CHAPTER SEVEN
OWEN LEADS US UP THE staircase to the second floor. An obscene number of signs appear on the walls, all giving instructions or prohibitions. At the entrance to the house’s East Wing, there’s a circular sign depicting a mouth with a finger pressed to it.
D iscretion N ot D iscussion , the instructions beneath say.
‘Girls to the left of the hallway, boys to the right,’ Owen calls over our heads.
I can see Sophie up ahead, talking to another girl. I feel a pang of sadness. Why will she talk to a stranger but not to me? Marquis reaches for my hand and squeezes.
‘If you need me, send the signal,’ he says.
The signal is a series of low whistles he, Sophie and I used to find each other as children, when we were lost in the overcrowded underground bunkers during the war. It’s stuck with us since, a sound guaranteed to bring the others running.
The boy in the white collar is standing by the door to the boys’ dormitory, fiddling with something in his pocket. He stops when he catches me watching and grins. I force myself to tear my gaze away.
‘Send the signal,’ I repeat with a nod. ‘I’ll see you later.’
The girls’ dormitory is large and dully lit by brass wall lamps. Poking out from behind the blackout drapes is a set of frilled pink curtains. There’s a tapestry of the alphabet on the wall and a sad-looking rocking horse in the corner. Whose nursery had this been? There are six beds, crammed together but neatly made, with uniforms waiting on each one. A shirt and black silk tie, a navy wool skirt and a navy jacket, black stockings and a hat. There’s a brooch, too. A dragon flying through a silver circle. It could be a crown.
Or a net.
Sophie has taken the bed next to mine – the only one left. She picks up the sleeve of her jacket and drops it again. Her cheeks are sunken and hollow, and there’s a nasty burn on her hand. I stare at her until she’s forced to look at me.
‘Hello,’ I say, surprised at how quiet my voice has become. ‘It’s good to see you.’
She gives me a withering look. ‘What are you even doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same question.’
Around us, the other recruits are introducing themselves.
‘I’m a misfit now, remember?’ Sophie says, rolling her eyes. ‘But you and Marquis … you should be in Fitzrovia.’
‘Your parents told me you’ve been missing for weeks—’
‘You’ve seen my parents?’
‘I left Ursa with them,’ I begin. ‘So much has happened, Sophie—’
‘Ursa?’ Sophie says. ‘Why? Where are your—’
‘They’ve been arrested,’ I whisper. My chest suddenly aches. ‘I was told that if I came and worked here, they would be released.’ I don’t mention Chumana or the Peace Agreement. Sophie wouldn’t believe me. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Granger’s Prison,’ Sophie replies, visibly satisfied at the look of shock on my face. ‘The place where they send class evaders.’
Granger’s Prison is where the people who refuse to be demoted go. I suddenly remember the headlines from this morning.
‘I read there was a mass breakout,’ I say. ‘Did you …’
Sophie shakes her head. ‘No, I didn’t escape like the rest of them. I was recruited. That woman – Dolores Seymour – she came and spoke to loads of us, but she picked me.’ Sophie shrugs. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘Your parents said you kept trying to go home, but they don’t know you were arrested.’
‘Of course they don’t. How could they?’ Sophie picks up the dragon brooch and turns it over in her palm. ‘And you?’ she says, her green eyes fixed on mine. ‘What’s your excuse?’
‘My excuse?’
‘For abandoning me. For pretending like we were never friends. You never wrote to me, never tried to visit me.’
So she does hate me.
‘Marquis said we should leave you to settle into your halfway house,’ I lie.
Sophie lets out a hollow laugh. ‘You’ve clearly never set foot inside a halfway house, Viv.’
‘I …’
The truth is, after Sophie was demoted, all I wanted was to forget. How could I visit her in her halfway house, knowing it was my fault she was there?
‘After the Examination—’
‘Don’t you want to know why my parents were arrested?’ I say. I’ll admit to them being rebels if it means Sophie will stop talking about her demotion. ‘They—’
‘Care to let us join the conversation?’ A haughty-looking girl with black skin and hair worn in sleek twists round her face is staring at us. ‘It seems you both have a lot to discuss.’
‘Yes, we do,’ I snap, pulling Sophie by the sleeve.
She shakes me off.
‘Sorry,’ she says to the girl. ‘Vivien’s not accustomed to being interrupted.’
The comment smarts like a slap. I stare at Sophie and her bottom lip curls.
The girl grins and shakes Sophie’s hand. ‘Serena Serpentine.’
First Class, then. Most First Class families have dragon-descended names, a symbol of power and wealth.
‘Sophie Rundell,’ Sophie says, turning expectantly to me.
‘Vivien Featherswallow,’ I mutter, glaring at Serena.
So much for showing the shiny version of myself.
‘I’m Dodie,’ says the girl with red hair, the one who asked Ravensloe a question. She clutches the pass round her neck and I glimpse the words Second Class .
‘Katherine,’ says a pale, pixie-like girl. ‘Anyone else here a codebreaker?’
My heart leaps. ‘I am,’ I say quickly.
Discretion be damned.
‘Any idea what kind of code we’ll be breaking?’
I shake my head, disappointed that she doesn’t know, either. ‘They told me I’d be working with languages.’
‘I bloody hope not,’ Sophie snorts.
I spin round. ‘You’re a—’
‘Codebreaker? I’m afraid so,’ she says. ‘What’s wrong, Vivvy? Did you think you were the only one?’
I turn away, a hollow feeling growing in my stomach. Sophie is in the same category as me, which is exactly what I was hoping for. But she was supposed to study maths at university. If she’s been chosen to be a codebreaker, then maybe this job has nothing to do with dragon tongues, after all. Maybe Wyvernmire lied to me.
I take a deep breath. This is good news. It means that if I save myself, I save Sophie, too.
‘They picked me because I’m good at chess,’ Katherine says. ‘That Dolores woman recruited me after I beat everyone in my prison, including the prison warden’s chess-champion son.’
I don’t ask Katherine what she was in prison for.
‘I’m in Aviation,’ Serena says, lifting a small leather suitcase on to her bed.
Why was she allowed to bring luggage?
‘What’s the last category?’
‘Zoology,’ Dodie says softly.
‘Zoology?’ I say. ‘ Like the study of animals?’
‘Not animals.’ Serena laughs. ‘Dragons, darling!’
We all stare at her.
‘Codebreaking, Aviation, Zoology . . . they are all Wyvernmire’s attempt to imitate dragons.’ Her voice is warm and smooth, bursting with articulate confidence. ‘That is how she plans to win the war.’
I sit down on my bed. So my codebreaking is related to dragons. But how?
‘Is that dragonbone?’ Dodie asks.
She’s looking at the hairbrush Serena has just pulled out of her suitcase. Its handle is pearly white, stark against the black horsehair bristles. Dragonbone has been illegal since the signing of the Peace Agreement.
Serena shrugs. ‘A family heirloom. My mother gave it to me before sending me here.’
‘Your mother sent you here?’ Dodie says.
‘Oh yes,’ Serena replies bitterly. ‘After I failed the Examination on purpose and refused to marry the man she chose for me to keep me in First Class, she practically begged Ravensloe to take me.’
‘Why would you fail the Examination on purpose?’ asks Sophie.
Serena shrugs. ‘I was bored – in my class, it’s nothing more than a few questions with an examiner over tea. And watching my mother descend into a frenzy is amusing.’
‘That’s it?’ I say. ‘You’re here because Deputy Prime Minister Ravensloe did your mother a favour?’
‘No,’ Serena replies, giving me an irritated look. ‘Ravensloe refused, actually. But my father organised a soirée in our home, to celebrate the engagement I didn’t agree to and quell the rumours that his only daughter had been demoted. And Ravensloe was there.’
I roll my eyes at the fact that Serena comes from a family that celebrates milestones with the Deputy Prime Minister. She’s the type of person who can afford to ruin her education simply to distress her mother – recklessness isn’t much of a risk when you’re not one mistake away from being demoted to Third. The worst that could happen to Serena is a slightly less privileged life with the Seconds.
‘I make … contraptions,’ she continues. ‘That’s what my mother calls them. Model planes and wings, things that fly. It’s a hobby. Ravensloe caught me in the hallway, trying to rescue one of my models from the maids my mother had ordered to clear my rooms. And he told her he’d changed his mind. I refused to attend my engagement party, so my mother knew I wasn’t going to give in. She thinks I’ll take one look at the work expected of me here and run home. But I won’t. If I do the job, I’ll stay First Class. And then I’ll start selling my models—’
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ Dodie says quietly, ‘but how is making models going to help the war effort?’
Serena is unbuttoning the front of her dress. ‘More dragons join the rebel movement each day,’ she says, shrugging her dress off so she’s standing in nothing but a silk chemise. She pulls on the black stockings and navy skirt. ‘And if you want to defeat a dragon, you must fight like a dragon, correct?’
Aviation – the operating of an aircraft – and zoology – the study of animals – could be linked to dragons at a stretch. But codebreaking? There’s a loud knock. The boy in the white collar pokes his head round the door just as Serena is closing her shirt.
‘Oh – sorry,’ he says, averting his eyes.
Serena gives him a sweet smile, and I decide I don’t like her.
‘Sorry to bother you all,’ the boy begins again when Serena is dressed, ‘but we’ve just been called for dinner.’
The blue of his uniform makes his brown eyes shine. I notice he’s still wearing the white collar, poking out from beneath his jacket.
‘Oooh, I am hungry,’ Serena says.
I doubt Serena has ever been hungry a day in her life, but I change into my uniform – stuffing my class pass beneath my pillow – and follow the girls out into the hallway where Marquis is waiting.
‘Nice uniform,’ he smirks, eyeing the brooch on my collar.
‘Likewise,’ I say, straightening his tie.
‘Sophie?’
‘She despises me, so the same probably goes for you, too.’
‘Ah.’
I watch as she heads towards the staircase with Serena, just ahead of Katherine and Dodie.
‘There’s a First Class girl who says Wyvernmire wants us to imitate dragons. That’s how she plans to win the war.’
Marquis tilts his head, trying to work out if I’m serious.
‘Are any of the boys codebreakers?’ I ask.
‘One,’ Marquis says. ‘Gideon. The tall, good-looking one. Apparently, he speaks several languages.’
My heart leaps. I remember the boy who glared at me back in the seminar room. If he’s a polyglot, too, then maybe this code does have something to do with dragon tongues. I run a hand down the thin scars on my arm. The good grades, the awards, the acclamatory teacher-parent meetings . . . they’ve always been mine. And this dragon code will be, too.
The dining room is full of shadows, candlelight flickering like stars on the moulded ceiling. Portraits stare at us through the semi-darkness and the long table is set with silver cutlery and steaming dishes. The radio crackles below the noise of polite chatter. Marquis makes a beeline for Sophie and whispers something in her ear. She gives him a reluctant smile and he hugs her, lifting her off her feet. My blood boils. So he can get away with not writing to her, but I can’t? It’s odd seeing them together again, as if no time has passed.
My two best friends.
I take a seat opposite Gideon. He’s as handsome as Marquis said – tall with blond curls and a flushed complexion. I help myself to a spoonful of honey-roasted carrots. He gives me a surly nod, and I wonder how to begin a conversation. I decide to get straight to the point.
‘I hear you’re a codebreaker, too?’
Gideon, who has just taken a bite of chicken, pauses mid-chew. He glances nervously at Owen, who is standing by the door with his gun on his shoulder.
‘I’m not asking you to break any rules,’ I say quickly. ‘I don’t want to get into trouble, either. I’m just curious to know if we’ll be working together.’
He nods again.
‘Do you know anything about code?’
‘No,’ Gideon mumbles, staring down at his plate. He takes another bite and doesn’t look at me again.
‘Oh.’ I sit back in my chair, disappointed.
At the far end of the table, Katherine and Serena are comparing their class passes, which they clearly haven’t been able to bring themselves to remove. While Katherine’s hangs round her neck from a piece of string, Serena’s is threaded with a delicate gold chain.
‘I used to sew dresses for girls like you,’ Katherine tells her admiringly. ‘Trust me, it’s a lot more pleasant than packing chrysanthemums, although your hands do get stabbed by all the needles.’
Serena gives her a puzzled smile and I take a sip of wine. It’s rich and warm and makes my lips tingle.
‘It’s a bit of an extravagant meal for a group of misfits, isn’t it?’ Dodie says nervously. ‘Why have they gone to all this trouble? It’s not as if anyone outside Bletchley Park knows we’re here.’
I feel a jolt of unease at her words, but Marquis flashes her his winning smile. ‘We’re doing work that will change the course of the war,’ he says, imitating Ravensloe’s plummy drawl. ‘We are strong, healthy people with diamond-sharp minds who finally have a chance at … what was it? Respectability? Rejuvenation? Romance?’
The room rings with laughter.
‘Redemption,’ Dodie says with a small smile.
The recruits are staring at Marquis in admiration, which of course was his intention all along. Sometimes I wonder if he hopes that by showing people how witty he is, they won’t notice how he is different. I wonder if I hope it, too.
‘It makes sense for them to feed us up,’ he tells Dodie, resuming a serious voice. ‘Although they could at least have lit a fire.’
I roll my eyes and take a bite of mashed potato. It’s the first thing I’ve eaten in days and it tastes like heaven. On the other side of Marquis, Sophie is shovelling roast chicken into her mouth as if her life depends on it.
‘Of course, darlin’, let’s set the most secret location in England aglow so that it can be seen from the dragon-infested skies,’ Katherine says, batting her eyelashes at Marquis, who looks pleased.
Katherine seems to have missed the point of blackout curtains.
‘And who are you, my lady ?’ Marquis says.
I help myself to more gravy, ladling it across my chicken as my new roommate laughs. She’s about to be seriously disappointed.
‘Katherine,’ she says, eyeing Marquis’s bruised cheek. ‘I’ve always had a thing for men who can brawl.’
Marquis reaches for her hand over the table and kisses it.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ I say as Dodie laughs into her glass. ‘Katherine, that’s not—’
‘Not my cup of tea,’ says Marquis.
‘You mean brawling?’ Katherine replies.
Marquis doesn’t answer, instead gesturing to Gideon. ‘He’s a strapping lad – I’m sure he’d be up for a brawl.’
Gideon scowls, but at least the tension in the air has broken, and easy conversation mingles with the sound of the radio. There are nine of us in total – five girls and four boys. The boy in the white collar is talking to a quiet-looking boy with shaved hair called Karim.
‘Made any friends yet?’ Marquis says to me.
‘No,’ I reply bluntly. ‘But it looks like you have.’
Marquis shrugs. ‘Better to have friends than enemies.’
‘Aren’t you worried?’ I say quietly, taking a sip of water.
‘About what?’ he replies. ‘The dragon-infested skies? The fact that we’re essentially prisoners disguised as guests? Or the reality that neither of us know what we’re doing?’
‘That one,’ I say.
Marquis’s smile falters ever so slightly and he lowers his voice.
‘Of course I’m worried,’ he says. ‘I’ve never touched a plane in my life. But we’ll learn, won’t we? I’ll build whatever flying contraption they want building, and you’ll break whatever code they want breaking, and then we’ll go home.’
‘And what if we fail?’ I say, the glass in my hand shaking. ‘We’ll get sent to prison and our family will never be pardoned. And Ursa …’ I put my drink down as my voice breaks.
The boy in the white collar presses a napkin to his lips and shoots me a curious glance.
‘It will be all right, Viv,’ Marquis says firmly.
I know the stubborn expression on my cousin’s face too well. It’s the same look he wore as a child when a group of boys told him he was too much of a pansy to make the football team, so he broke his leg trying. Nothing is impossible for Marquis, who eventually became captain of that team. But I’m not like him. I’m … realistic. And I still can’t see what languages and codebreaking and dragons have to do with each other.
‘ London has suffered a series of attacks … ’
The hopeful atmosphere dissipates as we listen to the reports of bombing and dragonfire. We stay silent until the report finishes and the radio lets out an endless crackling. Marquis stands up and turns it off, and then there’s just the sound of spoons scraping against bowls. The high that we’ve all been riding, the one fuelled by the promise of another chance, plummets.
‘How is your food, Vivien Featherswallow?’
I blink. The boy in the white collar is talking to me, leaning across the table so close that I can see the stubble on his chin. His skin is as smooth as glass.
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘I listened,’ the boy says pleasantly. ‘I’m Atlas. Atlas King.’
‘Nice to meet you, Atlas King,’ I say. ‘How is your wine?’
Atlas takes a sip from the glass in front of him and makes a face. ‘Corked. As to be expected from this place.’
I put my spoon down. ‘Corked?’
‘Tainted, spoiled, corrupted,’ Atlas says. He looks around. ‘Oh, come on now. You don’t really believe anything Ravensloe said about this being our chance at redemption, do you?’
I glance nervously at Owen. This is definitely the kind of talk that could get us demoted.
‘Yes, I do,’ I reply coldly. ‘What would he gain from not keeping his word?’
‘Let me guess,’ Atlas says with a knowing smile. ‘You’re First Class?’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Second.’
I can sense both Marquis and Sophie edging closer to the conversation.
Atlas leans back in his chair. ‘In any case, you’re not Third. Otherwise, you’d understand why I don’t trust him.’
Sophie lets out a quiet laugh and I blush. So he is Third Class. I knew it from the moment I heard him speak with a Bristolian accent, because the city of Bristol is mostly Third. I stare back at him. People get judged on their accents all the time, which is why I speak carefully, elongating my vowels and clipping my tone. I want people to make the right assumptions about me – in other words, the opposite of the kind I’ve already made about Atlas King.
‘So you’re suggesting that, even if we win this war, none of us will go free?’ says Marquis.
The recruits around us are standing up to leave and a maid appears, collecting our dirty bowls. Atlas smiles an infuriating smile and begins to gather the cutlery, doing the maid’s job for her. He hands her the spoons, causing her to turn red and give some sort of awkward curtsy, before turning back to face us.
‘That, my friends,’ he says, ‘depends entirely on who you mean by we .’