Dragon Shield Read online

  Will turned and shouted at his sister.

  ‘Run!’

  Jo ran in front of their mother and tugged at her, trying desperately to drag her to safety.

  Maybe because she didn’t just save herself, maybe because she thought first about their mother, maybe that explained what Will did next.

  Maybe that’s why he too did not just run away in panic. Or maybe not. He himself never remembered why he did it, only that it felt like the right thing to do.

  Perhaps he had worked out that even with both of them pushing there was no way they could get to safety before the dragon came after them. Perhaps that was why he knew they needed some extra protection they could take with them.

  Perhaps that was why he ran forward and picked up the dragon’s shield.

  Maybe he thought it could save them.

  But no maybes explained how he lifted it. It was a big heavy thing, and in the normal course of events he couldn’t have begun to pick it up.

  Maybe because the day was already so far away from anything like the normal course of anything, the usual rules didn’t apply.

  Maybe.

  Whatever the reason, he ran forward and flipped the shield, grabbing the strap on the back of it, and held it on his arm.

  Whatever the maybes of going back for the shield, the moment he had it he knew it was definitely a mistake.

  The dragon charged, and now it didn’t have to hold the shield it bounded forward using all four limbs, the front talons ripping into the ground and hurling itself forward, then the powerful back legs kicking in like steam pistons as it sprang towards him.

  He heard a cry from behind him and a clatter and turned, catching a quick glimpse of his sister and mother – Jo had hit the curb and toppled the wheelchair, catching her mother and cradling her head as she fell.

  There was no way they would get away from the dragon now.

  Ahead of him there was a metallic clang as the dragon leapt up onto the high park railings and stood there, cocking its head back on its long snake neck, like a cobra about to strike.

  Only Will could see, from the smoke beginning to escape from its nostrils and the red metallic glow building in its chest, that it was about to flame them.

  He scrambled back, dragging the shield with him and fell in front of the wheelchair.

  ‘Get behind me!’ he shouted, just as the Dragon spat wildfire.

  He lifted the shield and caught the twisting rope of flame on the centre of the red cross painted on its front.

  The wildfire had a punch like the jet from a power-hose. The impact knocked Will backwards a metre, but he braced himself and kept the metal between him and the dragon. The shield juddered in his grip, and he saw the wildfire deflected off it at an angle.

  It hit a rubbish bin and ignited it.

  The dragon took a deep whooping breath and then shrieked a second jet at him.

  Seeing the burning bin gave him an idea. He bunched his muscles and caught the jet on the shield. The shield was becoming uncomfortably hot, but he knew if he dropped it, it would be the end. So he concentrated all his strength in turning the ricocheting wildfire back across the pavement from the flaming bin, across the park railing, where it ignited the bushes beyond, and then, slowly around it higher and higher until he was reflecting the flame straight back at the dragon itself. The wildfire hit the dragon’s talon where it was gripping the metal railing.

  There was no reaction at first.

  Then the foot got red hot, then very quickly white hot as the wildfire twisted round it, climbing the dragon’s body and wrapping it in tendrils of flame that moved as if they had a mind of their own. The fire spread along the sharp railings too.

  The dragon shrieked in anger and then pain, and choked off the hose of flame.

  And for a long moment it looked at Will. Then it looked at the fire still twisting round its torso and stretching like a creeper along the railings. And then it shrieked again as it tried to leap at Will and Jo.

  Its wings flared and its talons reached for them, but it only fell forward.

  It snarled in frustration. Its stubby wings thrashed the air as it threw itself upwards, straining to fly, and for a moment it did look as if it was about to break free, and then it fell back with a shocked squawk and a sound of metal on metal.

  It fell heavily onto the spikes along the top of the fence, red hot flaming spikes that pierced its body like hot nails sliding through a pat of butter.

  ‘Wow,’ breathed Jo.

  The Dragon flopped and pulled at the railings that were now sticking out of its other side, but it couldn’t free itself.

  ‘Dragon kebab,’ said Will. He started to laugh, short gouts of laughter that were not like real laughing, that were unnatural to his own ears. He knew it must be hysteria and relief.

  Something golden and angry landed between him and the struggling dragon.

  Ariel.

  ‘Why aren’t you running?’ She said. She sounded angry. ‘I told you to run.

  ‘I defeated it!’ he said, pointing at the impaled dragon. ‘It’s done! Kebabbed!’

  He had never felt such elation. Such great pride. Such a huge relief. Such . . . power.

  ‘It’s not done!’ she snarled.

  And at that moment the dragon snapped its neck like a whip and fired a power hose jet of flame right at them.

  Ariel spun and caught the fire in the centre of her torso. She staggered back and then made herself step forward into the blast.

  Protecting Will and Jo and their mother.

  Blocking the flameburst.

  She screamed right back at the dragon, not a scream of fear or pain, or maybe not just those things, but mainly a scream of pure defiance.

  The noise hit the dragon like a solid punch of air, slamming its head sideways. The fire guttered out and the head dropped, the chin clunking onto the paving stones, the last fire dying in the angry little eye that glared at them and then went out.

  ‘Now it’s done . . .’ whispered Ariel.

  And she dropped to one knee.

  And then she folded in on herself in an impossible move.

  She bent as if her spine was hinged where it shouldn’t be, twisting towards them as she fell.

  They saw with horror that she was melted by the force of the dragonfire. Her face was lopsided. She tried to smile. Will felt a terrible stab of guilt at her bravery.

  ‘And so am I . . .’ she breathed, just about managing the smile she was reaching for before she slumped forward, her chin dropping into her chest and staying there.

  For a moment the city was silent again and all Will could hear was the sound of the blood in his ears.

  The dragon’s shield suddenly felt like lead on his arm.

  He dropped it with a clang.

  ‘Will,’ said Jo.

  ‘She’s dead,’ he said, his voice strangely thick. ‘It’s OK. We’re safe. But she’s dead. It’s my fault. We should have run.’

  Of course it was his fault. Ever since Jo’s accident everything was his fault. In fact they wouldn’t even be in London if it hadn’t been for the hospital appointment and that was definitely down to him. He felt the familiar wash of self-disgust begin to fill the void in his guts. He raised his eyes and looked at Jo.

  Jo wasn’t looking at him. She was looking into the sky, face white with terror. She pointed at a dark winged shape coming in low over the rooftops towards them.

  ‘There’s something coming. Some kind of bird. A hawk maybe?’

  6

  The Finsbury Angel

  It wasn’t a hawk, or a dragon. Jo and Will squinted into the air at the dark shape winging towards them through the late afternoon gloom. True, the black thunderclouds massing behind it gave whatever it was a doomy end-of-the-world feeling, but whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t a dragon.

  Dragons don’t – as a rule – wear long billowy dresses.

  ‘It’s an angel . . .’ said Will. ‘Well. I think it’s an angel, anyway . . .�
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  ‘Should we run?’ said Jo, her eyes fixed on the incoming figure. Now it was closer they could hear the deliberate, unhurried sound of its wing beats like slow whip-cracks lashing in at them from above.

  ‘Angels are the good guys, right?’ said Will uneasily. ‘We shouldn’t be scared of angels.’

  He didn’t sound too convincing, even to himself.

  ‘So why have you picked up the shield?’ said Jo. He looked down at this arm. He hadn’t realized he’d done so.

  ‘Dunno,’ he said. He squinted at the approaching figure. Something had shifted, making it look suddenly monstrous.

  ‘Angels don’t have two heads,’ Jo gasped. ‘Let’s run—’

  As it got closer they saw, with horror, that it did appear to have a second head sticking up from its right shoulder.

  ‘Stay,’ said the angel. The voice sounded as though it was right next to each of them, whispering low and calm in their ears even though it was 500 metres away. It had a power that soothed and stopped – for the moment – the immediate urge to sprint away. ‘Stay for a moment. Have no fear of us . . .’

  ‘Yeah!’ piped a chirpy voice that came from the second head. ‘Hold up! We ain’t villains. We’re nice as pie, we are!’

  ‘She’s giving someone a piggyback,’ said Jo, relaxing a fraction.

  Closer still they could see the second head was not attached to the angel but was indeed the grinning brown face of a bronze child who was holding onto the angel’s neck with one arm while waving enthusiastically with the other.

  ‘It’s a kid,’ said Jo.

  ‘Angels don’t give piggybacks,’ said Will, hefting the comfortable weight of the shield on his arm. ‘I mean that’s not exactly normal, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said the woman’s voice. ‘None of this is normal. There is much to fear. But none of it from me. I will not harm you. I do no harm to those who mean well. I only harm those who would do hurt to us.’

  ‘Yeah. Well I just broke a dragon,’ he whispered to Jo.

  They watched her flap lazily in to land, wings folding neatly back the moment her bare feet touched the ground. As soon as that happened the bronze boy leaped to the ground and turned a somersault, bouncing to his feet throwing his arms wide with a loud smiling ‘Ta da!’ as if he was a circus acrobat performing a trick.

  In one hand he held what looked like a mask. He was bare chested and bare legged and his uncombed hair stuck up in all directions, making him look like the most roguish street urchin imaginable.

  ‘Calm down, Tragedy,’ said the angel. ‘You will frighten them.’

  He tutted and slumped his shoulders, lifting the mask to his face: it was a grotesque, sad expression, and was a complete contrast to his actual face which was all smiles and mischief.

  The Angel was slightly larger than normal sized, but not enough to be freakish, and did not break step as she continued walking towards them. Though she was clearly made from heavy bronze and was darkened with time to a mottled grey-green colour, streaked with what can only have been pigeon droppings, she stepped lightly. The boy was also made of bronze, but his was shiny and deep brown, as if he lived indoors and was frequently polished. Her hair was held back in a band across her forehead, and her garment was, Will noted, about as wispy as Ariel’s had been.

  The boy dropped the mask and stuck his right hand out.

  ‘Wotcher!’ he said. ‘I’m Little Tragedy, though my mates call me Tradge. Who are you?’

  Will took his hand gingerly, and then flinched as the boy pumped it up and down enthusiastically.

  ‘I’m Will. This is Jo.’

  ‘Cor. She’s a pippin,’ winked Tradge. Jo didn’t take his hand, just sketched a slightly stunned wave at him, whilst exchanging a questioning look at her brother.

  Little Tragedy took no offence because his attention was taken by the angel who had calmly walked past them and was examining the melted and broken golden figure behind them.

  ‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘What you done to my mate Ariel?’

  ‘The Dragon did it,’ said Will, and immediately felt guilty as the angel looked up and caught his eye with a steady look. That wasn’t the truth of it. ‘But it was my fault really. At least . . . she was hurt because of me.’

  ‘Because of us,’ said Jo.

  That was his sister. Always trying to do what he was doing, even if it meant sharing the blame for stuff she hadn’t done. Even in the middle of all this craziness it annoyed him. Maybe because of all the craziness: being angry with Jo, and then feeling complicated and bad about that too was, at least, familiar and comforting. And nothing else about right now was close to familiar. Nothing was comforting, certainly not the over-friendly bronze urchin whose tousled hair, he had just noticed, disguised a couple of small nubby horns, like a faun he’d once seen in a book about mythology. Even this angel was unsettling.

  She walked past them and looked at Ariel. Without saying anything she walked on and touched the unmoving dragon impaled on the railings.

  ‘Victory,’ she said, turning to look at them.

  ‘Sorry?’ said Will.

  ‘I’m not an angel,’ she said. ‘I am Victory. The Finsbury Victory, to be exact.’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Jo, looking at Will.

  ‘’Er plinth is up Finsbury way in Spa Green Gardens,’ said Little Tragedy.

  ‘But don’t apologise,’ said Victory, ‘people often mistake us Victories for angels.’

  ‘Us?’ said Will.

  ‘Lots of Winged Victory statues in London,’ she said.

  ‘You Regulars fight a lot of wars,’ said Little Tragedy. ‘Always on for a dust-up or a big bit of argey-bargey.’

  ‘Regulars?’ said Jo.

  ‘Regular people who ain’t statues,’ said Little Tragedy. ‘You know, you lot who think we don’t move too: Regulars. No offence.’

  ‘Little Tragedy is normally on the ceiling of a pub . . .’ Victory began.

  ‘The Black Friar,’ said Little Tragedy proudly. ‘Most magnificent pub in the whole bloomin’ city.’

  ‘So everyone he sees is a regular to him’ smiled Victory. ‘Only they’re all adults. That’s why he comes out to find the other statues of children to find someone to play with. I was giving him a lift.’

  ‘I was looking for Ariel,’ he explained, looking a the bent body with a pantomime grimace. ‘She’s good for a laugh, normally. Likes a jape. Never seen her look like that before though.’

  ‘Was she a Victory?’ asked Will, guiltily nodding at Ariel’s unmoving shape.

  ‘No,’ laughed Victory. Will was surprised at how lightly she was taking the destruction of the other statue. ‘She’s just Ariel. “A Spirit of the Air”. And a very vain and conceited one at that. She’s a bit of a brat . . . and sometimes so willful that I doubt she’s all Spit.’

  ‘She told us about Spits and Taints but I don’t get it,’ said Jo. ‘Mind you I wish I wasn’t getting any of this, to tell you the truth . . .’

  ‘Not much to get,’ said Tragedy. ‘If it looks human, it’s probably a good ’un, if it looks like a monster, a gargoyle or one of them scaly dragon bleeders – run like ’ell. Spits is good, Taints ain’t. End of.’

  ‘The dragon’s a Taint?’

  ‘Dragon’s a dead Taint. For now. And Taints hate Spits, always have, always will, because they don’t

  have a spirit inside them like we do, they have a hole instead where it should be, so they’re always hungry, always angry and always in a bad bleedin’ temper.’

  Will knew how they felt. But he didn’t say that.

  ‘And they normally fight like this?’ he said instead.

  ‘No.’ said Victory. ‘None of this is normal. Normally we just get along in a kind of truce. We give each other a wide berth. And you Regulars never see us, because you know statues that move are impossible, and your minds don’t let you see anything . . . irregular.’

  ‘So why can we see this?’ said Jo.

  ‘Perhaps you’re spe
cial?’ said Little Tragedy, winking at Jo.

  ‘I don’t think we’re very special,” said Will.

  ‘We’ve never seen any of this until today,’ said Jo.

  She looked round. Will followed her gaze. The only thing more disconcerting than being attacked by dragons or calmly talking about it with moving statues was the fact they were doing this on a pavement surrounded by normal looking people who didn’t move at all. He found it easier to focus on the statues and try not to see the people, somehow. Trying to make sense of them both together involved an unpleasant kind of twist in his head that made him very queasy.

  ‘Well, today is a first,’ said Victory. ‘Because something has stopped time, and all the other Regulars with it.’

  She too looked round at the normal people, still as a 3D snapshot all around them, the pedestrians, the children in the park, the drivers. The regular world. Frozen.

  ‘Except us,’ said Jo.

  ‘So you must be special,’ insisted Victory.

  ‘Or irregular,’ grinned Little Tragedy. ‘What larks, eh?’

  ‘We’re not special,’ said Will. ‘Or irregular.’

  ‘We’re just frightened,’ said Jo.

  ‘And confused,’ said Will. ‘We don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Can you help us?’ said Jo.

  ‘I can’t help,’ said Victory. ‘I know nothing more than you for now. But here will be a meeting of all the statues. When there’s a crisis, there’s always a meeting to see what can be done.’

  ‘Where?’ began Jo.

  ‘Will you take us there,’ said Will, cutting in.

  Victory looked at Ariel and shook her head.

  ‘I cannot,’ she said. ‘I must take Ariel home to her plinth.’

  ‘But we’re in danger!’ said Jo. ‘An angel would help us.’

  ‘I’m not an angel,’ said Victory. ‘And Ariel is in danger.’

  ‘She’s dead,’ said Jo. ‘Sorry. But we’re not.’

  ‘She’s only dead today,’ said Little Tragedy. Victory looked at the darkening sky with the beginnings of impatience.