The People's Dragon: A Bellers Tale

By T.D. Edge

Jack Stapelton's Bellers, a bunch of Cockney super-heroes, were decimated in the war with the Bloodjacker. They've barely recovered when most of the team is sent to the North Sea by MI5 to destroy a fire-breathing creature which may or may not be man-made. Jack, alone, follows clues to South Wales where rumours are that a real, ancient, dragon has been stolen from the spine of Arwen, the girl who housed it.

Some powerful, really scary guys intend to combine the two creatures and enslave the world. Jack must join forces with Arwen to stop them but if they succeed then Jack's great love, agent Meera Nath, will be destroyed along with the people's dragon.

T. D. Edge won a Cadbury's fiction competition at age 10 but only did it for the chocolate. He has published several children's/YA books (writing as Terry Edge) with Random House, Scholastic, Corgi and others. His short fiction has appeared in numerous places such as Realms of Fantasy, Arc, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Penumbra and Flash Fiction Online. In 2012, he won the New Scientist SF short fiction award. He has been a street theatre performer, props maker for the Welsh National Opera, sign writer, soft toys salesman and professional palm-reader.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.D. Edge
• Release date: Jul 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310987625

T.D. Edge

T. D. Edge lives in London. He won a Cadbury's fiction competition at age 10 but only did it for the chocolate. When that ran out, he got writing again and published several children's/YA books (writing as Terry Edge) with Random House, Scholastic, Andre Deutsch and others. His short stories have appeared in various anthologies and magazines including Aeon, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Flash Fiction Online and Realms of Fantasy. In May 2012, his story "Big Dave's in Love" won the New Scientist/Arc Magazine SF short fiction contest.

Book preview

The People’s Dragon

A Bellers Tale

By T.D. Edge

A Lucky Bat Book

Lucky Bat Books logo

THE PEOPLE’S DRAGON

A Bellers Tale

Copyright 2014 by T.D. Edge

Cover Image Copyright 2014 by Ben Baldwin

Published by Lucky Bat Books

All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Dedication

To Pete Donaldson, for fifty years of friendship and all those times in our teens when we stayed up most of the night talking about weird stuff, some of which turns up in this story.

Table of Contents

Dedication

1. Arwen

2. Jack

3. Arwen

4. Jack

5. Meera

6. Sandra

7. Jack

8. Arwen

9. Jack

10. Dan

11. Sandra

12. Jack

13. Meera

14. Dan

15. Jack

16. Dan

17. Jack

18. Arwen

19. Meera

20. Jack

About the Author, T.D. Edge

Stories by T.D. Edge

1. Arwen

Arwen Jones knew that the black car with the black windows screeching to a halt in front of them had come for her.

Swansea, Friday night, and as usual she and the girls had been out on the piss, going from club to club, having a right laugh. Dressed in not much, multi-coloured lights splashing across their bare arms, legs and tops of breasts; mascara deepening their lusty eyes; boys trying for them but not hard enough yet—maybe later they’d let them in closer, when the drugs and drink made them not care too much about the details, when they just needed a quick, hard shag to complete the happy oblivion, something to joke about tomorrow over coffee and toast at one of their apartments.

She loved her life, so much so that none of the girls ever guessed her secret. When she laughed with them, she really hooted; and when she had sex with one of the lads, she screamed with easy triumph as if that was all she wanted in the whole wide world.

But as she’d suspected, the two shaven-headed goons in suits who jumped out of the car came right toward her.

Her mates closed ranks, linking arms and sticking out their chests in defiance. But their eyes flickered at her with the beginnings of doubt.

Arwen Jones, said the older goon, his eyes wary, as well he might be, considering what she could do. We’re members of the security services and we’d appreciate you coming along with us, please.

For a second, she considered fighting, but if she used her powers, the girls could be hurt; and if she was killed, she’d not be able to wipe their memories of her true nature.

So, while her friends shouted, Screw you, coppers! and, Keep your hands off our Arwen, you perves! she reluctantly unhooked her arms from them and stepped forward.

What’s this all about? she said.

The two agents showed her their badges, not that she knew if they were genuine or not, and the older one said, We’ll explain everything if you just come with us.

She turned and shrugged at her mates. I’ll see you later. Don’t drink all the Diamond Whites. Then she flashed her blood-field across their minds, so they’d forget the men and the car and her being taken away.

In the BMW, the cold leather of the back seat pressed against her bare thighs. The younger agent sat next to her, keeping his gaze level but she sensed him watching her, and not just professionally. Well, that could be dangerous, she thought. For him.

The car edged through the piss-heads and prossies on Wind Street, then along the sweeping curve of Swansea Bay. Arwen decided to say nothing, even though it might seem unnatural, for wouldn’t an innocent girl be yelling and screaming and demanding a lawyer?

They turned right, headed uphill toward the Gower moors. They passed a number of villages, white light from the car bouncing off the hedgerows hemming in the narrow roads. Cat’s eyes gleamed and once a fox scurried into the hedge.

The car slowed at nowhere in particular then turned right on to a dirt track. A hundred yards up a hill and it dipped down again, the long lights picking out a white fence, then a mansion poking above the trees behind it.

A crunching slide of gravel under the tires as the car stopped. She climbed out, wishing this was just a hotel where she had a room booked with a mini-bar and cable TV. She knew, really, that the government would not normally occupy a place like this on the South Wales coast, so it must be mainly for her.

The agents ushered her into the reception area, black and white tiled floor and plain desk with a nothing-faced woman behind it. The older agent said, Hello, Lynne; should we go through? as if asking whether their restaurant table was ready.

They took her along a short corridor, into a room then left her, the younger one smiling tersely by way of farewell; professional after all, then.

The room had a beige carpet, white sofa and chairs, a low coffee table between them with a vase of yellow tulips and a pile of what looked like Sunday supplement magazines. All very nondescript.

Should she bust out now, before they tried anything tricky? When she found herself not moving, the realisation had to be faced: that it had been so long since she’d used her special strengths she wasn’t sure they’d be enough.

She sat in one of the chairs, letting her blood-field swell to read the air of the house: no families; those who used the place professional, particular, routine-based. But under the predictable matrix atmosphere of exercise, checking and testing, monitoring and briefing, she sensed something different—a gap in the predictability; a prepared space, ready to receive the new, to work it, explore it, change it.

God, she thought, I wish I was stuffing myself with faggots and chips, washing it down with vodka, arseing around with the girls. But I suppose this was always going to happen one day.

Figuring there’d be cameras everywhere, she didn’t let her face show any feelings. Later, just as she thought about taking a nap, the door opened again and a woman about her age walked in.

You’re Arwen, she said.

I’d give you a peanut if I had one.

The woman wore a navy shirt and navy trousers, blonde hair tied back, face clear of make-up. Pretty but not bothered about it, at least not right now.

I’m Gaynor. Do you mind if I sit? Well-educated, South-East England accent.

It’s a free country—that’s a joke, by the way. You a rozzer too?

Gaynor sat in the chair opposite. An agent? No.

"But they chose you to replace