Dragon Shield Read online

  ‘Course I do. Don’t be stupid,’ Will said. ‘Come on, get in the chair.’

  ‘I jumped onto that roof,’ she said.

  He didn’t know why she was telling him this. Did she think he was stupid?

  ‘I was there,’ he said. ‘Remember?’

  ‘I know you were there,’ she spat. ‘You had to have been, because you dared me to jump didn’t you?’

  So here it was, Will thought. Here it comes. He felt curdled and tired and just not a bit interested in having this out right now, not now, not on top of everything else.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ said Little Tragedy, quavering a bit, ‘Why are your voices going all funny?’

  ‘You want me to say sorry?’ Will said, ignoring him.

  She hit him.

  ‘No!’ cried Tragedy, ‘No hitting, no biting and no scratching! Them’s the rules! Them’s always the rules! You’re upsetting me!’

  Will staggered backwards feeling the side of his face where her fist had landed right beside his nose.

  ‘Hey!’ he said.

  She looked almost as shocked by what she had done as he did.

  ‘I jumped first,’ he said, feeling the anger spike in his nostrils. ‘I didn’t make you do anything I hadn’t done . . .’

  She hit him again. He felt his fist bunch, even though there were good rules about hitting girls. He opened it and jabbed an accusing finger at her instead.

  ‘You’re a nutter!’ he shouted. ‘You hit me again and I’ll—’

  He didn’t know what he’d do. Even though sisters weren’t exactly girls like other girls were, the same rules applied. He turned to look at Little Tragedy. He wasn’t there. All there was was the wheelchair.

  ‘Where’d he go,’ he said, an ominous pit opening up in his stomach. ‘Jo—’

  ‘Who cares?’ she said, her blood still up, eyes blazing. ‘It’s not about him.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, eyes flicking up to the sky.

  ‘It’s about you!’ she said, her voice thick. ‘Do you know why I wanted you to say sorry?’

  ‘No,’ he said, turning in a full circle, searching for Tragedy, who had completely disappeared. He had a bad feeling about this. ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘You’re so ANNOYING!’ she shouted.

  ‘FINE.’ he shouted back. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you jump!’

  ‘YOU DIDN’T MAKE ME JUMP!’ she yelled, right into his face, with such force he felt the fine spray of her spit on his cheek. ‘That’s what’s so ANNOYING: you’re such a bighead that you think it’s all about you! You think you can make me do things just by saying stuff, like I’m a silly little girl!’

  He could see the strings on her neck, whip-tight and quivering with tension.

  ‘You. Didn’t. Make. Me. Jump,’ she said, prodding him in the chest to emphasise each word. ‘You just dared me! It was my choice. I could have said no! I chose to do the stupid thing. Not you. Because you know what Will? You’re not the boss of me.’

  He said nothing. This irritated her even more. She rolled her eyes and stepped back.

  ‘You’re so up yourself. Sometimes I really hate you.’

  ‘Yeah?’ he said, feeling his nose.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘you can be a real pain. You’re not even a whole year older than I am and yet you always act like you’re in charge.’

  They stared at each other.

  ‘Yeah?’

  Her mouth was a tight slash.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said.

  He nodded.

  ‘Yeah. Well, I hate you too.’

  Even as he said it he felt littler. He felt meaner, less himself, more like a baby, worse than the coward he knew himself to be. Even as he said it he wished he hadn’t, so he tried to take the edge off it by adding:

  ‘. . . sometimes.’

  But sometimes is too late. Sometimes you can’t take things back. This needed more. And he knew what that was: he had to tell her. It was time. It might make things worse, probably would. But at least it wouldn’t fester. At least he could just get on with being a coward without adding to the rotten feeling by also being a liar. He grabbed her arm and held on.

  ‘Look. If it makes you feel better, I hate myself all the time . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t,’ she spat bitterly. ‘Just shows you’re a good judge of character.’

  She tried to wrench her arm free. He realized she wasn’t going to make this easy. But he was going to do it. Everything would start getting better if he did it. He was as sure as anything he’d ever been sure about in his life.

  ‘Fine. But I hate myself because I was a coward. And a liar.’ He began to feel cleaner even as he got the hard words out of himself. ‘What you don’t know about the accident is—’

  Sometimes even confessions are too late. This was one of those times, because in between telling her she didn’t know something and going on to tell her what that was, there was a gap as he steeled himself to tell the final truth that would make or break their relationship forever and into that gap the first dragon dropped off the roof . . . and attacked her.

  Will never knew if she had time to hear him try and take the edge off what he’d said because the second dragon launched off the roof behind him in a great clatter of metal wings that gave him just enough time to turn and get the shield up before being knocked flat beneath it.

  He didn’t see the first dragon close a talon around Jo’s waist and yank her upwards.

  He did hear her yell in shock.

  He didn’t see her try and grab the iron railing. He didn’t see her try and club the dragon with her stick, though he did hear the smack it made against the side of its head.

  He didn’t see any of that because he was squashed beneath the shield with another angry dragon on top of it, trying to wrench it loose and get at him. He was holding on so tight that he didn’t see his sister’s hand ripped free of the railing as the first dragon’s greater strength took over, nor did he see her friendship bracelet scrape against the iron top of the rail and rip free.

  And because he was so busy fighting for his own life he did not see her stiffen and freeze, so that the dragon scrabbled up onto the second floor balcony overlooking the gardens with something in its talon that was suddenly more like a stiff doll than the living person it had surprised moments before.

  Her mouth was open in mid yell, and her eyes were wide, but she was as frozen as everyone else in the city.

  Everyone else except for her brother.

  Will saw the talons of his own dragon curl around the shield and felt his muscles ache as he tried to resist their unyielding strength. He felt like an oyster must feel as someone levers the lid off their shell. He knew exactly how soft and exposed he was going to be the moment he let go.

  He did see Jo’s stick clatter to the ground next to him.

  The sight of it filled him with dread, and the fear spiked his adrenaline. Without knowing why he did it, or even how he did it, he did the only thing that enabled him to remain free for the next few seconds.

  He didn’t let go of the shield. He used every ounce of strength in his arms to push it in the direction the dragon was pulling, and then let go.

  The dragon tumbled back in surprise as it yanked the shield into its own nose with such force that it lay on its back and shook its head in stunned shock. Then it roared and leapt for the spot on the sickly green outdoor carpet where Will had been.

  Only Will was no longer there. He had rolled and bounced to his feet, hurdling the low railings into the playground and diving for the protective bars of the metal climbing frame.

  He rolled in under the platform as the Dragon hurled the useless shield at him. It hit the bars with enough force to bend them and shower Will with paint flakes, but he was safe.

  ‘Jo!’ he shouted, scuttling this way and that, his neck craned as he looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of his sister before the dragon renewed its attack.

  He saw her clutched in the other
dragon’s talon, rigid and unmoving as his captor snarled a dismissive roar at him.

  ‘Jo!’ he shouted in despair.

  9

  Delivered by Dragon

  The dragon carrying Jo landed in front of the great façade of the museum, swayed up the shallow steps between the pillars and banged on the open door with a bunched talon, peering into the gloom within.

  As it waited, it gave Jo an irritable little shake, but she did not move a muscle. She was as stiff as a board. Whatever had protected her from being frozen like everyone else in the city was now clearly not working.

  ‘DON’T BREAK IT,’ said the everywhere-voice. The dragon looked up. The inner hall was still full of nothing but frozen people and shadows. ‘WE WANT TO SEE WHY IT WAS WALKING WHEN ALL THE OTHER CHILDREN OF TIME ARE AT REST.’

  Then some of the shadows moved and became the stone lion-women. One of them walked up to the dragon and took Jo from its grip, turning her this way and that, almost as if she was looking for a switch. Then it held her close to its nostrils and smelled her.

  ‘She is nothing special,’ she said, turning to look at the others.

  The cat appeared, looking bored as usual as it twisted between the legs of the lion-women. It lifted a paw and casually batted Jo’s shoe, which was hanging a foot off the ground as the statue held her in the air. Then it walked away, uninterested.

  ‘THEN IT IS THE BOY,’ said the everywhere-voice. All the lioness heads turned and looked at each other. ‘TAKE THE GIRL. PUT HER IN THE SARCOPHAGUS SO WE MAY QUESTION HER. IT MAY BE WE NEED TO USE HER TO BREAK HIM.’

  As the one holding Jo walked away towards the Great Court one of the other lion-women walked up to the dragon and put a hand on its shoulders and looked deep into its eyes. The blue light blazing out of her own eyes sharpened and focused into a beam.

  ‘All the City dragons can hear me through you,’ it said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  ‘All dragons. Find the boy. Bring him to us now. Do not fail us.’

  The dragon made as if to leave.

  The lioness held it steady.

  For a moment the dragon looked surprised. And then, as the blue light beaming into its eyes intensified, it began to shake. The light seemed to liquefy and spill out of its eye sockets, running in thick streams down its silver scales, spiralling around its torso and dripping down its arms and legs.

  The dragon’s spikey ears went flat like a dog being punished, and it began to whine in pain.

  It was not used to being frightened, or hurt. And from the way the whines mounted shrilly and then abruptly changed to low whimpers, it was clear that the lion-woman was causing it a great deal of pain.

  The dragon dropped first to one knee, then the other, and then reached out a stubby claw to try and stop itself falling sideways into the pillar. It slumped against it and held on, talons scrabbling at the smooth stone curve, trying to keep a grip.

  The lioness let go and stepped back.

  Instantly the blue liquid covering the dragon disappeared as the connection was broken and it slid off the pillar and fell back down the steps in an untidy jumble of wings and whimpering.

  ‘Do not fail us again. Or you will all feel the Pain of Sekhmet,’ said the lioness, turning to rejoin the shadows within.

  ‘Bring the boy before midnight.’

  10

  The Fusilier

  Tragedy had led them into a trap. Probably not on purpose, but accidentally he had bottled them up in a space almost entirely constructed from dead-ends.

  Will couldn’t really blame the little imp for running off and saving himself. He too wished he was away, instead of stuck here.

  Hiding in the cage under the climbing frame was not the most sensible thing to have done. Will could see that now. When he ran – a moment ago that already felt like a lifetime – he hadn’t planned further ahead than getting to a place of immediate safety.

  On the plus side the bars around him were sturdy. They had already stopped the hurtling metal shield the dragon had spun at him. Without the bars to save him, Will would probably have lost his head already.

  But the problem with the bars, brightly painted though they were, was that they were bars: bars have, by definition, gaps between them. Bars can stop big solid things, but they’re not so good with other stuff.

  Like fire.

  Dragons, on the other hand, are very good with fire.

  Will could see the dragon was building heat inside the crop in its neck. The silver painted metal was beginning to blush pink with the growing pressure of the wildfire trapped beneath it. Curly tendrils of smoke were starting to emerge from its nostrils.

  Will reached through the bars, trying to scrabble a hand-hold on the shield, hoping against hope that he would be able to repeat the trick he’d used last time, redirecting the jet of flame back on the dragon, but as he got his fingers on the very lip of it the dragon stepped forward and jabbed a single talon down onto the other side of the shield and very deliberately scraped it back just out of his reach. It did so with a kind of controlled malice in its eye, its lip curled into a sneer.

  He scrabbled backwards. The other thing about a cage is that though it’s only averagely good for certain kinds of protection, it’s very good for being trapped in. If the dragon started blasting fire he was going to be burned to a crisp.

  He scooted through a narrow gap and stood poised to dodge either way, keeping the climbing frame between him and the dragon.

  The dragon stepped sideways and just stared at him.

  It looked amused.

  Will edged further to his left, so that the broad steel slide that came off the upper level of the climbing frame was blocking the dragon’s view of everything but his head.

  He was going to have to run.

  It was hopeless anyway, but his dad once told him that a moving target was harder to hit, and whether or not that was true, there was no question that if he stood still he was toast.

  At least on the outside. Outside he’d be burned and crispy. Inside he’d probably still be squishy. But cooked. Like a marshmallow at a bonfire party.

  Yes.

  He’d have to move. If he could get six metres to his left, running past the swing-set with its weirdly frozen girl sticking out into mid-air, there was a wall. He thought he could jump and scramble himself over, and then he could perhaps find shelter in the narrow space between it and the houses behind.

  There was a clang and a scrape as the dragon put its front foot on the slide, testing it. It was in no hurry. It knew it had him.

  It slid back a bit, but stopped itself by jagging the talons of its foot into the thin sheet of metal, punching holes as easily as if it were paper.

  That wasn’t good either.

  In two steps it was on top of the climbing frame, looking straight down at him.

  All that Will could think of doing to distract it was bound to fail. It was bound to fail because it was the oldest trick in the book.

  But sometimes the oldest trick is the only one left.

  Sometimes it’s all you have.

  Will looked to the left of the dragon and waved frantically.

  ‘Hey, yes! Help me!!’

  The dragon turned to see who was there, and Will ran.

  He ran faster than he’d ever run before, 0–60 in two strides, muscles bouncing and legs pumping like trip hammers as he punched forward through the air, heading for the brick wall beyond the swings.

  He heard the dragon roar behind him, but that didn’t make him look round. It made him run faster. It made him jump higher. It made his outstretched hands hold the top of the wall in a stronger grip, and it made his arms pull his body over the top in one fluid movement.

  What it didn’t do was make him drop to safety on the other side of the wall.

  There was no drop.

  And that’s where his plan hit its own particular wall and stopped dead.

  There was a flat roof, a dank mossy expanse of roofing felt with a
shallow puddle in the middle of it. He slid to an embarrassing halt in the scrape of water, wet and painfully aware that the only thing between him and a very angry dragon was the lip of the wall, maybe 15 centimetres tall, enough to have hidden the treacherous roof behind, but no use for hiding anything else.

  He scrabbled back until he hit the façade of the house and stared at the lip of the wall.

  He couldn’t see the dragon.

  Then he saw twin tendrils of smoke rise up over the edge of the bricks. And then he saw the silver-painted ears, and then the angry red little eyes pop up and stare at him, and then the wings cracked out behind it and the dragon’s neck and chest came into view, and now that he had tried the oldest trick in the book his list of options seemed to be terminally blank.

  He’d run himself into a corner with no way out. The wall behind him was solid. It felt like the end.

  He caught a glimpse of the shield he had dropped on the green astroturf behind the dragon. He should not have dropped it. Just another in a long line of stupid mistakes that had got him here. He was drowning in a sea of mistakes.

  ‘Stupid,’ he said. ‘Really stupid.’

  The dragon cocked its head. Suddenly he had a thought. And when you’re drowning every thought is like a life-belt. So he grabbed at it and clung on, and the thought was this: he wondered how stupid the dragon really was. It was deadly, sure, but might it not also be a bit . . . thick? After all. it had fallen for the oldest trick in the book once. Maybe it would—

  He pointed over its wings.

  ‘Look!’ he said. ‘Behind you!!’

  The dragon was not that stupid.

  It shook its head, drew it back like a snake about to strike and then jerked it forward, mouth starting to open screamingly wide – so wide he saw the fireball beginning to roil out of its gullet and jet towards him—

  BLAM

  The gunshot echoed round the narrow courtyard, and the dragon’s head was knocked sideways by the impact of the bullet, so that the wildfire jerked and hit the wall just to Will’s right. His arm was splashed by the fire, but the bullet saved him, stopping it from taking the full blast. As the flames bit into his coat and the arm beneath, he dropped and rolled into the puddle, which extinguished the fire in a damp sizzle. As he did this the jet of flame made a long fiery paint splash for the next five metres as the dragon’s head continued to move, until—