ragon Bones
D
by Sara McNeill
Brighton England—A long time ago... Prologue Brighton, a seaside town on the South Coast of England, has long been known for its network of backstreets and small shops and is still famous for a Saturday morning street market that brings antiques dealers and traders in secondhand goods from far and wide. Junk shops proliferate selling everything from brass toasting-forks to ostrich-feather hats. Junk, or lumber as it was often called, used to be collected by the local rag and bone merchants, who until not so long ago could often be heard plying their trade around the narrow streets, wheeling a flat barrow or sometimes leading a pony harnessed to a cart laden with whatever people put out on the pavement to be collected. Where is he today, the rag and bone man? His street cry is heard no more. This story is part of bygone days, part of Brighton’s mythology. A small brass dragon came out from among the stars one night and went to live in the back streets of Brighton. Hidden behind the rusty frame of an ancient penny-farthing in Pearly White’s Scrapyard, he waited for the sun to rise. “Got no room for dragons ‘ere,” shouted old Pearly the next day when he saw two fiery eyes staring at him. “Only deal in any old lumber. All me trade is rag’n bones.” “Dragon Bones is my name,” replied the dragon in a magical voice, “and I can live in any old lumber.” Pearly White’s Scrapyard was choc-a-bloc with any old lumber. Any old lumber was piled up everywhere you looked. But in that early morning light, as Dragon Bones spoke in his magical voice, everything glowed momentarily with a shimmering golden glow. Pearly White rubbed his eyes and mumbled grumpily. He lumped some sacks onto his barrow and trundled out into the early morning streets. He had work