On a hot and stuffy afternoon, Chay and Sham want ice cream—and to spot the strange dragon that appears on the streets every Tuesday first this time.
But when a metallic, boxy beast appears blowing smoke and vomiting people, what Chay gets costs her a lot more than she bargained for.
A cautionary tale about getting what you thought you wanted, and the weighty impact of over-active curiosity glands.
Dragon Tuesday
How can you help? heh. I’d love to know. More than you, probably. But I doubt you can. I mean sure, you’re more than welcome to try—I’m not keen on being stuck like this forever, and presumably they found some way to help my great-grandmother.
No, not stuck as in up the tree, I know how to climb out of a tree, thank you. I mean like this, in this body.
Well yes, I suppose it is pretty, in a way. But it’s not… me.
It was my great grandmother, actually. Yeah, I know that’s creepy.
Uh, sure, you can touch the scales. If you can reach. Here, if I lower my tail you can probably reach.
I dunno, they’re probably magical. I really have no idea, though.
Oh look, just let me tell you the whole story. Sit down.
Comfy? Okay.
It was a hot, sultry Tuesday with dust thick in your throat, like all of them had been in that month full of Dragon Tuesdays, and Sham and I were heading out for ice cream. There’s this great little parlour at the end of Beech Avenue that does the real, genuine home-made stuff.
Although we never said it, I knew we were both hoping that this time, we’d be the ones to spot the dragon—the dragon that had appeared with perfect regularity, every Tuesday of that month, somewhere around our tiny town.
Seeing a dragon had become my entire goal in life.
Yeah, I know. Ironic.
So, we were walking down Main, kicking up the red dirt of the road, laughing and joking and generally having a good time. School was out, summer was on its way, and life was good.
We hit the ice cream parlour—I got raspberry coconut swirl, just for a change—and took our waffle cones outside. There we were, licking our ice creams, giggling and hot and sticky, minding no one but ourselves, glancing casually around every now and then, just in case.
I’d gotten down to the cone and almost given up hope when there was an almighty crash-thud. A blinding flash of light shone from a side street; we ditched our cones and ran towards it.
“Dragon,” Sham exclaimed, eyes all lit up.
I nodded. A great beast, it was said to be, about the size of a wagon, metallic and boxy and roaring and blowing smoke out its end.
Right as we came around the corner, there was another almighty roar, and there, before our eyes, was the dragon.
We were shocked, but not half as shocked as we were when there was a clunk-clunk, and the dragon’s body started opening up.
I shrank back around the corner and clutched at Sham’s arm.
But that wasn’t even the strangest: as the dragon’s body opened up, people emerged. Three of them: two men and a woman. They were wearing strange clothes that gleamed, dark and form-fitting. They stared around at the squat brick buildings and murmured to themselves.
Mayor Francis must’ve heard the noise, ‘coz he came striding out of the Hall across the street, moustache twitching. He ignored us and marched right up to the dragon riders. “And who are you?” he demanded.
Sham and I didn’t hear their answer, so we edged closer.