Dragon Shield by Charlie Fletcher Page B

is all red. You aren’t cross are you?’
    He looked unsettled by the thought, suddenly not so impish and much younger than normal.
    ‘I’m doing my best,’ he explained. ‘It’s safer, see . . .’
    ‘Doesn’t feel safer,’ Jo said, looking up at the walls crowding in on them from both sides.
    ‘I saw the hawk,’ Tragedy said, setting off again. ‘It might be, er, safer when we can’t see the hawk.’
    ‘It’s just a bird,’ she said.
    ‘And a dragon’s just a statue. Until it comes alive,’ puffed Will, grimacing as he tried to keep up with Tragedy. ‘Nothing’s normal today, and that includes the birds. Because there aren’t any.’
    ‘What’s wrong with you,’ she said, craning back to look at him. ‘Why are you making that weird face.’
    He was suddenly cross with her again, so cross that he actually felt as if he’d been cross with her for a very long time but hadn’t quite noticed exactly how much, which made him doubly irritated. The feeling came at him all at once, like a giant wave. He felt almost as surprised as he felt angry. It was such a strong feeling that it left a sour taste in his mouth.
    He came to a sudden halt. Jo had to grab the armrests to stop herself tumbling forward out of the chair.
    ‘Watch out, you doofus!’ she yelped, then saw his expression. ‘What?’
    ‘I’m making that weird face because I’ve got a stitch,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘And I’ve got a stitch because I’m pushing you all around London while you just sit there because you can’t—’
    He clamped his teeth on the ugly words before they could hop out of his mouth like a toad, but he needn’t have bothered. Jo’s face coloured right up, looking as red as his felt.
    ‘Because I can’t walk properly,’ she said. ‘Right?’
    ‘Didn’t say that,’ he mumbled.
    Tragedy ran back and looked at them both. He hopped from one foot to the other, as if he suddenly had to pee.
    ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘All chums eh? Don’t argue. Gets me nervy when people argue . . .’
    Will looked up and met Jo’s eyes.
    ‘I didn’t say that,’ he said thickly.
    ‘Yeah you did,’ she said, levering herself out of the chair and catching her balance on the walking stick.
    ‘You just didn’t have the guts to say it out loud.’
    She strode jerkily away from him. He followed her.
    ‘No, no, come on, this isn’t good,’ cried Little Tragedy. ‘We’re mates, right, we’re a gang, we shouldn’t be arguing, arguing’s what grown-ups do. We’re not grown-ups are we? We’re better than that!’
    Will barely heard him. He only fleetingly noticed how upset the small boy was getting and then discarded the thought. Jo just marched lopsidedly off.
    Will’s own anger didn’t just magically evaporate because he felt bad about what he’d nearly said. He still felt he was a coward who had lied. That just made it all curdle in his gut. In fact he felt angrier because he felt bad about being angry in the first place. Nothing was fair.
    ‘Jo,’ he said. ‘Look. Wait . . .’
    She turned another corner without looking back.
    He trotted after her into a sort of courtyard where someone had had the bright idea of squeezing a mini-park and recreation area into a space that was not nearly big enough for just one, let alone both of them.
    Now it was Tragedy’s turn to follow them, awkwardly pushing the discarded wheelchair ahead of him, even though he was too short to manage it properly.
    ‘Hold up!’ he panted. ‘Here, I got your chair. Stick together, we got to stick together!’
    Jo turned and leaned against a sign reading ‘Old Gloucester Street Gardens (Alf Barrat Playground)’.
    Gardens they might have once been in a long distant past, but right now there was not a blade of real grass in sight. The Gardens were divided in two, one half covered in a sickly green mat of faded astroturf on which were bolted outside versions of exercise machines you’d normally expect to see inside a gym,