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    Bob, the Invisible Dragon
    Bob, the Invisible Dragon
    Bob, the Invisible Dragon
    Ebook290 pages4 hours

    Bob, the Invisible Dragon

    By David J. Wighton

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    In previous books, you saw Wizard and Dreamer becoming friends. This book takes that friendship further. Dreamer's given name was Frances. Her classmates had nicknamed her 'Dreamer' because she believed that everybody's dreams came true. Dreamer's father, Tom-Tom, had had a very unhealthy relationship with his young daughter, one that demanded Wilizy justice. Delivering that justice was complicated. The Wilizy knew what he had done to her, but couldn't prove it. Also, Tom-Tom was currently in prison where they couldn't reach him. Plus, Dreamer had dreamed that her father would kill her. She didn't believe that the Wilizy could protect her because her dreams ALWAYS came true.

    The Wilizy's plan was to plant a corrupt lawyer into Tom-Tom's cell. That lawyer was going to break him out of jail. After that, justice could be delivered. To be fair, the Wilizy did try to do everything they could to keep Dreamer's dream from coming true.

    Elsewhere, Lucas was hanging around a young teacher named Candi who gave high school boys personal lessons on forest ecology during lunch hour. She was VERY friendly with her students. Candi asked Lucas to convince unruly students to pay for her lessons. Lucas was naive and didn't realize what he had become until it was too late. Serious jail time awaited him. Lucas' lawyer was unconventional and by the end of the trial, his clients were delighted. In the history of delighted beings, only the firefly that had backed into a rotating fan had been more de---lighted. You may have to think about that one.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDavid J. Wighton
    Release dateJul 25, 2015
    ISBN9781311501592
    Bob, the Invisible Dragon
    Author

    David J. Wighton

    David Wighton is a retired educator who enjoys writing youth novels when he's not on a basketball court coaching middle-school girls. The books in his Wilizy series peek at how people lived after the word's governments collapsed in the chaos that followed the catastrophic rise in ocean levels and the disappearance of the world's last deposits of oil. Luckily today, in the 2080s, the citizens of Alberta are safe because their It's Only Fair society uses brain-bands to zap people whenever they break a rule. That way, all children grow up knowing the difference between right and wrong. Unfortunately, they're also taught that women's ankles need to be covered so that men can't see them and turn into perverts. Plus, no-one in Alberta can have babies any more because the government manufactures them in a way that ensures that no child has an unfair advantage over any other child. All of this makes sense to Alberta's dictator, but not to Will and Izzy – two teenagers who are decidedly different from everyone else.Wighton's novels have strong teenage characters driving the plot and facing challenges that, in many respects, are no different from what teenagers face today. His novels are intended to entertain and readers will find adventure, romance, suspense, humour, a strong focus on family, plus a touch of whimsy. Wighton also writes to provoke a little thought about life in today's societies and what the future might bring. Teachers may find the series useful in the classroom and the novels are priced with that intent in mind.

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      Book preview

      Bob, the Invisible Dragon - David J. Wighton

      Chapter 1

      It was early evening on Friday, September 4, 2084 – several days after the Clearwater band members had celebrated the second anniversary of Assassination Day. They had held a community dance in front of their sawmill and then, shortly before 11 p.m., the entire tribe had moved onto the flats next to the North Thompson River and had watched the replay of Will and Izzy's romantic kiss under the stream of multi-hued fireworks. The event was even more moving now – seeing as how Will and Izzy had been assassinated by Zzyk and his exploding copter.

      But that celebration had been three days ago. Wanda, the Clearwater band chief, was in her compact kitchen trying to handle a delicate band matter. The scruffy guest who had slipped uninvited into her kitchen while Wanda’s hands were immersed in soapy water was not helping. He was the delicate band matter.

      Wizard and Dreamer were upstairs in Dreamer's bedroom. As was now part of their regular routine, Wizard would come to Clearwater on Friday afternoon to discuss sawmill business with Dreamer. He'd stay for dinner and then he and Dreamer would disappear upstairs to her bedroom. Wanda, Dreamer's nonny, would hear Dreamer lock her bedroom door, but this barely registered in her conscious thoughts. Dreamer always locked her bedroom door. Since Dreamer and Wizard had prepared the meal, Wanda would clean up afterwards while singing little ditties to herself. These were songs that she remembered from her childhood, songs that brought back happy memories in spite of her family's poverty. With the Clearwater tribe’s sawmill business steadily growing more prosperous, life was good now. Later in the evening, since it was too dark to copter home safely, Wizard would sleep over.

      Dreamer's bedroom was on the second floor, directly above the kitchen, and every so often, Wanda would hear the soft murmur of their voices. She'd also hear faint footsteps, but not too many of those since both Dreamer and Wizard moved around the bedroom in their bare feet. The sound that did resonate clearly into the kitchen was the rhythmic squeaking of the ancient bedsprings. She'd hear this twice every Friday evening. The first time would be about now. Wanda looked at the oval green clock above the kitchen counter. Right on schedule. The frequency of the squeaks began to increase. Wanda didn't mind. Her guest did.

      Wanda had told her guest that Dreamer had a boyfriend, but had said nothing more. It wasn't any of his gol'darned business. Apparently her guest thought otherwise, because he exploded out of the wooden kitchen chair that he had been angrily occupying and bounded up the stairs two at a time. Wanda looked quickly around her kitchen, grabbed the handle of the heavy cast-iron frying pan that was lying half-on and half-off one of the stove’s elements, and followed at a run three paces behind her guest. The frying pan left a trail of cooked brown hamburger crumblets behind her as Clearwater's best cleanup batter ever charged to Dreamer's rescue.

      The wiry man with the black ink tattoos covering his arms tried Dreamer’s doorknob first. Then he stepped back and kicked the door open, splintering the wood around the lock in the process. He was two paces inside the bedroom and poised for action when Wanda arrived. Short but powerful, Wanda was well-known within all of the little communities that made up the North Thompson Softball Association. At fourteen, she had been brought up to play on Clearwater’s men's team! Opposing male crybabies had complained that Wanda’s batting success against their star chuckers had been solely because she presented an unfairly small strike zone. Clearwater supporters countered with her decades of success driving the ball over the fence from either side of the plate. Wanda herself said nothing, but let her bat and her strong arm from behind the plate do the talking for her. Still semi-active in her 50s, she’d wait for the game to be on the line, or for the men on the other side of the diamond to become obnoxiously overconfident, before grabbing her favorite bat and driving the ball out of the park. She enjoyed beating men at what they thought was their game and planned to remain active in the sport for many more years.

      Wanda’s cast iron frying pan struck the angry man on the shoulder and caused him to stagger onto his knees before he could see what was happening on the bed. It was, at best, a five second distraction. The man with the short black Mohawk-cut was too intent on what was happening in Dreamer's bedroom to be stopped so easily. But at least the blow from the frying pan had allowed Wanda to slip in between her unwelcome guest and the bed that had abruptly become squeak-free. She pulled the frying pan back for a second swing. The intruder was on his knees and she had his entire face for batting practice. By now, the astute reader will have observed that a certain degree of – let’s call it animosity – existed between Wanda and the man who had just kicked his way into her granddaughter's locked bedroom.

      Wanda didn't have to look at the bed to know what Dreamer and Wizard had been doing. She had actively encouraged them. Strenuous exercise was healthy for growing teenagers. Leave now or you’ll be drinking your food through a straw for the rest of your miserable life, she warned the man on his knees in front of her.

      For his part, the intruder had acted out of anger. Dreamer was up in her bedroom and some slimy, pimply-faced teenager was having sex with her. It was his duty to protect her. Get your filthy hands off my daughter, the man yelled at the still unseen sex fiend while preparing to simultaneously grab Wanda’s wrist and rise to his feet. Dreamer’s father had acted instinctively. But his anger was now replaced by a different instinct – one that had been buried the whole time he had been in prison. Dreamer would be naked on that bed. He remembered very clearly the last time he had caught his young daughter without any clothes on.

      Back to the Table of Contents

      Chapter 2

      The explosive crack of the bedroom door flying open had frozen the athletic activities in the bedroom, but only for a few seconds. Dreamer was the first to react. She screeched, sprang off the bed, fled into the nearest corner of the bedroom, scrunched down to the floor, covered herself up with her hands and arms as best as she could, and began yelling over and over and over at the top of her lungs, Get out of my bedroom! She needn't have worried about trying to hide her naked body from her father's leer. In her panic, she had forgotten that she was fully clothed.

      Wizard, for his part, was frozen on the bed after this hostile, scary man had blown through the door. Dreamer had been lying on her back. Wizard had been lying beside her, also on his back. The detonating door had caught them in the middle of a race to see who could do the most stomach crunches in two minutes. They did this twice a night to clear their minds. Then they'd return to Dreamer's business management bot.

      Wanda saw Dreamer huddled into the corner, trying to cover herself, and knew instantly what must have happened at some point in her childhood. She flung the frying pan to the floor and, without knowing how it got out of the sheath on her belt, Wanda found her all-purpose knife in her right hand. By the time the frying pan had stopped wibble-wobbling on the floor, the point of Wanda's knife was sticking a millimeter into the vulnerable soft spot immediately under her visitor’s black-stubbled chin. He might have been bigger than Wanda, but Wanda was powerful and she had the cold fury of a grandmother protecting her granddaughter. Look at me, Wescott she demanded.

      Wescott's eyes stayed on his daughter who continued to screech wildly on the floor of her bedroom. Out of the corner of her eye, Wanda saw Wizard rolling off the bed. Don't touch her, Wizard, she yelled. Look at me, Wescott, she demanded again. When he didn't, she pulled the knife away from his chin and slashed at the right side of his head, in the process catching a piece of Wescott's scalp and shortening the top of his ear as well. Look at me, Wescott!

      Wescott put his hand up to his bleeding ear and shifted his glance. Even in the din of Dreamer's screams, he could hear clearly what Wanda said.

      The judge in Kamloops ruled when you were in prison. I am Dreamer's legal guardian now. You aren't. For all of the reasons I told you downstairs, you are banned from Clearwater. I will tell the band council what happened tonight and what effect your presence just had on Dreamer. The Council will decide what to do. I can tell you this. If I ever find you on tribal land again, I will personally apply tribal justice for what you did to her. Nod if you understand.

      Wescott nodded but glared at Wanda. Many bigger, more formidable men had seen that glare and had looked away. Wanda was a woman defending her granddaughter. She didn't look away. If you come on tribal land again, you'll lose more than the tip of an ear.

      # # # # # # # #

      The slam of the front door brought no relief from Dreamer's ear-piercing shrieks. Wanda had no experience dealing with this kind of situation, but she had her own basic instincts to guide her.

      Wizard, you can't be here right now. Even your voice could upset her. Go downstairs and stay there. I know your grandmother could arrive here quickly, right? I'm a friend. Be honest.

      Wiz nodded.

      Could you ask her to come? I need a chief-to-chief discussion. Quickly please.

      Once Wizard was out of sight and hearing, Wanda grabbed the heavy quilt off the bed, approached Dreamer and held it out open. Something to cover herself with. In Dreamer's mind, she was naked.

      Dreamer seized the quilt and wrapped herself in it. Wanda knelt on the floor next to Dreamer, enfolded her in an embrace, and began talking. He's gone. You're safe. This will never happen again. Soothing words, over and over.

      In time, Dreamer's shrieks turned into wails, then into sobs. Her body turned from rigid steel to floppy rubber. Wanda was able to lift her onto the side of the bed and soothe her with strokes on her hair. The sobs ended in time, and then a murmur. Repeated. Wanda had to put her ear next to Dreamer's lips to hear what she wanted. He's downstairs. I'll take you to him.

      # # # # # # # #

      Dreamer was settled on the sofa, still wrapped in her quilt, when Wanda heard the footsteps on her porch. Wizard was sitting beside Dreamer, holding her right hand, his face still bloodless. As Wanda left to answer the double-tap on the door, she glanced at the kitchen clock. It had seemed like an eternity, but barely ten minutes had passed since Dreamer’s dad had left. Wanda wasn't particularly surprised by how quickly Wizard's Granny had completed what should have been an hour long copter trip. As she opened the door, Wanda saw Dreamer take Wizard's arm and put it around her shoulder. Then Dreamer squeezed her head under Wizard's chin, slid both her arms around his waist, and snuggled in.

      Wanda took three Wilizy women into the kitchen and began telling them what had just happened in Dreamer's bedroom.

      Back to the Table of Contents

      Chapter 3

      While Wanda is talking with Granny, I should interrupt the story to tell you what happened after I released the fifth book in the Wilizy adventures – the one in which Will and Izzy died in that helicopter explosion. Bear with me. Wanda and Granny are having a long conversation, but you already know what they're discussing.

      After Teenage Mutant Ninja Torpedoes hit the Internet, I became the target of a sewer of abusive comments. Not because Will and Izzy had died. Even now, over eighty years after their deaths, anybody interested enough in the Wilizy legend to read my books not only knew the day that they were going to die, but they knew the time, place and cause as well. Their outrage was because I had revealed that Will and Izzy had survived the giant copter's explosion.

      I was more than a little confused. My readers hadn't shown any hesitation in believing that Will had invented a sling that could fly at supersonic speeds. They also took for granted that the Wilizy family members could make themselves invisible and send mind-messages to each other. They accepted those fantastical ideas because those inventions explained how a small group of amateur warriors could defeat Zzyk's forces as well as demolish The Citadel's navy, air force, and fortress.

      Yet the public couldn't believe that two very smart people like Will and Izzy could have predicted that Zzyk would try to blow them up. After all, Will and Izzy knew that Zzyk had installed electronic devices in the Wilizy copters that sent information to Zzyk and only to Zzyk. Plus they knew that Zzyk liked to walk around his lab making sounds of explosions, after which he would snigger with enjoyment. How could Will and Izzy not have known a bomb was inside those tracking devices?

      Even more confusing to me was the venom the readers spat my way when I said that Will and Izzy had managed to live secretly in another part of the world after they had died. If Will and Izzy had been their heroes, should they not have been overjoyed? Or at least mildly pleased? Instead, I was brought involuntarily to a tribunal where my words in Teenage Mutant Ninja Torpedoes would be challenged. When I saw the people arrayed against me, I understood. They were lawyers. For the ultra rich. They were protecting their investments.

      You see, back when the Albertan economy was starting to emerge, Wizard had developed a unique currency: a personally autographed scarf with Will and Izzy's picture imprinted on it. At the outset, these scarves had been worth about two klabooies each. The value of a signed scarf gradually rose as tourist traffic into Alberta increased. But when Will and Izzy died, the value of Wiz's currency exploded. No more supply. Lots of demand. Over the decades that followed, each currency scarf that Will and Izzy had ever signed was located and authenticated. Since then, those scarves have continued to trade, rising in value each and every time they have changed hands. Now, so many years afterwards, all of those precious scarves have ended up in the grasping hands – make that in the burgeoning vaults – of the ultra rich.

      For some of the ultra rich, their ownership of a single signed scarf had provided the beginning credit that was used to build their vast fortunes. Now I, the obscure narrator of the Wilizy series, was claiming that Will and Izzy had survived the copter's explosion. That meant that Will and Izzy could have continued to sign scarves for decades and boxes of them could be stored away somewhere. If only a few of those scarves were released into general circulation in their pristine condition, the value of the current scarves would plummet. Who'd want a soiled scarf with a barely visible image when you could acquire a signed scarf that had been never used? In fact, the last people to touch those hidden scarves were probably Will and Izzy! In the face of that possibility, the local stock markets took a big hit on the fear that the treasures of the ultra rich would be compromised. And then their lawyers dug in their claws. Since there was no other handy target, they dug their claws into me.

      I listened as calmly as I could to their accusations in the public tribunal where I had been brought in shackles to defend myself. These included:

      • I was a hack writer trying to cash in on my tenuous association with historic figures.

      • I was a fraudster attempting to deceive the public with lies and innuendo solely to sell a few books.

      • I had slandered two historic icons of our society through misrepresentation. Will and Izzy had died and yet I, a charlatan of the highest order, was trying to cash in on a lie that they hadn't died but had actually lived a secret and undiscovered life.

      To the accusations of misrepresentation and falsifying history, I put my attacker into the witness booth and asked, Under what category of book has the Wilizy series of novels been released?

      Science fiction, the attacker replied.

      Can the characters in the book assume invisibility?

      Yes.

      Would you agree that this is impossible?

      Yes, it's impossible.

      Same for time travel?

      Yes, that's impossible.

      So if characters in a book could make themselves invisible and fly through time – would those be real people or fictional characters?

      Fictional characters.

      Sorry, I couldn't hear that first word.

      Fictional.

      So you're saying that the novels in the Wilizy series are fictional. Thank you. You may step down.

      # # # # # # # #

      To the accusations that I was defrauding the public for my own gain, I put my attacker into the witness booth and asked, Please tell me the price of the books in the Wilizy series.

      They're free.

      So how many klabooies would it take for you to acquire a copy of a novel in this series?

      None.

      Since you're saying that the novels in the Wilizy series cost readers absolutely nothing, that means purchasers have no money to lose when they acquire a copy. If there's no financial loss, there can be no fraud. Thank you. You may step down.

      # # # # # # # #

      To the accusation that I was a hack writer, I merely handed the prosecuting attorney the list of books and articles that I have published during my forty year career as a Doctor of the History of Environmental Recovery at the University of Calgary and asked him to read it to the court. At the ten minute mark, the judge stopped the recital and I didn't hear any references to me being a hack writer again.

      # # # # # # # #

      To the accusation that I had a tenuous association with historic figures, I pointed out that the link was hardly tenuous. My last name was Wilizy, after all. And my position within the family was well known. I put that attacker in the witness box as well. What makes you think that I'm the narrator of this series?

      Everybody knows.

      So because everybody thinks they know something, that makes it true?

      It’s true because everybody knows that it’s true.

      How would everybody know? I've read those books. Apart from the narrator being an old woman, there's no indication who she is.

      Wrong, my attacker objected emphatically. The narrator says that she remembers her first Assassination Day celebration having a silhouette of a moon against a dark mountain background. There was no moon or mountain in the WZBN video clip. That scene must have been at the Wilizy compound. The narrator had to be an original Wilizy. You're the only original Wilizy still alive. It has to be you who wrote those lies.

      Well, I wasn't going to open up the possibility that other original Wilizy might still be alive. Instead, I asked: So the part of the book where the narrator talks about the Wilizy celebrating Assassination Day – that part is true and that makes me the narrator?

      Yes, my attacker agreed triumphantly.

      And the other parts of the book where the characters are invisible and send each other mind-messages? Those must be true too. As would be the time-travel later in the series? I thought those were impossible.

      They are.

      I just stared at him. I had learned this trick from Melissa. The audience in the court began to titter. Titters led to snickers. I decided to put him out of his misery.

      What is it, then? Are the books in the series science fiction? Or is the narrator of the series, whoever she may be, the narrator of a series based on fact, and time travel exists, and so does invisibility.

      The series is fiction, he conceded.

      Which means that the narrator has to be too. Am I free to go, Judge?

      Case dismissed.

      # # # # # # # #

      As I emerged from the courtroom, there was an incident. In time, I was transported in secret to the original Wilizy compound where I am, at present, living safely behind impenetrable

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