The Ticket Machine at the Kite Shop

The ticket machine in the kite shop has a problem, and everybody on the sea wall knows it. You put in a coin, you press a button, and the machine gives you the wrong change. Sometimes it gives you too little. Sometimes it gives you a handful of heavy brass tokens that no shop in town accepts.

Tala stands behind the counter on the morning of the Kite Festival. She is sixteen, and she is in charge of the shop until noon. The owner has gone to the harbour office to collect the festival flags. Her jobs are simple: sell tickets, keep the shelves tidy and look after the dragon.

The dragon is the biggest kite in the shop. It is twenty metres long, with green silk scales and a tail made of a hundred ribbons. It lies in a long canvas bag on a wheeled trolley by the door. At noon, the festival judges will stand at the end of the sea wall. They will count the kites that fly. The shop's dragon must be the first one up, because the owner has promised it.

"How far is the launch platform?" asks Ciro. He is fifteen and works at the shop on weekends. He has just arrived with a bag of oranges under his arm.

"Two kilometres along the wall," says Tala. "If the path is clear, it takes twenty-five minutes with the trolley."

"And is the path clear?"

Tala looks out of the window. The sea wall is a river of people. Families with prams, stalls selling paper hats, a band with drums and a man walking a goat. It is nine forty-five, and the crowd grows thicker every minute.

"No," she says. "The owner told me to leave at eleven. But I think we need to go earlier."

They start loading the trolley, and then the first customer of the day comes in. He is a tall man with a sunburnt nose. He wants a small blue kite for his daughter, and he pays with a big coin.

Tala presses the buttons on the ticket machine. It makes a clicking noise, and the little door pops open. Five brass tokens roll out onto the counter. Each one has a small wave stamped on its face.

"These are not coins," says the man.

"I know," Tala says with a tired smile. "The machine does that. I am very sorry. Let me find you real change."

She opens the cash drawer and counts out the coins by hand. The man leaves, shaking his head. Tala picks up one of the tokens and holds it to the light. Then she stops, because the wave looks familiar. She has seen it somewhere else, but she cannot think where.

At ten fifteen, they leave the shop. The trolley is heavy, and the dragon's tail drags behind it like a green river. Outside, the crowd closes round them at once. A boy steps on the ribbons. A woman with a pram has to stop and wait. After ten minutes, they have moved only a hundred metres.

"This will take an hour," Ciro says. He wipes his forehead. "We are going to miss the judges."

"I know," Tala says. She pulls the trolley out of the crowd and parks it against the sea wall. "I just need to think."

She puts her hand in her pocket and finds the brass token. She turns it over and looks at the wave. Behind her, the old wall is built of grey stone blocks. About ten steps away, there is a heavy iron door in it. It is half covered by a rusty grating. Above the door, carved into the stone, is a small wave.

"Ciro, look at that door."

"What door?"

"The one with the wave on it." Tala points. "Why does the machine give out tokens with a wave? Why would a ticket machine in a kite shop have tokens at all?"

Ciro walks over to the grating. Beside the door is a small turnstile with a slot. The slot is exactly the size of a coin. He takes the token from Tala's hand and pushes it in. The turnstile clicks.

"It fits," he whispers.

"The machine is very old," says Tala, thinking aloud. "The owner built it from parts. Maybe it came from the old maintenance tunnel, the one workers used before the promenade existed. If the tunnel runs along the inside of the wall, it must go straight to the end."

"Or it goes nowhere," says Ciro. "Or it is full of water."

"Maybe. But the crowd is certain to be slow."

They look at each other. The clock on the bell tower says ten thirty-five. Ciro sighs, then smiles. "You have five tokens. Do you think they work for a trolley?"

"We will find out."

Tala feeds a token into the slot and pushes the heavy door open. A cool smell of stone and salt rolls out. Inside, a narrow tunnel runs away into the dark. Thin lines of daylight shine through small holes in the wall. They look like a long row of stars. Ciro switches on the torch on his phone.

They pull the trolley inside. It takes both of them to lift the wheels over the step. The dragon's tail snags on a pipe and tears a little, but Tala does not stop to look. Behind them, the noise of the crowd fades away. She hears only the squeak of the trolley wheels. On the other side of the wall, the sea knocks quietly.

The tunnel is long, and the floor is wet in places. Twice they have to stop to untangle the ribbons from a rusty bolt. Once, Ciro slips on the damp stones and almost drops the torch. Tala catches his arm just in time, and they both laugh nervously.

"Seven minutes," he says, checking his phone. "We are moving three times faster than outside."

"Good. Keep going."

At last the tunnel turns upward, and they find a short flight of steps. At the top is another iron door with another slot. Tala pushes a second token in. The lock clunks, and she pushes the door with her shoulder. White daylight pours in, and with it comes the wind and the sound of drums.

They step out onto the launch platform at the very end of the sea wall. The sea spreads out in front of them, bright and blue. Behind them, a long line of people is still walking slowly along the promenade. The clock on the judges' table says eleven twenty-two.

Two judges look up from their papers. One of them frowns at Tala's wet shoes. "Where did you two come from?"

"From the shop," says Ciro, grinning. "We took a shortcut."

There is no time to say more. Tala unzips the canvas bag and spreads the dragon across the stones. Ciro runs to the far end, lifts the head and shouts that he is ready. Tala takes the line in both hands. A strong wind is already pulling the silk scales upward. She counts to three, runs four steps forward, and lets go.