"What do you think has happened to him?"
"I don't know. All I do know, is that his father is extremely worried."
"That's understandable."
"It is. But it might be us that pays the price."
"Why?"
"Because nobody stopped him from taking the knives, or going off with that gang from the sports club."
"Taibul's a strong willed boy. Nobody could have stopped him."
"I know that, and so do you. But I very much doubt his father sees it that way. And since he owns this place and pays our wages, we'd all better be on our best behaviour and watch out. I for one can't afford to lose this job."
Nodding, his co-worker agreed, before flitting off into the kitchen to see if the couple's next course was ready.
Sitting perched on the flowery white sofa, they listened carefully once again, hoping that this time their beloved daughter would finally pick up on her end. As her husband held out his mobile in front of them, a slight crackle coming over the speaker carrying around the immaculate front room, Emma's mother wiped away yet another set of tears with a folded white tissue, unusually not bothered about smearing her makeup. Unsurprisingly the phone, just as in the previous attempts, did not connect. It filled them both with more dread and fear than they cared to admit... even to each other. Finally, not only did he dare think it, but he said it out loud.
"I think it's finally time we called the police."
Sniffing profusely, the tears having started to gush once more, his wife nodded her agreement. Their daughter hadn't come home on Saturday night, something on its own that was cause for concern. But it was now Monday and there'd been no sign of her and she'd skipped work. Having phoned all her friends, as well as her employer, they were now reaching their wits' end. And while neither wanted to admit the seriousness of the situation, having the police involved very nearly confirmed their worst fears.
In Angela's case, it was very different. She worked from home as a graphic design artist, and her friends were the lacrosse players she trained with midweek and played with at the weekend. It was unlikely that anyone would miss her for at least a few days yet. And by then, things would probably be all over one way or another.
7
The Strongest Of Bonds
Sitting shackled, back to back on the shiny, polished floor of the council building, Peter and Tim's hands were bound by the strength sapping chains behind them. They'd been thrown there a few hours earlier and had been left mostly undisturbed.
Although he didn't know exactly which floor of the giant monolith they were on, Peter did at least have a rough idea. How? Because if he leant forward as far as he could, pulling Tim's currently unconscious body with him a little, he could just manage to peek round the corner in front of him, which afforded a view out of one of the panoramic, wraparound windows. That view hadn't changed since they'd been here. Off in the distance some way, and about a hundred metres above them, a striking hemisphere of blue energy crackled and rippled, shielding a huge part of the now exposed cliff that made up the side of the king's private residence. If he looked really carefully, he could just make out a much darker colour beyond the, for now, impenetrable barrier. He knew it marked the entrance to the king's private residence, somewhere that held fond memories for him, somewhere once accessed by the magnificent marvel of engineering of a bridge that had earlier in the day been obliterated. Briefly he wondered who was responsible for the wanton destruction. It didn't make much sense, to him anyway, for Manson to have demolished the bridge, especially with so many nagas on his attacking force. As far as he knew they couldn't fly, but given everything that had occurred over the last couple of days, he wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn they could. That only left the king's force.
'Things,' he thought, 'must be really desperate if they've destroyed their only way out.'
Coughing and spluttering from behind startled him back to the present. Gingerly, Tim came round.
"How are you feeling?" whispered Peter.
"Rotten," rasped Tim. "Where are we?"
"The council building in London," replied Peter, having completely forgotten that Tim would have no idea about dragon cultural landmarks.
"Anything happen while I was out?"
"Not really. They've checked on us a couple of times, but nothing other than that." Peter continued to tell Tim about the view of the sporadic attacks on the king's defences. Tim was aghast to learn that they'd cut off their only route to safety.
"What do you see happening now?" asked the newly formed dragon, after a moment of quiet contemplation.
Peter wriggled around, trying to get a bit more comfortable and stop the burning pain in his shoulders and biceps. He didn't succeed.
"Nothing I've seen bodes well for any of us," he blurted, almost before thinking. "The king's force is well and truly trapped, and I can't begin to think where any help would possibly come from. I'm sure there must be dragons somewhere fighting to get here and protect the monarch, but I don't doubt for one minute that Manson would have had some contingency for all of that."
"And us?" Tim asked, thinking that he was addressing the elephant in the room.
'Two dragons and an elephant, that's funny,' he thought, letting out a brief chortle.
"Something funny?" enquired Peter.
"The whole thing I suppose," muttered Tim, downcast. "Dragons, a battle for the planet, I'm the new Messiah or whatever it is I'm supposed to be, and us... about to die. You've got to laugh."
Peter thought about it for a moment, and then started to chuckle uncontrollably. Tim joined in. All sense of time became lost as the two of them existed in their own little bubble. Eventually the moment passed and they came crashing back to reality with a certain sense of inevitability. The giggles banished, Peter considered Tim's last question carefully.
"I can't see any way out for us. Even if we could escape from these blasted chains, we'd still have to fight our way past Manson's army, and you wouldn't get very good odds on that being successful. If I'm honest, things are as bleak as they're ever likely to get. Sorry!"
"I appreciate your candour, my friend," Tim whispered.
Peter could feel the newly crowned White Dragon, from the renowned prophecy, shake uncontrollably. He wanted to comfort him, and felt helpless beyond belief at not being able to do so.
"So there's really no hope for a rescue then?" Tim asked quizzically, a minute or so later. "You're not just saying that so I wouldn't get my hopes up?"
Peter slumped forward, as far as he could go anyway.
"I can't for the life of me see where it could possibly come from. Unless the king has something unbelievable hidden behind that shield, then the chances of us ever seeing another sunrise are remote at best."
The two friends sat in silence, contemplating the seriousness of the situation both they, and the world, found themselves in.
Earth's surface. Washington DC, United States of America.
Yawning and stretching his arms out to form the 'Y' from The Village People's famous song, he took another hit from his strong, black coffee, hoping it would add a dash of alertness to his sleepy disposition. Normally he did his best work at around one in the morning, but today he was struggling to concentrate, feeling tired and a little run down. Perhaps he was coming down with something. That would be just typical. Stuck in this unnatural form, with these oh so fussy and particular beings who were always ill, almost at the drop of a hat, it would be just his luck to pick up some germ or other that he wasn't resistant to. They'd warned him about that before he'd set out on his mission. BLAH! Sinking the rest of the cup of Java, he sat up straight, pulled his chair in as far as it would go, and, determined not to be affected by any bug, computer or otherwise, tilted the two giant LCD computer monitors to give him the ideal viewing angle for what he was working on. Feeling comfortable, and more awake than he had in some time, he glanced over to his right, out of the full frame glass window of his Georgetown condo. Despite the late hour, he could just make out boats from their lights, sailing up and down the Potomac. Momentarily he wondered what they were doing. Surely not a pleasure cruise at this time of night. Part of him wished to be on the water, or at least slightly closer than the four hundred or so yards away he now found himself. He was supposed to have been grateful, that his so-called masters had found him this condominium so close to the water's edge. But in truth, all it did was remind him of what he'd lost, and what he was fighting to get back. Turning back to the huge screens, after taking a giant breath, he began.