A Language of Dragons

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I WAKE UP IN A darkness shot through by candlelight. I’m lying in a bed, a blanket pulled up to my chin. My head feels heavy and when I move I realise my left arm is bound to my chest. I can hear a scratching sound. I sit up slowly, and it takes all my effort to reach for the candle on my beside table and lift it up. My arm is in a sling. There are empty beds on either side of me and a shelf lined with bottles full of liquids and pills. A nurse is sitting at a desk in a corner, her pen scratching against paper.

‘Recruit Featherswallow,’ she says sternly, ‘go back to sleep.’

‘Where am I?’ I ask.

‘The sanatorium,’ the nurse says. She stands up, lifting her own candle.

‘What’s a sanatorium?’

‘The hospital ward.’ The nurse nods at my arm. ‘That’s what you get for trying to abandon your post.’

A sharp pain shoots through my arm, followed by a heavy throbbing.

‘I didn’t abandon my post,’ I say. ‘I was …’

I was trying to get away from Ralph. But what happened after?

‘Guardian 707 said you put up quite a struggle.’ The nurse takes a bottle from the shelf and pours a deep red liquid on to a spoon. ‘He accidentally broke your arm trying to prevent you from endangering yourself.’

Accidentally?

‘I wasn’t endangering myself—’

‘There are dragons everywhere, child! And rebel ones at that.’ The nurse tuts. ‘You young ones have grown up thinking dragons are just the stuff of fairy tales. Back in my day, you were lucky if you could walk down the street without seeing one.’

She spoons the medicine into my mouth and I gag. It’s as thick as syrup and tastes of smoke and metal. I force myself to swallow it and my eyes instantly feel heavier.

‘What was that?’ I say.

‘Fireblod,’ she says, her mouth pursed as if daring me to say any more.

I’ve just swallowed an illegal medicine made from the blood of dragons, only available on the black market. I’ve heard rumours the First Class have access to it, and now I know they’re true.

‘That’ll heat your veins and have your bones fixed in no time,’ she says. ‘You fainted from the pain of the break, of course, and it’s a good thing you did.’ She screws the cap on to the medicine bottle and gives me a pitying look. ‘We all have our part to play in the war, dear. Be brave, do your duty and all will be well.’

I sink back into the pillows as my vision clouds.

*

When I wake again, the sanatorium is filled with light. The nurse is standing with her back to me by the washbasin, rinsing some cloths. A breeze comes in through the open window next to my bed. I peer out of it and see the tops of the forest trees, two dragons soaring above them.

There’s a knock at the door.

‘Yes?’ the nurse calls.

Marquis steps into the room, followed by Sophie.

‘Ten minutes only, please,’ the nurse warns.

Marquis kneels at my bedside and takes my hand, his eyes full of concern.

‘That bastard!’ he spits.

‘Watch your language, recruit, or I’ll have you removed!’ the nurse snaps.

Marquis pulls up a chair and Sophie lingers behind him. I do my best to smile.

‘What happened?’ I say. ‘I don’t remember my arm breaking, or fainting, or—

‘Ralph told Ravensloe that it was an accident, that you were running away, but—’

‘We saw him break your arm,’ Sophie says. ‘And he enjoyed it.’

I remember Ralph talking about Germany, his hand searching for the key, a hot pain … I feel a sudden burst of horror. The radio report. Two thousand people. Ursa.

‘Have you heard anything about home—’

Marquis is already shaking his head and a tear runs down his nose. The despair floods through me again, twisting in my chest like an aching knot. I let out a shaky breath.

I’d rather suffer a hundred broken arms than this.

Sophie lays a hand on Marquis’s shoulder, but her face betrays no emotion at the fact that her parents might be dead. Perhaps she’s suffered so much pain that it no longer has an effect on her.

‘There are survivors,’ she says. ‘The hospitals are full and the dragons are lifting the rubble.’

I nod. ‘Who found me?’

‘Atlas, Marquis and I followed you downstairs,’ Sophie says. ‘We saw Ralph snap your arm up against that wall—’

‘I carried you inside,’ Marquis says, ‘but you were unconscious—’

‘And Atlas?’ I say.

Why hasn’t he come to visit?

Marquis and Sophie glance at each other.

‘Atlas … hit Ralph,’ Sophie says. ‘More than once.’

‘A lot more than once, actually,’ Marquis says weakly.

‘Luckily, Gideon and Serena appeared and stopped him from doing any real damage.’

I wait as an awkward silence creeps over the room.

‘He’s been in isolation since last night,’ Marquis says and I close my eyes.

‘Dr Seymour said we should prepare ourselves for his demotion,’ says Sophie.

The words hang in the air as we all wonder what Atlas, a Third Class misfit , could possibly be demoted to.

‘But apparently Lumens is negotiating with Ravensloe,’ Marquis says. ‘He says he and Dodie can’t run the Zoology Department without Atlas.’

‘Five minutes left,’ the nurse calls, and Marquis glares at her. He takes my hand.

‘Don’t worry about Ursa,’ he says. ‘Wyvernmire knows that, without her, she has less of a hold over you. She’ll have protected her.’

‘And we won’t let Ralph get anywhere near you again,’ Sophie says. ‘We’ll stay together. We’ll—’

I shake my head, my eyes filling with tears at their attempt to comfort me. Neither of them know what I know.

That I let Ralph break my arm because I deserve it.

That I changed our friendship with one selfish choice.

That I ruined Sophie’s life.

‘Time’s up,’ the nurse says. She looks at me. ‘You’ll be discharged tomorrow. The Deputy Prime Minister wants you back at work.’

My grip tightens on Marquis’s hand as he stands up. I think of the last time I spoke to Atlas, walking back through the forest with Sophie.

‘Can you bring me some books from the library?’ I say quietly. I scribble down a few titles on a piece of paper and hand it to him. ‘And can you ask Dr Seymour to come and see me?’

‘No more visitors—’ the nurse begins.

‘Please,’ I say. ‘It’s for work purposes.’

The nurse tuts again and Marquis nods.

‘See you tomorrow.’

I wave at Sophie, who gives me a sad smile, then lie back in bed and wait.

*

Dr Seymour arrives an hour later. Her mouth is set in a hard line and she winces when she sees my arm.

‘That was no accident,’ she says.

‘No.’

‘What did he want?’

‘To feel powerful, I suppose,’ I say. ‘And the key to the glasshouse.’

Dr Seymour nods, unsurprised.

‘I believe Ralph requested to work in Codebreaking when he arrived at Bletchley,’ she says. ‘He felt his time in Germany had given him the competency to do so, and it must have been a personal offence to him when Prime Minister Wyvernmire insisted he remain a Guardian instead.’

‘Why is he interested in codebreaking?’ I ask.

‘It’s not the codebreaking that excites him,’ Dr Seymour says. ‘It’s the dragons.’

‘Dr Seymour,’ I say, ‘I need to ask you a favour.’

‘Of course. What is it?’

I wait until the nurse carries a pile of laundry out of the room.

‘I need to borrow your dracovol.’

Dr Seymour freezes. Horror creeps into her face, followed by confusion.

‘It’s okay,’ I whisper. ‘I know you’re using it for secret government purposes. But listen. I need to find out if my sister is alive. I need to know whether or not she survived …’

Dr Seymour is shaking her head.

‘It’s all I can think about,’ I whimper. ‘I won’t be able to do anything until I know. Dr Seymour, please—’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she says, standing up.

‘I saw some dracovol mail in your cupboard,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘So you’ve been looking through my personal things?’

Dr Seymour’s cheeks flush an angry red.

‘I was looking for a pencil …’

‘Who have you mentioned this to?’

‘No one!’ I say. ‘I just want to send a message. I won’t even sign it. I’ll—’

‘No, Vivien!’ She glances over her shoulder and lowers her voice. ‘If you get caught, you’ll be demoted and I’ll be …’

She closes and opens her mouth as if the rest of the sentence might be too terrible to say out loud.

‘My sister is only five years old,’ I say. ‘Our parents are in prison. She doesn’t have anyone in the world except me.’

‘I’m sorry—’

‘I’ll never crack that code,’ I say, my eyes filling with tears again. ‘Not if she’s dead. Not if there’s no one to fight for.’

‘There’s a whole country to fight for,’ Dr Seymour says.

‘Please,’ I say. ‘I have to know.’

Dr Seymour glances at the door, then back at me. She sits down. ‘I’ll need something for it to scent,’ she says slowly. ‘My dracovol is only trained to fly to a few specific locations and, besides, I’m afraid that if your sister is in Central London then there’s no guarantee that her address exists any more.’

‘My coat,’ I say weakly. ‘In the wardrobe in my dorm.’

It smells of dragonsmoke, but it might still have the scent of home on it.

Ursa’s scent.

Dr Seymour nods. ‘You can’t tell anyone about this.’ Her eyes stare into mine as the nurse comes back into the room. ‘ Especially not Ravensloe,’ she whispers.

I nod. ‘Thank you.’

My library books are delivered that afternoon and among them is The Hebrides: Exploring Scotland’s Islands . I flip through to page 265 and a piece of paper falls out on to the bedcovers. I check the nurse isn’t looking before I unfold it, heart thumping.

Hello, Featherswallow. Ralph Wyvernmire’s irritating interruptions won’t bother us here. I want to get to know you. May I?

I smile and for a split second a weight lifts off my chest. Talking to this boy is a terrible idea and everything about him is infuriatingly puzzling. But I haven’t yet encountered a puzzle I can’t solve. He’s a liability … and so damn convincing. I scribble back a reply.

Hello, Atlas King. Since leaving me this message, you have attacked the Prime Minister’s nephew and got yourself sent to isolation. It was rather unpriestly of you, but I appreciate the sentiment so … consider the getting to know me commenced. Perhaps you might oblige me by answering this question: where, for the love of dragons, is the fun in whittling wood? Leave your reply in C. Amsterton’s novel, Searching for Swallows.

The nurse discharges me on Sunday afternoon, my arm wrapped in a fresh sling. I stop by the library and slot the book back into place, my reply tucked safely inside. Then I go straight to the common room where I’m greeted by a weak cheering that dies out almost as soon as it’s begun. Music is playing and, by the fire, Karim is embroidering a length of cloth. The atmosphere feels forced, as if we’re all avoiding the elephant in the room. I sit down, noting Atlas’s absence, and see a wicker picnic basket on the table.

‘Gideon made some progress in the glasshouse yesterday,’ Katherine sings.

I turn to Gideon, who is half hidden behind the open picnic-basket lid. ‘What sort of progress?’

‘Certain echolocation calls have different meanings depending on the dragon emitting them,’ Gideon says, closing the lid. ‘Echolocation is even more complex than we thought.’

Different ways of saying things . . . like synonyms.

‘We found that out days ago,’ I said. ‘When we heard Soresten say the same thing two different ways.’

‘But Dr Seymour and I have confirmed the theory through further observation of the patrol dragons,’ Gideon says with a smug smile. ‘We don’t know how the various meanings differ from each other yet – it might be a question of tone or register – but we’ll soon find out.’

I glance out of the window so Gideon can’t see the fury in my face. Wasn’t I the one to suggest the theory to Dr Seymour in the first place? Now Gideon is getting all the credit, while I’m being accused of trying to desert my post.

‘Is Atlas out yet?’ I ask Marquis.

He’s perched on the arm of the sofa Karim is sitting on. He shakes his head.

‘I’ve seen Ralph, though,’ Marquis says, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘It looks like he won’t be removing his helmet for a while.’

Did Atlas really do that? I thought priests were supposed to be calm, restrained, peaceful.

Rain begins to splatter across the windows, gradually getting heavier until it becomes hard to hear each other talk. I hope it’s raining in London and that it puts out the rest of the dragonfire. Sophie is staring into the fog. She must be thinking of her parents, and I can’t think of anything to say to her. I feel a surge of anger for my own parents and Uncle Thomas. Was this what they wanted when they decided to join the rebels? For London to burn? For their children to live through another war?

Gideon loads wood on to the fire and Katherine pulls sandwiches and a chocolate cake out of the basket.

‘They say picnics are good for convalescing,’ she says to me with a wink.

I want to tell her that I don’t give a dragon’s arse about her picnic because my sister might be dead, but then she smiles at me so genuinely that I say nothing. I sit on the rug and lean back against the side of the sofa, kicking off my shoes. Dodie hands me a glass of lime cordial and Serena nods towards my bandaged arm, her eyebrows raised.

‘You’re even more stubborn than I thought,’ she says. ‘Couldn’t you have just done as you were told? If you had, Atlas wouldn’t be in isolation.’

I glare at her, trying to decide which part of this absurd suggestion to argue with first.

‘She’s not stubborn,’ Dodie says with a frown. ‘She’s dragon-hearted.’

Dragon-hearted.

Brave.

The compliment sends a warm feeling through me, and I give Dodie a surprised smile.

‘How long until you can use it again?’ she asks.

‘A few days,’ I reply. ‘The nurse gave me fireblod.’

The chatter falls silent as everyone turns to look at me.

‘Fireblod?’ Gideon says. ‘But that type of medicine is banned in Britannia.’

I shrug and take a bite of the salty chicken sandwich in front of me.

‘Not for the First Class,’ Sophie says. ‘They buy it by the gallon off the black market. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Gideon says, his eyes narrowing. ‘My family never—’

‘Perhaps your family sees the evil in harvesting blood from captive juvenile dragons,’ Sophie says dryly. ‘But that’s not the case for everyone.’

I steal a glance at Serena. She doesn’t look as defensive as Gideon.

‘I was told it was only harvested from dragons who died of natural causes,’ Serena says.

‘Impossible,’ says Marquis. ‘The proteins would need to be taken from a live donor.’

Serena swallows. ‘In any case, fireblod has saved lives—’

‘Not everyone’s lives,’ Sophie spits. ‘The Third Class has never seen so much as a vial of it, or any other medicine, even though it could have—’

She stops, her voice tremoring, and I know she’s thinking of Nicolas.

We eat in awkward silence and my minds fills with the image of live dragons being emptied of their blood. I put my sandwich down.

‘Sophie,’ Dodie says carefully, ‘what else doesn’t the Third Class have?’

I glance at Sophie, waiting. She only spent six months as Third Class, yet I can tell she has so many things to list she doesn’t know where to start.

‘Meat,’ she says, taking another bite of chicken. ‘The butcher shops are all in the Second Class quarters.’

‘We had one come door to door, selling ham and beef bones sometimes,’ Katherine says. ‘But they were always this awful grey colour.’

I glance at Marquis – the food in Second was never grey – but he doesn’t look the least bit surprised.

‘The shelves in my local greengrocer’s were always empty,’ Sophie says. ‘Nothing but wilted greens and the occasional bag of potatoes.’

‘Maybe you had a bad supplier,’ I say. ‘Mama says … ’

I trail off as they all stare at me.

‘It’s not a supply problem,’ Karim says gently. ‘The Third Class shops are only stocked with what the Second and First Classes don’t buy.’

My cheeks burn. Why didn’t I know that? Why had I assumed that the shops were all stocked the same? Sophie gives me a despairing shake of her head, and suddenly I feel like a naive child.

‘Our schoolbooks had pages missing and someone else’s name in them,’ Katherine says. ‘And the clothes were either stained or torn.’

‘Hot water,’ Sophie says. ‘No matter how careful we were, our baths were always cold.’

‘Couldn’t you have heated it on a stove?’ Serena asks.

‘Yes,’ Sophie says, eyeing Serena coolly. ‘Except there was never any coal.’

‘Because you couldn’t afford it?’

‘Because the higher classes like to keep a fire burning in every room.’

Serena takes a sip of her cordial and says nothing.

‘But the Class System exists to give everyone a fair chance,’ I say.

I look to Marquis for reassurance. We were both taught the same thing, at school and on the radio at home. The result of its dismantling would be social chaos.

‘It means that no one is left on the streets, that every child goes to school. That’s why Wyvernmire was re-elected … because she ensured it stayed in place. People want the Class System.’

‘Living between four walls doesn’t mean you’re warm or fed,’ Sophie says. ‘Going to school doesn’t mean you learn. And who are you to say what people want?’

I keep my back straight, trying not to wither beneath Sophie’s cold glare.

‘We had a dragon keep our house warm,’ Karim says. ‘There was no coal, so he just breathed flames straight on to the walls from the outside. The house – and our shop – was all made of stone. Just as well, really.’

‘A dragon?’ I say.

Karim nods. ‘There are so many more in Scotland than there are here. My parents paid him in lace – my mam’s a lacemaker.’

‘Lace?’ Dodie asks. ‘What would a dragon need lace for?’

‘Aye, lace is worth a lot. Even the scraps my parents can’t use.’

‘I thought dragons only worked for humans if they were forced to,’ I say, thinking of Chumana. ‘Like a punishment.’

‘Some don’t have a choice,’ Karim says. ‘The ones who have hoards don’t need to work, but the ones who don’t, well …’

Hoards. Like piles of gold or money. Why do dragons need money? They don’t shop for groceries or pay bills. It hits me that, in all my years learning dragon tongues, I’ve never questioned how dragons fit into our human society.

Just like I’ve never questioned where the Third Class get their food.

‘Let’s play a game,’ Katherine says in an obvious attempt to ease the tension. ‘Does everyone know Two Truths and a Lie?’

‘One of my favourites,’ Marquis says with a smirk. ‘You first, Kath.’

Katherine sits up on her knees and grins.

‘One, I’m Third Class but my aunt is Second. Two, I’ve been playing chess since I was six years old. Three, I killed a Guardian of Peace.’

I lean back against the sofa. It’s entirely possible for Katherine to be Third Class and her aunt Second. And if she’s an undiscovered chess champion then it makes sense that she’s been playing since she was six.

‘Three is the lie,’ Gideon says, biting into a slice of chocolate cake.

Katherine gives him a wry smile and shakes her head. The bite of cake falls out of Gideon’s mouth and on to the rug.

‘I started playing chess when I was seven,’ she says.

I search her face for a trace of humour, yet find nothing but a resigned weariness. Katherine is the smallest one of us here. How could she possibly kill a Guardian of Peace?

She did say she was recruited from prison .

‘Gideon’s turn!’ Katherine says.

Gideon frowns, his cheeks blushing. I lean in, eager to know where he’s from and why he thinks himself some sort of dragon expert.

‘One, my father was an important government official. Two, I wish he wasn’t my father. Three, I know someone who is in love with a dragon.’

Marquis laughs loudly and Gideon blushes an even deeper shade of red.

‘No one could be in love with a dragon—’ I begin.

‘Actually, the King of Egypt is currently married to a dragon,’ Dodie says. ‘Didn’t you know that?’

‘I … no?’ I say.

Marquis whispers something into Karim’s ear and they both erupt into laughter.

‘Three is the lie,’ Serena says.

Gideon scowls. ‘That was too easy.’

I wonder who his father is and whether it was his job that put Gideon in contact with dragons. What made me think that I ever knew my fellow recruits at all?

‘Viv’s turn,’ Gideon says.

I freeze, feeling the panic creep over me. All my truths are too unbearable to say.

I abandoned my sister. I helped a criminal dragon break the Peace Agreement. I betrayed my best friend.

The door to the common room creaks open and Dr Seymour appears.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ she asks shyly. ‘The glasshouse is being inspected.’

‘Inspected?’ Sophie and I say in unison.

‘It’s a common protocol,’ Dr Seymour says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘To make sure everything’s working and to ensure the Official Secrets Act is being respected.’

‘We’re playing Two Truths and a Lie,’ Marquis says lazily.

He’s now sprawled out on the rug next to me, rolling a cigarette. I wonder which Guardian he has buying him tobacco.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t,’ Gideon murmurs.

The mention of the Official Secrets Act, and the fact that Ravensloe has Guardians checking it’s being respected, has suddenly turned the room cold. As if the attack on London and the conversation about class differences weren’t enough.

Dr Seymour comes and sits beside me, smoothing her skirt over her knees. As Karim hands out a tray of biscuits, Dr Seymour pulls a piece of paper from her pocket and shoves it into my hand. I unfold it in my lap. The words have been scrawled by a hurried hand, with a smear of ink across the top.

Alive.

My breath catches in my throat. Ursa and Sophie’s parents are alive. Joy bursts inside me.

She will become a ward of the state tomorrow.

My heart plummets.

Ward of the state? Are Abel and Alice giving Ursa up? Or has Wyvernmire sent Guardians to remove her? Didn’t she say she’d leave Ursa with her caregivers until I’d finished at Bletchley? Dr Seymour gives me a questioning look and I force myself to smile.

It’s good news , I tell myself.

Twenty-four hours ago, I would have given anything to read these words. But now all I can think about is Ursa being torn from Alice’s arms, just like she was torn from our mother’s.

We don’t resume the game and for the rest of the evening I sit by the fire, clutching the dracovol note.

‘Now you have something to fight for,’ Dr Seymour whispers to me when we all go to bed.

I wait until everyone’s sleeping before I let myself cry. I wish I could turn back time and stay under house arrest with Ursa. Then we would never have been separated.

But Marquis would still be in prison, or worse. Mama and Dad would be dead.

I press my face into the pillow and let out a sob. Someone slips into bed beside me and I jump.

‘It’s me,’ Sophie whispers. ‘Are you all right?’

I turn round to face her in the dark as she lays her head next to mine. This is how we used to sleep when we were children. Not top and tail, like Mama made Marquis and I do, but hands interlaced, cheeks pressed together so we could whisper through the night.

I reach under my pillow and hand her the note. I should have shown it to her earlier, but my thoughts were consumed with my sister. She lifts it to the crack of light shining in from under the door.

‘That’s my dad’s handwriting,’ she says breathlessly. ‘How did you—’

‘Never mind that,’ I say, blinking back tears. ‘Where do you think they’ll take her?’

‘To an orphanage probably,’ Sophie says. ‘But don’t worry, Viv, they won’t lose her, not while they need you.’

‘I wish we could go home,’ I say. ‘Both of us. Back to Fitzrovia and Marylebone. I wish we could go back to before.’

Sophie nods and grasps my hand.

‘We still can,’ she says. ‘But you have to focus, Viv. Ursa is alive, but the only way you’ll ever see her again is if we can learn echolocation.’

I close my eyes, but the tears seep through.

How are we going to crack a code that is actually a language, one that’s dizzyingly complicated?

We don’t know how the various meanings differ from each other yet – it might be a question of tone or register.

Gideon and Dr Seymour have no idea what they’re doing. And neither do I.

‘Do you remember when we were children and you’d make up those silly little languages for us?’ Sophie whispers. ‘We’d pretend to everyone at school that we understood what the other was saying.’

I smile. ‘We even had my dad convinced. He thought there was a new dragon tongue on the curriculum.’

Sophie laughs into my hair. ‘Didn’t he get really angry when he found out the truth?’

I nod. ‘He said it was a waste of time to be making up languages when I already had so many to learn. He made me stay up half the night just to prove that I knew all my French verbs.’

‘Do you think they were too hard on us?’ Sophie whispers. ‘Our parents?’

She reaches a hand to the inside of her arm and I know she’s feeling for the line of scars along the skin, identical to my own. The use of a birch rod is a common practice among Second Class families, and perhaps the only pain we suffer that the Third Class don’t.

‘I don’t think parents can afford to be soft when their children are only one class away from a life of poverty,’ I say.

We’re silent for a moment as memories surface. My family used to be supporters of the Class System. So what made them change their minds?

‘When you were demoted,’ I whisper, surprised at the words coming out of my mouth, ‘I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again.’

Sophie doesn’t say anything and for a minute I just listen to her soft breathing.

I want to say sorry. I want to beg her forgiveness for all of it – the bits she knows about and the bits she doesn’t. But I know it’s too late for that. She squeezes my hand and we lie in silence, enveloped in each other’s warmth. Everything about her is familiar – the mole on the back of her hand, the smell of her skin, the slight wheeze in her chest from a childhood illness. Eventually, Sophie falls asleep.

‘I’ll never hurt you again,’ I whisper into the dark. ‘I’ll make sure you go home, Soph. I promise you that.’

Very slowly, I climb out of bed. I slip my boots on and pull my coat over my nightdress, draping it round my shoulders because of the sling. Ralph told Ravensloe I tried to abandon my post, and that’s why Wyvernmire has taken Ursa. To make sure she has something I want. I can’t let her think I’m not taking this seriously. If I’m going to keep my promise to Sophie, if I’m going to be reunited with Ursa and save our family from execution, then I need to give the Prime Minister the dragon code.

I sneak downstairs and across the hallway. I know the way to the kitchen now and it’s only a few seconds before I’m through the back door once again. There’s no Guardian patrolling here, but that only means Ravensloe has extra dragons guarding the perimeter of Bletchley Park. I keep my eyes on the sky as I traipse through the moonlit garden, then take a dirt path into the fields. I don’t need a car to reach the spot where I translated for Borislav.

I remember the disgust he showed Muirgen and Rhydderch when he realised they couldn’t speak his tongue. They hadn’t been able to communicate by echolocation, either, meaning the patrol dragons had thought they were under attack. And no one, not even Dr Seymour, can tell me why that is.

I push through the long grass, my head full of questions I know there are answers to. My eyes search the star-studded sky for the only way of obtaining those answers, no matter how forbidden it might be. I stop in my tracks when I spot what I’m looking for in the fields just beyond.

The dark silhouettes of two dragons.