed for the rest of the day after Tank departed, and after Gee Tee had placed the results of their hard work safely in the vault.
27
I'll Give You A Ring
'Difficult' somehow couldn't describe it adequately. From the outside she looked the same, behaved the same, but deep down, he knew it wasn't her. He'd arranged for them to meet for lunch today, but they weren't going to the staff restaurant. He needed somewhere a little more... out of the way. As they walked along the shiny corridor approaching the restaurant, Richie moved to dive off to her right and join the back of the long, winding queue for the hot, sumptuous looking dinners. Gently, Peter grabbed her left arm and guided her straight on, much to the amusement of several onlookers. Mere moments later, she relaxed, content to follow her friend, who had by now let go of her. A sharp left and two right hand turns later, he turned the handle on the small, glass paned door, holding it open for his friend.
'She looks surprised,' he thought. And then it occurred to him that she probably had no memory of this place, despite the fact that it was she who had introduced it to him.
"This is new," she whispered excitedly, noticing all the plant life. "An illicit trip into the dangerous wild jungles of... Salisbridge!"
Smiling as she stepped past him into the small, secluded courtyard, all he could think was,
'Same old Richie... well, almost.'
Dodging through a variety of ferns and other huge bright green plants, all of which looked as though they'd doubled in size since his last visit, they arrived at the worn old bench next to the raised flowerbed, just opposite the rectangular pond. Extending his arm, he indicated that Richie should sit. She did.
"When you said let's do lunch, I had no idea it would be romantic... like this," she teased.
"Oh... very good," he replied, slipping off his dark backpack so that he could join her on the seat.
"So what's going on?" she asked innocently.
"Lunch," he answered, unzipping the backpack. "We always go to the restaurant. I thought we'd do something... different."
Richie smiled, trying to recall them 'always' going to the restaurant. She could remember a couple of times, but other than that her mind seemed a blank. It worried her a little. Not the actual going there with Peter, but that on a number of occasions recently she'd had trouble remembering specific things. Gazing lovingly at some of the lacrosse trophies in her glass cabinet at home a couple of nights ago, one or two of which she had absolutely no idea how she'd won, her name was carved into them, but she couldn't remember earning them, or even them being presented to her, which must have happened at some point. At that stage she wondered if it was worth her going to see a doctor about it, but as that thought popped into her head, she couldn't recall ever having been to a doctor. That in itself seemed odd, and more than a little worrying. Vowing to herself to try harder to remember, she decided to start keeping a written record of all the things that bothered her.
Meanwhile, Peter had produced a couple of lovely looking plates from his bag, two plastic bottles of mango and orange juice (her favourite), carrot and cucumber sticks wrapped in cling film, a strawberry yoghurt for each of them and a huge pile of something wrapped in tin foil. Richie took it from him reluctantly.
'How could this be better than the restaurant?' she thought.
"Go on... open it!" he urged.
Uncovering three massive sandwiches made from white doorstep bread, bright red jam leaking out from all sides, looking like something CSI might like to investigate, she managed to stammer a brief,
"Ahhh... thanks," but after a moment's hesitation, went on to add, "but I don't really like jam."
It took all Peter's concentration not to laugh out loud, as he shook his head, having made Richie's favourite sandwiches, with the strawberry jam that was so hard to get hold of, used butter instead of spread, gone to the bakery and picked up the crusty white loaf she liked so much, while it had still been gorgeously hot.
"Sorry," announced Richie.
"Why don't you just take a bite?" he encouraged, knowing that despite the obvious differences that he knew about her, he'd been assured by the council, the priests, and more importantly by Gee Tee, that everything else would remain the same. Like her eating habits. Of course, she wasn't going to still have a hankering for charcoal, or start nibbling her way down an HB pencil mid way through a training course (at least he hoped not), but those human characteristics should still be there, something he was counting on at this very moment. Half-heartedly she took a small nibble. The look on her face was priceless; he wished he'd had his phone out to capture it. This time she took a colossal bite, chomping away, savouring every last micron.